#womens harlequin costume

[designedandplated]

Costumes, 1908.

1830s (right), Cleopatra (centre), Harlequin (left)

[winterlogysblog]

4KOTA HIGHSCHOOL AU

Liones University

Founder - Bartra Liones President - Meliodas Vice President - Gilthunder Prefect of Disipline - Dreyfus School Doctor - Hendrickson Middle School Principal - Guila Highschool Principal - Howzer Drama Teacher - Gowther PE and Science Teacher - Derieri PE Teacher - Griamore

Known Groups (Past):

The Seven Deadly Sins - Delinquent Gang led by Meliodas (yes, the president of the school) Members: Meliodas - Former Leader of The Ten Commandments; President of Liones University Ban - Owner of Fox's Sin (Bar & Resto) Escanor - Veteran Soldier Harlequin - Alias: King; Fashion and Costume Designer; Owner of Chastiefol (Fashion Clothing Brand) Diane - Former Ballerina; Model for Chastiefol Gowther - Drama Teacher of Liones University; Producer and Owner of Nadja Theater Merlin - Former Vice President of Camelot Academy

The Ten Commandments - Delinquent Gang led by Zeldris Members: Zeldris - Owner of Underworld Corp. Mael - Former Member of The Four Archangels Derieri - PE and Science Teacher of Liones Academy Monspeet - In the US Gloxinia - In France Drole - Also in France Melascula - Professor at Camelot University Galland - Professor at Camelot University Grayroad - <No information found> Fraudrin - <No information found>

The Four Archangels - Student Council Group Members: Ludociel - President Mael - Former Vice President turned member of the Ten Commandments Sariel - Secretary Tarmiel - Comittee Chairman

Known Groups (Present):

The Four Knights of the Apocalypse - just a gaggle of individuals Members: Lancelot - Captain of the Basketball Team; Models for Chastiefol in his free time (either he gets paid or he gets free stuff); Straight A Student (he doesn't even try); Subject of expertise - Math Percival - The most innocent bean known around Campus; Subject of Expertise - Foreign Language (doesn't know why he's good at it) Gawain - Former Camelot University Student; Captain of the Women's Volleyball team; Straight A Student; Self proclaimed chick magnet; Subject of Expertise - Science Tristan - Student Council President; Straight A Student (you're doing great sweetie); Subject of Expertise - Science and History

Percival Platoon - 4kota sub-group led by Percival Members: Anne - President of Fencing Club; Straight A Student; Subject of Expertise - English Donny - Varsity Basketball Player; Subject of Expertise - PE Nasiens - Hendrickson's assistant; Models for Chastiefol in his free time (automatic free stuff); has an obvious crush on Percy; Straight A Student; Subject of Expertise - Science and Geography

Tristan Platoon - 4kota sub-group led by Tristan Members: Isolde - Cheer Captain; has an obvious crush on Tristan; Subject of Expertise - Art and Design Chion - Campus A-hole; Does not care about anybody except for Tristan (Isolde and Jade too but mainly Tristan); Subject of Expertise - Science and History Jade - The tolerable one; has an obvious crush on Isolde; Subject of Expertise - Geography

Lancelot Platoon - 4kota sub-group led by Lancelot Members: Sixtus - Foreign Exchange Student (currently in France staying with Uncle Glox and Drole); Subject of Expertise - History (really good at memorizing specific dates) Tioreh - Member of the Gymnastics Club; Subject of Expertise - Arts and Design

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Pedrolino vs. Pierrot

Pedrolino vs. Pierrot (Part 2) 

Part 1 covered the history of this theatre genre, so head over there for background information.  

Now, why does Sally choose a Pedrolino costume of all the commedia costumes?  When I think of Sally, I think loud and brash and incredibly confident.  She is performing all the time and she thinks she is AMAZING at it.  Based on what we know, which character would we expect her to take?

She is vain enough to want to have the major role, so that could be one of The Lovers, but those characters have to be somewhat subdued and they don’t have a recognizable costume.  I would pick Il Capitano for her because of the boasting and love of attention.  All things considered, though, obviously she is going to pick Arlecchino (Harlequin).  This is the guy that has stuck with us through the centuries.  Pedrolino gets some play, especially in the move to Pierrot, but he becomes another thing entirely—the precursor of mime and clowning.  

Harlequin is everywhere. 

I grew up with mass produced art of Harlequin at the end of the hall in my childhood home.  Famous artists have painted him, hobby artists have painted him, he’s on the decks of playing cards as the joker, and then the most modern iteration of Harlequin is the Joker’s main squeeze, Harley Quinn.  And once you think about it, she is pretty spot on.  Harlequin is not afraid to beat someone with that stick he carries.  The Joker is also an avatar based on the tradition.   

We have pictures of Pedrolino/Pierrot as well, but it really isn’t as common to see him, or even Pierrot, that much.  Let's take a look at the differences between the two characters.   

I cannot see this without thinking of Groucho's line: "How do you sleep with such big buttons on your pajamas?"

There are sources that somewhat conflate some of the Zanni’s, particularly Arleccino and Pedrolino.  However, there are very distinct deliniations of the characters in a lot of examples, with Pedrolino and Arleccino presented as rivals for the love of Columbina.  Generally, Pedrolino would be the servant of one of the main characters, though usually Arleccino serves the lead. (Women have a long history of being either banished from the stage or suffering through flat dialogue and action.)  The Wikipedia article details Pedrolino as the first or primary Zanni, but from my readings, that distinction is less defined.  I find it really hard to believe that when faced with a character in bright patchwork who was quick and nimble and clever and acrobatic, that the crowd would be turning to the more serious guy dressed in white instead. 

Pedrolino, often the butt of Arlecchino’s jokes, or a participant in setting up others, was a more serious, intense kind of character.  This is something you see when Columbina comes in.  Arlecchino is bright and sassy and fun, but Pedrolino is completely taken with her and that love informs his entire life.  The words used to describe Pedrolino in this article are “a Janus-faced aspect.”

Janus is a Roman god, depicted with two faces.  He sees the past and the future and is present in moments of transition.  He is also associated with the moon, as it changes; it’s always in a state of transition.  These characters, Pedrolino in particular, is associated with the moon because of his moodiness and feelings of love.  Once he sees Columbina, he is smitten and is changed, his mind moved to wooing her.  Pedrolino is all romance as a counterpoint to Arlecchino’s fuck boy.   

This is something to be explored in a bit when Sally comes in. 

The costumes of Arleccino and Pedrolino are distinct from each other, but similar in theme; Arleccino is wearing a costume primarily make of patches (like that old joke of so many patches that no original material is left) and Pedrolino wears a costume that is far too big for him, most likely cast offs from his master.  Pedrolino typically did not wear a mask, but instead wore white makeup, called infarinato.  This lead to the creation of modern clown make up, which started as Pedrolino’s flour-like make-up.  As you can see above, there is still some tradition of Pedrolino wearing a mask, which as you can see, has exaggerated cheeks and raised eyebrows, which was meant to portray humor, openness, and innocence.  Arleccino’s mask (which was much more common) was meant to reference his quick wit and love of mischief, but also to give him a satyr-like aspect (spicy).   

I didn’t get into masks heavily in the prior piece, so just a bit here.  We discussed the characters and that they wore costumes related to their archetype.  For many (with the exception of The Lovers, Pedrolino, and sometimes Columbina), their masks were built to identify the characters, but also to present the personalities of the characters in a highly symbolized manner.  These masks are created in the Greek tradition, though the Greeks tended to focus on the emotion being portrayed, sometimes leading to actors changing masks as they move through the action (It’s all part of that Aristotelian catharsis, baby).  The masks in commedia could also reinforce racial and religious stereotypes existing in society, which I don’t really want to get into.  The point of that is that sometimes these masks had exaggerated features, which would be another source of info for the audience.  In addition to the masks, the characters would also highlight various appendages or areas of the body, for example, the lustful Pantalone was often portrayed with some kind of phallic costume piece to stress that he is lustful inappropriately (as the ingenue is far too young for him, etc.).  This is a somewhat regular feature of theatre throughout time, because everyone loves dick jokes.   

Pedrolino became a popular character, making the jump to French theatre, but they renamed him Pierrot, which is basically "little Peter" in French.  As Pierrot, the costume became more stylized, and the cone shaped hat and large buttons became staples.  A famous French actor portraying Pedrolino, Jean-Gaspard Deburau (1796-1846) played the character for 20 years, moving him into mime territory.  Yes, Pedrolino becomes the proto-mime (though I did see references to mimes existing before this, but it could be either AI or a very strange clown fandom.)   This character not only moved toward mime, but also modern clowning, with the makeup (as mentioned before) and a use of the same kind of bits.  Clowns often perform acrobatics, are the target of pranks, and use the slapstick clumsiness that was a staple of the character.   

Pierrot is often described as “moonstruck” which is a phrase that means affected by the moon, but generally is also a way of saying that someone is in love.  It refers to the changeable phases of the moon and a kind of out-of-this world focus.  Generally, mental illness is referenced, stemming from a belief that the phases of the moon could affect people’s moods, sanity, and behavior.   

Pierrot is often pictured with the moon: 

As you can see, these are from around the same time period, so we definitely have a shift in focus to Pedrolino as being very romantic. Not a Harlequin in sight.

These images are referring to his romantic nature and his tendency to court Columbina.  This is a waxing crescent moon, which is a symbol of blooming love or planting seeds leading to fruitfulness, so I’m guessing a less innocent kind of love than you get from The Lovers.  

This blog points to performance of Pierrot in the 1900’s as being more spoken word over music, hence the instruments in those pictures.  They were super into orators in the 1900’s.  I’m glad we have TV.   

So, the major symbols and associations of Pierrot: 

Love/Romance 

Youth/Young adult 

Planting seeds/growth/Spring 

The moon/phases of the moon 

Music/Poetry 

Next, finally, Sally and why Pedrolino, but also, why Pedrolino who is actually Pierrot? 

Sorry about the length on this one, but there are a lot of pictures, so I hope that helps.

[the-perverse-library]

Harley and Wonder Woman listens to the music from the boombox but the music makes them start to twerk

It had been a trap by the Rhythm King. The sly and subtle Villain had Beeb looking for the perfect babes to be his prized bimbos. And to the musical menace, none were more worthy than the Princess of the Amazon and the Harlequin Jester. Getting the pair proved easier than anticipated; all he had to do was impersonate both the Joker and Superman in order to lead them to an unassuming warehouse.

Rhythm King waited as the heroine and villainess ran into each other before he triggered his trap. The floor beneath the women shot upward, forming a bright, neon stage with the golden boombox in the centre connected to a custom multi-point sound system.

"What's goin' on!?" Harley yelped out.

"I'm not sure, but we will overcome it!" Wonder Woman shouted.

Rhythm King grinned as he watched a security monitor; he put in earplugs and remotely activated the boombox. The unique music filled the warehouse, filling the heroine and villainess with his potent psychic power. He watched as the two began to sway and dance, their movements growing faster and more intense with each clap of their ass cheeks.

"H-hey! I can't stop! W-why can't I stop!?!" Harley gasped out, the jester trying her best to ignore the warm, fuzzy sensation growing inside her as she fell into a squat and felt her ass swell as her costume started to tear.

Diana wasn't faring any better; the Amazonian princess could feel her body move on its own as she quickly found herself opposite to Harley, crashing her ass against the clowns. "I-I don't know why! B-but... but I can't..." Diana struggled to say what she was thinking. Any thought she had about breaking free or fleeing melted away into wanting to dance and twerk even harder. She didn't even notice her leotard explode off of her body as her ass grew to a ridiculous size.

By sunrise, Harley and Diana had become complete parodies of themselves, with their asses wider than the door to the warehouse, their lips round and plump, and their breasts having become twice the size of watermelons. All thoughts of their past lives gone as they giggled, touching themselves and each other as they waited for their new daddy to come and take them back to his mansion.

[visuallanguagemayawalton]

Pablo Picasso was the most dominant and influential artist of the 1st half of the 20th century. Associated most of all with pioneering Cubism, he also invented collage and made major contribution to Surrealism. He saw himself above all as a painter, yet his sculpture was greatly influential, and he also explored areas as diverse as printmaking and ceramics. Finally, he was a famously charismatic personality, the leading figure in the Ecole de Paris. His many relationships with women not only filtered into his art but also may have directed its course, and his behavior has come to embody that of the bohemian modern artist in the popular imagination.

Picasso rejected Matisse's view of the primary importance and role of colour, and focused instead on new pictorial ways of representing form and space. Influenced by novelties of Cézanne, and also by African sculpture and ancient Iberian art, he started to lend his figures more structure, and to deconstruct the conventions of perspective that had dominated painting since the Renaissance. This led him (alongside with Georges Braque) to evolve an entirely new Cubist movement, which rapidly became the cutting edge of modern art. At the same time, Picasso himself rejected the label "Cubism," especially when critics began to differentiate between the two key approaches he pursued - Analytic and Synthetic.

In the 1920s and 1930s Picasso adopted a neoclassical figurative style. As he matured he worked on his own versions of canonical masterpieces by artists such as Poussin, Ingres, Velazquez, Goya, Rembrandt, and El Greco.

Picasso's influence was profound and far-reaching for most of his life. His work in pioneering Cubism established a set of pictorial problems, devices, and approaches, which remained important well into the 1950s. The Museum of Modern Art in New York (MoMA) has been called "the house that Pablo built," because it has so widely exhibited the artist's work. Picasso created some of the greatest 20th century paintings, several of which have achieved iconic status (Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, Guernica, Weeping Woman).

Picasso moved to Paris in 1904 and settled in the artist quarter Bateau-Lavoir, where he lived among bohemian poets and writers such as Guillaume Apollinaire (1880–1918) and Max Jacob (1876–1944). In At the Lapin Agile (1992.391) from 1905, Picasso directed his attention toward more pleasant themes such as carnival performers, harlequins, and clowns. In this painting, he used his own image for the harlequin figure and abandoned the daunting blues in favor of vivid hues, red for example, to celebrate the lives of circus performers (categorically labeled his Rose Period). In Paris, he found dedicated patrons in American siblings Gertrude (1874–1946) and Leo (1872–1947) Stein, whose Saturday-evening salons in their home at 27, rue des Fleurus was an incubator for modern artistic and intellectual thought. At the Steins he met other artists living and working in the city—generally referred to as the School of Paris—such as Henri Matisse (1869–1954). Painted in 1905–6, Gertrude Stein (47.106) records Picasso’s new fascination with pre-Roman Iberian sculpture and African and Oceanic art. Concentrating on intuition rather than strict observation, and unsatisfied with the features of Stein’s face, Picasso reworked her image into a masklike manifestation stimulated by primitivism. The influence of African and Oceanic art is explicit in his masterpiece Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907; Museum of Modern Art, New York), a painting that signals the nascent stages of Cubism. Here the figure arrangement recalls Cézanne’s compositions of bathers, while stylistically it is influenced by primitivism, evident by the angular planes and well-defined contours that create an overall sculptural solidity in the figures.

[kitkatt0430]

Oh definitely.

At first Jason is just reluctantly impressed that she was willing to get the Joker killed to save Robin. But she's still annoying and he doesn't really want her on his team. But he figures that underneath her airheaded facade, she did get a PhD in psychiatry. (or is it psychology?) Even if she's no longer qualified to practice, Harley's smart underneath it all.

So Jason gives her something to do that would take advantage of her being intelligent and also keep her out of the way while he's out being the visible head of the organization. Largely so Batman won't think that the new Red Hood is planning to become the new Joker now that he's murdered the guy. Having Harley around visibly in her same old harlequin getup would not go over well in that regard.

Between the new job and Ivy's support, Harley would probably start to appreciate herself as an intelligent woman again. Joker beat her down, made her stop valuing herself and her independence and ideas. So the first time she tentatively offers Jason an alternative plan to some deal he's working on or sting on a rival organization causing problems for Crime Alley or whatever and Jason not only decides to go with her plan but credits her for the operation's success... it's a big deal for her.

And the more Jason gets to know Harley, I think the more he'd see some of his stepmom in her. Very different people and yet they were both strong women who were forced to become shadows of themselves by the abusive men they loved. While Jason knew rationally that Harley was at heart a woman trapped in the cycle of abuse and that Batman sending her repeatedly to the same place he sent her abuser was never going to help her the way she needed... it's another thing to have the evidence that Harley wasn't the Joker's equally monstrous right hand but his beaten down and abused yes-woman right there in front of his face. In the way she flinches if someone approaches her in the wrong way or shouts too angrily around her. The way she expects not to receive praise for good work or even to be hurt for daring to 'upstage' Red Hood for speaking out of turn.

But the more they work together, the more Harley comes out of her shell and finds herself. Ivy helps her find a new style and they've got a slow burn romance simmering in the background.

(And Ivy totally went to go scare the hell out of Jason at one point early in Harley's new employment, because this better not be a Mr. J situation. But instead of Ivy intimidating the Red Hood it turns into the Red Hood giving Ivy advice on how to help Harley deal with her nightmares.

Ivy - I'm gonna make sure you know the consequences of ever harming a hair on my girl Harley.

Jason - is she sleeping okay? She says she is but she looks like she isn't. I know a few things you could do to help her get some real rest after having nightmares...

Ivy - I'm listening.)

Eventually Harley's proven herself capable of taking on more and more responsibility, so Jason gives it to her. And when she does become his second in command, no one really questions it. It just makes sense.

And when Red Hood gets the safe houses for monitored drug usage and sharps disposal set up, he and Harley also work on getting safe places for anyone of any age or gender to go to if they're facing abuse. Abused queer kids, abused spouses or significant others, people trying to get away from a toxic friendship or roommate...

(And every so often Tim shows up to gift them baskets of Alfred's baking which somehow leads to Harley showing up at the Wayne manor kitchen one afternoon, out of costume, to beg Alfred to teach her to make his cookies. Alfred bans Bruce from getting her arrested, Tim joins in on the lesson, and soooo many cookies are baked.)

Been in a Batfamily (in all it's fucked up drama) mood lately and thinking...

Jason gets into town, starts establishing his Red Hood persona, screwing with the Bats and taking over Crime Alley. He intends to use the new Robin to screw with Batman and manipulating Black Mask into reporting the new Red Hood back to the original. And as planned, Joker does not respond well to 'some upstart' using his old moniker.

Except when Joker breaks out of Arkham he can't help but be distracted by Batman and his shiny new Robin. (Has Joker been out while Tim's been Robin at this point? Let's say no for the sake of fanfic purposes.) Now Harley made Joker promise no more killing kids after what happened with the last Robin, made it clear that was a hard boundary for her and she'd leave him for good if he want after any more kids.

Of course, his promise that of course he wouldn't kill anymore kids was a total lie but it got Hartley to go all soft and agreeable for him again and that was what mattered. Besides, he doesn't want to kill this Robin. He wants to see what Batman sees in having child sidekick and take one for himself.

So Tim gets kidnapped by the Joker before Bruce can send the poor kid somewhere not Gotham for his safety. And Joke unmasks Tim because of course he does. And Harley sees how young Tim is and watches Mr. J start electrocuting the kid because surely the brainwashing'll stick if they fry his noggin' a bit first...

And Harley decides this is a boundary for her too. She can't be a part of this and even if it kills her, she's going to save this kid. She knows she can't do it on her own and her first thought is to go find Batman.

Of course, she quickly nixes this idea. Batman isn't ruthless enough and sure maybe he'll make it all the way through Joker's henchmen - admittedly as per usual - and rescue the kid. But then Mr. J will go back to Arkham and even though Harley doesn't want Joker dead... she also kinda wants him dead for this one. For using his promise to her not to kill kids as an excuse to torture children instead.

Next choice is Nightwing but he's out for the same reasons as Batman. Nightwing is somewhat more likely to kill the Joker and could live with it in the way Batman couldn't, but it's not a guarantee and Harley wants this kid to know that the guy who did this to him will never be able to do it ever again.

And then Harley remembers. Red Hood. Who definitely picked that name not as an homage but as a taunt. Who clearly hates the Joker and all he stands for. Who will... probably kill Harley, let's be honest, but she's not sure she wants to live without her Mr. J even as she's mentally planning out the man's death. So.

Harley makes an excuse to leave. Joker says something about mom doing the grocery shopping to the kid he's electrocuting and hands off a list of random stuff to Harley. She takes it and skedaddles. Heads all the way to Crime Alley. Stands outside it for a long moment. Thinks about the kid Joker's gotten his hands on. The way he screamed and cried and begged for Batman to come save him after the bravado of Robin quickly wore off.

She steps into Crime Alley. And then she does random acrobatics down the street, waiting for the Red Hood or his men to show up.

And they do. The Red Hood's henchmen are quick and efficient in grabbing her and presenting her to their boss. There's a gun in her face and she should be terrified and she is but...

She tells Red Hood about the kid. She drops the fake accent she put on for Joker and let's herself be, for just one last time, Harleen instead of Harley. The doctor who cares and not the killer Joker molded her into. "So kill me or whatever, I know I deserve it for believing Mr. J's lies again. But you have a code. You don't hurt kids. You don't kill kids. And maybe I'm asking too much, but I wasn't there and didn't save the last one. So I'm begging you to save this one."

Jason sees green. He has Harley take him to the Joker's hide out. He tears his way through the Joker's goons and doesn't hesitate to kill the Joker because he's too deep in the pit rage at the man who murdered him to care about his convoluted plans to try and force Bruce's hand, to make Batman finally kill Joker.

On the bright side, killing the Joker himself clears up some of Jason's lazarous pit related anger management issues. On the spot. The down side however is that Jason now has a traumatized Tim to deliver back to Batman - which he'd rather not, Batman cannot be trusted not to weaponize children - without being blamed for the state Tim's in.

He makes this Harley's problem - explain this to the Bats yourself, it's your punishment, Harley - and decides he needs a new plan to say 'screw you' to Batman with. He's gonna win over Robin 3.0 and get the kid to willingly abandon Batman to join the Red Hood Crew. How hard can it be, anyway?

Meanwhile Tim has absolutely figured out Jason is the Red Hood because he's absolutely connecting dots he should not be capable of connecting and formulating his own plan to try and lure Jason back home. Because why would Tim focus on healing from his own trauma when he could prioritize someone else's and compartmentalize the hell out of his own problems. Which is definitely the healthy thing to do and not at all going to bite him in the ass with depression and miscommunications down the line. (They all need so much therapy.)

So now the Joker's dead, Harley has delivered Tim safely back to Batman, (Ivy is about to get an unexpected visitor,) and the Bats are about to start playing four-d chess with each other to try and achieve various goals. Jason is trying to steal Tim from Bruce. Bruce thinks maybe saving Robin means the new Red Hood could be saved from himself after all. Tim is trying to lure Jason back to the manor for Alfred's cookies and oh is that a long overdue conversation with Bruce that is also sprung on him like a trap??? And Dick would just like to thank Red Hood but somehow winds up drunk confessing to the definitely-a-hallucination-of-Jason the whole didn't find out his little brother was dead until after the funeral when Dick got back from space thing and how he's so grateful to the Red Hood for saving this new kid who's just the neighbor's kid but also rapidly looking brother-shaped and why is he so bad at protecting the people he cares about???

(Jason rapidly going from 'drunk Dick is funny' to 'drunk Dick is clingy and cries and oh god he's getting emotions all over me make it stop')

[hollymbryan]

Welcome to Book-Keeping and my stop on the HTP Books Summer 2023 blog tour! Today I'm featuring THE HOUSEKEEPERS by Alex Hay, which released on Tuesday 4 July. I've got all the details plus my review for you below!

About the Book

title: The Housekeepers

author: Alex Hay

publisher: Grayson House

release date: 4 July 2023

The night of London's grandest ball, a bold group of women downstairs launch a daring revenge heist against Mayfair society in this dazzling historical novel about power, gender, and class

Mrs. King is no ordinary housekeeper. Born into a world of con artists and thieves, she’s made herself respectable, running the grandest home in Mayfair. The place is packed with treasures, a glittering symbol of wealth and power, but dark secrets lurk in the shadows.

When Mrs. King is suddenly dismissed from her position, she recruits an eclectic group of women to join her in revenge: A black market queen out to settle her scores. An actress desperate for a magnificent part. A seamstress dreaming of a better life. And Mrs. King’s predecessor, with her own desire for vengeance.

Their plan? On the night of the house’s highly anticipated costume ball—set to be the most illustrious of the year—they will rob it of its every possession, right under the noses of the distinguished guests and their elusive heiress host. But there’s one thing Mrs. King wants even more than money: the truth. And she’ll run any risk to get it…

After all, one should never underestimate the women downstairs.

Add to Goodreads: The Housekeepers

Purchase the Book: Bookshop.org | Harlequin | Barnes & Noble | Books A Million | Amazon

About the Author

ALEX HAY grew up in the United Kingdom in Cambridge and Cardiff, and has been writing as long as he can remember. He studied history at the University of York, and wrote his dissertation on female power at royal courts, combing the archives for every scrap of drama and skulduggery he could find. He has worked in magazine publishing and the charity sector and lives with his husband in London. The Housekeepers is his debut novel and won the Caledonia Novel Award.

Connect with Alex: Website | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

My 4-Star Review

Thanks so much to HTP Books and Graydon House Books for inviting me to take part in the release week tour for THE HOUSEKEEPERS by Alex Hay! This one released on 4 July and is now available everywhere books are sold. I actually listened to the audio for this one and had so much fun (the narrator is fantastic!). I love historical fiction, and although I was expecting a bit more of a thriller (not sure why, that's on me), I really enjoyed this one very much! And it certainly was thrilling in its own way -- I mean, who doesn't love a good con artist + revenge scheme?! But this definitely has more of the upstairs v downstairs vibe we love to see in historical fiction, and even though they're thieves, you'll be cheering on our downstairs women as they execute this audacious plan to steal from the rich and give to the poor (namely, themselves 😂).

THE HOUSEKEEPERS was great fun to read and, again, I can't say enough about how great the audio narrator was. Her ability to switch between different accents was amazing, and you always knew which character was speaking because they were all distinct. I hope you'll check this one out, and let me know what you think!

RATING: 4 stars!

**Disclosure: I received an e-ARC of this book via NetGalley for purposes of this blog tour.

[annarellix]

THE HOUSEKEEPERS by Alex Hay

The night of London's grandest ball, a bold group of women downstairs launch a daring revenge heist against Mayfair society in this dazzling historical novel about power, gender, and class

Mrs. King is no ordinary housekeeper. Born into a world of con artists and thieves, she’s made herself respectable, running the grandest home in Mayfair. The place is packed with treasures, a glittering symbol of wealth and power, but dark secrets lurk in the shadows.

When Mrs. King is suddenly dismissed from her position, she recruits an eclectic group of women to join her in revenge: A black market queen out to settle her scores. An actress desperate for a magnificent part. A seamstress dreaming of a better life. And Mrs. King’s predecessor, with her own desire for vengeance.

Their plan? On the night of the house’s highly anticipated costume ball—set to be the most illustrious of the year—they will rob it of its every possession, right under the noses of the distinguished guests and their elusive heiress host. But there’s one thing Mrs. King wants even more than money: the truth. And she’ll run any risk to get it…

After all, one should never underestimate the women downstairs.

My Review:

I had a lot of fun in reading this story of revenge, solidarity amongst women who are considered as expendable by those who are upstairs. A group of woman who join forces to rob the former employee of Mrs King of all her riches.

I loved Mrs King since the first pages as she’s a clever and ruthless woman and it will be hard to stop her to reach her goal. She and her companions are interesting and clever women, women who suffered but also know secrets of what happens behind the shining façade.

A fast-paced story featuring a cast of well-developed characters, a different look to the world of upstairs and downstairs. The historical background is vivid and detailed.

I loved these women and loved this story.

Highly recommended. Many thanks to the publisher for this ARC, all opinions are mine

Buy Links:

BookShop.org

Harlequin

Barnes & Noble

Books A Million

Amazon

ISBN: 9781525805004

Publication Date: July 4, 2023

Publisher: Graydon House

The Author:

ALEX HAY grew up in the United Kingdom in Cambridge and Cardiff, and has been writing as long as he can remember. He studied history at the University of York, and wrote his dissertation on female power at royal courts, combing the archives for every scrap of drama and skulduggery he could find. He has worked in magazine publishing and the charity sector and lives with his husband in London. The Housekeepers is his debut novel and won the Caledonia Novel Award.

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[angelicsentinel]

amaryllis in the spring

Title: amaryllis in the spring Fandom: Detective Conan/Magic Kaito Author: AngelicSentinel Rating: Teen Relationships: Kudo Shinichi/Kuroba Kaito Characters: Kudo Shinichi, Kuroba Kaito, Mori Ran Additional Information: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Murder, Identity Reveal, Case Fic Word Count: ~14,000 Summary: Years after Shinichi becomes a police detective, someone is murdered at Haido Recital Hall. The biggest mystery, however, is why the principal dancer seems so familiar. Notes: This is my gift for @altumvidetur for the 2022 KaiShin secret santa as hosted by @dcmkkaishinevents. Thanks so much for hosting! This was written for the first prompt: Case fic team up where Shinichi doesn't know Kaito's identity at first. Please enjoy!

As always, mirror on Ao3

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Shinichi hated ballet. It was just a bunch of people in frilly costumes frolicking across the stage to classical music. At least, that’s what he thought until the performance started.

They danced with such grace they floated across the stage, and they’d designed each lavish costume with such attention to detail Shinichi found himself impressed. 

Ballet wasn’t exactly something Shinichi would have gone to himself, but Ran didn’t want to go alone. It wasn’t a hardship to go with her. They’d maintained their close friendship even after their romance didn’t work out, and Shinichi had missed spending time with her to be honest. It didn’t hurt much anymore, so it was easy to look past the lingering bittersweet feeling to enjoy her company. He thought he was missing an ideal more than what they actually had, anyway. 

Ran watched the stage with stars in her eyes, her hands clasped in front of her, so Shinichi knew it was an excellent idea. He was happy she was so enchanted.

He settled back against the seat, eyes riveted to the brilliant display of athleticism before him. The women were in full gowns and powdered wigs with bright red rouged cheeks; the men likewise wore powdered wigs and breeches. 

Somehow, he’d gotten it into his head that ballet didn’t have professional level performances, which was an uncomfortable amount of bias. Shinichi shook his head. He was not sure exactly what he imagined, actually. Something more Shakespearean and minimal, perhaps. But they were professionals, and even with his lack of knowledge about ballet in general, he could tell they were highly skilled.

Shaking his head, he laughed at himself. No matter how logical a detective he might deem himself, he was only human in the end. He settled back to enjoy the show. It took a little doing. He wasn’t sure if it were true of all ballet, but following the plot took a bit of imagination. 

He gathered they were at some kind of holiday party, what with the opening of the gifts and the dancing. The proscenium arch of the Art Nouveau stage framed the Empire backdrop, the two disparate styles complementing one another. Where the recital hall was smooth and twisting, the sitting room with the large festive tree was stately and imposing.

Soon, amidst all the red and gold brocade of the parents, a man in black with a glittering midnight cape appeared as if from nowhere, the children clapping their hands excitedly and chattering amongst themselves in pantomime. 

He watched him pull a long scarf out of nowhere, twirling around with it onstage before making it disappear in a flash of fire. He then made a plush rat appear out of nothing, followed by a princess doll in another flash, dancing around with them, telling a story of a fierce rat king who wanted to take her for his own, only to be interrupted at the end by a soldier who drove the rat king off. 

More dancing followed, intricate and well-choreographed. He wondered how they weren’t all running into one another, especially when three life-size dancers meant to be wind-up dolls took the stage, dressed as Harlequin, Pierrot, and Columbine. They danced their number and then disappeared in the swirl of the magician’s cape. 

The second set of gifts were a pair of elaborately dressed porcelain dolls dressed in Heian era fashion, the emperor and the empress. They wore multiple light layers instead of heavy silk and the fabric flowed as they danced, swirling in a rainbow of color that was almost dizzying. 

With a loud pop and a burst of light, the children and parents danced off the stage, leaving the magician alone with the two lead dancers, who Shinichi supposed were perhaps the children of the house.

To them, he gifted them the eponymous Nutcracker, a proud soldier in a French-cocked hat with a peacock feather. Underneath, he wore an elaborately beaded Venetian mask, inlaid with brightly colored shards that gleamed like gems and looked like glass. 

His dancing had a certain je ne sais quoi that drew Shinichi’s attention like a beacon in the night. The rest of the dancers were wonderful, no doubt about that, but the Nutcracker himself had an indescribable quality that kept Shinichi’s eyes on him long after the male lead had broken him and he’d finished his dance. 

The woman cried, forlorn, and the magician fixed him, and still Shinichi could not tear his eyes away. Shinichi barely saw the rise and fall of his chest, he was so practiced at remaining still. The party ended, and the young lady came back to check on him, to make sure her brother hadn’t broken him again with his roughhousing, and fell asleep on stage.  

The magician appeared as if from nowhere, cape swirling devilishly. The stage lights went down. The clock struck twelve. The “night” came. Shinichi was still riveted to the stage, entranced by the Nutcracker.

He gasped alongside Ran and the crowd when the Christmas tree grew and the toys came to life, followed by gingerbread people dancing on stage in a twirling frenzy. Dancers costumed as mice poured from both sides of the stage, and a fierce battle broke out. It was organized chaos—some of the best choreography Shinichi had ever seen. 

Honestly, why had Shinichi had such a biased view of it in the first place? This display was fantastic!

The Nutcracker came back onstage, his sword flashing, parrying the blow of the Rat King. They danced back and forth, surrounded by gingerbread men and tin soldiers and more mice. So many people whirled in tight patterns around one another, it was hard to determine just who and where everything was, what with the smoke and the cool blue lighting. 

In a devious and fell series of dance steps, the Rat King stabbed at the Nutcracker, only for the young lady to take the blow on her left forearm. She staggered around, twirling gracefully, the back of her hand on her head. Her arm dripped with what looked like real blood. Shinichi leaned forward. She danced for another minute as the battle continued, took five more steps, then staggered and fell to the floor. She didn’t get up.

Slowly, as if waking from a dream, her castmates stopped, surrounding her in a circle. The orchestra stopped. The Nutcracker, still in his glittering wood-like mask, knelt down and held his fingers to her neck. He punched the stage. 

She didn’t move. Shinichi stood up, ignoring Ran’s hushed, “No, it can’t be.” He turned to her, and they both nodded.

“Ran, tell the ushers not to let anyone out.” She nodded again. “Excuse me,” he said, sidling past the people in the row until he made it to the aisle. 

He strode down the red carpet to the proscenium, flashing the theater security his badge. He repeated his orders to them. “Keep everyone in the theater for now until I can figure out what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir,” the security guard said, and radioed Shinichi’s orders while Shinichi climbed on stage. 

The dim blue lights were surprisingly bright. The heat they gave off was unexpected also, and Shinichi felt himself sweat underneath his coat. He tugged at his tie with one hand and pulled out his badge with another. “Assistant Inspector Kudō Shinichi. Excuse me,” he said, flashing his credentials, and the danseurs parted like the sea. 

Shinichi caught the cool blue eyes of the Nutcracker. He held Shinichi’s gaze for a long moment, something like surprise in his wide eyes and the slant of his mouth before looking away first, hands still in fists. 

What was that all about?

He knelt down, checking her pulse himself. 

Yes. She was dead. Her mouth caught his attention, though, her lips a cherry red. He sighed, leaning closer to the stage, examining her with a small flashlight. She had lather on her mouth. Cyanide. It was as he thought. She’d been murdered. 

“No one leave this stage,” he ordered. “Cast, crew, anybody. That includes anyone backstage."

People grumbled, so Shinichi added, "Don't make me get you for interference in a police investigation."

"Scary, scary," the magician said, sing-song.

"Someone get the stagehands to hit the lights, I need to see the crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” The Rat King said, his voice trembling.

Shinichi didn’t bother to answer. He dialed HQ. “Inspector,” he said, no nonsense. “Murder at Haido Recital Hall.”

“Isn’t it your night off?” Takagi asked him, amusement in her voice. 

Shinichi didn’t deign to reply. 

“What is this, the third time this month?” she continued. 

“I need a forensics team and enough officers to corral about oh,” he glanced up at the audience, doing mental math at the tiered seating, which was mostly full. “Maybe fifteen hundred people?”

“You don't think it was someone in the audience?" Takagi asked.

"No, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry," he said. 

"I'll meet you there. Try not to run into any more corpses," she said.

"I'll do my absolute best," Shinichi said, followed by her sigh as he hung up.

More preliminary investigation of her corpse added to his theory. Her fingernails, the blueish color of her face. "Can anyone tell me if they were filming this performance?" 

The Nutcracker shook his head. "The equipment wasn't working tonight."

Shinichi stroked his chin. "Convenient." He glanced over at the man. His voice sounded strangely familiar. "You have anyone who can back that up?"

He nodded. "Honoka is responsible for the filming."

Shinichi narrowed his eyes. "You're being suspiciously helpful." 

"I don't like murder," he said.

Shinichi took the rumpled program out of his pocket. "Kuroba Kaito?" he asked.

"In the flesh," he bowed with a grin.

"That makes you the Rat King," he said, turning to the other man. "Ishida, right?" 

"Ishida Daisuke, yes."

"Is there any particular reason you were using live blades on stage?"

"Uh," Ishida stammered. "We're both pretty good at fencing? And the crowd likes it, so," he trailed off, then looked down at his feet.

"Isabel wasn't supposed to step between us," Kuroba said. "I've half a wonder if she wasn't already poisoned by then."

Shinichi frowned down at the corpse. Isabel was her name. Satsuma Isabel. The prima ballerina. "It looks like it was ingested. I couldn't see well from where I was sitting, but who has the best access?"

"It's impossible to say," Kuroba said. "Any of us could have done it."

"Wonderful. That helps a lot," Shinichi said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "In the last few minutes of her life, her motor movements would have deteriorated to a noticeable degree. And no one noticed?"

"In our defense," Kuroba said mildly, "we were preoccupied with the tight choreography and the frantic pacing."

Touché. Shinichi inclined his head, acknowledging the point.

"Shinichi," Ran called from the floor, "They've locked down the building until the police get here." 

"Thanks, Ran," he said, distracted, running what he knew through his mind. He glanced back over the audience again. A lot of them were shifting in their seats, uneasy. At least one elementary class was present. He needed to clear most of the people here. "Does any of the audience have VIP access?"

"Not until after the show," Kuroba said. "We do a meet-and-greet backstage in the dressing rooms."

"What's the set-up like?"

"The prima ballerina and the lead danseur get their own rooms. Otherwise, there's a separate shared space each for the men and women."

"And this is usual for your company?" he asked.

"By which you mean to ask if the meet-and-greet is a routine occurrence?" Kuroba asked.

"Yes."

"Yes."

Shinichi wasn't sure if that absolved the audience or not; conceivably, they didn't have regular access to the dressing rooms, but if someone planted something the night before—

"How long has the show been running?" he asked.

"Are you serious? Aren't you here? Tonight's opening night!" Ishida said.

"I'm not really a ballet person," Shinichi said. "My best friend had tickets and didn't want to go alone."

"'Best friend?' Not girlfriend?" Kuroba asked, surprised.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, my best friend. That's the kind of thinking that made us think we had to date. Anyway, I'm not the subject of interrogation here." Hmm. He needed a way to work through the suspects. "Divide yourselves. Lead cast here, gingerbread men here, soldiers here, rats—"

"Mice," Kuroba piped up helpfully. 

Shinichi cut his eyes at him, continuing immediately as if he hadn't been interrupted. "—Rats here. Stage hands over here." Looking back over the stage, he said. "Anyone who wasn't on stage at the time, I need them here," he said, pointing to stage left.

Most of the ballerinas from before had come back as rats or soldiers, but there were a few more named characters that wouldn't show up until the second act, including the Sugar Plum fairy and someone aptly named Mother Ginger.

As an aside, Shinichi thought to himself the story was incredibly strange, but that was neither here nor there, really.

Forensics arrived first, photographing the body before setting up and analyzing the crime scene.

He'd worked his way through most of the soldiers when the rest of his backup finally arrived. He left the other two detectives to finish the interrogation with the chorus characters while he went back to the main set of cast members. About ten people stood there in all. 

Takagi was present, questioning the Magician.

"Drosselmeyer," Kuroba said, apropos of nothing.

"What?" Shinichi asked, confused.

"That's the name of Akio's character. You seemed confused. Either that or his cape has done something to offend you."

Shinichi said, "You're flippant for someone at the scene of a homicide."

Kuroba stared at him. "It's Beika," he said, as if they explained everything.

Maybe it did.

"I suppose that's fair," Shinichi allowed.

"Anyway, since you're not a fan of ballet, I thought maybe you'd like the ins and outs of what's going on?"

"Who's to say you're not the culprit and rearranging the story to suit your needs?" Shinichi asked.

"Easy," Kuroba said. "I don't have a motive."

"I'll determine that for myself, thanks," Shinichi said, irritated.

"Suit yourself," Kuroba said with a shrug.

"Didn't Isabel hate you?" Ishida said.

"Hate is a strong word," Kuroba said. “She just really, really didn’t like me.”

“Is there any particular reason why?” Shinichi asked.

Kuroba grimaced, but didn’t explain. 

Ishida opened his mouth instead. “She had a really histrionic personality—”

“I don’t know if histrionic is the right word, exactly,” Kuroba muttered. “She knew what she wanted and how to get it. She was a consummate professional onstage; that has nothing to do with how we interacted offstage.”

“It does if you had anything to do with her murder,” Shinichi pointed out. 

Kuroba inclined his head. “She just thought I wasn’t serious about the craft,” Kuroba said. "Most people you see here have trained to do this since they were very young. Careers are usually decided early. And sure, ballet classes were part of my routine as a child, but they dropped off in middle school, and I didn't dance seriously for a long time. She didn't like it, that's all."

"So how did you end up as the principal danseur of an internationally acclaimed company?"

Kuroba laughed. "Isn't that the question? Luck, I guess, and the fact that Madame Yamato liked me?”

“Who’s she?” Shinichi asked. 

“The choreographer and owner of the Beika Company,” Ishida said. “She has very exacting standards. It was a surprise for everyone.” He glanced at his fellow danseur. “But Kuroba here has earned it. He works as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Kuroba said with a flourish and a bow.

"You both seem to have level heads. I appreciate your knowledge about the company," Shinichi observed.

"No need to say that, I know we're both suspects," Kuroba said.

"What?" Ishida yelped. "You can't be serious!"

"I had access to her dressing room. We had a long, loud argument everyone knows about," Kuroba said. "No detective worth his salt is just going to ignore that."

"What about me, huh?" Ishida asked. "Me and Bela were on good terms."

"You were also longtime partners and have only recently broken up. Face it, Ishida, you're the prime suspect. That's always how these things go."

Statistically, it was most likely to be the partner.  Shinichi opened his mouth to comment, but Kuroba had been right. It wasn't unusual for people to have been caught up in several homicide cases, since Beika Ward was the murder capital of Japan.

Of course, given his glibness, he could also be the murderer, but Shinichi could revisit that later when they had a fuller idea of the circumstances.

He turned to Officer Tome, who was noting things on a chart on his clipboard. "Do you have cause and time of death?" Shinichi asked.

The man nodded. "I'll need to confirm it with an autopsy and a toxicology report, but preliminary findings suggest she died from cyanide. It was probably ingested around thirty minutes before she collapsed.”

Shinichi nodded. “Takagi,” he called across the stage. “It was definitely someone with access to the stage and backrooms.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too.” She picked up her phone. “Shiratori,” she said. “You can start letting the audience go once you’ve searched their bags.”

“Noted,” Shinichi heard through her speaker. “I’ve talked to the box office as well; we have a list of everyone who purchased tickets, just in case.”

Kuroba and Ishida stood off to the side, talking to one another in quiet tones. They were joined by Ono Akio, who played the magician. Detective Ishikawa was interrogating the stage hands. 

Slowly but surely they winnowed it down to a handful of people. Kuroba and Ishida both had keys to her dressing room. Miyamura Satsuki played the Sugar Plum Fairy; she was also seen arguing with Satsuma about conning her out of the lead role—by all accounts a vicious and dirty argument. The company hadn’t been as profitable as in previous years, so financial means could have also played their part in the early demise. 

“I would think that it would drive sales away,” Shinichi told Director Yamato, who’d finally come down to be interviewed. She was a stern, sharp-eyed woman who dressed in a black pantsuit and wore her hair tied back in a tight bun. Everyone in the company called her Madame, but director or producer was closer to her role, alongside doing the principal choreography. 

“Oh no. Everyone in the arts is superstitious, Detective Kudō. You don’t mention the name of the Scottish play, certain productions are cursed…”

“I’ve never heard that said about The Nutcracker,” Shinichi said. “Besides, if I were dancing, I don’t think I’d want to share a stage with a murderer. “

“Stars shine brighter just before they fall,” the Director said, sighing wistfully. 

Shinichi couldn’t help himself; he shook his head. Despite her stern countenance, she was rather whimsical. 

“What can you tell me about her?” Shinichi asked.

“Hmm. Well. For the most part, she was a good dancer, but lately, it’s been strange. Her behavior was increasingly erratic.”

“She was going through a crisis?” Shinichi asked.

“Oh, nothing like that. She was excellent on stage; probably the best dancer I’ve ever seen, but no, it was little things. Forgetting we had practice, tardiness, taking twice as long to learn choreography…I became quite concerned, you know.”

“I see.”

Once they were done with their interview, Shinichi turned to his coworker. “Ishikawa,” Shinichi said. “Take over, would you? I want to get a full look at the scene before they start processing the evidence.”

“Sure thing, Kudō,” she said. 

Freed from questioning potential suspects, Shinichi slipped his hands in his pockets, eyeing the stage and the elaborate Empire style set pieces. Nothing looked out of place. Halfway down stage right, Kuroba joined him. 

“So, you’re pretty dedicated to your job,” Kuroba said. He looked ridiculous in the wooden mask, officer’s coat, and powdered wig. 

“Some might say that,” Shinichi allowed. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh, I don’t mean any offense, really, but watching you work, you’re like a hound dog with a bone,” he said. He walked circles around Shinichi, doing some weird kind of ballet thing with his feet where he spun around on one foot, doing a perfect split standing. Shinichi winced. Men shouldn’t flex that way. 

“Is that necessary?” Shinichi asked, looking at his foot. The shoes they wore were thin, and couldn’t be comfortable on the wooden stage. Kuroba wore breeches, but under the hose were very firm and defined calves. Given what he’d seen about balance and strength, he supposed they’d have to be lean and tightly muscled.

That did not make him envious, oh no. He surreptitiously poked his gut, which had grown a little pudgy from late night konbini snack runs, and sighed. He really needed to find time to exercise a little more. But it was hard to maintain a consistent routine when every time he got a little downtime, a murder happened. 

“Of course it’s necessary. I fidget when I’m nervous. I’m much worse off if I don’t have this outlet, you see.”

“Uh huh,” Shinichi said slowly. “Is there any particular reason why you’re nervous at the moment?”

“Uh, I’m a suspect being accosted by a very handsome police detective? Wouldn’t you be nervous too?”

“‘Accosted?’ Just what are you implying, Kuroba-san?” Shinichi said, raising his eyebrows. He wasn’t even going to touch the word handsome. It wouldn’t be the first time a suspect tried to fluster him. 

(It would be the first time it almost worked, though.)

Kuroba held up his hands. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just a legendary member of the police force, that’s all. I’ve heard stories.”

Right. And Shinichi was Detective Samonji. “Stories, huh. I didn’t think I was that famous.”

“Everyone has heard stories of the former teen detective.”

“Unlikely,” Shinichi said. He spotted many half open bottles of water backstage. None of them seemed to be the contamination vector, though Inspector Takagi was going through them and testing them with Detective Maeda’s help. 

Shinichi decided to turn his attention to the dressing rooms. 

“But in my case, we might have mutual acquaintances. My best friend’s father used to work in Division Two. You might have heard of him.”

Shinichi thought about that for a moment. He didn’t know many people in Division Two. “Inspector Nakamori?” he asked, guessing on a whim.

“The very same!” Kuroba said, clapping his hands. 

Saying they had relatives or friends in law enforcement was another common manipulation tactic. “Do you think that letting me know you have a friend in law enforcement is going to let you off the hook?” 

Nothing seemed out of place in the women’s dressing rooms. Lights, makeup, costumes, bras…nothing unusual. Some food, a few water bottles. All those would need to be tested, but it was highly unlikely Satsuma had been poisoned here, not with a dressing room to herself. Shinichi slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves.

“Oh no, I would never!” he said, eyes wide and mouth open in mock shock. “You just seemed to be curious as to how I knew so much about you, and I wanted to put you at ease about it.”

“You know that just means that I will be looking at you more closely,” Shinichi said, looking through the women’s things. He probably should have left this part of the investigation to Takagi or Ishikawa. “Since you’re going out of your way to ‘put me at ease.’”

“Hahaha!” he laughed, leaning over and clutching his stomach. “Oh, you haven’t changed a bit in the last seven years, have you?”

That…seemed more than just hearsay or popularity. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” Shinichi said, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Oh, I had one of those teen detectives at my alma mater, that’s all,” Kaito said. “He spoke about you from time to time.”

He didn’t speak Kansai-ben, his dialect was purely Kanto, so it had to be Hakuba Saguru, maybe? “You were classmates with Hakuba?” he put forth hesitantly.

“The very same!” he said. “Ah, my best friend was obsessed with detectives and KID, and she was always nattering on all about you and the rest of them, so I learned a lot against my will!” he said with a huge grin.

“Don’t say that so cheerfully,” Shinichi grumbled, even more irritated at him than he was before. 

“But why not, it’s the truth!” he said.

Shinichi pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then pointed again at Kaito. “Don’t think I’m not onto you. I am. I’m sharp. I don’t know why, but you’re deliberately trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, his face pure innocence. As if Shinichi even believed that for a second. 

“Cut it, Kuroba.” Ah. He’d forgotten he needed a key. Kuroba quietly handed his over, and Shinichi had no choice but to take it. He used Kuroba’s key to let himself into Satsuma’s dressing room. It hadn’t been processed yet. He internally groaned when Kuroba followed behind him. He kept his eye on him, but he didn’t do anything suspicious as he stopped in the doorway. He didn’t even enter the dressing room wholly, he just leaned himself against the door frame. 

Shinichi perused her room, pilfering through her things. What little was there, anyway.

On the vanity was her makeup and a bundle of twelve blood red roses, the tips of the petals beginning to wilt.

The roses would have to be tested for sure, but Satsuma was fastidious. Outside of what was required for her costumes, the only items of note were the roses and her purse. She was religiously organized. The room could belong to a design magazine for how little personality was in it.

“Did she never do anything in here?” Shinichi asked himself out loud.

It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Kuroba actually answered. “She wasn’t a fan of clutter or making a mess. Said it was unclean.”

“...Okay,” Shinichi said, brow furrowing. She allegedly had a histrionic personality—perhaps she denied herself as a matter of controlling her life, or for making her emotions stronger during her dancing. It wouldn’t be the first time Shinichi had heard of people like that.

“It’s not like it sounds,” Kuroba said, taking Shinichi's pensive expression the wrong way. “Bela was a good person.”

Shinichi looked at him. “You sound so confident of it despite the fact she hated you.”

He waved Shinichi off. “I can deal with one perfectionist. It’s not as big of a deal as we made it sound.” 

"You keep saying that," Shinichi said.

Kuroba sighed, looking around the room. “She held herself to the same standards she held the rest of us to, if not even higher,” he said. “Without her, I don’t think I’d even be where I am today.”

“You talk about her as if you were friends,” Shinichi said.

“We were.”

"But you said she hated you."

"No, I said she really didn't like me."

"Those are the same thing."

"Not quite. Indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. She didn't like me. I don't blame her. There are times I don't like me. But she was a good friend to me despite it all. She didn't have to like me for that."

Now that was strange, given what had been previously said in front of Ishida. He wondered if they had been secretly dating. “Not more? You almost make it sound like you were dating.”

“No, Officer. Just friends.” He crossed his arms. “Admittedly, it was a strange sort of friendship, but I think we both got something out of it.”

Huh. Interesting. “So if you were friends, you must have known something about her personal life. Something that would have served as the motivation for murder.”

Kuroba sighed again. “That’s the thing I can’t quite figure out. I don’t know of anyone that wanted to kill her. She could be harsh in her criticism at times, and she had very exacting standards, but I don’t think that anyone really felt that way about her. Sour enough to murder her, I mean.”

“What about the other lead ballerina? The one with the death threats. What’s her name? Satsuki?”

“Satsuki’s all hot air. She wouldn’t have hurt her.”

“You seem very sure about that.” Done with his cursory examination of her dressing room, Shinichi opened her purse. Inside was a folded sheet of paper with the date and time for a doctor’s appointment on it. It used the Beika General Hospital letterhead, but it didn’t say what kind of appointment it was.

“What can I say?” Kuroba said. “I know the people I work with. They’re good people.”

“So you say,” Shinichi said. “I’m not so sure I agree.” He tapped the doctor’s note with his gloved hand. “Since you seem to know everything, do you know why she was going to the doctor?”

“Oh, right. Bela had frequent migraines. Recently, they’d gotten severe enough to interfere with her dancing.”

“Her headaches were that bad?” Shinichi asked. 

“Oh yeah. I think she took some kind of medication for them? I’m not so sure, though.”

“I thought you knew everything,” Shinichi said.

Kuroba grinned again, that same infuriating familiar smile. “Well, almost everything. Nobody’s perfect.”

Shinichi scoffed and placed the doctor’s note into the evidence bag, followed by the contents of her purse. 

“I’m surprised you’d admit you’re not perfect.” Shinichi said.

“Surely I’m not that bad,” Kuroba said.

“So you were aware of her routine,” Shinichi said.

“Yes.”

“Did anything strike you as unusual? Anything at all?” Shinichi asked.

“Hmm,” he said, pacing around before doing a handstand. “Well, if I had to say, she’d been disappearing for short periods of time when we’re onstage. No one knows where she goes.”

“No one?” Shinichi pressed. Kuroba shook his head. 

They walked back towards the stage where Ishikawa was hailing him. “We found these unmarked capsules in Ishida’s bag.”

“Where’s Ishida in your list of ‘good people,’” Shinichi asked Kaito just to needle him. 

“I don’t think he would do it,” Kaito said. “But then again, I don’t think anyone here could have murdered her.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned during my time as a detective, it’s that anyone is capable of murder. Even the most unsuspecting people can hide darkness in their hearts,” Shinichi said. “It doesn’t matter if they were good people before. Everyone can kill.”

“That sounds like a revelation based on personal experience,” Kuroba said. 

“You know,” Shinichi said, suspicious, “You’re awfully interested in my personal affairs.” What was with this man? He was acting like a fanboy the likes of which Shinichi hadn’t seen in years.

“I’m just a nobody to you,” Kuroba said. “But I find you a very intriguing person.”

“I don’t need any fans.”

“Ah, Kudō! You know as well as I do that you still have fans even after all this time,” Takagi said, elbowing him in the side.

Shinichi grunted.

“The Inspector is right!” Kuroba said. “I’m an enormous fan of yours, Detective!”

Something about the way he used that word pinged again at his subconscious. He stared at him for a long moment. It wasn’t coming to him, so he ignored it and moved on. “What you are is a suspect in this murder case. We don’t need some kind of amateur sleuth—who may be the culprit—messing things up.”

“But isn’t that what you used to do when you were a teenage detective?” Kuroba asked with exaggerated confusion, stroking his chin in a farcical manner. 

Shinichi groaned.

Kuroba turned serious, still wearing that stupid mask. “I know as well as you do that anyone is capable of murder,” he said. “But for now, I will keep holding the light of these people close to my heart. Excuse me.” With only that as his farewell, he grabbed a closed bottle of water and sat down on the chaise lounge that served as the set’s nod to a sitting room. He took his hat off, and finally his mask.

Once again, Shinichi was struck with a strange sort of familiarity at the sight of his bare face. Had he seen him in the vicinity of Hakuba or something?

Kuroba put his face in his hands and exhaled in a force of rattling breath that sounded like bones.

Ugh. He was getting distracted. “Takagi, have you found the poison yet?” Shinichi asked. 

The inspector shook her head. “Not yet! You?” 

“No.”

Shinichi crossed his arms, tapping his foot. This case was incredible levels of weird. The prima ballerina’s dramatic collapse on stage, Kuroba’s strange familiarity, the fact they couldn’t narrow down a suspect—

The autopsy would tell them more, but they wouldn’t get the results until sometime tomorrow afternoon. 

And he still hadn’t found the murder vector. It had to be something she ingested; that’s what the preliminary findings suggested.

He stalked down the hall, frustrated as hell. 

Not in the dressing room, not in the women’s dressing room, not in the staff hallway—

He passed a cleaning lady with her cart who was opening the door to a janitorial closet located just a small way beyond the exits to the outside, closer to the dressing room. 

He continued a few steps beyond her, then he stopped, eyes wide. “Excuse me, Cleaning Lady-san!” Shinichi said.

“Yes?” she asked, turning. “I thought I’d already given my statement to that cute young hunk over there,” she said, pointing to Maeda who was still on stage.

“Does anyone else have a key to this closet?”

She shook her head. “Just the Madame and me. Though I don’t really keep it locked, except late at night.”

“What’s the stool in there for? Do you rest in there during your shift, or?”

She shook her head again. “Oh no, That’s Satsuma-sama’s seat. She comes in here sometimes for a bit of peace and quiet. Her poor head, you know. Bad headaches, nothing she’s tried helped.”

Shinichi entered the closet, and amidst the cleaning agents on the shelves was a water bottle, very out of place.

“You don’t keep poisons in here?”

“Oh no sir, not at all!” she said, paling as she realized what he was implying. “There’s her own water bottle, I tell ya, and I ain’t never seen anyone use it but Satsuma-sama herself,” she said, nodding. 

“Leave your cleaning cart here,” Shinichi said, and called Tome over to process the crime scene before they tested the water bottle. Takagi followed behind him.

It was positive for cyanide. 

“Good catch,” Takagi said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Officer Kudō.”

“Crash and burn?” he said wryly. “According to Kuroba-kun, no one knew where she went when she disappeared for short periods of time, but the closet was left unlocked and anyone could have had access to her water when she wasn’t in here.”

Takagi sighed. “So really, we’re right back to where we started, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Shinichi said. “It could have been anyone with regular access to the stage.”

“Damn,” she cursed. “And I was really hoping we’d made some progress.”

Shinichi looked at his watch. The trains would stop running soon. “Do you mind if I head on out?” Ran and I took the train here, and they’re about to stop running.”

“I can take you in my car if you need more time,” Takagi said. 

“Would you?” Shinichi asked.

“Sure. We should probably start wrapping things up here anyway. There’s not much left we can do. We didn’t find any traces of anything on any of the cast members, so the water bottle was definitely the poison vector."

Shinichi frowned. “Ishida’s capsules?”

“Aspirin,” Takagi said. “Nothing was hidden in either of the dressing rooms, we found nothing of interest in the closet. We can’t do anything else until we get the autopsy.”

“I guess it will be another bright and early day at HQ tomorrow then, won’t it?” Shinichi said.

Takagi laughed. “Guess so.”

“So much for my day off.”

“There, there,” she said. “Go on with Ran. I’ll meet you out front.”

Ran was deep in conversation with Director Yamato when she saw Shinichi approach. She bowed, then hurried over to meet up with him. “I got to talk with Yamato-san!” she said, bouncing in her excitement. “She’s a former star with a lifetime achievement award in ballet!”

“She seems nice,” Shinichi agreed. 

“Oh, you don’t have to humor me. I know they’re all suspects,” Ran said, waving him off. 

"I'm sorry, Ran. This always happens—"

"Don't worry about it, Shinichi. I got to meet a lot of cool and interesting new people, and it's not like you killed her, is it?"

"Well, no—"

"Then seriously! Quit worrying about it! I had a lot of fun!" She tapped her lips. "Okay, truth be told it was really scary in the middle of it, but the first and last parts were fun!"

"I'm glad, then. We should do more things together."

"I agree. It's not like a murder happens at everything we go to, and the show was great until she died." She frowned. "I hate how used to that I am."

He looped his arm around hers. "It doesn't mean you don't care, though."

"Oh, I know. Still, deaths shouldn't be treated as something so commonplace, and that is what bothers me most, I think. I see someone die, and it doesn’t upset me anymore. I just think, ‘What a waste, forgetting the fact that these are people with real, full lives and loved ones."

"Yeah. Don't I know it," Shinichi said with a sigh. That topic was too depressing, so he cast about in his mind for a new one as they exited the building and walked towards Takagi's car. "What were your thoughts on the dancers?"

"They're good! Despite the masks,  they were very emotive, don’t you think? Especially the Prince!” She tilted her head. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, though I couldn’t recall where.”

Shinichi stopped. “You, too?” Then he shook his head and continued walking, leaning back against Takagi’s car. 

“Huh. So we’ve both seen him somewhere, then,” Ran said, considering. “Speak of the devil,” she said, straightening up. 

Indeed, there Kuroba stood, leaning against the side of the building, watching him and Ran with something like wistfulness or longing. Well, maybe not watching. He had his phone to his ear, talking to someone. Perhaps he was just using his mobile phone? Still, it was slightly strange that he’d followed them outside. Or maybe Shinichi was just paranoid. When he saw that Inspector Takagi had followed him out and was talking to him, he realized he was definitely being paranoid. 

Takagi left him at the door shortly after, got in the car, and drove them home. 

Shinichi didn't go to sleep, though. He had far too much research to do.

[2]

Shinichi yawned. He was up far, far too early for this in his opinion. The coffee in his hand was overwarm and overbitter. He’d fallen asleep fast but gotten up early, mind wrapped up in this strange case. 

He sniffed, pressing the elevator down to the mortuary basement. He tilted his head to one side, cracking his neck, then tilted his head to the other side.

The elevator dinged, letting him off. He took a last gulp of the coffee and tossed it in the bin next to the elevators, knocking on the door to the autopsy room.

“Ah, Kudō-kun!” Doc Tanaka said, opening the door for him. “Welcome, welcome.”

“What do you have for me, Doc?” Shinichi asked.

“It’s unusual. You’ll like it,” she said. “Vic was twenty-eight, and my initial findings confirmed that cyanide was the most likely cause of death.”

“But you said it was unusual.”

“Right! She was very athletic. Must have kept to a strict diet too, no alcohol, nearly perfectly healthy on the outside.”

“Nearly,” Shinichi said.

“Right.” She tapped her head with her scalpel. “And then we get to the brain. I took it out to weigh it and discovered some issues with the frontal lobe. Look there.” She poked at the pictures on the lightboard. “What do you see?”

Shinichi squinted. “A strange mass of tissue?"

"Which is?" Tanaka said, leading.

Hell if Shinichi knew. "She had brain cancer?”

“Indeed! Correct again! We will make you a medical examiner yet!”

“I like my current job, thanks,” Shinichi said.

“She had several meningiomas, two of them in the frontal lobe, one of them in the parietal lobe.”

He tapped his fingers on the table, peering down at her naked form. “I noticed you didn’t mention any other organs.”

“Correct again! With my new knowledge, I went back over her again. Upon a closer examination, I noticed they metastasized from her lung.”

Shinichi frowned, peering down at her. “No one mentioned any symptoms relating to that, though. All of them were neurological.”

“Yes. It’s uncommon, but not exactly unusual for cancer to metastasize from unknown sources, or for it to grow faster than the primary tumor. In fact, if I hadn’t been looking for it, I don’t think I would have found the one in her lung. It likely wouldn’t have shown up on imaging when she was alive.” 

Shinichi’s fingers tapped faster. So someone wanted her dead, but how likely was it that she would have died anyway?

“Can you tell if it was terminal?”

Tanaka tilted her head. “Well, what I can tell you is the second one in her frontal lobe was inoperable, but she had no signs of non-surgical options. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe, oh, six months?”

“That soon?” he murmured.

“Give or take a couple of months,” Doc Tanaka said, wiggling her hand. “Oncology isn’t exactly my field. Anyway, we’re still waiting on the toxicology report, but I’m confident in declaring the cause of death as cyanide. I’ll have the detailed report to you in a couple of days,” Tanaka said, reaching to grab a loose sheaf of papers from her desk.

“Thanks, Doc,” Shinichi said, paging through them. 

With the new information, Shinichi needed to go back and interview the rest of the company sooner rather than later.

He met up with Inspector Takagi, getting the consolidated reports from Ishikawa and Maeda, and read them before taking his car from Metropolitan Headquarters to Haido Recital Hall. 

Shinichi felt he was getting to know Beika’s Company quite well as he approached the hall for a second time. With most of the cast dismissed as suspects, he just had a few pertinent questions left to ask the main cast for. 

The doorman let him in without asking for his badge, and the receptionist bowed and directed him to the practice studios on the other side of the venue. The first one was empty, but the second one had a pair of dancers in there, supervised by Madame Yamato. 

To his surprise, it was two danseurs standing in a clinch, Kuroba and an unknown male. Kuroba was leaning against his torso, arm behind him to caress his face, while the man had his hand on Kuroba's stomach.

Both were shirtless wearing nothing but ballet leggings, which were very tight and almost sheer. Every twitch, every outline of their muscles was visible, and they both had lean, toned bodies from head to toe. 

Shinichi's mouth went dry, and he shifted, uncomfortable at the intimacy of the pose, ignoring the swoop in his stomach as he glanced down at Kuroba’s oddly flat and smooth groin.

“Again!” the Madame said, cracking her thin cane against Kuroba's thigh. Kuroba, whom he needed to speak with. He also needed to speak with Yamato, but it was Kuroba he’d prioritized after reading the notes.

"Madame!" he said, snapping to attention.

"From the top and one, two, three, four—"

Shinichi hadn't seen the dance they were performing before, and he really didn't know enough about ballet to describe what they were doing in accurate terms even after his feverish research session, but Kuroba was in the role of a female dancer while the unknown male took the lead. Their muscles rippled and flexed under their skin as he lifted Kuroba with ease; Kuroba braced himself on his partner to help support the lift, folding his body near in two as his foot nearly touched his head, proving to Shinichi that not only were they very athletic, Kuroba was also very flexible.

But then, Shinichi knew that already.

Kuroba had to have at least fifteen kilograms over Satsuma Isabela, but his partner still lifted him with ease. 

He set him down, and Kuroba spun away, leaning to the side and swaying dramatically. 

Because he'd been so focused on his body, Shinichi hadn't realized Kuroba wore en pointe shoes. Now, Shinichi wasn't any kind of balletomane, but between Ran and his research session last night, he now knew men traditionally didn't study en pointe.

That didn't appear to stop Kuroba, who glided across the dance floor as if he were floating completely on the tips of his toes.

Ethereal and full of grace, Shinichi watched the love blossom on each other's face as they twined even more desperately together, dancing as if they were one.

He felt his face heat, and wondered what the director was thinking, having two men do this kind of thing. And his own reaction to the way they moved so intimately together, it was like—he was like—he couldn’t be gay, right?

Right? he thought desperately. They were both covered in sweat, and their bodies gleamed under the studio lights. Kuroba’s heaving chest stoked an ember deep inside Shinichi’s heart, and it blazed into being like oil on a fire.

What was it about Kuroba? Why did he seem so familiar, like Shinichi already knew him? He was so comfortable in the arms of another man, so at home, that Shinichi couldn’t help but put himself in the other man’s place.

He wanted to be in the other man’s place. 

And imagining the flex of those muscles and the strength of that body during other physical activities—

The snap of the cane brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. They’d finished the section they were working on.  “Kuroba!” Madame Yamato barked. “Your final cabriole was sloppy. You can do better.”

“Madame!”

“And you, Itō. Are those what you call sissonnes ouvertes? Run through it again, from the top.”

“Madame!” Itō barked.

They began the sequence from the beginning again, and the director turned to face him. “Detective Kudō. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but considering the circumstances, it is not.”

Shinichi inclined his head towards the danseurs. “I’m surprised you’re back to practice already.”

“We have a show to do, Detective. Life does not stop because of one person’s death.”

“Some people might call that callous,” Shinichi said.

“Hmph. What’s callous are the two girls in the role of Marie abandoning their company to financial ruin!”

“What?” 

“We lost three dancers in a single night!  The audacity of those girls,” she said, shaking her head. “Beika Ballet Company is family. Fleeing in cowardice does not have consequences for just them, but for the entire Company!”

It took Shinichi a long second to parse that. “The understudies quit?” he asked.

“Citing murder as the reason! Murder!” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. “As if dozens of other dancers haven’t put their blood, sweat, and tears into this performance!”

“But you’re still rehearsing?” Shinichi said, confused.

“Hmph. Only because Kuroba knows the role well enough to dance Marie. It is unusual, but he is willing. However, you are interrupting.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you here?”

“Oh right, uh, we came into some new information, so I thought I’d ask some follow up questions, if that’s alright.”

She turned her head and yelled at her danseurs. “Kuroba! Itō! Come answer Detective Kudō’s questions!”

Kuroba and Itō stopped mid-routine. Itō drank from a closed water bottle as Kuroba toweled off. Sweat dripped down his bare chest. Shinichi licked his lips. “Ah, Detective! You enjoyed my company so much, you had to come back for more, huh?” he said, breathless from exertion.

His words made Shinichi flush a deep red. He cleared his throat, ignoring him. “Madame, were you aware that Satsuma-san had cancer?”

“She what?” Kuroba asked, teasing expression gone, face now pinched in distress, at the same time the Madame closed her eyes, letting out a slow exhale, tilting her head back.

After a long moment, she said, “No, I was not. I knew that she’d been seeing a specialist of some kind but I thought it was simply about her headaches, nothing more. Though I suppose it still was, in a sense.”

Hmm. That didn’t feel right. “Kuroba, you’re pretty in tune with everyone here. Do you think anyone else had an inkling?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think anyone knew.”

Madame Yamato harrumphed. "Likely because she knew what I'd do if she came to me with it."

Shinichi frowned. "Fire her?"

"Heavens, no. But it is likely I would have monitored her much more closely and restricted her practices to a certain extent, requiring my presence anytime she was in the studio. She was highly protective of her time.”

That made sense. Shinichi turned to his partner. “Itō, was it? What do you do?”

Despite being rather broad for a danseur, he was quiet and reserved. “I generally perform as part of the ensemble unless I’m required to fill Kuroba-san’s role.”

“Did you know that Kuroba was going to take over Satsuma-san’s role?” 

The man shook his head. “That’s why Kuroba-san and I were split from the other dancers. He’s helping me work on it.”

“Kuroba, you’re going to be performing her role, costumes and all?” Shinichi asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Was that your goal?” 

“Not quite, no.”

“How do you know the role?”

Kuroba crossed his arms. A defensive move. “I told you, Bela and I were friends. We practiced together during our off hours, that’s all.” He jerked his head at Madame Yamato. “She knew.”

The Madame harrumphed. “I did. And before you get that silly thought in your head, he didn't volunteer. Out of desperation, I asked."

Relief swept through Shinichi. Their preliminary findings had exonerated Kuroba until this new information put him on Shinichi's suspect list again, and he found himself beyond happy that he hadn’t had the intention to become the principal dancer for the show. "So you decided to dance the part even though it could lead to your death?" 

"With all due respect, Detective, they're welcome to try." He grinned, wild and manic, and once again, familiarity struck deep inside Shinichi's heart. Who was Kuroba? Why was he so familiar to Shinichi? Why did he feel so drawn to him?

“I don’t mean to interrupt your practice, but I was wondering if I could borrow Kuroba for a more in-depth interview, Madame?”

“Yes. Anything to find out who did this to my dear Isabela,” Madame Yamato said. “Especially when she was already struck with such tragedy, and keeping it to herself. She must have felt so alone.”

“Detective, you hear that? You can have me,” Kuroba joked, and Shinichi blushed again, his face hot, burying his face behind his manila folder. What was with this guy? Why was Shinichi so affected?

“Um, not to intrude, but I do need to make sure I have the main choreography down by tonight,” Itō said. 

“Not to worry, Itō. You will be dancing with me,” Madame Yamato said. Itō gulped audibly.  “Let us start from six—”

“All right, Detective, here I am,” Kaito said. “Interview away.”

“Can we go to a place that has a little more privacy?” Shinichi asked.

Kuroba stared at him in surprise. “I don’t know. Can we?” Kuroba said. Shinichi sighed, ignoring the gibe at his grammar. Kuroba followed him the short way to the empty studio next door, closing the door behind them. “So, what did you need to know?” he asked, sitting down on one of the chairs near the door and patting the chair next to him. 

Shinichi preferred to stand. “You misled me. Sources indicate you did spend a lot of time together with Satsuma,” he said, flipping through the annotated statements of the other investigators.

“Yes. I told you we were friends.”

"You also told me she didn't like you."

"She didn't."

"And you didn't know she was sick?" Shinichi asked.

Anger filled Kuroba; he tensed, his posture stiff. "I wouldn't lie about something like that. That's too disrespectful. I know it's part of your job to ask the same thing in slightly different ways, but really. That’s too much.”

“And you’re continuing in her role despite the risk of your own death?” Shinichi stepped forward towards his chair.

“Who wouldn’t? Someone had to.”

“That’s not a popular opinion.” He stepped forward again until he was almost looming over him.

“What’s this about, Detective?” he asked. “Don’t waste my time. I have very little of it; I could be in rehearsal right now.”

Shinichi was quiet for a minute or two longer, gathering his thoughts, formulating how he was going to say them. Finally, he said, “Something’s off about you, Kuroba. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.”

He gripped his legs so tightly his knuckles turned white. “So you really think I did it.”

Shinichi laughed, short and sharp. “No, the evidence doesn’t add up.”

“Then why am I here?” he asked, still tense.

“Because I need your help to solve this case,” Shinichi said.

“The lauded detective needs my help to solve a case. Will wonders never cease?” he said, shifting back in the chair, holding his hands up in mock surprise. “What could you possibly need my help for?”

"Live bait," Shinichi said.

Understanding crossed his face. "You're going to use me to draw out her killer."

"You're already doing it anyway; I don’t need you to do anything extra. Just dance tonight."

"I didn't say I had a problem with it. Of course I'll do it," Kuroba said, leaning forward and putting his head on his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

A silence that grew long, Shinichi wracked by indecision. He didn’t want the conversation to end. He wanted to keep talking to him. He wanted to pry him apart, figure out why he made him feel this way. Why did he recognize him? Why did Shinichi want him?

He turned his head and looked up towards Shinichi. "You're still here."

"I'm not finished with you," Shinichi said, taking a last step forward, something wild welling in his heart. He was in Kuroba's space now. What would he do?

Kuroba stood up. "What else could there possibly be?" he asked, bewildered. “I already agreed, didn’t I?”

Shinichi slammed his palm against the wall, leaning in close. “Who are you?”

“Kuroba Kaito—”

“Bullshit!” Shinichi said. “I know you. I know you. Who are you?”

“I don’t think I can give you any answer you’re going to accept,” Kuroba said quietly. He wouldn't meet his eyes.

“Did I meet you on another case? Were you in one of my university classes? Who are you?” Shinichi asked, almost desperate, leaning even closer.

Something in Kuroba’s face changed. His eyes grew sly, half-lidded, and he smirked. “My, my, Detective. How quickly we forget, hmm?”

And then Kuroba closed the distance between them, kissing him. 

Shinichi gasped, shocked at the turn things had taken, and Kuroba used that to his advantage, running his tongue over his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth. 

Oh. He was still shirtless, dressed only in leggings and ballet shoes. Shinichi wrapped his arms around him, running his hands down that perfect back. He kissed like a professional, and heat surged through Shinichi’s body, warming him to his toes. 

Shinichi pressed him back, only for Kuroba to yelp and lose his balance over the legs of the chair. Shinichi grasped at him desperately, and he pitched forward, knocking them both to the ground, hard.

“Ow,” Shinichi groaned, seeing stars. He’d fallen flat and hit his head on the floor. Having better balance, Kuroba had straddled his stomach trying to catch himself. Both of Shinichi’s hands cupped his—there was nothing but bare skin under those leggings.  

“Do you not wear anything under that?” Shinichi asked, highly interested.

“Do you think that I’m nak—I’m wearing a dancer’s belt,” Kuroba said, exasperated. “For support. Otherwise there’d be unsightly lines all over the place!”

“Oh,” Shinichi said, blinking. That made sense. He supposed that's what he got for thinking with the wrong head. Then he said, “I’m on duty and you’re a person of interest in this case.”

It was more to remind himself than anything else, but Kuroba said, “I didn’t do it.” 

“I don’t think you did,” Shinichi said. Then he rested his injured head against the floor. “But I’m still on duty.”

“And your hands are still on my ass,” Kuroba said, voice wry.

“In my defense, it’s a nice ass,” Shinichi said, squeezing it. Very firm, very round. 

“Be careful, Detective. I might get ideas,” Kuroba purred, leaning down to press a kiss on the corner of Shinichi’s mouth. Shinichi shuddered, continuing to massage him. 

“Do you want to go to the victim’s apartment with me?” Shinichi asked.

“That’s your idea of a first date?” Kuroba said, shaking his head. But he was grinning.

“Please?”

“I’d love to, but I really do need to rehearse,” Kuroba said, forlorn. “And you need to catch my friend’s killer, hmm?”

“But—”

“What if it really is me?” He pinched Shinichi’s nose and rattled his head. “Get your head back into the case.”

“It is!” Shinichi said, voice nasal. “And I know it’s not you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this position!” Really though, Kuroba had a fantastic ass.

“Think of me as a reward for a job well done then.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now, really, Detective. I’m going nowhere. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“I know, it’s just—” 

“Be a good boy and go solve this case for me, okay?” He patted Shinichi’s cheek. “I know it’s what you love to do, and you’ve never let me down yet.”

“Who are you?” Shinichi murmured, heart warm.

“You find it a lot more fun to figure it out yourself,” Kuroba said, trailing his fingers down his neck. “What I want to know is if you interview all your suspects this way.”

That cinched it. Kuroba knew him. “Of course not. Just you.”

"Mmm. Detective, I'm honored." He bent down and kissed him again.

Shinichi hadn't felt like this in so long. He didn't get attached to strangers like this. But he knew Kuroba, somehow from somewhere, and Kuroba knew him in return.

With some reluctance, Kuroba stood, and then he helped Shinichi gather his papers. He paused at one sheaf stapled together, flipping through. "Oh, you really did clear me." 

Shinichi nodded. "Eyewitness reports, including mine, corroborate you never left the stage during the time she was suspected to have been poisoned. You have some suspicious gaps in your schedule but everyone is entitled to a little privacy. If you're a criminal, it's for some other crime."

Kuroba laughed. He had a beautiful laugh. “Would that be a problem?” he said, his voice low, and Shinichi’s brain pinged.

It struggled futilely in the presence of Kuroba’s half-naked body, though. "Depends on what it is. I ought to get you for public indecency."

"Not yet. But if you stay—"

Point taken. Shinichi needed to leave for his own sanity. Before he left, though, he touched that chest of his, ghosting his palm across his lean, toned body before pulling him into another kiss.

"Bring your water bottle when you dance tonight, but don't drink anything," Shinichi ordered. "Make it believable, though."

"Yes, sir," Kuroba said. "You'll find I'm very good at pretending." He kissed him again. 

Shinichi really needed to go, though. “I’ll walk you back next door,” he said, finding his hand. 

Kuroba gave it a gentle squeeze as they turned to walk out of the studio. “I’ll be waiting for you, Detective. Go solve this.”

With one last longing gaze, Shinichi left him behind.

Naturally, the first thing he did was call Ran. "Ran, I'm gay?" he confessed, bewildered. It was a question, more than anything.

"I don’t think so," she said, thoughtful. "You seemed genuinely attracted to me. You’re bisexual, maybe?"

…That actually made him feel a little better. Less like the world was falling out from under his feet. Both. He could live with that. 

"Tell me what happened," she continued, and Shinichi did. She didn't actually laugh at him, but she had warmth in her tone when she said, "Shinichi, honey, it's not the end of the world."

"It feels like it," he muttered, petulant.

"He kissed you back, right?"

"Yes."

"And he seemed just as interested, right?"

"Yes."

"So what's the problem, here?"

"Other than him being a suspect in this case?" Shinichi asked. "Everything."

She laughed. "Don't be so melodramatic. You have a good eye, Shinichi. He was clearly into you from the beginning."

Shinichi blinked. "He was?" 

"Shinichi, I think the only reason he didn't crawl all over you was the circumstances in which you met. The desire in that gaze, whew!"

"Huh," Shinichi said, stunned. "Really?"

"Really."

"All right, then." He cleared his throat. 

An awkward silence. 

"Thanks, Ran."

"No problem. And Shinichi—congratulations, really."

"Thanks," he said quietly.

They said their goodbyes, and Shinichi hung up.

Kuroba, however, lingered on Shinichi’s mind as he drove to her apartment.

It was a small complex on the edge of the sixth block, maybe seven floors. She lived on three, and Shinichi snapped on gloves, using her key to get in. They’d already processed her apartment last night, but maybe they’d missed something. 

Her presence was minimal here just like in the rest of her life. It was like she was hardly there; what was there wouldn’t look out of place in a home design magazine. Very little personal touches. The design itself was minimalist, utilitarian. Small. He wandered through the space, and the only spot of color and spontaneity was in her closet. But even there, the fashionable clothes felt sorely out of place, like they needed to be hidden from the rest of the world. 

It had two bedrooms; the second bedroom was a study replete with a desk. The top of it was clear, still no photos or personal items or even papers. There was tidiness, and then there was austerity, and it was clear which way Satsuma Isabela tended.

He stood in the study, stroking his chin, thinking about what their investigation had uncovered about her. She was half-Japanese, estranged from her family on both sides who hadn’t liked the marriage between her parents. Her parents themselves had died about a decade ago when she was a teenager, both of them succumbing to their injuries in a terrible car accident. 

Neither side of her family had wanted her, so she’d petitioned the court to emancipate her, and Madame Yamato had taken her in since she was the most promising member of the company.

It really seemed such a sad and lonely life. 

He turned, and a framed diploma on the wall caught his eye. “A degree in biochemistry,” he said to himself. 

Looking back at the desk, he rifled through the drawers, looking for something, anything. 

In the second drawer of the heavy desk, in a stack of correspondence, was a letter from a professor at Teitan University, handwritten with the Teitan letterhead. Shinichi skimmed over it. It stated that of course she was free to use any of the labs on campus at any time, despite the fact her life had taken her down other avenues. She’d have to have something to do after she aged out of dancing, after all. 

A degree in biochem. Access to a lab. Terminal cancer and a flair for the dramatic. That meant—

Huh. 

Well. It didn’t preclude other options, and it was only circumstantial so far, but Shinichi thought he’d figured out the case. 

Now for the final piece. 

The night came wet and windy. Shinichi huddled in his raincoat and umbrella and the rain still hit him in sheets, leaving him damp as he walked the short way to the performer entrance and dithered around backstage.

Despite that fact, it was a packed house. Satsuma’s death and Kuroba’s unusual replacement had brought a lot of people interested in the spectacle to the show.  

Through the stage lights, Shinichi watched the officers station themselves on multiple levels, interspersed with security. 

Backstage, Madame Yamato barked last minute orders. Itō was in costume, Ishida and Miyamura were right there, but where was Kuroba?

They all had small 250mL PET bottles, drinking them in one sitting if they needed to.

Kuroba then drifted out of Satsuma's old dressing room with a sports bottle in his hand, and Shinichi's heart stopped.

He was taller than the average ballerina, yes, but if Shinichi hadn't known he was dancing the part of Marie, he would have been firmly convinced the person in front of him was a woman.

Shinichi only knew of two people in the world with that level of skill, and only one was a man.

Kaitō KID. 

He'd kissed Kaitō KID.

He blushed, warmth spreading down to his toes. He'd missed Kaitō KID. His heists hadn't stopped, but they'd slowed significantly. Shinichi guessed the grueling practice schedule of a danseur was the reason why. Much to his regret, Shinichi hadn't been able to go to any since before he finished university.

It was nice to see him again, Shinichi mused. He laughed at himself. More than nice, actually, since that was an understatement. He'd been joking about the criminal thing, but KID was harmless. He was glad, too, of the realization that it offered; the facts had been on Kuroba's side, but Shinichi knew KID would never kill anyone if he could help it.

No wonder he was hesitant about Shinichi figuring out his identity. Idiot. Like Shinichi would try to catch him outside a heist. Besides, that wasn’t his purview as a detective. He had no interest in thieves. Well. At least not in that way. 

Kuroba—the Kaitō KID—met Shinichi’s eyes and nodded. That meant they’d finished setting the cameras up while the rest of the performers had been distracted. Kuroba was the only one that knew. 

He set his water bottle backstage in a spot deliberately set up to be lightly guarded. 

The lights went down and the show began. 

Kuroba was beautiful like this. Graceful, delicate, floating, perfect. Shinichi thought he could watch him forever. Such power, such form…Shinichi wondered what brought him here, that ballet was his day job? He made a note to himself to ask. 

They made it to the battle with the Rat King, Shinichi waiting for it, impatient. Kuroba was the lynchpin of their plan and it was almost time to begin. 

Kuroba leapt up, shocked by the entrance of Ishida in his menacing Rat King costume, eyes glowing a fearsome red. Itō stood in front of him protectively, defending “Marie.”

Wait for it.

The heated battle raged across the stage, the dancers twirling in perfect choreography. 

Then as the scene began to ebb, Kuroba staggered across the stage in an exaggerated faint, falling to the floor and ending the scene, right on cue.

The lights went down. Someone laughed, evil and menacing, echoing across the stage. The lights came back up. Kuroba didn’t move.

Murmurs filled the audience, harmonizing with the susurrus of whispers.  Kuroba still didn’t move. Itō hovered over him, unsure what to do. 

They couldn’t have their ruse discovered early, so Shinichi himself crossed the stage. The murmurs from the audience grew. He knelt before Kuroba and felt his pulse.

“He’s dead,” Shinichi said grimly. 

Shock from the audience and the stage; Madame Yamato let out a wounded cry. “No one leaves,” Shinichi said. “Officers, remain at the exits. The killer is here.” He paced back and forth in front of Kuroba’s body. The spotlights centered on him; he was in his element. They’d wanted to dramatize this, so Shinichi would. 

“Inspector Takagi. Is the projector set up?”

“Yes, Detective,” Takagi said. He couldn’t see her fierce grin from here, but he imagined she was wearing it.

“How’s the feed?”

“It caught everything,” Takagi said. She pressed a button, and the white backdrop lowered. He heard another click of the line, and the projector started to play.

Kuroba’s water bottle was centered in the middle of the frame. The time stamp was a little over thirty minutes ago. Ishida, in the rat costume but with his face bare, hunched over it like a rat, dribbling something from a clear capsule into it. 

“I’d say that’s proof, wouldn’t you?” Shinichi said, his voice cold. “Officers?” They came towards him from every direction on the stage, leaving him no place to run. 

“It wasn’t me! I’ve been framed!” he said, but the proof was right there, playing in a forty second loop above them all. 

“Take him away. I think we’re done here,” Shinichi said, mouth twisted in a feral grin, and they did. 

The audience clapped. It was acknowledgement he didn’t need, and only half the story besides. Maeda and Ishikawa were confirming the other half of it at Ishida’s apartment as they waited. 

Shinichi turned back towards Kuroba and held out a hand. Kuroba rose and took it to the audience’s gasp, and Shinichi helped him to his feet. Kuroba bowed, Shinichi following, and then they left the stage. 

“Thank you,” Kuroba murmured. 

Shinichi pulled him close, uncaring of who was watching, and whispered in his ear. “No, thank you, Kaitō KID.”

Kuroba’s smile could have lit up the sun. Shinichi reluctantly left his embrace.

The show continued from that point on, rolling back to the beginning of the scene, Ishida’s understudy coming out to replace him. 

Shinichi left Haido Recital Hall without looking back, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. 

Later that night, he’d just gotten out of the shower when he heard a rattling knock on the window in his bedroom. Clutching his towel tightly, he crept to his door, opening it slowly, only to see one Kuroba Kaito standing on his windowsill, framed by the high arch, curtains fluttering in the breeze.  

His gaze was molten, dragging over Shinichi long and slow. Shinichi laughed and shook his head. He always had to be dramatic. 

“Come on in, it’s cold out there,” Shinichi said, shivering from the cool air hitting his damp body.

“Are you sure?” Kuroba said, hands in his pockets. “I died tonight. You might be letting in a vampire.”

An undignified snort. “I’ll take that chance,” Shinichi said as Kuroba came in, Shinichi locking the window behind him. “What brings you here?”

“What you did,” Kuroba trailed off, licking his lips. “What you said. That wasn’t everything. I know that wasn’t everything.”

Ah, of course. For someone that prided himself for being just a thief, he was awfully nosy sometimes. "We rushed the labs. I got the results just before I arrived tonight. Satsuma had eight times the lethal amount of cyanide in her system."

"Eight times?" Kuroba said, frowning.

"Eight times," Shinichi confirmed, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the bed, where they both sat down. His skin was cold. Had Kuroba been waiting out there the whole time? He entwined their fingers together. "Two capsules. She was poisoned twice."

Kuroba stilled, grip tightening. "You're not saying what I think you're saying."

Shinichi squeezed back, sympathetic. "I'm sorry. She took her own life."

"But you just arrested Daisuke for her murder."

"He killed her," Shinichi said. "The same way he tried to kill you. We just don't know which dose killed her."

"But for me, it's attempted murder."

"Yes."

"So it's imperative that you get him on something definitive." 

"Also yes. The sentence is much longer, and I don’t want him out there."

"Why did he try to poison me, then?"

"Seething, raging jealousy. We have his blog posts. They're essentially a declaration of intent towards both you and her. He thought you were dating."

"I already told you that we weren’t, Detective—"

Shinichi cupped his cheek as Kuroba leaned into his hand. He swept his thumb across his cheek, letting his hand linger for a moment before trailing it down his arm and finding his hand again. "Oh, I know. Anyway, it’s circumstantial, but it proves motive and intent beyond reasonable doubt. Satsuma was the one that sourced the cyanide, through the lab at the university, and through her, he had access to it. Since we didn't find them at her apartment, I'm betting they'll be at his."

"And if they're not?"

"We have him anyway," Shinichi said, waving him off. “The circumstantial evidence is enough to prove he did it. No one else had that kind of access.” He sighed. "It's sad. She broke up with him when she found out her cancer was inoperable, not wanting him to watch her die. She couldn't bear chemotherapy and how it would affect her.”

“And he thought she broke up with him to pursue me,” Kuroba said.

“Exactly,” Shinichi agreed. “It’s a tragedy all around.”

Kuroba pulled away, putting his face in his hands, leaning forward, sighing. “Why does this always have to happen to my friends?” he said, voice muffled. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Is death going to continue to follow me around everywhere?”

Shinichi had had such thoughts. They stayed with him, even now. “It doesn’t do you any good to dwell,” he said, scooting closer, rubbing his hand up and down Kuroba’s back. “You’re not responsible for the actions of other people.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“I’m certain.”

Kuroba harrumphed. “If you say so.” He let out another mournful sigh, resting his head on Shinichi’s shoulder. Shinichi’s arm snaked around his waist, and he held him tightly, offering silent support. 

They sat in silence for another few minutes before Kuroba raised his head again. “You know,” Kuroba said, “I keep expecting you to comment on what you said, on seeing me tonight.”

“What do you want me to say? I said it depends on the crime,” Shinichi said. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t know, arrest me?”

“I work in homicide, not theft,” Shinichi said. “Besides, it doesn’t count if I don't catch you at a heist.”

“I see,” Kuroba said, sounding like he didn’t see at all. “And you stopped coming to heists.”

“Exactly!” Shinichi said, pleased that he got it. 

Another long silence, this time with Kuroba examining him like he was something under a microscope.

The answer suddenly came to him. “Oh, are you upset I stopped coming to heists?” Shinichi asked. 

Kuroba shuttered his expression. His face was inscrutable. “...No,” he said. 

“You were,” Shinichi said in realization. “You totally were!”

“No,” he repeated more firmly.

“You had a crush on me, even then!” Shinichi felt heady, triumphant. Wow. After all this time, KID had still—wow. 

“No!” Kuroba said again with even more emphasis.

“That’s why you were flirting with me,” Shinichi said, caught up in the rush of deduction. “You never expected to see me again and were taking advantage of the opportunity!” 

Kuroba sighed again. “If you say so. You’re the one obsessed with my ass.” It was a weak rejoinder, and Kuroba knew it.

“How did you end up a danseur, anyway?” he asked. “I thought for sure you’d be a magician.”

“And that’s exactly why I picked up ballet again,” Kuroba said. “I wasn’t kidding about my mother putting me into classes when I was younger in order to build up my strength and flexibility. I also took gymnastics.”

“I see. Your mother’s the Phantom Lady, right?” Shinichi tilted his head. Kuroba nodded. “So that was her way of training you.”

“One of them, yes.”

“And that’s your way of hiding who you are.”

“Something like that. I figured it wouldn’t take you too much to get it,” Kuroba said. “I keep up to date with my tricks, but given the bias and stereotyping around danseurs, you will understand exactly why I chose it as a career path.”

“It’s a great way to mask who you really are. And given your skills at mimicry, and your ability to learn and retain information, you become a genius of ballet,” Shinichi said.

“And hard work. Don’t forget hard work. Coming back to it so late, I had a lot of catching up to do,” he said. “Madame Yamato was a great help. I’m so happy it wasn’t her,” he said. 

Shinichi stroked his side. “She’s like a mother figure to you, isn’t she?”

"She's good to her Company. She’s been more my mother to me than my mother has been in a long time."

“Did you have any idea who it was?” Shinichi asked.

“No,” Kuroba said. “Like I told you before, I wanted to think the best of everyone. I couldn’t possibly think any one of them did it, because that would mean the people I trusted with my own heart were failable, and I just—”

He leaned his head onto Shinichi’s shoulder again. “I’m tired of murder, that’s all.” He sighed yet again. “It’s a dark and bloody magic, the taking of a life, and everyone suffers.”

Shinichi tightened his arm around his waist. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Kuroba said, shifting over, pulling Shinichi closer, kissing his cheek next to his ear. “What I’m more surprised about is you flirting back, being so bold as to slam the wall next to my head. What is this, a romance manga?”

“Hush, you,” Shinichi said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Or hentai, the way you were fondling me,” Kuroba said with a purr, trailing his hand down Shinichi’s chest. “You’ve gained a little weight, Detective.” He pinched Shinichi’s stomach between his finger and his thumb. "Too many doughnuts while out chasing innocent thieves?”

“Ha. Ha. No,” Shinichi said. 

“Too bad. It’s cute.”

“Says the one that came in through my window. What kind of a person are you?” 

“You didn’t bother to put on clothes, either. It’s like you knew who I was,” Kuroba said. “Were you trying to seduce me with your wily detective ways?” He licked the shell of his ear. Shinichi giggled, and then coughed, trying to hide the ridiculous sound. 

But it was too late. Kuroba already caught it, his smirk driving Shinichi insane. “First of all, who else would come through my window?” Shinichi said. “Secondly, it’s three in the morning. You had to have been waiting for me to come home to surprise me. I bet you waited until just as I was in the shower too. Pervert,” Shinichi said, his neck heating up. He’d blushed more in the past few days than he had in the last several years. 

“Maybe you caught me,” Kuroba said, shifting back and nuzzling his stomach. “Worth it to see you like this, I think.”

“Shut up,” Shinichi said, clutching at his towel. “I don’t have time to exercise like I used to.”

Kuroba blinked, pulling away and looking looking up. “You think that’s an insult, my dear?”

“Is it not?” Shinichi asked, crossing his arms over his bare torso and hunching in on himself. 

“Not hardly,” Kuroba purred, spreading his arms apart and pushing him down to the bed. 

Shinichi’s whole body was on fire from his words. KID was just too much! And here Shinichi thought he hadn’t changed. Stupid, audacious criminal! “Kuroba, be careful! The towel might slip!”

Kuroba tilted his head. “That sounds like a bonus, honestly,” he said, and then he straddled him, cupping Shinichi’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

The kisses before had been excellent, Shinichi was sure, but that was nothing compared to the ones now, the ones with knowledge of just who Kuroba was. It sent fire coursing through his entire body, and he stared up at Kuroba, warm with the knowledge of just who he was. 

It was divine, utter bliss, to have the thief under his hands. How had he lied to himself for so long? How had he not realized that this is what he was after, that this is what he was missing?

He hated that it was murder brought them back together, but there was a part of him that was fiercely glad. Kuroba Kaito, the Kaito KID, was a good man, a kind man with a lovely smile and a brilliant mind. To have him back in his life—

He ignored the part of him that said he was the hottest man that Shinichi had ever seen. 

Certainly, Kuroba had been a major source of discovery about himself. Kuroba had stoked those uncertain feelings Shinichi had always carried for him into a major flame. 

After all this time, maybe the thing Shinichi always felt was attraction. That desire to challenge KID, to have him look at Shinichi and absolutely no one else. Maybe it wasn’t about the challenge at all, the desire to have KID’s focus solely on him. Maybe Shinichi’s crush was the secondary reason he’d never found time to go back to KID’s heists after a certain point.

He was in love. He’d been in love this whole time. And after so long without contact with him, he'd felt aimless. Unsteady. 

His friendships were great, especially with Ran and Hattori, there were no doubts about that, but sometimes he wanted something more. Something soft and intimate. Something like this. Lips, soft and pliant and hot against his own. A hot body on top of his, wandering hands that explored his body with thorough care. And the nicest ass Shinichi had ever seen on anyone. 

Kuroba kissed him hot and languid and slow, taking his time. He kept his hands above the waist, but they did wander, lingering and exploratory. 

Shinichi wondered just what exactly he was exploring. He didn’t have the body of an athlete anymore, not like Kuroba did. 

Kuroba didn’t seem to mind, though, a soft smile lighting up his entire face as he gazed into Shinichi’s eyes. He looked at Shinichi with awe, like he was some sort of precious thing. 

“Look at you, my detective,” he said. “Look at you.”

The fondness in his eyes was too much; Shinichi had to look away. He couldn’t help it. It was just too much. Too real. Too…everything.  He was everything. And he was here with Shinichi, in his room, in his arms. 

Shinichi felt alive again, more than he had in such a long time.

He hadn’t died tonight. He hadn’t forgotten about him. By all accounts, he’d missed Shinichi. He’d even pined for him, if Shinichi had understood him. 

"Stay?" Shinichi asked.

"Of course," Kuroba said, leaning down and pressing his face against his.

Shinichi trembled. This thing growing between them was soft and delicate like a flower. He exhaled slowly.

An amaryllis, perhaps. Two different flowers that shared the same name, once considered similar but split over time. Perhaps KID was the true amaryllis, the African flower. And perhaps Kuroba was really the hippeastrum, common name amaryllis.

It stayed dormant all summer in the northern hemisphere and bloomed at Christmas, carrying on into the spring.

Would this affair carry into spring? Shinichi didn't know. He wanted it to. Desperately.

"Forever?" he asked.

"If you want," Kuroba said, and he untucked Shinichi's towel, and pulled it away.

And the rest was lost to the night.

[incorrectfatui]

As I said, they follow archetypes, which means that while the plays are completely different, the masks follow similar behavioural patterns. Let‘s take a Zanni and two Vecchi as an example! -Pantalone is an old, greedy man, who is extremely arrogant. He‘s usually the father of one of the innamorati, and often flirts with women but is always rejected. Sometimes he is married to La Signora, but more often he‘s a widow or was never married in the first place. He treats his servants awfully and loves nothing more than his money. He is often the main subject of Lazzi (scripted jokes) in the plays. -Il Dottore, annother Vecchio, is the foil to Pantalone, and his main character trait is being absolutely fucking incompetent! He‘s often portrayed as a doctor, of course, but can sometimes be played as a lawyer as well! He’s sometimes portrayed as Colombinas father. As a Vecchio, he‘s usually portrayed as very rich, arrogant etc. Depending on the play, you might have him badly speaking Latin/Greek (or other scholarly languages) as well! He is also often portrayed as an alcoholic or glutton, and yes, he too flirts with women a bunch. As you can probably tell, he is meant to parody the intellectual elite! While he pretends to know many things, he usually has no idea what he‘s actually talking about- but a common Lazzo involving him is that he talks so much that the other characters get bored and leave the stage. -For the Zanni, let‘s take a look at the most well known one first: Arlecchino! Him and Colombina usually provide a parallel to the innamorati, but other than that, he is very witty, often competetive and has a lot of those sort of trickster-like characteristics that you expect from Harlequin-characters today (which, ofc, they got from Arlecchino!). He is also usually portrayed as really agile. He is really interesting, because he can be played as intelligent AND as dumb- Antonio Scuderi alledges that he puts on a show of being dumb, to create chaos within the play. Many times, the plot of commedia dell‘arte plays revolves around the Innamorati, who are in this sort of forbidden love- usually one or both of them are children of the Vecchi, who do not wish for the Innamorati to get together, which is why they turn to ask the Zanni for help! They usually get a happy ending, too :D It‘s especially cool, because this form of theatre was used as political/social commentary a bunch! The Vecchi (rich people) are almost always portrayed as the bad guys, and while ofc the Zanni are full of stereotypes as well, and everyone is kind of shown to be, well, not the smartest person, it is especially apparent in the Vecchi, who are relentlessly made fun of :D It gets even better when you remember that they continuosly break the 4th wall, as customary for the time! Actually, in case you‘re interested in that, the 4th wall is a relatively new phenomenon, so read up on that :D! Older plays don‘t really apply the concept at all, even Shakespeare didn‘t, especially in his comedies (which are, you guessed it, in part inspired by Commedia dell‘arte). ALSO ALSO, something that I think is really hard to comprehend if you‘re not that familiar with Italian culture/don‘t speak the language, a HUGE part of commedia dell‘arte is dialects! For example, Arlecchino is often portrayed as speaking the Bergamo dialect, and Pantalone often speaks in a Venetian dialect! And of course, the costumes- god i could talk about the costumes so much- In any case, I hope this wasn‘t too rambly for you! I might post some quotes I have from scripted plays later, if people are interested :D (2/2)

also do you ever think about fatui just meaning stupid in latin. why did the tsaritsa name her group that

I do actually think about that a lot! I learned Latin in school, and still use it a lot in my major (archaeology), so I thought it was really funny when people started figuring out the latin in Genshin‘s names and soundtracks xD

I know Google Translate translates it as „stupid“, but it actually translates more accurately to „Fools“! Fatui is the plural and the singular would be Fatuus :D I think it‘s actually used in game a few times iirc! I think it refers to the fact that they‘re foolish for opposing the divine order/heavenly principles, but yes it‘s kind of funny xD But it also connects to them being based on commedia dell‘arte imo! I won‘t go into detail cus that would take too long and I don‘t think anyones all that interested in it (Commedia dell‘arte is my special interest, so there‘s a LOT), but fools is a very accurate description for the masks/characters appearing in it

[pyramultimuse]

A new king

@ofkingpenguin with Harls

Now that Mooney was out of the picture there was a new person to take her place. The new king just so happened to be her little umbrella boy. Good for him in Harled's book. The woman looked out for the girls she took under her wing, but Fish always mistreated the guys. Though she knew how things ran on the streets, the new guy didn't. Penguin was going to have to learn that just because he was king didn't make him untouchable.

It started out with a little vandalizing, some neon spray paint outside the Iceberg Lounge. A cartoony penguin that wore a golden crown and cane with the words DONT DROP YOUR CROWN in big bold lettering along with red HaHaHa! in the shape of a crescent with the playing card shapes of a red diamond and black spade to make a grinning clown face. That was Harls signature look when in costume at the circus, a harlequin clown in red and black with his performance consisting of cardtricks and trying to sabotage the other performers. The mischievous jester, both when performing and out on the streets.

Thievery was the next step. Stealing from Penguin, both from the club and the man's personal finances. Harls would intercept deliveries of food and alcohol, taking the delivery truck for a joyride and leaving it someplace Penguin's men would find it. When he took large sums of money he would give it back, though usually in the form of random expensive things. Like a six-foot tall ice statue of an emperor penguin and three hundred pounds of swedish fish candies.

Beating down Penguin's hired hands was more challenging than the rest of his self-assigned tasks, but only by a little. Zsasz letting it slide as they were friends and Harls not intending any lasting harm to Penguin's goons plays dumb when Oswald questions him about how the others got beaten up. This all was in good fun in causing some trouble for Oswald.

The last step was to get into the club and Harled had just the thing. He arrived to the Iceburg Lounge in his harlequin costume, the one he used a little of Penguin's stolen money to upgrade to finer material and made the design a little more slutty than what he usually wore in the circus ring. Tight shorts over torn fishnet stockings, faux leather corset under a croptop jacket, a ruffle lace half skirt and knee high boots. His outfit was all red, black and white with strips and playing card symbols as the pattern. He arrived at the back entrance that the employees used and Zsasz let him right in. A high-five exchanged between the teen and the hitman before they went their separate ways in the club, Victor going to meet with Oswald up in the VIP section and Harls going out to the main floor.

The jester fit right in despite being in utterly ridiculous attire compared to the finely dressed men and women of the criminal elite and high society. Easily blending in as if he was a hired performer to entertain the club goers. Wise-cracking jokes and taking over the card table where the gambling was happening, Blackjack was the game and Harls inserted himself as dealer. With his skilled slide of hand he made it seem like everyone at the table was going to win big. Making them think they were on a lucky winning streak until he was able to bait the gamblers to go all in. That was when the cards turned and Harls made them lose everything, there was close to a million dollars on the table lost. The look on their faces were priceless, Harled cackled at how angry one mobster was that the man was red as a tomato. Harls mocked the man for his loss and threw the cards he had hidden up his sleeve at the man's face, revealing that this loss was all his control. This caused an uproar in the club, the angry gamblers now wanting to kill the clown for cheating them out of all their money.

[cashewally-sarcastic]

The Commedia Dell’Arte infodump

So there were a lot of characters in Commedia Dell’Arte, but they had four stock character groups. These groups were Zanni, Vecchi, Innamorati, and Il Capitano. 

Zanni was for servants and clowns. Some of the characters in this group are Arlecchino (aka Harlequin), Brighella, Scapino, Pulcinella, and Pedrolino!

Vecchi were wealthy old men or the “masters” group, and some characters in this group were Pantalone and Il Dottore.

Innamorati were young upper-class lovers, with names like Flavio and Isabella, very fancy names.

Il Capitano were self-styled captains or braggarts, and if female they could be like La Signora.

Certain characters also had certain masks with their costumes, but women were never masked. Instead the women would have powdered faces or wear a lot of makeup. But besides masks, every character had a distinct costume to tell the audience who they were. Some of them had tight-fitting jacket, others had whole military uniforms. Also characters all had different regional dialects to give a bit of variety to the play.

A list of well-known characters, or at least characters you may have heard the names of are: Pierrot and Pierrette, Pantalone, Il Dottore, the Innamorati, Colombina, Pedrolino, Pulcinella, Sandrone, Scaramuccia/Scharamouche, La Signora, Tartaglia, and Arlecchino/Harlequin.

So now I’m gonna talk about two of the well known characters from above, but if you want to know about others let me know :)

Two characters I want to talk about:

First up is Arlecchino, or Harlequin. Same person, don’t worry. Arlecchino did wear a mask, and his status was a servant, sometimes to two different masters. Their costumes was usually a colorful jacket and pants that were...very tight. Arlecchino was known for his physical agility, and would spice up movement. He didn’t have much of a solid character, either being an idiot or a smart trickster, though sometimes it’s said that he acts dumb on purpose. Arlecchino originally spoke in a Bergamo dialect, but eventually got a mixture of french and italian when the character itself became a fixture in france. As for what role Harlequin played, he was altered a lot to be in many roles. Sometimes he was the love interest of Columbina, or sometimes pursue the innamorata, with almost no success. He’s known to try to win any given lady for himself, and is very...well, he really wants to adult cuddle with any lady he sees.

The other character I’ll talk about is La Signora, which means “the lady”. She didn’t wear a mask, but would wear a LOT of makeup. She wore a lot of jewels, too much hair and too many flowers, she was very fashionable and over the top. La Signora was the wife of Pantalone, but was also involved with Pedrolino. She was known to be calculating and beautiful. But considering she was a woman in the 16-18th century, she would sometimes be a “courtesan” (read: high-class prostitute), and could get her way into the house of any man, usually Pedrolino or Pantalone, and Pantalone would usually be cucked. But unlike Harlequin, La Signora usually has an aim for her character, and it’s mostly material wealth. More jewels, dresses, all of that. She would scheme to get these things, giving her that “calculated” trait. She would also be attracted to Il Capitano, her male counterpart, and they want to be together. But she’s always married to Pantalone, and she cheats on him a lot. She’s also known to have a fight with another woman, she’s not afraid to ridicule others.

[theotherbilly]

//closed starter @amokamokamokk​

Billy somehow was able to make friends in this new town because of his work as a server. As much as he hated life itself, he knew he could make it at least bearable if he actually acted like a nice human being. Truth be told, Billy’s angst was mostly a manifestation of his pain, a longing for a life lost and the regret of never ever feeling the same way as before. On the inside, he was a pretty soft guy who only had small ambitions: a quiet life in the company of people he could trust. Of course, this goal wasn’t exactly easy because of the vices he couldn’t get rid of. He was still a player and an alcoholic, to say the least. Other supplements he takes are not something he will ever admit to taking.

Some folks in town saw him in his Joker outfit, and somehow the costume felt natural to him. He was sarcastic, angry, and overall sick of the world. Being Joker felt like a second skin, so he blended into the ruckus of the crowd until some of the guys pulled him in to compete in a beer pong game. Somehow, it was perfect because they said that the leader of the other team was a woman dressed as Harley. Billy didn’t mind the silly quest since it involved alcohol and women. The game only adds spice to his ordeal of waking up next to someone in the morning.

Once he saw the table, there was a group of girls on the other side. Billy took the pingpong ball and rinsed it as his friends poured beer on the red cups. Once everything was settled, the Harlequin lady turned to him, and Billy’s eyes widened. It was Sarah... again. In an instant, he stepped back and was ready to avoid her again when his friends pulled him in and teased him for backing out. He saw her mischievous smile at him, one that he both hated and loved. Her costume only added more allure to her feisty nature, and Billy stared, both incredibly irritated and turned on at the same time. "You want to play games with me again, eh Sarah?" He said, tapping the ball on the table. "Fine. Shoot your best shot."

[dwellordream]

“…The ideas that animate Harlequin romance novels, Game of Thrones, and Disney movies alike can be traced back to the nineteenth century. Look at the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites and others influenced by them—works like John William Waterhouse’s “Lady of Shalott” (1888) and Frederic William Burton’s “The Meeting on the Turret Stairs” (1864)—and you’ll see some very familiar figures.

These canvases reflect popular Victorian understandings of medieval ladies: passive, slender, aristocratic, the objects of knightly devotion. These women have never laboured in the fields with sunburned necks or callused hands. Their clothing and flowing hairstyles are eclectic, designed more to make nineteenth-century audiences think about a distant, misty, heroic past than to accurately reproduce any given moment in the Middle Ages. And, they are, invariably, white.

Art doesn’t exist in a vacuum. These paintings were produced when European imperialism was at its zenith; when Darwinian theories of evolution were twisted to justify colonialism and social hierarchies based on race; and when a supposed early-medieval “Teutonic”—or Germanic—ancestry for the white Protestant populations of Britain and North America was claimed to be the reason for the explosive economic growth of those regions.

They were also painted at the same time that white people in Europe and the Americas were enjoying steadily increasing standards of living—in large part thanks to the backbreaking, and often coerced, labour of those in colonised places. Black and brown women helped to shape history, but Victorian society excluded them from the category of “lady” because of the colour of their skin.

Nineteenth-century thinkers drew on the medieval past in order to justify racial and class inequities, or burgeoning notions of nationalism. These thinkers racialised the medieval lady. They idealised her as white, passive, and unsuited to manual labour. In doing so, they made her into a rationale as to why her elite, white, female descendants could sip tea in parlours while brown and black women toiled in the fields—or in their houses—to bring them that tea. The status quo was given such a venerable heritage that it was made to seem natural, even inevitable. Such ideas were then, and are now, pervasive and insidious. They were absorbed by white women, by Disney animators, by the makers of Halloween costumes, and even by those who write histories.

But what happens if we take the medieval lady off her pedestal? What kind of woman do we see inhabiting the Middle Ages if we try to peel off the Victorian veneer of chivalry and politesse? Does looking at what medieval people actually did in the past tell us something about our own assumptions concerning race and gender? In part, this is a process where we have to reconsider the language we use. What do we mean by “lady”? What did medieval people mean by the term? Or, rather, since most texts produced in western Europe in the Middle Ages were written in Latin, what were the connotations which they associated with the word domina?

The first key difference is that the modern English word “lady” simply doesn’t have the aura of power which the Latin word domina did in the Middle Ages. A domina was a woman with authority and moral rectitude in her own right, not simply the consort or complement to a dominus (lord). A domina (and holders of other Latin titles applied to women in medieval records, like comitissa, vicedomina or legedocta) administered estates and adjudicated legal disputes. It did not matter whether she held her title by inheritance or through marriage. Those who held titles in their own right, or those who were widowed, could exercise significant power over fiefs and vassals.

For example, when Matilda, countess of Tuscany (1046-1115), was referred to as domina, it was because she controlled a large swathe of northern Italy. She was the mediator during the famous meeting between Pope Gregory VII and the German emperor Henry IV at her great fortress of Canossa. In doing so, she influenced the outcome of a major medieval power struggle. On his accession to the throne in 1199, King John of England installed his mother Eleanor of Aquitaine (ca. 1122-1204), as domina of the French territory of Poitou and gave her authority in all of his lands—a tacit acknowledgement of her political skill.

Eleanor even managed to expand queenly authority in some ways. She seems to be the first queen of England after the Norman Conquest to have regularly collected the “queen’s gold”, a one-tenth share of some of the legal fines paid to the king. This gave her a valuable (and somewhat independent) source of revenue—and with money comes power. As a more modest example, one contemporary of Matilda of Tuscany’s was a woman named Mahild of Alluyes, domina of a far smaller territory in northern France. She wasn’t a player in papal or imperial politics. Yet as wife and widow, she oversaw the affairs of her vassals and witnessed charters which they drew up in the chapter house of the nearby abbey of Marmoutier, which gave her considerable influence over their lives. And there are many, many more dominae in the sources.

Medieval aristocratic women were sometimes seen as passive by their male contemporaries; those with power who broke this mould were sometimes described in plainly misogynistic terms. But equally, their deeds could be lauded. For example, one of the great chroniclers of the early twelfth century, the Anglo-Norman Orderic Vitalis, wrote that the French noblewoman Isabel of Conches was “lovable and estimable to those around her.” He complimentarily said that she “rode armed as a knight among the knights”, and compared her favourably with Amazon queens.

Matilda of Boulogne (ca. 1105-1152), queen of King Stephen of England, was one of her husband’s most capable partisans during the Anarchy—the period of civil war that tore twelfth-century England apart. Not only did she head the government during her husband’s captivity, but proved herself a capable military commander. She directed troops into battle at the so-called Rout of Winchester and arranged for her husband’s release when he was captured.

A generation or so later, the English countess Petronella of Leicester (ca. 1145-1212) participated alongside her husband in the Revolt of 1173-74; she gave her husband military advice, rode armed onto the battlefield, and was even wearing armour when captured. These actions may not have been normal behaviour for a domina—administration and adjudication were more usual. But they were still within the bounds of possible behaviour for a medieval woman without endangering her status as a “lady.”

The Matildas, Mahild, Eleanor, Isabel, and Petronella: it is hard to imagine any of these dominae as the subject of a Waterhouse painting or the centrepiece of a Disney movie. They weren’t always victorious or virtuous; they could be ambitious and high-handed and hold ideas which most people today would find distasteful. And yet, whether medieval chroniclers approved or disapproved of these women individually, they didn’t think the very fact that they were active, decisive, and opinionated was out of the ordinary. Neither should you.

Nor would the colour of their skin have been thought a defining aspect of their status as a lady. There was certainly prejudice about skin colour in the Middle Ages. The relatively small number of non-white people in northern Europe means that we can’t definitively point to a woman of colour exercising political power there. But things were slightly different in southern Europe, in areas like Iberia—modern Spain and Portugal—which was long home to Christian, Jewish, and Muslim populations of multi-ethnic heritage.

While there were religious prohibitions against Muslim women marrying non-Muslim men, there are some scattered examples of intermarriages between dynasties in the early Middle Ages: Muslim women of north African or Arab descent marrying into northern, Christian royal families. For instance, Uriyah, a daughter of the prominent Banū Qasī dynasty, married a son of the king of the northern Spanish kingdom of Navarre; Fruela II, king of Asturias, married another Banū Qasī woman called Urraca. Their ancestry doesn’t seem to have posed a barrier.

Western Europeans may have only rarely had direct contact with non-white female rulers further afield—like the powerful Arwa bint Asma, queen of Yemen (r. 1067-1138)—but when they did, it could be in dramatic fashion. Shajar al-Durr, sultana of Egypt (d. 1257), famously captured Louis IX of France during the Seventh Crusade and ransomed him for an eye-wateringly large sum.

While historical examples of women of colour exercising prominent roles in Europe during the Middle Ages are few in number, skin colour didn’t limit the imaginations of white medieval Europeans. Medieval people often had clear anxieties about skin colour and blackness, but despite this racism they could still envision a brown- or black-skinned woman as a member of the upper classes, just as they did the white-skinned Mahild or Isabel.

For example, the early thirteenth-century German epic poem Parzival centres on the eponymous hero and his quest for the Holy Grail. Parzival has a half-brother, the knight Feirefiz, who is mixed-race. His mother, Belacane, is the black queen of the fictional African kingdoms of Zazamanc and Azagouc; the narrative praises her beauty and her regal bearing. As another example, a Middle Dutch poem written about the same time, Morien, recounts the story of the handsome, noble knight Morien, “black of face and of limb,” whose father Sir Aglovale fell in love with his “lady mother,” a Moorish princess.

However, the most vivid example is provided by medieval depictions of the biblical Queen of Sheba. Scholars think the historical Sheba likely lay somewhere in southwestern Arabia; other traditions place the kingdom in east Africa. Regardless of the queen’s historicity, various traditions grew up around her in the Middle Ages. Some of the most popular of these claimed that she had a son by the biblical king Solomon. She frequently appears alongside him in art, in elegantly draped garb as on the late twelfth-century Verdun Altar, or accompanied by courtiers as in an early fourteenth-century German illustrated bible: a beautiful black woman and a regal queen. When you think of a medieval “lady”—you could do worse than to think of her.

All of this should prompt us to look again, to reconsider how racialized Victorian ideals of womanhood still impact us—both in contemporary popular culture and also in our understandings of the medieval past. When we think about the Middle Ages, we should consider the impact of race, and especially whiteness, on how we think about it. That is not necessarily because our medieval forebears did so, but because our nineteenth- and early twentieth-century ones did so very much.

The idea of the “lady” was one of the useful fictions which they and others employed, glorifying white, upper-class womanhood as an apex of western achievement. This helped to make existing racial and imperial hierarchies seem like they had such a long history that they must be innate, biological: a simple fact of life. But it was a fiction, and a harmful one. If we are to better understand the medieval past, it is one we must set aside.”

- Yvonne Seale, “My Fair Lady? How We Think About Medieval Women.”

[writerofthespiral]

Kane's Court Analysis #1 - Phule

Author’s Note: I don’t know if I’ll make this a full series or not, but I really just thought that the Armada court, and Phule by that extension, was interesting, especially read from a historical and psychological standpoint. Yes, I'm a nerd.

Word Count: 4,205

Tw: Mentions of Mental Illness

Kane’s Court Analysis - Phule

I. Introduction

A lot can be said about Kane’s court and the machines he built to achieve his grandiose ideas of a perfect world, but more can be said about the cogs in his system. Phule is a broken cog — one that stepped out of line, helped us, and saved the day. He’s someone to be cautious of, love, or fear. There's a certain complexity about him that, when put into perspective, adds a fresh layer to Phule.

II. Behind the Design

When talking about a character in any game, film, or media space, it’s important to tackle the significance of their design. Oftentimes, a person can tell a lot about someone from their looks, which is especially true for the Armada Elites. Phule, for example, is obviously based on a court jester, but it’s not all jokes and laughs.

The Meaning Of The Mask

When talking about Phule’s appearance — or any of the Armada Elite’s — it’s important to understand that they’re mainly based on the Venetian Carnival, the Commedia dell’Arte, and Greek theatre (with hints of Roman influence). Phule’s mask is based on four different masks: The Joker Mask, Comedy & Tragedy, the Pantalone Mask, and the Arlecchino Mask.

The most straight-forward element about Phule is the Jester Mask, seeing as he is a jester. Simply put, "The Joker or Jolly Venetian Masks depict the role of the Jester in the Italian Middle Ages...The Jesters... wore brightly colored clothing in a motley pattern and they were known for their incessant laughter" (Venetian Mask Company). The Jester Mask represents someone who is colorful and entertaining to his audience. It's a universally known mask meant to be taken at face value, just like Phule, until one looks at the other key components of his mask.

When looking at Phule, one sees the famous Comedy & Tragedy Mask associated with theatre and the extremes between euphoria and sorrow. But what most don't know is that the mask has a long, rich history associated with emotions and the human psyche. According to The Greek Designers, "The Comedy mask is known as Thalia, who in Greek mythology is the Muse of Comedy and Idyllic Poetry, portrayed as a happy, cheerful young woman crowned with ivy" (The Greek Designers). The Tragedy mask, in turn, is known as Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, who's depicted with the mask in one hand and a knife or club in the other.

The historical significance fails to stop there. "People often relate the masks to Dionysus originally. Dionysus is the Greek God of wine. The masks depict the happy and sad emotions that drinking wine can bring. They have also been linked to the Greek God Janus which is known as the two-faced god of beginnings. It is said Janus lent the name to the masks" (OnStage Blog). This detail is important, because Dionysus and Janus are both significant Gods. Commonly known as the God of wine and ecstasy, Dionysus was the God of madness. And as the God of madness, he was often a symbol of liberation and rebellion for the lower class and marginalized of Greek society — namely slaves. Then, there’s Janus, known as the two-faced Roman God, representing the transition between war and peace, and beginnings and endings.

In addition to this two-faced mask, Phule's mask has hints of the Pantalone Mask. The Pantalone Mask's features include: an exaggerated nose, cheekbones, eyebrows, and a mustache. The Pantalone Mask is the best-known Venetian Masks. It arose from the La Commedia dell’ Arte character, Pantalone, who was one of the most powerful characters. But, the mask itself was created before the Commedia dell’Arte theatre began to use it.

The character of Pantalone is described as “An old Venetian merchant, often very rich and highly esteemed by the nobility, Pantalone is originally known simply by his formal title, Magnifico. A self-made man, he has reached his wealth with ruthless tactics and keeps his money close to him" (The Venetian Mask). He is rich, greedy, lustful, and naïve. Pantalone is, “gullible enough for being taken advantage of from his “servant lovers” or male subordinates: servants, doctors, captains, whoever can get money out of him" (Roberto Delpiano).” His lust also leads to him being rejected by the women he pursues, making him an enemy of the youth.

Applying the Pantalone Mask to Phule, it’s easy to see why he and the Pirate — for the majority of the game — were enemies seeing as Pantalone is a natural enemy to the young. However, it also implies that he was taken advantage of by those around him and was a laughing stock. And, of course, his willingness to save himself and betray his father to save himself is 'selfish' in nature — more on that later.

The last mask, of course, is the Arlecchino Mask (which also inspires Phule's general get-up). More commonly known as the Harlequin Mask, the wearer serves a similar purpose to the Jester, which evolved over time. According to one article:

"As one of the lower ranking, lazier, and stupider servants, he [Arlecchino] is often abused by being yelled at or beaten (with slapstick stage combat) by his masters and others or never paid his wages. Yet he does have a certain luck and can be clever enough to grab hold of any seemingly fortunate situation that happens upon him. He might not think up a plan on his own but he can come up with some amazingly complicated and absurd explanations and rationalizations. Later period harlequins were more prone to become clever tricksters and rascally tramps while still often being foolish or stupid" (Commedia Dell'Arte).

On top of being a tragic figure for the entertainment of others, Arlecchino is said to have demonic origins. “One of the demons in the XXIst, XXIInd and XXIIIrd cantos of Dante’s Inferno is, indeed, called Alichino. The name itself seems to be related to the Old French word for “ghost”, i.e. hellequin, which, in turn, comes from the Germanic root for “hell”. Starting from Dante’s Inferno, this demon would therefore develop into a comic character" (CA’ MACANA). In a way, this gives one some insight into Phule not being a monster, but a tormented soul.

What It Means To Be A Court Jester

One can’t analyze Phule without talking about what he is — a court jester. But his role is no laughing matter. In fact, in a historical context, Kingisle did a decent job in portraying him.

To understand fools, it’s important to understand the three different types of fools: the innocent fool (or natural fool), the amateur fool, and the professional jester (or licensed fool). A natural fool was someone with physical or mental deformities that made it hard for them to receive employment as anything else. Typically, “wealthy or noble families also adopted men and women who had mental illnesses or physical deformities, keeping them almost as pets for their amusement or as an act of ‘Christian charity’”(History extra).

A licensed fool, on the other hand, could best be described as someone hired for their wits and talents, normally wearing regular clothes. Lastly, there were Amatuer fools — they usually wore the jester costume we’re associated with. In any case, “..those with physical deformities, such as extreme hunchback, malformed limbs, particularly ugly visages, etc. were prized, as were dwarves…” (TodayIFoundOut). Taking this into account, and the brazen nature of Valencia, it’s apparent Phule served as both a natural fool and a licensed fool, possibly serving as entertainment for King Casimir. But seeing as court jesters had duties other than entertainment, Phule served Kane very differently.

Although we didn’t see the entertainment-based responsibilities of Phule, we, as players, did see part of his militaristic responsibilities. That’s right — court jesters served important roles to their lord during times of war. In fact, they were political advisors. “Because they had no real fear of reprisal, jesters were able to speak their mind and offer advice when others may have feared to give it” (WeirdHistory). Kings and Queens would often go to them for advice on political matters and choices they’d made. On top of that, Court Jesters were expected to be the bearers of bad news for their lords, having to utilize their wit and comedy to tactfully deliver unsavory messages.

In addition to delivering messages to their lords, jesters would also deliver messages to their enemies during times of war. They were theoretically protected, but there were some that would shoot the messenger — from imprisonment to execution. In addition to their messenger duties, jesters would entertain the King’s troops during times of war to raise their morale.

On top of that, they were also masters of mental warfare as well. Some jesters would ride on the front lines, spewing insults at the enemy. They rode in front of troops to make sure the opponent could hear them. And while this may seem ridiculous, "...the idea was for the jester to provoke those enemies who had explosive tempers into breaking ranks and charging prematurely" (Weird History).

Phule did his job, and did it well, despite his apparent shortcomings. He got under our Pirate’s skin by claiming that he could hear our heartbeat, and lead his own squadron of soldiers. He’s just as threatening when we next see him captured in Fort Elena, albeit much friendlier. And of course, he still manages to affect the Pirate, though he has little time on screen, by causing us a few inconveniences.

He may not have been Spymaster, but he was effective in implanting fear and paranoia in his enemies. Take, for example, the Villa Trigante instance in which the Pirate is — presumably —betrayed and sent to the cellars by Don Giovanni. One of the resistance fighters we face, Beniccio Amati, is quick to say: "You're persistent. I'd expect no less... From Phule's spies…” (P101). And although we aren’t one of Phule’s spies, it makes one wonder: Just how many times has this happened?

In addition to his competence, we can presume Phule is powerful. He’s clearly akin to a Witchdoctor, but we don’t know much else about him. We have, however, seen the results of a battle with him. He cleared a path for the Pirate to enter The Machine, in which, there are plenty of Armada soldiers strewn about. It’s possible that his abilities manifested themselves similarly to Bishop’s use of electricity, that he had some mojo capabilities comparable to Kane (meaning that he could possibly teleport), or that he is wholly chaotic and mojo-based like the Player (if they're a Witchdoctor). If the latter is true, it plays into what Phule said about being destroyed due to being imperfect, especially since the Armada banned hoodoo within their sphere of influence. In any case, it is interesting to see how so much can be told from Phule’s character design alone, but there's still more to explore.

III. Character Analysis

Kingisle put a lot of thought into what type of character Phule would be. According to his Rouge’s Gallery video, Phule “seems to operate purely out of whimsy and caprice” (KI) and “speaks in two different voices, shifting back and forth between twin personalities who are as antagonistic toward each other as they are to any enemy…” (KI). Phule isn’t all there, but make no mistake: he is very capable of doing what he does. The video goes on further to elaborate “that Phule shifts allegiances faster and more often than any other court member”(Ki), which makes sense with how his relationship with the Pirate turns out — which will be touched on later — and gives the player a basic idea of who Phule is, though there is more to analyze.

Our Meetings With Phule

Besides a few outside sources, most of what we know about Phule comes from the three times we see him: Granchia, Fort Elina, and at The Machine (with the exception of the Villa Trigante Cellar), in which a lot more can be observed.

When we first meet Phule in the Granchia Catacombs, the Pirate sees him leading a small squadron of soldiers. It is here that we first meet the two sides of Phule (whom I will refer to as Comedy and Tragedy).

Comedy is a mix between welcoming, eccentric, and mischievous. In one breath he says “Don’t bother trying to hide, I can hear your heartbeat” (P101), yet he also claims to want to let us go. Furthermore, he calls the Pirate resourceful, saying that, “you’d be quite a thorn in the side of Deacon, Bishop, or Kane himself…” (P101). Meanwhile, it is Tragedy that orders his captains to attack us, calling for our surrender.

What's interesting about this first meeting, upon reflection, is that Comedy seems to think about helping us. I’m not suggesting that one side of Phule is ‘good’ and the other is ‘evil’, but that Tragedy seems more inclined to be protective of whatever is in Phule’s best interests. Comedy, on the other hand, is Phule’s desires. This may be why the two sides often disagree. One side thinks we’d be useful in his desired goals while the other does what needs to be done.

When the Pirate discovers Phule in Fort Elena, their interaction is short, but something to note: Phule slightly warms up to the Pirate. Tragedy is still hostile, but comes off as though he was attempting to keep up a facade. Comedy, of course, is the opposite, going so far as to ask us about why we weren’t in Cool Ranch messing with Deacon. In fact, Comedy gives us a well done, because “...[you’ve] become quite the thorn after all” (P101), then tells us to run along with our quest.

And then, there’s the final time we see Phule — right before the machine. Instead of arguing, both sides of Phule are working together for a common goal: to oppose Kane. Both sides of Phule were waiting for us at the machine, both of them told us Kane’s plan, and both agreed to give the Pirate the Key.

And why does he do this? Phule is able to recognize that he isn’t perfect as Kane would say, in his own words. As Comedy it’s, “I've grown fond of this world, and would hate to see it destroyed. I've also grown fond of you. But most of all? I'm just curious to see what will happen" (P101). And after Tragedy sends his regards to Kane, this is the last we see of Phule.

Another thing of note, is when Gazpaccio calls Phule a tormented soul, which begs the question: Does Kane see Phule in the same light he sees Gazpaccio? More than likely, yes, which may have influenced the way he treated the Clockwork. Another thing — how well Gazpaccio and Phule knew each other? Sadly, there’s not much to work with to answer this question.

In any case, these events reveal the type of person Phule is: part of him is chaotic and wants freedom, the other side of him is objective, if not spiteful. Together, the two sides of Phule make a being that is neither wholly good, nor bad, but certainly eccentric, which begs the question: What is Phule to us, the Pirate?

Friend Or Foe?

Although it’s safe to say that Phule is on friendly terms, he and the Pirate aren’t exactly friends. He did betray Kane, but had ulterior motives of his own. And while it appears he’s been contemplating his betrayal for some time, there have also been times when he’s antagonized the Pirate. We also know that he’s a jack-of-all-trades with experience in espionage, being a general, and an admiral. And referring back to the Rouge’s Gallery, “the most paranoid Valencian intriguers wonder if Phule’s antics aren’t just a clever act, hiding a method behind the madness” (KI).

The thing is, we may never truly know if we can or cannot trust Phule. While he may not be our friend per se, our goals aligned, and it's been established that Phule’s alliances don't often last long. He may laugh and revel in the failure of his fellow court members, but he isn't there to like us. In fact, we may serve as a form of entertainment to him, because Phule did watch us instead of fighting by our side (which he clearly showed himself capable of doing). But, it's unlikely he’s going to show up as a foe in the future, and it would be a surprise if that were the case. It’s more likely that Phule simply disappeared somewhere, and the player may never know what happened to him.

The State of Phule’s Mind

Before ending this section, it’s critical to talk about Phule in terms of his light and dark side. While in the game, he is described as eccentric or insane, it’s clear that Phule is mentally ill by our standards. And although it’s hard to judge him by human standards, due to the fact that he's a Clockwork, since Clockworks have shown their ability to showcase complex emotions, they can exhibit mental illnesses.

In Phule’s case, he likely has Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), but here are some important things to understand: you cannot be born with DID, an alter is not necessarily a different personality, and the portrayal of Phule is not wholly accurate. Again, Phule isn’t a human, though his backstory does somewhat align with the development of this disorder.

DID usually occurs in children who have undergone immense stress and trauma for long periods of time, and as a result, were not able to develop a unified sense of identity due to the weight of their memories. Due to this, they develop a system of alters in order to cope with day-to-day life. Similarly, Phule was created to be perfect by a narcissistic father who could never admit to being wrong, and as a result, his mind was ‘off', and he was written as 'insane'.

Phule also has two distinct alters: his light side (Comedy) and his dark side (Tragedy). Comedy is whimsical, friendly, and mischievous and may very well serve as the host, as he seems to front the most, talk the most, and has the most lines out of any of the events. While Tragedy may serve as either a protector, seeing himself as a beacon of logic and strength doing what needs to be done; or a prosecutor, who may have protective goals in an attempt to keep the system from reliving the trauma and abuse they’ve faced, but tend to be harmful and have a distorted view of reality.

In any case, understanding the two sides of Phule is essential to understanding him as a character. He is someone who’s been persecuted due to both his appearance and his mind, which he could not control, and it clearly has had an effect on him.

IV. Phule & Kane’s Court

In analyzing who Phule is as a character, it's just as important to ask why he is the way he is. It’s easy to see how he developed, but, due in part to a lack of backstory, the question of why is somewhat hazy. The player is given a few details in the form of implications about Phule, but also information that was info dumped that leaves behind more questions than answers.

What Was Phule’s Role In The Court

Cannonly, nobody really knows Phule’s role in the court. As said by the Rouge’s Gallery:

“He is neither general nor admiral, though he has captained Armada fleets and armies. He is no spymaster, yet he has performed espionage and been involved in the deepest of Bishop’s intrigues. He is the ultimate wild card, appearing in the most unlikely of places from the Great Halls of the Palaces of the Spiral to the humble backwaters of Skull Island” (KI).

As a character with multiple roles, Phule proves himself to be a valuable player and a jack of all trades. Due to this, one can assume that he would have been more sociable than the rest of the court, or at the very least close to it, due to the fact that it’s established that his allegiances are often fleeting. Though, it can be speculated that his strongest relationship may have been with either Bishop, seeing as he worked for him, or Deacon since both of them seemed to be the most active of Kane’s court.

In relation to the historical context within Pirate101, I could also possibly see Phule being a sort of voice of reason for members of Kane’s court — at least those who would listen. We know what Phule thinks of Kane, but have never actually seen Kane interact with Phule on screen, so the details are murky here. On top of speaking with Kane’s court, it’s possible that Phule entertained and advised King Casimir, in addition to Kane.

Aside from military duties, with how festive Phule is — in concept at least — he may have either planned out various events in Valencia, or at the very least been apart of them. After all, Phule is a court jester, and one of the fundamental jobs that comes with being a court jester is making other people laugh.

Phule’s Relationship With Kane

Another important part of who Phule is is his personal relationship with Kane. Kane is many things: a military genius, a diplomatic wonder, and effective in ruling with an iron fist, but he fails as a father — just as his father failed before him. Kane is a narcissist who expects everything he creates to be unquestionably perfect, which is why he looks at Phule with absolute scorn.

Phule is what he would, likely, consider a worthless child. He wasn’t born right in his eyes, yet Kane continues to use and depend on Phule for his missions. It’s likely that Kane wanted to keep Phule in place, as he did with his other court members, but Phule is the only elite who’s not based on a chess piece.

Phule is a wild card who knew he wouldn’t live up to Kane’s expectations, and he decided to save himself. And although this choice may seem selfish, it’s important to remember that many victims tend to stick around for various reasons — sometimes they aren’t mentally capable or able to leave. We, the player, have seen Phule express himself, and learn kindness. And although he may have hurt people in the past, he was willing to make up for it.

He decided to leave behind a father that never loved him, and never would love him or see him as an equal. He had every right to be scornful and bitter, maybe even take after Kane, but he broke free from the cycle and decided to help the Player because he maybe, genuinely, fell in love with the world that never loved him and all its flaws. That is the beauty of Phule’s character. He’s neither here, nor there, but he’s just as human as you or I — ignoring all the cogs, of course.

V. Conclusion

In terms of character design, personality, and backstory speculation, Phule is a great character despite the little screen time he got. He may be one of the strongest members of Kane’s court, is definitely one of the more mysterious ones, and is an interesting, tormented soul. Whether or not he’s friend or foe, Phule illuminates the environment around him.

Works Cited

CA’ MACANA. “The Arlecchino Mask: a Motley History.” The Best Venetian Carnival Masks in Venice: Ca' Macana, www.camacana.com/en-UK/the-arlecchino-mask.php.

Commedia Dell'Arte. “ARLECCHINO.” Mayhem, Madness, Masks and Mimes - Commedia Dell'Arte, mayhemmadnessmasksandmimes-commediadellarte.weebly.com/arlecchino.html#:~:text=Arlecchino's%20costume%20and%20mask%20are,Arte'%20Character%20Analysis%22).

“Drama Masks: Thalia + Melpomene.” The Greek Designers, 6 Nov. 2018, thegreekdesigners.com/2016/03/07/drama-masks-thalia-melpomene/.

“Jester (Jolly or Joker).” Masquerade Masks & Venetian Masks Company, www.italymask.co.nz/shop/Decorative+Masks/Jester+JollyJoker%3Fcat=01108.html#:~:text=The%20Joker%20or%20Jolly%20Venetian,known%20for%20their%20incessant%20laughter.

KingsIsle, director. Pirate101 Rogue's Gallery: Phule. YouTube, YouTube, 3 June 2015, www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VdwBDdeMYo&list=WL&index=69&ab_channel=KingsIsleEntertainment.

“Pantalone Mask.” Kartaruga, 7 Aug. 2017, kartaruga.com/mask/pantalone-the-magnificent/.

“Pantalone Masks.” THE VENETIAN MASKS, 21 Jan. 2021, www.thevenetianmasks.com/pantalone-masks/.

Staff, OnStage Blog. “The Origins of the Comedy and Tragedy Masks of Theatre.” OnStage Blog, OnStage Blog, 21 June 2020, www.onstageblog.com/editorials/comedy-and-tragedy-masks-of-theatre.

TodayIFoundOut, director. What Was It Actually Like to Be a Court Jester in Medieval Times? YouTube, YouTube, 31 Oct. 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkLZYEIslWM&ab_channel=TodayIFoundOut.

“Welcome to the Pirate101 Wiki.” Pirate101 Wiki :: The Largest and Most Accurate Pirate101 Wiki :: Featuring Guides, Companions, Quests, Pets, Bosses, Creatures, NPCs and Much More!, www.pirate101central.com/wiki/Pirate101_Wiki.

“What Life Was Really Like As A Medieval Jester.” YouTube, YouTube, 3 Apr. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7F5ioUQLJc&ab_channel=WeirdHistory.

“What Was Life like for a Court Jester?” HistoryExtra, 26 Nov. 2020, www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/what-was-life-like-for-a-court-jester/.

www.delpiano.com, Roberto Delpiano -. “PANTALONE.” Pantalone | Pantalon De' Bisognosi | Grevembroch Watercolor | Traditional Mask of Venice Carnival, www.delpiano.com/carnival/html/pantalone.html.

[ckret2]

Any cute headcanons when it comes to Lucifer being a good father? Your little fanfic with him and baby Charlie was absolutely precious!

I don’t have any specific headcanons to share, but I do have a Magne family ficlet I’ve been wanting an excuse to write, so here!

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Charlie stared in shock across the dinner table at her parents. “You mean I’m the Antichrist?!”

Lucifer and Lilith winced and exchanged a glance. Lilith said, “We’d wanted to wait until you were older to bring it up.”

“But I can’t be,” Charlie insisted. “We covered it in school! There’s actual prophecies!”

“Oh, you’re already studying the end times?” Lucifer asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Yeah, Dad. Since like, last decade,” Charlie said. “And the woman chosen to carry the Antichrist has to be a virgin! But you guys have been married for ages! You didn’t wait until you decided to have me to have sex, did you?”

Lucifer laughed. “Oh, sweetie. We didn’t even wait until marriage.”

Lilith shot him an irritated look.

Lucifer sobered up, got into dad mode, and quickly added, “Which is a completely valid life choice you can make, as long as you and your partners are all adults and have talked about your limitations and boundaries.”

Lilith had meant for the look to convey that she didn’t want him sharing the details of their love life with their daughter, but decided turning it into a miniature parent lecture was good enough.

“But then,” Charlie said, “if Mom wasn’t a virgin, then I can’t be the Antichrist! Unless…” She looked between her parents with growing terror in her eyes. “Is Mom not really my Mom?!”

“Oh, honey!” Lilith reached across the table to take Charlie’s hand. “Of course I am. Even if we weren’t related by blood, I’d be your mother. I’ve raised you for over a century—if that doesn’t make me your mother, nothing does.” She smiled. “But I am, also, your mother by blood.”

“Oh.” The panic drained out of Charlie’s eyes. She slouched back in her seat, relieved.

“I’m just not your mother by birth,” Lilith said. “We had you through a surrogate.”

“Lovely lady,” Lucifer piped up. “Absolute delight to work with.”

“Very game for the whole ‘occult satanic ritual’ thing,” Lilith agreed. “You don’t find many women who are comfortable with being tied up naked on a stone altar in a summoning circle and who are virgins.”

“Her name was Mary. The irony still tickles me.”

Charlie processed this new information silently, a worried look on her face, hand still in her mother’s. When she stretched out her other hand, Lucifer quickly took it. “You did all that so I could be the Antichrist?”

“Sure did,” Lucifer said, and Lilith nodded.

“But… I-I…” Charlie’s voice failed her for a moment. Lilith squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she went on: “I don’t… What if I don't want to be the Antichrist?”

Lilith and Lucifer burst out laughing.

Charlie gave them an affronted look. “What?”

“Oh—baby—” Lucifer shook his head, grinning. “We’ve known you weren’t going to be the Antichrist since that time we gave you a sword for your playdate with those imp kids, and instead of decapitating them you used it to knight them and play at being the Knights of the Round Table.”

“You wanted me to decapitate them?!”

Lucifer shrugged. “We thought you might want to. We just wanted to give you the option!”

“And that was what having you through a surrogate was about: giving you options,” Lilith said soothingly. “When we decided to have a child, we had no idea whether you would want to be the Antichrist or not; but if you did, we wanted to make sure that future was open to you.”

“Meeting the requirements for your birth only means you could go on to be the Antichrist. It doesn’t mean you’re destined to be,” Lucifer said. “You can be anything you want. The whole universe is open to you!”

Slowly, the worried look on Charlie’s face disappeared; and by the end she was smiling. “Thanks.” She squeezed both of her parents’ hands. They squeezed back.

As they got back to their dinner, Charlie asked, “Can I meet Mary? The one who gave birth to me?”

“I don’t see why not,” Lilith said, and glanced at Lucifer. “Do you still have her address?”

“Sssomewhere.” He could dig it up; and if he couldn’t, how hard could it be to track down the woman who’d carried the Princess of Hell? “You did meet her once. She came by to visit you a couple weeks after she died.”

“You probably don’t remember,” Lilith said, “you were only a few decades old.”

Charlie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as she tried to recall, then she shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

“I’ll set something up,” Lucifer said cheerily.

“Do you think she’ll be disappointed if I don’t become the Antichrist? After going through a whole ritual and everything…”

“Nooo no no,” Lucifer waved away the suggestion. “She did it in exchange for mortal wealth and power! Not specifically to make the Antichrist. In fact, I bet she’ll be happy you don’t want to bring about Armageddon.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, you’d be surprised how many humans are anti-Armageddon.”

“Huh.” Charlie turned that idea over in her mind as she picked at her food.

Lilith asked Charlie, “What do you want to do with your life after school? Have you thought about it?”

Charlie smacked her hands on the table and jumped to her feet, grinning broadly enough to expose the full lengths of her sharp eye teeth. “I want to play the harlequin in opera buffa!”

“Opera! That’s our girl!” Lucifer leaned across the table, offering his hand to Charlie to high five. “And the one with the rainbow costume, it suits you!”

Charlie smacked his hand, laughing.

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Crossposted to AO3, link in the post source. If you enjoyed the fic, I’d appreciate a comment or reblog!