"I'm going to make you honest."

Inked Art:

Script:

Page Two:

Panel One:

Captain Richards and Lucy Jones are sitting in the squad room, he's holding his beer bottle, she's got a headphone in one ear, the other dangling in front of her. Her eyes have rolled back into her head, as per whenever she has a clichéd premonition.

1) Caption: NOW.

2) Lucy Jones: oh

3) Lucy Jones: HE'S COMING.

4) Captain Richards: HOW CAN YOU TELL?

Panel Two:

Lucy turns to Richards, her eyes back to normal. She's looking peeved-- jokingly so, so stern eyes, slight smile, and he's drinking from the bottle.

1) Lucy Jones: DO I HAVE TO REMIND YOU ABOUT THE WHOLE PSYCHIC THING AGAIN?

2) Captain Richards: ...MAYBE.

Panel Three:

We're now way back in the past, in Roman Lacuna's torture chamber. We're close up on the man who's about to be tortured to shit, tied to a table by leather straps (maybe more than just the few we had before, maybe he's really, impossibly tied down? Or maybe the straps are really thin and there are dozens of them, indenting his flesh?).

1) Caption: WAY BACK WHEN:

2) Roman Lacuna (off-panel, so no tail?) : WHEN I WAS BUT A BOY...

3) Roman Lacuna (off-panel, so no tail?): ...I USED TO PULL THE WINGS OF FLIES, ONE BY ONE.

Panel Four:

Close on Roman Lacuna as he moves in so close to the torture victim, the closeness between them inherently uncomfortable, Roman's face a twisted expression of honest sharing and the kind of shit-eating evil you could imagine. He's holding a pair of vicious pliers-- razor sharp, jagged, crude, PAINFUL. And he's loving it.

1) Roman Lacuna: DID YOU KNOW THAT EVERY SINGLE FINGER ON YOUR HANDS ARE A LIE?

2) Roman Lacuna: I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU HONEST.

Problems have solutions, you know.

I have finished that script I was twittering about earlier in the week. I think I've settled on a name, third time being the charm and all that. Originally, it didn't have a title, then the first part was called "Echo", then I figured out a name for it all could be "The Backwards Assassin" and now I've settled on "Echo Chambers". It might make sense if you ever see it (meaning, if I ever post it up).

I think I'm happy with it. It's fast, violent, and bloody. Just right, no?

Anyways, as to warrant some interest, here's Page One:

Panel One:

A foetus floats in the womb. A spark of life. Potential. We open the book with life. I think you can probably guess how the book will end. Or maybe I’m messing with your head?

Narrator 1): When he died, he saw two lives flash before his eyes.

Panel Two:

The previous image of the womb seems to split into two, now running side by side with each other, like film stock flickering and splitting in the centre, the white of the page is visible underneath. Something is happening. Something that is not good.

Narrator 1): This was slightly disconcerting for him.

Narrator 2): (As you can imagine.)

Panel Three:

The eyes of both foetus’ open. We’re closer to them now, the foetus’ looking away from each other, not focusing on anything.

Narrator 1): They were both his.

Narrator 2): (That was the weird thing.)

Panel Four:

Two sets of eyes latch onto the reader. They’re exactly the same, and the eyes… are eerily full of clarity.

Narrator 1): To his recollection, he’d only lived one life.

Narrator 2): So if you asked him if it was interesting viewing…

Panel Five:

We segue into the present. James Larsen is bloodied and bleeding, his eyes are both red, blood vessels burst (if we can have the eyes of the foetus’ seemingly meld into this one image, awesome), creating an unearthly appearance to this battered man. His lip is torn, his face a mess of knife slashes and internal fluids. He’s been beaten so close to death that he looks fragile. A few days beard growth covers his face. The overwhelming feeling right now? Doom. Blood should be everywhere. Claustrophobia should set in.

Voice 1): (off-panel) THIS’LL BE LIKE KILLING MYSELF. SORRY, JAMES.

Narrator 1): …He’d have to say yes.

Get Your Body Beat- Let Your Blood Flow!

I'm making good progress on this. I'm adapting from prose and tearing it apart as I go. A lot of stuff is unnecessary, "show-don't-tell" and all, but there's still a lot of information that has to be conveyed. I'm not going to share the scene preceding this exchange until I'm finished, but this is a taste of what the hell is going down right now:

Larry 1): ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS WALK INTO A GUN SHOP.

Larry 2): AND WE’D ALL BE SCREWED.

Moe 3): THEN WE’RE LUCKY YOU WENT COMPLETELY OVERKILL ON HIS ASS AND TORE OUT HIS SPINE.

Larry 4): WHAT CAN I SAY? I’M AN OVERACHIEVER.

Moe 5): LET’S JUST GO MURDER THE BOY.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell: Follow!

I treat Craig like shit with my scripts. It’s a harsh world, I think he likes being abused, so that’s why these scripts are just so bloody abusive.This script is part of a larger script (involving monkey-robots and sea monsters) that was designed to show off Craig's talents. I have some pages somewhere, if I find them I'll share. Oh, by the way, this is a complete joke, you do know that right? This isn't meant to be a sequence that is taken seriously.

Page One:

Panel one:

A planet. Orbiting a red giant Sun. Just within site, maybe inside it’s own panel within the main panel, is a rocket launching, just reaching escape velocity out of the atmosphere of the planet. The rocket should be ornate looking. Holy.

Panel two:

The rocket is far away now, but still within view.

Panel three:

The planet begins to shake. Maybe debris begins to slowly lift off the surface, arching out into space slowly.

Panel four:

The rocket pushes onward. Toward points unknown.

Panel five:

The entire planet breaks apart and a tidal wave of energy, debris, and whatever flies forward. Meanwhile, on the front of the rocket, a spark of energy belches out from the antenna at the front of the ship, and a pool of white light forms, a portal…

Panel six:

The rocket passes through the swirling white void, and it closes up completely, debris shooting past it.

Page Two:

Panel one:

A man is smoking on what looks to be the top of a mountain, stars visible all around him. Maybe we only see from his torso upwards. He’s just sitting. He’s actually in space. On a meteorite. Dressed as the gay police man from The Village People. He’s listening to his MP3 player. (Arrow points to headphones ((Reuben – Racecar Is Racecar Backwards – Track 03 – Let’s Stop Hanging Out)). I’ve wanted to do this in TLC, but there was never really an opportunity. If you think it could work, then awesome, if not, Nevermind.)

Panel two:

The rocket ZOOMS into frame, the front of the craft appearing from the suddenly pooling white portal that is vanished into earlier. The man is shocked, surprised, he flails about somewhat, arms in the air, trying to move out the way.

Panel three:

We pull back, and we see that he’s on a meteor. He’s looking in the direction of the rocket that’s shot past him.

Panel four:

We spin around, showing he’s upside down on the meteor.

Page Three:

Row one (all very close snippets, bit obscured by the small panels, but we get a picture of what’s going on) has six panels.

Panel one:

Hand behind back, over shoulder.

Panel two:

Rifle butt. (we don’t see how massive this gun is yet)

Panel three:

Ammo loaded.

Panel four:

Sight checked

Panel five:

Finger licked.

Panel six:

Finger ran over barrel.

Row two (one panel)

Panel seven:

He aims the weapon. This gun is fucking massive. The barrel is long. Could either be Kirby looking, or sleak and fucking killer.

Row three (one panel):

Panel eight:

The gun ERUPTS, but as we’re in space, the only way we can convey how fucking IMMENSE this weapon is by the massive shell that is thrown into space as it fires out, and the way the recoil sends the gun upwards, and nearly knocking the hat off the shooter. Maybe his hat’s on a string and it flies back but is caught around his neck.

Page Four:

Panel one:

The bullet, the size of your fist, building velocity as it shoots toward the rocket, is spinning and speeding toward the rocket. We see the planets around, in the distance, but in the distance, where the rocket is heading, is Earth.

Panel two:

The bullet tears through the rocket, is simply tears into it, and the metal of the ship spirals together at the force of the impact.

Panel three:

The Village Person smiles as he watches through his sight.

Panel four:

He swings his weapon on his back. The weapon could be twice the size of him, depending on how you’ve decided to draw it.

Panel five:

He stands up.

Panel six:

He presses a button on his wrist and begins to fade out, his body vanishing in a spiral of light.

Caption: Wanker.

(Bonus, sketches! Not by me. Duh.)

I Woke Up Today To Find Myself In The Other Place

Oh, this isn't the script I was talking about, this is something I wanted to share because I'm happy with it. This is a script for an untitled project I'm hammering away at, one that was coming quite easily until the repeated laptop-shut-downs-of-a-few-weeks-ago. As you can see, this isn't straight forward prose, it's not a film script, it is in fact a comic book script. There is reason for this. Roy said he'd do the pencils but he's got a kid and wanted something cleaner. "Something cleaner". I'll have to think on that. Anyways, here it is:

Page One

((Two long panels take up this entire page.))

Panel One:

Caption 1): “Legend as it.” Have you ever started a story so? “Legend has it that…”

Caption 2): These are not truths. These are myths. Like they say, “legends”.

Tight shot on Gawain’s face, blood dribbling from his nose, stubble surrounding his jawline, he’s sweating, tired, but he’s determined, angry, and ready to fight.

Gawain 1): Come on then you bastard!

Gawain 2): Come on!

Panel Two:

Caption 1): I start this story differently:

Caption 2): “Truth, as I have learnt it to be, has it that…”

Caption 3): …This is not a myth. This is not a legend. This is the truth of a world that you are not made to comprehend.

Bors, bigger, larger set, sword in hand, grins, his hair cut close to his skull, and a scar running three inches from his forehead up, an old battle wound, healed badly. He’s not unattractive, rugged more like, and he has a beard that starts as a moustache above his lip, down to his chin, and then up as sideburns to his ears. He doesn’t stop smiling throughout this entire sequence. He’s also young, though you couldn’t tell from the way he acts, and the way he looks.

Bors 1): You fight with your head, that’s good, boy.

Bors 2): Your sword arm is strong, little runt of a thing like you, wouldn’t think you could lift it higher than your knee!

Bors 3): But you still fight like a little girly girl.

Page Two:

Panel One:

Gawain lunges low for Bors, hoping to rise up beneath Bors’ centre of gravity, and gain the advantage from being smaller set.

Panel Two:

Bors brings up his knee, slamming it into Gawain’s chest.

Gawain 1): uuuhtt

Panel Three:

Bors then throws Gawain behind him, rolling with the momentum of Gawain himself.

Panel Four:

Gawain hits the cold stone floor hard, dust rising up as he collides.

Gawain 1): hhfff

Panel Five:

He looks up, and sees a sword levelled at his jugular.

Gawain 1): uhh.

Panel Six:

Over Gawain’s shoulder, we see Bors lower his weapon, and put out his left hand for Gawain to pull himself up with. Bors still grins.

Page Three:

Panel One:

Gawain smiles, and pulls himself up.

Gawain 1): Thought you asked me if I wanted to do some light sparring.

Panel Two:

Bors pouts, and points to himself apologetically.

Bors 1): Kid, there’s no such thing as ‘light sparring’.

Bors 2): You have war, and you have sparring.

Bors 3): You ain’t dead, so I guess we sparred.

Panel Three:

Gawain sheathes his sword, in pain. Bors does the same.

Gawain 1): You’re fucking insane.

Panel Four:

Bors laughs.

Bors 1): HA!

Bors 2): BullSHIT! I’m honest!

Page Four:

Panel One:

Bors points to the scar running down his forehead.

Bors 1): Kid, you don’t want to ugly up your face ‘cause you ran into something unprepared.

Bors 2): I’m teaching you how to survive, not how to fight.

Panel Two:

Bors’ face suddenly turns serious.

Bors 1): But I wasn’t kidding.

Bors 2):You need to grow up.

Bors 3): In war, any shite goes. Your mother is a whore. Your dad is a queer. And your sisters?

Panel Three:

Gawain’s lip twists up, uncomfortable with where this going.

Gawain 1): I don’t have any sisters.

Panel Four:

Bors slams his finger into Gawain’s chest.

Bors 1): Your sisters were in your enemy’s bedroom last night being fucked twelve ways to Eden and by God they loved it.

Panel Five:

Bors shrugs.

Bors 1): Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.

Bors 2): Horrendous shite is thrown around and you need to take it in your stride.

Bors 3): Rules of fucking engagement, isn’t it?

Page Five:

Panel One:

Bors nudges Gawain in the ribs, and his grin returns.

Bors 1): Now, let’s go get something to eat, I’m starving, and the banquet will be starting soon downstairs.

Bors 2): Go wash up, and meet me downstairs.

Panel Two:

Bors lowers himself somewhat, and punches Gawain in the arm.

Bors 1): And don’t worry!

Bors 2): I won’t tell anyone how easy it was to get under your skin!

Bors 3): HAHAHA

Panel Three:

Gawain places his hands in his pockets, and leaves Bors as he continues to laugh, his laughter echoing out in the background, behind Gawain himself.

Bors 1): HAHAHAhaha

Gawain1): Under my skin.

Gawain 2): Right.

Panel Four:

Gawain continues to walk forward, into shadow, an uncomfortable look upon his face.

Gawain 1): …Like that would happen…