Every Sunday, with a helping of Silly every Tuesday

                "There, on the grey marble, stood a girl I guessed to be about my age, her long, black hair cascading around her as she thrashed and gesticulated, screaming at a man clad in black leather. He was faceless, featureless. He may as well have been inanimate next to her, her broad, powerful figure overbearing him in every sense. Occasionally she would toss her head with a spiteful laugh, flashing a streak of wild pink. She wore a long black coat, covered with lace detail and silver buckles over a black and red corseted top, above flame red bike boots; skin tight, they followed the curve of her calf until the heel became a deadly point. As the two stalked around each other, him picking up and throwing suitcases, her clutching at him, hugging and shoving, the tempest of emotions between them, it seemed almost a tango, the words unimportant, their movements describing all, which was good since half the argument seemed to be in Italian.

                “Aw Christ, I thought we’d gotten rid of her.” A voice muttered behind me, making me jump. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the warring couple in the main hall.

“Who are they?” I muttered back, looking around just long enough to acknowledge that I was talking to Buster.

“The infamous Lydia and her latest squeeze.” He sniffed, as they continued to stalk around each other, seemingly unaware of our presence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Giselle tense for a moment, but hardly another move. Buster continued; he either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. “Doesn’t look like they’ll be together much longer though.”

                As if on cue, Mr Biker Leathers delivered a final kick to one of the suitcases, and stormed through the doors. Lydia chased him as far as the doors, her ivory skin slightly flushed with rage. She screamed something indecipherable and Italian after him as we heard the sound of a motorcycle engine rumbling away from the house. She slammed the doorframe with the flat of her hand, before turning smartly on her heel, clicking up the stairs, clutching two suitcases which she picked up in a graceful swoop, the passion of the dance still with her. She gave a nod of her head to Thisby, who nodded back, and then walked straight towards us.

“Take a picture, pervertito ripugnante

She hissed, her hips swinging as she stalked past Buster, stopping momentarily to look at me with her dark, almond-shaped eyes. I was a rabbit caught in the headlights. "

("Billie Shakes: A Whole World of Crazy" By Vikkie Moule)


So now I explain. Lately, mostly because of Uni pressures, I've found it rather hard to enjoy drawing these comics, and suffered from a shocking amount of artistic block. I can't draw anything to a standard I find even part-way acceptable, so instead, I bring you this.

I have decided to turn my page here into an online sketchbook, so I can keep drawing, but without the pressure of maintaining a set style or story. This particular picture was drawn some time ago, and I know I could do it better now, but I like the background and the colours in this one.

I'm very sorry to those of you who were interested in the stories, but I have intended something of a compromise, as witnessed by the text. A lot of the scenes and characters I draw will probably be inspired by other stories I write, and as such they will come with a brief explanation or context, and as I am likely to draw more than one scene or charcter from each story, you might get a feel for them. 

Updates will now be limited to Sundays as well, unless I do two drawings in a week that I really want to share. I hope you guys continue to check in and enjoy my drawings, if anything just to see if I've gone back to stories yet :P

Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.



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Vikkie Moule ||   

Jack(y) of all trades, master of little, I'm a born and bred country girl living in my head but residing in England ... full profile