Never Gonna Give You Up

After being rescued from the TV world, something like a sickness came over Naoto—it might have been fascinating if it wasn’t so exhausting that Naoto spent the following days sleeping.

Late one afternoon, Naoto awoke to find a small, crocheted toy sitting on the bedside table, bearing a note that read “Get well soon!” in messy characters. It was cute, but thankfully not cutesy; a little penguin, the same shade of blue as Naoto’s hat, wearing a miniature trench coat, also handmade.

The care that had been put into it was as bewildering as heartwarming, and Naoto held it tight.

I've been enjoying my drabble project, but have been starting to run out of steam a bit - as it turns out, doing one drabble a day, even though it's just 100 words, is still significant. So, I think I'll be pulling back to one every other day and seeing how that goes!

Edgeworth interrupted the incessant knocking at his office door and opened it, prepared for the worst. The man he found standing on the other side, apparently bewildered to have gotten a response at all, was not an unexpected sight.

“So, you’ve come to gloat?” Edgeworth said.

“What? No,” Phoenix Wright insisted. “I was just dropping by since you haven’t been in the courtroom lately—I was starting to wonder…”

“If the disgraced prosecutor would have the gall to show his face again?” Edgeworth finished for him.

“Hold it! I’d rather face you than any other prosecutor.”

Edgeworth gave a wan smile.

The time I’ve been spending at Barts of late has paid off again. Today, I heard from Elizabeth, one of the medical researchers; she would like to introduce me to a friend from university who has recently returned from abroad.

Based on her own background, I sadly doubt an army doctor, but certainly a medical man, and in sufficiently dire straits after his time away that she would think to introduce him to me. Perhaps she mentioned my powers of deduction and that appealed to him.

I can but hope that this time I have found my Watson at last.

Gabrielle readied her staff and dropped into something like a fighting stance. “I’ve got this.”

Xena gave her a dubious look.

“At least I look the part, don’t I?” Gabrielle swung her staff wildly for emphasis.

“You might fool some village ruffians,” Xena allowed with a wry smile.

Gabrielle grinned. “That’s a start, isn’t it? And you’ll teach me the rest.”

“Will I?”

However, Xena obligingly picked up a stick, holding it like a sword, and Gabrielle rushed at her. Xena languidly knocked aside Gabrielle’s fiercest blows, and pushed inside Gabrielle’s defenses until they were almost pressed against each other.

My partner's parents are going through decades of stuff as they prepare to move across the country, and they discovered these old tapes of episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series (and Batman) recorded from the TV!

Utena fell to her knees and the rapier dropped from her hand, landing with a clatter on the ground. It wasn’t truly hers anyway.

“Isn’t that better?” the prince said, regarding her with the same sympathy as when he first found her all those years ago.

He held out his hand to Anthy. “It’s time for you to return to your rightful place.”

Utena made no sound of protest. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground.

“No.” It could hardly have come from the demure, obedient Rose Bride.

Anthy took the discarded sword and stepped between the prince and Utena.

I was in a work meeting all day

I'm afraid I took a gamble with today's drabble and sadly didn't end up with quite enough inspiration to write something concrete, but combined with yesterday's drabble, it has gotten me thinking about some kind of Revolutionary Girl Utena canon divergence...

It raises so many fascinating mysteries about the Rose Bride and the prince, and these duels, which never quite felt resolved to me. I've pondered a little bit other ways things could have gone from the first arc, which is where the most interesting stuff for me was, and maybe it'll come together into something...

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” Utena said again.

And again, Anthy just smiled beatifically back at her and followed Utena down the now dark paths, back to their dorm.

“I hoped you would win,” Anthy said.

Utena stopped and turned to face Anthy in the orange glow of a streetlight. “How do I know you’re not just saying that because it’s what you think I want to hear?”

“You don’t.” Anthy lowered her gaze so the light was no longer reflected off her glasses. “But there’s no one else I would rather have as my champion.”

They all stopped and stared at the ostentatious old mansion. Charles stayed back with Erik as Raven led the others on an irreverent house and garden tour. Erik’s gaze looked distinctly unimpressed, but Charles could feel his mingled disdain and envy.

“I know, it’s a bit much,” Charles said.

Erik scoffed. “I should’ve guessed you grew up in a place like this.”

Charles bit back a frown, though he knew it just made his expression look pinched. “Unfortunately. At one point, I hoped I would never have to come back, but of course there’s no helping that now. Shall we?”

“It’ll be great,” Gabrielle said, pacing along the campfire, too excited to sit down. “I’m a bard in training—”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Xena interrupted, stretched out by the fire.

“Oh yeah, but that means I’m the perfect person to tell your story; the Epic of Xena! Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Xena grabbed Gabrielle by the wrist. “Enough pacing. And I don’t need a bard. I’m done with the life of violence and glory, all I’m looking for these days is some peace and quiet.”

Gabrielle flushed, but recovered quickly enough. “Peace and quiet is good too!”

Akechi raised the pistol and clicked off the safety.

Ren felt the muzzle press against the back of his head.

“That’s mine, isn’t it?” Ren said—it was just the two of them in his room above Le Blanc.

Akechi hummed in acknowledgement and lowered the gun to test the heft of it in his hand. “I’m a little disappointed, though it’s a good fake.”

Ren finally turned around to face Akechi and found the pistol thrust into his hands. Akechi wrapped his hands around Ren’s, and guided them to level the pistol at Akechi’s own forehead.

“Would you do it?”

The noble banquet was held beneath the blood red moon.

I could think of nowhere more different from our previous hunt in a mouldering corner of London. Here, Holmes and I arrived arm in arm, dressed as gentlemen of the highest degree, our identities preserved in equal part by the intricate masks we wore and the brazenness of our presence as traitors mingling with the nobility of Europe.

We had come to search for our next quarry, but the revelries were beyond what either Holmes or I might have anticipated. It was no simple madness, but riot of impossibility.