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Giraffe driving down the coast because why not?

Thanks to (one of my favourite people) Tully (TullyBBurnalot) for writing this up for me!! Nine o’clock, local time. Getting back home after another eventful day aboard an eventful station. Cultists this time around, and a rather effective group at that. None of the usual screaming and charging blindly into groups brandishing swords, nor the standard painting the hallways red with the blood of the innocent, but rather subversive, tactful, and fiendishly efficient at infiltrating command chains. Lucky for him, and everyone else aboard the station, today’s selection of Command Staff had somehow managed to be so incompetent that they stumbled onto the whole plot by complete accident. And not only that, they discovered that Ian did, in fact, look cute as a button in a small chef’s outfit. Go figure. Still, everything always ended up falling onto the hands of Security. Which, of course, meant his own. Find out who the cultists are, discover who they’ve compromised, secure the Chaplain, acquire holy water, make sure said Chaplain doesn’t run off brandishing his magical stick. Detain all suspects, strip them of any dangerous weapons, store damning evidence in the lockers, force-feed them holy water, make sure no one wastes said precious holy water on anyone not carrying cultist implements. Babysit. Everyone. Catalogue everything removed from cultist hands, separate them by category, run for fingerprints and match with the database, rinse the blood off after it’s analysed, make sure to photograph everything before it goes into permanent storage. Check up on the lockers every five minutes, shoo away anyone trying to recover the evidence, shout at anyone trying to sneak them away for later sale, escort the poor bastard whose job it is to bring the evidence on the shuttle back home, never take your eyes off of anything. Headache. Mounting. Attend a monotonous and soul-sucking debrief after the shift is over, explain everything that happened during said shift, hand in a list of everyone confirmed “scrubbed clean”, notify Central of any missing personnel, submit to “scrubbing” for the sake of system security. Sit down at the desk, feel the headache pounding, get up for coffee, realize you can’t deal with the office right now, decide to go back home and finish things up there. Aspirin. Two pills. A long sigh, followed by a slump against the office chair as his hand lazily made its way into his pocket and drew his PDA. Not the wieldiest of things to use to make a call, but it’s not like the company was going to give them anything better, so he might as well keep using until he got used to it. Surely, that’d happen any day now, seven years of working there be damned. Blinking in pain as his face was confronted by the excessive light pouring from the device’s monitor, Jonah mechanically pulls up his contact list, opting to send a text message to someone else before calling for transportation. Zeke, coming home early. Don’t make more food, I need to finish reports. Just leave a sandwich in my office. Love, Jonah < 3 The emoticon heart took far more out of him than it should. He felt horrid every time he sent a message like this, letting his boyfriend know he was in for another lonely night of staring at the TV hoping something good came on. Cuddly as he may be, their pet dog was in no way an adequate replacement for himself, and it was with a grimace that Jonah hit “Send”, grunting loudly and rubbing his temple after throwing the damned PDA onto the table. “Why…” he groaned out, both arms falling to his side as his head bent backwards, eyes darting between the various cracks on the ceiling. He had half-expected someone to burst through the door, magically producing more work for him to do, but no such thing happened. Still, it took him far longer than it should to get the PDA back into his hands and message Customs for a shuttle back home. Probably could’ve squeezed five minutes on the couch with Zeke. But far too late now. *** The shuttle ride back home was devoid of any surprises, Jonah managing to find one with no one else inside. Stretching his legs out far more than he normally would, and allowing his muscles to relax from their perpetually-tense state, he nonetheless keeps himself awake as best he can; he had no intention of repeating last year’s incident where he ended up several star systems away from where he had intended to go. Almost made him miss dinner. A short walk from the landing pad later, barely paying attention to the bright neon lights urging him to buy the latest in whatever technology, Jonah pushes his hand against a segment of the wall next to his apartment complex’s front door. With a small bloop, it recognizes his fingerprints, the door sliding into the ground and letting him in. Thankful for the elevator having been repaired the previous week, the trip up to the towering ninety-sixth floor goes by in a flash, Jonah briefly considering coming up with an excuse as to why he’s yet again missing out on some quality time with his beloved, before scrapping the idea entirely. Zeke would understand, he thought, he always did. How he put up with him, how he managed to tolerate his constant distance and inability to simply be there for him, was anyone’s guess; Jonah had long since given up trying to explain it, opting instead to simply accept it as a fact of life he was constantly thankful for. If nothing else, then at least he knew that, when all was said and done, he could probably scrounge together a few minutes of warm silence on the couch, side by side and simply enjoying each other’s company. Seemed like it was the only thing any of them had any time for these days. Breathing in slowly, exhaling a lot quicker than he intended to, he repeats the front door’s process and steps into their shared apartment, locking the door behind him and walking into the living room. Strangely enough, Zeke wasn’t there, though the TV being turned on and their dog Sax sleeping comfortably on the couch told him the Skrell was definitely home. “Zeke?” he cries out, undoing his tie and letting it hang freely from his neck, “I’m home, you in here?” “In the bathroom!” comes a muffled response, not without its share of obvious embarrassment, “I left you a sandwich in the office!” “… thanks.” Great. Not only was he not going to be able to spend some time together with him on coming back home, but Zeke wasn’t even there. Swallowing a stream of curses before they had a chance of leaving his mind, Jonah heads to his office, shutting the door behind him loud enough that poor Sax yelped in surprise, jumping and falling off the couch. Jonah practically throws his tie and coat onto the small couch located inside, his briefcase being slammed onto the table as its owner begins pacing in circles inside the room. The bureaucracy he had delayed up until this point wasn’t necessarily difficult as much as it was tedious, long and more soul-crushing than regular work back at the station. An endless cavalcade of crew records needing cross-checking, reports being filed, complains needing to be processed, among several dozen other things that came with being one of the very few people on the payroll with the skills required to work as a company investigator. The fact that he got a fancy hat and coat, along with a badge with the title “Detective” on it didn’t make his job any more glamorous than, say, the janitor’s; the pay was probably comparable as well, given the kind of things the poor bastard had to clean up. But dawdling wouldn’t solve his problems; no, the only way to get through the stack of papers waiting for him inside that damned briefcase was to, quite simply, sit down, put on some sound-dampening earphones, and get to work as quickly as possible. Which is exactly what he forced himself to do, after pacing around for about five more minutes. Can’t be all efficiency, now can he? *** Two hours in. Midnight on a Friday. Jonah was sure Zeke would be sitting on the couch, just waiting for him to leave the office and come spend some time together. But Zeke would have to continue being disappointed; the paperwork continued to demand the investigator’s attention, even after so much work put into it. Grumbling, his muscles loudly protesting after being still for so long, Jonah gets up from his seat, sliding the mufflers off his head and turning towards the door. A simple sandwich wasn’t enough to keep him sated for that long; something of more substance was required. Of course, getting food also served as an excuse to swing by the living room, maybe forgive himself a few minutes, who knew? It was so easy to simply sit down and let tomorrow’s Jonah worry about today’s Jonah’s bureaucratic workload. Hell, push comes to shove, he could just dump it all on an intern and pay them off with cantina vouchers. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Content with this decision, he diverts from his route to the kitchen… only to be sorely disappointed as he’s met with a sleeping Zeke, mouth wide open and snoring loudly, one hand still on Sax’s head, both their bodies moving gently to the rhythm of their breathing. Jonah sighed, knowing it’d be extremely selfish of him to wake either of them up after what he’d done that night. Seemed like he was doomed to a solitary trip to the kitchen, and five minutes of waiting by the microwave as he picked up whatever leftovers there were inside the fridge. Taking his time to eat the resulting dish, he’s practically dragging his feet by the time he heads back to his office, sneaking a peek into the living room to confirm that yes, Zeke was still asleep. A sigh. At least he was almost done. Maybe. *** Another hour. Jonah could feel himself getting more sluggish by the moment, his ability to withstand the workload lessening and weakening the more he forced it to keep going. Every page was a bright white headache, every word a chore to write with his tired fingers. Every number, every report, every everything was soon becoming an unclimbable mountain, a river too deep and rapid for him to ford. But he had to do it. He had to finish this. Two hours after midnight. Looking at a page took a full minute now. Mustering his resolve to do anything with it took another two. Finishing a report took… well, he didn’t even bother timing it. Why bother? The thought occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t even be doing this. After all, a lot of other people would be happy to take this work off him. Sure, they wouldn’t do even half as good a job as he would, but at least they’d do it, to an acceptable standard. Why did he keep submitting himself to these long hours, if they were actually unnecessary? Perfectionism? A sense of duty? Perhaps his unending, compulsive need to have everything accounted for? His head hurt. Jonah resolved to simply lie on the couch for a couple of minutes to rest his tired eyes, maybe even nap for about fifteen minutes. He certainly felt like he needed it, and the more he forced himself to work under these conditions, the more likely it would be that he’d do an absolutely atrocious job. And he might be a great many things, but he certainly wasn’t sloppy. *** It was three in the morning when a particularly loud snore woke Zeke up. Groggy and confused, it’d take a moment for the embarrassment to set in; who the hell wakes themselves up with their own snoring? Best to gently place Sax on the couch, the poor thing didn’t deserve to get woken up. He gets up, stretching and loudly snapping his joints after so many hours slumped on the couch. A quick glance at the clock on the wall reveals the time, Zeke flinching as he realizes how late it is. It takes him a few moments to remember that Jonah was in the house, and for a few moments, he feels bad for having drifted to sleep before he could see him again. It’s not like Jonah would be mad, but… well, complicated emotional stuff was never his forte. A quick glance into the bedroom showed it to be empty. Had Jonah left the house already? Couldn’t be, he normally only went to work at around six, it was far too early. Could… was he still in his office? At this hour? Zeke felt a twinge of pity as he produced the thought, immediately heading for Jonah’s office door and stopping just an inch away from it. Pressing his face to it, and hearing nothing on the other end, he gently opens it up, slipping into the room and seeing why their bedroom was empty: a sleeping investigator, lying perfectly still on the couch, one arm slumped onto the ground. Sighing, a smile spreads on Zeke’s face, as he once again got to witness the end result of his boyfriend once again pushing himself far beyond what he was capable of delivering properly. A small rustle at his feet. Sax had, apparently, followed him to the office, the sleepy pup lazily hobbling over to the couch, licking Jonah’s hand a single time, then scrunching up beside it, quickly falling asleep himself. With the two of them so comfortable, and himself still feeling tired and in need of a proper bed, Zeke steps closer to the one sleeping on the couching, softly planting a kiss on his forehead. “Good night, studmuffin,” he whispers, then turning around and closing the door behind him as silently as he could muster. Tomorrow he’d grab him when he came home, he decided. After all, Slimes from Bluespace was going to be on, and that was their favourite movie. No amount of work would get in the way of that.

Very lewd.

I've always been the biggest supporter of Rev. It's easily by favorite mode and probably in my top 4 antags. The mode has been through various tweaks and iterations, but I've never been able to persuade enough over to my side on its merits. I've always been confused by those who embrace, heavily, Shadowling and Cult, but are vehemently opposed to rev. There's wider conflict, but it's still, at its core the same thing: variations of TDM. Rev ramps up things quicker and makes the round progress faster into a more chaotic form, but, at its core, it's not much different from the others (especially Shadowling). The only time I have problems with Rev are when it stretches beyond the hour mark; either side stalling forever isn't very pleasant; the game mode is meant to be high-stakes, bloody, and quick; not a long drawn out process of infinite turtling.

Too bad Bananablaster the Henkmeister got assassinated on the 6th of an unknown date. The shooter was No Breath, No Booth, a Mime sympathizer.

Maybe I shouldn't be allowed to draw...

Four score and seven henks ago... our Clownfathers brought forth on this planet, a new nation, conceived in laughter, and dedicated to the proposition that all Clowns are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great space war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great honk-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their shoes that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave Clowns, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The galaxy will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly henked. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great honking remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of humor -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have honked in vain -- that this nation, under Honk'sie, shall have a new Banana of freedom -- and that government of the Clowns, by the Clowns, for the Clowns, shall not perish from the universe. Bananablaster the Henkmeister Clownplanet - Unspecified date and time during the Clown / Mime war.

An excellent speech Honkrade! Reminds me of one from one of Giggles' ancestors: " Now is the winter of our honkcontent Made glorious summer by this sun of Honk; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our honk In the deepest bosom of space belied. Now are our brows bound with victorious slips; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to squeaking measures. Grim-slippaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled horn; And now, instead of mounting stolen janicarts To fright the souls of fearful baldies, He capers nimbly in the captain's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a horn. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling mime; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, honkfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing space, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That vulps bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a hero, To entertain these fair well-spoken shifts, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle habits of these eves. Pranks have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my Captain and the HoS In deadly hate the one against the other: And if the Condom be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Captain closely be honk'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'CC' Of Captain's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Captain comes. Ready the skins. Earl Giggles the Third

Here's a pretty merman After seeing Dan's "different flavours of cat" kinda made me want to draw up some of my alternate versions of Zeke. Here's normal Zeke, Vampire Zeke, traitor Zeke, and human Zeke.

woo here are some toootally long awaited doodles i decided to upload First off is a small Gundham, from DR2. Wish I drew this with his body in mind but ohwell. I think it turn ed out decent regardless, considering how bad I usually am with short hair and those kinds of eyes. Next is a...special Himiko, from DRV3. The right side of her face kind of got screwed up harder as I went, she wasn't always like this ok. It's mostly just me not spacing out her left eye correctly/placing it somewhere better so as a result anything on her right side probably would've ended up looking just as weird. This one is quite different--I have barely worked with color at all when drawing so being able to access it with a drawing tablet was a blessing. So I decided to mess around with my favorite monster and the watercolor tool in firealpaca. I think it turned out mostly decent--bar the skin color, since I was having a hard time finding that particular color. that's basically all I have for now. sorry for the shitty camera quality on the first two. i'll prolly be posting more shit here for those few that check back on this topic, especially since I got my tablet and im seeing ez improvement.

If a lot of people end up liking the turn out of that, I might just have to bug Tully more to work with me on this kind of thing.

Minor update to relations

Fantastic art, and fantastic writing! Great job to the both of ya!

Man every time i see your pixel art i always wish i could do ANY art haha, i'm a huge sucker for pixel art but yours especially.

I wish i knew all the characters involved in this. But it reads really nice! MY gratulations to you and Tully!

thirteen tears for the new avenger's movie

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Eleven is a lucky number! I think?

If you're needing any ideas of what to draw, may I suggest Mermaids for Mermay

Nine lives left!

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7 scores some clowns did a thing is my paraphrasing of the whole debacle.

That is 5 paragraphs too long

Four score and seven henks ago... our Clownfathers brought forth on this planet, a new nation, conceived in laughter, and dedicated to the proposition that all Clowns are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great space war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great honk-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their shoes that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave Clowns, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The galaxy will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly henked. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great honking remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of humor -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have honked in vain -- that this nation, under Honk'sie, shall have a new Banana of freedom -- and that government of the Clowns, by the Clowns, for the Clowns, shall not perish from the universe. Bananablaster the Henkmeister Clownplanet - Unspecified date and time during the Clown / Mime war.

Bided your time too long, Stingray. Opperunity lost. I̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶T̶e̶t̶r̶a̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶g̶l̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶~̶ W̶o̶r̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶r̶e̶e̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶"̶S̶t̶e̶v̶e̶n̶s̶"̶ :sweatyguy:

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