The artist in thee

[Azaradel]

For the first time in ages, I actually coloured something (well, coloured something and almost put an effort into it). I almost did a little dance as celebration when I realized that.

http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/197/d/b/APH__Finland_by_LordNaraku.jpg
In my defense, I drew it for my sister.

It makes perfect sense to despise my own style because for being too cute, but do absolutely nothing to change it, right?

 

[Labyrinth]

So at last I have finished my Extension 2 Major Work. Lo, it is before thee to read. Feedback would be great too.

Fair warning, it's 7000 words all up.

Spoiler: The Beak, Part 1

Mercutio lifted his head from his aching hand to reposition a stare. It was a familiar habit, one patch of peeling paint did get boring after a while and moving on kept the view, well 'fresh' would have been outright inappropriate for anything involving a bachelor apartment so his mental monologue opted for 'more interesting.' He had not had a commission in three weeks and land ladies were not the most empathetic of people. Inspiration had not struck for well over two months.
It was his name, he decided, the fault of his parents[footnote]This was far from the truth, but Mercutio had never admitted to himself that fault was anywhere other than in his stars.[/footnote]. Young, obsessive and misguided thespians had left him but a single moniker, no last or middle names to cushion the blow: Mercutio. Mer-KYU-shi-oh. It all went bad with that ghastly second syllable. The sound of it made alarm bells ring in people's heads; employers did not trust him, friends oozed away after a while, peers repressed sneers. He might not have cared if he had been in the hippie movement, but as a trained classical composer there was no hope.
A spider started spinning a web between one flake of paint and the next. He lifted his gaze to observe, then impaled it on the tip of a pencil.

"Nothing to be done."

The Melbourne landscape was a cheese grater to his eyes, too much sunlight digging into the lens. If he could afford sunglasses he would not wear them anyway.

Mercutio capered down the sidewalk, squinting at traffic. Being almost run over by a twerp in a flying-custard Cadillac only served to remind him that the evils of the modern world were no place for an artist so finely rooted in the golden age. He sniffed at such petty things and carried on to catch a train out of the city.
Gum tree bush was a passable alternative to the forests of Europe (where Mercutio had never been) but it didn't prevent a sigh of disappointment. Spring flowers were out, the ground was soft, birds imported from more tuneful habitats sang.

Birds sang.

A bolt of inspiration slammed into Mercutio's unprepared brain, rather like a train. Walking home to write it down became a jog, a sprint to his room where he smeared spider guts onto the blank score in a treble clef. The music in Mercutio's head played relentlessly until he struck the final bar a day later.

His hands shook as they caressed the keys on landlady Hicks' cheap piano. Even on such a baleful instrument the notes hung in his ears like gold. Or money, for that matter.
The other residents were peering in when he looked up. Far from the jealous resentment he had felt for them before, when Mr Clysdale wanted the five dollars for a hamburger back for example, the prospect of hard cash saw Mercutio embrace his audience. They were the first rung on the desperate artist's ladder out of petty squalor.

He made a call the day after and organised to meet a fellow composer, Denis Whitley, to discuss what to do next. Mercutio's first desire was to publish and perform as soon as he could. The money brought in by this piece would be enough to move into a better environment for his creativity and to bring some good liquor to the house.
It would be worthwhile to spend more time in cafes too, he decided. The coffee was excellent and while his composer peers bored him there, it was better company than available at his flat. Poor peons. No concept of art.
As the combination of caffeine and rum that Denis was feeding him went to Mercutio's head, he started to pay less attention to his usual insecurities. At some horrid woman's attempt to play disco over the speakers, he protested. He would play his great masterpiece (Concerto of the Gum Leaf in C# Major) instead. The music seemed to have little effect on most of the patrons but his companion was struck with awe. A fresh round of straight rum awaited Mercutio's return to the table, and a glitter in the man's eye which he would have done well to notice.
Two hours later and relieved of the precious manuscript by his fellow composer who promised on his mother's grave to drop it off the next day, Mercutio collapsed into bed.

By three o'clock he was panicking. Memories of the previous night were blurred and while he did recall pressing the manuscript on someone, the name eluded him. Anger came next fuelled by self-righteous regret. Bastard stole my paper!
All through the town he searched cafes and lunch bars. He heard the sound of thieving first, which had him sprinting up hill. A small hall was the only thing available. Mercutio could see Martin Plaid, a renowned conductor and pianist. His heart skipped a beat.
Far from returning the manuscript when promised his 'friend' had stolen it like a pop musician! Anger bubbled up. He stormed past a guard and into the hall, crying out, an accusatory finger extended.

"Thief! Plagiariser! Wannabe musician! You stole my work, betrayer!"

The conductor had lowered his tiny white stick of power and lifted a brow instead. Denis was white, biting absently at a fist.

"I haven?t stolen it, I was just, ah, showing Mr Plaid here your work. He seems to be very impressed, as far as I can tell anyway. And the orchestra loves it and ohgoddon'ttouchme!"

A silence like the descent of a charred bat after striking electrified barbed wire overtook the room. The piccolo player coughed. No-one else moved until Denis threw down the cup he had been holding and stormed out.

"So you wrote this? I find it very pleasant. The critics will enjoy it too, I suspect, they are all about this kind of thing at the moment. Audiences, it would seem, go by hwhat they read not hwhat they hear. Will you let us perform it? Hyou will get a cut of the total profits," Mr Plaid enunciated, in a voice so prim it sprouted haitches like mushrooms after rain.
"I- yes. I did. It's nice to have my work appreciated for once. All my work seems to have rather slipped under the radar. I mean, even 'Stroll on an Autumn Evening Without Dog, Pipe or Shoes' got no attention. Say, how much of a cut?"
"Quite. Hwell I will have to discuss it with my legal council but I suspect you can count on five percent of ticket sales for a hwhile and three percent of any recordings."
"That sounds splendid. Thank you. Yes."

Mercutio was far too drunk with images of money to do much beyond shake hands with Mr Plaid and the lead violinist. He was taken out to a dinner far too good for his second-hand suit where a contract for the piece was finalised, signed and toasted. Somewhere in his stupor, he asked for the estimated first lot in advance to pay off his current bills. He got it too, much to the surprise of a more sober lawyer in the vicinity.

The next three weeks passed in much the same manner as that night. Mercutio grew more vibrant and enthusiastic as the time passed but he also became more callous. People to whom he never would have dreamed of speaking became nuisances, not worth his time. Too much French Champagne was consumed. Too many canapes. Of course, the society he was in never outwardly discouraged such behaviour. It would have been impolite to confront him about it. They whispered behind his back instead.
"Oh sure," people said, "this concerto is great. Haven't heard anything this good in decades. However, he is such an obnoxious little man."
After getting devastatingly drunk at the final performance, Mercutio put his foot squarely in it when he attempted to seduce the lead violinist's daughter. At last the outrage was too much for his polite associates and he was forcibly removed to consider his move on the side of a back alley. The red hand print of a slap was still livid on his face when Mercutio staggered home.

"Mr Culus! Mr Culus! The hominid observation team have something you need to hear!"
Tenax E. Culus, president of Avis Group lifted his head from the etched leaf he had been studying and paused. Feathers rearranged as the leaf tucked away and he took flight. Three standard hops[footnote]Standard Hop. Avian unit of measurement. Approximately 21cm.[/footnote] from wing-tip to wing-tip. A grey currawong, but a small one. It was his air of superiority which got him places. Or so Mr Culus thought anyway. Others were more likely to imply vicious manipulation and arrogance and 'you didn?t hear that from me, okay?'
A rather anxious pigeon whom Mr Culus employed as secretary shuffled across the branch to greet him as he landed. The bobbing head paused for a minute as though to speak. Interruption came by way of an aged raven, poking its head out of a hollow in the tree trunk.
"Tenax old chick, jolly good to see you down here with the, hem hem, labouring masses. Our fraternity has missed you! Now come on in, our newest flying eye picked up a human creation we've been finding interesting. And you will too, as more than a curiosity of a mind so inclined, ey?" the bird bellowed.
Tenax did not like the observation teams. They were, in his never-humble opinion, too chummy. Too academic. Too close to being human. Their work attracted a particular type which was far more fascinated with the species than the bald apes deserved.
As the crow shuffled aside Tenax followed him into the hollow. It was enormous inside, comprised of an empty tree criss-crossed with rungs to perch upon. Various human devices were wedged into the walls or suspended from perches. Three birds clustered around a radio. They moved away for Tenax, except for a trembling magpie, who pushed a knob so the strains of Mercutio's concerto filled the air.
At first the racket offended Mr Culus' ears. Humans had never been able to adapt to sound. Their horrific honking and grinding filled all their oversized nest colonies. Their tools paled in comparison to the pure avian voice. Through the cacophony he recognised attempts at such a voice. Attempts which, he was certain, were covered under the corporate rights and arena of Avis Group itself. Under copyright.
Feathers over the bird's body fluffed for a second then re-settled, slick and suddenly very glossy. A slight lift of the head. A glitter in the eye. It unnerved other birds when Tenax did anything close to a smile. Now he was almost laughing.

The messenger mynah bird turned up next to the branch of Judge Sir Richard Harvey of the Order of the Nestled Egg not two hours later, starting him out of a second afternoon nap. Being an elderly owl had its benefits when it came to socially acceptable behaviour, and he exploited this as often as possible. Perusing the pecked leaf for a while resulted in a body fluffed up in indignation. Like Tenax, Judge Harvey was rarely endeared by anyone lording anything over him. Doubly so from a corporation he disliked.
"Bring a human to trial? In my court? For something as scurrilous as this? There is no precedent!" he raged, wing-tips twitching, claws tearing slithers of bark from the three. The mynah bird quailed then railed to put her own comment in.
"You keep looking for something interesting to do, something to help grease your way out of the system without having to resign. This coming to you is a chance to be a maverick. Everyone likes a maverick so long as they're not too close to power," she chirruped. The judge paused.
"I am not The Beak due to maverick behaviour, but it would add to the reputation of doddery that I have been cultivating of late. Very well. Tell Mr Culus that this Mercutio will be summoned to my court. And do go to the old guard and find him a lawyer."
In the privacy of his manipulations, Sir Richard Harvey cackled. His greatest strain would be deciding which of the two he liked less and suitably decimating their characters for it.

Nine AM dawned like a jackhammer to Mercutio's hang-over. Light stabbed through his eyelids, the constant noise of something against his window, a cockroach scuttling too loudly across the floor. The mental pistons started working a few minutes later when the tapping began to annoy. A mynah bird perched on his window to peck at the glass and glare when he appeared.
"Open the sodding window, mister. I got a summons for you. The Beak's put your name down for copyright infringement. You're gonna appear in court, mister," it said in an odd Liverpool accent.
"I do not believe this. I've heard about people seeing things from drink but I never thought it happened the morning after."
"I'm not a vision, mister."
"You're a talking bird!"
"So? Loads of birds talk, mister. I talk to other birds every day. You humans are just too stupid to listen. Try it some time. You might learn something."
"Then why can I hear you now?"
"I don't know, mister. Maybe you're just listening for once."

Aghast, Mercutio was further shocked when the bird crawled through the tiny gap under his window and pecked him on the hand.

"Untie the paper here, mister. Best hurry. I've got more people to see."
"Aren't pigeons the messenger birds?"
"They're only good for one direction, mister, and even then only if they were raised there. The pigeons around here aren't any good."

The paper was off and after depositing another, far less savoury little white package, the bird departed. Mercutio was left confused and wiping his windowsill clean. The message was written in a neat cursive. It was how he always felt lawyers talked, clipped and pretentious.

Dear Mr Mercutio.
I regret to inform you that a case has been laid against your person for intellectual property infringements by Avis Group in regards to your recent musical work.
The precise date of your trial will be discussed and organised between the legal aids of either side.
You will be provided with legal council due to being a human facing prosecution in an avian court. You will meet your representative before these proceedings in order to prepare your case.
Regards,
The Right Honourable
Sir Richard Harvey

For a long time after reading the letter Mercutio was unable to do anything but laugh. A court of birds? What next, a parliament of owls?

"Either way it will be a hoot," he said, laughing uproariously at his own wit.

The prospect of having a lawyer seemed preposterous in the circumstances. All that would happen, if this thing turned out not to be a gaff from someone he hated, was he would tell the birds to stick it down their beaks.

Despite his rather abrupt removal from musical society, the money continued to come in from royalties and recording sales. It enabled Mercutio to move out of his dingy flat at Box Hill and into a proper apartment closer to the city. New surroundings enabled him to pen two urban-inspired pieces before a message from his proposed legal council arrived. Similar clipped legal tones filled the small page to request his presence at a small suburban park some days later. It was not a comforting thought.

Spoiler: Part 2

None the less, he appeared. Full of doubt. Full of questions. A true pilgrim, he believed, travelling the path to enlightenment.

"Mister Mercutio? Salutations. I am present as your legal council for these proceedings if you have been incapable of procuring assistance through your own means. A solitary figure, that is, without apparent companion, I deduce that this is the case. Very well. You may address me as Ms Ulrich Corvidis."

The speaker was possibly the oddest vulture Mercutio had ever seen. The same ugly bald head as the rest of her kind was crowned by a cascade of straw made to look like a wig. Black feathers fell around it in a shroud.
"Do not forget to attend to my chipped proboscis."
He jumped back, almost not aware that he had been gawking. Ms Corvidis shook her head and shuffled towards a bench to perch on. The eyes peered at Mercutio, who approached with caution. The whole situation was laughable to a sane mind. To a sober one it was insane, and Mercutio had sworn off liquor since the unfortunate incident with the trombonist.
Truly taken aback by the bird's cool, Mercutio found himself seated upon an aged bench while Ms Corvidis hopped about before him. Every so often she would stop to peck at the ground with a scaled claw. At last he broke the silence.

"I'm having difficulty with this being real. You're birds, for Christ's sake. Twitter tweet, eat grubs, frolic through the air. Law's so... sophisticated. So human."

The scuffling ceased as a beady eye fixed the man to his seat.
"Foolish of you to presume. My extended deliberation as to the exercising of human law has lead me to the opinion that in our "unsophisticated" nature, we have a superior method. Perhaps as apt as any a moment to eviscerate your apparent naivety.
"We of the avian inclination are not similarly long lasting as yourself. As such, we are less inclined to expend much of our lives nested in the thorns of court. You will have one day before a judge with which to exterminate any suspicions. The possible punishment varies from a requirement that you provide feed for a certain stretch of time to having your eyes scratched out. We are not forgiving creatures. When precisely that day is will be discussed between myself and a representative legal aide from the plaintiff. It is a delicate balance. Should the day arrive early we risk being insufficiently prepared. Too late, and we permit the possibility of adversarial advancement resulting in catastrophe. They already have the superior preparation time."

Tapping his chin, Mercutio tried to look like he had followed every word. It was like being smacked in the face with a textbook every time he tried. Uncertainty fluttered in his breast. He was confused by the legal language
Mercutio and Ms Corvidis spent many hours wading through the possibilities. The former was slowly coming to understand the vast gulf of prejudice which prevented him acknowledging the latter's wisdom and experience. Such awareness was bitter. At first a simple admission that the ragged vulture knew a court system vastly alien to him. He came to rely on the bird's history as they began construction the finer points of argument.
"Can they charge me for unknown use?"
"Assuredly so. Do recall the unprecedented nature of your situation. No bird previously proposed an inter-order suit, especially not on so serious an infringement."
"They can tune the case?" he jested, smirking. "String the court along and hope to strike a chord?"
"It is reasonable to presume a high level of experimentation. Contesting copyright issues with an organisation such as Avis Group, particularly one able to gather copious amounts of information and gauge the surrounding culture so well, is always difficult. They are accustomed to being in total control. All such corporations approach this arrogance."
"There are more?"
"Three primary. Many secondary. Unlike hominid society, song here comes close to being an unofficial currency. Birds trade songs that they know from their species for the kind of extended breeding advertisement that Avis Group can offer. Many are crippled by the absurd concept that they cannot attain a breeding partner if their availability is not promoted across all possible channels, including low-life popular media."
"You know, that sounds exactly like humans in the music industry."

Mercutio went on to detail his disdain for popular music as a vulgar expression of base instincts, and could not understand why Ms Corvidis seemed so very blase about the prospect. Faltering through one lost explanation, Mercutio was thankful for the slightly raised head on Ms Corvidis, signalling her readiness to speak.

"There is a possibility that we could aim for empathy with the judge, rather than simply for total dissolution of the case on legal grounds. The reality is you have inflicted a grievous wound upon the cultural memories of species from whom you took music. Or at least that is the manner in which Avis Group will attempt to portray your efforts. A potential defence is that, rather than malicious or apathetic use, your work was a homage to the Chorus. Appearing to be in abject awe of birds' capacity for musical genius could well be the best move," Ms Corvidis said, tapping a talon against the ground. The straw-covered head bobbed around and a shift in posture occurred. Mercutio was slowly coming to understand the body language of the creature, and to him it seemed like she was smiling. In truth, Mercutio had never seen the appeal of such cacophonous noise as birds produced. There was too little structure, too little cohesion. It was like an avant-garde composer placing two dozen egotistic lead violinists on the one stage and promising the best a Ferrari.

Hopping up upon the bench beside him took Ms Corvidis a moment. She steadied herself with her wings and began to scratch at a wax tablet, writing, one presumed. Fascination had Mercutio hunched over and staring at the page. His brain kicked into gear, sending one hand towards a pocket to draw out a notepad and a pen to propose dictation instead. Ms Corvidis assented and he began to note out their best bet of success.

A flock of legal aids and secretaries swarmed around Tenax's branch. The more senior birds had perches, while others had to take turns balancing on the thick branches to report their findings. A myriad of avian eyes had been following Mercutio for weeks. Every scrap of information begged analysis.
"...appears to hold many of his fellow apes in distaste, and is held in similar regard."
"Subject spent two hours projecting unreturned mating preparations towards a female only to be struck about the face..."
"...met lawyer provided to him, Ulrich Corvidis..."
That, at least, was promising. The aged vulture had a reputation for sending her clients to sleep before being able to construct a decent defence.
The birds whirled, flitting back and forth between strands of knowledge. To Tenax's ears it was sweeter than the songs of morning, warbling, rising and falling like so many wings in chorus. There was something so beautiful about the way that information was forming up within the rabble. A tune. A light motif. A recurring theme which would give him the power to win the case he planned.

In his opinion, the true beauty of avian law was that all he had to prove was the use of a tune. Intent was more or less unnecessary. Fault, rather than guilt. It was a part of the law which had been introduced due to the influence of corporations like his. A triumph of propaganda and policy manipulation.

"I want a copy of the official recording of this concerto. As soon as possible. Detailed comparisons must be made. The infernal devices that Humanistics have should be able to deliver a reasonable rendition. A written copy as well, as I believe humans are known for writing such things down."
Two magpies bobbed their heads and took up. They were his favourite thieves and would have the work done as subtly as possible, as soon as possible. If it was necessary he could draw on the copious amount of evidence which pointed to Mercutio as a callous, obnoxious individual. The prospect of a final, sweet victory lingered in Tenax's head like the after-taste of a particularly sweet berry. All that was left now was to strong-arm the defence into a suitable date.

Ms Corvidis disliked the circumstances which had forced her to leave Mercutio behind, but it would have been physically impossible to get such a heavy creature up the branches where the day of trial would be set. Even she felt uncertain, trying to get her relative bulk through the foliage.
Breathing hard, and with more than one bruise spread about her person, she perched near the desk of The Beak. The nickname amused her privately, she had almost thought up yet another reason for that when the owl's silent shadow dropped over her and he landed, soon followed by Tenax Culus and a representative Lawyer.
"Right, so I take it the human could not join us. Unsurprising. They are such ungainly creatures. You three know how this process works. Organise it amongst yourselves," Harvey snapped, inching his way towards a spot to quietly fall asleep.
Tenax meanwhile, was eyeing up his opposition, weighing his general respect for lawyers with his distaste for Ms Corvidis in particular. The vulture who had arrived with him introduced himself as one Mr Turwin. There was some small talk, of Mr Turwin complimenting Ms Corvidis' writing, of migration discussion before they were able to get down to business.
"My client and I believe that, with the circumstances as they are for him, a relatively swift trial would be best. He has no desire to extend the delay of his name being cleared," Ms Corvidis proposed. Mr Turwin was taken aback. He had expected to be the one who bullied the defense into haste. Judge Harvey was likewise intrigued and voiced his assumption that a human with a human's habit of long trials and pedantic legal desires would have demanded as much time as possible. Tenax was the only one not apparently surprised. He had spent far too long coming to terms with the severe lack of patience Mercutio demonstrated for that.
"Then have you a day in mind? I request at least a week before we convene for this," Mr Turwin replied. It was impossible for him to maintain the confidence he'd attempted at first, and instead he kept glancing back towards Mr Culus, as though for guidance.
"I propose an intermission of two weeks before the event itself. Such time would position it to be the 24th of January, if Your Honour would permit us to overtake the day." The last was directed towards the snoozing bird, who jerked awake after a little bit of prompting. He ruffled his feathers a little and bobbed up and down to agree, requesting a clerk to mark down the date and perform all the bureaucratic necessities for it to happen on time.
Ms Corvidis spent the time observing the countenance of Tenax as he attempted to gauge her in turn. They had faced each other previously, with a result in her favour. It was entirely possible in her mind that he had orchestrated her involvement as a means of lawyerly revenge.
The two vultures shared a businesslike farewell before disappearing off into the trees while Tenax stayed around to have a brief chat with The Beak.
"I would hope, Your Honour, that you see the opportunity my company is giving you," Tenax oozed, his sarcasm barely contained.
"An opportunity from you is never one I really welcome, as so often it is directed towards self-interest. I think it unfortunate that so many of my peers are under your cancerous influence. Mister Culus, spare me the agony of your company and go forth to prepare an attempt to mitigate my dislike instead. You have but two weeks, after all," the disgruntled bird snapped back. He prodded the currawong with one wingtip before turning tail and shuffling back towards the comfort of his perch.
Tenax was infuriated at this slip in the carefully orchestrated control which he'd cultivated over the legal system. Damned 'maverick' judges and their inability to see the society-wide benefits of his systems. In a huff, he spread his wings and dived from the branch, determined to damn Mercutio to the most severe punishment possible. It was a bitter tang that he could not request a different judge. The system didn't allow those moves, due to too many corporations switching out for those they found more favourable. He descended upon a hapless morsel of food and resigned himself to work.

Two weeks had passed like glaciers of irritation and increasing tension for Mercutio. His meetings with Ms Corvidis to structure their case began to blur into each other as fatigue built up. The long hours of self-examination in an environment which made him want to strangle law students helped not at all. Mercutio disliked looking too hard at his own personality, considering how few people actually liked his company. Like his name he blamed it on mitigating circumstances which conspired to rob him of any potential social success, replacing it with a well of relentless inadequacy.
To escape from the discomfort as the trial day approached he took up drinking, something untouched since his early days in a conservatorium school. In fact, it was not uncommon for students to do major performances in a state of intense inebriation, that they would not remember the performances they gave later. He took this popular tradition to heart in the final day and a half. Ms Corvidis was genuinely shocked by the quantity of liquor he was able to consume. Not even her studies prepared her for bottle of scotch the night before a trial and a further half of one on the morning of it.
Rather more than slightly tipsy and having a grave amount of difficulty remaining on his feet, the man followed the vulture up a long hill to the court. It was held in a glade, rather a more pleasant situation in Mercutio's opinion than his usual observation of legal proceedings. The icy halls of court had no appeal to him. In fact he positively loathed the images of people on the dock.

Spoiler: Part 3

The clearing itself was surrounded by dense temperate rainforest, mountain ash dominated while many cool-climate tree ferns were scattered around the understory. Sunlight speared the ground where leaves permitted it entry. There were two logs prepared for the parties who were contesting a case, and ahead of them an elevated perch for the judge and a slightly lower one for a parrot scribe. Mercutio gazed around for a minute then took a seat. There was a tree at the front, a grandiose buttressed fig where three African Grey parrots perched, ready to act as scribes. Many stacks of perches were strung in the surrounding trees, amidst rocks, even as logs spaced out upon the ground. It surprised him to think that the birds could move such heavy pieces of wood.
A harsh cawing struck up behind him as he sat. Magpies were flocking to the trees in their hundreds. Already one overloaded branch had dumped its inhabitants with an undignified chorus of squawks. Tenax Culus approached the opposing log followed by two vultures, who Mercutio presumed were lawyers. They did not share Ms Corvidis' taste for head garb. More babble broke out as the newly arrived group spotted Mercutio and all tried to both look at him and describe them to their peers.
From behind the foretree of the court, a rather dignified lyrebird stalked, plumage swaying slightly with each step. The head lifted and it proceeded to deafen most of the surrounding creatures with a rendition of fanfare before announcing the judge.
"All be silent for the right honourable Sir Richard Harvey."
Every feather went still and Mercutio, having decided that standing was a bad idea in a space he already dominated by a foot when hunched, gaped as the old owl settled on a protruding branch at the front. He rearranged himself until comfortable and nodded to each lawyer in turn.
"He greets us because he always acknowledges our commitment to the cause. All vultures are migrants you see. We come here to practice law as none are native to Australia," Ms Corvidis whispered.
The sight of such dignified politeness was too much for the drunken human. Mercutio found himself sniggering. A shocked silence greeted his amusement which did nothing but add to the hilarity for him. At last Tenax's council ruffled his feathers and coughed pointedly at Judge Harvey.

"That is quite enough, Mr Mercutio. My court is not a circus!"
"No," he retorted, "it's an aviary. Oh I'm sorry, that was a rather poultry joke. Don't let me ruffle any feathers, please. I'm afraid my senses have rather left the coop."
"If you continue to mock this institution I wi-..."
"Do, what? Throw me back in the nest? Crack my shell a little?"
"Mister Mercutio. In our books of lore we have some very old and quite unpleasant punishments. It is well within my power to sentence you to them for contempt of court. Unlike your hero Prometheus, of Grecian origin, I believe, your liver will not regrow over night. Now be silent!"

Mercutio was about to make another wisecrack when a feathered gag reeking of carrion stifled him. Ms Corvidis even managed to sound amused as she whispered into his ear.
"Best control yourself. Such displays do not assist our endeavour. Perhaps your human 'alcohol' ingestion was a misplaced attempt at comfort."

"Your honour, please forgive my client. Like many of his species, a comprehension of any kind other than his own is difficult. I believe he is also feeling particularly threatened by current circumstances. My studies of the hominidae, as they call themselves, have revealed a curious trait by which individuals may respond to pressure or discomfort with humour. Please, your honour, this is the manifestation of insecurities," Ms Corvidis explained, shuffling back and forth along the log and bobbing her ridiculous wig.
The wing had not moved and Mercutio was beginning to choke on the smell. He had never had such a scent shoved right into his face and its strength was enough to make the man queasy. He liked, even respected Ms Corvidis but standing downwind was not a favourite.
A lot of the birds had ceased their idle chatter to observe the melodrama. Judge Harvey had fluffed up his feathers and contrived to look ferociously down at Mercutio. He recalled something from school about owls living for a little over a decade. This one looked like it had missed the decade turn-off and accelerated down the highway of age instead.

"I will have silence! Plaintiff, you may open."

Tenax was overjoyed. He had not even considered that Mercutio's obnoxious personality would prove to be his greatest asset in the first part of the trial. One of the vultures took a glance at the recorder and cleared his throat.
"Your honour, my client represents a significant number of independent birdsong artists and labels. Avis Group has been paramount in ensuring intellectual property for five years. The defendant is accused of using songs from some species my client represents without license. These songs were used to compose what is known as a concerto. The piece in question is titled 'Concerto of the Gum Leaf in C# Major.' For his illegitimate composition the defendant received money, social status and, we believe, access to mating opportunities.
"The theft of song is an atrocious crime. It has the potential to interrupt natural selective processes and endanger lives if used incorrectly. We humbly request, your honour, that the court strips all profits from the defendant in favour of my client and imposes upon the defendant the fullest punishment possible."

A good deal of nodding from around the court met his words. Judge Harvey's nodding appeared to be because he was falling asleep propped up against the tree. Loud coughing from Ms Corvidis awoke him to motion the defence forward.

"Your honour, denizens of this ecological system. Creatures of wing. Can you expect a homo sapiens, a hominidae, a human to comprehend the impact that particular melodies can have? My client found birdsong to be inspiration for further composition; for a loving homage to the musical genius of the avian race. He did not attempt to encroach upon breeding opportunities, merely to celebrate the capacity of those species to render musical compositions beyond that of his own. It is almost worshipful, the manner in which my client noted his influence for while his peers may not acknowledge the inspiration as use of another's creative work, they can appreciate the beauty inherent in it," she stated, hopping back and forth before the judge. The loathing she could feel in Tenax's gaze was only fuel for her performance. She settled back down and treated the diminutive currawong to a wing-shrug of disdain.

The first witness called forth was one of the crows who had initially found Mercutio's work on a captive radio. Tenax was amused to see the judge warm to the near-pompous academic nature on show. The crow spent his time on the Perch relating wild tales of his investigations. More than once Judge Harvey grudgingly requested he return to describing his analysis of Mercutio's concerto. When evidence came to be delivered the only things that the plaintiff had submitted were a poor recording of the concerto and a live performance of the birdsong Mercutio was alleged to have abused. Many of the audience listened with rapt attention to the performance. There was even a smattering of the beak-click applause afterwards. Mercutio felt a chill.
Strings of witnesses offered uncomfortable accuracies about his character. He cursed that the bird court held such an emphasis on empathy that they could portray him as a bad person and let him hang. Ms Corvidis was doing her best at cross-examination but her question style confused many witnesses before they were able to answer the question. Mercutio found it agonising. Tenax, however, found it delightful. Judge Harvey, outright entertaining. He had always had a soft spot for her language.
When the long parade of birds was over, Ms Corvidis summoned Mercutio to the stand to make his case.
It was terrifying. Worse than being on stage at the conservatorium. There at least the eyes watching him were of his own species. Such attention paid by birds of all creatures felt like a short road to psychological trauma.

"Mr Mercutio. Is it true that on the 8th of August you went out, in a fit of musical frustration, and listened to some birdsong?"
"Yes."
"And is it true that this inspired you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
The sudden conflict in his head reached a razor point. The knowledge that he was about to defame his artistic integrity stung like a whiplash.
"I loved the... sounds they made. The music, they made. It was so beautiful," he managed. Each word was uncomfortable. "I have such admiration for the creativity of birds that this lead me to write a piece which was, in its own way, an attempt at homage. Yes, it has brought me benefits of money and some degree of success, but I did not do it for such things, despite what was supposedly observed."
His confidence began to return. Liquid courage, it was called, burned within him as he swayed a little in his drunken state. Bloodshot eyes turned and he stabbed an accusatory finger in Tenax direction.
"This one. This one's got no artistic merit. Sure he claims to be storing these songs for the good of the species but he just wants the power, people! He just wants the ability to lord over all birdkind that he can limit what you sing. It's atrocious!"

A sudden hush fell over the courtroom. In his sudden righteous anger Mercutio stood up from the branch he had been leaning on.
"Atrocious! Yes!" he yelled. "I believe that all artists, be they bird or human should be free to sing what they bloody well like! That includes my concerto."
Staggering over to the perch were Judge Harvey was watching his performance with a cynical eye, he leaned on the tree and lifted a finger as though to admonish the dignified owl.
"You should tell these corporations that they can't limit the free voice of birds, y'know? It's not fair to tell a bird they can't sing just 'cause someone else once sold the songs for a bit of tail. Hell, if you want, I'll let anyone sing my music. Just let me keep the music I made."

A sudden nudge from Harvey's talon put Mercutio back onto his behind in the leaf matter. The owl shook his head a little and glared down at the courtroom.
"In his unusual state, this defendant has brought me to a possible remedy for the troubles of such a matter. I in truth am tired of seeing people like you, Mr Culus, in courts like mine every other season. It's disgraceful! It's not bird-like to expect such restrictions. I doubt this Mercutio will quite appreciate my decision once he is sober but none the less he will come to acknowledge it. This court will not endorse his punishment, but in return, this and any future music which Mr Mercutio produces will be available for use by any bird, so long as they ensure their audience is aware of its origin. As for Avis Group, you will perform the role of an archive, not of an organisation in the business of controlling information."
A ripple of surprise washed through the clearing. Even rather more than tipsy, Mercutio could feel the shift of empathy. The lyrebird who had announced the proceedings stalked once more from his hollow and sang a truly ideal version of the dominant motif in Mercutio's concerto as a way of closing the courtroom for a day.

Soon after, an uproar occurred as disgruntled magpies decided that then would be the best time to mob Mr Tenax Culus. The currawong barely made it into the air amidst the unhappy beaks.
For Ms Corvidis the shock was resounding. She wavered atop her log until the drunk Mercutio almost knocked her from it. A shake of her head, and the straw wig tumbled into the dust.
"Mercutio, it has certainly been a educative experience. Do permit me leave to discuss the finer points of this fundamentally maverick decision with the presiding judge. The finer points of law do not concur with it," she clacked over the roar of beating wings and several dozen pairs of avian vocal cords. "I do not doubt your eagerness to return to your former situation. Should you pen a truly striking piece I shall be sure to accommodate a recommendation being spread amongst my peers."
As ungainly as ever, the drab, oversized bird shuffled her way through the feathered mass to stoop and speak to Judge Harvey, leaving Mercutio staring off into the forest. A hint of inspiration trickled its way into his head as yet more birds flocked to the scene. They all had such very different songs. All had such excellent potential.

Mercutio smiled. There was another concerto in him yet.

Fin.

Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.​

 

[timbox129]

Hey Escapists! Sleekgiant have told me to put my two drawings in this thread, so, here they are right here:

http://www.deviantart.com/download/172731821/The_Princess_of_Shangara_by_timbox129.jpg

http://www.deviantart.com/download/172732574/The_Warrior_Girl_of_Shangara_by_timbox129.jpg

Just follow the links.

So, if you've seen my two drawings following these two links, do you like my two drawings or not? Is the Lee Lee (DeeDee's Asian friend from Dexter's Lab) depicted in the other drawing other than her in a kimono that I did look like a female version of Samurai Jack? Well, are my two drawings great or good or what?

 

[DuplicateValue]

I kinda want to get an opinion on my writing, but I haven't written anything in a while (besides a fanfic I'm working on), so I only have old stuff to show.

This is something I wrote for the Serial Killer game over in Forum Games ages ago:

Spoiler

He sat on the grass at the edge of a large lake, gazing across the still water, gleaming red in the evening?s dying sun. He liked it out here - he liked the peace, the beauty, the solitude. There?s nowhere he?d rather be right now, nowhere he?d rather wait.

But wait for what? This he didn?t know yet. He just knew that something was going to happen, and this is where he wanted to be when it did.

He looked up at the sky - large clouds loomed, black and menacing, making their way gracefully towards where he sat. It would rain soon, but he didn?t mind. Even the bad things here were beautiful. Every sight, every sound, was so clear right now. He could see the bugs wriggling in the earth a few feet away, hear the fish slapping around in the water, and the crunch of leaves and twigs behind him.

Leaves and twigs beneath heavy boots.

So this was it? This was what he had been waiting for? He wasn?t as surprised as he thought he?d be. I guess he knew it was bound to happen, bound to be his turn eventually.

He dipped his hand into the water and felt the waves caress his palm as he moved it back and forth.

?Will you sit with me??

There was no answer, just the sound of the breathing of two people, and of their surroundings.

?I figured you wouldn?t. You?re not here to sit and chat, after all?. I can?t say that I didn?t expect this - you never trusted me, did you? And I guess there?s nothing I can do now to change your mind??

Again, there was no reply from the other person who stood with him on the edge of the water, during the final moments of his life. But then, what could they say? Idle conversation was for those who had time and clear consciences, and they were not among those ranks.

He took his hand from the water and resumed gazing at the world before him.

?It?s funny how you appreciate things so much more when you know you?re about to lose them? I?m ready now. I?m more at peace in this moment than I have been in a long time?. I?m ready.?

The crunching of leaves; a step. Then another. And another.

It was time.

It started at his back: a sharp piercing feeling. Not quite pain yet, but that was to come. It made it?s way through his flesh, searing in his ribcage until it reached the other side. He looked down at the tip of the blade protruding from his chest, the reflection of the orange sun speckled with the deep red of his own blood.

Even the bad things here were beautiful.

The blade was withdrawn from him and he sat motionless for a while, his eyes scanning the landscape calmly, drinking it in. The he lay back, facing the sky. The clouds were above him now, obscuring the sun. Or maybe it had set - he didn?t know.

A drip of water crashed onto his cheek, followed by another. Drip after drip rolled down his pale face, cold and fresh, until the heavens were unleashed and his body was pummelled by the freezing arrows of an invisible army.

As his eyelids began to close, shielding their charges from the onslaught, he took in his final view of the clouds above; giants in an endless sea of wind and air.

The rain ran off him, collecting the blood that was pooling around his still body - sweeping it away to the edge of the lake. There they joined together, his blood and the lake; bodies of red dancing in the clear water.

Finally his eyes closed, and he drew his final breath, cold and shuddering. It filled his lungs and then left it?s lifeless host - in search of new horizons.

For a while - a long, silent while - there was nothing.

Then the crunch of leaves, of heavy boots. They made their way, step by step, away from the water?s edge. For a moment they stopped - hesitation maybe - but soon enough they resumed.

Crunch after crunch, disappearing into the distance.

And a few paragraphs of something I started writing a while back, but sorta dropped since then:

Spoiler

The room turned quickly around him, an intoxicating haze of twirling colours. His eyes latched onto each as they passed - an ever-changing pattern flitting in and out of sight, a living kaleidoscope. Some near, some far, some lingering longer than others - all beautiful, all radiant. And for every colour, there was a masked face to guide it, moving to the melody that filled every inch of the large hall.
From a cloudless sky, the moon shone brightly through the open windows, the breeze causing the candles to flicker all across the room.

It was a wonderful night for a dance.

He smiled happily at the woman attached to his arm, pulling her in graceful circles across the ballroom floor. Her soft laughter caressed his ears, the touch of her hand sending excited shivers up his arm. Past her butterfly mask, bright green eyes beamed at him; a brilliant gaze that deciphered his very thoughts.
In this moment, dancing with the woman he loved in a room full of his trusted friends, he felt safe; complete. He could trade almost anything to live forever in this state of perfection, to traverse this floor to the ends of time.

Their feet brushed the ground lightly as they stepped in careful time with the music, moving in gentle arcs back and forth, passing other pairs as they floated by. The atmosphere bubbled with joy, a giant pot of happiness simmering gently under the heat of a thousand candles. The flames offered a challenge to the guests, dancing vigorously in the breath of the night, casting restless shadows onto the walls.

 

[0p3rati0n]

I'm not much with a Pencil and Paper (Unless I'm writing). But I'm satisfied with my work with a mouse.

Spoiler: Mirror's Edge (made 7/27/10)

Spoiler: Cat Girl (made1/30/10)

Spoiler: Green Flame (made 9/29/09)

All of this was made on Gimp (on a Mac) xP

 

[Archemetis]

Ripped straight from my DeviantArt account, here's more of my dabbling's with Markers!

Spoiler: Nutrients!

Just a little something I did while Arko was baking.
Yes, I do do that to her.

Spoiler: The Negative Stereotype

Just some more Lady Cadaver work I did while I couldn't sleep at around 4am one night.

Spoiler: Cookie-Patch

My dog, Patch. As a cookie. Simple!

Spoiler: Salt in the Devil's face

I just thought it'd be funny.

Spoiler: The Q is silent...

Arko said I couldn't draw Mermaids, So I did.

Spoiler: Night of the Trapinch

It's a Trapinch... Zombie. What?

Spoiler: Gwen, the Barbarian

Arko's character in Hero Quest.

Spoiler: Sexy N Junk - Pin-up (Semi-nude)

Arko's Character 'Ini (Inigma) covered in Paint.

Spoiler: Tiki'Nok, The Birdman

Mischievous spirit who kidnaps white-haired tribe children. Hopefully to feature in the Swamp Girl Story.

Spoiler: Elle, the re-imagining

It's a re-imagined character design, not much else to it really.

Spoiler: Sprinkles, Breakfast

It's Sprinkles, just woken up and having his liquid breakfast.

That's all for now! Enjoy!

 

[Fightgarr]

It's been a few weeks. I haven't done a crit in a while, so...

snip

Good to see a whole whack of work, you're keeping up a solid level of quality throughout. My favorite is definitely the birdman. One thing I'm noticing about these is that your lines are pretty rigid, which is quite the difference from your digital work's smoother curves. It's most noticeable with the pin-up, where the presence of curves (in both a linear and figure-based sense) is really important.

Here are my last two entries for Character of the Week and Creature of the Week. The character I'm decently happy with. I was pretty amazed, with Character of the Week, how traditionally everyone takes the briefs. There's much less diversity than there is with Creature of the week. On the other hand, this creature of the week is one of my favorites in terms of design but easily takes the cake for my least favorite execution of any of my creature pieces in the last while.

Here they are...

Spoiler: Character of the Week: Father Time

Spoiler: Creature of the Week: Airborne Acrobats

 

[Archemetis]

It's been a few weeks. I haven't done a crit in a while, so...

snip

Good to see a whole whack of work, you're keeping up a solid level of quality throughout. My favorite is definitely the birdman. One thing I'm noticing about these is that your lines are pretty rigid, which is quite the difference from your digital work's smoother curves. It's most noticeable with the pin-up, where the presence of curves (in both a linear and figure-based sense) is really important.

Yeah, the rigid, more angular look was a style choice I'd made for Lady Cadaver characters. As you've no doubt noticed I'm still working out the kinks to make it look as decent as it possibly can, it's been a little hit-and-miss but I think progression is taking place.

A reason for this could be that I've been influenced into reading a lot of HellBoy Lately, my girlfriend owns a fairly nice amount of the first series and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to adopt elements of Mignola's style into my own.
So that might explain some of the rigidity, if you're at all familiar with his style.

But yeah I completely see what you mean about it being different from my digital style; I've barely touched my tablet for the larger part of the last month or so and I feel like I've gotten so used to my A6 sketchbook that I'm now having to re-teach myself how to draw digitally. It's incredibly odd because, as we know it's my primary medium.

But yeah, thank you for the Crit, much appreciated.
I'll be working on my ink lining style a bit more.

 

[Keava]

Hmm figured i could post a little something i doodled that i don't despise enough to just trash it 5 minutes after i make it...

Spoiler: Random chick face sketch

 

[Starnerf]

Here's my first attempt at a realistic drawing. She's the 12 year old protagonist in a story I'm writing. Many thanks to Empireth, LaCoil and Fightgarr for the help making it look nice.

Spoiler: Sketch

 

[Zemalac]

Here's my first attempt at a realistic drawing. She's the 12 year old protagonist in a story I'm writing. Many thanks to Empireth, LaCoil and Fightgarr for the help making it look nice.

Spoiler: Sketch

Very good drawing. You even got all the highlights right, which I can never do.

My only comment would be that she doesn't look twelve. I'd peg her at about fourteen, actually. If she's twelve, it's a really tall twelve.

 

[Starnerf]

Here's my first attempt at a realistic drawing. She's the 12 year old protagonist in a story I'm writing. Many thanks to Empireth, LaCoil and Fightgarr for the help making it look nice.

Spoiler: Sketch

Very good drawing. You even got all the highlights right, which I can never do.

My only comment would be that she doesn't look twelve. I'd peg her at about fourteen, actually. If she's twelve, it's a really tall twelve.

Thanks. Again, it's really thanks to Empireth's continued help and LaCoil's and Fightgarr's suggestions that it actually looked like a person and not an alien. She's supposed to be short, actually, around 4'8". She's ~6.7 heads tall in this drawing, if I'm measuring correctly.

 

[Sporky111]

Well, I've been trying some painting lately. I still don't enjoy it that much, but I guess I'm happy with the results. I'd like some general critiquing if anyone would like to do that.

Spoiler: Bed of Coals

Spoiler: OH NO! : : A triadic-colour scheme experiment

 

[Fightgarr]

Well, I've been trying some painting lately. I still don't enjoy it that much, but I guess I'm happy with the results. I'd like some general critiquing if anyone would like to do that.

Spoiler: Bed of Coals

Spoiler: OH NO! : : A triadic-colour scheme experiment

You have a few things to look at in terms of painting. I see you're working on paper. Switch to canvas or (at least) canvas board as soon as possible. Paint and paper are not meant for each other, and you will enjoy painting vastly more with the correct surface to paint on.

For the first painting: Composition and space are both really important to establish, especially with an abstract. Start with a greater variation in the size of the shapes you're painting. That will begin to develop objects in space and will take the eye around the piece easier. The change in size will begin to give the illusion of depth. The second thing to start doing is to add a greater colour palette. At the moment you're sitting with an entirely warm palette. The problem there is that it's boring for the eye, an the monochrome flattens the space. Adding subtle hints of cooler shades will bring greater depth to palette and will help to further establish that space. Abstract with a spacial sense is not good abstract. Finally, take a look at tone. Convert your image into a greyscale and look at the variance in light and dark. You'll begin to notice that midtones, highlights and darks should all be present in some significant sense. If you have them all present, then the piece will read better.

For the second piece: Graphic pieces like this are really fun to do, and you'll find that masonite, canvas or wood will do you a lot better for this kind of work than paper. There is only one problem that is apparent here, the visibility of your brushstrokes. It's easy to fix, though. You are most likely using acrylic paint, so buy yourself a tub of cheap Gel Medium. Mix a bit of the medium into your paint instead of adding water and you'll find that it flows off the brush easier, without getting the brushgrain texture.

I hope that helps out a bit. I'm a pretty experienced painter, so feel free to PM me if you have further questions.

 

[Sporky111]

-snip-

Well, thanks a lot. The reason they're on paper is because they're assignments for a distance-education art course (I will NEVER EVER take art by distance again) and they need to be rolled up and mailed to be marked. Bed of Coals had to be monochromatic as part of colour theory lesson, and I actually did use a mixture of blue and brown in the orange to get the darker shades.

Thanks for the advice, I appreciate it. I prefer pencils to paints, but if I have no choice then I'll definitely remember this stuff.

 

[JohanGasMask]

I have been inspired by some local cartoonist and by Jhonen Vasquez to start drawing more. I have always doodled my whole life but now im gonna try and make something out of it and hopefully start some kind of a career of it. I am young and i have limited experience of drawing. So il show you some of my favorite work.

I dont know what the hell this is, but i am proud of it. Its called " Subtle Suicidal Revenge" because of what i can make out of the drawing.

Spoiler

This next one i had alot of fun drawing. I was practicing my shading skills and just drawing some new figures.

Spoiler

This is one of my earlies drawings i did when i decided to draw it. But i think no one should take my drawings too seriously.

Spoiler

If you like them you can see some more at my deviant art account. http://johangasmask.deviantart.com

 

[Labyrinth]

Spoiler: Self portrait 2010

So I figure I might as well do at least one self-portrait a year. Here's last night's 2am contribution to artistic credibility.

 

[Labyrinth]

Here's a link to the re-edited and final version of my Extension 2 Major Work. It's 7750 words of satire and punnery reflecting on intellectual property laws.
The Beak [http://labychan.deviantart.com/#/d2wv274]

 

[Puppeteer Putin]

Love the new Self-Portrait Laby, especiall the slight angle on the face.