Greetings! Unfortunately there have been technical hitches abounding this week and last – laptops have died and other devices have proved unhelpful for most things other than facebook. However inktober has still happened as it’s non-tech dependent! So, here are the teabie doodles from the last few days.
The next 50 shades of tea sketch is here…
These will be painted in tea eventually, maybe next week.
And I’ve also been doodling some silly little Necromancers who are characters in the very last (probably) novella of the Ashton’s Kingdom series (which you’ll be pleased to hear I am NOT illustrating myself! lol) Here they are and below is the opening of that work in progress…
Thunder, Lightening, rain, hail, ominous fog and all the other things that accompany the beginning of an iconic horror movie or damn fine novel about Tea, Cake and lashings of Untimely Death, were occurring all over the little crag of rock known colloquially (and everywhere else) as The Skull.
Douglas skidded and stumbled over the vindictively slick cobblestones, cursing the length of his disgustingly sodden red robes, the ineffectual protection offered by his floppy wet cowl, the stupid little purse that dangled at his waist and was constantly expelling all his valuables into the muck, the fact that his favourite pocket watch had broken – again – and any and everything else that passed through his mind as he finally staggered, panting and wheezing to the top of the hill.
Sheet lightening flared for a second, silhouetting the crumbling chapel as Douglas clasped the cold iron ring in the studded wooden door and, with a cautious shoulder, silently eased it open.
The eerie luminescence of a hundred flickering candles, vanished in an ebbing wave to be replaced by darkness and smoke and a smattering of accusatory choking noises.
Thunder shook the walls and lightening flashed again, gleaming on several stiletto thin blades, poised in mid air.
“Sorry,” Douglas ventured, shuffling sideways along what he hoped was the back row of folding chairs. There was an almighty crash as something large and metallic clattered to the flagstone floor. “Sorry! So sorry, Sara, er, Your Grace…”
“Late again Douglas, we have already begun the casting!”
Douglas gulped as tapers flared on either side of him and the candles were slowly re lit illuminating hundreds of furious faces all glaring at him. He fumbled frantically with the circular tin he had been cradling…
“I…. I brought cake…”
“What?” Archcleric Sara lowered her knitting needles and the rest of the assembled necromancers did the same.
“Sticky toffee double fudge triple chocolate tray bake with crystalised ginger?” he ventured, prising off the lid and offering the tin with a trembling hand.
General pandemonium ensued as the Necromancers all abandoned their half completed cast-ons and scrambled for a slice of Douglas’s offering.
Blessings on your brew and all your #inktober endeavours! 🙂
Greetings! I may have got a bit behind with inktober postings but rest assured the old pen and brushes have been whirring behind the scenes…
Here is Jules WHY-Verne in ink and excitingly his first lil story book has all the words finished and will be well on its way to being published in the near future 🙂
Here also is Christina taking her tea in the back passage, painted in tea and coffee. I think I’m getting better at the backgrounds, I just love the way you can build up these little clouds of colour. This one isn’t finished, I’ll be building up the layers of coffee over the next few days to give a rich, dark sheen to some areas.
and here also is the little excerpt from Jack and Marjory which sets her in context… Jack and Marjory (who were trying to smuggle a priceless historical teaset which everyone seems to want) have just been captured by a ruthless band of beatnik poets and taken to The Golden Lion in Lancaster to wait for Max, the leader of the revolution, to be hung on Friday…
There were poets everywhere and everyone was talking, some were reciting and some were conversing and some were just ranting loudly away to themselves or perhaps the room at large or perhaps the universe or someone in particular on the other side… and men and women with quills and nibs and paintbrushes and wells of ink and mugs of cold black chicory coffee were writing all over the walls the things that were being said or thought or sung around them or inside them so that they became essays and poems and novels by the look of some of them… and still others were reading aloud what was being written as if it were prophecy or scripture or a recipe for the most sinful cake in Devon…
…all come to the golden lion… all come to see Max… get hung…
The Golden Lion ; a shrine and a womb and a cathedral and a tomb and a chrysalis all at the same time… all to see one man who wasn’t perhaps, by his own admission, even a man at all, get mullered for love.
« Cause that was all it was, really » Johnny Moonstruck, owner of the Garish Theatre Company is standing with his foot on a bar stool rocking it back and forth back and forth while he drums with his paintbrush on the side of his mug »
…is this really just chicory they’re drinking…
« love of a woman, love of too many women, love of too much tea, love of One’s own autonomy and freedom, love of being Utterly Oneself »
We nod, we understand the narcissistic drive that says ‘I bloody well can and will and the devil take me I shall. » but he’s not done …
« … the love of Oneself and then of course the sacrifice of that love for love of another but, in the hope of what ? That love then being reciprocated ? It’s the same with The Cause, the fight for One’s own freedom has to be the fight, eventually, for every One’s freedom, but it’s all driven by that same Utopian ideal of love eternal and unconditionally reciprocated, be it platonic or otherwise. That’s what lead him here, that’s what has lead us all here. Look around you , Mary, »
« Marjory »
« Marjory… »
« and Jack »
« Right… It’s not even that they believe or care about any Goddess or any old heretical religion, or even Amelia, they don’t really give a damn, they just want to love what they love and who they love and be left alone… have you got enough cake ?»
« …the soul of the teapot… the soul of the commonest object… the last bag of flour… the poem in the heart of the treacle miner…»
That might have been the theme that ran through all the words and pictures and pantomimes as we moved from cacophonies of colour to grotesqueries of sound, but it might not have been as well. We couldn’t say if there was any truth in that reduction of all things either, havin experienced little of this love thing ourselves, we was more inclined to say, from our own perspective, that survival was what had brought us here and the random kindness of one crazy Land Pirate.
Even if we could possibly have said something that would add to that… even if we could have found a voice through all that upper-middle-class artistic ego venting … we had no one to say it to. This was hardly about us at all…
« Hey, hex slinger are you ? Mm, mm, that’s what it’s all about, taking back the magic…hey, Wainright, get this woman some cake… »
And that was how it went in The Lion for days on end. Pushing the seams, pushing the rafters…pushing…
« …the limits of the diaphane… »
and Christina walked among them all like a china doll, like one of Amelia’s automatons…a little white idol of a goddess they’d created in her own bloody image… wearing Joyce’s words poured out onto teabags and stitched together into the daintiest little wafers of dresses and long bridalesque trains that just might melt given enough steam…
« the soul of the commonest… the dream in the heart of the treacle miner… »
I’m afraid I’m running a day behind so Mrs Baker will be in her soup kitchen tomorrow with a cute little grey furry helper… in the meantime, Blessings on your brew and all your inktober endeavors 🙂
Or we could have said 50 shades of EARL grey but that sounded a bit prejudiced against all the other lovely teas out there – we are a pro-diversity site remember!
So what is this diabolically titled post all about? Celebration of course! Celebration of tea and diversity and difference and similarity and community and preferences and peculiarities and did I mention tea? I don’t pretend to be an artist, just a sad old tea-sot who’d like to improve!
So this year my teabies are going to bring you ’50 shades of tea’ starting with a group hug… because that’s the way all things should begin isn’t it? Feel free to snigger, or groan as you see fit 😉
- EVERYONE’S A LITTLE DIFFERENT:
Here’s Max, Collin and Christina (I hate-love-hate drawing Chrissy and Max together but, that’s the history.) Very unhappy with the shakiness of my damn hands but, hey, start at the bottom and climb upwards right? That’s the plan anyway..
And from today here’s a lil sketch of Chrissy on her own wearing the teabag dress with all Joyce Jameson’s wise words written on the teabags (“whoever has the last bag of flour will win the war…the limits of the diaphane…the soul of the commonest object…the poem in the heart of the treacle miner..” etc etc ) which she wore when she went to see Max get hung in Lancaster.
2. CHRISTINA TAKES IT IN THE BACK PASSAGE:
Tomorrow, Thursday and Friday I’ll try and do Chrissy in tea and Max in ink… blessings on your brew, and all your inktober endeavors 🙂
Tea, Octopussies, pirates.. this is why we love living in the land of Ire 😀 Here is our last inktober offering – chibi Jack Diamond , although Penny didn’t get to finish him yet he still needs a background and some dark coffee layers building up to show off his leathers.
And if you don’t know who Jack is, here is his introduction (which follows on from the encounter with Scarlet Skarry) and again some much better artwork by Robin …
Chapter 2 – All Aboard The Chronic Agro…
Shrieks of metal against metal, the pitched song of valkyric missiles, thundering of boots on metal deck and voices at the back of all, that swelled and burst without forming into speech.
It took three attempts for Skarry to clear the thick red light from his vision when he opened his eyes. His neck ached in a particular hot-spot that screamed ‘tranquiliser dart’ to his awakening consciousness and several choice names for his sister stuck in the back of his parched throat.
He rubbed his eyes. Good. At least they were not tied up like turkeys here, at least they could…
“Wiz preserve us!” he yelled, leaping to his feet and causing the enormous cage to sway like a Watcher’s lantern. He grasped the bars, dizzied by the height at which they were now suspended, like a lure, above the deck of the Chronic Agro. Beside him, the Last Witch of Pendle lay crumpled in a heap, still cradling her brandy bottle. Mercurio was sprawled on his back a few feet away, snoring like a pig, his Botticellian curls splayed out around him, giving him the appearance of an inebriated angel. Skarry shook his head in mild disgust and the metal bars in frustration, causing the cage to sway again.
He gazed around in awe. Above him, the fan-like sails of the Agro towered like the wings of some ancient beast and, despite his desperate situation, Skarry couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the ingenious Tinker design work. Unlike the few other Landships he’d seen, the Agro looked like a ship – a sleek, silver vessel wrought from gleaming plates of metal, and its serpentine tail (“Oh, Wiz! It has a tail?!”) thrashed from side to side as it careered crazily down the narrow cobbled street on four ferociously clawed and scaly metal legs, mercilessly thrashing the sides of the feeble mortar dwellings, as it struggled to carve its own passage. Skarry spun around (“Then where there’s a tail, and legs, there must surely be a head? – Yes!”) The prow of the ship rose, swan-like, sculpted from more elegant silver platework, which turned at last to intricately layered scales (“No – feathers?”) forming a sleek mane around the stately head of a hook-beaked, beady-eyed gryphon.
Skarry gaped. Never in his life had he seen anything like it. Up through the deck, protruded a multitude of metal mechanisms, which thrust and pulsed like jointed limbs, connected to a structure of pin-wheel sails at both the rear and sides of the Agro. Beside these structures, towards the rear, an intricate menagerie of leather bellows, like a set of prosthetic lungs, heaved and sighed out great gusts of air which, directed through a labyrinth of copper pipework, kept the pinwheels carting and filled the sails to constant billow.
“Thisss isss insssanity Jack! Tisss dashhhed to ssssmitherinesss we will be, laddie!” The gryphon ended its sentence with a piercing metallic screech which knocked Skarry to his knees, hands plastered over his ears and cursing the day his sister was ever born.
“Scarlet! Scarlet you she-devil, where are you?” he yelled, not hoping to be heard over the racket of thundering mortar and screaming ship-beasts.
He peered back through the bars of the cage; at the helm, if it could be called such, stood an unusually slight young man wearing, quite probably Skarry reflected, the most inappropriate garb for the post of Pirate Captain purchasable within the Seven Counties: His thigh-length boots, turned down at the top, might possibly have served him well, had they not sported spindly, six-inch heels. Certainly, Skarry told himself, he must be running a risk of serious injury from opportune blade or flying missile, revealing such a vast quantity of flesh between the sparse material coverings afforded by his choice of mutilated and grossly over-embellished tail-coat. The garish garment barely reached his waist and beneath it he seemed to be wearing little more than a pair of, ludicrously short, leather breeches and some sort of vari-strapped, sleeveless leather… (for his own peace of mind, Skarry decided to call it a doublet.) His snow-white hair was streaked with riots of coloured dye, braided with an ostentatious variety of beads and trinkets over his back and shoulders, and cropped short on top so that it rose in aggressive-looking spikes like the poll some bellicose parrot. So this, Skarry thought despairingly, was Jack Diamond; captain of the, disturbingly sentient, Chronic Agro and in whose, evidently less than capable, hands their fates had come to rest.
“Pipe down, Aggie!” the captain sang cheerfully above the uproar. “Where’s my Scar? SCARLET! Where’s my first mate? Where is she?” He staggered backwards suddenly and, gasping for breath, clutched a hand to his chest, laughed manically, and made a desperate grab for the ship’s rail as he collapsed sideways onto the metal deck.
“Pipe down yer self, y’fool! I’m atcher elbow!” Scarlet bellowed, helping him back to his feet.“You, there; Biddie, fetch Rowland with his kit will yer? And some more meths, the captain’s dryin’ out!” She flung a hip-flask to someone masked from Skarry’s view within the writhes of smoke snaking like enraged cobras from the roofs of some of the thatched buildings, onto which many of the lighted gas lamps, which lined the narrow street, had fainted under the weight of the Agro’s advances.
“You’d no need fer all this, y’daft peacock!” Scarlet shrieked. “Thirty minutes, Jack! Can yer not count t’thirty?”
“Oh, thirty, ten, what’s the difference, Scar? I’ll tell you – thirty minutes, to a mind as industrious as mine, is like an eternity. Thirty minutes and you’d return to find me at the mercy of insanity. I was not made for waiting. And neither was Aggie – was you old bird? She was getting restless, wasn’t you, my pet?”
The gryphon let out another smoke-splintering shriek, “Ressstlesss, aye, firrra a smoothh drink of oil and a rub down, Jack, not a dessssent into the jawssss of the abyssss. Thisss missst playsss hell with my jointssss.”
“Nonsense! She caught the scent of the old Plunder Bus, didn’t you, pet? Her hackles went up and she was straining for the kill!”
“Insssolent whelp! Can y’not put a leashh on him, Missss. Sssskarry?”
“Save us all if I did!” Scarlet shook her head. “We need t’go back, Jackie, the Bus is blocking our exit and Bill’ll go spare if we lose one of his ships over nought but a bit o’fun. Y’understand me, Jack? Are y’listening, yer raving nutcase? We need t’back her up!”
“Retreat?” Jack cried, tightening his hold on the metal harness, which seemed to serve the function of a steering wheel, as the gryphon tossed its silver head indignantly. “Run from a stand-off? With the Brothers Crim? Never! Stout heart and onward, My Lady Fair, we will see this through to the very last!” He swayed violently on his feet again and almost pitched headlong over the side of the vessel. Scarlet made a skillful lunge, caught him by his coat tails and hauled him back.
“You’ve sprung a leak again, Jack, d’yer hear me? Yer valve is leakin and the meths is addling yer brain – y’re not thinkin’ straight! Listen t’me – we cannot go ‘onward,’ we’re out of space!”
“Bah! I didn’t come through the jaws of death still kicking, only to be thereafter subjugated by the meagre laws of so-called ‘time and space’. Fate smiles on the reckless, rewards the endeavours of the impetuous, and flings her blessings like stars to light the universe of the relentless rogues aboard the Chronic Agro!” He seized the harness with both hands, hauled himself to his feet again, and raised his voice in a sudden, boisterous burst of song above the pandemonium:
“All hands to the deck, me loves, hands to the bellows,
fill up the sails, me loves, onward we goes,
let Fate bring us home again, wither she whethers,
hands to the deck, me loves, onward she blows.
Come death to us all, me loves, I’ll not be grieving,
our Eldorado waits, heaven to me,
city of gold, me loves, waiting to welcome,
all the relentless rogues home from the sea.
All hands to the deck…”
“BIDDIE BONES!” Scarlet hollered. “Curse y’girl where are yer?”
Within seconds, the erstwhile mysterious personage that was Bidde Bones, came skidding out of the smoke-cloak across the slick metal of the deck, accompanied by two other crew members, and Skarry’s eyes widened in horror. The oddity that was Jack Diamond paled suddenly to the commonplace, when compared to these bizarre creatures, and, although he was one of the few civilians privy to the truth of the situation, Skarry found himself suddenly able to sympathise with the general public opinion that Billy Blythe and his team of Tinkers had manufactured a race of ‘tons to crew their fleet of landships.
Scarlet hurried over to them and there followed a rather frenzied discussion in hushed tones which gave Skarry time to shut his mouth and take careful note of the ‘gifts’ each Land Pirate had been bestowed by their king.
Biddie Bones herself, bore a weight of muscle that would put most men to shame. Her dark skin gleamed like polished tourmaline – plum and smoke beneath the lamplight sheens of gold – and, beneath her shirt, the contours of her femininity gloated in startling compliment to the terror induced by her obviously formidable strength. Skarry was tempted to guess that the ‘Bones’ element of her title had been earned in reference to the number of these she had managed to crush with her bare hands, both of which were prosthetic and attached to murderous-looking mechanical arms which ended at her elbows, above which her natural biceps bulged menacingly. That was fine. Just fine, Skarry thought. Prosthetics he had seen before, they were not commonplace of course, but certainly not so rare, amongst those who could afford to commission them, that the sight of them would cause a man to blanch. No. But the tail; the scorpianic tail that rose elegantly, from Wiz knew where, to curve like a grim parasol above the girl’s head, complete with three-foot barb at its tip – Skarry shuddered and moved his gaze to the next member of the group.
The sight did nothing to console him. Here was a man with no arms at all. Limbs he had a-plenty but these, apart from the legs he was standing on, were all rope-like tentacles made of minute strands of ingeniously braided metal so that they coiled and writhed with perfect fluidity, giving him the appearance of a Kraken that had lost its way.
“You’ll have t’hold him down, Giddy,” Scarlet was saying, “while The Kid swaps the valves over. We’ve got to be fast this time, I’ve no idea how long it’ll be before Archie Crim realises Jack’s down and gives his crew the order to rush us.”
“I’ll hold the helm, Miss. Skarry,” Biddie growled. “They’ll not get past me n’ my boys.”
Scarlet frowned. “Good. But just th’same, we don’t want t’ fight if we don’t ‘ave to. When Jack gets his senses back he’ll want t’get straight back t’London. We’ve got what we came for, Aggie’s the fastest Land Ship in the Seven Counties and she’s got us here in good time, but if we stick around now there’ll be more of these loons showin’ up – the last thing we want is t’get hemmed in from behind.”
“An’ if any crew decides to board us, we’ll have no chance of keepin’ that wyrd web thing.” Giddy added, balling one of his tentacles into a fist and the other into a flat palm to pound it against.
“And of course, Bill made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t care tuppence who brings him the thing – the first ship back with it will get the reward. He certainly won’t be listening to argument and conjecture that it was us who risked our necks getting it out of the house in the first place.” The last shipmate in this conspiracy was a much older gentleman, with a voice like the grumbling groan of shale being churned through a spring tide. His short, curly black hair was bleaching to silver and through it Skarry could see two gleaming copper horns (obviously added to compliment that fetching pair of mechanical goat’s legs he has) Skarry told himself, fighting to retain his composure.
“Aye, Kid.” Scarlet nodded. “He’ll reward whoever puts it in his palm. An’ I’m damned if that’s not gonna be us! Right. Let’s do this.”
“Come death to…us all, me… loves, I’ll not be grieving,
our Eldorado… waits, heaven to me,
city of gold, me loves… wait…waiting… to welcome,
all the re…eh? Ah! What’s this? Mutiny?”
Jack flailed uselessly in the grip of Giddy’s tentacles as the huge man hauled him effortlessly down onto the deck and held him there.
“Sorry about this, Cap,” he said, uncomfortably.
“Sorry?” Jack replied faintly, his eyes beginning to roll in his head as he continued to gasp for breath. “Oh yes…you’ll all be sorry…worthless…bunch of…blackguards..I…”
“Oh pipe down, y’daft turkey!” Scarlet scolded, though her tone did not match the severity of her words as she stroked his forehead in an uncharacteristically maternal fashion that Skarry found very disturbing. “Rowland’s gonna fix yer valve, me love, that’s all.”
“Valve?” Jack’s eyes slid shut. “I’ll fix that old goat…I’ll fix the lot of you…”
“Get out of my way!” Rowland ‘The Kid’ snapped testily, brushing Biddie and Scarlet aside as he opened his large leather case and took out of it a thin metal implement that resembled a fountain pen. “The continuous distillation mechanism, which removes any traces of methanol that may find their way into his bloodstream, has failed due to the overload produced by the breach of the valve. Before I can attend to replacing the seal on the valve in his throat, which allows the meths to travel directly to his heart without leaking into his bloodstream, I must magnetically activate the shunt in his brain that will release the superfluous spirits into the overflow chamber and feed them back into his heart – contamination is minimal, though he may experience some fatigue for a short while afterwards, it is vastly preferable to having him vomit all over the deck.”
“JUST GET ON WITH IT!” Scarlet shrieked.
“JACK DIAMOND!” A sinister voice suddenly resonated through the miasmatic veil of smoke. “What’s wrong, Little Jack? Isn’t Billy Blythe’s pretty little parrot gonna favour us all with another song?”
“Crawl out of your stinking little hole an’ say that, Archebald Crim, you filthy bellows-rat!” Biddy roared, leaning over the rail, but her rage was met with a chorus of jeers and cat-calls from the crew of the Plunder Bus.
“Perhaps he’ll do a request?” someone yelled. “I’m sure we can all think of a tune we’d like to hear him squark!”
“Or perhaps he needs us to come over there and ring one out of ‘is scrawny little neck?” More whoops and jeering followed.
“Ho, Jack!” the first voice crowed “Why don’tcha flap over here, little birdie? We’ve got a very fine cage all ready and waiting for you! How’d you like the sound of that then, eh? I wonder how much old Bill would pay us out of his hoard, to stop his precious little pheasant gettin’ plucked?”
“That’s mutinous talk!” Biddy bellowed. “Threaten the Pirate King would you? You’ll regret that jest before this night is out, Archie!”
“Hurry up with that damn valve, Kid,” Scarlet muttered. “Any minute now, old Arch is gonna realise Jack’s out of action. And when he does…”
“All, right, all right!” Rowland snapped. “There, the fluid is feeding back into his system. Although this next bit will be a lot easier if he doesn’t regain consciousness in the middle of it.” He reached inside his bag again, took out a tiny brass key, and pulled back the, rakishly high, collar of Jack’s tail-coat to reveal a metal lock plate seamlessly inserted into the side of his neck. He turned the key in the hole and the little hinged door swung open. “Not long now, Captain. Just let me seal this off…ah, there it is, just as I thought, completely worn away. Still, all we have to do is replace it with this one…”
“What’s the matter Jack?” Archie boomed. “Not coming out to play today?”
“HURRY UP!” Scarlet hissed.
Jacks eyes suddenly snapped open and, even from his distant viewpoint, Skarry was amazed by the sudden shrewd alertness they reflected. “Scarlet?”
“I’m here, Jackie.”
“What happened? No. Damn that, what’s the situation?”
“We’ve got the wyrd web, Jack, the Plunder Bus is ahead of us, all guns blazing, we need to back up, me love, and set sail for home.”
“Aye.They’ve been goading us on all night, Cap. Now they’re threatening mutiny against the Pirate King.”
In a breath, the captain was on his feet. He scanned the street with a critical eye and his crew waited, with obviously bated breath, for his instructions.
“Pipe.” Jack held out his hand, expectantly, and Scarlet dutifully handed him a strange contrivance of copper tubing, which he puffed at thoughtfully before holding out his other hand. “Flask.” He took a long draught of meths from the hipflask, handed to him by Biddie Bones. Still they waited, while the steam from the pipe mingled with the smoke from the submissive rooftops. “Home?” he mused, his eyes narrowed in machinistic contemplation. “Home, yes, home with a good catch…did I hear old Archie Crim say something about a bird cage?”
“Aye, the impudent dog!” Scarlet spat.
Jack puffed his pipe again, ignoring a missile which sailed so low above their heads that the rest of the crew ducked and breathed loud sighs of relief when it struck a nearby rooftop. His gaze travelled up the mizzen mast to meet Skarry’s and he grinned suddenly and waved “Hello there! I’m sorry I didn’t realise we had guests! My sincere apologies, but I’m afraid we are going to have to relieve you of your penthouse accommodation. You see,” he turned back to his crew, “we will shortly be entertaining a far more eminent guest!” The Agronauts let out a raucous cheer, and then scrambled to keep their feet as a nearby building finally gave up its stand and collapsed into the street, sending the ship reeling to one side as the gryphon shrieked and tried to steady itself.
“Tammy Rhymer!” Jack cried, “my beautiful little siren, and Angel D’Morte, gorgonian goddess that you are, where are you both? To the podium, please ladies. Rowland, you crotchety old goat, man the treacle cannons with Tross and keep those bottles coming. Hoist up the Spratapult, and the Mangonell. I want the Chicken Trebuchet up here as well. All idle hands to the bellows, keep the sails filled and the ship steady. Scarlet, other half of my once-beating heart, kindly prepare to make Captain Crim as uncomfortable as he deserves to be.”
“With pleasure, Captain.” Scarlet growled, and stalked off into the smoke, barking orders.
“And now, Giddy my friend, if you will accompany me to the helm, we will prepare to indulge ourselves in a spot of fishing.” Gideon grinned and flexed his tentacles as Jack moved to take the reins once more. “Gas masks on, me loves!” he cried, pulling his own, beautifully beaked, silver breathing apparatus from a small cubby to his left and hoisting it over his head. “Now, when you’re ready, Miss. Rhymer, let us show these contumelious curs why we are called THE CHRONIC AGRONAUTS!”
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen! Well, here I am at last, all painted in up in my favourite hot beverage!
Penny discovered that blending certain teas together actually meant that as they dried they separated again giving that lovely ‘under the sea’ feel to the background. The bottom is blueberry, apple, strawberry and redbush and the top is matcha, seaweed and redbush. I was painted all in redbush this time which has a lovely colour range from yellow to deep reddish brown, then the details, top hat and background were done in layers of coffee. Also some ‘bubbles’ were added with tiny drips of cooking oil before painting.
So, a lot of experimenting and playing about and learning is still going on (and apparently tentacles behave even less well when they are being painted than when they are being drawn!) but I think overall we may be getting better…
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen! I hope you are all feeling extremely eleven o’clockish because the time is, of course, eleven o’clock and we are up to our elbows in tea! (Tea is an ink? Yes?) Yes that’s right, here is our weekly offering for inktober…
Miss. Scarlet Skarry Chibi painted using tea and coffee (apologies the photo is a little shaky).
She was built up with layers of rooibos and then rooibos blended with blackcurrant (darker brown tones) and rooibos blended with turmeric and ginger (lighter brown/gold tones) The pinky red , blue and green tones are blueberry and apple and the very darkest tones are strong brewed coffee. A huge amount of learning took place during this one!
If you don’t know who Scarlet Skarry is, well, here is an excerpt from the ‘possibly some day to be published’ novel in which she features… (with some much better accompanying artwork from Robin Eisenberg!)
Mercurio laughed and knelt down beside the thief. Gently, he lifted the white fingers from the floor and coaxed the spider-like thing out from under them. Gingerly, he turned it over and examined it, ever careful to keep his fingers clear of the needle-sharp fangs.
“Amazing,” he mused. “This is an incredible piece of machinery! It appears our young thief here, is a master of devices.” Curious, he lifted the enormous cowl, which hid the boy’s face from view, and pulled it back. At once, a cascade of crow- black hair spilled out over the floor, framing the delicate, pale features of a young woman. The area around her right eye was covered by an intricately engraved metal plate, studded in glorious designs with tiny jewels of every description. The plate fit perfectly around her eye socket, following the smooth curve of her high cheekbone, but the socket itself was empty.
“Mistress of devices,” he corrected, his voice the thoughtful glide of the barn owl above its moonlit hunting ground.
“Scarlet!” Skarry exclaimed.
The woman stirred and, as if this were some telepathic signal, the mechanical spider suddenly sprang to life once more, wrenched itself from the wizard’s hand and scuttled back to its owner. Mercurio gazed in rapt fascination as the creature clambered carefully onto the woman’s face and nestled down into the eye socket, its legs forming delicate rows of golden lashes above and below. The woman groaned softly and uttered something unprintable which caused Mercurio to grin and Skarry to roll his eyes.
“Scarlet!” Skarry hissed again. “What are you doing here?”
“John?” The abdomen of the eye-spider suddenly flew open to reveal a stunning mechanical replica of a human eye, complete in perfect mimicry of the original. The only perceptible difference was in the colour of the iris, which was a deep claret red, and the pupil – composed of a spiral of overlapping golden plates that, even now, were dilating in a curious, almost hypnotic motion as the woman leapt to her feet, glaring defiantly from one wizard to the other.
“John!” She spat furiously. “What’re you doing ‘ere? You’ll ruin everythin’! Why aren’t you in Lichfield?”
“Why aren’t you in London?”
Mercurio raised his eyebrows expectantly, “Introduction?”
Skarry gritted his teeth. “Scarlet, this is Mercurio Smith, a fellow student of magic, from Lichfield.” He turned to his friend. “This is Scarlet Skarry, my sister.”
“London?” Mercurio mused thoughtfully. “The pirate city…oh, I see!” He peered curiously into Scarlet’s face, trying to get a better look at her mechanical eye. “So it’s true then. The Pirate King, Billy Blythe, really has created a host of ‘tons to crew his Land Ships.”
“Scarlet is NOT an automaton,” Skarry growled. “Every pirate who wishes to join Blythe’s fleet is required to… sacrifice… a part of themselves. In return, the Pirate King has his Tinkers make them a new body part to replace it.”
“I see, a part which not only replaces the lost member but enhances its function through the wonders of Tinker Technology,” Mercurio mused. He chuckled, “And you gave your right eye, Miss Skarry? How very clichéd!”
“You needn’t tarlk t’me about clichés, yer mincing fool!” Scarlet spat. “What in the name o’ Wiz are yer clowning around at? Y’gonna get us all killed!”
“Dear, dear me!” Mercurio shook his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Which of you two was the cuckoo’s child, I wonder?”
“We don’t ‘ave time for this, John!” Scarlet hissed, her voice an urgent growl between gritted teeth. “We…”
The door suddenly opened and the Last Witch of Pendle swayed unsteadily into the room, clutching a half-empty decanter of brandy in one hand and steadying her toupee with the other.
“Oh! Oh dear, you’re all awake. Well…”
Whatever The Witch had been about to say was smothered by a sudden sound. The ominous sigh, scrape and grind of metal bulk against metal sinew, followed by the heart-stopping thud of impacting weight upon a militia of snail’s shells, which splintered and shrieked beneath it.
The old timber-framed town house shuddered to its bones in fright and released a pent-up century’s worth of stagnant dust into the air like a scream.
“What was that?” The Witch whispered, clutching the bottle like a comforter.
Scarlet rolled her eyes, “It’s the Agro,” she groaned, her fists balled in frustration. “It’s Jack. Oh the numb-skull I knew he’d never wait.” She rounded on her brother, malevolence pulsing through her aura. “Now look what y’ve done!” she shrieked. “If you witless wizards hadn’t minced in here with yer clown costumes and yer wretched Cat O’ Nine Lives, I’d have got the Wyrd Web an’ been back on the Agro in a wink. Now, look! My Jackie said he’d wait thirty minutes and if I didn’t return he’d come n get me. Blasted fool, he’s waited less than ten!”
The Witch’s eyes were wild with terror. “Th- the Chronic Agro? Pirates? Coming here? Oh no! No, no, no! A Land Ship cannot fit down this street, it will tear us to pieces!”
Now from the opposite end of the street, even as the Agro continued to make its laboured progress felt against the cobbles and the mortar, another sound struck up. This time, the whirr and fizz of high-speed motors and wind straining through a bellow of brass pipes. There was a sudden lash of air, followed by a crack and the rumble of mortar slumping into the street below. Scarlet threw up her hands in resignation. “And that’ll be The Plunder Bus!” she sighed. “They’ve been threatening trouble all night. Take down yer shield here, Lady, we’ve a fight comin’ fast upon us and we best be aboard the Agro before it kicks off.”
“But what about the crew?” The Witch exclaimed. “Won’t they… well, you know, capture us or slaughter us or something?”
“Aye, they might. But, as you’ve rightly guessed, my Jackie won’t rest ‘till he tears this place apart lookin’ for me and unless you want t’be torn apart with it, we’d best get aboard the landship quick sharp.”
“But couldn’t we just run? Run away somewhere and hide?”
“Oh sure! Y’d be caught in the cross-fire between the Agro and the Plunder Bus, and the Brothers Crim don’t take no prisoners, Lady.”
“But aren’t you all on the same side?” The Witch protested.
Scarlet snorted in disgust.
“I believe what Miss Skarry is trying to convey, is that there is ‘no honour amongst thieves,’ “ Mercurio said smoothly.
“Do you mind sparing us all these clichéd little proverbs?” Skarry growled. “They mean absolutely nothing and do even less to help the situation.”
Mercurio narrowed his eyes venomously, and muttered something under his breath.
An almighty blast shook the house once again and the exposed lintels above them began to warp and splinter in protestation.
“Guard down, Lady!” Scarlet bellowed.
“Oh!” The Witch screamed, as the floor began to tilt beneath their feet. Skarry’s boots tried for purchase on the smooth wooden floorboards and failed and he skidded into Mercurio, who clutched at him in a frantic manner which neither of them ever felt it appropriate to recall in the years that followed.
There was another crack, a flash of blue light as The Witch released the containment spell, a gleam of silver as Scarlet pulled something from her belt.
And then everything went black.
Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back to Max and Collin’s totally tea-tastic parlour located within the splendidly scenic city of Lancaster!
Hopefully you caught our Viola Stewart blog tour post yesterday and were able to enter the free ebook give away on Karen’s blog 🙂
Today you find us doing more rabid explorations in tea painting… this time we used a variety of teas and coffees – Green matcha and seaweed, blackberry, strawberry, lapsang, espresso and supermarket own brand instant coffee (don’t worry, not a drop touched our lips, we promise) Also we let the layers dry a bit in between to try and work in some more detail and used damp tissue to remove some layers and create a light-shinning-illusiony-thing… hopefully! And then got seriously fancy and pressed the ‘enhance colour’ button when we uploaded it… yep, that’s the kind of swish, tech-savvy chaps you’re dealing with today! (tentacle-bump)
So, this portrait is of Max – complete with his purple ‘Alexandra’s Tint’ to his eyes and hair (years of eating nothing but purple seaweed will do this to a chap and in the under water prison-city where we have both been residing these last few years, there is little else to eat (I know you’d think fish would be on the menu wouldn’t you? But honestly, rotting carcasses and leftovers are a devil to dispose of when you are sealed inside a glass dome – seaweed is far easier, trust me, and the smell does not attract large carnivorous marine life) )
Obviously we still have a looooooong way to before we are ‘good’ at this lark, but we have been persuaded by our utterly adorable friend Mrs Nimue Brown (no doubt for her own wicked amusement) to take park in ‘Inktober’ with her on twitter and we are going to attempt the slow-pokes 5K version of one – two inks a week so hopefully there will be improvement over that time!
Also we’re hoping that tea counts as ink!
We wish you a most marvellous afternoon, please do let us know if you are also planning to take part in inktober and , if so, where we can find your marvellous works of art and until we see you again,
do, obviously, please remain always,