Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Heron TSG]

THAT IS AMAZING.

They look like they're grooving pretty well.

[Acanthus117]

Bump.

[Supermikhail]

Uh. Unexpected real-life problems. Well, the time hasn't been wasted, at least I think so. The plot's been there for over a week, but the narrative needed me to read one book...
Some time on the week, hopefully (I know, I promised one week per request... but that was an interesting time for me to find out what people mean when they say "it's a hobby" about what they do on the Internet).

Actually, in the light of recent realizations on my part I should probably go and edit the OP.

[Acanthus117]

Alright, that's okay.

I'll just wait here.

[Supermikhail]

So, I guess I'll post it here. Edit: It's the beginning of the story requested by Acanthus117, about a female sniper in a city ravaged by war, somewhat modified , looking back at the original request /edit. Notice that the link goes to the Scribd document page, as I find reading stories in the forums format increasingly uncomfortable.

The war didn't start for me in September of '39. No shots were fired, no bombs fell around me. Patrons at the club where I was working as a dancer seldom let Germany into their talk, and even then it was only jokes about inferior German technology and how the Nazi lunatics were going to be crushed in a few weeks, or maybe months, by the forces of the British Empire. About as often someone would laud fascism as a world order of the future which would usually lead to a heated debate about politics, and consequently to the initiator getting kicked out of the club. They didn't favor politics there...

Things aren't going according to plan, but I recently had a bit of midnight inspiration, and so there's something to show as a proof concept. By that I mean, see if you're interested in the story to be finished in this style, if I ever get out of the tight place to do it. However, disregard any passages with weird or jarring style, because I'm aware of them, and don't intend to leave them this way in the finished work.

[ed boy]

If you're still accepting drawing requests:

I would like to see a drawing of a man with a large beard playing a trombone on a stage. Idealy, the stage would be higher up than the audience, and the view would be from behind/to the isde of the man.

[Supermikhail]

Crap, I should have reflected my current situation in the OP. Oh, well.
If you'd like to see the drawing eventually, the number of requests here isn't so large that I shouldn't be able to pick them out once I have some time to do them. But it's quite possible that you'll have to wait for a considerable amount of time, hopefully no more that a month.

[Acanthus117]

Yay!

I LIKES TEH WRITANS

[Supermikhail]

The Guy and Mike Tyson:

...or rather my best impression of them.

Anyway, the exams are kind of over, and the story is coming kind of nicely, so I decided to look into drawing requests for a change.

[Supermikhail]

A man playing trombone:

The beard kind of didn't fit. I went with the requested angle, and too late realized in what conflict the beard and the trombone got. So, I decided to reinforce the idea of beards giving them to almost everyone in the audience. However, the main beard is still visible.

With this I consider drawing requests out of the way.

[ed boy]

Your drawing is wonderful. I love it.

[Outcast Orange]

Your drawing is wonderful. I love it.

[Supermikhail]

Well, thank you.

[Acanthus117]

Posting to bump.

[Supermikhail]

I'm getting there.
Well, it may be a good time to post the second part of the story. Warning! Not proofread.

I woke up with a gnawing emptiness in my chest – Dave had died. In my dream. It took me some time to remember that the situation was as true in reality. In the palms of my hands was a cold, rigid object, and I was afraid to find out what it was, but couldn't let go of it. Finally, I remembered. Restraining sobs, I asked, “Why have you left me, Dave?” He did. But it was in the dream. How could he leave me? He couldn't. Not my Dave. I dropped the cold hand. “Who are you? What are you?” I asked the corpse. But it wouldn't answer, of course. I had to find out. I clenched my fear, and started digging the rest of the body out of  the rubble...