Liquid Light

No, I do not have an excuse. Nor do I need one.

"I didn't sign on for this crap!"

Mikala Quethalis, for those who don't know him too well, is a silver dragon disciple. In essence, this is someone who has a teeny wee bit of draconic blood in the family tree (and knowing silver dragons and mortals, that seemed the most fitting species), who has focused their efforts upon bringing that heritage out.

When I played him in Winter's D&D game, he was just shy of halfway through the process, having grown several fangs and some talons, and developed some exceptionally hard and slightly metallic skin. Nothing too terribly exotic, unless you count having breath that could -literally- kill someone. In Tea and Sorcery, he had grown vestigial wings.

As I've chosen to write it, however, that apotheosis cannot be stopped at a convenient level of pretty.* The vain mage has made his bed and now he's just going to have to lie in it.

Let's not talk about how screwed up that hand was, though.

*It actually did during Tea and Sorcery, but I don't think he'd be terribly happy about that, given the reasons.

Curios and Trinkets, part the eleventh

Before I get on with the shiny objects, I'd like to mention that as of 3:30 yesterday morning, aioli ceased to be a mystic delicacy that I only had in restaurants. This has a lot to do with the fact that aioli is essentially garlic mayonnaise that's wearing Groucho glasses and hoping that no one recognizes it. I ended up just grinding some dried garlic to powder in a mortar and mixing it with some mayonnaise and lemon juice, then leaving it to mellow in the fridge for a few hours. Done.

I'm bordering on will-breakingly tired right now, so do forgive me if I'm a bit laconic about the jewelery.

Labradorite, shell, crab agate, quartz.

I've since added clasps to these. All glass.

More glass.

An attempt at capturing Mikala. I don't think it's going to be possible without an actual dragon, though.

Quartz, if memory serves.

Quartz and imperial turquoise, and some copper beads meant to frame other beads. Turquoise, by the way, is an exceedingly awkward word to type.

The rings spin.

And lastly, something vaguely reminiscent of Miss Nori.

Curios and Trinkets, part the tenth

I think that I am rapidly approaching the point at which I'll be glad when someone buys one of my necklaces more because it's one less piece to deal with than for the money.

...oh, bugger that, I'm already there. Here, have more shinies!

More chrysocolla.

Glass, candy jade, and something I can't identify.

Carnelian, pumice, and crab agate. I've resorted to trying to make necklaces based on the 'essence' of various characters of mine in a bid for inspiration. This was supposed to be Anaquiel, but it didn't quite come out right.

I think what I -really- need to try is Mikala. Goodness knows he'd approve of my new hobby.

Curios and Trinkets, part the ninth

Just a pair of bracelets for the moment. I have a few things to photograph, but this vague dread of going outside to do so.

Playing God

This is the 'underpainting' for what will probably be entered into a contest on the subject of science fiction/fantasy mixes. I have much leftover loathing for the blending of the two from my younger days (though subgenres have done much to soften my heart; goodness knows I prefer my steampunk with a very hefty dose of fey), but the subject immediately had me thinking of Herr Drosselmeyer's Doll, minus the licentious overtones.

Plus, you know, any opportunity to cross-dress as a slightly mad scientist is a good one.

Ah, beauty...

It occurs to me, while perusing various articles and blogs and so forth, that I am something of an anomaly when it comes to self-image. I exist alongside a culture where female sexuality is simultaneously lauded and degraded, and despite being able to see how that constant barrage of conflicting concepts could mess with the mind of a younger and impressionable girl--and less charitably, a weak-willed woman of any age--I just... don't hear it.

All that I can glean from that strange parallel world is misery and self-loathing, punctuated with the occasional desperate bit of hope that one has, perhaps, managed to live up to an ideal that she did not make on her own, or even tailor to her tastes.

As an aside, one thing that I absolutely adore about the proliferation of steampunk and neo-Victorian style is that they've done much to breathe a bit of class into the world and--I suspect--made at least a few ladies realise that one need not go the route of looking like a cheap prostitute in order to beguile onlookers. I mean, really; what manner of mate do these people think they're going to attract by showing as much flesh as they can get away with?

Anyway. My initial point was that all of that cultural garbage just seems to fly past my head with no effect beyond a raised eyebrow, and I am infinitely happier for it--and that seems to be a state that many mothers of young girls want their daughters to grow up in.

So, I'll say this much: Don't tell her she's pretty. Nurture and laud her brain, for crying out loud.


And occasionally wear studded leather bracers. I think that helps a bit, too.