Did some work on coloring this guy today… Basic colors down, fancy stuff next.
[WIP] Frostbite.
Apr 25
[WIP] Fisting II
Apr 25
Previous / First [nsfw]
I’m really liking the way this picture’s coming out. A couple of folk at last week’s furmeet thought I was coming along pretty well with it as well… still a ways to go, though.
Modi.
Apr 25
[WIP] Myces page 5
Apr 14
Apparently I haven’t posted any progress on this page yet?
Well, there hasn’t been much done in a while, though I did get some done this week.
NSFW (M/M, tentacocks) below cut… »
WIP – Modi.
Apr 12
Did a bit of work on this the other day. I had to move his hand because I couldn’t make it look right where it was; turns out it’s actually too big to fit into those pockets, which I suppose are the sort of decorative flaps you see sometimes.
And yes, his wings are too small. I thought I had measured them and they were supposed to be right, but I was oh so terribly wrong! Will have to work on that at next touch.
[scrap] Shine.
Apr 6
Another old scrap from an old notebook—
Thunder woke me up in the middle of the night, and Jan had already gone. Â I rolled up my pack, figuring I’d get moving before the rain hit. Â The donut shop at the edge of the park was open all night and usually quiet.
In fact there was nobody there but Jeff behind the counter.  He shaded his eyes as I came in—even though I was half asleep, my light was the brightest in the place.
“Hey Shine,” he said, reaching under the counter. Â “The usual?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking my seat facing the wall. Â He brought me a tray with a dozen jelly donuts.
It started raining.
“You know, tiger,” he said, sitting across from me. Â “I’m sure you’d have a place of your own by now if you eased up on the food a bit.”
“Man,” I said, “I’ve told ya, you have no idea what it’s like when this light burns down.”
I tore into the donuts.
[scrap] Kohath.
Apr 6
Old scrap, from old notebook—
I sat on the curb with Loukas, waiting for the rain to pass.  The other wolf twirled the umbrella he held and talked… or rambled, rather, in his way.  I didn’t bother to listen–mainly he just goes on to hear himself speak.
[partim] Piñata.
Mar 31
The coughing shook me harder and I kept spitting up confetti for about four or five minutes before I ran dry.
The fit stopped shortly after, and I sank to hands and knees, exhausted.
I didn’t want to move.
I knew I had to.
And then, suddenly, I couldn’t.
The stiffness I thought was cold had permeated me, and now my joints wouldn’t respond.
A breeze picked up and I felt—or rather, I heard it rustle through my fur.
That’s not right.
I heard my hide flapping as the wind went past.
The wind started pushing me back. It wasn’t blowing that hard, was it?
My arms and legs scraped across the ground as I drifted across the sidewalk.
[partim] Mori.
Mar 31
I sort of lay there a while, trying to get over the pain in my foot. Munk came over and stood over me.
“All right, I think I’m not going to be able to walk any further from here,†I said.
The golem picked me up and started walking towards the gate of the arena. I didn’t know where exactly he had in mind to take me, but golems don’t get lost, so I trusted and shut my eyes to think about the pain.
After about five seconds I realized this was not the best use of my time. “You wouldn’t have anything for a broken foot?â€
Munk turned around.
[scrap] Taaq.
Mar 18
It wasn’t long after I’d gotten up that the message came through—that annoying, steady, high-pitched beep in my head was probably one of the things I hate most about the network these days.
When I was younger, I’d learned that our great-grandparents didn’t have the network in their heads—it was something the Lunars and the Martians brought in from off-world. Back then, I still thought being connected to planets and planets full of aliens and strange sights was a great thing; these times I’d gladly give it up, but I have an obligation now.
The message was a reminder of that obligation. It wasn’t another little human from Earth wanting me interviewed for a school paper—it was an update from the diarists.
Usually it was just a reminder they were still working: “168 hours recorded, ready to process.â€
Always “Ready to process.†They’d said I wouldn’t see much in the way of finished product from them during my lifetime—mostly it takes a finished life to tell the big picture, and recording me and my thoughts all the time takes a lot of time to work through anyway.
I turned out my lamp and rolled over on my back to watch what the alien diarists had put together. Off-worlders always just close their eyes to read the network, but the sky of Frontier is a dark enough background for me.
What they’d sent was basically a preface—for all the people who don’t know about Frontier, it was kind of a history or introduction to the world. But of course since it was for off-worlders, it started with the colonization of our world. I’d hoped there’d be more icebear history to survive—but I knew there wouldn’t be, not really. When I’d sat in the stifling hot classrooms in my youth, they’d not had anything before themselves. My mother’d taught me what she could, but she didn’t have anything past her own grandparents. Before that, I guess, we all lived solitary lives on the ocean.
Hah, the classrooms! I hadn’t thought about those in ages. The off-worlders all came, or at least originated, from Earth, a warmer and a brighter world. I don’t think any of them could actually survive on Frontier without all those superheated buildings of theirs, and the bulky clothing—I had to wear some of that, even in the heat—