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Description
A long long time ago, I did this picture: [link] . And while I was justifiably proud of it at the time, the scene had much more subtle emotional punch than I conveyed there. I've been meaning to redo it for sometime, and when I came across this pic: [link] from ~syccas-stock , the muse gnawed frantically on my miniature worn brain and won. So this is the work of few nights, a couple of hours at a time, when I should really be sleeping. Normally I wouldn't upload the inked version, but damn I like how this looks in plain black and white. Still going to colour it, to try something a bit different from my usual.

And yes, all that patterning is done by hand, which is why the inking isn't smooth as it should be because I have dithery hands anyway, and it's on textured board. Me, masochistic? Always.

Below is a little of the text that makes up the scene. Feel free to read or not. I won't be offended if you don't.

______________________________

Nick was wondering at where she had found the strength to almost land what would have been a particularly vicious jab, when she went limp in his hands, the delicate balance she had striven to keep between survivial and fear imploding in on her. There was a moment's hung pause, the air in the room oddly static before she broke into body-wrenching sobs. His first thought was nothing but blankness, then an awkwardness at not knowing what to do. He stared agape at the female form crumpled against him as she heaved and wept. Then something in her posture triggered a memory all too fresh, too raw. Her body quaking against his enveloped him in a playback of the recent past, and his head spun in the moment of his greatest loss through her soul-jarring shudders. Pain lanced through his gut, a symptom of the sudden grief of his recall. He knew then the pain the woman nestled in his grasp was suffering. He knew that, in her mind, the comprehension that all she had ever known was lost to her had suddenly hit home.

All at once, he felt the shadow of Janet in his arms again; but where his howls had pealed through all those close enough to hear, she suffered in silence, save for the squawking intake of breath and a strangled exhalation, as if breathing itself had become a physical manifestation of all the pain.

Nick caught his own breath faltering, upended by his emotions. It was like all the world had succumbed to a hurricane, and all you could do was tumble blindly in the winds. It was impossible to put straight once you started that mad descent; you fought and fought, only to spin in ever dizzier circles. The pain was more than physical, more than mental. It went beyond emotion. It took over your whole body and mind; you could feel your heart pounding against a tightening cage in your chest until your throat seized up and your lungs burned and your head ached as if someone had shot acid through it.

Nick almost choked on the surge of memory, on the hurt and grief that went with it, and with a gentleness that would have shocked his female charge, pulled the sobbing woman into his body and wrapped his arms around her. Blinking back his own tears, he bent into her hair and whispered soothing nothings, comforting sounds, as he had done with Janet in her youthful outbursts. Toni pressed her hands to him, buried her face in his chest, sensing his distress as his breath caught in her dishevelled locks. The meaningless noises soothed some distant part of her mind, detached from the agony that tore through her as the floodgates of her emotions opened.

Had those floodgates held back just a little longer, she would have noticed the the bloom of Nick's own tears on her shoulder minutes later. Finally given the emotional crutch she so desperately needed, though, she was oblivious to that and the jarring shiver that passed through the male body cocooned around her own as Nick finally let go of the grueling burden of his own grief.

Only two hours later, as the sun rose predictably into the warm summer’s morning air, two figures slept soundly curled up against one another, united in sympathy and loss.

Characters, writing and Hit the Floor © to Sam Hogg
Please do not redistribute or repost without my written permission.

Description
A long long time ago, I did this picture: [link] . And while I was justifiably proud of it at the time, the scene had much more subtle emotional punch than I conveyed there. I've been meaning to redo it for sometime, and when I came across this pic: [link] from ~syccas-stock , the muse gnawed frantically on my miniature worn brain and won. So this is the work of few nights, a couple of hours at a time, when I should really be sleeping. Normally I wouldn't upload the inked version, but damn I like how this looks in plain black and white. Still going to colour it, to try something a bit different from my usual.

And yes, all that patterning is done by hand, which is why the inking isn't smooth as it should be because I have dithery hands anyway, and it's on textured board. Me, masochistic? Always.

Below is a little of the text that makes up the scene. Feel free to read or not. I won't be offended if you don't.

______________________________

Nick was wondering at where she had found the strength to almost land what would have been a particularly vicious jab, when she went limp in his hands, the delicate balance she had striven to keep between survivial and fear imploding in on her. There was a moment's hung pause, the air in the room oddly static before she broke into body-wrenching sobs. His first thought was nothing but blankness, then an awkwardness at not knowing what to do. He stared agape at the female form crumpled against him as she heaved and wept. Then something in her posture triggered a memory all too fresh, too raw. Her body quaking against his enveloped him in a playback of the recent past, and his head spun in the moment of his greatest loss through her soul-jarring shudders. Pain lanced through his gut, a symptom of the sudden grief of his recall. He knew then the pain the woman nestled in his grasp was suffering. He knew that, in her mind, the comprehension that all she had ever known was lost to her had suddenly hit home.

All at once, he felt the shadow of Janet in his arms again; but where his howls had pealed through all those close enough to hear, she suffered in silence, save for the squawking intake of breath and a strangled exhalation, as if breathing itself had become a physical manifestation of all the pain.

Nick caught his own breath faltering, upended by his emotions. It was like all the world had succumbed to a hurricane, and all you could do was tumble blindly in the winds. It was impossible to put straight once you started that mad descent; you fought and fought, only to spin in ever dizzier circles. The pain was more than physical, more than mental. It went beyond emotion. It took over your whole body and mind; you could feel your heart pounding against a tightening cage in your chest until your throat seized up and your lungs burned and your head ached as if someone had shot acid through it.

Nick almost choked on the surge of memory, on the hurt and grief that went with it, and with a gentleness that would have shocked his female charge, pulled the sobbing woman into his body and wrapped his arms around her. Blinking back his own tears, he bent into her hair and whispered soothing nothings, comforting sounds, as he had done with Janet in her youthful outbursts. Toni pressed her hands to him, buried her face in his chest, sensing his distress as his breath caught in her dishevelled locks. The meaningless noises soothed some distant part of her mind, detached from the agony that tore through her as the floodgates of her emotions opened.

Had those floodgates held back just a little longer, she would have noticed the the bloom of Nick's own tears on her shoulder minutes later. Finally given the emotional crutch she so desperately needed, though, she was oblivious to that and the jarring shiver that passed through the male body cocooned around her own as Nick finally let go of the grueling burden of his own grief.

Only two hours later, as the sun rose predictably into the warm summer’s morning air, two figures slept soundly curled up against one another, united in sympathy and loss.

Characters, writing and Hit the Floor © to Sam Hogg
Please do not redistribute or repost without my written permission.