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[personal profile] froodle
It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet the Escapee Cat:

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[personal profile] froodle
Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Flufftiles, a horned half-snake half-dog:

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[personal profile] froodle
The moray eels in their human skin suit surveyed the locked doors of the Eerie Museum of Aquatic Mysteries with suspicious eyes and downturned mouths. They carried a backpack, though technically not on their backs, and the straps hung strangely over lopsided and sagging shoulders supported by no scapula or collarbone.

In the backpack was a recipe book, old and worn and much-repaired with sticking tape and the best efforts of creatures without opposable thumbs. Or any thumbs. Or digits at all, really.

"1001 Atlantean Delicacies for the Discerning Piscivore" was a best-seller, and they were determined to use it.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
The fountain in the centre of town had frozen over and the cold had made the things that lived below it listless and sluggish.

Sluggish, but still hungry.

The sanitation engineers - the title was an important distinction in a town where Garbagemen were not men and collected things that were not garbage - used pool hooks to tug the larger pieces free from the pink-stained ice. The smaller parts, fingers, toes, teeth and the single still-blinking blue eye that bobbed, untethered, in a shallow pool of melt-water, would require the use of a shrimping net.

A shrimping net, and much caution.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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[personal profile] froodle
It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Sharky Barky!

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[personal profile] froodle
My beanie take on the demon Burr, originally from the Ars Goetia but mostly from the Castlevania games:

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His name is Burr-ty.

(super proud of this guy for two reasons; one, it's the most complicated beastie I've attempted so far, and two, he's made mostly out of leftovers from the scrap bag)

And, an updated family photo:

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[personal profile] froodle
Her second cigarette was almost gone.

Janet checked the double set of watches adorning each wrist - the Old Gods that owned the Sushi Bar may have long ago outgrown such concepts as time and space, but they allowed their employees to use it in order to make doing the rota easier - and sighed.

"I need to get back and set up for the King Tide," she said. "You can pay my consulting fee in American dollars or sunken treasure. I don't take Sea Witch wishes anymore."

The smallest corpse gurgled a phlegmy inquiry. Janet scowled.

"I don't do free samples."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
Again, one of the drowned humans tried to speak, but Janet held up her hand.

"Stop," she said. "One, I can't really understand you when you use dead bodies as a mouthpiece; everything you say comes out garbled."

She paused, waiting to see if the thing in the lake would react, but the ghastly handpuppets (tentacle-puppets?) simply hung there, silent and slimy and dripping.

"Secondly, nobody in the hospitality industry is going to be tempted into deep water by customers demanding they come over and serve them."

The nearest corpse-glove nodded slightly.

"And thirdly, you should really consider a glamour."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
The swollen and awful things gazed at her with milky, unseeing eyes, slack faces pulled into rictus-like mockeries of reproach.

One of them had evidently lain too long at the bottom of the lake to withstand such rough treatment, and it's jaw fell off, hitting the water a dozen feet below it with a slap that echoed across the little inlet where the Sushi Bar lay.

There followed a long and awkward pause, where the monster animating the dead summer people tried to pretend that hadn't happened, and Janet tried not to laugh.

"Maybe you could workshop it?" she suggested.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
The bloated and blue-tinged corpses danced on the ends of thick and fleshy tentacles, decaying flesh sloughing from exposed bone as the thing that wore their dead faces worked their water-logged bodies like glove-puppets.

It wasn't the worst puppet show Janet had ever seen, but it was probably in the top ten for that particular year.

"That's gross," she said, finishing one cigarette and immediately lighting another, as much to mask the drowned-tourist smell as anything.

Lifeless jaws worked mindlessly, lake water spilling over rotting lips and loosening teeth.

Janet shook her head.

"You're not luring anyone with this mess."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
The damp patch on the kitchen ceiling was shiny with moisture, and the upstairs neighbours were singing again.

Marshall could hear the slap-slap-slap of wide, webbed feet on uncarpeted floors and underneath the lyrics, woven into the music, the choking gurgle of the man the sirens had lured up there.

He checked his watch and sighed. Six o'clock in the evening, nowhere near late enough to justify a knock on the door and a request to keep the noise down.

The radio sat between the haunted toaster and the spot where the microwave used to be. He turned it on.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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[personal profile] froodle
The lake bed was stony, littered with smooth round river-rocks bearing tiger-striped bands of mineral deposits. They shone golden-brown in the sunlit water, sparkling treasures of the deep framed by drifting strands of black seaweed and the occasional bleached whiteness of drowned men's bones.

Janet consulted the clipboard in front of her. Had there been this much skeletal debris last week?

She produced a cheap disposable camera from the front pocket of her blood-smeared apron and snapped a few photos. Sometimes the things in the lake were messy eaters, and scattering a kill made it look worse than it was.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
There was no wind that day, and the surface of the lake was mirror-flat and shining, gleaming like a misshapen silver dollar in the afternoon sun.

In the shallow places, around the rotting half-collapsed boardwalk and alongside the enchanted breakwater made from sea-glass and mermaid scales, the water was clear all the way to the bottom.

Janet walked the perimeter slowly, her gait a studied halfway point between the purposeful march of patrol - which the King Crab might take as an incursion - and the loose-limbed amble of a stroll - which the lake monsters would take as an invitation to dinner.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
"In that case, I take it you're not going to end up calling him Annie?" said Marshall.

"I mean, I don't have a problem with Annies," said Janet. "I don't even think I know any."

The mer-minotaur's broad, blunt snout breached the surface, and Janet reached out absently to pat it.

"He could be an Annie, I guess," she said. "Put that down as a possibility."

Marshall dutifully wrote it down, wondering if this was how Simon felt on a lot of their missions. He crossed out "bull shark" and put a question mark next to both "Annie" and "mer-minotaur".

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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"I guess so?" said Janet. "I can't think of anything better, except for bull-shark and that's already a different thing."

Marshall eyed the mer-minotaur, currently gulping down the last meaty leavings from the chum bucket.

"Bull sharks are dicks," he said. "The book didn't phrase it exactly like that, but it pretty much said, they're dicks that mess with people for no reason. All this guy does is swim around and look sad."

"The mermaids are also dicks," said Janet. "That's not from a book, that's from personal observation. And the minotaur didn't have all that great a reputation either."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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[personal profile] froodle
"Okay," he said, turning back to the first page. "So, according to this, we need to check for lungs, gills, live births and whether they suckle their young."

Janet reached out with her non-bloodied hand and flipped the book closed.

"Can't check for lungs without opening him up," she said. "And I don't know if a bull-shark-minotaur can have young, but I was hoping to resolve this before he spawns, or lays eggs, or whatever."

Marshall moved a little distance away and opened the book again.

"Well, bull-sharks take about ten months to gestate," he said. "So plenty of time."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The light was on in the Secret Spot and it's warm yellow glow shone through the round attic window and pooled on the night-time street outside.

Syndi hesitated.

"Do you think we could wait 'til tomorrow to bring my brother up to speed on lake monsters and evil clowns that live in the sewers?" she said.

Janet shrugged.

"Up to you," she said. "This is your story now. Tell it how you want, tell it to who you want. Or don't."

She put a hand out, touched Syndi lightly on the wrist.

"Consider telling someone, though. I found it helped."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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The Lorelei's skin was finely-pebbled, the bumps softly rounded like sea glass tumbled to cloudy jewels by the ever-present movement of the water. They shone like fancy shells washed up from far-off climes, gold and pink and lustrous brown, and their song was full of handsome men drowned for love of the ocean.

"Ladies," said Janet, setting a serving tray down and pressing Long Island Iced Teas into a dozen webbed and claw-tipped hands. "I'm going to have to ask you to either stop that, or leave."

They pouted at that, their trailing jellyfish-like stingers thrashing indignantly, but they stopped.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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The pirates claimed that marine worms had eaten their ship. Marshall wasn't sure how a living creature, no matter nightmarishly ugly, could chew through the spectral wood of a ghostly galleon, but Janet shrugged and said, well, it did happen, and had they tried vinegar to keep the worms away?

The pirates explained that all their vinegar stocks had gone down with the HMS Jolly Rodger, and that yes, they knew what HMS stood for and didn't care, and could they please borrow the Baitshop's pedalos, just for tonight?

"You'll spoil them," he'd warned Janet, once the pirates were gone.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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[personal profile] froodle
The Castle Beneath the Waves rose up from the black waters, saltwater streaming down rotted stone, battlements festooned with seaweed. Stranded fish flopped helplessly in too-small puddles, mouths opening and closing in a call for help that could never reach human ears.

Ropey tentacles shot up from the choppy surface, seizing the suddenly-land-bound animals and dragging them back to the safety of the deeps. Janet Donner released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, and re-lit her cigarette with shaking hands.

"You need to warn them beforehand!" she shouted across the lake. "Put up a sign or something! Assholes."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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[personal profile] froodle
The Phantom Ocean was back again, cresting waves and grey water layered over and around the vacant, hungry blue of Lake Eerie. White and eyeless things that had never existed flickered in it's filmy depths, half-seen, half-imagined. The Lorelei huddled on the rotting boardwalk behind the Eerie Baitshop and Sushi Bar, muttering resentfully into their knitting and swatting at the too-real seagulls that accompanied the briny depths.

Janet brought out a platter of steaming French fries, along with chum made with the previous day's leftovers.

"Ladies," she said, setting it down and retreating to a safe distance. "On the house."

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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The sea serpent's scales were black as the lightless depths of the deepest ocean, and upon it's head it wore a crown of sunken ships. It's eyes were milk-white and blind, and it groped desperately towards the scent of food.

Simon stood over it, a pipette of rehydrated fairy shrimp in one hand. A single droplet dangled from the end, shimmering in the sullen glow of the heat lamp as he guided it down into the waiting jaws of the snake.

"How many ships in bottles did you smash to make a novelty hat for your pet?" asked Sheila, floating easily over the glass shards that littered the workbench in order to fetch the appointment book.

Simon looked guilty.

"I think the Eerie Guild of Impossible Bottles has a price on my head," he admitted.

"Lucky all their cannons are tiny and fake," said Sheila. "Snake looks real cute, though."

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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evilinsanemonkey: Marshall Teller and Dash X from Eerie Indiana making eyes at each other (Eerie: Dash/Mars)
[personal profile] evilinsanemonkey
Title: What Friends are For
Rating: G
Author notes: For the amnesty round on [community profile] fan_flashworks prompt 'triangle'
Summary: Simon's just helping Marshall keep busy.

What Friends are For
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[personal profile] froodle
It's the 7th of the month, and that means... CREATURE FEATURE!

Give us fic, give us fanart, give us whatever springs to your mind when you think of our monster of the month:

LAKE MONSTER

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Eerie Indiana

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