These sketches are the first draft sketches; inklings or the zygote for the Graphic Novel Series Vesper Heliotropic.
This will be issue #2. You can find issue #1, Here.
6. Ein München Mädchen
RD AUTO Message 162: Fri 4, Octobre 2086 – Fairview, VA Main-Line USC – CAMBIAN – SUBURBAN ‘Inner Crust’ Territory: ‘MM-PS 255 Munich District 5’
“Rachael!” shouted her mom’s high pitched voice from downstairs.
“Yessssss, Mother! It’s Camille now by the way!”
There was no answer. And then…
“Don’t forget your make-up!” her mom’s faint voice could now barely be made out.
“Ugh.” Rachael said to herself.
“Okay!” she yelled back, vein and limply.
Rachael sat upright on the edge of her bed, her widish butt planted deep within pillows and Tynker Animals lying about, her legs pretzeled Indian style. There were disheveled bra straps under a Thyn white T-shirt falling off one shoulder as she constantly pulled it up only to have it recede back to her upper arm. Her room was fairly tidy with printed posters, arrays of ads, a large mirror to her right along with bottles and cheap makeup.
Short little mounds of laundry were shoved to the edges of the soft lightly tinted carpet, pink. Pinkish. Large suburban bedroom windows obscured the bright room of its details, shafting a morning glow of dreaming breakfast. Rachael had been fantasizing about strawberry pancakes in the City on this particular day. Sometimes it was boys, other times a nice mental round of fantasy morning sex with a sibling.
A short blonde bob swayed back and forth, back and forth, as she browsed with her hands through multitudes of levitating virtual options; left to right, left to right, her gaze, preceding her arms, crisscrossing over and over…
She was scrolling through dozens of Day-Theme posters, one after another, as each one disappeared, only to have another colorful Pop-Band Day Theme poster reappear in midair.
The silhouette of a factory and some kind of penal institution cut a panorama straight across the blank yellow and blue dawning sky in one poster that read: “FinnLaNDIK, the New Album! DEISANIK CELL BLOCK LINE P344, PRODUCT CO.”
Another: “‘BEAT A BITCH UP FO’ YA SQUIRD ON HA,’ Shokolok, the New Album OUT NOW!”
A slight whopping sound then blossomed a little blonde Whyte Gurl with crystal blue eyes from out of Thyn air. Multicolored signs, banners, and comic blurbs trailed from out her mouth like live flying drool. In a stark yet softly aggressive female voice, came…
“All New Finally Fourteen Perfume, straight from the company that brought you Fexalot Smart-Maquillage!”
Rachael continued to page through the transparent spherical depth of the floating View like she were swatting at flies she could never catch. Each poster retracted in a circle upon moving to the next like a moving clothing line. The receding Posters disappeared behind the one she was Viewing in a half-circle. Band after band, soap bar after soap bar flew by, NeauDolls, Cereals and ‘Biono-Lymbs with All-Free Cosma-Surgery When You Buy Two!’
“KENSON AUDI DAY!” one of them read with an absurdly blunt solid pink and purple border with shimmering translucent photo of the band, focusing especially on its front man, Gary Sake next to his one and only Hoe-bag, Merry-Eight. It was a kind of Great American Autumn scene. Sun shot through the profile of an inner city alleyway, buildings climbing up the sides of the lucid shot. The three other band members stood obscure next to the two ‘partners in crime,’ gusting steamy breath in kissing each other next to a dumpster as trash fell like leaves from tenement roofs. A caption imbedded inside a hot pink heart graphic floating on a cartoon cloud suspended below the poster, read: “Pick your Fexer ‘Day-Theme’ from any Movie, Musician, Artist, or Media Fyle!”
“Put together a Soundtrack for each emotion and event with Emo-Life Readers!”
“Give Your Life a Soundtrack!” read yet another translucency of pink background and navy lettering View-Blurb hovering around her ear for some reason until she batted the annoying pitch, as if with enough force to chuck it directly out of existence…. ….Read More of Vesper Heliotropic Book I. Crystal Turbines Here!
Camille was standing in front of a set of massive mahogany doors surrounded by the stark white of a barren antique hallway.
She could feel the cool air pushing through the marble and steel of the stairway behind her.
The doors had ball bearing hinges with square and circular portals of double beveled glass. They were large enough to make even her look somewhat dwarfed by its size.
Though they appeared from a distance to be clear and transparent, at closer inspection, she noticed, at eye-level no less, the mid section of circular portals, were anything but transparent. In fact, one could barely even make out the most obscure shapes coming through from the other side.
It felt as though she had suddenly boarded an old cruise ship.
An antique clock with iron hands struck midnight with a loud clank of its gears above the elevator on the opposing wall. She thought of the clock. ‘Time isn’t made of metal parts anymore,’ she concluded, looking ponderously back at the clock as if it had been someone she was discussing the matter with.
It was precisely the time she’d been told to meet her.
She wore a black sleeveless romper belted with a white strap and silver hoop buckle. Her hair was cut much shorter and was almost as dark as her outfit. It was now a deep crimson with curls on the ends of where it met her chin.
She had no bra on and liked the feeling of her breasts making suggestive teardrop shapes through the fabric. It felt like someone could just reach in and hold one for a moment, that feeling of utter accessibility. The material clung to her hardening nipples with a mildly stimulating grip. Her breasts felt weighty
and she liked the feeling they gave her, perhaps it was a strange mixture of fertility and arousal, she couldn’t be sure which.
The romper cut off in an exacting line right where her torso ended, extending her smooth long white feminine legs connected to checkered wedge shoes.
She never wore pantyhose and didn’t have the money for NeauSmoothing, so she always just went bare legged, and felt more raw that way anyhow.
This was all in spite of a rather small but deep patch of blemishes on her lower left calf, rattling around the back of her mind.
I should have tried to cover it up. No time.
She was also slightly concerned that her waist was Thyn enough, but was comforted to see in the reflective surface of the glass in front of her, that her small gut was covered up by the wide belt and buckle which met each other a tiny bit above where her little pouch began. Her hips were a little more padded than she might have liked, but the romper was loose enough to obscure them.
To boot, the SM software of her LSwitch had a password problem, so she’d actually gone with conventional facial makeup, looking somewhat hurriedly applied.
Her shoulders, bare, appeared to be more like pale straight edges cutting out the stark color of her figure from the hazy, dull, muted red of the door. As if she were making the attempt at conforming to its shape, yet all in spite of its lackluster.
Then the door opened without a knock, and a heavyset middle aged lady with grey hair she’d never seen before, greeted her.
“Are you the friend of Beatriz?”