The village was alive with light!

From the window of every house blazed countless lanterns, garlands of entwined holly and ivy wound above every door.

The sound of music came from biwas, lyres, panpipes and countless other musical instruments, some familiar to the young Loud Ghost, others thoroughly alien. Likewise, the music played upon said instruments was a curious mix; some were traditional Christmas carols, others were works entirely of Mononoke composition, whilst others still seemed to be composed of the borrowed tunes of carols and entirely new Mononoke dialect lyrics.

Not in all his years had he known Farlas so alive with life and joy nor the Mononoke so unreserved in their dealings with humans.
Read the rest of this entry »

Let me introduce you to the team.

The man sitting by himself, playing a game of solataire’s named Red Herring. He’s alone because nobody trusts him. He’s a deceptive little prick; the best grifter I’ve ever seen. First met him on the streets of Monaco, though, he swears it was Geneva. Whatever, it’s not important. What is important is that there’s nobody he can’t con. Even his grandmother would believe he’s a twelve year old girl pushing scout cookies. This pied piper has everybody zigging while we zag.

At the table beside Herring, is Leitwortsil. I think he’s OCD, ADD, some nonsense. He just sits there babbling the same rubbish over and over again. Got him caught in Luxembourg when he explained a thirty million dollar art gallery heist to the insurance company. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never shut the fuck up. Maybe five minutes tops. He’s here for one purpose and one purpose only: He’s a Rain Man. Ten Minutes to Wapner, all that. However, you give the guy a con, a heist, anything, and he’s able to boil it down to what’s absolutely vital, what you need and the most efficient why to execute it. I make sure to keep him muzzled.

Over my shoulder’s Chekov’s Gun. He’s got his uses, but I’ll explain those later.

Beside him scribbling notations on the whiteboard, trying his damndest is Anticlimax. He’s a bit of an idiot, I admit. Good kid, overthinks stuff. He’s here for one reason: He’s my brother, and I don’t trust anybody else to take over when I retire. He needs a heavy hand, but he’ll get there. I hope so. Christ, I hope he doesn’t let me down.

Moving on, stage right, rehearsing her part of the plot is the sole woman on the team. Just watch her move, lithe, tensile motions like a Rockette. Got legs like one too. Great tits. her skin’s an exotic cinammon color, long black mane the color of coffee, smoldering opal eyes. Personality to match. What I wouldn’t give for just one night with her. Mary Sue, she’s my favorite. Don’t get me wrong, she’s more than just wank material. She’s the perfect thief. If Herring were, I don’t know, the Red King, she’d be the Black Queen. No safe she can’t crack, no laser grid she can’t samba through, no object she can’t steal. She could lift the hair piece off Donald Trump, him none the wiser. Hell, she could make a whole island disappear off the globe.

Guess that just leaves me. You can call me MacGuffin. I’m the boss; I put the pieces in play. The team, the mark, that’s my doing. These characters, they’re pretty much worthless individually, but as a team, unstoppable. I keep everything greased and churning, keep everything from going pear-shaped. That’s all you need to know.

So, what is our con? A bank, a museum, maybe a private citizen? Well, wouldn’t you like to know. I’ll save that for another time…do believe that’s called a cliffhanger.

x-posted at Neville, Nevilleland

November seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

No sooner than President Buer had settled into life in the Winter House, it seemed that he was leaving again, preparing to travel onwards to Orthen for mid-winter and to celebrate Christmas with the magi.

Porthos had made the scholar a knapsack chock a bloc full of food and drink; a French loaf full of cucumber and cheese, a loaf of lime bread from s’Hertogenbosch, various winter fruits and an insulated flask of milk tea.

Whether or not these were the kind of provisions an otherworldly scholar such as President Buer required they never found out as the curiously shaped President was far too humble to reply with anything but its heartiest thanks.

Read the rest of this entry »

Bartholomew and King Obake had been the first to return following Loud Ghost’s duplicity. Ahead of them, and the unwilling recipient of Loud Ghost’s dereliction of duty, had been the ill-tempered dwarf, Porthos, who had not been especially fond of the other’s joke.

September had turned to October and, all across the other city, ineffable and infallible London, the clocks had gone back. In Farlas too, the sun rose earlier and the darkness crept in like never before, more and more lights flickering on in the winter homes of traders’ cottages and abodes.

Loud Ghost did not know if the adjustment of the clocks had been a human tradition introduced to the Mononoke trading village, or if early Mononoke merchants had introduced the notion to London but it was gratifying to see the reflection of one in the other.

Read the rest of this entry »

Dim red light filtered through the branches of elm trees and the overhanging of willows, brown leaves curled at their bases and scattered across the cobbled street. In London, it would be September, smoke curdling from red brick chimneys and the smell of sweet meats drifting in from Camden and Covent Garden.

In the trading village of Farlas, the season was likewise autumnal. The leaves of summer had turned inward and fallen and the horse-chestnut trees, once heavy with conkers were now barren. Loud Ghost appreciated the change in environment, not because he had grown weary of the sites and sounds of London but rather because, beneath the shadow of those ancient elms that lined the dirt path leading toward the small village, the young boy felt a sense of nostalgia that was not present in day-to-day London life.

Trudging wearily up the dirt path and towards the silent village, the great lake to his left still home to the graceful Su Shuang before it froze over and the birds took flight in search of warmer climates, he felt once more at peace.

Read the rest of this entry »

A sneak peek of the upcoming Artifice Comics release Post Modern #1:
Read the rest of this entry »

It is only eighty degrees out, the sun is blocked by most of the buildings and there’s not much in the way of direct shine to blind people. Yet, nearly everyone wears sunglasses anyway. It’s not so much of the UV protection from burning out their retinas or even drying their eyes, but there’s that “hey aren’t I fucking cool” mystique that drives an individual to spend more than ten dollars on some aluminum and dark plastic eye shields. It’s that “hey look at me syndrome” where people are sporting their Oakley’s to the person next to them hoping they think “damn, those are so cool I want a pair.” And it’s those sorts of people that keep this economy running.

Read the rest of this entry »

Bartholomew and King Obake had been upon the rough and turbulent waves of the dark oceans for several weeks. They had set sail from the ports of the tainted emerald city at the end of an oppressive summer, the sun beating down on their backs as they had fastened the rigging and hauled vast wooden chests of supplies onto the small craft that would take them across the blackest oceans and towards the west.

Together they had launched from those ports, turning as the boat had ploughed through the gentle surf and waving at the city, its central castle surrounded by drifting galleons searching for a place to set anchor amongst the crowded streets and busy markets. For a moment Bartholomew had thought he could see the October gardens in the shadow of the castle’s turrets and towers but the view was snatched away all too soon and they had found themselves on the very ocean itself, the pale blue turning to darkest black.

Read the rest of this entry »

Moe and I had a conversation.

Which prompted the poetaster in me to produce this:
Read the rest of this entry »

Here’s a really rough edit (just off the press) of something I’ve got cooking. It’s meant to be an anime-flavored, candy-coated, action book that’s slighty retarded and self-deprecating. Not my usual style, but I wanted something brainless, light and frothy. Like a milkshake.

Without further a-do, here it be. Hip Teens Don’t Wear Blue Jeans, Chapter Two: The Lo-Fi Mix

Read the rest of this entry »