“I’ve barely touched you.”
“You don’t know what having hair feels like. Be gentle.”
“Fine. Where’re you getting the dress?”
“I was thinking of digging something out of that one fallen down dress shop, Anastasia’s something?”
“Didn’t that belong to the host’s family?”
“Yeah. What do you think, flattering or insulting?”
“Probably insulting. Try the other caved in dress place, near Hong’s.”
One time they saved somebody rich (how you do the rich thing in the post-apocalypse is a mystery to Bri) and so some time later they got invited to a party. It was suggested to Bri that full formalwear may be a good idea, as stylish as her bow tie and fighting clothes may be. She could not quite be convinced away from the bow tie, but did dig up an evening gown. Marcus even did her hair. It was a nice evening, really.
The giant ants attacked during a slow song.
Bri and Marcus got the whole thing under control before there could be terribly much damage, thus saving a bunch more rich people. Bri began to understand how Kim Possible always had favors to call in. She kind of showed her class in her response to their defeated adversaries, post-fighting, although the rich people were still pretty grateful.
Marcus gave her the appropriate side eye. “You’re sticking your tongue out at them?”
“They ripped my dress.”
The ad had been a little weird, but she’d taken it, because hey, college costs money and so does absolutely everything else in the world. They’d accepted her inability to work a full day because of school, too, and set her up at a desk. When the paperwork she was given clearly, clearly screamed “questionable morality” and mentioned things she’d only ever heard of in Lovecraft novels, she’d mostly figured things out. After some brief personal debate and staring at pieces of paper, she’d kept on, hoping she could just keep her head down and get paid without chloroforming any political figures or stitching any terrifying hybrids together. And so far, all she’d had to do was sit at a desk in the office and go over paperwork. She’d ignored any of the suspicious behavior and appearances made by her coworkers.
Was definitely a kraken.
HERE LOOK WHAT I MADE YOU!
“Hey, Mehra, where’d our last copy of Catcher in the Rye go?”
Mehra’s a big J.D. Salinger fan. She thinks he’s full of crap and his life was a wreck, but at least he knows that’s true of everyone.
I did a background! God, the last time I did a background…. I used paper back then, you guys. Actual paper. I even still have that one!
Anyway, just freaking look at this. It’s not even a background, it’s, like… an actual place. It has a name, even. This, my friends, is
the Gryffindor Common Room Granny May’s Bookshop, where Mehra works with Rainbow Dash Max.
So yeah. How’s this for having it together?
Editor’s note from a few years later (older, wiser, and bitterer):
I began using paper again almost immediately after this drawing. Also, the stairs are horrible.
Probably not gonna be another drawing this weekend because… Art Fest. Yeah. (Actually, that’s sort of a legitimate excuse. You’ll see.)
Anyway, this is what the kids call a sketch dump. See you next weekend.
Remember Marcus? Actually, I guess you don’t. He was another character in the failed post-apocalypse comic I did, which is starting not to look so failed. More and more stuff keeps happening with it… Recently, I wrote an episode of a children’s show with these characters, in which Marcus starred, and now this. Seriously, guys, I need help. Or a production budget. I wanna write that show.
Bri is not exactly fond of the whole apocalypse thing. She’s not fond of being hungry all the time, she’s not fond of any protection she ever had being stripped away while the dangers lose their manners, she’s not fond of sleeping on park benches. She’s not fond of the crazy people who used to scream about the end of days not seeming so crazy anymore, of everyone else in the world seeming more so. She’s not fond of not having seen her apartment in about six months, of knowing it’s probably torn apart, maybe even fallen over. She’d be a little bit fond of not paying for stuff if there was any stuff left not to pay for. She’s really not fond of fighting something or someone for everything. She can feel the gash on her hip from that runin with a bearfish yesterday when she was down by the river, but if she turns over, it’ll just hurt more. She’s a little bit proud she’s hardly even afraid of bearfish anymore, but she’s still definitely not fond of them existing, or any of the weird crap rising out of the sewage these days. Did these horrifying hybrids always exist, just out of the public eye, or are they new? Nobody recycles anymore, that’s for sure.
And just as she’s finally drifting off to sleep, a giant, animalistic shriek all too close shocks her awake with the sort of petrifying panic she’s come to associate with waking up.
A gigantic owl with a …slug’s? lower half. (Why are the mutants always so big? How is the streetlamp even holding its weight?) It doesn’t seem to care that she’s there and, god, she isn’t even scared, either. Just annoyed.
Yeah. The apocalypse thing is getting old.
Hoh god this is late. Sorry about that. But it’s finally happened: a colored version of the owl-slug that I actually like. It occurs to me that I finished the original drawing around this time last year. I’d spent weeks working on it, drawing rows and rows of what turned out to be biologically inaccurate feathers, doing the pattern on the right wing, repositioning the head, working out the kinks in the flow of the feathers around the eyes. I even put three little stripes (not included in the colored version because it would have given me carpel tunnel) on every single feather. It was that wonderful sort of drawing that never goes wrong and never feels rushed, I just worked on little bits of it when I could, and eventually it was finished. I remember that for days after I finally decided it was done, I carried it around in my backpack (as I did all my drawings, to be fair) and pulled it out to show anyone who would look. Oh, those days before I discovered the internet.
I really didn’t mean for this to get so sunlighty, but, god, I just love sunlight so much. Also, when I first drew it, I wanted it to be a three panel comic (one for Bri sleeping on the bench while the owl-slug lands silently on the streetlamp, one for the wakeup call, and one for her realizing it’s just another gigantic, indifferent mutant and calming down) but by the time I finished this, I realized there was no way I could draw the owl-slug again on that scale.
“Its nose keeps switching between crying out of laughter and sadness while he plays tea and drinks chess…” -Devin
Dominick had once had a complete chess set, as well as a proper hat, but he traded the hat to a nomadic musician during a bad storm (mostly out of kindness, the trumpet had been broken even when it was given to him), and he lost most of the chess pieces because of little things, like when Benjamin needed a horse to get somewhere on time and The Great Swamp Sink of Summer. He doesn’t really mind, but it’s getting harder to play chess properly… (That and, until Benjamin gets back, he won’t have anyone to play with.)
The book titles, in order: Pour Mademoiselle, Dealing With Depression, Creationism, and Canadians: They’re Not Like Us. The chess pieces are a Troll doll, a rook, an engagement ring, a pawn, a Monopoly top hat, and a di.