First Page

Previous Page

Home  Page

Raw Picture

Next Page

Last Page

This is a fairly text-intensive page. Oh well, it's a 'graphic novel' - I guess it should be sort of wordy.

And not to wallow in self-pity, but I'm not exactly happy with the art, particularly my renditions of Ignatius. On a positive note, I think it does improve in later panels.

Drawing completed - 25 OCT 2008
Drawing posted - 01 APR 2009

20 JUNE 2001 Wednesday - 1400
Page 19
The tré auditorium box seat

   The mayor's mind drifted a little bit as he watched the children soak up the play. Suddenly his attention was seized by a voice. He was certain he heard someone speaking and it seemed that it might be that of a child's, although he couldn't quite tell. The tré was quite small and his box was on the ground floor (as there was only the ground floor anyway) and the only thing beneath it was the basement. For reasons he never understood, there was a vent that ran directly from his box to the basement and it was through this vent which he heard brief snatches of a conversation. Someone in the basement? he thought. Well, they'd better have a very good explanation for why they aren't up here watching the Portrayal or why they're down there disturbing it.
   Leaning slightly in his chair and cocking his ear to the vent, he could hear the conversation a good bit more clearly. Although held at regular voice, even loud at times, it somehow seemed muffled.
   "I'm trying, it won't open! You give it a go."
   "Oh, fer the luvva Jack, yer such a . . . Here, hold this . . . Mmmph . . . Mmmph! Shave me, it is stuck, innit?"
   Whatever this was, it was not some errant schoolchild skipping a Portrayal to experiment in some adult habit, such as smoke or alcohol - or worse. Although he was not technically responsible for the discipline of the schoolchildren, he decided he would take the initiative to investigate, regardless. Upon making said executive decision, he quietly stole out of his seat, so as not to interrupt the performance. Gently and quickly, he crept to the basement door.
   He knew the hinges would groan like a freight train and the 13th stair would squeak like a trodden-on Mouse, so he put his ear to the door one last time to have a quick listen before he burst in on the scene with the element of surprise.
   Hearing nothing distinctive, he flung open the door, producing the usual emulation of an unoiled locomotive rolling on corroded tracks. He then heard a distant voice ask "Whuzzat noise?" and a faint answer of "Let's go!"
All material copyright Grim, 2008. No unauthorized use. Survivors will be prosecuted.