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You guys ready for some noir shit? Some real greyscale nonsense with just a tinge of purple to give it some ambience? This is Midnight City, which means that it’s dark. And every other midnight pun that I came up with for the chapter and am not going to rehash here. 

It also always appears to be raining in Midnight City, but I don’t think that has to do anything with it being midnight. 

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Real talk, I have been looking forward to writing this story the most out of any other part of HS^2. Finally I get to combine my passions. Cheesy noir bullshit and old men making eyes at each other. Not that these guys are old. They’re in the prime of their life, really. Just ask Droog. Well, I guess Droog probably wouldn’t agree with that since he’s kind of going through a rough patch, currently. Seems he’s out of work, and spending time in an old-timey bar, because that’s what you do when you’re a depressed gangster in an anachronistic sci-fi noir setting. 

I really was drinking whisky while I wrote this scene. For the ambience, mostly, because I don’t actually like whisky that much. Droog might not either, actually, but a man does what he has to in order to feel those vibes, you know what I’m saying. 

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There he is. A silhouette that can’t be mistaken. I’d know that jaunty hat and aristocratic nose anywhere. Even old Ivory Joe on the piano couldn’t keep it together when Dad Crocker rolled into the spot. 

Haven’s art is always good, but this is just him in his element. His character designs are so stylized but everyone is still immediately recognizable. Both Dad and Droog look pretty much exactly the way they do in homestuck proper, but…more somehow. It’s like he distills them. 

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Have you ever been just sitting there getting your drink on, when some wise guy plops down right next to you when there’s a bunch of other seats around? Droog doesn’t have time for this sort of nosey bullshit. He’s got no patience for out-of-towners, no matter how dapper their hats might be or how shiny their shirt buttons are. 

When I knew we were going to be taking the side stories to Midnight City, I knew I wanted to do a Dad and Droog story. Not only did they get on pretty well back in Act 6—or as well as you can get on when one of you is the prisoner of the other—they encapsulate this idealized old-world masculinity that has always really fascinated me. Dad is the platonic ideal of a suburban American dad. An impression. A cardboard cutout of an archetype. Droog has been multiple people in multiple stories, but all through them he’s retained the same basic bearing and class. So they inhabit a similar thematic space for me. Does that make sense? 

They’re both sexy, that’s what I’m trying to say. 

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And speaking of sexy, is there really anything more erotic than lighting someone’s cigarette for them? I’m not really sure why smoking is considered so sensual—okay, well, I do know. It’s because big tobacco had a really good advertising campaign. But put that aside for a moment. It’s probably got something to do with the tactile nature of the act. The steady journey of the cigarette from the fingers to the mouth. How watching someone’s cigarette means you’re also watching their lips. Because manipulating a cigarette involves a level of dexterity, a finesse. Smoking carries a sense of authority, because you are performing an action that you are completely in control of. 

Or something. I don’t even smoke, I just like watching people smoke in movies. 

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Writing banter between characters who never actually speak in dialogue is actually easier than it sounds. The Midnight Crew/Problem Sleuth cadence is pretty distinct and easy to slip into. Centering yourself completely in the point of view of a single character and looking at the world through their eyes, letting them tell you what they think about the person they’re dealing with, purely through a stream of consciousness. It’s got a rhythm to it. 

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I’m trying to hit all of the classics here. Cigarette lighting, standing silhouetted against a moonwashed street, staring morosely into a glass of whisky. Here we have the collar-grab. The “how dare you talk about my daughter that way” snarl. Okay, I’m not actually sure if these are the “classics”. They’re just amalgamation of shit that I like that I thought you’d all like too. 

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I figure that living in Midnight City, a place with various imaginary worlds and alternate selves just swarming around, Droog probably wouldn’t have too much trouble buying that Dad met a different version of him somewhere along the line. What is slightly more troubling is his acceptance that the Draconian Dignitary was keeping Dad locked in a room. Droog, do you have people locked in rooms? Is this a pastime? 

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Agghh the contrast here. I suppose in a way the Dersite and Prospitian divide has cleaved fairly consistently to the traditional white and black binary of “good” and “evil”, although that of course breaks down pretty quickly. The Mayor, for instance, is a Dersite, and he has never done anything wrong in his life. It’s more like the Dersites and Prospitians have the “aesthetics” of bad and good. The Dersites are gangsters and bureaucrats, the Prospitians devoted civil servants who love justice. But then I guess the Felt are leprechauns, and also green…I actually don’t know where I was going with this. Forget about it. I just like how this looks. 

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This poor simple bartender. He doesn’t know how to handle whatever homoerotic bullshit has cropped up here. Although he does work in an old-timey bar full of gangsters, so he’s probably used to homoerotic bullshit. 

Kids these days. They just don’t know anything about vibes! You know. Vibes. I think vibes are basically what I’ve been trying to convey in this commentary, but Droog does it all here for me, so honestly, I didn’t really have to say anything and waste everybody’s time. But I’m going to keep doing it so whatever. 

There’s another element of “old-world masculinity” and that is definitely that it is pretty gay. I know Dad goes on a date with Mom, putting him firmly into the bisexual category, but…idk guys. That “Serious Business” app just reads like old-school grindr to me. And Droog, well…he’s an alien NPC construction from a universe-creating video game so what the fuck do we know about his sexuality at all. 

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Anyway, there’s problems. 

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Sitting here and trying to wrap my head around the narrative implications of the idea that Problem Sleuth has in fact never been stuck inside his office at all, and has instead been erecting complicated structures to reinforce his worldview in a last desperate grasp for the status quo. It’s almost like every single cage we live inside is just a construction. Like….gender, or capitalism. What if all we had to do was just climb out of our fort and open our office door? 

Either that or I was running out of word count and just really needed to move the plot forward. You pick. 

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The dream team is assembled. Nothing can possibly go wrong.