Aside by

Woops, that was a bit of an impromptu hiatus. I haven’t been able to update over the past few months, mostly because they were terrible, but hopefully I’ll be back to posting whatnots and that things start looking up.

Incidentally, I’m updating today because today was deecon…d-con…doj-con…the name changes every year. I made card things and handed a few of them out, so if anyone turns up here HELLO I AM ALIVE YES.

Oops

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New store!

I dumped zazzle! It was fine for a while, but I did have major criticisms with that site.

The product creation process was basically like the  finicky, tricky version of mass producing. If I wanted to use the quick create tool,  I’d have to go through all the items individually and fix the sizes on everything (and when you can make up to 200 items in one go, you’re at a high risk of getting hand cramps). Plus, because of the ease of access on the quick create tool, the site is utterly swamped with rubbish. I tried scrolling through the marketplace a few times and found the occasional really nice item amid the sea of empty white space.

Speaking of terrible items, there’s no dignity there when it comes to public domain pictures.  Seriously, why would you even? Not to mention the mustaches. I can’t even remember how many products there are with mustaches on them from innumerable sellers, I had to block them from my search results.

Secondly, I was aiming for a major overhaul of my store, shifting products around, deleting categories, making new ones. Could I do it? No. Was the option there? Yes.  My profile seemed to be having a “lolnope” moment.

So I thought, “sod it”, and joined society6.  http://society6.com/FeralShorton There’s not much there at the moment, but SOON.

 

 

 

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Catch up

Ok, I haven’t been as active as I would like to have been on the internet and I think most of that’s down to me using the internet as a form of escapism rather than a useful way to make stuff and meet people.  Seriously though, tumblr is a glorious, wonderous, terrifying time sink.

But I want to get my ass in gear.  Inaction breeds laziness and pessimism, after all.

Hopefully, soon I’ll start making youtube videos split 50/50 between art critique and SUPER CHEAP FOOD STUFFS, because  I do love a good bargain.

And I will have to get back into Wakers. In short, I will do EVERYTHING.

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Wakers: first draft part 5

Before first rays even think about showing themselves, Olivia is awake, churning the previous night’s memory over and over. Why would they shoot one of their own? How did they get a gun? A ballistic weapon seems like the least practical thing anyone could keep on a space borne ship. Maybe they have more. Though, as she sits up and takes stock of the barren wasteland sloping away from the mountain, a half formed thought eats away at the back of her mind. There’s nothing here to defend ourselves from, nothing to shoot except ourselves. ‘What if that’s why it’s here? A last resort.’

She near silently removes herself from the makeshift bed, creeps towards the machine. Olivia pulls out a thin shelf underneath the machine’s main storage compartment and straps on a utility belt. From one of the pockets, she removes a knife and tests the edge on the sole of her boot. Sheathing the knife, she grabs the goggles. Afterwards, she unfolds a touch pad at the base of the machine’s square ‘skull’ to type pre-emptive commands. Machine blinks it’s little green lights to confirm, and she’s away, drifting quietly down the slope.

Every so often, she stops to listen like a prey animal. The debris trail is dull in the pre-dawn glow and she shoves the goggles over her head, switching between settings. Night vision, daylight, ultra violet, infra red. No signs of life so far. No signs that anyone else had bothered to come this way, apart from herself and Len. ‘They might follow our tracks. First thing’s first.’ Olivia eventually comes to the ship’s rear, battered, blackened and burnt by the impact. She slips under the enormous propulsion hardware, stepping softly, holding her breath for every biting shard she misses. When she comes to the edge of the hull breach, she can see the body far more clearly. It’s lying a little away, in the opposite direction of the mountain. A quick glance into the gaping hole in the ship’s side. No one. A longer look. Still no one. Veering away, she heads towards the corpse. It looks like a man. He’s lying face down with a hole in his back. Olivia clamps a hand over her mouth when she missteps and globules of half congealed blood stick to her boot. Moving around to his head and shoulders, she tries to get a look at his face, but stops. Jaw dropped, shaking, she slumps to her knees in front of the corpse and stares.

The man’s eyes and nose are missing, as if chewed off by rats. Where his lips should be, there are parted teeth and bone slick with blood. For a second she leans a little closer, but then backs away and uses the goggles to zoom in on the mouth. Something is in there, moving. In the silence, she notices the crunching of cartilage. A living thing emerges, stained red and fattened by the feast. Small, plump and furred, rat-like in most ways, except for the face and the barbed tail. Its skull is mostly teeth and Olivia has no problems imagining that little thing burrowing through the flesh of someone that she probably used to know. Nausea gets in the way of amazement, but she clenches her fists and keeps it down. There is life. The thing starts to clean itself, it doesn’t seem to mind her presence. Slowly, carefully, she unzips the top half of her jumpsuit, ties the arms around her waist, and removes the vest underneath. Creeping closer to the creature, Olivia holds out her vest like a net. The thing glances at her briefly, then continues preening. She pounces, bundling it up in one swift movement. It squeals and one of the barbs in its tail pierces the makeshift net. One of the pockets in her belt looks big enough; the wriggling, screeching creature fits into her cupped hands. She empties the rope from that pocket and tries to stuff the rat-thing in there as gently as possible, but it’s a scrapper. After a few moments, she manages to zip the pocket closed. Slinging the rope over her shoulder, she leaves her jumpsuit undone, top half covered by practical underwear. It’s getting hot as the sun rises.

When she gets closer to last nights camp, Olivia can see Len standing halfway between the machine and the base of the mountain. ’She must have seen me coming.’

“What the fuck, Olivia? What the fuck was that?” Len’s dark brows are furrowed, arms waving.

She scrambles up through the scree, the last few metres are a sprint and the combination of heat, adrenaline and uphill jogging make Olivia’s words come out in rags.

“It was…something…I needed to …do by …myself.”

With a heavy sigh, still muttering profanities, Len offers her a hand back up to camp.

“What’s that noise?”

“I found something.” The rat-thing’s muffled protests escape from the belt pocket. The two women reach the machine and Olivia opens up a panel at the back, revealing tiny pots, knives, collapsible cups, the world’s smallest kitchen. She reaches inside, pulls out one of the pots and a folding grill. Placing the pot on the ground, she unzips the squealing pocket and tips the wriggling vest bundle into it, slams the grill on top. With one hand, she holds the grill down, with the other she reaches around the utility belt, finds cable ties and straps the grill into place. Through the bars, she pinches some of the fabric sticking out and pulls until it comes free. The rat-thing stares up at them, horrified and indignant.

“I feel like I might be repeating myself here, but what the fuck is that?”

Somebody stop me when this becomes incomprehensible plzkthnx.