#sand-rose

[diioonysus]

flower crowns + art

[night-eyes1]

[ikroah]

A girl can get somewhere in spite of stringy hair or even just a bit bowed at the knees if she can show a faultless…personality! —“Personality,” Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers (1946)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #26 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding V

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

ohhhhh my god why did i make this script so long my hand hurts this took forever aaaaagh

Welcome to the Lucky 38! This is a script that has remained basically the same for a long time but went through COUNTLESS extremely small rewrites over the course of production just to really nail Mr. House's dialogue. He's a long-winded guy, this whole issue is basically just him doing monologues, and I wanted to make sure it was all interesting and non-repetitive. I think I took out at least three uses of "merely" from the first draft.

One of the biggest production decisions of this issue was whether or not to cut the scene with Agnes and Cass and Victor, which immediately follows the end of the previous issue. The reason to include it was because it very necessarily established the change in location from the Vegas Strip to the Lucky 38 penthouse, which would have been jarring otherwise; the reason to exclude it was that it the issue was already extremely long and I thought opening right on Mr. House would have been more impactful. Ultimately, I did keep it, which was a good decision, but only because of the literally issue-saving idea to convey it as closed-circuit television footage instead of actual panels. Every single attempt at overlaying them with the lead-in to Mr. House was way too busy, but that idea really tied the page together like a nice rug.

And lastly, the framing device of the tarantula and the tarantula hawk was actually an extremely late addition to the comic. I had already finished the first three pages when I thought of it. My problem was that Mr. House's constant monologuing and Agnes' sad expressions got pretty repetitive. I needed something to break the action up while adding thematic heft and artistic variety. I've become a real enthusiast for wasps and tarantulas over the last couple months, so this one really was just a stroke of luck. It took only minimal revisions to make room for the framing device, with the most dramatic change being the complete replacement of the last page (which was originally just a splash page of the Lucky 38 in Vegas; bookending the first and last pages is so much better). So you see, the only reason for weaving a scene into this issue of a skittish desert-wanderer getting paralyzed and dragged toward a certain demise by a predator almost perfectly evolved to destroy it was just that I like bugs a lot. That's the only reason, yep.

Original Pencils:

Due to all of the photo-collage in the final version of the comic, there's a lot of panels and details that I (thankfully!) didn't have to draw myself. Sorry that the pencil isn't blue on the last three pages, I've been on the move for the holidays so they got scanned in grayscale by accident.

I did experiment with drawing the tarantula framing device myself, but ultimately went with the photo-collage method because the artistic juxtaposition actually made it much more readable when interspersed with the proceedings in the Lucky 38.

Transcript:

EXT. DESERT OUTSIDE OF NEW VEGAS. The city glitters in the distance, nestled between the shadows of mountains, with the spire of the LUCKY 38 towering above all else.

In the wilderness, a TARANTULA emerges from its burrow.

EXT. THE NEW VEGAS STRIP. On closed-circuit television monitors, a SECURITRON ROBOT approaches AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY, saying

VICTOR: Well howdy, partner! Fancy meetin' again here in Vegas!

CASS: What the fuck?

AGNES: Victor?

Unlike the usual police units, VICTOR's robotic "face" is that of a cowboy.

VICTOR: And heck, ya clean up nice! Sure lookin' a lot better now than when I rustled ya outta the bone orchard back in Goodsprings*--

CAP: *As was explained to Agnes way back in IKROAH #2. --Lou

VICTOR: --so how's about ol' Vic skips the rigamarole, huh? 'Fore all my yappin' makes ya want to go back, heh-heh-heh! I'm the welcome wagon, see. I'm to come and collect ya.

CASS: Agnes--

VICTOR: Boss wants t'see you, is what I'm sayin'.

AGNES: Boss?

VICTOR: Only of all of Vegas, friend!

CASS: Agnes.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA crawls beneath the starlight.

VICTOR: So why don't we mosey on over to the Lucky 38? And your good pal can come along, too!

CASS: I need to know what the fuck is going on, right now.

AGNES: I...I don't know.

VICTOR: And y'know, boss ain't ever let a soul inside before, least for not as long as I've been rollin' around on my spurs, so this ain't just an everyday social call, mind...

On the closed-circuit television monitors, VICTOR escorts AGNES and CASS to the entryway of the LUCKY 38.

VICTOR: ...but heck, I reckon ya'll oughta get along like franks on a fire! So come on! Lift's in the lobby here, and up to the top floor--and we can get the formalities out of the way before ya'll get [cut off]

INT. THE LUCKY 38 PENTHOUSE.

AGNES stands awestruck, looking upward, bathed in electronic green light. With horror, she ekes out a single question.

AGNES: ...what are you?

???: A "Hello" would have been preferable, but it'll take more than a crude faux pas to tarnish this moment. Who I am, Agnes--

What AGNES is looking at is a gigantic SUPERCOMPUTER and terminal, flanked by closed-circuit television monitors and guarded on both sides by SECURITRON police units. On the supercomputer's massive screen is the green-lit image of a face. The face

MR. HOUSE: --is ROBERT EDWIN HOUSE. The President, CEO, and sole proprietor of New Vegas--and more to the point, the intended recipient of a long delayed package.

AGNES: Oh, you...you mean the platinum chip?

MR. HOUSE: Correct. It's a...very precious artifact of the old world.

MR. HOUSE: My world, once.

In the back of the room, beyond AGNES, is an oil painting of MR. HOUSE, standing outside in front of what must have been a very large robot.

MR. HOUSE: In that world, I was the founder of RobCo Industries--a titan of innovation. We created a litany of robotic solutions for diverse markets, such as the Securitrons that you see here, and even a line of consumer-grade devices like the wrist-mounted Pip-Boy. But the platinum chip was, more than any other, my design. It was my vision.

MR. HOUSE: But it never left the factory in which it was originally made. Before it could even cool off from its assembly...we had the Great War. An international, thermonuclear bombardment of unimaginable power that annihilated the world in all of two hours.

MR. HOUSE: But not the entire world. Not Vegas. Not my Paradise. From my fortress of the Lucky 38, I saw to that. But as for the rest of the world, and my platinum chip--it took generations.

MR. HOUSE: First for the scarce remnants of humanity to crawl out from under their rocks, and for the world to at least resemble a functioning society again in which to do trade. And then for the work itself--of countless scavengers, treasure-seekers, and the like, all contracted to comb over the wreckage of Sunnyvale. It cost millions of caps, and later, New California dollars. And a not insignificant piece of my pre-war fortune as well. I, quite literally, moved mountains.

MR. HOUSE: I do not believe in providence, Agnes, but I do believe in destiny. How else to explain it? It was pristine when it was found. Neither the bombs nor the passage of time had so much as scuffed its sheen. But still...its value far transcended the mere market price of pure platinum.

MR. HOUSE: Amusingly, despite the discovery, I was still only as close to acquiring the chip as I had been originally in 2077. A final ordeal remained for me: how to ensure the safety of the platinum chip en route to its destination, from Sunnyvale to Vegas, without broadcasting its preciousness to thieves, armies, and raiders--or worse, to heavily armed fetishists for pre-war technology like the Brotherhood of Steel?

MR. HOUSE: Misdirection. Through a network of anonymous liaisons, I contracted the Mojave Express for a batch of deliveries, all superficially similar knick-knacks, to various intermediaries of myself. All but one of the orders were totally worthless decoys. But your identity as the carrier of the one genuine item was somehow compromised, leading to you getting attacked, and to the second disappearance of the chip.

MR. HOUSE: But look around you. Look where you are. You've made it, haven't you?

AGNES, still staring up at the visage of MR. HOUSE on-screen, doesn't respond. She frowns, nervous. The SECURITRONS guarding MR. HOUSE observe her stoically.

MR. HOUSE: Let me clarify: I had nothing to do with Benny's ambush. Heavens no! It goes completely against my interests. It would have been a perfectly quotidian day's work for you if not for his, and I stress, unexpected involvement. The platinum chip...belies its significance. For Benny to have not only discovered its delivery route but possibly enough of that significance to motivate such an act, this constituted a very troubling breach of my security. And I had been looking into it...but in a way, the issue seems to have resolved itself. Hm?

MR. HOUSE: A wild card. Now removed from the deck.

AGNES' gaze sinks to the floor.

MEANWHILE, a small shadow blots out the starlight in the desert outside of Vegas. It flies over the exploring TARANTULA.

AGNES looks back up at MR. HOUSE.

AGNES: I killed him.

HOUSE: So you did. I only wish that we could have spoken before you went rogue on my former protégé: if this story breaks, I can grant you amnesty, but not without controversy. And your infamy as an assassin could make our further arrangements quite difficult.

AGNES: Um...I didn't think there would be more to it than delivering the--

MR. HOUSE: Oh! Of course, of course! My apologies. Two hundred years of anticipation and yet I'm still getting ahead of myself. Well--would you mind? I've been waiting a long time for my mail.

The SECURITRON closest to AGNES wheels forward with its claw outstretched. AGNES reaches her fingers into a pocket beneath the belt of her dress to produce it: the PLATINUM CHIP. She holds it in her hand for a brief moment.

MEANWHILE, the shadow descends; the TARANTULA HAWK engages the TARANTULA.

AGNES relinquishes the PLATINUM CHIP to the SECURITRON.

MR. HOUSE: Thank you--it's a relief to pay for this chip for the final time.

The SECURITRON inserts the PLATINUM CHIP into a slot in MR. HOUSE'S supercomputer, feeding it into the drive with a CLIK.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA is fighting the TARANTULA HAWK.

From behind AGNES, another SECURITRON presents her with a stack of NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC DOLLARS, which she gingerly takes in her hand and looks over.

MR. HOUSE: And I trust that you're satisfied with the agreed-upon compensation from the delivery contract, yes?

AGNES: Yeah, it's...it's fine...I'll be going now. Thanks.

MR. HOUSE: Oh? But you've only just arrived. I insist that you make yourself at home.

SFX: KZZSZZZTTT

The faces on the screens of the SECURITRONS in MR. HOUSE'S penthouse suddenly change from policemen to soldiers. AGNES recoils and tries to step away.

AGNES: H-hey, uh--

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK pierces the underbelly of the TARANTULA with its stinger.

SECURITRONS surround AGNES.

MR. HOUSE: You are the first guest ever through the doors of the Lucky 38, you know. Nobody has so much as checked a coat inside since the war, so this meeting confers you a significant level of privilege...and inevitable celebrity. The people of Vegas have always gossiped, after all. Many have even clawed at the door desperately with dreams of being where you now stand. Surely you can comprehend how this compulsion to leave after such a deliberate and remarkable invitation risks considerable insult--to both myself and my citizenry? And very deliberate this invitation was. Don't you realize: if handing off my package was all for which you were needed, why wouldn't I have just had Victor relieve you of the chip outside? No, no, you see, as necessary as its acquisition was, the chip is ultimately just a key, for unlocking a new frontier...of possibilities.

MR. HOUSE: Possibilities for prosperity, peace, and technological advancement that haven't been seen in two hundred years. Possibilities greater than anything the New California Republic or Caesar's Legion could dream of, let alone achieve, by playing pretend in the clothes of their forebearers and convincing everyone else that it's statecraft. Possibilities--which if they key is turned by human hands--become certainties.

AGNES (a whisper): Are you not human?

MR. HOUSE: Don't let the video screens and computer terminals fool you: I am a living human. No less so than you. I just live with a particular set of, well...handicaps.

AGNES: You said you'd waited hundreds of years to--

MR. HOUSE: One could argue that the world has been waiting hundreds of years for this moment. Waiting for me. For the chip. For the long-dormant doors of the Lucky 38 to finally open, to a single and specially ordained individual: you, Agnes. And there are tremendous things waiting for us, waiting for us to accomplish them, together. I certainly couldn't do them with Benny. What do you say?

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA has become completely paralyzed by the TARANTULA HAWK'S venom. The TARANTULA HAWK seizes its prey.

AGNES: ...no.

MR. HOUSE: I'm sorry--"No?"

AGNES: Yes--I mean, no. No! I don't want to help you! I...

Tears well in AGNES' eye.

AGNES: ...I just want to go back home.

MR. HOUSE: ...I see. Hmm.

MR. HOUSE: How do I put this in a way you'll understand?

MR. HOUSE: The die is cast.

AGNES, crying, looks up at MR. HOUSE again. Fear bulges on her face.

MR. HOUSE: Throughout the long delivery of this chip, several precise plans and fortuitous coincidences have aligned in just such a way as to make you, you specifically at this exact juncture, an irreplaceable asset in the ongoing endeavor of this wounded world's recovery from otherwise hopeless ruin.

MR. HOUSE: Your cooperation going forward is not merely crucial to this endeavor's success, but it's utterly non-negotiable. Should you entertain the moral issue of what's at stake, it's obligatory, even. It's why your refusal comes as such a...genuine surprise. Can't you see?

MR. HOUSE: I'm not a fascist, Agnes--I would never force you. But given the circumstances, I'm entitled, wouldn't you agree, to at least a brief demonstration of my vision? The vision that the platinum chip promises? Victor has surely seen your companion to the presidential suite by now--my other Securitrons can escort you to the basement, where I'm sure you can make a...properly informed decision.

The SECURITRONS close in on AGNES, who screams in protest.

AGNES: No! I said no! I already delivered your chip, I--I killed Benny! I-- I-- ...what do you want with me!?

MR. HOUSE: Haven't you been listening? I want what's best for you--for us. I know it's a lot, but bear with me for one moment longer, and I can assure you--that this is the beginning of something very incredible.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK has dragged the paralyzed TARANTULA back to the entrance of its own burrow.

The TARANTULA HAWK shoves its helpless prey into the hole, and then crawls in after it.

The TARANTULA is not seen again.

[roseapothecary]

@lgbtqcreators event 14 ♡ growth ↳ schitt's creek discord profiles [insp][template]

[jmoonjones]

The mystery behind Cassian's summer court ban for destroying a building is finally solved!

[fallout-lou-begas]

read @ikroah btw

[swearphil]

BARBIE POSTERS

feat. Schitt’s Creek residents (insp)

[summerroseart]

Jack Johnson beach day vibes <3

[dinodogs]

Alright you heathens, here are the whiterose dragons.

[sirazaroff]

How do you think velvet is handleing everything in vacco right now

She’s having a great time 🥰

[sracha]

does anyone know where i can buy these amiibo cards

[mrs-trophy-wife]

[ikroah]

I've given everything I have, didn't know I'd run up such a tab, Oh, Lord, ain't the reapin' ever done? —“Ain’t the Reapin’ Ever Done,” Eddie Noack (1972)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #25 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding IV

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

At long last! As I've mentioned a few times, this issue got...delayed because I spent 2023 getting divorced, falling in love again, going outside, touching grass, laughing, playing, et cetera. But even if you toss all that aside this issue would still have been a doozy because I've been wanting to try an issue in this artstyle, and with a much large page size, for...well, for over a year now, ha. The thumbnails for this issue are nearly a whole year old!

Usually I have a lot of fun commentary about how a script changes over the course of working on an issue, or how the production panned out, but the making of this issue has been stretched over such a long time that I can't even begin to really describe it. Lemme just show you the original pencils so we can get out of here and move onto the next one, which will hopefully take far less than the time it takes to carry a pregnancy to term.

Oh, actually, there is one thing! If you spotted this happy couple on the first page, then check out @memepipboy's comics too.

Also, here's Vulpes in the dead Yamcha pose.

Which is also about how I feel after going on a bender of productivity last week to get the whole issue colored before it slipped away again.

Original Pencils:

Transcript:

EXT. NEW VEGAS STRIP. A small plaza outside the casinos is flushed with lights and people, all coming and going, even at such a late hour. The crowd is monitored by the Strip's POLICE SECURITRONS. Two people are exiting a casino: ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY, and

MESSENGER: AGNES SANDS!

AGNES: Oh God, I'm--

AGNES: --wait, are you NCR?

The MESSENGER that has called out AGNES' name is a surly and middle-aged man in uniform.

MESSENGER: Correct, ma'am. I'm a messenger.

AGNES: Courier, huh.

CASS: Hell do you want, boot boy? We're busy.

MESSENGER: Your presence is requested at the embassy on the south side of the Strip.

The exchange has caught the eye of a BYSTANDER READING A NEWSPAPER.

AGNES: You said requested, as opposed to, um, required?

MESSENGER: Yes. I'll be blunt with you, Sands: the incident near Gecko and your subsequent desertion have made you a fugitive of military police since 2269. I'm sure you know that--but this is not an arrest.

MESSENGER: This isn't even about your personal case, necessarily. It's only from chance reports at the Mojave Outpost and Boulder City that intelligence was made aware of your presence here at all. The NCR merely wants to let you know that you--as well as your companion--are persons of interest to us in two of our other open investigations: the Legion raid on Nipton, and recent terrorist attacks on merchants in the area such as Crimson Caravan.*

CAPTION: *Various events of IKROAH #7-16. -Lou.

MESSENGER: There's also some other matters, which are classified.

CASS, at AGNES' side, listens intently. Then she glares at AGNES, who is grimacing but avoiding her eye contact.

MESSENGER: Now, our intelligence officers only want to speak to you, not arrest you. So there should be no cause for alarm or any worry on your part. It's your choice to come to us willingly--and on your own time. But--

AGNES sweats nervously.

MESSENGER: My orders are to make this next part very clear. This is merely the current state of our interest in you and your companion. If your presence does become required, as opposed to merely requested, by the NCR--and it very well may--

MESSENGER: --consider this a nice, friendly notice. I'm here because the NCR knows where you are. And the NCR wanted you to know that, because it wants you to keep it in mind as you mull over whether--and when--you might be feeling co-operative. That is all. We'll be in touch, Miss Sands.

The MESSENGER departs. The BYSTANDER READING A NEWSPAPER observed the entire exchange. The moment that the MESSENGER is gone, he speaks:

BYSTANDER: Ahh...I must admit, it does make me glad when people discuss my work.

AGNES: W-what?

CASS: Pardon?

BYSTANDER: And it was fortunate, as it turns out, that you were spared that night in Nipton.

AGNES: Oh...oh no--

CASS: --YOU?

BYSTANDER: Very fortunate indeed--

The BYSTANDER grins.

BYSTANDER: --that you were spared from the burning tires, spared from the teeth of the dogs, spared even from the cross and stake--all of this, there, was the finest work yet of VULPES INCULTA--against the profligates of the west, and for the glory and the might of CAESAR'S LEGION.*

CAPTION:*IKROAH #9. -Lou.

AGNES and CASS are transfixed where they stand, taken aback by the reveal. CASS scowls while AGNES squirms with terror. She remembers:

The raging fires and the horror show of NIPTON. Crucified bodies and dogs to eat the corpses.

VULPES: During our talk in Nipton, I admittedly became quite curious about you, Agnes. You had intrigued me for some reason, and I wanted to know what it was. Only later did I finally place it.

Her hands up in front of her face, a futile barrier between herself and three men. Benny. His gun, pointed at her, shining in the light from the moon and the lantern.

VULPES: A tabloid story from the news on the radio. A courier shot in the head near Goodsprings Cemetery.

The SECURITRON with the cowboy face, VICTOR, carried her out of her grave. Or so she was told.

VULPES: --who miraculously returned from the grave. It was you.

There were three men. Two besides Benny. She found them later, one was dead and the other had two more with him.

VULPES: It was also you, as I would later discover...who slaughtered that pack of Great Khans in Boulder City. Clearly no ordinary courier.

VULPES: Why, even now, you assassinate the leader of the Chairmen in his own casino--in his own bedroom, no less. Very impressive.

AGNES: But how did you--

VULPES: Know? From one saboteur to another, I do have to commend you, Agnes. You're quite covert...for someone who had no reason to realize that she was already being watched, that is. Just as we have been watching Benny, the dearly departed.

VULPES grins wider.

VULPES: My network of frumentarii have detected something of a conspiracy in Vegas...something about a certain piece of platinum, I hear. Which reminds me--the mail has gotten so unreliable lately, don't you think?

AGNES is visibly panicked as VULPES continues.

VULPES: The NCR'S interest in you is not misplaced, Agnes Sands, given your recent exploits.

CASS is suddenly going down the casino steps--

VULPES: But I doubt that they are as quite aware of the bigger picture as--

--and raising her fist, and--

VULPES: the--

--punching VULPES in the face.

SFX: WHAM!

VULPES is flung to the ground, his nose bloodied. One of his teeth have been knocked clean from his mouth. He stares upward, in disbelief, up at the furious woman who's laid him out.

VULPES: Ah...yes. Rose of Sharon Cassidy. I've--

PTOOEY. A wad of spit splats against VULPES' cheek. CASS points a finger at him as he shuffles back onto his feet.

CASS: Get my name out of your mouth right now. I'm not afraid of you. You just piss me off. And unless you get lost I'll deck you so hard that you forget my name. Hopefully how to form complete sentences, too.

CASS: I think we've heard enough, you goddamn dogfucker, and whatever you're selling, we don't fucking want any.

VULPES: Ah...so no less impudent than last time, despite...well.

VULPES wipes the blood from his face with the back of his hand, muttering from behind his palm in LATIN.

VULPES: Sī cognōscere nōn vīs canis senex tum nēquam praeter futuendum eris.

VULPES reaches his bloody hand toward his dislodged hat.

VULPES: Agnes--the Legion has a particular use for you, a use which comes with certain courtesies that are not extended to your companion.

VULPES: ...she would do well to keep this in mind.

VULPES returns his hat to his head. AGNES has rejoined CASS at the base of the steps.

AGNES: "Use?" What use? I don't have anything--I mean, I'm not--whatever you--whatever the Legion wants with me, I don't know anything. About this, or about Benny. If you want the chip, I--

VULPES: Agnes, Agnes--you're a terrible liar. Or else just terribly naive.

VULPES turns to leave.

VULPES: If the NCR is interested in you, and they are, then seizing you for ourselves is certainly useful enough on its own. But truthfully, this isn't about the NCR. The Legion is interested in you--I am interested in you--because Mr. House is interested in you. You and that chip.

AGNES: Mr. House!? But I...no, no, I just thought the chip--

VULPES: Vale, courier. And vale, Rose of Sharon Cassidy. And be safe in your travels, if you can help it--you never know when somebody might be watching.

As VULPES departs, a SECURITRON approaches behind AGNES and CASS, casting a shadow over the both of them.

[creeksource]

Hmm... that sounds super embarrassing.

[fallout-lou-begas]

This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it?

Follow @ikroah for more details.

[swearphil]

Schitt’s Creek Ladies + The Powerpuff Girls [insp]