I can't contribute with drawings (because they would be stick figures) and I don't have time to do photos and relearn all the photo-comicy stuff I used to know, so I'm gonna do like I did with the Noir Jam and write an entry.
The wind whistled down the empty dirt street of General Discussion Junction, the last little spot of Comic Genesis to have any life left to it. Life. The man laughed to himself at the word as he reclined in his chair. If you could even call what this town had left in it life. The wood creaked from the bar next door, Cortland's little saloon that he kept running when he could for those few souls still trying to keep the town alive, the jingle jangle of spurs telling the man that the McDuffies crew were on the prowl. A clock chimed the hour. You could cut the tension with a knife, and if anyone could do it then it would have been ol' Doc Lego, but he hadn't shown his face around the town for quite a spell. The man pondered that, rolling the toothpick back and forth between his lips as the door creaked open and the cold, dusty night ushered in a guest.
McDuffies, the big cat himself, and wearing a fancy new tie. The naked ladies and misbegotten acts of naughtiness stitched into the silk made for a pretty picture, as the censor bar hanging hazily in front of it didn't do a damn for the man in the chair. The pistol he'd pulled out of caution did a thing or two for McDuffies, though, and the cat's six shooter was doing the same to him. "It's been a long time since you've shown your face, Laemkral. People wonder about you sometimes, wonder if you're even sticking around."
"I've been a man of mystery, I have, I reckon. Fought in the war, made a name in the jams of past, but I think my time's behind me. Ain't no future for me around these parts, I figure. I'm just another broken has-been, a man without a comic to call my own who should be on his way looking for greener pastures." For emphasis, he added a few clicks of his tongue, then holstered his pistol.
"You used to be a champion of these here forums, kid," drawled McDuffies, putting away his own gun, "And things are getting mighty grim. We need folks like you out there, doing stuff. Making things happen. Camwhoring. You used to be a camwhore, the king."
"Another life!" shouted Laemkral, narrowing his eyes and sitting up. "I used to be a lot of things. A college student! A man with roommates! A lackey to the Doc!" A forlorn look crossed his face as he continued, "But Doc's gone, and I don't think he's coming back. The House of Claude is gone, the House of Lego is in ruins, and most of the faces that built this town are now buried beneath it. I'm a man without a mission, and I can't draw myself let alone any others worth half a damn." His eyes blazed with passion as he looked back up. "I ain't leaving town, though. No sirree."
Spurs clinked as McDuff took a step towards the door, a hand upon the brass knob. "Been fighting lately. IV's gang was in town hasslin' a newbie into manlove. Cornpone got snatched up by some lunatic with a coffin and the firefight's been tearing up across three whole threads. The young-un's are restless, and trouble is a brewin'. A good old veteran like yourself could be worth more than half a damn out there." For a moment, the words hung in the air before settling like so much of the dust in the old laboratory of Doc Legostar. "It's been a long while since I've stolen anybody's panties, y'know. We all change. You best think about that."
With that, the door swung open and McDuffies disappeared into the night to fight the spammers, the blood splattered oak clicking shut behind him. Laemkral stood up and watched him leave, his trigger finger just a little itchy for the good old days. It was true, he thought. They'd all changed. The Doc was gone, and he had to pick a new side to stand for. He owed the newbies that much, he owed them what he'd gotten: a chance. A purpose in his stride, he walked to the splintered and weatherworn cabinet that held his few meager possessions, putting on his coat and picking up the military Winchester repeater inside. With a cock of the handle he spun on the door himself, kicked it open and strode out into the night. A firefight with coffins? Sounded promising.
Avatar courtesy of Fading Aura.
Heed these words: I do not draw. Photos if you're lucky.