Preparation
Levi
Wow. Diavolo's just as bad as the rest of us, isn't he? I mean, literally jumping out of his office window to escape the Devildom and visit MC...that certainly wasn't on my bingo card for this year.
In any case, we do need to locate him. He's known to cause chaos whenever he's left unsupervised, and while I'd love to see a video of him go viral, I know Lucifer wouldn't, and I really don't want to sit through one of his lectures.
Thankfully, I have just the thing that might help.
"This is Crowe," I tell MC, putting the black cylinder in their hands.
"I didn't know you had a smart speaker," MC replies as they examine Crowe.
"I won him at an auction. Apparently he's a prototype. He's created by the Three-Legged Crow Group, the same company that sells D.D.D.'s. As long as someone has one of their phones, Crowe can track their location. All you have to do is ask."
"Sounds simple enough. Hopefully Diavolo has his phone on him." With that, MC asks Crowe to locate our missing prince.
"Lord Diavolo is located at The Drunk Hyena," it answers. "Would you like me to provide the address?"
"Yes." After hearing the address, MC appears shocked.
"Everything okay?" I ask them.
"I had no idea they had a location in the human world." I shrug, trying to hide my surprise. Clubbing doesn't really seem like MC's thing. Then again, Asmo is prone to dragging people to clubs, so who knows?
"The owners must have bought the building and created a portal. That sort of thing happens all the time." I pause. "Still doesn't explain why Diavolo would be there, though. It's the middle of the day."
"Perhaps it was the safest way for him to get here. People tend to not ask a lot of questions at clubs." That's true, I suppose. They're too caught up in whatever or whoever it is they're doing to notice anything outside their bubble.
At that moment, MC's phone rings.
"Good timing," they mutter as they pull it out and answer it. They tell the person on the other end that they're going to put them on speaker before positioning their phone so that it's between us.
"Who's in the room with you?" Oh shit. It's Diavolo.
"Just me," I reply. Diavolo breathes a sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness. I was afraid it might have been someone else. I've been meaning to talk to you about that anime you recommended to me a few months ago. It's really good."
During my quest to manage my social anxiety, I discovered that one of my online friends was actually none other than Diavolo himself, which was weird, because I "met" him on a pretty unknown online RPG, one that only the most devoted members of the gaming community knew about.
As it turns out, Diavolo's secretly a huge gaming nerd. I don't know how he finds the time, since his duties as prince require the majority of his attention, but somehow he's up-to-date on the latest news in the gaming world.
It was definitely awkward at first when I found out, but then I realized that Diavolo just wanted someone he could geek out with. It's not like Lucifer or Barbatos would; neither one of them are particularly interested in video games.
"Diavolo, what sort of trouble did you get yourself into?" MC asks before he has the opportunity to start rambling. I don't have to look at his face to know that he's blushing.
"Well, I may have gotten stuck."
"Are we talking tight space, or something cursed?"
"The latter." He sounds like someone who got caught stealing. "This place has a cursed karaoke room where you can't leave until you get a perfect score on the machine's vocal accuracy challenge."
"So, why haven't you participated?" Silence. "Diavolo, is this a ploy to get me to join you?" More silence. Then,
"Maaaybe." As Asmo would say, he's definitely down bad.
And somehow I'm fine with that. It's weird, I know, especially since I wouldn't have been fine before. I would have been tearing myself down as I holed myself up in my room, because there was no way I could compete with someone like Diavolo for someone's affection.
That's not the case now. I can't really explain why I feel calm; I just do.
"You know MC can't come by themselves, right?" I ask. "You know who would throw a fit if they did." Diavolo sighs.
"Yeah, I do. Doesn't make any sense to me, but whatever. He can feel how he wants." He pauses. "Ask the others if they want to tag along. We can at least make something fun out of the situation."
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.
one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.
i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.
the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.
my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.
i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.
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