#the comment was within the past year though i must clarify. getting mad at old ass reviews harmony korine is not going to fuck you man.

[countymir]

i'm not sure why letterboxd is the only platform where i like keeping my pfp a photo of myself. this is a certified pretty girl film review so no one is allowed to think i have shit taste

[literateleah]

the paradox of emily prentiss’ audience perception and character design

some of y’all about to be real mad at me, but it must be said:

emily prentiss’ character design makes no sense: my personal opinion + an objective analysis

i think it can be challenging to separate the versions of characters we have in our little brains from actual canon content, but doing so is important for understanding what those characters are truly like, especially within the context of their environment and in contrast to others around them. plus developing a deeper understanding of the media we consume is super fun and interesting! with that being said: emily prentiss should not work for the fbi and here’s why (in three parts regarding who’s responsible: cbs, paget, and fans) (sit down and grab a snack i promise this is over 3k words)

quick disclaimer: i don’t dislike emily at all! that’s my girl, i just looked closer and realized some funky things the writers did and felt the need to analyze her of course: so let’s get into it

part one: what cbs did

cbs set the stage for emily’s introduction on the heels of the departure of lola glaudini as elle greenaway! lola has clarified that she decided to leave the show because filming in los angeles was not the best environment for her personally, and after one successful season on a major network (but not much established long term plot or drama beyond elle’s departure as a character) a consistent ensemble cast was required- particularly because the bau had been criticized for being predominantly male in the first few episodes of the show and not much development was given to penelope or jj yet. enter emily prentiss.

for the duration of seasons 2-3ish, emily was framed as a chip off the block that was elle greenaway, just slightly…richer? in her first few episodes emily was hesitantly polite but ambitious, clean cut, intellectually concise and held her own within the team. she seemed equal parts intimidated and frustrated by her male superiors (gideon, hotch) but certainly proves herself among other profilers. her childhood was explored only within reference to her strained relationship with her mother (which was only ever referenced once more after the fact) and we received a short overview of her educational and career history in her first few episodes. emily fit right into the hole elle had left, and didn’t have many major storylines yet.

seasons 4-6 brought a bit more development and depth to emily’s character! she begins dropping more snarky remarks, one liners, and socially deepening her relationships with the other team members. this seems more within the lines of elle’s design, but emily arguably took more time to grow into her place within the team. during the foyet arc she was vulnerable and supportive, and the doyle arc gave her some independence and agency she didn’t have previously. this era also solidified her appearance and persona as more edgy, which falls in line with general fanon perception of her character (especially when compared to jj or penelope). i can’t address this era or season 7 without mentioning that cbs was actively trying to remove paget from the cast, similar to how they did to aj cook as well. paget has spoken about this instance before, and i believe it slightly affected her portrayal of her character, and “lauren” was somewhat of a goodbye for both paget and emily (thus why she wished for mgg to direct since they were best friends).

season 7: in my opinion, one of the best seasons for emily. she was wisened and deeply wounded by her experiences with doyle, which was understandable of course. she returned to the team she loved and learned to appreciate life in a different way, remaining mature during this time period as well! though her departure was a bit less than graceful and sudden at the end of this season, it made sense compared to some other exits the team had seen.

now *sigh* all the rest.

paget as emily appears in two separate guest appearances (once in s9 and once in s11, and she is referenced offscreen as well) before permanently reprising her role as unit chief of the bau. these appearances were most likely to boost ratings and get the team back together (i.e. 200) or just to pepper in international cases (tribute). emily’s personality remains pretty consistent here, just more mature and comfortable in leadership positions (seeing as she is running an entire branch of an international law enforcement organization). then season 12 hit.

upon the departure of thomas gibson as hotch, cbs reached out to paget to see if she would be interested in fulfilling her role as emily within a longer term unit chief position. i’ll get into why this is wack in a few paragraphs, but the remainder of her time on the show is spent on a mature portrayal that seems very distant from her previous versions. emily is more authoritative, gives orders with ease, and has no qualms about leading a team of agents or even receiving promotion offers as director of the entire bureau.

thus concludes a general summary of the canon content cbs gave us as viewers. now let's talk about what they didn’t give us, regrettably

the primary aspect of emily’s design that comes to mind for many is her queer coding. though not much was to be expected from cbs, a prime time cable tv network, each of her relationships on the show (all with men) seemed oddly forced, and without much chemistry as compared to the SOs of other main characters. rumors of scrapped plotlines have floated around about what may have been, but the ultimate lack of acknowledgement of any queer characters in the main ensemble still leaves a feeling of disappointment to audiences, and leaves more to be desired as for how emily navigates social bonds.

part two (sidebar): what paget did

i think it could be agreed within audiences that paget brewster’s portrayal of emily made the role what it was! her dry witty delivery and emotional prowess combined with sitcom acting experience made her performance a mainstay for years. i think she did the best she could with a confusing and at times flat characterization, and brought the role to life.

paget also heavily contributes to fanon indirectly with her comments outside of the show (press, cameos, twitter etc). her general continued interest and fondness for the role post production affects fan perception, particularly in what she chooses to elevate and comment on. she and aj have both spoken about viewing jemily content, and paget and thomas have both also commented on hotchniss. most cast members feel free to comment on their characters in the appropriate timing, and seem open to discussing fanon ships and theories outside of canon!

part three: what fanon did

as we can tell from this fan space as well as the presence on insta, tik tok and twitter, fans LATCHED onto emily super quickly. she’s remained a favorite over the years, and this fan persistence is what brought her back so many times after leaving (so many times). in my opinion, queer coding and a bolder female trope (in contrast to her female counterparts) are the main pulls because they resonated with so many fans- new and old. with that being said, newer fans of the show in the past year in particular have been heavily influential in fanon, solely because of the large influx of fan content and popularity of it.

fan content began to take coding and bite size moments and snippets from the show as canon, and cemented it into much of the content and discourse they created. these small pieces of emily’s character are significant, but have become magnified by how easily they are to share and edit. for example, a collection of catchy one liners from emily over the seasons makes for a great video edit intro, or gifset! there’s absolutely no problem with this content, it just all combines to create a certain fanon perception no character escapes (this isn’t a phenomenon limited to emily or the cm fandom!)

these droves of content also solidified emily’s personality as much more defined, but at the same time, simplified it in a way that’s slightly harder to explain.

fanon: more emo/goth than canon basis

fanon: more introverted/anti social than canon basis

fanon: more violent/chaotic when canon emily is relatively well mannered and doesn’t start many conflicts (particularly in the workspace)

fanon: much less maternal when canon emily displays desire on multiple occasions (even crossing professional borders) for children, particularly teenage girls (possibly projection)

(again, nothing wrong with this interpretation at all and it still varies! This is just a generalization based on most of the popular content i have seen)

part 4: why it doesn’t work

let me start with this: emily prentiss does not like her job.

we don’t receive much in depth information about emily’s internal feelings and thoughts towards her mother beyond resentment. this stems from wanting to make it on her own, as a professional and as an individual (cough cough college deposits). this makes emily’s insistence on proving herself to authority figures in her earlier seasons is interesting to watch in different circumstances. she cites her experience and denies help from her mother when justifying her placement in the bau to hotch, she is extra vigilant about being helpful on her first case with gideon, etc. nevertheless, emily forges her own path outside of diplomacy and becomes a successful profiler and agent, with the help of her privilege, wealth and name whether she likes it or not. but if we read between the lines and fill in the blanks cbs neglected, these ambitions may subconsciously be oriented towards pleasing her mother.

example one: emily’s authority issues go further than just “rebellion” or “anarchy”, she frequently questions the ethics and sustainability of the work that the bau does. every team member does this, but emily much more so than anybody else.

in “amplification”, emily almost breaks federal protocol to inform civilians of anthrax threats. she butts heads with both hotch and rossi on this front, and ends the episode with having a conversation with rossi about the ethics of lying in their line of work. emily resigns to a solemn “it be like that” and moves along, accepting this reality.

on multiple different occasions emily laments to derek about the darkness she sees on the job, and it’s shown that this gets to her quickly on particularly bad cases. this is another contradiction of the design that she can supposedly “compartmentalize” better than others on the team, when she cannot unless the lives of others are at risk (doyle arc, s7 finale).

emily also responds in this way to many cases involving children, a similarity to jj many don’t notice upon first watching the series. “seven seconds” and “children of the dark” come to mind, during the latter in which emily is prepared to cross multiple professional lines to adopt a teenage girl left orphaned by the case, until hotch stops her and establishes that her emotions can’t rule her judgement on the job. regardless of hotch’s thoughts about her attempted caretaking abilities, these actions and impulses deeply contradict the typical bureaucratic pathways of the work the bau does.

the looming reputation of her mother’s diplomatic history hangs over emily, and after going to law school and working for the cia, she most likely did want to forge her own path as far away from being a socialite: being a spy. her inner nature doesn’t always reflect this profession, and leads me to believe that with her knowledge of psychology, law procedure and care for children: emily prentiss might be more inclined to working in social work, placing suffering children and teenagers in homes they deserve.

and finally, the hill i will die on: emily prentiss was an bad unit chief

this wonderful post touches on my general sentiment, but there were many reasons as to why emily prentiss’ career arc makes little to no sense (plot holes included).

first: her background. emily attended chesapeake bay university as well as yale and achieved a ba in criminal justice. keep in mind that though timelines evidently don’t exist in the cm universe, emily prentiss is ONE YEAR older than aaron hotchner (for context). in her first episode, she professes that she has worked for the bureau for a little under ten years in midwestern offices- something the audience laters knows to not be true. emily worked with the cia and interpol as a part of a profiling team and undercover agent up until roughly TWO YEARS before her canon introduction. plot holes and time gaps aside, this makes me wonder, why didn’t she just say the cia was a backstop without revealing the highly confidential nature of her work with doyle (similar to jj’s state department backstop and cover story)? penelope or hotch could have easily accessed her file and seen that she did not in fact have experience with the bureau in midwestern offices recently, and given the fact that erin strauss set up her bau placement, i’m presuming these formalities or references were overlooked.

second: her experience within the team. emily worked as a part of the bau with the bureau for roughly 6 or 7 years. after this, she is invited to run the entire london branch of interpol, one of the most renowned international law enforcement organizations. i’m surely not the most knowledgeable on requirements or standard timelines for such matters, but with the fact that emily had never led a team in her life (not in the bau or interpol previously) and had roughly 10 years of field experience, i don’t believe she would have ever realistically been considered eligible to run the whole london department.

third: her return to the bureau. fanon depiction of their relationship aside, if you believe aaron hotchner’s last wish before going into witsec was to entrust his team to emily prentiss, you’re dead mistaken. bringing emily back was clearly a pull for ratings after the loss of two main characters (hotch and derek), but logistically a bad decision. let’s suppose emily has had 4 or 5 years of experience in london now, this established authority position would be unlikely to change at the drop of a hat, even for old teammates or friends. also considering how close they were after a decade of working closely in bureaucratic and field contexts, i firmly believe hotch would have referred jj for the job of unit chief but that’s another discussion for another time.

emily’s reign as unit chief is odd, because of the many chaotic storylines crammed into it. but amidst bad writing and viewings plummeting, emily’s character is completely flattened. completely. emily is unrecognizable, both in appearance (that god awful wig) and personality. at times she acts as a complete wise authority, giving orders and delegating local authorities as hotch did. but at other times she makes multiple illegal, emotional, and incorrect judgement calls based on personal circumstances that lead to further chaos (deleting the recording of her and reid’s mexico conversation and reprimanding luke in “luke” for the exact same thing she did in season 6 even though she enabled her to do so come to mind).

i’m not sure if this is due to paget trying to find her footing in the role again, or the writer’s bad decisions towards the end of the show wrecking any previous design for their ensemble. then, there’s the infamous “wheels up” scene in s13e1. notoriously cringey, this seems like a vague caricature of something rossi would say many years in the past (the same goes for her pep talk in “red light” in the hunt for diana reid). these moments are meant to mature emily in the audience’s eye, but instead completely removed her from who we understood her to be, and made her an unreliable leader.

part five: and why it does

in theory, emily was a bolder foil to jj, similar to elle who she arguably replaced at first. she came into her own, and stands as a more uniquely developed character than almost any other in the main ensemble. she isn’t as maternal or domestically inspiring as canon jj, less bright and sunny than penelope, not quite as stoic or intimidating as derek or hotch. And yet at the same time, she’s a fairly blank slate. stripping fanon content away entirely, canon emily has few defining traits (all of which are constantly changing), and that may be the key to why we love her so much.

[dreamofcentipedes]

Red Lotus Blooms: 8 - Burning Bright

Summary: A monster is forged in flame. As light burns out, red leaves unfurl. Crossing paths once more, Tatara and Houji hurtle towards the end of the beginning, and the ashes of the past again burn bright.

Characters: Tatara, Houji, Eto, Noro, Arima, Donato

Rating: Teen Words: 8, 766 Link to AO3

Link to Table of Contents

A/N: FINAL CHAPTER! Thank you so much to all you readers, whether you've been here from the start, you hopped on partway through, or you're reading this in the future from start to finish - every comment and kudos I've received from you gave me the willpower to see this through to the end. 

A note on ages: here, Tatara is 17, Eto is 16, and Houji is 27. It's a little under 9 years before Kaneki goes on that fateful date.

Cochlea was a uniform place for diverse peoples. Prisoners sane but for their cannibalism, guards mad but for their wives and two children, it was a melting pot of the most absurd congregation of ghouls and humans alike. Its architecture, with its circling rows of identical doorways, looked bizarre in contrast by its very unremarkability. Perhaps the effect was intentional: to differentiate the prisoner from the prison, chaos from order. The guards would not play into that fantasy, however. Houji often found himself wondering who really needed protecting here: who should be outside the cells, and who should be within.

So it came as a strange relief to meet so disgusting a ghoul as the child-murdering Donato Porpora. For a brief moment, Houji could regain some sense of moral certainty.

“And you are Special Class Kousuke Houji, is that right?”

Houji inwardly flinched at the title that still felt so ill-fitting to him. This ghoul, with his elderly but dignified aspect and his calm smile that seemed to hold secret knowledge, made the honour feel especially rancid. Like he was comparing him with Special Class Wu, a comparison he knew in his heart of hearts to be true.

“Oh, did that have some kind of impact on you? I really can’t tell, your face is solid as a rock.” The ghoul seemed disappointed behind his mockery. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

“Priest.” Houji addressed him, smoothly cutting through his nonsense, firm, clear, impassive. “You know why I am here, and why you are being kept alive.”

“Nosiness as usual then, is it?” He threw back his head with a rasping cackle that echoed behind the glass screen that separated them in the interrogation room.

The balding Warden Koumura sat beside Houji, bored. Houji was sure he had better uses of his time, but it was advised that interrogations took place in groups of two, especially with this ghoul. Arima was unavailable as he was on patrol and, though he was not fond of Koumura, he was preferable to a guard like that savage Tokage. Ultimately, Koumura could not turn down a rule he was meant to impose.

“Have you heard about any ghoul plans to breach Cochlea? Or if anyone who would be stupid enough to try it?” Koumura spat. He was obviously sceptical about these rumours, but they were the reason Houji had been assigned there as extra security.

“Breach Cochlea?” The ghoul seemed interested, for very obvious reasons. “Where did you hear that?”

“First Class Arima overheard a group of ghouls discussing the plans before intercepting them. However, they were not wearing anything indicative of allegiance to any group we know of.” Houji clarified.

“How would I know, when you’ve been keeping me in here so long…” He grumbled.

“Rest assured, an attack will not succeed. This is a maximum security prison now being guarded by myself and one of our finest upcoming investigators. So, if a breach does occur and we discover that you hid something from us, you will have outlived your usefulness. Do you understand?”

That was the view of the brass, anyway. Sceptical about the likelihood of such a bold venture, they had only assigned Arima, since he had raised the concern, and one investigator of his choosing. He had chosen Houji, for reasons he could not decipher. But that was always the way with Arima.

“Come now, you can’t blame me for hating being trapped up in here. I know you do too.”

Houji could not deny it. Caging ghouls up like animals, the pointless torture that went on behind closed doors that everyone could hear regardless – why prolong their suffering so cruelly, so meaninglessly? He may have resigned himself to the reality of the CCG’s role as humanity’s brutish cudgel, but the ghouls could at least be given the decency of a quick death.

Koumura gave him a sceptical side-eye. Houji’s demeanour did not falter.

“Indeed. If I had it my way, you would no longer be with us, Priest. But that is not my decision to make. So we most both perform our given roles.”

He had only the right to observe, to observe and do his duty. He was part of this greater, twisted whole, and so he must accept responsibility for their sins if he wanted to continue serving the CCG regardless.

Donato hinted at a sickly smile. “If I’m not mistaken, you performed that duty spectacularly in China. Is that where you developed this selfless, or should I call it spineless, ideology?”

Houji narrowed his eyes. How did he know about China?

“I’ve never been, myself. Are things much different there?” The old man went on.

Exactly the same. The same as the Japan he had come back to, if not the one he had left.

As soon as he had stepped out of the aeroplane after landing at Narita, he was hit by the same hostile air. He had thought – wished, rather – that when he returned to Japan he would return to how he was before he left. It was now woefully apparent that the Japan he had known was lost forever. Or rather, the self he had known. He was forced to look at the world through this new set of tainted eyes.

“Priest, if you have nothing of worth to say then I will terminate this interrogation.” Houji was getting tired of talking to Donato. The more the Priest talked, the more unpleasant thoughts haunted Houji’s mind. But he would cede no such reaction for that man’s enjoyment. Those days of vulnerability were far behind him.

“You’re getting more and more useless to us every day. Keep that in mind.” Koumura growled in his bullying fashion.

Donato drooped his brows like a child being deprived of his toy. “How rude. I was just making conversation, Special Class. It was no small thing, taking out Chi She Lian. An organisation of that size…that’s a lot of death.”

Blood dripping through the floorboards. A severed head. A ring on a lifeless finger.

“Although – and this is just pure hearsay, mind – I hear that you couldn’t quite finish the job. The one that got away, hmm?”

Houji’s teeth clenched like a vice. How could he know? Before he had left Beijing, he had spent two weeks fruitlessly searching for Tatara Huo. Not a trace. That was the true ghost of China – the one that had not died. It could not end while he was still out there, somewhere, in the shadows, grieving, hating, mourning…

Donato’s lips turned fully upwards now. “Maybe there’s your culprit. That ghoul must want your head more than his own life. Maybe he’s risking everything breaching Cochlea just to kill you. Tie up those loose ends.” The ghoul looked Houji dead in the eye with an expression now serious. “Would you like that, Special Class?”

Houji sat wide-eyed, staring and speechless. These had to be mind games, surely: there was no way the ghoul could know this. But Houji could not help but wonder if it was possible. Whether Tatara could truly be in Tokyo. If it was to kill him, then, perhaps…

Before he could respond, a siren started blaring.

Koumura’s jaw dropped in horror and fearfully turned towards him for an answer. Houji’s body tensed as he understood what it meant. The Priest, at first surprised, burst out into raucous laughter.

“Well, I suppose you’re about to find out! Don’t hold it against me, gentlemen, there really is nothing more I could’ve done for you.”

Houji shot him an icy look with a face of otherworldly calm. “Please relinquish that smug expression, Priest. You’ve no need of it. You will not be escaping this facility today.”

Houji rose briskly out of his chair, grabbed his attaché case, and marched out of the room with Koumura scrambling after him. The door closed behind them with a slam as they exited onto the ground floor, and Houji looked up to the great gates at the top of the prison. Slowly but steadily, they were opening.

--

Like clockwork, the heavy gates on Cochlea’s roof opened exactly on time. Tatara could hardly believe it. Eto had promised she could do it with her ‘connections’, but she had refused to specify what they were no matter how hard Tatara grilled her. In the end he decided to allow her this modicum of trust and return on a different day if it failed - after he beheaded the girl for her deception. Yet it seemed that trust was well founded. He wondered if she might have orchestrated a riot among the prisoners or something of that nature, but it looked peaceful enough down the great fall encircled by rows and rows of jail cells. That is, until the guards noticed the doorway receding.

There was no time for standing around. Tatara beckoned for his cohort, the remaining rabble of Aogiri, to follow him down the sinkhole. He jumped, and two hundred red cloaks followed him.

The ghouls unleashed hell on the guards below. Storms of ukaku shards thundered down upon them, and quinque bullets shot upwards in return. There were casualties on both sides already, but Tatara had the element of surprise. He landed on the first elevated platform in the centre of Cochlea, and immediately began sprinting, his eyes darting around on all sides for Houji. Seeing the afterimage of a white coat disappear behind an opaque screen on a floor above, he quickly rammed his kagune through the five guards charging at him simultaneously, smoothly slid it out, and launched himself into the air to an astonishing height to follow him.

He landed with a crash onto the railing, and, raising his head, stared at the now visible face of the white-coated figure with surprise and anger.

“You’re-”

“Not Houji.” The bespectacled man finished, and cut Tatara open.

--

Houji pelted through the rain of shards as ghouls descended from above.  He could not understand how it happened. Were there ghouls strong enough to open the gates from the outside? After Loong, he could not doubt it. Guards rushed out into the fray, only for several to be impaled immediately. Arima was nowhere to be seen – his patrol had probably led him to the other end of the facility. More and more of the ghouls were landing on the ground floor, white-masked and red-cloaked.

If these ghouls spring some of the inmates…

There were immensely powerful ghouls being kept here. The S-Rate Tail Brothers. Tokage’s plaything, that S-Rate Jason. Not to mention the SS-Rate Priest. Iff even some of them were to escape, it could spell dire news for Tokyo. Houji could not let that happen.

He clicked open his attaché case, and drew out Douhi.

Special Class Zhao, who had miraculously survived Loong’s onslaught thanks to the quick feet of the other survivors in getting him medical attention, had presented Houji with three quinques before he left China. Seeing Zhao’s armless stump and remembering how he had failed to fulfil Zhao’s wish of putting a final end to Chi She Lian, Houji hardly felt like he deserved them, but Zhao had insisted on rewarding Loong’s slayer. Two of the quinques were unique as the results of new studies in quinque research which combined the kakuhou of one ghoul with the cell matter of another, allowing, for instance, an ukaku quinque to be augmented with the strength of a powerful bikaku ghoul.

Such was the case with Douhi, named for the lead researcher of the project. It was a long cannon in pale yellow with curved horns protruding from either side, and it was made from the ukaku kakuhou of a Chi She Lian ghoul and the cell matter of Fei Huo.

For this reason, too, China never left him.

He pummelled out shards from Douhi that rained and slashed through the ghouls charging towards him. Even so, they were quickly swarming the place. Guards unleashed quinques and fought all around him, some pushing forward, some giving ground. Koumura was barking orders but noticeably not fighting himself, his electric baton-style quinque hanging uselessly at his side. Kagune came darting towards Houji but he blew them apart with the force of his cannon, followed by the heads of their owners.

He swung around to obliterate another kagune spiralling towards him, but lost his momentum when he saw the monstrosity. It was huge, grotesque, with jagged teeth like razor blades. The moment of hesitation allowed it to smash Douhi out of his hands and send it clattering to the floor.

The kagune’s owner appeared briefly behind it, but there was nothing brief about the tall, pony-tailed figure with his eyeless, grinning mask. He looked like trouble. Houji glanced concernedly to the far edge of their arena where Douhi had fallen metres ahead of him, but the distance was too long and the fighting too thick to retrieve it, not to mention that his opponent blocked the way. There was no chance of fighting that thing without a weapon.

He saw Koumura shrinking against the wall on the periphery of the battle. If he’s not doing anything anyway…Houji caught his eye and shouted over the fray: “Quinques!” Koumura blinked and nodded frantically, and, hesitantly raising his baton, began fighting his way to the armoury on the same floor.

As Houji watched the eyeless figure stand stock still and swing his kagune around for another attack, Houji knew that until Koumura could retrieve the weapons he needed, he would have to be exceedingly careful. He turned and dashed behind him as the kagune hurtled in his direction. Pushing his way through the calamity of ghouls and guards, the kagune found itself lost, as if confused, unable to locate Houji in the fray. Houji punched away the ghouls surrounding him with his fists, constantly keeping up his pace, knowing that if he slowed down he was dead. Yet despite his efforts, the grinning ghoul’s kagune found him again and charged at him through the crowd – eating up guard, ghoul, and anything that stood in its way.

Thankfully, Houji had calculated everything just right. Or, almost just right. He still needed to leap to the floor before the kagune bit the air in front of him and could go no further. His python of a kagune had finally ran out length. This would have not been a handicap for any other ghoul, but this was one insisted on standing still, eery and overconfident. It cocked its head to the side, confused. But the victory did not last long. Houji scrambled up and began dashing into the crowd again as slowly, it began to walk forward.

Winding and weaving through the hordes of people, ducking kagune and quinque alike in the mad fury of combat, running at the greatest pace he could muster, Houji was quickly becoming exhausted and wondered how much longer he could keep up. Finally, he heard the shout of a familiar voice over the cacophony, calling his name.

Houji leapt up and made himself as visible as he could. Before the fat kagune could devour him, Koumura hurled him two attaché cases, one of which he caught in the air. When he hit the ground, he clicked the release and sliced the toothy maw leering over his head in half. No matter how strong his opponent was, it was no match for Chi She.

The second of the hybrid quinques Zhao had given him was a koukaku-type quinque with a broad blade outlined in red and a segmented silver guard attached to a lengthy pole. Houji had recognised the quinque at first sight, save for the red. It was the poleaxe he had used to kill Loong. The already extant quinque was, in an act of grotesque irony, infused with the cell matter of its victim to create Chi She, named for the organisation that it both led and destroyed.

There was little that Loong’s claws could not cut through. Houji blitzed his way through the obstructing ghouls and darted towards the grinning ghoul, whose attention was still fixed on his mutilated kagune. With a single heavy slash, he separated the ghoul’s torso from his pelvis.

When it fell to the floor with a thud, Houji allowed himself a moment to breathe. But almost immediately, he could tell something was not right. The ghoul’s legs were still standing.

The thin strand of flesh that still stood between the two halves began retracting at an incredible speed, swinging up the ghoul’s top half with it. Squelching, the torso reattached itself, and the bloody gash regenerated as if nothing had happened. The ghoul cracked its neck.

Houji looked on in horror. What on earth was this ghoul? Such regenerative abilities were far beyond the purview of typical ghoul biology. He readied Chi She in a defensive stance as he saw his kagune regenerate instantaneously as well. He was preparing for the worst, when he heard a girl’s voice call out:

“It’s okay, Noro, I’ll deal with this one.”

The ghoul jumped backwards, and a colossal mass crashed down in front of Houji. Instinctively, he shielded himself from the blast force, but when he turned his eyes upward again he saw a thin, grinning face whose slobbering tongue alone was almost the size of his head. Houji fell back to create some distance and examined the monster in full view.

The great white behemoth was draped in a burgundy cloak, with four enormous kagune like spider legs ripping out from its sides and a set of shorter ones bursting from the top like flower petals. Its face was made up of an elongated chin, a set of four horns, and a single mad red eye. Thin arms like bird legs served as the creature’s arms while its legs were obscured by the cloak. Suffice it to say, he was dealing with a kakuja – and no ordinary one at that.

“Hooouuujiii-kun!” The creature sung in a distorted sing-song voice. Houji flinched at the recognition. How can it know me?

But then, he was thinking he was starting to recognise it as well. He had never seen it before, but he had heard the reports of the creature that had killed the wife of his mentor Mado in Houji’s absence. Could this thing be that One-Eyed Owl?

“I can’t kill you or Tatara will be pissed, so don’t worry! I’m just going to rough you up for a bit, okay?”

Tatara?

Had this thing – just said…

“Is Tatara Huo in this building?” Houji questioned desperately.

“Oh, oopsy, I said too much. Well, can’t have you interfering. Lights out for now, Houji-kun!”

The monster swung one of its chicken legs towards him and Houji lifted Chi She’s great weight just in time to block it. The force still sent him skidding across the floor, and before he knew it, one of its arachnid kagune descended on him from above. There was no time to block this one, and Houji felt his ribcage reverberate as he was knocked across the floor.

He barely had time to recover before the creature was on him again, laughing in crazed delight. Its size did not seem to impact its speed at all, and it was all Houji could do to dodge while its sledgehammer kagune came crashing down like lightning. Still, if he could avenge Associate Special Class Kasuka…

And yet, while Houji knew that was where his mind should be, it was not. He could only think of the name she had mentioned. The unfinished business which kept the memories of China swinging over his head like the sword of Damocles. Tatara. He was here. That damnable priest had been right. He was here, just for the sake of killing him; and here Houji was, fighting some other ghoul entirely.

He could make out openings in his foe’s defence, but he could not take advantage of them: because for every brief moment of rest his eyes were on the railings of Cochlea above him, searching for a white-cloaked figure amongst those endless rows of grey.

When at last, he saw him.

White cloak. White hair. Red mask. And the awed hatred burning in his eyes when they briefly met with his. Without a doubt, it was Tatara Huo. The heir of Chi She Lian was in Tokyo.

And he was fighting Arima.

This was bad. Arima was too strong, even for a Huo. Houji had seen his skill firsthand in the Clown Operation, and he had been promoted two ranks since then after forcing this very same Owl to retreat in their last encounter. Sure enough, he could already see Arima’s strikes ripping Tatara apart; at this rate, if Houji did not get up there in time, Tatara would die at the hands of a complete stranger. He could not allow that. It had to be him. For Tatara’s sake, and his own.

The Owl was quick to exploit his distraction. A clawed hand smashed him down into the Cochlea floor, and he coughed up blood as pain quivered through him. Then it hoisted him into the air, lifting him by his collar above its ecstatic face, its overgrown tongue licking the bone where its lips should be.

“Ah, but you know…I am hungry…”

There was no time for this. Houji had to leave. So with one sudden swing, he cleaved its tongue in two.

“AaaaaaAaAAAAAAAAAAAAAeEEEEEEEEEEiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIII”

The ghoul gave a cartoonish scream as it shook the blood off its broken tongue to splatter onto the floor, and in that gory mass followed Houji. His coat and suit thoroughly bloodsoaked, as the ghoul raged he pulled himself out of the red water and called for Koumura. The Warden, holding his own against the ghouls surrounding him and the remaining guards, perked his head up.

“I’ve spotted a highly dangerous ghoul. Please hold off the ghouls here before I get back!”

For all his personal failings, the Warden was an Associate Special Class Investigator. Backed up by his guards, he should be able to handle the heat for a time, at least. That was what Houji told himself. The Warden’s face went completely pale.

“But this is a highly dangerous ghoul!”

Houji paused in his dash for the stairs, and tossed Koumura his Chi She, which he caught between fumbling hands.

“You won’t lose with this.” Houji assured him, and ran for the other attaché case which Koumura had thrown to him before. It felt right, that this should be the one to end it.

He clicked the release, and Hollow swirled up his arm.

This was the third of the quinques Zhao had bestowed upon him. Wu had written a proper testament after all, albeit just a list of curt demands utterly devoid of sentiment. One of those sundry requests was that Houji inherit her quinque. No reason given. Whether it was out of any fondness for him, or if it was meant to teach him some kind of lesson, or if it was just some incomprehensible prank, Houji could not tell. To the end, he could not understand that woman. But if Hollow would put her killer to rest, that would ease the memory of yet another lost soul.

Leaving Koumura hacking away at his enemies with Chi She, Houji ran through the door to the stairway. He only prayed that he would make it in time.

--

Houji. He had seen Houji. Through the rage of blood and searing pain, Tatara was sure he had caught his eye. He was fighting some enormous ghoul, probably one of the escapees. Tatara had followed the smell to where he was: the smell that had filled his soul with such a confused anguish. He was sure that, somehow, after this long, long, year, he had smelled his brother and sister again.

For a brief, fantastical moment, Tatara imagined that they had somehow been returned to life. That they had come here to save him. When that beautiful dream was deflated and Tatara realised the gruesome truth, he went through the pain of losing his family all over again. There was only one thing it could really mean.

Kousuke Houji had perverted the bodies of his family into his personal ghoul-killing weapons.

Knowing this, he could not abide Houji’s breath a second longer. He could no longer waste time on this immovable enemy. But every time he tried he tried to turn his back on the dove, the dove would burn his back to smithereens.

His quinque was a peculiar model made from four metal planks that came together to form a lance and split apart to fire balls of electricity. The combination of short-distance and long distance fighting techniques, as utilised by the tremendous skill of its wielder, rendered any of Tatara’s attempts to either attack or escape completely useless.

Some of his hits Tatara managed to dodge within a hair’s breadth; but most connected. He could barely stand from all the wounds littered across his body. Great stretches of flesh were torn off and blackened from the force of the thunderstorm bursting from his quinque. There were huge gashes across crucial tendons in his arms and legs, and more than he could count across his chest. His face, too, had a disfiguring scar slashed straight across it that set his eyeballs stinging like they had in front of the burning house at Yangshuo. That was the last time he had ever felt so helpless. It was as if all the strength he had tireless worked to gain had evaporated in an instant.

I still can’t accomplish a single thing.

The dove, on the other hand, was completely unharmed.

Tatara collapsed to the floor with another shock from the lightning quinque. His loathing for the dove for holding him back from Houji yet again had been overwhelmed by an almost religious sense of fear. No single person could be this powerful. As he struggled to raise his head from the ground, the man stepped over him, all in white, with the light shining off his glasses and his lance still buzzing with power. The image was godlike.

He felt, then, that more than Houji, more than himself, this was the true face of Death. This man not much older than himself, with his long blue hair and cold mien, was assuredly the reaper. And to think they had crossed paths out of such random chance…

“You’re sturdy, aren’t you…” The reaper murmured as he raised his quinque over Tatara’s head.

He could not die this way. He could not die at the hands of some stranger dove, not after coming all this way. Not with Houji still breathing. He would not let even the reaper deny him that right.

Tatara’s kagune blasted from his back and slammed into the quinque, scattering it to the floor. The dove looked to where the weapon clattered away in mild surprise and dashed to retrieve it. This was Tatara’s window of opportunity. He pulled himself up, and, with a draconic roar, activated his kakuja.

The flesh was not half-formed around him before the dove sliced off all of his limbs. Tatara’s roar vanished into the air. The reaper had already retrieved his quinque and closed the distance.

It was over.

As something shattered within Tatara’s soul, his waking mind plunged into oblivion.

--

By the time Houji finally reached the railing where he had seen Tatara fighting, it was empty. Blood coated the cold metal, but there was neither ghoul nor investigator to be seen, dead or alive. He looked into the distance left and right, clutched the edge of the barrier and searched up and down for any sign of the two. There was nothing.

Houji yelled a cry of frustration that was lost beyond his throat, soundless and impotent. He hung his head in remorse that he had come too late again. And when he did, he bore witness to the bloodbath below.

Koumura, and all the guards who had fought with him, lay dead, their bodies bloody and savaged. The carcass of that mutant kakuja lay splayed out amidst the carnage. A little girl wrapped in bandages skipped over the abundance of death with the ghoul in the grinning mask in tow. Some of the ghouls had joined their victims, but not nearly so many.

As soon as he saw it, he was snapped back to his senses, and he knew he should have never gone after Tatara. That Priest had scrambled his brains. If he had simply stayed where the battle needed him most, this tragedy could have been avoided.

Raising his head, he saw ghouls spread out all across the facility, running towards cells and smashing open their windows. Houji realised with horror that it had only been a portion of their forces he had fought on the ground floor, and that first and foremost, it had served as a distraction. He had been so concerned with keeping the Priest and his fellow SS Rates behind bars, the ghouls had exercised free rein over the rest of the prison, releasing C Rates and B Rates and A Rates and S Rates alike.

There were more guards than those who had fought with Koumura, but they were evidently ill-equipped to deal with the threat, and there was no sign of Arima. That left it to him. He readied Hollow.

This was the last time, he swore. The last time he ever let his conscience get the better of him.

Pulling the trigger, he unleashed hell from above.

--

When Tatara awoke, it was dark, and it was raining.

He lifted himself off the ground with the stubs of his half-regenerated arms as the water assaulted his face like tears. He could not see anything in the blackness. Wherever he was, it was not Cochlea.

He had failed to kill Houji.

He tried to stand, but his legs were only stumps, too. Pathetically, he fell head first into the watery concrete with a clang of his mask, grazing his already swollen face. How did he end up like this? He tried to lift himself again.

“Kishou really did a number on you, huh, Tatara?”

Tatara started at the voice, and almost fell over again. He recognised it. That crooning, mocking tone was the last thing he needed right now. He ignored her and drew out his kagune. He smashed it into the paving stones, dragging his incomplete body behind it.

“Woah woah woah, where are you going?” She asked. Tatara could just see her through the darkness by the single glow of her red eye.

“Cochlea. To kill Houji. Where else.” He growled. His throat was coarse, his voice pained and too quiet to sound as firm as he intended.

“Ugh, seriously? And here I thought we taught you a lesson. You’re a stubborn bastard, I’ll give you that. Stubborn and foolish.”

Tatara twisted his form around in bewildered anger. His eyes adjusting to the dark, he could see the outline of her mummified form. In the shadowlight, those rabbit ears on her hood made her look like some kind of devil.

“What – are you saying…?”

“I’m saying my buddy just fucked you up, on my orders.”

Tatara’s eyes dilated. That couldn’t be. There was no way that could be.

“How do you think we got into Cochlea in the first place, numbskull? He let us in. Kishou Arima is my partner in crime. Oh, but don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

A dove? Working with a ghoul? It was impossible. Unheard of. She was lying. She had to be lying, messing with his head.

“I started the fight.” He argued back, between coughs of blood he caught in his mask. “I came to him.”

“And you saw him because he was on his way to fight you. Oh, and for the record, that’s why I positioned him there in the first place. Told him to spread some rumours about an impending ghoul attack on Cochlea, and to bring Houji along, of course.”

Tatara was becoming furious. What was she saying? She had been orchestrating the situation, the whole time?

“Ah,” she continued rambling, “he was a bit of a wildcard, though. We weren’t able to rescue as many ghouls as we wanted because of him. He killed one of our guys for every prisoner we sprung, which was kind of a pain. But this,” her eye shone down at him through the darkness, “this makes it all worth it.”

Tatara lost it. He ripped his kagune from the concrete and sent it swirling around Eto, trapping her in the same constrictor hold as before. She stood motionless in its folds as the dirge of heavy rain resounded around them.

“What are you talking about?” He screamed. “You only went to Cochlea because I made you!”

“No,” Eto responded unperturbed, and in a flash she suddenly expanded. A gigantic kagune emerged from her back and swung up her arm, knotted and swollen, the size of a car, with hundreds of branches like withered trees and human hands. Tatara’s kagune hold was broken in an instant, and the hand at the head of Eto’s abomination now caught Tatara’s throat and hoisted him into the air.

“You went to Cochlea because I tricked you.”

Tatara thrashed uselessly, wheezing for air. He could not breathe. Everything burned. The monster beneath him grinned with a daemoniacal aspect. It was dark. It was cold. He could not move his arms. He could not move his legs. Why was this happening?

“We’d planned to infiltrate Cochlea for ages. How else would we have been able to do it in two days’ time? When you wouldn’t join us the first time, I asked Kishou to plant himself and Houji in Cochlea so you would come along on this little mission of ours. He heard all about your past from Houji, and I heard all about it from him. I wanted nothing better than to snatch the object of your desire right from under you, exactly when you were so close to dying just the way you want. Then, I wanted to really teach you about death. That was Kishou’s specialty. So he sliced you up good and proper and gave you back to me before I made my getaway, which brings us up to now.”

Tatara hated the woman below him more than even Houji at that moment. He hated her for going to such lengths just to make him suffer, and when he thought about how he had fallen for every trap she had set, he began to fear her too.

“Then you – you let me win?!”

“Duh, and the drones you killed were far from my best people, either. After you tried so hard turning them into charcoal and taking down Noro, I decided I didn’t want to deny you your victory. Nothing better than a shot of overconfidence to show you how unprepared you really are. You were always joining me in Cochlea, whether you agreed to come along, I made you come along, or I tricked you into coming along and let you think it was your own idea. I figured the last option would be the best one. I wanted to break you in the right way.” Under her bandages, she seemed to lick her lips. “I am an author, after all.”

The world distorted below Tatara. Amidst the shadows he thought he could see an army of demons, and the sky began undulating like a sea of fire. Between the hell in the sky and its spawn on the ground, Eto’s small form seemed to flare up like a rising flame, synchronising with the twisted form of her gargantuan arm.

“Ah, but Tatara,” her voice seemed to carry on the red ocean, rising, “I didn’t do this because I hate you or anything. Actually, I really like you. I really want you to join Aogiri Tree. That’s why I did it.”

It was all sound to Tatara. Senseless sound. The primal religious terror that Tatara had felt with Arima, he now felt with Eto. They had the power to mean nothing at all.

Eto released her grip, and with panic Tatara came crashing to the ground, smacking his head against the concrete. It made him dizzy, but he retained enough consciousness to see the form of the blurred demon in front of him approach with the scores of laughing night behind her. She lifted his chin, and brought her faceless face close to his, boring her red eye into his own.

“Your brother and sister sacrificed themselves for you, but how are you using that life? You’re running around like a mad dog, living in pits and on roadsides, biting strangers just for the sake of biting them. You justify it to yourself, if it’s all for the sake of killing Houji, Houji, Houji, Houji. But this has nothing to do with Houji. It’s not for the sake of your family either. I think, Tatara, deep down, you really just want to kill yourself. Am I wrong?”

“Y-You are-”

“Not.” Eto cut him off. “I can see it. In these.” She brought out two fingers, and pressed them hard into Tatara’s eyes. He screamed.

“Don’t you think your brother would have wanted you to continue the legacy of Chi She Lian? Don’t you think that’s why he protected you? You can’t do that alone, but that’s exactly what you’re doing. Chi She Lian wanted to build a better world for ghouls, but you couldn’t care less about that. You don’t even care about avenging their deaths. If you kill Houji along the way, well, that’s a plus, but when push comes to shove, you want to fight Houji so you can die against Houji and join your family in the pit.”

“N-no, that’s not-“ He shouted out desperately in his blindness.

“True.” Eto cut him off. “It’s true. I can taste it. In these.”

Tatara felt fingers tugging at his mask, and he heard its metallic clatter on the pavement. Then he felt something warm descend on his lips. It sucked on them like seawater, and something wormish slipped in, sliding against Tatara’s tongue, tugging it forwards. He felt compelled to reciprocate. He just wanted something warm to cling onto. Everything hurt. His body. Her words. Everything.

It was lasting too long, and he was struggling to breathe again. But when the warmth left him and he heaved for air, he missed it with a paranoid intensity. He moved his lips motionlessly.

“Want more?” He heard Eto’s voice coo down to him.

He nodded frantically, dignity long gone, desperate only for the warm bosom of something like love.

“I’ll give you more.” Came her voice, maternal and soothing.

He felt something touch his bottom lip, but it was not warm. It was cold, and sharp, and it stabbed right through it. Tatara screamed.

“Sh, sh, sh, sh.” Eto whispered softly in his ear. “No more noise. I’ll do your speaking for you.”

Then she began to sing.

“Tyger, tyger, burning bright,”

He could feel string being pulled through the hole behind the needle, and then the same pain on his top lip.

“In the forest of the night,”

He felt too terrified to scream any more, and after each stab came the string, closing up his mouth, one by one.

“What immortal hand or eye,”

He did not know if he would ever be able to scream again.

“Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

Her movements stopped, and Tatara knew that the stitching must be complete. He was too horrified to risk speaking, so she spoke for him, whispering the words he needed to hear.

“You can still atone, Tatara, you can still honour your family’s legacy. I mean to change the world through Aogiri. There are forces at work that only Kishou and I know about, who want to keep everything exactly the way it is. Aogiri is the only organisation that can stop them. The only force that can truly save our species. We will create the world Yan wanted to see.”

Her voice calmed Tatara even through the residual agony burning on his lips. Here, it sounded soft, honest, itself pained, unlike the ruthless mockery and interrogation of before.

“You’re lost, confused, lashing out after everything was taken from you. I understand, I used to be the same. But it’s okay now. I’ll make everything better. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

The pressure lifted from Tatara’s eyeballs, and he opened them with a flutter of fear. He could see Eto lit up beneath the fire-sky, her bandages unravelling to reveal her bare skin and her beautiful face, looking at him gently through one green eye and one red. Tatara breathed faintly through his stitched mouth in awe.

“I will become your God.”

At that moment, he thought he fell in love with her.

--

Three days after the assault on Cochlea, Special Class Houji stared out from his office window at an afternoon sky awash with the first splashes of sunset. The redness of its waves sank his mind even deeper in its ruminations. He had only one thought that came with fire.

His office was otherwise empty, save for the entry, to his surprise, of First Class Arima. They hailed each other in greeting as Arima walked over to Houji’s desk.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with Special Class Washuu.”

“Oh?”

Arima pre-empted his question. “The guarding of Cochlea was my operation, so it was only me that they questioned. They didn’t blame you for its failure at all.”

They should, Houji thought to himself guiltily. It felt as though he was constantly being lifted up by others and protected for his misdeeds. A demotion or two would have been more than warranted.

Arima seemed to notice his fallen face. “Our conduct was not subjected to scrutiny. The other Special Classes are unanimous that we mediated the damage as best we could. It was Koumura and his lax administration that was lacking. He should have taken the threat more seriously, and, so Special Class Washuu said, so should have his father the Chairman. But with the number of ghouls you killed in particular, they are certain many more would have been released were it not for your presence.”

Arima spoke with nothing like consolation or pity, but in the same controlled, professional voice he always had. It made Houji feel more confident in his judgement. Although ghouls as dangerous as Jason and the Tail Brothers had made it out, he had at least kept his promise to the Priest, who was still rotting away in his cell curmudgeonly.

Despite that, he knew his inner sin. And despite that, he still could not stop himself from asking, one last time:

“First Class Arima, thank you for your words. But I still have one question, if I may.”

Arima looked down at him expressionlessly. “Go on.”

“What happened to the ghoul I saw you fighting with? It had a white cloak with a flame pattern, and a red iron mask.”

There was a hint – just a hint - of surprise in his reaction. “Ah, that one. It got away. It was surprisingly strong.”

“Even for you?”

Arima gave a polite, artificial smile. “Even for me.”

Houji gave such a smile of his own as he turned his attention back to the reddening sky.

“Thank you, First Class Arima.”

“Special Class.” Came Arima’s voice in acknowledgement, followed by his receding footsteps.

Too strong for Arima…

If that was true, Tatara would already be his brother’s equal. Houji turned his gaze to the cases containing the quinques he had retrieved from Cochlea, and remembered all the blood that had been spilt to make them. When the day came to finally end this struggle, he knew much more would follow.

When the day comes.

For now though, Houji knew better than to try and rush things to a conclusion. For now, he would pursue his duties in the CCG to the utmost of his ability, just as he always had, and put his personal desires aside. One day, he knew, he would finally meet Tatara in battle; but he would come to that day the long way round.

Forgive me, Tatara. I cannot give you peace yet.

--

The lotuses were in bloom.

Full red colour burst brilliantly on the flowers floating in the pond. Their leaves were stained as if from blood, but they had become something beautiful. Tatara pondered how far they had come since the shrivelled shrubs of the Yangshuo retreat. The flowers may be different, but his eyes were the same.

“Ah, he’s here.”

Eto’s voice called to him from the side. She was not wearing her bandages today, but appeared to him as he first saw her – or not quite. She too had bloomed. In what he had once seen as a childish nuisance he now saw the very spirit of power.

There was only one who could rival her. At the top of the slope from the forested alcove, where the pond lay hidden in the empty cemetery, stood the white-coated form of the reaper. Standing there, Kishou Arima appeared as a concentrated sunbeam, radiant in burning majesty. Tatara could truly believe he was the One-Eyed King.

There was much to this world Tatara had not known which Eto had shown him. V. The Washuu clan. Half-ghouls and half-humans. She told him about her past and Arima’s both, and about their plan, to raise a successor to achieve their dream of uprooting that warped root and creating a peaceful world for ghouls. He was reminded of how Yan had groomed him for that very similar role, and had saved him, in the end, for that purpose.

He and Eto ascended the slope to meet Arima. The King could not come down to his subjects. When they reached the top of the hill, Tatara fell on one knee before him.

“Welcome, Tatara.”

“King.” He responded with deference, his voice muffled behind his mask and stitched mouth. Now that he had fully regenerated, he was presentable for the ceremony. Eto had even ordered a new robe to be spun for him for the occasion; but not an Aogiri one. It was a Chi She Lian robe, decorated with the same licking flames at the bottom, but free from all the dirt, filth and blood of his old one.

“You seek to join Aogiri Tree?”

“If I may have that honour.”

“The honour would be ours.” Arima’s face was pensive. “I have heard you are a ghoul of ambition. Certainly, besides Eto you are the strongest ghoul I have fought in my career. Few have lasted so long against me. But, you are not the heir we are looking for. Do you still wish to join us?”

Tatara knew as much from Eto. That was another reason she had him fight Arima: they had decided that the messiah they needed was a ghoul strong enough to kill him. Again like Yan, their commitment to their mission extended beyond the parameters of their own lives. But Tatara had not managed to lay a dent in Arima. Despite Yan’s hopes, he was not the saviour the ghoul world needed.

“I do, King.”

His insufficiency for that role had been hammered into him excruciatingly in his one-sided ‘fights’ with Arima and Eto both, but he had found peace with it now. There was another way to honour Yan’s legacy.

He would take on the role Yan did. He would advance the cause of Aogiri Tree to raise up the true messiah, who would finally save the ghouls from their damnation to torment and tragedy that Tatara knew so well. Yan had thrown him into the fire to make him strong enough to survive, and that was what Tatara meant to do this world. How had Eto put it? To take this fucked up, piece of shit world, fuck it up even more and then give it a factory reset.

“Your humility does you credit. It is a small organisation yet, but I have full confidence that you can take it to greater heights.”

Arima released his attaché case, and brought out his lance-like quinque. Tatara did not flinch.

“In honour of your strength, your heritage, and the role you played in the honourable cause of our martyred comrades in Chi She Lian, I hereby dub you a leader of Aogiri Tree.”

Arima tapped his quinque lightly on each of Tatara’s shoulders. The honour surprised him. He felt greatly humbled. Eto was smiling widely at him, and he was glad his mask obscured the blood he felt rushing to his cheeks.

“Looks like we’ll be working together closely, Tatara.”

Arima nodded. “The two of you and Noro will bring the organisation forward while I maintain my cover in the CCG.”

“King, I will not squander this honour you have given me.” Speaking so ceremonially, Tatara felt like he was performing once more in the disciplined rites of Chi She Lian. It gave his life an order he desperately needed.

Arima gave another nod and looked towards the sunset. “With that settled, I should be leaving. Oh, one last thing.” He fixed Tatara with a steady gaze. “Houji asked after you.”

Tatara lowered his head.

“Is that so?”

“Do you still want to kill him?

There was no doubt about that. He could never forgive the lives he took from him, especially not after he made them into his quinques. But he had already seen where haste had taken him. He turned his eyes upwards again.

“The work of Aogiri Tree comes first and foremost.”

Now he had a real reason to live, there was no need to rush things. He would continue the work of Chi She Lian first and foremost, and take his revenge the long way round. His God was different now. Arima gave a small smile, and Eto did too.

“I see.” Arima responded. “Then, fare well, Tatara. I wish you luck.”

“King.” Tatara lowered his head again in respect. When he looked up again, he could see Arima’s snow-white back descending down the cemetery path. They waited by the pond fo r a little while longer to put distance between them.

Tatara rose and felt his shoulders. A leader of Aogiri Tree. Arima had given him quite the gift. He had been blessed, many times over, and not just by Arima. His very ability to stand there that day, watching the lotuses float by and the sky fall into deeper depths of red – his life itself – was a agift to him from Fei. The purpose symbolised by his robes and the mask he felt on his face were given to him by Yan. And the stitches he stroked beneath it were bestowed upon him by Eto.

They carried her unique scent. They smelled of human and ghoul, of blood and of lotus petals.

Looking back, it was scents like this one that Tatara had followed from the start. The smell of the flowers had taken him to the catfish pond, and the odour of blood had taken him to that ghoul in the alleyway. The stink of power and vengeance had summoned him to the Longxia’s den, whereas Fei had merely followed Tatara’s scent, and Yan a scent greater than either of them could detect. The doves followed that bloody miasma to Xuhangli, the same reek that brought Eto to him; and the whiff of Houji’s blood, blended with that of his family, had brought Tatara to Cochlea. Everywhere, anywhere, the strength of their noses had led them to destruction.

But even so, he wanted to see where Eto’s scent would lead him. That predatory instinct to follow the smell of something more was common to ghouls and humans alike, and he could no more defy it than he could shut out the roaring of the flames that burned in his brain since that fateful day in Yangshuo. No matter where it took him, he knew that the smell she was following came from something real, if just out of sight. So he would follow the smell of her. With these stitches, she had given him the promise of a new world.

She turned to him as the burning sky cast her in a light as terrible and beautiful as herself.

“Let’s go, Tatara.”

“Mm.”

Together, they walked down the graveyard path beneath the setting sun, towards the great ghoul dawn.

[theheartsjourney]

The Public Square (1923) - Will Levington Comfort

D. Appleton and Company, New York. 320 pages.

“This isn’t an English-Indian story. It’s a story of all the world.“

CW: murder/massacre, animal (horse) death, war

The book primarily follows its first narrator, Pandora "Pidge" Musser, although it varies from chapter to chapter. Fresh from Los Angeles to New York to work independently as a writer, nineteen-year-old Pidge enters a rooming house on 54 Harrow Street in Greenwich Village. The owner is the calm and experienced figure of Miss Claes, an Indian-American, who takes the role of a mentor figure to Pidge.

Others who take residence in the building are Nagar, or Mr. Naidu, Richard "Dicky" Cobden, and a "couple of girl-pals; one works in a restaurant to support the other who is to become a prima donna; [and] a couple of decayed vaudeville artists looking for a legacy" (32) who--to my great disappointment--never appear.

Nagar is the writer and Hindu friend of Miss Claes. He presents his story, "The Little Man" to the Public Square, where Dicky, the weekly paper's reader, is enthralled by the narrative of Gandhi. Dicky leaves his wealthy home on East 50th Street to join the others at Harrow. There, he believes he'll find inspiration among the artist-types to write his magnum opus.

Loves tangle from there. Two additional characters are introduced to complete Comfort's commentary on relationships: Fanny Gallup and Rufus Melton. Fanny, the destitute, worldly girl from the Lenox way factory, embodies woman ruined in her search for love, and Rufus the type of confident man who loves for himself--even if he must beguile and silence for it.

Pidge's struggles with love are raw and convincing. Despite craving comfort, she refuses to allow Dicky to love her by his imaginary ideal of her. She prefers the independence she escaped Los Angeles for--even if it exhausts her and starves her to keep. The peace a husband's salary could give her is too easily won for her to accept.

Yet the past combines with her need for "experiences, life" (107) in Rufus Melton, a man whose self-serving love is still a constant battle for her to accept. She never manages to change herself for him--rather, in the same way she did for her father, she adapts, ignores, and tolerates his presence as she can. Comfort compares the two directly: "she was lacking in the ability to detach herself from Melton, as from the influence of her father" (93). When she first capitulates to Rufus' advances, she even blames it on being her “father's child (134). As her tenderness for Rufus wanes, the narration also comments that “Rufus thought her extremely selfish. So had her father" (157).

Rufus again acts as a foil to her father in the way his character is treated off-scene. Chasing a story, he departs for WWI France--and is promptly forgotten by the narrative. When he reappears, he is trapped in a new marriage and is potentially shell-shocked. Dicky frees him--and he is forgotten again. His absence does not have the same power over her as Adolf Musser did, yet even his wanes as Pidge matures: when Adolf falls ill and Pidge rushes to him, she “suddenly discovered she had a father” (221) as though she had forgotten him.

To an extent, the act of saving Rufus and forgetting him places Dicky in the same role as Pidge. While Dicky is away in India and France, Pidge has taken his place in The Public Square as reader, completing the exchange of roles. Their codependence and unshakable link remains throughout the novel. This relationship asserts that their link is not as lovers but comrades. 

When rejecting Dicky's proposal a second time, Pidge states:

“Do I have to begin by saying how dear you are— how kind, how utterly good it is to know you; what it means to have faith and trust in one man?”

“Please not, Pidge.”

“But never forget it, Dicky. It’s the pedestal upon which everything’s builded. Always remember that I know you underneath; that I turn to you in trouble—not like a brother or father or lover, but what our word *comrade* means—what it will sometime mean to many people!" (106)

The word "comrade" calls to Comfort's language in his Will Levington Comfort Letters (1920). He dedicated the volume of letters "To The Comrades," referring to his compatriots in the spiritual sect he headed called The Glass Hive. In the first letter, he states that "We should belong to one another better in the Long Road sense, in the sense of the real meaning of the word Comrade" (WLC Letters, 2). The second letter clarifies that his purpose in the volume is "to touch the real Comrade within you, for I have an Immortal Friend there, one who would die for me every day" (WLC Letters, 8).

When Dicky attempts to make a lover of her, she refuses: comradeship is the higher relationship to her. None of Pidge's relationships have the power to alter her character but the one with Dicky. Her empathy for others in financial hardship is sourced from her time working in the exhaustion and hunger of the labeling factory. Nothing in her sense of value or work ethic was dictated to her by another.  But after rejecting her novel manuscript for being too shallow, Dicky unwittingly changes Pidge: she sets her writing aside, understands the naivety of it and herself, and matures as a reader instead. 

Dicky does not understand this relation at first, and in contrast, he does nothing but develop based on others' influences. Most of those influences are Indian: Nagar's "Little Man" tale inspiring him to write an equivalent story, Miss Claes' wisdom at the Punjabi dinner where they gather after the fallout of his first failed proposal, Gandhi's comment on marriage that reawakens Dicky's love for Pidge. In the critical scene of Pidge's second refusal of Dicky’s proposal, she states, "Miss Claes and Nagar lose themselves in nations. You’re getting to be like them" (107). Furthermore, Dicky’s development  moves in tandem with that of India throughout the climax, which Comfort summarizes as "there had been death and birth for India and for himself" (283).

In its later pages, the novel places Dicky amidst the Indian nationalist movement of Gandhi. In particular, Comfort references "The Rowlatt Bills," likely referring to the "Black Bills" which preceded the Rowlatt Act. Introduced March 18, 1919, this act allowed the government to arrest and incarcerate without trial anyone on grounds of inciting terrorism in support of the Indian nationalism. Dicky arrives in late May to reunite with Gandhi and understand the position of "The Little Man" in international politics. The pacing swiftly moves onto April, where Dicky is nearby the arrest of Dr. Satyapal and Dr. Kitchlew--public figures who campaigned against the Rowlatt Act and who, being Hindu and Muslim respectively,  promoted unity. The resulting Jallianwala Bagh massacre is also covered.

I adore this excerpt of from the Jallianwala Bagh scene. Dicky confronts General Fyatt (Reginald Dyer) at the head of the massacre

Dicky felt the horrible slowness over everything—that somehow there was not in this man’s volition the power to order the firing to cease. No recognition showed in Fyatt’s eyes. He stared. It was like the man who had stared at him on the docks in Bombay, when he heard that America had entered the War.

“I only wanted to ask —” Dicky stopped and raised his voice above the tumult of shots and voices. “Cobden of New York—saw you in France!’’

[...] “Ah, Cobden. Heard you were in town. Busy, you know!”

“I see!” the American yelled back. He felt like a maniac. “I see! I merely wanted to ask, General, if you had gone mad—or have I?” (277-8)

Comfort’s description style of the massacre closely resembles his techniques to describing the trauma of WWI combat in Red Fleece (1915). His sentences are fragmented and disorderly, and smooth comprehension is abandoned for the narrator’s uncertainty. Another mirror in his combat writing is through specters. Dicky notes feeling as though Pidge were with him through his transformation into a “world citizen” (292). Despite recognizing the absurdity of it, he allows himself to find comfort in her imagined presence--and he notes that "things of this kind had often happened to soldiers on the battlefields of France" (285). The phrase has merit in Comfort's experience and in others. Sassoon (Diaries 1915-1918, 68) and Bird (Ghosts Have Warm Hands, 38), for example, describe seeing loved ones in moments of stress. Twice the protagonist in Comfort's second WWI novel senses his love nearby: "he fancied her near..." (Red Fleece, 134) and "she had been near" (Red Fleece, 148). 

Still--not wishing to distract from the novel's theme towards India--Comfort spends a brief time in WWI France and Arabia "with young Tom Lawrence, whose fame Dicky Cobden helped to make" (137). The French portion receives a short chapter set near the Meuse–Argonne offensive ("The 'Oregon' forest," 197) which contains a passage I found memorable:

His mount had turned gently away in the thickening dusk, turned on his toe corks through the slush to follow a wind-blown leaf. Plop — a water-soaked trench-siding gave way, and Yorick disappeared into an unused pit. [...] Yorick looked like a monster in the process of being born out of the mud. There was something both humorous and hopeless about the gaunt lifted head that came up into the ray. And now Dicky discovered that Yorick’s left foreleg below the knee veered off suddenly to the left, at a decided angle from the way it should lie. Dicky felt alone in a harrowing underworld. [...]

“Pretty lucky old boy, you are,” Dicky said. “Work done, war over for you, nice warm ditch to lie up in at the last, and I’ve got to take all the responsibility.”

He drew the pistol from his belt and placed it on the little twist of hair halfway between the eyes.

“I ought to take the saddle off first, but I’m not going to. So long, old kid, and best luck.”

The pistol banged in the dugout like a cannon cracker under a flower pot, and the voice of an American sentry above was heard to say:

‘‘Some fool’s blowed his head off, down there. Why in hell can’t a man be patient!”

Although not a complete surprise coming from Comfort's strong anti-war background, the novel references support for the pacifist movement. John Higgans, the Public Square's editor, wrote a pacifist article in outrage of his conscientious objector friend's arrest. Despite knowing it would doom the Public Square, Higgans pushes to publish the article. Pidge convinces him not to, and he cedes ownership of the paper to her and Dicky. Thus, despite its feature on little more than a page, the scene contributes to the novel's imaginary future story: the tale of the press in the hands of Pidge and Dicky.

But the Public Square is not the ultimate point of the novel. Neither is Pidge--which weakens the novel’s impact after spending so much time wither her. Dicky is key. The value of the story is in his transformation, but even that is muddled toward the end.

Even after every change India and Indian culture has wrought in Dicky, he concludes though the trauma specter of Pidge that it was her influence that matured him. He goes so far as to say “The Little Man has made me see [...] the great thing you have done [...] pushing me back into myself ” (292-3). By relegating Gandhi--and India in extension--to a supportive role for Pidge, the novel completely undermines the strength of Dicky’s world citizenship. All his work towards his journalism--watching Nagar be whipped, drilling himself to avoid partisanship, neglecting his family for India--is abandoned for what he suddenly realizes is to “at last to become connected to her this way, though across the world" (286).

Furthermore, Pidge’s character relied deeply on the concept of the Comrade. Instead, her role in maturing him is as a “the man-maker a wife must be” (292). While the novel’s final pages do not state explicit romance, the intention is obvious: Pidge is to be divorced from Rufus, she confesses that she is “dying to be a woman” (318), and she repeatedly asks Dicky for rest--the thing he offered her in his original proposal.

It’s a disappointing finish on an otherwise well-done book. Comfort’s love for his settings genuinely shows. His characters--while not very complex--are effective and generally interesting. The language he uses is beautiful and rewarding, and the way he conveys empathy is clear and moving without grim moralizing.

---

The Public Square dust cover from Yesterday’s Gallery.

Everybody’s Magazine Feb 1923 cover from rarerecordsncollectibles on eBay.

Everybody’s Magazine Mar 1923 image, page 105 by C. R. Chickering.

Everybody’s Magazine Apr 1923 image, page 155 by C. R. Chickering.

Everybody’s Magazine May 1923 image, page 149 by C. R. Chickering.