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Description

One day, possibly a Wednesday, several months ago the Ghost King approached her about a potentially lucrative business deal. It involved teeth. A lot of them. The Ghost King didn’t tell Deedee where he obtained them and she didn’t ask. But she did know who wanted them.

Skeletons were always in need of teeth. Without proper gums they were always losing them, and as such were in need of a near constant supply. Deedee had been the middleman. She didn’t know why the Ghost King needed a go-between, but she hadn’t questioned it. The money had been too good. Until it wasn't. Now the Ghost King was dead, Bonemeal & Co was after her and she didn’t know who to trust.

It was a tale as old as time, thought Sir Goober.

Deedee Tea didn’t know who was responsible for the Ghost King’s murder, but a few days before his second demise, she’d witnessed him acting strangely. Twitchy, agitated and increasingly spooked, the Ghost King’s erratic behavior began after receiving a mysterious letter in the mail. Concerned, Deedee had taken a photo of the letter, which she showed to Sir Goober.

It was a large letter, painted in red enamel paint. It had no return address. The only distinguishing characteristic was its shape. It had four angled lengths connected end to end in a zigzag pattern. Sir Goober couldn’t be sure but it looked like an “M”.

Leaving the problem of Deedee Tea for another time, Sir Goober went straight to the only place he could think of that might be able to shed light on a mysterious letter. The post office. From there he was directed, but only after completing three hours worth of bureaucratic busywork, to the mail carrier who was responsible for the Ghost King’s correspondence. His name was Wilbur and he was a werewolf.

Wilbur was a trendsetter. A maverick. A maven of the mail delivery services. And a lycanthrope. But this didn’t stop him. Already a veteran postie of twenty years, when Wilbur was attacked by an overly enthusiastic werewolf mail recipient (a common hazard of the profession), his career should have been over. But Wilbur persisted. Despite the furry stigma and the constant temptations of unchewed boxes, parked cars, and his fellow mail carriers, Wilbur refused to hang up his blue shorts and cap. He was a survivor and damn good at his job.

“What can you tell me about this letter?” asked Sir Goober, holding a carefully rendered drawing of Deedee’s photo.

Wilbur took a moment to study the drawing, nodding.

“Seen it before. Hard to write much of anything without it,” said Wilbur.

“No, I mean what can you tell me about this letter, specifically?” asked Sir Goober.

“Let’s see,” said Wilbur as he took the drawing. “It’s a pretty good likeness. Nice lines. Bold. Really grabs your attention.”

Sir Goober blinked.

“Let me try this again,” he said. “This letter was delivered to the Ghost King. Probably happened sometime in the last two or three months. The Ghost King’s on your route. I just need to know if you remember delivering it.”

Wilbur studied the drawing again, slowly rotating it.

“Ah,” he said. “Now I remember. I did deliver this letter,” said Wilbur.

“Excellent. What do you remember about it?”

“Well, it was heavy. Kind of shiny. Red. You can’t tell that from this drawing, which is why I had trouble remembering,” explained Wilbur.

“Was there anything else?” asked Sir Goober as the werewolf handed back the drawing.

Wilbur shook his head. Then stopped.

“Wait. There was something else. It was small, but I think there were some words scratched into the back side of the letter,” said Wilbur.

Sir Goober’s eyes lit up.

“Do you remember what it said?” he asked.

“Don’t. Trust.”

---

For the first time in a while, this one went really well from start to finish. I played around with a few compositions, but this scene seemed like the better option, time wise. In case it isn't clear, I took outpost and interpreted it for the purposes of the story to out post (mail going out). I know, it's a stretch, but I'm not going to worry about it.

As to the story, I felt like it flowed a little better this time. I don't know if that is something someone else would notice, but I was happy with it. And I also had fun developing that short bit on Wilbur the werewolf's backstory.

Anyway, let me know what you think.
More on the way.

******************************************
Thanks for the fav on Inktober 15: Outpost – Wait a minute Mr Postman...
ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
Wait a minute Mr Postman… I really need to send this off today. Don’t mind the leaking, or the smell. I assure you, it’s supposed to do that. Please don’t give me that look. How else do you expect me to deliver a foster family of mutinous Koi fish to my third and a half cousin in metropolitan Guinea? Without toilet water and freshly harvested pond scum, they would surely die, and if you think it smells bad now… Also, if you wouldn't mind keeping an eye out, my other cousin on my great uncle Marilyn’s side, is sending me his second favorite trombone wielding grasshopper. Don’t worry, it’s quite large, so you shouldn’t have any trouble spotting it. Thanks.

#ThroughRainSnowAndSupersizedInsects

Description

One day, possibly a Wednesday, several months ago the Ghost King approached her about a potentially lucrative business deal. It involved teeth. A lot of them. The Ghost King didn’t tell Deedee where he obtained them and she didn’t ask. But she did know who wanted them.

Skeletons were always in need of teeth. Without proper gums they were always losing them, and as such were in need of a near constant supply. Deedee had been the middleman. She didn’t know why the Ghost King needed a go-between, but she hadn’t questioned it. The money had been too good. Until it wasn't. Now the Ghost King was dead, Bonemeal & Co was after her and she didn’t know who to trust.

It was a tale as old as time, thought Sir Goober.

Deedee Tea didn’t know who was responsible for the Ghost King’s murder, but a few days before his second demise, she’d witnessed him acting strangely. Twitchy, agitated and increasingly spooked, the Ghost King’s erratic behavior began after receiving a mysterious letter in the mail. Concerned, Deedee had taken a photo of the letter, which she showed to Sir Goober.

It was a large letter, painted in red enamel paint. It had no return address. The only distinguishing characteristic was its shape. It had four angled lengths connected end to end in a zigzag pattern. Sir Goober couldn’t be sure but it looked like an “M”.

Leaving the problem of Deedee Tea for another time, Sir Goober went straight to the only place he could think of that might be able to shed light on a mysterious letter. The post office. From there he was directed, but only after completing three hours worth of bureaucratic busywork, to the mail carrier who was responsible for the Ghost King’s correspondence. His name was Wilbur and he was a werewolf.

Wilbur was a trendsetter. A maverick. A maven of the mail delivery services. And a lycanthrope. But this didn’t stop him. Already a veteran postie of twenty years, when Wilbur was attacked by an overly enthusiastic werewolf mail recipient (a common hazard of the profession), his career should have been over. But Wilbur persisted. Despite the furry stigma and the constant temptations of unchewed boxes, parked cars, and his fellow mail carriers, Wilbur refused to hang up his blue shorts and cap. He was a survivor and damn good at his job.

“What can you tell me about this letter?” asked Sir Goober, holding a carefully rendered drawing of Deedee’s photo.

Wilbur took a moment to study the drawing, nodding.

“Seen it before. Hard to write much of anything without it,” said Wilbur.

“No, I mean what can you tell me about this letter, specifically?” asked Sir Goober.

“Let’s see,” said Wilbur as he took the drawing. “It’s a pretty good likeness. Nice lines. Bold. Really grabs your attention.”

Sir Goober blinked.

“Let me try this again,” he said. “This letter was delivered to the Ghost King. Probably happened sometime in the last two or three months. The Ghost King’s on your route. I just need to know if you remember delivering it.”

Wilbur studied the drawing again, slowly rotating it.

“Ah,” he said. “Now I remember. I did deliver this letter,” said Wilbur.

“Excellent. What do you remember about it?”

“Well, it was heavy. Kind of shiny. Red. You can’t tell that from this drawing, which is why I had trouble remembering,” explained Wilbur.

“Was there anything else?” asked Sir Goober as the werewolf handed back the drawing.

Wilbur shook his head. Then stopped.

“Wait. There was something else. It was small, but I think there were some words scratched into the back side of the letter,” said Wilbur.

Sir Goober’s eyes lit up.

“Do you remember what it said?” he asked.

“Don’t. Trust.”

---

For the first time in a while, this one went really well from start to finish. I played around with a few compositions, but this scene seemed like the better option, time wise. In case it isn't clear, I took outpost and interpreted it for the purposes of the story to out post (mail going out). I know, it's a stretch, but I'm not going to worry about it.

As to the story, I felt like it flowed a little better this time. I don't know if that is something someone else would notice, but I was happy with it. And I also had fun developing that short bit on Wilbur the werewolf's backstory.

Anyway, let me know what you think.
More on the way.

******************************************
Thanks for the fav on Inktober 15: Outpost – Wait a minute Mr Postman...
ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
Wait a minute Mr Postman… I really need to send this off today. Don’t mind the leaking, or the smell. I assure you, it’s supposed to do that. Please don’t give me that look. How else do you expect me to deliver a foster family of mutinous Koi fish to my third and a half cousin in metropolitan Guinea? Without toilet water and freshly harvested pond scum, they would surely die, and if you think it smells bad now… Also, if you wouldn't mind keeping an eye out, my other cousin on my great uncle Marilyn’s side, is sending me his second favorite trombone wielding grasshopper. Don’t worry, it’s quite large, so you shouldn’t have any trouble spotting it. Thanks.

#ThroughRainSnowAndSupersizedInsects