Io9 run a segment where they post a piece of concept art and users are encouraged to write the story behind it. This week's image is "The Night Train," by Ryan Mauskopf. I decided to finally give this a go.
The Night Train
Mika looked into the drink can.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" she asked. "We need to be unrecognizable to the Underrealm folk."
Rick snuffled a snort-filled response and she looked over. Where he'd once sat, there was now a towering mound of hair, a great animal that looked both strong and kind. He shuffled the briefcase on his lap and snuffled again.
"Oh," Mika said.
She turned to Red and where his head had been was now smoke and fire, a cone of radiating heat. He turned to Mika and gave an attempt at a smile.
"Right," Mika took a sip from the drink. "I guess here goes nothing."
Monday, July 9, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Dog Exercise
Okay, so maybe this is me, but there's something I find cruel about dog exercising.
Not the kind of thing where you take your dog to the park, run around, play fetch and have fun kind of exercise. That's all joy and wonder.
No, what I'm talking about is something like dog training.
I was walking through the park and I saw this big, brawny guy with his pet Staffy. The dog had a harness on and a number of heavy weights attached to it by a cord. The man would them call the dog over, getting it to run - lopsided because the weights wouldn't trail directly behind it - and he would time how long it took the dog to run to him each time.
Now, I know there are probably some good reasons for dog training, though the only one I could think of is Police Dog stuff, and this sure as hell wasn't that. This was just some guy who wanted his Staffy to have that really bulked up front look. Maybe to be a guard dog, maybe because he wanted a dog as bulky as him.
Either way, it seemed cruel to me to watch this dog hauling these weights behind it, clearly encumbered and uncomfortable, lopsided and pulling everything with its neck.
Mahalo.
Not the kind of thing where you take your dog to the park, run around, play fetch and have fun kind of exercise. That's all joy and wonder.
No, what I'm talking about is something like dog training.
I was walking through the park and I saw this big, brawny guy with his pet Staffy. The dog had a harness on and a number of heavy weights attached to it by a cord. The man would them call the dog over, getting it to run - lopsided because the weights wouldn't trail directly behind it - and he would time how long it took the dog to run to him each time.
Now, I know there are probably some good reasons for dog training, though the only one I could think of is Police Dog stuff, and this sure as hell wasn't that. This was just some guy who wanted his Staffy to have that really bulked up front look. Maybe to be a guard dog, maybe because he wanted a dog as bulky as him.
Either way, it seemed cruel to me to watch this dog hauling these weights behind it, clearly encumbered and uncomfortable, lopsided and pulling everything with its neck.
Mahalo.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Stories from Nothing: Crying at Work
The Catalyst: No too long ago, I saw someone walking through the corridor at work, crying on their mobile phone. So I got to thinking...
The Story: "Yes, I understand," she said, covering her face as she walked past a workmate in the hallway. He looked at her but said nothing and walked on. The tears burned down her face. "I'll be there."
"Damn right you will," said the voice on the other end of the line. "For, if you are not, you shall not see your husband again."
The line went dead and she was left hanging there, holding onto the phone. She leaned against a nearby wall and collected herself, wiping her tears away on her sleeve. No police, he'd said. They always said that in the movies. She'd always screamed at the characters that didn't call the police, or turn on the light in a dark room in a horror flick.
She looked down at her phone and pressed the "emergency call" button and dialed 000. A bored sounding operator spoke down the line.
"Hello triple zero, what is your emergency?"
She told her everything. The man, her husband, the demands - everything.
After work she went to the mailbox on the corner of Kent and Broadway that the man on the other end of the phone had told her to go to. She waited until 6pm like she'd said she would. A black van pulled up, screeched to a halt and threw a brown box at her feet and sped off.
"Wait!" she screamed. "Wait! Where is he?!"
A police car, sirens wailing, zoomed after the van.
She looked at the box at her feet. She knew this part in the movie. She could smell the blood.
The Story: "Yes, I understand," she said, covering her face as she walked past a workmate in the hallway. He looked at her but said nothing and walked on. The tears burned down her face. "I'll be there."
"Damn right you will," said the voice on the other end of the line. "For, if you are not, you shall not see your husband again."
The line went dead and she was left hanging there, holding onto the phone. She leaned against a nearby wall and collected herself, wiping her tears away on her sleeve. No police, he'd said. They always said that in the movies. She'd always screamed at the characters that didn't call the police, or turn on the light in a dark room in a horror flick.
She looked down at her phone and pressed the "emergency call" button and dialed 000. A bored sounding operator spoke down the line.
"Hello triple zero, what is your emergency?"
She told her everything. The man, her husband, the demands - everything.
After work she went to the mailbox on the corner of Kent and Broadway that the man on the other end of the phone had told her to go to. She waited until 6pm like she'd said she would. A black van pulled up, screeched to a halt and threw a brown box at her feet and sped off.
"Wait!" she screamed. "Wait! Where is he?!"
A police car, sirens wailing, zoomed after the van.
She looked at the box at her feet. She knew this part in the movie. She could smell the blood.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The Comic
So, a while back I apologized for not writing much and then proceeded to not write much. Sorry about that.
In that post, I mentioned that I was working on a comic book with a friend of mine. Well, things are going really well with it right now and if you haven't already, I'd sure like and appreciate it if you'd go and check it out on Facebook.
The comic is called Deadguard and is a horror/Western set just after the First World War when the gates to Hell erupt open and demons spew forth across the land.
It's written by yours truly and my friend Omar from Scratch That and is illustrated by Chris J Fredericks of Abyssopus Studios.
Hope you like it and enjoy! No release date yet unfortunately, but I'll keep you all posted!
Mahalo.
In that post, I mentioned that I was working on a comic book with a friend of mine. Well, things are going really well with it right now and if you haven't already, I'd sure like and appreciate it if you'd go and check it out on Facebook.
The comic is called Deadguard and is a horror/Western set just after the First World War when the gates to Hell erupt open and demons spew forth across the land.
It's written by yours truly and my friend Omar from Scratch That and is illustrated by Chris J Fredericks of Abyssopus Studios.
Hope you like it and enjoy! No release date yet unfortunately, but I'll keep you all posted!
Mahalo.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
A Hairy Situation
I know this is TMI, but I don't care. Also, I don't know why I'm telling you this.
So, I have long, curly blonde hair. The one thing about hair like this is that, a) it's beautiful and b) it gets everything. And it's damn noticeable when it does. You can always tell when a fallen hair is mine.
Now, because I have the ability to groom myself, most of the hair comes out in the shower when I brush it. During the day whatever does fall out gets stuck in the curls and no problem, comes out the next day. But every now and then, some escapes these fates and falls onto things. Namely, one of those things is my desk chair at work.
I work sitting on one of those average, black, fabric office roller-chairs. The back of my roller chair looks like I sewed some grain in there and started growing hair just in case I went bald at any time. What I'm saying is there's a lot of hair on there - because I'm the only one that uses the chair.
I've been reading a lot of Harry Dresden novels lately (written by Jim Butcher) and if you haven't read them you should. This got me thinking about the hair on my chair. The reason is, if anyone gets your hair (or blood or blood or etc.) they can perform magic on you and there's very little you can do about it.
Looking at my chair, anyone could just take some and I could be dead with an exploded large intestine tomorrow because I was careless (and kind of gross). So, I thought, Dresden would never leave hair on his chair - and neither should I!
So I began cleaning.
And, Oh. My Lord.
The amount of hair I pulled off of there was astonishing. Like a handful. A clump. I can only describe it as a "in his dying throes he managed to get a grip and tear out a chunk of his murderer's hair but because he was interrupted the killer didn't have time to pick it up before running away" amount of hair. Detectives would look at the clump of hair in the vice-like grip of my rigor-mortised hand and say, before putting on their sunglasses, "Looks like our killer got into," sunglasses, "a hairy situation".
YYYEEEEAAAAAHHH! *The Who plays*
Mahalo.
P.S. I'm sorry.
So, I have long, curly blonde hair. The one thing about hair like this is that, a) it's beautiful and b) it gets everything. And it's damn noticeable when it does. You can always tell when a fallen hair is mine.
Now, because I have the ability to groom myself, most of the hair comes out in the shower when I brush it. During the day whatever does fall out gets stuck in the curls and no problem, comes out the next day. But every now and then, some escapes these fates and falls onto things. Namely, one of those things is my desk chair at work.
I work sitting on one of those average, black, fabric office roller-chairs. The back of my roller chair looks like I sewed some grain in there and started growing hair just in case I went bald at any time. What I'm saying is there's a lot of hair on there - because I'm the only one that uses the chair.
I've been reading a lot of Harry Dresden novels lately (written by Jim Butcher) and if you haven't read them you should. This got me thinking about the hair on my chair. The reason is, if anyone gets your hair (or blood or blood or etc.) they can perform magic on you and there's very little you can do about it.
Looking at my chair, anyone could just take some and I could be dead with an exploded large intestine tomorrow because I was careless (and kind of gross). So, I thought, Dresden would never leave hair on his chair - and neither should I!
So I began cleaning.
And, Oh. My Lord.
The amount of hair I pulled off of there was astonishing. Like a handful. A clump. I can only describe it as a "in his dying throes he managed to get a grip and tear out a chunk of his murderer's hair but because he was interrupted the killer didn't have time to pick it up before running away" amount of hair. Detectives would look at the clump of hair in the vice-like grip of my rigor-mortised hand and say, before putting on their sunglasses, "Looks like our killer got into," sunglasses, "a hairy situation".
YYYEEEEAAAAAHHH! *The Who plays*
Mahalo.
P.S. I'm sorry.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Trapped in the Hells
So. Like (almost) every other gamer on the planet right now, I purchased and have begun playing the long-anticipated Blizzard game, Diablo III - the sequel 12 years in the making after the ridiculously successful Diablo II.
I, for one, absolutely adore the universe and the gameplay in these games. The world is filled with interesting characters, the missions are intriguing and the monsters are grotesque and evil. You, as hero, stand as the lone light of salvation in the doomed world.
Set 20 years after the events of Diablo II: Lord of Destruction, wherein the last of the three Prime Evils, Baal, is killed last after his brothers - Mephisto and the eponymous Diablo - were killed, the heroes must rise again to fend off the encroaching hell hordes. The last of the Lesser Evils have surfaced after a mysterious fireball smashes into the Earth and causes the dead to rise.
If you were one of the many who received their game on its May 15 release date, odds are, you were met with the various Error messages, informing you that you couldn't log on. The servers had crashed with the traffic.
"What?" you may ask. "How can the servers of a single player game crash?"
Good question. Let me tell you.
In a move that has royally pissed off more than a fair share of people, something which is concisely summed up in this article. The main problem being that, in an attempt to curtail piracy - which has run rampant in the gaming community for, well, ever - Activision/Blizzard have decided that you have to log in to the server to be able to play your game.
"Hell," you say, "that's not so bad! You have to do that for Starcraft II and it works just fine!"
Oh, but you see, for Starcraft II, you have the option to play offline. Not so with Diablo III. You must be online at all times with Diablo III. It's no longer a "single player game with an online/multiplayer option", it's an online single player game that has the option of being played alone. But never offline.
And god help you if you have anyone on your friends list, because they can just pop into your game whenever they please. Without asking. Just PING! and they're in. But, that's neither here nor there.
My main gripe is the fact that, as happened to me on Tuesday night, if their servers are down or if my internet just plain isn't working that day, I have paid $69 for a game that I can't play. I know this is the case with World of Warcraft or any other number of MMORPGs, but those are designed for online play. You play them, you accept that servers need maintenance and sometimes they're going to go offline. But, when I purchase a single player game, I expect to be able to play it whenever I damn well feel like.
This means that unless my train has wireless, I can't play on the train. I can't play at someone else's house who's internet I can't get into. I can't play anywhere where there is no internet. And that just shits me.
That said, it's a pretty damn great game.
Mahalo.
I, for one, absolutely adore the universe and the gameplay in these games. The world is filled with interesting characters, the missions are intriguing and the monsters are grotesque and evil. You, as hero, stand as the lone light of salvation in the doomed world.
Set 20 years after the events of Diablo II: Lord of Destruction, wherein the last of the three Prime Evils, Baal, is killed last after his brothers - Mephisto and the eponymous Diablo - were killed, the heroes must rise again to fend off the encroaching hell hordes. The last of the Lesser Evils have surfaced after a mysterious fireball smashes into the Earth and causes the dead to rise.
If you were one of the many who received their game on its May 15 release date, odds are, you were met with the various Error messages, informing you that you couldn't log on. The servers had crashed with the traffic.
"What?" you may ask. "How can the servers of a single player game crash?"
Good question. Let me tell you.
In a move that has royally pissed off more than a fair share of people, something which is concisely summed up in this article. The main problem being that, in an attempt to curtail piracy - which has run rampant in the gaming community for, well, ever - Activision/Blizzard have decided that you have to log in to the server to be able to play your game.
"Hell," you say, "that's not so bad! You have to do that for Starcraft II and it works just fine!"
Oh, but you see, for Starcraft II, you have the option to play offline. Not so with Diablo III. You must be online at all times with Diablo III. It's no longer a "single player game with an online/multiplayer option", it's an online single player game that has the option of being played alone. But never offline.
And god help you if you have anyone on your friends list, because they can just pop into your game whenever they please. Without asking. Just PING! and they're in. But, that's neither here nor there.
My main gripe is the fact that, as happened to me on Tuesday night, if their servers are down or if my internet just plain isn't working that day, I have paid $69 for a game that I can't play. I know this is the case with World of Warcraft or any other number of MMORPGs, but those are designed for online play. You play them, you accept that servers need maintenance and sometimes they're going to go offline. But, when I purchase a single player game, I expect to be able to play it whenever I damn well feel like.
This means that unless my train has wireless, I can't play on the train. I can't play at someone else's house who's internet I can't get into. I can't play anywhere where there is no internet. And that just shits me.
That said, it's a pretty damn great game.
Mahalo.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Return!
I once read a post someone put up on Facebook that said that a blogger apologizing for their absence was arrogant, self-aggrandizing and made the foolish assumption that people actually read their blog.
I am here to say fuck that person and to apologize for my unreasonably lengthy absence from posting lately.
Due to being buried under just a voluminous mountain of work - creative and otherwise - I have been unable to post. But don't despair! I've been gathering ideas and reviews to throw at you once more!
Mostly I've been preoccupied with the TV show that I may or may not be making with a director/producer who may or may not be interested - all leaning towards the positives.
Also, the comic book I'm writing with a friend has recently been in discussions with artists after an absolute deluge of submissions, so that has been taking up an unsurprisingly large amount of time.
On top of that, add house-hunting and alarmingly large life decisions, and you come up with a indiscriminately small amount of time for yourself, which I generally didn't feel like filling with blogging. So, sorry. You are important and I love you, but I've just been too damn tired.
I've been reading some awesome comics and books lately, and seen some pretty swell flicks, so expect some reviews and rants soon enough. But not about The Avengers. I think everything's already been said.
Mahalo.
I am here to say fuck that person and to apologize for my unreasonably lengthy absence from posting lately.
Due to being buried under just a voluminous mountain of work - creative and otherwise - I have been unable to post. But don't despair! I've been gathering ideas and reviews to throw at you once more!
Mostly I've been preoccupied with the TV show that I may or may not be making with a director/producer who may or may not be interested - all leaning towards the positives.
Also, the comic book I'm writing with a friend has recently been in discussions with artists after an absolute deluge of submissions, so that has been taking up an unsurprisingly large amount of time.
On top of that, add house-hunting and alarmingly large life decisions, and you come up with a indiscriminately small amount of time for yourself, which I generally didn't feel like filling with blogging. So, sorry. You are important and I love you, but I've just been too damn tired.
I've been reading some awesome comics and books lately, and seen some pretty swell flicks, so expect some reviews and rants soon enough. But not about The Avengers. I think everything's already been said.
Mahalo.
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