Archive for November 27th, 2011
#25 “Bob”
Victor was shoveling the snow on the biggest snow-storm of the century..when suddenly something mysterious appears on his yard. Since then he has been spending alot more time outdoors than usual …and when his suspecting mom questions him, he simply tells her that hes met a new friend named “Bob.” His mom doesn’t fret much-so long as he still gets his shoveling done.
*Continuation character to Victor (day 24!)
#14 – Walter Wide
Walter will brighten your day.
He’s generous, happy, and gay.
But its generally expected,
when food is detected,
you don’t want to be in his way.
#9 – Shapeshifter
Just a quick shapeshifter character, something that hops from one person’s dream to another. It doesn’t have any sort of true from but eventually it adapts to whatever dream it’s contained in.
No. 24- November Rayne: Private Investigator
Name: November Rayne (seriously)
Age: 30
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Occupation: Private Investigator/ Ass-Kicker
Short Background:
Life is tough for a P.I. Especially when you have a similar name to a popular adult actress. Just one of the many problems November faced as she tried to make her way through the seedy underworld of Olympia Hills. She’s multilingual, she speaks “money” and “justice”. She has few friends in this world. The closest two are her .45 and Jeff, the blind saxophonist who doubles as her informant. It’s a tough game, but November doesn’t worry because she knows how to play. In the city of Olympia Hills, nothing is colder than sweet November Rayne.
No. 23- Rena Yamamoto
Name: Rena Yamamoto
Age: 22
Ethnicity: Japanese-American
Occupation: Teacher/ Novelist
Short Background:
Since she was a little girl, Rena has always wanted to see the city where her parents grew up in Japan. The fact that they never really spoke about it only seemed to strengthen her resolve to see it. When she found out that there was a program for teaching English in the very city, she jumped at the chance. She applied without even letting her parents know until it was too late.
Now, she is miles away from home and seeing everything her parents kept from her. She is excited about learning more about her culture and for once not standing out like a sore thumb. She hopes that perhaps she can write a book about the experience, but will she feel the same way if she finds out the real reason her parents left?
Soba Phantom
In Iwate Prefecture, Japan, a famous regional food is wanko soba, soba being buckweat noodles, and wanko soba being a specialty style of eating: challengers attempt to eat 100 small bowls of soba in one sitting. Anyone who tries the challenge is offered bowl after bowl from a waitress standing close by, relentlessly pushing bowls onto the diner, regardless of whether he is trying to tell her he has had enough.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wanko_soba
This is the wanko soba phantom. She appears only for a brief second in dark corners or dim corridors. She appears to people who feel like they have been pushed to their limits, physically, emotionally or mentally, and are about to snap. She says nothing, but for the individuals unlucky enough to see her and about to be pushed into complete breakdown her message is clear:
“just one more”
No. 22- Ben Willis
Name: Ben Willis
Age: 22
Ethnicity: African-American
Occupation: Teacher/Aspiring Rapper
Short Background:
Ben never really planned on teaching abroad, much less traveling in general. All he really wanted to do was hang out with his friends, work on mixtapes, and graduate college. However, when life throws him a curve ball, he is given the opportunity to set his life straight. Now he’s miles away from home in a place he doesn’t necessarily want to be, surrounded by people he doesn’t know. Only time will tell if he ends up doing well or burning out.
# 27 – Invento
Invento is a short little fellow who can invent nearly anything he can think of.
<Creator comments:Â Invento was inspired by the shape of a Rainbow vacuum cleaner.>
[In 1974, at the age of 12, I drew a series of “comic books” detailing the adventures of Merrill, a 15-year-old human boy, in the Other Land, an invisible dimension which co-exists with our own. The characters I am submitting throughout the 30 Days are the inhabitants of the Other Land.]
#27 – Sargeant Major
An ally, Sargent Major is a good guy to have around in a tussle. Brave, courageous, morally upright. Foibles are naivety and blind faith – also an asset.
Day 26: Pan Umbekyoku
Character #26, Pan Umbekyoku. He’s been in the makings for a while, but he looked different then.
Pan is the son of another OC of mine, Laida Umbekyoku. He’s not a full breed Ice Wyvern like her, which is why his hair has a bit of a greenish tint to it. Pan’s a little boy, around 7 or so, but he’s a bit smart for his age. Laida made his outfit to look similar to her’s.
In Ice Wyvern form, he stands at 10 feet tall, which is just about smaller than child size for an Ice Wyvern. He’s smaller because he’s not a full breed.
#24 Wixits
Wixits defy simple explanation as every story of them varies. They seem to be a sprite/gnome type race. They enjoy tricks but they can be very focused. If you see a wixit it usually means something very strange is going on whether they are directly involved in it or not.
#27 – Ishtar called Spiritbane – Outcast Aethermancer
One Drop
“You have to concentrate, Ishtar. Your Shikai state is unfocused. Your sword is an extension of your arm. Your Shikai is an extension of your aether. Shikai binds your sword to your will and to your aether, a triumvirate of power.” My father’s words cut deeply because I wanted so badly to please him. My two brothers were much older than I was and had already mastered my father’s training. Moliki trained me from the time I could walk and Deniki took turns when Moliki was on missions for my father.
They were both excellent teachers and had inherited all of father’s patience. They were also excellent swordmasters but there was something in them that did not let them achieve the Bankai state. Despite that, they had almost no equals among my father’s students, able to defeat even the two or three who could summon the Bankai and extend their aether energies into amazing feats of magic. What Moliki and Deniki lacked in Bankai, they made up for with sheer mastery of their weapons, sword and spear, mace and rod. They were engines of destruction who taught me everything they could about fighting, footwork, combat magic, and Shumpo.
Their secret was Shumpo, called the flash-step by foreign warriors who hired my family as spies, mercenary, or aethermancers. They could use Shumpo even without a Bankai. In that way, they were unique. It seemed to run in the family as I learned to use the flash step by the time I was seven. I thought I was so special when I discovered I could use this power. I had never seen either of my brother use it, so I thought I had discovered something unique. I did not tell anyone for weeks and practiced it until I could call it and use it at will.
While my brothers were practicing I would sneak past them and snatch their weapons away or hide their tools when they were working. First they were there and then they weren’t. Imagine my surprise when I stopped running only to see them standing before me with their hands out. We would flash-step everywhere and I learned it had limitations, but for them, they were able to do things with it, I still can’t.
“Now, concentrate.” My father appeared to be an ageless man, of solid sinew and a steely will. His morning regimen which he had not missed in all of the time I had known him, all eighteen years, was a two hour session, filled with grace, speed and power. Some mornings with weapons, others without. Sometimes alone, others with my brothers and now lately with me.
I reveled in his attentions, at first, but the more time I spent with him, I began to realize there was something he was looking for in me, that I could not see. He was relentless. We trained every morning, sometimes until the sun was high in the sky of Qing, and sweat ran down our bodies in rivers. More mine than his. His black skin, like coal would shine and glisten but would only being to sweat when the sun was at the peak. I was sweating by mid-morning and he gave me no release.
“Channel the aether. Summon it up from the ground. It is everywhere but you have to be able to concentrate it around you. Draw it from everywhere you dance. As you dance, you should be weaving the circle and attracting it to where you battle. Do you see it?”
“Yes, father. I see you have created the circle while you danced and now aether moves from outside of us, toward it.” I had dropped into the second sight to better see how his dance created the power-sink which moved the energy of chi or aether into a controlled pattern that could be harnessed by our swords or our bodies for a variety of effects.
“From here as the circle has been drawn and the sword begins the Shikai dance you will be able to enhance your body’s efficiency, speed, accuracy. This is why we cannot simply jump to Shikai with a terrible price in our personal energy stores. It is always best to use the early battle time to draw the energy of Shikai from your opponents and the world around you. Now attack me.” His voice brooked no disobedience and I immediately complied.
He moved his hand in a flashing motion and then deflected my blade with his open hand. His hand was surrounded by aether and my blade rebounded with an audible clang as if it had struck an armor. Since he had not told me to stop, I continued my assault, my mind focused on both his attack and my need to build to my Shikai state. I noticed he moved in a way to prevent me from creating a greater circle which would draw aether faster, so I contented myself with created a minor circle inside just a few steps and use the air as my medium for my aether matrix. My sword flashed with one hand and my left drew my matrix in the air around me. I could feel him trying to unmake my matrix but as the defender, he had a harder time, since aether moved toward the aggressive mind first and I used that to my advantage.
“Good, good. You are not allowing me to define your field of battle. I can feel your matrix building. But you are taking too long. Your enemy may not give you as much time.” He switched from defense to offense and his open palm strike was lightning quick as he stepped into my attack. His blow tried to push me from my feet, but I could sense his change at the last second and while I slid backward, I did not lose my footing.
But he did not let me rest. His follow redirected my energy that was resisting him, by coming alongside with his Shumpo, and using his free hand, he gripped me for a throw and hurled me in my resisting direction.Tricked into this state, I could do nothing to prevent it, so I relented and allowed him to complete his attack, as he hurled me away, I flipped over mid throw and struck at his face, disrupting his balance and weakening his throw. He, of course, deflected but this let me hit the wall of our training area, foot first.
“Shikai.” My whisper contracted the aether bound into my matrix into me and I exploded from the wall, leaving cracks and ruptures from where my feet pushed away from it. I flew at my father like a arrow, sword first. I could see him standing there, weaving the aether around him with a speed I did not know was possible. But I could see my sword being able to reach him. I knew that I would. I could see my blade slipping past his defenses and spearing him in the chest. This was apparent to me as I streaked toward him, but I knew if I did anything less than my best, he would be angry. I could feel the moment stretching out, slowing down, crystallizing into certainty.
My sword touched his chest and he did not appear to move. I drove my blade forward and suddenly he was gone. This was not Shumpo. Shumpo has a signature energy that lingers even as the target leaves the area, an afterimage of chi. He disappeared. There was blood on the very tip of my blade. Only a drop. But I guess today, that was enough. Practice was over.
Aethermancer-‘One Drop’ © 2011, Thaddeus Howze
First Appearance: Ishtar called Spiritbane appears in the novella Aethermancer, a tale of conflict between the magical East and the technological West. Two untested warriors of an age confront a mechanized evil from the West called the Clockwork King. He combines the best of the magic of the East and the technology of the West in a way that drives the world before his army in flames. With the greatest sorcerers and warrior-kings slain, these cultural enemies must overcome their antipathy to protect the Land and its people.
#24 Caleb Wash – Patient
I don’t know at what point I gave up the fight, but I do know that it was long before I actually stopped fighting.
For months, I had been feeling out of sorts. My punches weren’t as fast or as strong, barely knocking criminals over as opposed to when I could send them through a wall by accident. And then a couple of real punks, the type that I would have wiped the floor with a few years ago, were suddenly slipping in under my guard and gave me a beating.
At first I thought that it was some evil plot. Maybe Enchantra had cast some spell on me, or the Toxin had managed to slip me one of his custom-created concoctions. So I went after them. I beat down doors and chased leads, until I found them and made them talk. But they didn’t know anything. No plot or scheme, just a bunch of super-crooks that found themselves up the creek.
I went to the doctors, but they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. I was the picture of health. I was better than that even. How could a man that could outrun a cheetah and then bench-press a Buick possibly be sick? All of their tests agreed that I was as strong and fast as I always was, maybe even more so. But still every night I went out, I came back bruised and beaten.
It was one of those thugs that finally clued me in on it. He’d been purse-snatching when I slammed him into a wall. He bounced right back up and pulled a knife. He laid me a good one across the chest before I put him out.
When the police showed up and carted him away, he looked at me and said, “Crazy man jumping at the knife like that.†I thought about it. Had I actually jumped for the blade? Did I want to get hurt? Was that why I wasn’t doing so hot lately?
That night, I opened up the phonebook and worked my way down the list of headshrinkers until I found one that would make an appointment.
I’ve been in therapy for six months now, and I am doing much better. I don’t go out on the streets anymore. Instead I devote myself to more constructive uses of my powers, building up the city instead of tearing it down.
#26 – Centurion Vedius Calvus – Roman Champion
Dark God’s Gambit
Two empires waged an epic war for four hundred years. They raised mighty armies, one wild, savage, filled with monsters, both human and those from the Dark World. The other, fought with god-forged armor and brilliant precision. They were gifted with magic by their Cold Gods, inhuman and merciless. Their battles destroyed everything they touched, leaving the world a shell. Their mighty armies devastated, only tiny remnants remained. But their gods were not satisfied with this. Their magics bound together tightly by the continued warfare, one side would be forced to destroy the other to release magic back to the world. Each side sought to prepare a final champion, a representative who would end the war, by destroying the other.
The druid finished his invocation, his voice croaking with the day long effort. The rift opened and the stench of the Dark Realm came forth. He despised his master for assigning him this task. There were plenty of lesser acolytes who could have done this. His master had begun to suspect his loyalty, so he tied him up here with the summoning knowing he would have to be here all day.
The troll shambled forth, covered with blue sigils, a giant easily twelve hands high with legs as wide as a man’s chest. Its massive chest was as huge as the great oaks of the Forbidden Forests. It skin was dark green with hard armor plates on its arms, chest legs and back. Its head was covered in sharp spiked ridges that covered everything but its neck. It steamed and smoked, covered with poisonous ichor caused by the transition boundary between worlds. A sticky oil, it would dissipate in a few days. During that time, even its touch was death.
There were several grenchen with it, smaller, less intelligent cousins who made up for their lack of size with an enthusiasm for combat. Their greenish-brown skin was also scaled and rigid. Their over-sized heads had low brow ridges that covered their eyes. Each was armed with a spiked stone club, carried casually over their shoulders.
“We’s here. Getting paid is we?” The grenchen language skills were atrocious, they always were. Trolls hardly ever spoke. Grenchen seemed to interpret for them.
“Over there.” He pointed at the cages. Roman peasants huddled in the darkness. “Eat until your hearts content. Then head south until you reach the village.
The screams were tortured and brief. The crunching of the bones was far worse than the screams. The druid turns away and begins to head north.
“Pay not finished.”
“What are you talking about creature, my master told me you wanted the blood and souls of two score. You’ve had them, now be about your business.”
The grenchen hefted their clubs and hurled them, with great force and malice, at the druid. Without effort, he erected a mage-shield by waving his hand. Blood magic was all that was left to the druids of Gaul, but he had contented himself with a sweet young thing earlier in the evening. She had blood enough for two. Contempt was written in his sneer. Five clubs struck the shield and rebounded. The sixth struck the druid square in the face, killing him instantly. The grenchen boss walked over to his club and removed the garland around the head.
“Price be two score and one.” Said the boss grenchen picking up his large wooden club. Dark Master kept word, holly plant crossed shield as promised. “Its been long time since we last had druid.”
* * *
Centurion Vedius Calvus blinked the blood from his eyes. The troll and his minions had destroyed the village and now his men were down as well. They had wounded it but that only lent to its fury. Seeing the centurion rise to his feet, the troll lumbered toward him, roaring. He dropped his broken shield and tightened his grip on his gladius, its ichor-slicked pommel hot in his hand. He nodded in supplication.”Mars, I am ready.”
With Vedius having killed its lesser minions, the creature approached warily. With its immense size and long arms, it had a decided reach advantage and knew it. It crouched, waving its hands trying to draw him into combat. Vedius stood and circled around the creature, beating back its iron-like claws as it tried to find an opening. It was fast despite its size. His ripostes only bounced off bony ridges on its forearms with a weak clang. The village was silent, their grunts of exertion and quickly shuffling feet were the only sounds now. Vedius was bleeding badly and knew he did not have much time. Their exchanges were more vigorous as the creature sensed his weakening, and grew more bold.
Without a shield, he parried with his with his gladius, a poor tool for that purpose. The blade rang with the force of the blows. The creature surged forward, striking him hard, the blow numbing his arm. The force of it caused him to stumble and the troll slammed into him. It followed through with its right claw, ripping through his defending bracer, and knocking it off of the centurion’s arm. Vedius was knocked off his feet and landed heavily on his back.
Stunned, his armor, hot and heavy holds him down as the booming steps of the overconfident troll shake the ground. Its shadow loomed over him as it reached for him. Its huge hand got a vice-like grip, pressing him into the ground. The centurion wakes, jarred back to reality, strikes out snake-like, hitting the troll in its leg as he is lifted from the ground. Its howl of agony echoed throughout the village. Vedius, still reeling from its grip on his neck, tightens his muscles as the troll lunges forward to bite the centurion on his shoulder. Vedius shouts “adsum, qui feci” and drives his sword through the neck of the troll. Its blood gushes skyward and covers Vedius as it toppled over onto him, crushing the last of the air from his lungs.
When the rest of his men found him hours later, he was close to death. They built a fire, burned the dead and wait for him to die. They burned the dead with their homes, keeping only what they needed to wait for the Centurion to pass into the next life. He burned with fever but did not die.
In the spirit world between worlds, the Centurion stood naked before Mars, with his fist raised. “Let me die, Lord Mars. I have served. My time is done. You promised me my freedom.”
“I lied. You pledged yourself to me. I tell you when to die.” Mars waved his hand as he dispelled the soul of his champion back to his body. The Dark Gods would be coming soon. His champion would need his rest in the days ahead. He was still not ready.
Vedius woke, weak as a kitten and mad as hell. His men rejoiced, their numbers already too small, any victory was a good one. Soon after, they broke camp and returned home, confident of their victory and their belief in the end of the War.
Back at the burning village, the smoldering bones of the troll drew upon the sacrifice of its grenchen, the sinew and souls of the villagers and began to be rebuilt, forged in blood and sacrifice. The creature had been altered, tortured, it’s very bones etched with the final strength of the Dark Gods. As its bones were knit back together, they merged with the stone and the bronze of the armors left here.
The bronze flowed into the sigils filling them with the forces of the god-forged weapons, adding their strength to its infernal own. Its skeleton rose from the ashes, covered in fiery sigils. Now a golem, it was beyond Death, and proof against magic, as was foretold. With their magics bound, the Cold Gods would have no chance. Its fiery steps headed south toward their mountain stronghold, Olympus.
Thus ended the First Age.
Dark God’s Gambit ©Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved
About the Artist: The piece was a commission and is called Bahamutas. It was created by Gerald Ramos Fernadez, known as *rhardo by his fans on deviantART. An accomplished artist in the Philippines, he creates superheroes on contract. His work features bold colors, excellent detail and a wide array of subject matter. He is one of my favs on deviantART.
#27 The Azure Ninja
“Training, training, training! Blarg! I’m sick of training. When do I get to kill someone?”
A N
27 – Flashpoint by Beausephus
CHARACTER NAME: Â Flashpoint
DATE OF CREATION: 1991-92
CONCEPT: Â After discovering an ability to turn light energy in heat energy, Flashpoint is severely burned but dedicates himself to improving himself and mastering his abilities. Â He becomes a member of a superhuman Military task force and finds the methodology to use his powers for the good of all… by putting on a costume that hides his hideously deformed face and downplays the severe damage his abilities are capable of. Â He uses the reflective surface of his knives to focus his abilities making his trademark, knives blazing with fire.
___________________
The original design of the Flashpoint character featured all the colors above but the “chainmail” armor was essentially a full on shirt of scales, with bright orange tatter tied to the limbs with matching yellow gloves and boots. Â The character also featured the exact same mask as above. Â While the backstory remains almost the same, I’m pretty sure I made him disfigured so that I would not have to draw a face, it being easier for my sixth grade self to draw full face masks. Â The orignal design also featured a bandolier of knives.
So I tried to stay true to the basic orignal design of the character, and given that this post was a bit rushed, I only altered a few design aspects. Â I got rid fo the tattered ribbon as a character who uses fire might not want flammable materials whipping about in the wind all around him. Â Instead of full on knives I made him some stylized throwing knives.
Thanks for checking out my stuff,
Beausephus
#27 Number 27
To those that care, yes that drawing is of me. Read on people.
Number 27 is my codename and I work alone. I am a lot of things to a lot of people. A spy. A sharpshooter. A moron. A nerd. Whatever you wanna call me, it’s all good. I also was a genetic experiment created by someone I don’t know. I don’t even know how I was created by someone important and why. Enemy forces of all trades want me dead. Even Law Enforcement of all kinds have refused to help me because of the risk involved. All I have to do is trust my instincts and figure out a way to get my memories and my life back before someone or something will happen to me.
Height:6’2 Weight:246 lbs Age:39
Powers:
Hand to hand combat.
Personality:
Confident , sometimes tend to draws himself away from others, willing to do what it takes.
#26 Vhars
Day 26, Vhars, an absentminded one, yet has a deep understanding of the world of where he lives. He once had a keeper, and he hardly recalls it, but he thinks his knowledge stemmed from his experiences with this keeper. He also recalls an intense love he felt while with this keeper, but he can no longer remember who he/she was. They disappeared long ago, probably from a war of liberation.
#25 – Lupo – The Lion of Mexico
The Lions of Mexico
Manuel Rivera woke to the blue sky of Pacifico, Chihuahua, feeling old and just a bit tired. He could see the cloudless sky from his bed and was grateful for being able to open his eyes one more day. He kissed his crucifix, and thanked God for his blessing.
His wife Consuela was already up making breakfast. Her breakfast smelled good and he wondered how she managed to sneak out of bed without his noticing again. The late nights watching the garage were taking their toll. He was simply too old to be staying up past ten o’clock anymore.
Sitting up, he got up and shuffled to the cocina to see how breakfast was coming.
“Put some clothes on, Papa, and come eat breakfast.â€
“Did it happen again?â€
“Don’t worry about that right now. Eat breakfast, then worry about the garage.â€
“I don’t know what to do, Mama. I was awake until eleven. I was sure they would not be back.â€
“First things first. You can worry better on a full stomach. Clean up, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.â€
Manuel went back upstairs and washed up in the bathroom sink. They broke in again. What did they steal this time? It wasn’t like he had a lot. His little garage and storefront had some tools, auto products, snack foods, and assorted items that the neighborhood wanted when they did not want to go to the supermarket further in town. This little store had been part of his retirement plan, and until the young hoodlums started harassing the neighborhood, it was perfect.
Manuel liked being a fixture in the neighborhood. He got to see the children growing up and his son and daughter, while they lived in Pacifico, lived on the other side of town, just far away enough for him and Consuela to feel independent. He was going to solve this problem without his son’s help.
After eating breakfast he surveyed the damage. They climbed the fence into the yard and broke the door into the storefront. Once inside they stole some of his tools from the garage and food from the store. And they made such a mess. He spent the better part of an hour cleaning up before opening the garage and storefront for business. Angela arrived to help run the store while he worked in the garage on an old Chevrolet Impala that needed a tune up.
When customers waited, they would sit in the shade inside the garage and read old magazines his son would bring from the library where he worked. His customers appreciated having something to read while they waited. Manuel was not a slow worker. He knew his way around anything with wheels, but sometimes things take as long as they take. He never rushed, and they never hurried him.
When he was finished with the Impala, he looked over at the pile of magazines and saw an issue of National Geographic. Their feature was ‘Los Leones del Serengueti.’
“That’s what I need. If I had my own lion, no one would ever break in here again.†Then he had an idea.
“Mama, does Manuelito still have that ugly yellow dog with the long dirty fur?â€
“Si, Papa, but I thought you hated that thing.â€
“Is he still planning to get rid of it because their apartment is too small?â€
“You know little Cielo loves the old thing and has managed to sweet-talk Manuelito into keeping it. I don’t know how much longer he will do it, though. He says the apartment smells like a zoo.â€
* * *
“But Abuelo, why can’t he stay here with me?†Cielo was using her best little girl voice. She was determined to keep her dog with her. She did not think being a guard dog was a very dignified job. She was sitting on the edge of her bed with her arms around the neck of a large dirty looking terrier mix with dusty brown fur and mournful brown eyes.
Manuel shuffled uncomfortably. In her room with all of her little girl things, he felt like such an intruder. He was not happy with the situation because it felt a little bit dishonest, but he tried to think of it as a chance to benefit everyone. “Because a dog like him needs more space to move around.â€
“Abuelo, he is very old, he barely moves at all. He stands around or sleeps almost all the time. He barely even barks.†Cielo was describing everything she thought would make him an undesirable guard dog.
“Just the same, I think your father was going to send him away. If we do this, you can come and visit him every weekend.â€
“Okay, Abuelo, if he will be safe and happy with you. I will come and see you every weekend.â€
Manuelito stood disapprovingly over this transaction, and Manuel looked sheepishly at his son. “I will take good care of him, mijo.â€
“Papa, you’re scheming again. You know he is too old to make puppies or whatever plan you have up your sleeve.â€
“When was the last time I had a scheme you didn’t approve of?â€
“When you bought that garage.â€
“And you see how well that turned out, right?â€
* * *
“Did you get everything, Angela?â€
“Si, Don Rivera, but why do you need shears and scissors?â€
“We have a project. Put the garage door down. Turn on the fan and open the car door.†Out jumped Lupo, happy to be leaving the tiny car.
“He smells terrible.â€
“I know, he will need a bath before we can make him beautiful. Let’s get to work.â€
Lupo had never been effectively bathed before. He was relatively cooperative, likely because he was too old to put up much resistance. His fur was so tangled it took nearly an hour to comb out all of the matting on his belly and hip areas. Overall, he was quite disheveled, but after three washings and rinsings, he smelled much better, and after his hair had been cleaned and combed, it was surprisingly long.
Looking around the garage, Manuel found that copy of National Geographic and opened to the centerfold of a lion from a side view. Perfect.
Hair flew everywhere and Manuel achieved a state of mania as he cut and shaped the fur on Lupo’s neck and feet. Meanwhile, Angela shaved the back end close, and the more she shaved, the more she realized how closely Lupo’s coloring did match a lion’s.
Manuel clipped and cut around the mane and the feet and the tail of Lupo for another two hours. In another life, Manuel might have been a hair stylist, for when he was done, Lupo was transformed. He was a Mexican lion.
“Angela, put the sign up, just like we talked about, and then meet me in the car.â€
Manual cleaned up the garage and papered the car windows so the back seat was invisible from the street. He ushered Lupo into the car and Lupo promptly lay down and went immediately to sleep.
As he closed the door, he hears his wife ask the question he was dreading. “Papa, why is the store closed?â€
Recovering quickly, he closes the garage door and turns back to his wife. “Uh, we are closing up early. We are going to go and get our new Mexican lion.â€
“A Mexican lion?â€
“Yes, to watch the store. Once we get a Mexican lion, people won’t dare try to rob us anymore.â€
“Papa, is this another one of your schemes?†Mama loved her husband, but at times he would tax the patience of Jesus himself.
Shaking her head, Mama went back into the house and started to make dinner. She heard the car putter off into the distance, and it was gone for about an hour. What was he talking about, Mexican lions? Does Mexico even have lions? When he came back, she was just about finished with dinner. She heard the garage door close and him getting out of the car.
She was finishing washing some salad greens when she heard the kitchen door open. “Papa, did you take Angela home? We have enough dinner for three tonight.†She turned to look at him and…
“Ay, Dios!†There was a lion in her kitchen, standing right next to her. She screamed, and Manuel came running into the kitchen.
He saw her back against the wall holding a frying pan. “No, Mama, he’s harmless. Scared you, though, didn’t he?â€
* * *
The next morning, he got up early and brought Lupo into the house. When he went to the storefront, it was as he left it.
Lupo happily ate his breakfast before retiring into the living room to sit on his large soft pillow. He liked it much better than the cold ground at night. Several times people came to visit last night, but they seemed very disturbed by something. No matter. The food here is much better than with that little girl, and I get to see her as often as I can stand her. Now if only I could get some fur to grow on my rear end, life would be perfect.â€
Lupo served as the only living Mexican lion for several years. During that time, burglars refused to come back to Manuel’s garage, and when Manuel retired for the second time as a mechanic, he found he made even more money as a pet stylist for the well-to-do in Pacifico, Chichuahua.
First Appearance: Lupo, the Lion of Mexico appears in Hayward’s Reach in the tale: The Lions of Mexico. This story was based on a true story of a store owner who did shave his dog with the goal of preventing his store from being robbed. He was successful. The picture above is the “lion” in question.
#23 Lawrence Woods – Recorder
This is the first time that I’ve actually sat down and started to write this all out. I don’t really know why I’m doing this, but Rachel and others seem to think that it will be important for those who come after us.
“Those who come after us.†How ridiculous. There aren’t any more. None. Zip. Zilch. Nada. The entire human race has been reduced down to sixteen men and women cowering in a concrete bunker on the edge of a nuclear wasteland. No food, no water, no medicine and no hope. Ten thousand years of existence and it will end here, and in the not too distant future.
But if this letter will make them feel more comfortable about the end, then I’ll do it. It’s such a small thing, and at this point small things are the only things that we have left.
No one knows who or what started it. Some people think it was one of the nuclear powers, finally getting sick and tired of sitting on their multi-billion dollar arsenals. Other claimed that it was an insurgent power. I think that it was just a stupid engineering mistake, an egghead forgetting to carry the two and creating a time bomb instead of a missile.
But we do know that the first bomb blast set off the next blast, which continued with the next one and the one after that. The countries that weren’t being hit by their own missiles were being blasted by reprisals from the countries that were.
By the time the mushroom clouds had settled, most of the Earth was a desert wasteland. But unlike in the movies, there was no mutation to allow us to survive. We didn’t have vaults of paranoid survivalists, protected from radiation and rich with the resources to rebuild. The land was poison. The air was toxic. The water was death. Nothing could live. Everything died.
Everyone except for us. Here in our cozy little bunker, eating though our rations of canned meat and dehydrated vegetables. I suppose that there could be other redoubts out there that were spared from the blast. But they would be in the same straights as us. Low on supplies and no chance of new sources.
All we can do is sit here and wait for the end to come. And I will write until the end.
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