my alone time is my happy time
Ahahahahaha, so... I've been... afk. m(___)m
Basically I have been sleeping, eating (a lot, this is Malaysia after all), reading (usually degenerates into sleeping at some point), not going on lj (streamyx "broadband" doesn't load lj 8 times out of 10) and doing the whole family-friends-social-outings thing.
But mainly, the whole problem with being at home is that I'm at home where I have about four other people in this house filling in my waking hours with "eh come help cook/bake/hold this for me/make me coffee/talk to me/watch tv with me/follow me to market/etc".
...What happened to my "free time during the holidays!" sobbbbbb
ALSO I HAVE AN ISSUE WITH HOW MPH ONE UTAMA HAD NO AGATHA CHRISTIE ON ITS SHELVES. HOW CAN YOU NOT HAVE ANY AGATHA CHRISTIE ON YOUR SHELVES MPH. "AGATHA CHRISTIE WRITING AS MARY WESTMACOTT" DOES NOT COUNT THERE ARE NO INVENTIVE WAYS OF KILLING ENGLISH PEERS OR MYSTERIOUS DEATHS ON THE BEACH AND/OR QUIET COUNTRY BACKWATER. Why do you fail my plebeian tastes, MPH? All I ask is a little Poirot, a smidgen of Marple. Oh snap I would probably even have bought a Tommy & Tuppence, my craving for Christie seems to have escalated now that I am in a country where there is no library with a couple of shelves full of them and a borrowing limit of 20 books.
And, uh, ah... in the meantime, more Arthur? It's stuff that's been stockpiled since the end of June, please be warned.
Durians are in season now :D so have a durian joke:
Somewhat related notes:
I'm certain that the durian gag has been employed before in Hetalia terms, somewhere, somehow. This is a DV twist, though.
There was indeed a brutal killing of a Resident (according to Pahlawan Pasir Salak he certainly had it coming) in the Malay States and it was indeed done while he was bathing but... not with a durian obviously lol they were not in season
Many works of Khmer (Cambodian) art are now in Paris (where they are admittedly taken good care of). Later on the French colonials had a change of heart and outlawed looting (one of the most famous cases was perpetrated by André Malraux), instead restoring the temples and statues in situ.
---
...The best way I can think of to describe this thing is "It was a dark and stormy night" taken to ridiculous levels x The Reverend Dr Syn.
*cue theme song of the 1970s Disney adaptation*
I was allowed to post the pictures up by nomnomnim, I originally drew the large single one as a commission, and the comic was done for fun. Yes, yes, she takes the credit for the whole concept of Dr Arthur-Christopher Syn-Kirkland chasing down that no-good French smuggler Bonnefoy.
panthael_angel came up with the comic and accompanying text (below). The luminous eyebrows were my idea.
Look, it's gone to a good home. :D
The following text (expanded version of the comic with more Prussia and Spain) can be ignored, I just put it there so that when I go through my archive of rot aka the hetalia tag on my lj I can find everything grouped nicely together by theme.
The storm raged without ceasing in the dark sky; flashes of lightning were the only relief from the harsh gloom. It was not a pleasant night, not even by the fireside. Too dark, too elemental was this for causeless fear to be alleviated by mere warmth and cups of tea.
Inside an old, ramshackle inn by the junction, there were three men. One was a cheerful-looking middle-aged man who was washing down the ale mugs; the other two sat lounging in the common room of the inn. An ignorant observer, seeing their grim faces and tough demeanours, would have counselled the man washing the glasses to flee and lock himself in the barn as protection, but they would have been wrong - fatally erroneous. The villagers and the Bow Runners avoided this man, a man who was rumoured to have slit the throats of more than a hundred people with the same smile he used as he cleaned the inn.
Thunder rumbled.
The silver-haired man stirred from his chair. He looked up.
"Surely Francis is taking rather long for a simple pick up? Have we been betrayed?" His accent indicated his Germanic origins.
The dark-haired man stiffened a trifle and his pose shifted to that of a wary predator. He looked at the inn-keeper, who shook his head.
"There be none around here who dares cross my will, and 'sides, no one will betray the Gentlemen. Tis likely the rain. The roads are uncommon difficult these times, even for Frankie."
"You know Francis hates being called Frankie," The dark-haired man's voice was not English - rather it seemed Latin.
"While he drinks good English ale and plys his trade on England's shores, he can damn well use a less pretentious name than Francis." He spat the name out as if it was a curse. "It's a fucking frog's name, and he can use a solid English one, Tony."
Neither of them felt up to the task of pointing out for what would be perhaps the hundredth time that Francis was a name in England too, or that a more appropriate nickname for Antonio would be Tonio instead of Tony. Instead they lapsed back into moody silence. The crackling fire only highlighted glimpses of scars and old wounds on their arms and hands. Tony sharpened a wicked little dagger that gleamed in the light. Stretching his arms, he saw a tomato on the wooden bar. Without hesitation, he threw the dagger as gracefully as a ballet dancer going through practice - it flew through the air and pierced the tomato so cleanly that its juice did not even stain the bar.
"Top that, Gilly?"
"Don't you fucking call me Gilly, you fucking bastard, I'll tear out your guts. Either call me Gilbert or O Great One! You can even call me Gilbert the Great!"
"... How come he doesn't get a good, solid English name?" This was directed to the inn-keeper.
"Gilbert is a good enough name already. My sister's son is named Gilbert, y'know."
"It's an AWESOME name. The GREATEST name. The Bow Runners cower when they hear that Gilbert is out riding in the nights! They cringe in the darkness as they fear the might of Gilbert, the Legendary Gentleman Smuggler!"
"You did not seem so composed when you almost lost to that cloaked vigilante."
"Why you - draw your sword, Tony."
"I never decline, Gilly."
The slamming of glasses startled both men - sufficiently to realise that Jim was looking extremely dangerous.
"I am only going to say this once - don't draw your damned swords here. And enough about that cursed vigilante. The Bow Runners are after him too, ten to one. If you ask me, that's all a hum and he's just some idiot trying to break into our trade."
The sounds of swords being re-sheathed rang a metallic note in the air. As they sat down again, Gilbert thoughtfully looked through the window. He gave a shout.
"Tis Francis! I can see the silhouette of a horse!"
Antonio hurried to the window and demanded, "The package? Do you see the diamonds? Wait, are you sure that this is not some foul Runner?"
"No, devil take it, it's too dark to see any parcels. But it's Francis, for certain. I can make out a hat larger than my head."
The figure of the horseman drew nearer and nearer, and even through the curtain of rain, they felt something was amiss with Francis. Often, after a successful job, Francis was apt to stroll back with a wench - or two - or three. For him to flee back - and it was flight, make no mistake - meant something was badly wrong.
The door burst open.
"Help ... me ...."
The blonde man collapsed on the floor of the inn. A pool of blood began forming around him; quickly they lifted him onto the table. The inn-keeper bent by the side of the blonde, whose face was dreadfully pale.
"Who was it? The Runners?"
"It was ... it was ..." The blonde man's face was so white with loss of blood that they could almost see it glowing queerly in the darkness.
"...The ..."
And the door banged open again.
"The Brows! It's the Brows! It's ... him ..."
---
Unlike the Rome trip, I didn't draw much in Vienna because I was tired, and prepping for igiko's commission; these are a couple of failed ones. For some reason I was failing quite badly at drawing England.
And pirate England for her birthday:
+ a random 5-minute Prussia I included on a note for another commission
---
Kink meme fill with reference to this, I was brainwashed into doing it because of the cracktastic video. it was quite rushed, I think I can't handle rushing comics, or indeed anything at all. =_=;;
Actually, what does Canada's Curly Wurly ahoge represent... ...Quebec? Toronto? Prince Edward Island??
Drunk England in pub telling his children's life stories to the barkeep ('∀` )
---
"Oh, grandmother, what thick brows you have!"
Red Riding Hood where the, er, 'heroine' is scarier than the wolf, for panthael_angel
P.S. comrade, I used the tutorial over at love_and_tea to make the lineart for this.
...
Yeah, I'll catch up with my flist by the end of next week, I promise. OTL
AFTER THIS, NO MORE DISTRACTIONS EXCEPT FOR FRENCH NATIONAL DAY, I WILL FINISH ST GEORGE AND EITHER O! TRAGIC LOVE/GILBERT AND THE AWESOME POSSUMS.
Box, I started sketching (for real) for your visual novel thing, but that's all the progress I can report so far. orz
Boss, I think I'll be doing the single cover of "I want to xxxx you in Paris, mon amour" (Francis Bonnefoy for the Awesome Possums) for French National Day. I sure as hell won't make it in time if I draw what I was originally planning to draw...
Basically I have been sleeping, eating (a lot, this is Malaysia after all), reading (usually degenerates into sleeping at some point), not going on lj (streamyx "broadband" doesn't load lj 8 times out of 10) and doing the whole family-friends-social-outings thing.
But mainly, the whole problem with being at home is that I'm at home where I have about four other people in this house filling in my waking hours with "eh come help cook/bake/hold this for me/make me coffee/talk to me/watch tv with me/follow me to market/etc".
...What happened to my "free time during the holidays!" sobbbbbb
ALSO I HAVE AN ISSUE WITH HOW MPH ONE UTAMA HAD NO AGATHA CHRISTIE ON ITS SHELVES. HOW CAN YOU NOT HAVE ANY AGATHA CHRISTIE ON YOUR SHELVES MPH. "AGATHA CHRISTIE WRITING AS MARY WESTMACOTT" DOES NOT COUNT THERE ARE NO INVENTIVE WAYS OF KILLING ENGLISH PEERS OR MYSTERIOUS DEATHS ON THE BEACH AND/OR QUIET COUNTRY BACKWATER. Why do you fail my plebeian tastes, MPH? All I ask is a little Poirot, a smidgen of Marple. Oh snap I would probably even have bought a Tommy & Tuppence, my craving for Christie seems to have escalated now that I am in a country where there is no library with a couple of shelves full of them and a borrowing limit of 20 books.
And, uh, ah... in the meantime, more Arthur? It's stuff that's been stockpiled since the end of June, please be warned.
Durians are in season now :D so have a durian joke:
Somewhat related notes:
I'm certain that the durian gag has been employed before in Hetalia terms, somewhere, somehow. This is a DV twist, though.
There was indeed a brutal killing of a Resident (according to Pahlawan Pasir Salak he certainly had it coming) in the Malay States and it was indeed done while he was bathing but... not with a durian obviously lol they were not in season
Many works of Khmer (Cambodian) art are now in Paris (where they are admittedly taken good care of). Later on the French colonials had a change of heart and outlawed looting (one of the most famous cases was perpetrated by André Malraux), instead restoring the temples and statues in situ.
---
...The best way I can think of to describe this thing is "It was a dark and stormy night" taken to ridiculous levels x The Reverend Dr Syn.
*cue theme song of the 1970s Disney adaptation*
I was allowed to post the pictures up by nomnomnim, I originally drew the large single one as a commission, and the comic was done for fun. Yes, yes, she takes the credit for the whole concept of Dr Arthur-Christopher Syn-Kirkland chasing down that no-good French smuggler Bonnefoy.
panthael_angel came up with the comic and accompanying text (below). The luminous eyebrows were my idea.
Look, it's gone to a good home. :D
The following text (expanded version of the comic with more Prussia and Spain) can be ignored, I just put it there so that when I go through my archive of rot aka the hetalia tag on my lj I can find everything grouped nicely together by theme.
The storm raged without ceasing in the dark sky; flashes of lightning were the only relief from the harsh gloom. It was not a pleasant night, not even by the fireside. Too dark, too elemental was this for causeless fear to be alleviated by mere warmth and cups of tea.
Inside an old, ramshackle inn by the junction, there were three men. One was a cheerful-looking middle-aged man who was washing down the ale mugs; the other two sat lounging in the common room of the inn. An ignorant observer, seeing their grim faces and tough demeanours, would have counselled the man washing the glasses to flee and lock himself in the barn as protection, but they would have been wrong - fatally erroneous. The villagers and the Bow Runners avoided this man, a man who was rumoured to have slit the throats of more than a hundred people with the same smile he used as he cleaned the inn.
Thunder rumbled.
The silver-haired man stirred from his chair. He looked up.
"Surely Francis is taking rather long for a simple pick up? Have we been betrayed?" His accent indicated his Germanic origins.
The dark-haired man stiffened a trifle and his pose shifted to that of a wary predator. He looked at the inn-keeper, who shook his head.
"There be none around here who dares cross my will, and 'sides, no one will betray the Gentlemen. Tis likely the rain. The roads are uncommon difficult these times, even for Frankie."
"You know Francis hates being called Frankie," The dark-haired man's voice was not English - rather it seemed Latin.
"While he drinks good English ale and plys his trade on England's shores, he can damn well use a less pretentious name than Francis." He spat the name out as if it was a curse. "It's a fucking frog's name, and he can use a solid English one, Tony."
Neither of them felt up to the task of pointing out for what would be perhaps the hundredth time that Francis was a name in England too, or that a more appropriate nickname for Antonio would be Tonio instead of Tony. Instead they lapsed back into moody silence. The crackling fire only highlighted glimpses of scars and old wounds on their arms and hands. Tony sharpened a wicked little dagger that gleamed in the light. Stretching his arms, he saw a tomato on the wooden bar. Without hesitation, he threw the dagger as gracefully as a ballet dancer going through practice - it flew through the air and pierced the tomato so cleanly that its juice did not even stain the bar.
"Top that, Gilly?"
"Don't you fucking call me Gilly, you fucking bastard, I'll tear out your guts. Either call me Gilbert or O Great One! You can even call me Gilbert the Great!"
"... How come he doesn't get a good, solid English name?" This was directed to the inn-keeper.
"Gilbert is a good enough name already. My sister's son is named Gilbert, y'know."
"It's an AWESOME name. The GREATEST name. The Bow Runners cower when they hear that Gilbert is out riding in the nights! They cringe in the darkness as they fear the might of Gilbert, the Legendary Gentleman Smuggler!"
"You did not seem so composed when you almost lost to that cloaked vigilante."
"Why you - draw your sword, Tony."
"I never decline, Gilly."
The slamming of glasses startled both men - sufficiently to realise that Jim was looking extremely dangerous.
"I am only going to say this once - don't draw your damned swords here. And enough about that cursed vigilante. The Bow Runners are after him too, ten to one. If you ask me, that's all a hum and he's just some idiot trying to break into our trade."
The sounds of swords being re-sheathed rang a metallic note in the air. As they sat down again, Gilbert thoughtfully looked through the window. He gave a shout.
"Tis Francis! I can see the silhouette of a horse!"
Antonio hurried to the window and demanded, "The package? Do you see the diamonds? Wait, are you sure that this is not some foul Runner?"
"No, devil take it, it's too dark to see any parcels. But it's Francis, for certain. I can make out a hat larger than my head."
The figure of the horseman drew nearer and nearer, and even through the curtain of rain, they felt something was amiss with Francis. Often, after a successful job, Francis was apt to stroll back with a wench - or two - or three. For him to flee back - and it was flight, make no mistake - meant something was badly wrong.
The door burst open.
"Help ... me ...."
The blonde man collapsed on the floor of the inn. A pool of blood began forming around him; quickly they lifted him onto the table. The inn-keeper bent by the side of the blonde, whose face was dreadfully pale.
"Who was it? The Runners?"
"It was ... it was ..." The blonde man's face was so white with loss of blood that they could almost see it glowing queerly in the darkness.
"...The ..."
And the door banged open again.
"The Brows! It's the Brows! It's ... him ..."
---
Unlike the Rome trip, I didn't draw much in Vienna because I was tired, and prepping for igiko's commission; these are a couple of failed ones. For some reason I was failing quite badly at drawing England.
And pirate England for her birthday:
+ a random 5-minute Prussia I included on a note for another commission
---
Kink meme fill with reference to this, I was brainwashed into doing it because of the cracktastic video. it was quite rushed, I think I can't handle rushing comics, or indeed anything at all. =_=;;
Actually, what does Canada's Curly Wurly ahoge represent... ...Quebec? Toronto? Prince Edward Island??
Drunk England in pub telling his children's life stories to the barkeep ('∀` )
---
"Oh, grandmother, what thick brows you have!"
Red Riding Hood where the, er, 'heroine' is scarier than the wolf, for panthael_angel
P.S. comrade, I used the tutorial over at love_and_tea to make the lineart for this.
...
Yeah, I'll catch up with my flist by the end of next week, I promise. OTL
AFTER THIS, NO MORE DISTRACTIONS EXCEPT FOR FRENCH NATIONAL DAY, I WILL FINISH ST GEORGE AND EITHER O! TRAGIC LOVE/GILBERT AND THE AWESOME POSSUMS.
Box, I started sketching (for real) for your visual novel thing, but that's all the progress I can report so far. orz
Boss, I think I'll be doing the single cover of "I want to xxxx you in Paris, mon amour" (Francis Bonnefoy for the Awesome Possums) for French National Day. I sure as hell won't make it in time if I draw what I was originally planning to draw...