Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Vamping it up & Putting On The Dog

2 new drawings, a vampire & a werewolf because I'm so cutting edge & whatnot, lol... Another quote from Pete: "I don't drink...whiners." Done in a more old-school manga style
This werewolf's name is Burnfur. When it's a color piece, obvy, he'd be a gingery-red, lanky green eyed shy fellow who runs a second-hand store/antiques/pawn shop. Who's gonna steal from a werewolf, right?

Listening to Alice in Chains, Grind & amusingly enough caffinated to the gills *toothgnash*

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Goose/Gander Syndrome

First off, fellow Deviants: I get it. I know that most of you are there, posting your artwork for critiques/approval/sale/whatever. Some of you are posting stuff to share a common interest with others. Some of you are posting your personal porn, at its intrinistic value. I totally get it. We all have our tastes. Not all of us agree on them. I am completely against several sexual things & have a hatred in my heart for them, the most obvious being pedophilia. The others are, honestly, merely degrees of taste. I don't like it, I don't pursue looking for it. But on Deviantart, sometimes, it's hard not to get hit in the head with a lolita mpreg amputee furry anime boi.

And the boobs. Oh, my dainty baby Jesus in a magenta lace pushup wonderbra with matching tap pants: Ta-tas, gazongas, knockers, hooters, jugs, melons, chesticles, garbonzas, &c, ad nauseum. Again: I get it. The female figure is beautful & your picture is YOUR interpretation thereof. But after a while it's just another pair of nipples in an aureolic avalanche. There are pictures that are incredible, flawless: glossy hair, striking makeup, flattering outfit...aaaand top open and/or off, if not just naked. The objectifiation of women is already rampant throughout the internet. I already feel like a transportation unit for my tits on their daily tour about town, my bra upgraded to seatbelt status. And yes, I do wear a lot of cleavage-revealing clothing; I have huge dragon tattoos running over my shoulders and, yes, huge chest that I'm proud to have. And before my soapbox gets too high for me to climb off of; I am TOTALLY guilty of using my cleavage for discounts, a helping hand and extra fries. I own up to that; Me, a cup DD; me, a maxima cup DD, LOL.

And men are well represented in the objectifation game, don't get me wrong, I just drew this (CAUTION, NSFW or if you're an insecure male, lol) pic as a sarky visual shorthand of this blog, lol. And the GLBT artists on DA and elsewhere do their best to make their models look utterly delicious. And believe me I COMPLETELY appreciate that, particularly Bears being the hot hairy beasts that they are, WOOF! *a-hem* But the heterosexual artists, male and female don't really seem to see how prevalent the stereotype of the current sociatal approved female naked shape is, when it's not draped in clothes that place the artwork on the border of ersatz kiddie porn.

And it just reaches a state of saturation; a point of desensitization. Which makes a lot of people *koffmenkoff* see and present females as a prop, a thing for their use, not another human being with hopes and aspirations and desires. I am strongly against this, but how can anyone really sit down and say 'this picture is “good” & this picture is “bad”!'. You can't. It's artwork & as the old saw goes; beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But when beauty becomes so ubiquitous, so disposable, it inures people to beauty itself?

And yet actually getting to KNOW someone has become even less of a priority than ever. We as a society are shallow, self centered children and we all get angry when mother's breast is refused us. Please people. I'm not asking anyone to go around censoring anyone else of legal age and consent to stop doing what they enjoy. But look around & see what this numbing down has done to us across the board. Meh, another hot chick/dude, they're a dime a dozen now that you can have a new chassis dropped in, and with payment plans, yet. Lying & general assholery, because, hey, the pretty celebrities get out of stuff because they're hot, so *I* can because *I'm hot*. The models in every walk of life that have to put up with utter shit from men AND women, because they posed nude so they must be 'easy'. People who have sex rammed down their throat every day & yet can't tell their partners what they enjoy with other consenting adults because they've been told by the mainstream that it's 'sick' or 'dirty'.

See the people around you. Each of them & yourself are individual, unique. Watch how they carry themselves, how they are so *real* when they laugh or cry. Listen to their voice when they tell you that they love you. You are the most beautiful person in the world to them.

Thursday, October 15, 2009


E! So happy with this pic! Available for sale!

Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory

YOU UTTER, UTTER SELF-SERVING BASTARDS. You make all the money. You have all of the comfortable clothes & you can be fat & people just call you 'teddy bear' & giggle. You can leave the house looking like you've been chased over the back porch with a broom, need a bra so bad Pammie Anderson is jealous, have butt-cleavage you could lose a badger in & no one calls you the hog-slob that you are.

But men of the world, I have found out your greatest evil, & I will NOT be SILENCED.

I had to use the facilities & went into the Ladies' room. Another woman was in the stall, apparently reading War & Peace in the original Russian. Now as I'm one of those people who waits until the last minute, i.e. my back teeth were floating, I HAD TO GO. Cometh the hour, cometh the piddle, as 'twere.

Well, fuck this, I'll just go use the Men's room, thinks I, & toddles into the (HAH) Gents'. And in there, no word of a lie:

FOUR Urinals
TWO toilets

Let's review. Women's bathroom: One toilet. Men's pissoir: FOUR urinals & TWO toilets. I don't think I need to add anything to that. Except: You dog-eating, puke-swilling, snot-sucking whoreson bastard prick motherfuckers. NO WONDER there's ALWAYS a line into the head. NO WONDER women have had to learn to 'hold it' to the point of injuring themselves. Fucksake, are women STILL such second class citizens even in this supposed society of (HAH) equality that we aren't even allowed to have enough TOILETS?

Fish have no word for 'water' as it is all around them & it is all they know. They don't understand the pollution, they only die from it, with no way to get away from it because they don't know any better. Ladies: See the little things. Notice that MEN expect you to get out of their way, take less food, space & money but put up with way more SHIT than they do. Notice & stand up for yourself.

Because if you don't stand up for yourself, you'll lay down for anyone.

So, women: If you're ever out & about & there's a line for the bathroom, just use the Men's. They can spare the room.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Pretty Prickleburr

New art!
The unofficial prologue of The Nonesuch Papers is here:
I am scared, excited & proud in equal & giddy amounts. It's so much fun, but I want this to do well. Making a living off of this may or may not happen, but the 1st compliment I get on the story is just going to prostrate me in ecstacy.
Please regard me kindly.

Friday, October 9, 2009

I Don't See Your Name On It

This is a cautionary tale. Do not cross me, for I will find out what annoys the everliving PISS out of you and do it naked at the top of my lungs on Main Street at high noon.

Yesterday I was at the Concord Co-Op eating my lunch. This older guy walks up to me, calm as a summer's morning. He's in good shape for being aged, lean, maybe late fifties. Retired woodsman-looking guy with denim, flannel & boots. Not bed-worthy but tolerable enough to look at.

“I usually sit there.” he says to me with a depreciating chuckle, like he's doing the store a favor to even deign to come in.

Now, I'm not feeling good as it is. I'm feeling like I'm clinging to my own forehead, trying to steer this giant body when I'm about four inches high and clinging onto my own bangs to stay upright. So I give him The Eyebrow of DOOM, over my glasses' rim for maximum effect and narrow my eyes. The cup of coffee he's holding has no lid and with a hard enough slap, it'll go right in his face. This is really the way I think, folks. EVERYTHING is a weapon.

So he keeps staring. My already low bullshit tolerance level hit its nadir about 3 minutes after I woke up. This whoreson prick motherfucker actually expects I'm going to pack up my lunch and get up & move. Now, the Concord Co-Cop has OSSIM pork dishes there. And those of you who know me know how I worship the swineflesh. When I found out the entire world of Jewish & Muslim people don't touch it, I wept, for there was even MORE FOR ME. When I see on twitter that the co-op is having pork of any stripe you betcha bum I shimmy on over there tout de suite. This man has just walked into my personal temple and tells me he wantsta get crumbs on my altar? BLASPHEMER, THY NAME IS 'MUD'!

So. I show Captain Monomania how possible my moving for his tired ass without the immediate application of hundred dollar bills dipped in powdered chocolate will actually happen by upgrading from Eyebrow of DOOM to GLARE OF DOOM. He is now finally hip to the boiling rage he's lit the fire under & sees that I'm not going to giggle submissively and scamper out of his lordly way, deferring to his OBVIOUS superiority what with him being OLD and having a PENIS and all.

“Well, I guess I'm not sitting there today!” he huffs, planking down at the table next to me. He proceeds to tsk, hem, haw, fidget & sip LOUDLY at his coffee.

OH. HELL. NAW. You...are trying to annoy...ME? ME, who am the High Priestess of Snide, Madame Vitriol, She Who Will FUCK YOU UP? Are you really trying to intimidate me, herd me out of the store all because I'M SITTING IN “YOUR” SEAT?! And, my right hand to the theological divinity of your choice: Every time I move in my chair he twitches, wily as any jungle predator waiting for his chance to SPRING into action and reclaim his rightful throne when I *do*move.

So I did what needed to be done.

I pulled out my laptop, fired it up and started writing this down, tee-hee.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Dissociative Discourse

Artwork because I can't look at you. I know you love me and I just can't look because I love you too but your eyes hurt me. I'm sorry.
The last part is a line from Ragdoll Physics by Diablo Swing Orchestra

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Insomniac's Lullaby

Text overlaying the drawing

It unnerves me to blink and to look directly at you is to acknowledge that this continual grinding annoyance is actually happening and if i could just put my chin far enough over my left shoulder i could escape and your words hit my ears like a iron hammer it makes the oil that flows continally over my eyes waver which makes me fall forward always forward towards a future i've never been ready for but never had any choice but to accept because i was raised that you do the tasks put before you and you do them well the first time or you are stupid but i know that i'm actually quite intelligent however a near absent lack of ambition and an utter fear of success as well as failure leaves me stranded on this tiny slippery little rock in the middle of a cold fast river that's too deep for me to swim.

However it is the task before me.

Sink or swim.

Either way two hours of sleep in the last thirty six really aren't quite enough, even for me.

Please excuse my behavior, i'm not really sure what's going to happen next, not even within my own head.

Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Oh my head...

Deviantart is going to kill me, no lie. It WILL NOT post literature without a jpeg for a preview which is the goddamndest bit of bullshittery I've come across having to deal with the interwebs. So there's a short story below this post, to go with this pic:

I'm just posting all my literature here on blogger until I get the Nonesuch site set up. Which may also put me on the edge of a stroke, jesus batfaced christ. I shouldn't have to spend two fucking hours posting two pix & one short story. Also, enjoy this pic:

I am tremendously happy with it, though it needs a bit more polishing. Trying to strengthen my color-work. Not going to move away from lineart, but trying to broaden my horizons.

The Wolf That Cried Boy

This is a short story of a character that will show up in The Nonesuch Papers, a webnovel I'm polishing up to post online. I'm posting it here because deviantart is a complete effing annoyance for posting literature. I tried to include translations in the story for most of the German, but here's the English of the Dire Wolves war chant excerpt:

We go forth singing our determination.
Fear us greatly for we are terror.
But pity us even more for we are the last.
Will you love us if we give you the hearts of your enemies?

Dire Wolves are a bit more direct than their little cousins. A skull for a drinking cup is traditionally considered a lovely courting gift, especially when the male carves the female's name above the brow....

Rolf woke to the smell of his mother's honey cakes, hot and rich. Snuggling down in his thick down comforter, the young wolf nosed his pillow sleepily, thinking of the day ahead of him. A good breakfast of eidechsespeck and honigkuchen, the lizard-bacon from the family's own beasts, the honey from their own hives. This made Rolf feel proud, though nervous about the future. He enjoyed herding die Eidamen, the 'Egg Ladies' as the food-lizards were called in this valley. He had lots of time to think or to sing and the 'damen would feed and chirp and spar throughout the day, their clonking bells echoing over the foothills. They were trained from their hatching to wear the collars and harness that held the egg-creels, and were noisily proud whenever they'd laid a clutch. Rolf only then had to amble over to the squawking hen, congratulate her on her latest triumph and pack the eggs for bringing home.

But if he had to do it for the rest of his life, he might very well go mad. It wasn't that he didn't love his family, but Arilda was older than he and was as much the hearth maiden as her name implied. She and Hieronymus were to be handfasted come Midsummer and they could take over the family farm. And he could go into the wide world and sing. Sing for everyone and anyone instead of just the herd and the town fairs.

Casting off his worry with his blankets he leaped out of bed and grabbed yesterday's trousers. Hopping around, he snagged his shirt and rammed his off leg into the britches, barely saving his nose from a painful bump against the wall. Shrugging into his shirt he began spinning in place trying to get the second arm in.

“Rolf! Up with you, bursch!” His mother's high voice carried up the stairs as he tied his boots.
Kommen!” he called back, taking a minute to splash his face and finger comb his shock of hair. His pelt, pale grey from his mother's northern clan shaded to a charcoal black at the ends and he was inordinately proud of his thick ruff of hair and side-chops. Looking in the mirror to straighten the part, he had a moment's regret for last week's drunken haircut as it was shorter in the back and the long bit left in front kept flopping over his blue-white eyes. Mama had offered to try and fix it, but he'd just left it alone and it was starting to grow on him.

He thundered down the stairs, ducking the lintel at the bottom. His growth spurt over the winter had made him tower over even his father, who grumbled at his racket over his coffee. Sweeping his mother into a hug that turned into a waltz, Rolf twirled her over to the table and snatched two kuchen off her platter before she could get it on the pale sand-scoured pine.

Komm, son.” Herbst Winteraugen had a humor that rarely woke before noon. He rapped the table with his knife and pointed his giggling son to his seat as he crammed one of the sticky buns in his wide jaws. “Today's not the day for your fooling.”
“Oh, let the cub play.” his mother sniffed as she poured Herbst another cup of coffee. He northern accent always strengthened with her temper. “Wouldst have him sober as thee before he's had a chance zu sein endstück jagen?”

“Norna, he can chase his tail all he likes after he's done his chores.” Herbst shivered as his tail fluffed. “Today's a weird day and I want him paying attention. The old charcoal burner still hasn't turned up.”

Norna tweaked the end of both her son and husband's tails and ruffled their heads before turning back to the stove. “Du hast recht, liebste,” she said absently, looking out the window as she began scrubbing the dough from her largest mixing bowl. “The wind's been biting 'round corners, but it doesn't smell of storm. And old Lazlo probably fell from a cliff, everyone who knew him knew he lived drunk more than sober, poor old fool hare that he was. Is.” she said firmly and scrubbed harder at a clot of dough. “He's probably just off wandering, with spring in his nose.”

“All right, folks, Ich bin fur die hügel.” Rolf bolted the last of his breakfast and made for the door, looking to avoid the folks getting worked up and him winding up on the wrong side of extra chores. Norna handed him his backpack and claimed a kiss.

“Howl, an thou needst anything. Wilt be up at noon with thy lunch.” she watched her enormous son trot across the front yard to the stables, tail wagging as he began to dance and sing.

Seine Stimme bilden den Sonnetanz mit dem Mond.” she murmured as Herbst came to hug her from behind. Leaning down to gently worry her ear with his teeth, he sighed instead and watched as Rolf disappeared into the barn, bellowing a greeting to the herd.

“Hm. The sun will dance with the moon before he settles down to running this farm, worse luck.” He sighed again and Norna flicked her ear against his huffing.

“What 'luck'? You know Arilda is as of the earth as Rolf is flighty. She's nearly as big as thee, and has Hieronymus in the palm of her hand. Rolf is too big for this quiet little valley and you know it. Both in size and in heart.”

Ein Blitz trifft mehr Bäume als Grashalme. I love our boy, I just don't want to see him struck down by the lightning, the bad in this world. He's huge, in his heart and his frame, but so trusting and there's many people as would use him.”

“Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, nor dost thou.” she gave her mate's hand a pat. “His voice is a gift. Sword and armor in one, if he learns to use it.” Herbst growled and let her go, stalking back into the kitchen. “Why art so crossgrained today?” she followed him in, shaking her head.

Rolf, unaware of the hackles raised in the house was checking over the herd. Lifting feet, looking for molted feathers, running his hands over limbs for warmth or signs of pain. Humming two notes over and over calmed the lizards and was one of the vocal cue for them to gather. Finished, Rolf pushed away the lizard with a laugh as she was trying to groom his hair, pulling the strands through her beak-muzzle.

“Enough, Hilma. All right, ladies, form up!” Rolf grabbed his staff from beside the barn door and flung the doors wide. The lizards pranced out, squeaking and bobbing, pecking at the ground and snapping in the air at any bug that caught their wide eyes. Rolf barked and chivvied, prodded and pleaded until the group were on the road to the high fields and he was finally singing the battle march of the Warg Troops of the war against the Ice Wanderers. A group of mercenaries, the last of the Dire Wolves, they were legend in Garmania. Giants of the wolf line, they were horrible to face in battle.

Wir gehen, unsere Ermittlung weiter zu singen.
Fürchten Sie sich, dass wir groß für uns Terror sind.
aber bedauern Sie uns sogar für uns sind dauern.
Lieben Sie uns, wenn wir Ihnen die Herzen Ihrer Feinde geben
?” Rolf sang loudly, letting the determination and the loneliness of the words ring out. Seeing a cart coming over the rise he broke off to call 'gee' to his herd. Daintily they obeyed as Albrecht Tischler pulled up on his Hammerkopf lizard's head and tipped back his broad rimmed hat. The cat was a fine woodworker, though he was known to be dryly sarcastic. At times people didn't realize he was twitting them and had bent an old carpenter's saying just for him: Listen twice, Laugh once. Albrecht didn't look to be laughing, though, wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve.

Verdammt, cub! You're making an old tom weep over something older than my grandpa's granny!” Albrecht resettled his hat, smoothing its long green feather. “Neat how you get them to stand in ranks like that! How come your sire won't let you work the field competitions at the fairs, I wonder?”

“He says I can either sing or herd, but not both. Mama and Arilda can't handle the family booth by themselves all day while Papa is lizard dealing, so I always choose singing.” Rolf shrugged and looked down to kick a boot against his staff. “Wish I could do both though, I do like putting the girls through their paces.”

“Hm. Well, learn how to argue like you sing junges, and he'll come around!” Albrecht slapped the reins against his lizard's broad back and squalled in the unnerving way of all felines. “Verdammt, you rock-headed thing! Get yer head outta that ditch and lets be along! Farmer Grauf will be chewing his fence posts down wondering where we are, the old goat. 'Tag, Rolf!”

Rolf waved and led his charges to the High Fields gate, shooing them through. The lizards stepped along readily, smelling the fresh grass. When the last tail wagged through the gate, he secured it and hiked up behind them, humming the rest of the march.
The rest of the morning came on hot for spring, and soon Rolf was perched on a boulder in the shade, shirt tucked into the back of his britches, threaded through the suspender strap. He chewed absently at a blade of grass and wonder idly what Mama would bring for lunch. He'd smelled the peaches covered in a bowl on the counter, and licked his chops in the hopes of cobbler, still hot from the oven. Agitated squawks brought him back to earth in surprise.

Hilma was shoving again! She was the queen of her clutch and never let any of the others forget it, the bossy thing. It seemed that she was trying to keep the others from going higher in the field near the forest's edge. Nudging and flaring her ear flaps, the young queen reared up and keened.

“Hilma, what is your grex? Everyone is so-” a shriek made Rolf spin to peer into the dark edge of the forest. “No.” he whimpered, tail drooping, ear back. “NO!”

Two huge lizards, mottled dark green on top, cream colored with rusty brown blotches below. Half again the size of the Egg Ladies, they burst from the cover of the trees and rushed the herd. Shrieks from both of them displayed the jagged fangs of their namesake: Blitzreißzähne, the Lightning Fangs. Enormous sickle claws on their hind feet chopped swathes of grass from their murdering path, and the Egg Ladies milled in terror.

Blitzreißzähne! RUN!” Rolf bellowed, snatching up his staff. Baying the call that meant “Stables, danger” to the lizards, the young wolf ran for all he was worth between the predators and his herd. “NO!” he roared, raising his staff, tail bent in aggression, arms wide. Inhaling deep as the larger Blitzreißzähne closed on him, Rolf howled the call 'To Arms', letting it pour from the very roots of his heart. He'd been at this clutch's hatching and he'd not lose them!

With no further time to think, Rolf dodged the living razored hell of the beast's jaws. Hot rot-stinking breath spattered him with sticky drool as he tripped and rolled, catching a glimpse of Hilma guarding the retreat of her sisters. She reared up and spun suddenly, bringing her tail around in a sharp crack against the larger Blitzreißzähne's snout. The end of her tail must have caught its eye, for it screamed and staggered. The smaller one menacing him turned, distracted and Rolf kicked out, hard. His boot swung up into the broad keel of the monster's chest, with the strength of his whole body behind it. Lurching, the beast coughed in rage as Rolf scrambled away and spun to drive his staff into the snout. The oaken stick skidded up the pebbled skin and bounced away from the eyesocket, springing from his numbed hands to pinwheel into the long grass.

The beast wailed in impatient hunger and reared back to gut him with its horrible back claws. Rolf stepped back and yelled his terror and anger at this hopeless moment, knowing he would die alone in agony.


And the Blitzreißzähne paused in its killing kick and toppled over, unbalanced. He turned to spare a glance to Hilma and the fallen lizard's flailing tail tip caught him across the nose, sending him reeling. Both Hilma and the other killer had frozen, heads turned to look at him. As he landed hard, wind beaten from him, he could hear his father's belling cry and the shouts of others.

“I'm sorry, Papa.” he murmured thickly into the grass, tasting blood as he blacked out. “I tried.”

“It's all right, child.” his father said softly, hand steadily stroking his shaggy forelock from his face. “You did a grand thing.”

“WHAT?” His bedroom ceiling spun overhead. Rolf sat up and regretted it instantly. His face hurt with a hot, bone-deep ache that wrapped his whole head in pulsing nausea. “Oh, no.” Herbst held up a bowl and turned his face.

After Rolf finished dry heaving he thought he would faint from the pain, but hung on. His father eased him back onto the mass of pillows and carefully let Rolf sip from a steaming cup of hot plum mead. Rolf could taste the bitterness of willow bark underneath the sticky sweetness and sighed as he lay back and looked at Herbst.

“Hilma?” he asked, reaching up to test the bandage across his nose. Herbst let out a crack of laughter before shaking his head and finishing up the doctored mead himself. Flapping his tongue comically at the willow bark, he snorted and slapped his son on the arm.

“Do you know, other than a neat gash on her shoulder that silly brave bitch is just fine?!” Herbst shook his head. “The rest of those dumb Ladies came flapping and screaming into the yard just as we heard you over the bend. The whole dozen of them are fine and eating their fool heads off in the stable.”

“I see we'll be feeding thee yet, too.” Norna swept into his bedroom with a bowl of soup that smelled heavenly. She handed Herbst the bowl and hugged Rolf hard.

“Mama, ow!” Rolf protested. She eased him back onto the pillows and shook her fists at him, her long white mane wild and hackled over her shoulders.

“Don't 'Mama' me!” she raged. “Next time thoust'd see a Blitzreißzähne, thou RUN!” she burst into sobs as Herbst stood and gathered her to him.

Kush, liebste,” Herbste soothed. “the boy was so brave today.” Rolf claimed the bowl of soup and sighed happily as hunger overtook the nausea. Roof-lizard broth with peppered bread in it was his favorite comfort food. He spooned and watched warily as Herbst hustled his mother out of the room.

“Go tell everyone we've still got a son, though he'll be ugly for a while.” Herbst turned to his only boy, broad feet poking from under the covers. “And we need to talk, lad.”

“I promise I'll just run next time! It's just, they're my herd, I mean-” he stopped at his father's raised hand.

“I'm not mad at you son, never that. I couldn't be prouder if you'd killed both of those vicious things. Me and the neighbor males did for them, believe me. But I'm scared.”
“Do you think they were part of a bigger pack-”

“NO!” Herbst barked, and Rolf's ears laid back in confused hurt. Herbst patted the air in conciliation. “Just hear me. You called. And we came. All of us that could hear you came, and armed. And when you yelled 'stop' we all did. Stopped dead in the road, a few even fell over.” Herbst sighed and rubbed his work-leathered hands together.

“You have the Voice, son. The Dire Wolves run in our ancestors' tracks” Rolf licked the spoon thoughtfully. Herbst cocked his head as he watched tears start soaking the bandages. “Son?”

“So people only like my singing because of this magic voice? I don't want that! I want people to like my singing because it's from me, that it's from my heart and my enjoyment! I don't want people scared of me!” Rolf whispered brokenly, before covering his face.

“Son, son! They do like you.” Herbst gently shook him by the shoulder to make him look up. “No one in this village knows about this.” here he looked grim. “Though some suspect, damn that two-tongued Tischler for telling everyone that would hold still about you and the Ladies this morning! See if I buy so much as kindling from him ever again.” he sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest. “But there's nothing for it. People talk and some would rather hate and fear than understand and accept. You have a great gift and it needs training. Keeping you here, that gift would wither at the least. If you resented us for keeping you on the farm, who knows?” Herbst was crying now.

“I would never-” gasped Rolf, dizzy from emotion. Norna bustled into the room with another cup of mead and snarled in frustration as she slapped the brew onto the nightstand, soaking the doily.

“Men! Worse than jilted girls for crying, the lot of you!” she plumped down on the edge of the bed and clapped her hands. “Enough! We will figure this out.” she pointed at her shocked husband.

“You, go and check on the ladies. You,” she aimed her sharp little claw at her son. “You need rest. And I,” she stood and used her apron to pick up the doily and hand Rolf the remains of the heated wine. “Will get on the aether glass and make some discreet calls back home. And start crocheting another doily.”

She paused to kiss Herbst on the cheek and winked at her stunned son as she flounced out of the room once again.

“Didst know, some of those Dire Wolves stayed in the North after the Ice War? The females of my clan do so love a male with a sweet Voice.”

Friday, October 2, 2009

When Over 300 lb You Reach, Look As Good You Will Not!

HEYWHOANOW! Hee. I can TOO draw, see! Apparently my art-fail today doesn't count for 2/3 nekkid self portraits. This one just fell outta my hand after I stopped trying so hard. As the little green guy said: Do or do not. There is no try.

I'm Scrappy!

I has a headache, & have amounted to 2 things today, jack & diddly. Well 3 things. Scrap art above. Men are being their usual skwrly selves at me on top of annoying people in mad full effect invading Concord. Leafpeepers, for those not from New England are people from 'away' that walk into oncoming traffic with carefree abandon, randomly slam on their brakes & have the amusing idea that I don't speak French OR German. And, obvy, come to look at pretty DEAD LEAVES. Which are DEAD & do NOTHING. If they, like, exploded off the trees in sparkling displays of dispersed seeds or short bursts of flames, I would see the point. But they're dead leaves. That just sit there. Unless they *GASP* fall off the trees. *eyeroll*
I'm sorry I've not been more productive today *hangs head because a) it weighs 600# from PAIN & b) slacker shame.
Ugh. Better stuff coming, sweartagods. Just not today....

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Watch me pull a blog outta my hat!

Above is Maeve Aithne Chalcedony Nonesuch. This is just a rough sketch, I shall fiddle with it as I go & post updates. This is my first time posting a pic to blogger, please bear with me. I might be starting up a sketch blog here if it's easier than the hands-and knees trip over the mountains that deviantart inflicts on people to post art, oy. Such the tuchis-pain.
She's Cornelius Nonesuch's mom, & she's seen here in her Hornet flying togs. The smaller flying vehicles in this storyline are ornithopters: Once she was married to Ajax Nonesuch her life got a lot more exciting. Her parents prized her like treasure and guarded her like griffins (More about griffins, anon, and ye may lay to that. Och!). Unicorns are rare & females are VERY rare, so they are cherished & her parents went kinda overboard. She was watched & cosseted & hovered over constantly. Which has made her just bursting to try new things & she took to flying like a child of the bird-clans. She uses those goggles as well for the fact that she can't see aether (mana, magic, juju *giggle*). Usually the beings of magic (dragons, griffins, unicorns, et al) can at least see it like heat haze off a road but she was born aether-blind. Which doesn't stop her from being an excellent healer & magical botanist. She is calmer than when she was younger, as losing Ajax was a great blow. Sparks of her former vitality are often evident. She doesn't suffer fools gladly, twits both of her sons mercilessly & is, if not fearless, very good @ calculated risks. She'd be a hella chess player if they had it in their world.
My landlady's husband passed away last night. He had Altzheimers, & in the end was just...somewhere else. When he was cognizant he was a darling sweet man, funny, helpful and skilled with his hands. I miss both him & his wife tremendously, she died recently as well. They were like grandparents to me after 12 years of living across the driveway from them. I'm very low today & work is gonna be a Mongolian Clusterfuck today, so I need to pull it together.