So, picking up right off from October, we were doing Halloween props. The party went pretty good, though as expected dressing up as a character that exists in your head and in an e-book is a good way to hear many variations on the question “what are you?”. Yvonne had the same problem, though she did wear her costume well.
The pistol turned out fairly well. Not perfect, but good enough to look impressive around the campfire. For scale/comparison, Yvonne’s Captain pistol is presented next to the finished Marv.
In the future we need to acquire a few holsters. For the past two Halloweens we’ve been passing around a “universal” holster that Yvonne’s sister picked up for a Meryl Silverburgh costume. Partially out of a sense of getting maximum use out of a prop, partially because we’re cheapskates.
And for some infernal reason the in-progress pictures I took of the Wilhelmina sword aren’t where I though I left them. Will post Part Three after I run them down.
I’ll spare you the whining, lets just say that life was being a cunt in its usual, unexceptional way, and it required a bit of attention for a while. Fortunately, we do have something to post up here now; more prop building. While this wasn’t meant to be a regular feature on the Mandatory Minimum Presence, it seems to have become one. A few irons are in the fire, and while no finished works are ready to show, we can at least post some progress.
The coffee bar would be lovely, if it weren’t for all the fucking people in it. It’s a warm, welcoming space, lots of hardwood in the construction, plenty of natural light, but it’s too small for all the people in it, at least as far as I’m concerned. Never understood the affection for populated, noisy spaces. Charlotte tried to explain it to me, the energy of a public space, the combination of ten or twenty individual lives into what she saw as the perfect background noise for just about anything. I’d try to explain that the noise was nothing but noise, and it didn’t combine into anything but an ugly jumble of half-audible sentences and incomplete thoughts. It was always one of those subjects where we both agreed to sit on our side of the couch and be convinced that we were the sane one…
Sorry, got sidetracked. The coffee bar. The small, narrow, civilian-packed coffee bar. If a shootout started in here, some poor bastard might be going home without a head. Just one more step to take care of before we start things proper. Staff is already killing the various boilers and burners, security is hiding around the corners of the exits, diverting away new clients and doing quick spot checks on the ones leaving, and Susan and Minette are both in position.