#dren productions

[downthetubes]

New "Axa" in the works from Dren Productions

Axa, the classic SF adventure comic strip from the 1970s and 1980s created by the late Enrique Badia Romero, is returning...

[graphicpolicy]

Mini Reviews: Dungeons and Dimwits, Something is Killing the Children, and Grommets!

Mini Reviews: Dungeons and Dimwits, Something is Killing the Children, and Grommets! A trio of reviews! #comics #comicbooks

Sometimes, the staff at Graphic Policy read more comics than we’re able to get reviewed. When that happens you’ll see a weekly feature compiling reviews of the comics, or graphic novels, we just didn’t get a chance to write a full one for. These are Graphic Policy’s Mini Reviews and Recommendations. Logan Dungeons and Dimwits #1 (Dren Productions) – This is a comic by James Mascia and Kodaris…

[kenpiercemedia]

Artist Interviews from New York Comic Con 2023 @ Javits Center - Part Six

Artist Interviews from New York Comic Con 2023 @ Javits Center - Part Six

Back in October, PiercingMetal was in attendance at the 2023 edition of the famed New York Comic Con which took over the Javits Center for four days. During the course of our media coverage of the event, a series of artist interviews were done by site founder Ken Pierce. While all of these videos are resident on the Official PiercingMetal YouTube Channel, several have been collected into this…

[kishigunpla]

Let's Read: A Requiem for Char: The Red Comet of My Youth - Chapter 2

by Shūichi Ikeda

This post will be an overview of the second chapter, And Then I Met “Him”

Here’s a link to a summary of Chapter 1, covering Ikeda’s early acting career.

When we last left off, Ikeda had just auditioned for the role of Amuro Ray, though without much enthusiasm. He recalls wondering if Matsuura had asked him to try out for the role because he had the image of him in Jiro Monogatari in his mind. But regardless, Ikeda was much more interested in the drinking party afterward than anything about the audition.

While waiting for Matsuura to get ready to leave, Ikeda spotted some production materials on the reception room table. Though not particularly interested at first, he remembers flipping through the pages and being immediately drawn in by Yoshikazu Yasuhiko’s character art. And one in particular caught his eye -

Ikeda: Among them, my eyes were glued to the drawing of a certain character, a young officer wearing a mask. He had a different kind of elegance and demeanor than the other characters. When I looked at the illustrations of his facial expressions and standing poses, it inspired me to think, "I wonder if this guy would talk like this," or "I wonder if he would say something like this."

His name, Char Aznable.

Inspired by what he had seen, Ikeda went back to Matsuura and asked if he could record some samples for Char. Though slightly shocked by Ikeda's sudden change of heart, Matsuura agreed.

At the pub later, after a few drinks Matsuura asked him if he'd like to play Char. Ikeda agreed, and Matsuura happily replied "Ok, it's decided!"

Ikeda: Even if I look back on it myself, I think, "It's like a drama," but this is the truth of how I met "him".

The truth, however, was much more complicated. Ikeda didn't know at the time, but another actor had already been lined up for the role. It took some pulling strings behind the scenes by both Matsuura and producer Yasuo Shibue to change things in time for production.

Ikeda: It's all in hindsight, but I always think that some coincidences have fatefully linked me and Char, and that it's the good fortune that I got from the talents and cooperation of various people. It was a truly blessed meeting for both me and Char.

When recording began, Ikeda recounts how immediately he knew Mobile Suit Gundam was something different, even just from the opening narration. His prejudice against robot anime was quickly disappearing.

Ikeda: The scene where Char appears on the TV screen for the first time is a cut where the camera rises from his feet toward Char's face, and the way he appeared was just wonderful and cool. "Who is this guy??" It’s full of charm that draws in the viewer.

In the studio, each actor's mic was in a specific position. On the left side were those playing characters in the Federation, and the right side, Zeon. Ichirō Nagai, who played Dren, was always sitting next to him.

Ikeda was a fan of Nagai's previous dubbing work and excited to record with him. Just like Char benefited from having a solid military aide like Dren by his side, Ikeda was very grateful to have someone experienced like Nagai with him.

Three months into dubbing, Ikeda already felt he had a pretty good understanding of Char and the direction he wanted to take the character. Neither Matsuura or Director Tomino seemed to have any objections, and Ikeda adds that since Char is such a beloved character even now, perhaps his direction really was the right one. 

Much of the focus of this chapter is specific instances from the anime that Ikeda feels highlights one of the strengths of the show as a whole - the drama created by contrasts in each character's personality and temperament, and how they interact with each other. 

One of the scenes he notes is Char in the bar listening to Gihren's speech in episode 12.

A man approaches, but Char can see through him as a Zeon spy just by the "smell" (atmosphere) he gives off. It's a simple conversation, but Char is able to immediately turn the tables and gain the upper hand. In contrast to Gihren's speech, which is gradually gaining momentum, the two's calm bargaining gives a contrast to the drama.

Another is episode 44, when Lalah asks Char to wear his normal suit while in battle.

Ikeda: To put it in vulgar terms, it's the same feeling as if your lover who lives with you is telling you, "It looks like it's going to rain today, so take an umbrella with you."

Ikeda: A good sense of warmth flows between the two of them. I tried to create an atmosphere that would make all the men in the world envy them, so I was allowed to play the role with a bit of a wet (softer) touch.

He also notes Char and Sayla's interactions towards the end of the show, specifically in the final episode where Char tells Sayla: "You’re an adult already (too)” (お前ももう大人だろ), the key point here being the “も”, or “too”.

Ikeda: I performed this scene with the intention of expressing that both Artesia and I have grown up, whether we like it or not, and that each of us has our own path to take, and that we can no longer go back to the old days.

Regarding the end of the show itself, interestingly Ikeda expresses some reservations about how Char’s story continued in Zeta and Char's Counterattack. To him, Char’s own war ended the moment he got his final revenge on the Zabi family by shooting Kycilia.

Ikeda: Is Char Aznable the kind of man who would accept a beating from Kamille or start a war in pursuit of Lalah's shadow? He is not the kind of man who would sit back and let his own style be denied to him, but he's more mature and stubborn, isn't he?

Ikeda: In the final scene of the theatrical version of "Mobile Suit Gundam III Encounters in Space", he becomes a crew member of a space battleship and departs from the earth sphere. There could not be a better scene for Char to conclude his story.

Finally, Ikeda talks about his interactions with Gundam fans at the time. 

As the popularity of the anime increased, larger and larger groups of fans would gather outside the studio. The crowds eventually got so bad that the hotel next door started complaining to them. Yet despite the number of people, Ikeda comments on how mature and well behaved these fans were, especially compared to something like idol fans.

Ikeda explains that he’s very careful about how he acts around fans, as he doesn’t want to ruin the image they have of “Char Aznable” as a character. For that reason, he is very particular about choosing public events to attend.

Ikeda: My private life and Char's image are separate, but when I stand in front of my fans, I act with an awareness that I am Char. As a voice actor, this is the minimum courtesy for the fans, and I think it's a matter of pride as a voice actor. At the very least, I hope that the long-time fans who support Char, who I play, will also support my attitude.

~

That's all for Chapter 2. As before, I had to leave quite a bit out in this summary, but I hope you found it interesting to read!

[annarellix]

Unseelie  by Ivelisse Housman - EXCERPT

Six of Crows meets the Iron Fey series in this high-energy YA fantasy that follows the adventures of changeling Seelie and her twin sister as they embark upon the heist of a lifetime for a mystery legacy. As they evade capture by both human and fae forces, Seelie discovers more about her own Autistic identity, her magical powers, and love along the way.

Twin sisters, both on the run, but different as day and night. As one searches for a fabled treasure, the other, a changeling, searches for the truth behind her origins, trying to find a place to fit in with the realm of fae who made her and the humans who shun her. Iselia “Seelie” Graygrove looks just like her twin, Isolde… but as an autistic changeling trying to navigate her unpredictable magic, Seelie finds it more difficult to fit in with the humans around her. When Seelie and Isolde are caught up in a heist gone wrong and make some unexpected allies, they find themselves unraveling a larger mystery that has its roots in the history of humans and fae alike. Both sisters soon discover that the secrets of the faeries may be more valuable than any pile of gold and jewels. But can Seelie harness her magic in time to protect her sister, and herself?

The Author: Ivelisse Housman is a Puerto Rican-American author and illustrator. At all seven schools she attended throughout her childhood, she was infamously “that kid who gets in trouble for reading during class, but refuses to stop.” She was diagnosed with autism at 15, which made everything make a lot more sense. When she isn't writing, she can be found making soup or tending to her houseplants. She lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains with her high school sweetheart/archnemesis and their two rescue dogs.

SOCIAL LINKS: Author website: https://www.ivelissehousman.com/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ivehousman/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/ivehousman

BUY LINKS: Bluebird Bookshop: https://www.bluebirdbookstop.com/product-page/pre-order-signed-copy-of-unseelie Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/unseelie-ivelisse-housman/18423458?ean=9781335428592 Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781335428592 Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/unseelie-ivelisse-housman/1141358824?ean=9781335428592&st=AFF&2sid=HarperCollins%20Publishers%20LLC_7310909_NA&sourceId=AFFHarperCollins%20Publishers%20LLC Books A Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9781335428592?AID=10747236&PID=7310909&cjevent=4ea4f71d821211ed80998de50a82b82a&cjdata=MXxOfDB8WXww Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1335428593/keywords=fiction%20for%20teens?tag=harpercollinsus-20

EXCERPT

chapter one

On the night the faerie world collides with ours, anything can happen and wishes come true—and right now, I’m wish¬ing I had stayed home. I struggle to keep up with my twin sister as we push our way through the crowd. Revelnox is summer’s closing act, when day and night balance perfectly on the edge of the world. In the smaller villages, where people lead calm, pro¬ductive lives in predictable patterns—back home, I think, with an ache in my ribs—this means that children stay up late, bon¬fires are built in the middle of town, and offerings are left on the edges of the fields to prevent unwanted faerie mischief. There are special cakes, and the liquor flows freely, but all the merriment is a thin muzzle over the sharp teeth of the truth. You don’t go anywhere alone, and you don’t go into the forest. Not if you want to come back, at least. But here in the city—Auremore, the shining jewel be¬tween the forks of the Harrow River—here, it’s something else entirely. I have to fight not to lose my sister in the crowd of faces and languages blending into a waterfall of color and sound. Chil¬dren call to each other in the streets, even though it can’t pos¬sibly be safe for them to be out alone on this of all nights. But they’re not really alone: it seems like everyone in the city is out, despite the late hour. The ever-present sound of voices crash¬ing over each other is even louder tonight, volume rising with people’s spirits (and the amount of spirits they’ve consumed). Music threads through it all, sparkling and twanging in the air. The bonfires are the same here at least, adding their roar to the commotion. Each city district has its own, and here in the center of Market Square, everything is golden and cheer¬ful, surrounded by dancers and the sweet smell of candies for sale. Here, they welcome the Seelie, the faerie realm of good intentions, of order and politeness—or, at the very least, neu¬trality. Pouches of herbed salt meant to ward off evil swing from the torches that keep the darkness at bay and paint the whole block in brilliant amber. I seriously doubt that the faeries of the Unseelie Court will be scared off by what is essentially steak seasoning, but it’s a nice thought. We squeeze past a man wearing an elaborate mask with goat horns curling around the back of his head. That’s the other thing about the Revelnox celebrations here: everyone is masked, and no one dares to utter their own name. For just this one night, faeries walk among us—and the less power they can claim over you, the safer you are. It’s all fun and games for the faeries, whose visits to the Mortal Realm are usually limited to one human at a time, in remote forest glens or moonlit crossroads. For changelings, the not-quite-human-but-definitely-not-faerie in-betweens, walking among mortals is less of a novelty. We grow up with hu¬mans, hated for being almost like them but not enough. Most of us find our way back to the faerie realms by adulthood. I’ve never felt that pull, though. My magic and I have what you could generously call a troubled history, and if Revelnox is the closest I ever get to the faerie realms, it’ll be more than close enough. Also—and on a potentially unrelated note—it’s my twin’s seventeenth birthday. I can’t exactly say that my twin and I have the same birth¬day, since I’m not sure if changelings even have birthdays. I don’t think anyone actually knows where we come from. For all I know, my essence might have been floating around in a cloud of faerie dust for centuries. Or maybe I formed out of thin air the moment a faerie lifted Isolde from her cradle, stiletto fingernails digging into her soft, honey-colored skin, to exchange her for me. I don’t know. What I do know is that ever since our parents adopted me, Isolde and I share a birthday every year. Back before it was just the two of us on the run, we always had a homemade cake and presents, and we would all sit outside in the grass and watch the stars come out. It was usually uncomfortable, near the end of summer when everything turns sickly sweet and starts to crumble, but that didn’t matter. It was still my favorite day of the year. And often, that day happens to fall on Revelnox.

The man in the goat mask meets my eye, flashing white teeth at me before turning sharply and disappearing into the crowd of disguised faces. I shiver, clinging tighter to my sister’s hand. “Too loud?” Isolde murmurs, pressing close to my side. She wears all-black, as usual, from the tips of her scuffed boots to the roots of her glossy black hair. I shake my head. It is loud, but in a weird way the over¬whelming sensations are soothing. My boots feel more solid on the cobblestones, my body more real and alive than ever. Even the heat—of all the bodies, the radiant glow of the fire, the last warm breezes of summer—makes me feel strangely at ease, instead of just sticky and miserable. No. If I seem on edge, it’s thanks to the buzz of magic in the air, a living hum that I don’t hear so much as feel, like a mosquito hovering at the back of my neck. I don’t think Isolde can sense it. Magic is technically a part of me, fizzing in my faerie blood, and this is the one night when it isn’t considered dan¬gerous and wrong. One night when it’s safe to be the thing I have to be every day. But maybe that’s exactly why I’m so terrified of it—because I’ve seen firsthand what magic does. I stop short, jerking Isolde’s arm back, as a woman with a small reddish dragon draped over her shoulders cuts in front of me, obliviously strumming a stringed instrument and belting out a song that would make the most seasoned escort blush. My sister smashes into me, and we both pause to make sure our masks are still in place. They’re the cheapest we could find, a simple painted covering of the eyes and cheekbones held in place by a fraying ribbon. I’m pretty sure they’re made of rowan wood to protect against faeries, because mine is starting to itch abominably. It’s a familiar itch, and for a sec¬ond, I’m ten years old again, being held down by a clump of other ten-year-olds while they take turns pressing charms of rowan bark and iron to my skin to watch it blister. The moment passes, and I somehow maintain the will¬power not to rip the mask off my face. As I slide it back into place, my fingers twitching nervously over the surface, I pull Isolde closer. I lower my voice, even though it’s so loud in the streets that no one could possibly hear me anyway. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” “It’s Revelnox,” Isolde reassures, her easy grin slipping back onto her face. “The manor is empty, and everyone will be too drunk to even notice us. We’ll be long gone by the time they even realize we were there. Trust me, Seelie.” This is the part where I pause to say I know it’s an unfortu¬nate nickname considering…what I am. I wish that my parents had thought of that before Isolde’s toddler tongue bumbled Iselia so many times that it stuck. I hesitate, but I’ve never been good at saying no to my sister. The fight goes out of me with a rush of air before I straighten my shoulders and squeeze the soft, worn fabric of my favorite dress in my fist. “Let’s make it quick, then.” “Quicker than lightning,” Isolde promises. I glance up nervously at the clear, dark sky as glittering or¬ange sparks drift up from the bonfire, dancing on the breeze. As we wind our way upriver, the world flashes by in vi¬gnettes of chaos. People push through the crowds in chains with their friends, arms linked, songs in the air colliding with the louder instru¬mental music. Some wave flags or toss flowers into the air. Yapping excitedly, a small dog chases at the heels of a group of kids who can’t be older than thirteen. The normally drab buildings are draped in garlands of rainbow-hued flowers and tiny pennant flags. And then there are the faeries. Even though faeries are an expected part of tonight’s fes¬tivities, they slip through the mortals almost unnoticed. But I’m not quite human, either, and I keep finding my eyes wan¬dering to balls of light floating over the crowds, or catch¬ing the smell of a meadow in the breeze of someone running past. I accidentally make eye contact with a woman wearing a feathered mask that covers from her cheekbones up to the crown of her head, then realize with a start that it isn’t a mask. She winks, her blood-red mouth curving into a smile. Then she turns and blows a kiss towards a pair of revelers sitting at a wobbly wooden table in a brewer’s booth. They’re deep in the conversation of close friends, hands wrapped around their cups and separated by exactly the right amount of dis¬tance so their knuckles don’t brush. When the faerie’s breath washes over them, the speaker doesn’t seem to notice at first. The listener, on the other hand, stiffens noticeably, some¬thing strange and hungry coming over their expression. My heart stops. Faerie magic is dangerous, and I don’t know what— Then the listener, without a heartbeat’s space to think, surges forward, crashing their lips into their friend’s. I wince. Not deadly magic, at least. Still dangerous. The speaker freezes for a second, mouth still open in the shape of whatever word was cut off by their friend’s lips. Then they melt into the kiss, eyes closing blissfully. I turn away, blushing hot enough that I worry my mask might burst into flames. The pair will probably regret this tomorrow. They don’t need my invasion of their privacy on top of it. The feather-faced woman is still staring at me with wide, owlish eyes. Then she turns, and her eyes flash red like a cat’s in the night. If I hadn’t been sure that she was a faerie before, I am now. That gleam in the darkness is the one thing faeries can’t change about their glamours. The one thing that reveals a changeling’s true nature. A cold breeze rushes over my skin, trailing chills as we let the scene fade behind us. Isolde releases my hand, adopting an exaggerated drunken swagger. She crashes into someone with gold leaf painted over their cheekbones and lips and stops, slurring apologies and patting the person’s shoulders. I roll my eyes as she falls back into step with me. “Can’t you at least save it until we get there?” I mutter, barely mov¬ing my lips. Isolde’s hand slips out of her pocket, withdrawing a silver-plated compact mirror that she definitely didn’t have a few seconds ago. “Where’s the fun in that?” “You’re not here to have fun. You’re here to get into the house, grab as much as you can, and get out, ideally with¬out getting us arrested.” I know my voice is coming out too harsh, but I don’t know how to fix it, so I settle for nudging her in the ribs with my elbow. Isolde looks at me sideways for a moment, as if she’s just now remembering the seriousness of our situation, before stuffing her loot back into its hiding spot with a chastened sigh. I am not a pickpocket. I don’t mean that in any kind of morally superior way—the truth is that even if I wanted to be a pickpocket, I don’t have the talent for it. Not like Isolde. Isolde steals, grifts, pickpockets, and pawns. I keep us fed. We don’t need to be wealthy. We just need to survive until we can scrape together enough to reunite, to start over in a place where no one knows my face. The noise of the festival fades as my fingers drift to the vial on a leather cord around my neck. Our parents—Mami, a midwife, fierce and tough, with her homemade remedies for everything from a cold to stubborn zits; Papa, gentle and strong and always coming home from his studio with clay under his nails. They wouldn’t want this life for us. They’re good people. Honest people. And they aren’t safe as long as I’m around. So we left three years ago to run from city to city, to steal and cheat and lie and scratch out a living, telling ourselves it would be justified. It would all be worth it when we had enough to make our family a new home. When I could walk down the street without flinching every time someone looked at me a little too long, worrying they’d seen my face on a wanted poster somewhere. We’re coming up to the bridge now, boots pounding an uneven rhythm on the cobblestones as the crowd around us thins. The streets are too choked tonight for horses or wag¬ons to force their way through, leaving extra space on the wide bridge. The sour smells of warm human bodies pressed together and beer subtly ebb away with every step. This side of the bridge is plain, a smooth transition into the arch of stone over the sluggish water. Weeds poke up through the mortar and along the muddy banks. On the other side, garlands of golden paper flowers curl around the gleaming brass streetlamps, and an enchanted ball of light changes color every few seconds. “Last chance to back out,” I mutter, as a woman dressed in sky-blue silk passing from the opposite direction stares at us for just a second too long. “You worry too much.” Isolde catches the woman staring and meets her gaze with a brilliant smile. I move a half step faster, trying to look casual as the daz¬zling sights of Gilt Row come into view. Gilt Row is less of a row and more of a blob-shaped tangle of streets draped in more opulence and wealth than anyone knows what to do with. The houses, like the rest of the city, are pressed tight together, tall and narrow, but here they’re all white stone and pastel-painted brick, with gardens out front and just the right amount of emerald ivy crawling up their fronts. Entire eight-story houses, each for just one family. It’s hard to imagine what the buildings might look like inside—and I pride myself on my colorful imagination. And presiding over it all, flanked by iron gates and a perfectly manicured lawn, Wildline Manor looms three times the size of any of the oth¬ers. It’s huge, imposing, and—since Leira Wildfall is sponsor¬ing Gilt Row’s Revelnox celebrations—totally empty. They might as well have painted a glowing target on it. I haven’t spent much time in this part of the city. Among the perfectly maintained streets populated by well-dressed, respectable families, Isolde’s and my rags stick out like thistles in a bouquet of exotic flowers. Someone who looks like we do can’t just walk around, without someone rich assuming they’re up to no good and signaling the city guard. To be fair, most of the time we are up to no good…but they have no way of knowing that. But tonight is different. I can feel it in the air, smell it in the spaces between smoke and sugar and expensive perfume. Tonight, anyone could be a faerie in disguise, and everyone receives equal respect. Well, besides a few wrinkle-nosed looks from people who think I can’t see them. Despite that, the crowd we melt into on the other side of the bridge is still almost entirely made up of people dressed in dazzling garments of violet chiffon, tangerine velvet, in¬digo silk, pure white linen—every color you could imagine and some you couldn’t. Gold gleams on throats and wrists and fingers, in embroidery along skirts and cuffs. Each mask is more impressive than the last, each custom-made and totally unique. Servants, dressed a bit more simply but still wrapped in the decadent midnight-blue velvet of Wildline Manor, mill around serving snacks and drinks. I couldn’t possibly feel more out of place, with my plain mask, my simple slate-blue dress, my dusty brown boots. For someone like me, there’s no point in throwing away money on a gown that would only be worn for one night—no mat¬ter how enchanting it is. My sister looks even more at odds with our surroundings than I do, but her aura of confidence doesn’t waver, even as tiny beads of sweat trickle under her mask. Isolde is the sweat¬ier twin, but that’s more because she wears layers of all-black every day, no matter the weather, than because of any innate dampness. Even though we’re identical, I can’t remember a time that we could be mistaken for each other. It seems laughable that the fair folk thought leaving me in her place would be an equal trade. Our olive skin and dark brown eyes are exactly the same, but her wavy hair never falls any longer than her shoulders before she chops it off, and I keep mine in a thick braid tied off neatly at the small of my back. Our identical heavy eyebrows look bold and dashing on her face but almost always seem troubled on mine. I can feel them bunching into that concerned twist now. “Do you know where you’re going?” My fingers twist in my apron, fidgeting as always. We’ve been planning this for weeks, but we’re not exactly criminal masterminds. Once Isolde sneaks in the servants’ entrance, I don’t think there’s much of a plan beyond grabbing anything that looks shiny. “Relax,” she replies, taking a flower from a girl dressed in petal-pink handing out bunches to everyone who passes. “Just stay on the lookout, and try to enjoy yourself. This isn’t the kind of party you get to see every day, you know.” The flower twirls between her fingers before she drops it, leaving it to get crushed underfoot. We follow the trickle of people towards the center of the district and their bonfire. It’s getting late now, and most of the children have been sent to bed. Which means the party is really getting started. “Who here’sss try’n’a get…a wisssh granted?” shrieks a faerie, so drunk on Leira Wildfall’s liquor that they don’t even bother hiding the shimmering wings sprouting from their shoulder blades. A shout ripples through the crowd around them. Then there’s a flash of pearly light, and when it fades, the faerie is gone. A stack of gold coins remains where the faerie had been standing, and I don’t know if they intentionally vanished or were banished back home by some Seelie rule about not get¬ting drunk off your ass and offering wishes to mortals. As people frantically dive for the coins, I lean to speak into my sister’s ear. “Those coins are super cursed, right?” “Oh, incredibly cursed. For sure.” She squeezes my hand and chuckles. “You know what you’re supposed to do, right?” I groan. My job, of watching the servants’ entrance and drawing the attention of any guards who might get suspi¬cious, was supposed to be easy. “How can I possibly top that distraction? What goes on around here? There’s something wrong with rich people, Sol. That would have ended the night across town.” Well, across the bridge. All the way across town, in the Twilight District, I’ve heard rumors that they celebrate the holiday with much more unsavory magic, and a few cursed coins would probably be the least of their problems. “You’ll figure something out.” Isolde grins, slipping away from me. “See you in an hour.” Then she turns her drunken saunter back on with all the ease of the highest-quality actor and stumbles into the crowd, ready to dip her hands into their gilded pockets.

Excerpted from Unseelie by Ivelisse Housman, Copyright © 2023 by Ivelisse Housman. Published by Inkyard Press.

[liststonki]

Ndermarrjet e vogla dhe te mesme

“We are glad that we have expanded the cooperation with TEB Sh.A. Vittorio Di Bello, regional leader for Europe and Central Asia within the group of financial institutions at IFC evaluated highly the cooperation especially at this time that we are going through. IFC as a member of the World Bank is the largest global private sector development institution, operating in more than 100 countries with capital, expertise and influence in developing countries. “This partnership with IFC in risk sharing is a valuable tool in supporting and growing the small and medium enterprise sector in Kosovo, especially for women entrepreneurs.” “TEB will continue to provide solutions and financing for SMEs, in order to dynamize them and will continue to support new ideas in the market,” said Krypa. Under this program, TEB has provided access to funds for medium and small enterprises and various non-financial services to build the capacities of this business profile.ĭeputy Managing Director of TEB Bank, Dren Krypa said that the relevant Departments of the Bank will provide the necessary support as in the past for SMEs and especially for women as owners. As of this agreement for the empowerment of small and medium enterprises are also included agribusinesses and businesses within women entrepreneurship program. and IFC - the World Bank financial institution have reached a cooperation agreement in the scope of risk sharing in a value of 10 milion Eur, to support lending to small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) including those in the agribusiness sector and women entrepreneurs.Īs of the agreement reached in the scope of IFC program, the Small Loan Guarantee Program (SLGP), is about strengthening the capacities of financial institutions in low-income countries. Key words: Small and medium enterprises, adverting, marketing, interviewers, comparative analysis.TEB and IFC signed the agreement on Small and Medium Enterprises Support to Kosovar businesses as of this agreement incorporates all small and medium enterprises, agribusinesses and those of women entrepreneurship program. About 60% of business representatives have emphasized that when making the decision to advertise their products or services they would hire the enterprise that its activity has advertising (marketing). Interviewers note that if a business has good things, must invest in manufacturing and in advertising. Over 90% of the interviewers stated that advertising in an investment that benefits business. Representatives of businesses think that regardless of the products sold or not sold to those who should be advertising, so that businesses is aware of what customers demand in the market, then create a connection in the form to chain-market business-consumer marketing. The obtained results show that 53.3% of respondents said that advertising is part of marketing. Including the sample is based on taken with representatives of companies manufacturing servicing, trading, super and mini markets. Date from this study is based on the method of primary data collected through the survey method with representatives of several businesses in Kosovo (mainly in the Pristina region), while those obtained from field data were analyzed by SPSS statistical software. The main object of this paper is to study the relations between advertising and small enterprises and medium. PristinaĢ Faculty of Economy and Agribusiness, AUT, Tirana Arben Verçuni 2 1 Faculty of Agriculture and Veterinary, University of. Small and medium enterprises in relation to the advertising as part of marketing.

[wingkink]

Critical Role + LGBTQ characters

Happy pride month to all critters! I gotta say making this was a surreal experience as I edited the lesbian flag over matthew mercer’s face and questioned how I made it to this point in my life. Critical Role is a truly interesting storytelling medium.

[kendrene]

Hello everyone,

My patrons already know, hut this extends to everyone who's ever read a story of mine, left a kudo, a comment or just had a good time. I feel that I owe you all an apology for not being as productive as I usually am with writing. I've been co-existing with glaucoma for more than 20 years now, and the fact that I just lost one eye to it (the worst one, that already had issues to begin with) is a miracle on its own. I never would have thought I'd have such a long run, let alone such a good one with it.

Thankfully, my other eye works fine, but as you can probably imagine, I have to be careful in the way I allocate "resources". With a full time job and hobbies other than writing, it means I get tired more often. On some days I can't feasibly keep looking at screens after the workday is over (which is when I do a lot of my writing). 

I'm doing all I can. It's just taking me longer to get a complete chapter/one-shot down and edited. Stubborn person that I am, I'm also doing it all by myself without betas, possibly because it was drilled into me that I can't ever, under any circumstances, impose on other people what I can do on my own.

So, more stories are coming. Still, I wanted to apologize to you for being so slow and for letting you down, so to speak, although the latter is probably the by-product of the self-doubt I carry with me wherever I go.

Thank you as always for being on this journey with me.

- Dren

[graphicpolicy]

Preview: Sire Vol. 1 Origins

Sire Vol. 1 Origins preview. Not all costumes are a perfect fit... Donald Wright woke up trapped inside a superhero costume. #comics #comicbooks

[shoelesscosmonaut]

Character refs for this comic (The Spark) which is blazing along. The story is all mapped out, first draft script is being written. It is happening. To sum up what it’s about:

The Spark is a modern fantasy setting filled with magic and mystery. A world where the spirits of the dead can turn into horrible monsters called Maws if left unchecked. These Maws can possess people, causing them to do all sorts of horrible things. There’s an organization known as MaSTF (maw & spirit task force) dedicated to defeating or sealing Maws.

Dell Skullcrusher - Orc woman searching for the truth behind her father’s disappearance. Her Maw form takes the appearance of a large tusk toad, a creature native to the area she grew up in.

Dren Skullcrusher - Orc man running from who he is. His Maw form takes the appearance of a large wolf.

Iouna Flammenkaster - A hunter for MaSTF. Living in the shadow of her family’s legacy, she’s determined to make her own name in the hunting world.

Salvation Allard - A former MaSTF agent known as an invoker, a person trained to communicate with spirits and prevent them from turning into Maws. They quit the force and now shill a bunch of useless products.

Sparks - A steelsong with a mysterious origin. Steelsong are constructs created at sites filled with lots of emotion and lots of magic. Sparks is trying to find their place in the world.

Lines by me, colours by @knightofkris

[beatriceeagle]

I'm more of a fantasy than sci-fi person, but consider my interest piqued. Why should I watch farscape?

Okay, the thing is, every Farscape fan’s pitch on Why You, Yes You, Should Watch Farscape ends up sounding very similar, and that’s because Farscape is a black hole that sucks you in and does things to your brain, and after you’ve watched it you are never, ever the same, which incidentally is basically the plot of Farscape.

I would summarize the basic plot for you, but that’s work, and luckily, the show’s credits sequence includes a handy summary that I will provide instead of doing that work: “My name is John Crichton, an astronaut. A radiation wave hit, and I got shot through a wormhole. Now I’m lost in some distant part of the universe on a ship, a living ship, full of strange alien life forms. Help me. Listen, please. Is there anybody out there who can hear me? I’m being hunted by an insane military commander. Doing everything I can. I’m just looking for a way home.“

So let me break down that monologue into its component reasons you should watch Farscape.

1) Some of the strange alien life forms are Muppets.

Farscape a co-production with the Jim Henson Company, and while there are many aliens played by humans in make-up, there are also a considerable number (including two of the regular crew) who are Muppets. By which I do not mean Kermit. I mean really gorgeous, elaborate works of art.

Also, even a lot of the humans-in-makeup aliens just look cool, and incredibly weird. Here’s an alien who appears in a single episode of season 1:

Not that there aren’t, you know, occasional Star Trek-style “these guys are just humans with weird hair,” or whatever, but in general, the aliens on Farscape look really alien. And that’s more than an aesthetic choice; it’s Farscape’s driving narrative principle. The aliens look alien, they act alien, they have alien values.

You know how a lot of sci-fi shows will have a stand-in for “fuck,” like Battlestar Galactica has “frak”? Well, Farscape has “frell.” And also “dren.” And yotz, hezmana, mivonks, loomas, tralk, snurch, eema, drannit, dench, biznak, arn, drad, fahrbot, narl. Some of those are swear words, but some of them are just words, never explicitly translated, that the alien characters will pepper into their speech, because, well, why should translator microbes be able to completely translate all the nuances of an alien culture? You’ll pick it up from context. One time, in passing, a character mentions that he’s familiar with the concept of suicide, but there’s no word for it in his language. I cannot emphasize to you enough how fleeting this moment is; the episode is not about suicide, we’re not having a great exchange of cultural ideas—at the time, the characters are running down a corridor in a crisis, as they are about 70 percent of the time—it’s just that the subject got brought up, and this character needed to talk around the fact that he literally didn’t have a word, in that moment. Things like that happen all the time, on Farscape.

Because more than anything else, Farscape is a show about culture shock. John Crichton is this straight, white Southern guy, at the top of his game—he’s an astronaut! he’s incredibly high status!—and then he ends up on the other side of the galaxy, where none of his cultural markers of privilege hold any meaning, where he doesn’t know the rules, where he literally can’t even open the doors. And he has to unlearn the idea that humanity is central, that he is the norm.

2) John Crichton, an astronaut, is pretty great.

A show that’s about a straight white guy with high status having to learn that he’s not the center of the universe could easily be centered around a really insufferable person, but one of the subtle things that makes Farscape so wonderful is that Crichton is, for the most part, pretty excellent. He has a lot of presumptions to unlearn because almost anyone in his cultural position would, but he’s also just a stand-up guy: compassionate, intelligent, open-minded, decent, forgiving, brave, hopeful.

And the galaxy tries to kick a whole lot of that out of him. It doesn’t succeed, mostly, but if Farscape is about anything other than culture shock, it’s about the lasting effects of trauma. How you can go through a wormhole one person, and experience things that turn you into someone you don’t recognize.

That’s kind of grim-sounding, but ultimately, what I’m trying to say is that Farscape is almost fanatically devoted to character work. Crichton is not the only character who sounds like he should be one thing and ends up being another. All of the characters—all of them, all of them, even the annoying ones—are complicated wonders. And you don’t have to wonder whether the events of the episode you’re watching are going to matter. They will. Everything that happens to the characters leaves a mark. Everything leaves them forever changed. Whether it’s mentioned explicitly or not—and often enough, it’s not explicit—the characters remember what has happened to them.

3) The living ship houses a lot of excellent women, among them the ship itself.

Ah, the women of Farscape, thou art the loves of my fucking life.

There’s Aeryn Sun, former Peacekeeper (that’s the military that the “insane military commander” hails from) now fugitive, currently learning the meaning of the word “compassion” (literally). She will break your fingers and also your heart. John/Aeryn is the main canon romantic ship.

There’s Pa’u Zhoto Zhaan, a priestess of the ninth level, current pacifist, former anarchist. Sorry, leading anarchist. She orgasms in bright light! (Oh my god, Farscape.)

There’s Chiana, my fucking bestie, a teenage(ish? ages in Farscape are weird) fugitive on the run from a repressive authoritarian state. Chiana is like a seductress con artist grifter thief who mostly just wants to survive so that she can have fun, damn it. Characters on Farscape do not really discuss sexualities (sex, yes, sexualities, no) and it would be fair to say that several of them do not fall along human sexuality lines generally, but I’m gonna go ahead and say that Chiana is canonically not straight.

Then there’s Moya, the ship herself, and it’s hard to get a straight read on Moya’s personality, since she mostly can’t speak. But she definitely has opinions, and things and people she cares about. And she moves the plot, though that gets into spoiler territory.

Past first season, further excellent women show up: Jool (controversial, but I like her), Sikozu (I once saw a Tumblr meme where someone had marked down that Sikozu would lose her shit when someone pronounced “gif” wrong, and that’s absolutely correct, and it’s why I love her), and Noranti (who is incredibly weird, and incredibly hard to summarize, but man, you gotta love her willingness to just show up and do her thing). Plus, there’s a recurring female villain, Grayza, who I could write probably multiple essays about. (I don’t know how you will feel about Grayza, as not everyone loves her, but I think she’s fucking fascinating, especially because she’s not actually the only recurring female villain. We also get Ahkna!)

(Side note: I should mention, here, that the cast of Farscape is really, really white. There is one cast member of color, Lani Tupu, but he pretty much represents the entirety of even, like, incidental diversity in casting for the series.)

Anyway, Farscape is full of awesome women, and also awesome and unexpected men, and it really enjoys playing with audience expectations of gender roles, generally. Literal entire books have been written about the way that Farscape fucks around with sex, sexuality, and gender. It’s a little weird because it was the late 90s/early 2000s, and sometimes that does come through, but Farscape’s guiding principle was always to try not to present American culture of the time as the norm, so like. It is not.

(An aside on Farscape and sex: Literally every character on Farscape has sexual tension with every other character. If you are a shipper, this is a Good Show, because no matter who you ship, there will not only be subtext, you will get a Moment of some kind. Multiple characters kiss the Muppet. Farscape is dedicated to getting into the nitty-gritty of the galaxy—I like to think of it as showing the guts of the universe—so a lot of the show is kind of squishy. They live on a biomechanoid ship, instead of androids there are “bioloids,” there’s a lot of focus on strange alien biologies, and lots of weird glowing fluids and things. I think the sex thing is kind of part and parcel of the larger biology focus: Farscape is really fascinated with how we all eat and evolve and live and die and, well, fuck. Which is in turn, kind of part of its focus on making everything really alien.)

4) Other stuff you should know.

Farscape as a whole is excellent, but it was kind of the product of creative anarchy—an Australian/American coproduction (oh yeah, everyone except Crichton speaks with an Australian accent) that was also partnered with the Henson company, whose showrunners were based in America but whose actual production all took place in Australia, and who was just constantly trying new things. So individual episodes can vary wildly in quality. It really takes off in the back half of season one, but no season is without a few off episodes.

It is extraordinarily funny, and I really think I haven’t stressed that enough. It’s one of the shows I want to quote the most in my daily life, but almost all of its humor is really context-dependent, and if you just wander around going, “Hey Stark? What’s black and white, and black and white, and black and white?” people look at you really funny.

It’s very conversant with pop culture generally (although obviously sci-fi  specifically, and Star Trek most specifically of all) and really enjoys deconstructing tropes, often to the effect of, “Well, Crichton really does not know what to do here, does he?” but sometimes just to be interesting.

There are also a lot of themes about science, and its uses and misuses.

The whole thing is fucking epic, and if you get invested at all, will take you on an emotional ride.

This show is weird. I know that that’s probably come across by now, but I think it’s worth reiterating as its own point: Farscape is so weird. Like, proudly, unabashedly, trying its hardest, weird. An amazing kind of weird.

If you’re into fantasy, you should know that there’s a recurring villain who’s just a wizard. Like, they don’t bother to explain it any more than that, he’s just a fucking wizard.

In summary: You should watch Farscape because it is a weird, wild, emotional, epic romance/drama/action/allegory full of Muppets and leather and one-liners and emotional gut punches and love, and if you let it, it will worm its way into you and never let go, which, now that I think of it, is another Farscape plot.

Send me meta prompts to distract me from my migraine!

[thebarkingraccoon]

The Road

-Gif from Google image search-

Based on: Curative (Fanfiction.net - Quotev)

Summary: After the farm was overrun and the group is forced to survive on the run from a growing horde, Daryl catches himself thinking about Laura.

Request: @dren-whalen​  Cause you’re thinking about doing prompts, how about one about Daryl being on the road, of course being busy, but sometimes there are down times to think about Laura. 

Food was beyond scarce. Everything in the area had been scraped up long before they arrived. Whoever was here cleaned this town out like it was last food they'd ever see. Probably was, but that didn't make Daryl any less annoyed when he returned empty handed for the fifth time.

The town was called Tallulah, a little town that existed entirely on a handful of roads. The only thing that kept this town on the map was it's river with plenty of old worn out signs for river rafting, tubing, mountain trails, and waterfalls. It was beautiful here if they ignored the dead wandering around.

There was a police department they immediately rushed to for more ammo. Clearing out the cage there with whatever they could carry and, after securing it, took the department to rest in for the night. It wasn't much and the town was absolutely not secure. They had to be on guard.

A few split up. Glenn headed to a local grill just down the road and Daryl headed farther north to a trading post on the edge of the river. It was less likely to have any food, but there was always the chance for some granola bars or roast peanuts. Plenty of signs leading the way to make life easy.

It was quite the walk, but the road was beautiful. The forest was so overgrown some of the roads were covered in plant life. Other sections had been retaken by the mountain rocks, crushing the asphalt below. When the trees broke he could see out over the mountains, watching the shadows of clouds pass over.

Since this town was so far out of the way the amount of walkers in the area wasn't too bad. The time crunch came from when the horde started to reach the area. They had some time but never enough to rest fully.

Daryl felt that pressure rising when Lori started showing. He knew there was a time limit on how long they could go before she went into labor. Rick was already sweating since he had known since the farm. The clock was ticking and they did everything they could.

A big hand painted sign stood just to the side of the road. Some letters had since worn off, but there was still enough to make out broiled peanuts. The folks in these mountains sure loved them; sold them anywhere people could be found.

He hitched up his crossbow, pulling his poncho up over his shoulders to free up his hands. The trading post was bound to have walkers scattered about.

Sure enough, a few shambling corpses wandered aimlessly outside the store front. He brought his crossbow up, aimed, and took out the first one. When the body dropped the second walker turned around to see, spotting Daryl.

He rinsed and repeat, nothing really challenging out here. As he passed the bodies he retrieved his arrows and looked for a door.

A couple of cars with blown tires out front and a massive stair self of bird houses lined a wall. Enough wind chimes on the front awning to create a constant stream of metal twinkling music. There was hand made decorations all over, even the door rattled and chimed. The amount of noise this place made...

Inside a walker was alerted to the sound of the door chime. It hissed and growled, turning around to limp its way over. Barely able to move, but still doing its very best.

Daryl shot an arrow straight through its forehead then started checking the building for any others. As he searched he noticed a lot of clothing hanging up for sale, some hats, sunscreen, and handwoven bracelets on stands. No signs of those peanuts though.

He huffed his disappointment away, going to pick up the arrow from the dead walker. Hoping for something more, he started digging for anything worth bringing back.

Pushing aside racks full of junk, shifting through bags, and combing through the back counter. Still, nothing. He cursed under his breath; another waste of time.

As he came up to the racks in the middle of the building, he was faced again with the collection of handwoven necklaces, bracelets, and various charms. All small nonsensical trinkets not worth their weight anymore. But still he looked.

He saw a few peoples names. Andrea. Bethany. Was the closest to the youngest Greene girl. Carl was accurate. Caroline. Darryl. He frowned and scoffed at his own name, wondering who spells his name with two R's. Glen. Herschel...

Laura.

Daryl stared at it, the name, the bracelet with her name woven into it. He reached up tentatively and took it from the hook. It was rough, the material having sat there for so long had hardened it. Some cheap tourist crap to sell claimed to be handmade when it was mostly plastic.

His thumb rubbed over the lettering, clearing some old dust out of the way. The reflective pendant shining just a little brighter. The tag hanging off was folded over with writing inside it, so he decided to look.

The paper tag had Tallulah, GA written on it and a picture of rapids behind it. Inside the fold was printed;

"Latin, dating back to the 9th century, Saint Laura. Meaning: Bay Laurel. Represents: Victory and strength."

He chuffed, thinking about how silly it was he was sitting here an a trading post lamenting over a bracelet with her name on it. It was a generically made product to sell, nothing more.

But he had nothing of hers, nothing to remember her by. When they finally found a place to rest, what would he say goodbye to? The memories of her he kept close to his heart were tainted with vivid scenes of Shane attacking her, witnessing her fighting for her life against someone she should've been able to trust. How he wasn't able to help her... how she struggled against a virus none of them could do anything about.

She left, he had to force himself to remember that. She didn't die or get taken by the horde. Laura just... left.

It didn't matter if he went back to the farm to find her, she wouldn't be there. He didn't get to argue with her to stay or even get to say goodbye when she refused.

No more nights at the campfire skinning rabbits and sharing those bashful glances. That bright smile, her kind eyes. She was just... gone. As far as he could see she was gone forever.

And he had nothing to remember her by.

He swallowed hard as he felt his throat tighten, his eyes glossing over. He wanted to say goodbye so badly, because at least if she was dead he wouldn't have to worry about her so much.

Whenever they found a place to stop and settle, they would mark graves for the people they lost. As much as he wanted to mark that grave for Laura and bury his memories of her, all his feelings for her, he knew she wasn't dead.

Laura was out there somewhere wandering the world without them. How he pleaded in silence that she was okay out there. He just wanted her to be safe, with or without him. Wherever she was, if she's alive and well he could come to terms with her being out of his life.

Refusing to acknowledge the sting in his eyes or the swelling of his throat, he hooked the bracelet back on the rack and looked up. A small mirror hanging from the top of the rack for people to model the sunglasses and hats in.

He saw himself, his red eyes... and a sign behind him just peeking out from behind a fallen shirt rack that said "Broiled peanuts, this way." with an arrow pointing through the back door leading to the porch.

Daryl turned around, gingerly opened the back door on the look out for walkers, and spied a door at the end of the back deck. A white painted door that appeared remarkably untouched. Still, better safe than sorry. Daryl knocked on the door and waited for a sign something was inside.

When he was met with silence, Daryl opened the door to reveal tables full of packaged broiled peanuts. The place was stocked to the brim with them, all full.

Quickly, he grabbed as many bags as his pack could carry. Stuffing them in tight as possible before zipping up and heading back through the trading post.

On the way through, Daryl paused. He couldn't ignore his head telling him to stop.

He was fast about it when he swiped the bracelet off the rack. As if someone would spot him stealing a bracelet with her name on it.

Daryl stuffed it into his pocket and began the walk back to the others.

[beatboxvinyl]

Fav LPs 2o19.

Alberich | Quantized Angel [Hospital Productions] ... | No Title (LP) [Sähkö] Vatican Shadow ‎| Washington Buries Al Qaeda Leader At Sea [Hospital Productions] Muslimgauze | Azzazin [Staalplaat] Ø ‎| Olento [Sähkö] Sam KDC |  Omen Rising [Horo] Samuel Kerridge & Taylor Burch | The Other [Downwards] Lemna | Retrocausality [Horo] Various | Samurai Hannya [Samurai Music] ASC ‎| Realm Of The Infinite [Auxiliary] Pessimist & Karim Maas | LP [Pessimist Productions] Kamikaze Space Programme | Dead Skin Cells [Osiris Music] DREN | Time & Form [Zoharum] Various ‎| Cuneiform For Pumapunku [Light Sounds Dark] Puce Mary | The Drought [PAN] Traversable Wormhole ‎| Regions Of Time [Traversable Wormhole] MY DISCO | Environment [Downwards] Tommy Four Seven | Veer [47 Label] Orphx / JK Flesh ‎| Light Bringer [Hospital Productions] Pan Sonic & Charlemagne Palestine | Mort Aux Vaches [Matière Mémoire] Driftmachine ‎| Driftmachine Plays Marien van Oers [Ongehoord] Neugeborene Nachtmusik ‎| Take Me To Your Healer [Enfant Terrible] Civilistjävel! | 2 [Civilistjävel!] Various | Let Love Decide Pt 1  [Downwards] Years Of Denial ‎| Suicide Disco [VEYL]

[adropintheocexn]

19 December 2019

FNRI Year-end Celebration.

Inter-divisional Battle of the Bands.

In photo: NFRDD's Banda Rimo

(Rimo is a food product from our Institution)

++nagkita kami after 5 years ni:

Maam Mel (TL from NCR leg, 2013 NNS)

Meanne (team mate from team 2 subteam 1)

++nakita ko si Mam Dren (ex boss, ex's tita)

gusto ko sana siya lapitan para mag greet pero nahiya ako. anyway, alam naman nya that I'm back here, we met last august sa wake ni tito.

[pixieungerstories]

Housemates - 13

Pictures are available here

Vinny realized she could have probably gone into work.  The back of her thighs definitely felt like she as over done the squats at the gym.  On the other hand, she was currently in a king sized bed with a full shift werewolf sleeping in her lap, a minotaur on her left, and an orc on her right.  They were watching He Never Died on Netflix.  To her surprise, Tristan kept covering his eyes.

“Are you going to be OK?” she asked.  “I didn’t really think about watching this from the point of view of a vegetarian.”

Tristan snorted, “You aren’t going to talk me into leaving.  I think I know what it took for you to invite me to be here.”

Vinny blushed.

Kogan passed her the popcorn.

Tristan was right, letting Kogan take care of her had been hard.  Still she was glad that Derick had pushed her to.  Werewolves certainly had that right.  Life was just easier when people took care of each other.  Neither of these men were talkers, and that was easier just now.  Derrick she could chat easily with.  Dren was nice, but he always sounded exhausted from work.  Which was fair, there was no way Vinny could do that job.

Thea seemed nice, once she understood that he wasn’t being rude merely impossibly shy.

Bazur just seemed distracted.  Honestly, she was at this point half convinced that was why he forgot to wear clothing.

That just left Kevin.  Vinny still didn’t know what to think of him.

——-

No one was weird.  In the days after Vinny’s moment of weakness, amazingly enough, no one had been weird about it.  She had been worried about Kevin, but if he was pranking her, she hadn’t noticed.  In fact, he had started hanging out and helping her cook.  

She had asked Derick about that one morning while they were on a run.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Derick replied.  “He has been housebound for years.  It’s good that he is doing something productive.  Not great when your whole life is video games and being inside.”

Vinny frowned at that.  “But… he can go outside.  I mean, I get the idea of him being stolen, but surely he could spend time in the backyard.  Maybe help Tristan.”

Derick stumbled and started laughing.   He slowed to a walk and doubled over.

“What?”

“He did help,” Derick wheezed.  “Once.  But he planted the three colours of tulip bulbs so that when they bloomed the next year our front bed was a cock and balls in purple on a white background.  With a line of yellow like it was peeing.”

Vinny stared at him in shock, then burst out laughing.  “Oh my god!  That must have been so much work!”

Derick nodded, “Tristan said he was more impressed at the skill than pissed that the neighbours made him plow it up.  Just don’t tell Kevin that.”

———

Bazur came in stripped off his suit jacket, chucked it and his tie on the coat rack in the front hall.  He was leaving a trail of clothes up the stairs as he went to his room.  He was down to his shorts by the time he got to the third floor and found Vinny coming out of her room.

“Um.  Hello.”

“Shit!  Oh!  Sorry!  Um… Hi…  I promise I’ll put pants on for supper.”

Vinny just shook her head.  “It’s OK.  Um… Can I have a moment of your time?”

———

Kevin was watching porn in his room when someone knocked.

It had to be Vinny, no one else would bother.  He turned off his computer.  Made himself human shaped and tightly folded his shell around his crotch.  He wrenched open the door to find Bazur and Vinny looking at him.  

“What?” he snapped.  He immediately wanted to take it back.  “Sorry.  I just…  what do you need, Vinny?”

“Um…  I need to go buy textbooks next week.  I was wondering if you would come give me a hand.”

Kevin bared his needle teeth at Bazur.  “Didn’t you explain that I��m not a person?  I can’t leave the house.”

Vinny cleared her throat.  “I read up on that.  You are allowed out, it’s just that someone has to be responsible for you.  I was just thinking that you could come with me, and check out the books.  Maybe there is a class you want to take online or some books your are interested in.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes, “Did he warn you what happened the last time I went out?”

Vinny nodded, “You turned into a giant jar of mayo and pranked people in Costco.”

“And you still want me to come with you?”

Vinny looked a little more nervous now, “Well, if you wander off, you just have to make it across campus to get home.  And if you do ok, then you could come out with me more often.  If you wanted to, I mean.  Just… if you trash the place, I can’t afford to pay, so don’t feel like you have to come with.  This is an optional event.”

Kevin tilted his head, “I’ll think about it.  I’m surprised you haven’t made Bazur put his pants back on.”

Vinny shrugged.  “I’m adapting.”

Kevin nodded,  “Anything else?”

“Nope.  Supper is salmon.  You have about an hour.”

“Fine.”

Vinny left.  Kevin went back to his porn.  The woman had long dark hair and big hazel eyes.  She was currently on her back with a mimic holding her legs open and licking aggressively between them; her screaming was slowly becoming more convincing.

Kevin changed back into his chest form and spent some time stroking himself.  He needed to be less frustrated before he came down for dinner.

——

Kevin wasn’t sure about this.  He was currently trailing behind Vinny as a piece of luggage.  She had tried to introduce him to a couple of her friends already.  He wasn’t really going along with that.  He would say hi, but nor shake hands.  He didn’t want to taste strangers hands.

He wouldn’t mind tasting Vinny, but he had made sure that wasn’t an option, weeks ago.

Mostly.  He would still go out of his way to be helpful when she was working around the house, just so she would rub oil into him afterwards.  He wondered idly if she would do that when they got home.

She had just paid for two big bags full of supplies and was about to head home.

“I’ll carry those,” he offered.

Vinny hesitated.  “If I put them inside of your shell, will the get all soggy? It looks like your mouth right now.”

Kevin opened his eyes on the outside of the chest shape and rolled them.  “I promise I won’t spit on your books.”

“OK.” Vinny didn’t sound confident, but she wrapped the plastic bags tightly around her books and placed them into the opening of his shell.  “Thanks, Kevin.”

“Welcome,” it was a bit muffled around the books.  He didn’t say much as they walked across the park together.

That meant that Vinny could talk, “Thanks for coming with me.  I appreciate the help carrying all of that home.”

Kevin hummed in agreement.

Vinny kept talking, “I’m trying to get used to the idea of treating everyone in the house as extended family.  I have a big family, but only my mom and my brother ever lived in the same house as me.  Aunt Toni goes to church with us, but mostly the rest of them only get together for birthdays or holidays.”

Kevin hummed again.  “Movie night?”

“If you like.”

“Venom?”

Vinny paused. It wasn’t her kind of movie but, “Yeah.  I heard they cast mimics as the symbiotes.”

Kevin somehow managed to nod.

“That’s a bit of a novel idea.  Better than always being the trap in the dungeon, I guess.”  Vinny tactfully didn’t mention that it had gotten terrible reviews.  There had been four parts for mimics in it.  That was unprecedented.

“You guys watch a lot of super hero movies.  I mean I get they they generally have more parts for non-humans, but they don’t usually portray you in the best light.”

Mumbling around the bags of books, Kevin replied, “It’s a start.”

They watched the movie and Vinny was even able to convince Dren to join them.  

Kevin was currently a floor vase holding the melted gelatinous.  They were both very quiet so they didn’t interrupt the movie.  No one needed to know that Dren was swirling around Kevin’s cock inside the vase.  Or that Kevin’s shivers were stroking Dren.

OK, so the guys probably knew.  The point was that no one told Vinny, who was sitting in Kogan’s lap while Tristan rubbed her feet.

Movie night seemed to be enjoyed by all.