Oh hey it’s Spoontarp from that Five honk shoos at Fredrickson’s game

Chamomile Comic Trivia #25

#129 - List

A bit of a convoluted setup, but I wanted to do something a little less directly halloweeny for October’s comics in 2019 and came up with this idea - I always have been a big fan of the ghostly-voices-heard-in-a-recording trope.

It’s only barely visible in the earlier panels with a speech bubble covering it in the one shown above here, but Cammie’s hair clamp from #117 is resting next to her bedside table.

#130 - Ghosts

For story arcs, I’ve always tried to make every single Chamomile Comic’s context possible to piece together even if someone hasn’t read the ones that came before it as best I can, but in this case the previous comic was so particular and unusual that Cammie would literally need to describe the entire scene that late readers will have just read, so I made a joke out of it instead, almost serving as a marker where I made the decision to not get hung up on it anymore when it’s too hard, lol.

#131 - Whispers

I didn’t choose Layla at random, it’s an important note that she’s the one who bought into Cammie’s nonsense here. It’s never really been the subject of any focus or story arc but I do think Cammie and Layla’s friendship has an unspoken flavour to it that feels a bit different from Cammie and Brianna’s, even though Cam and Bri are besties.

Having said that it presented me with the decision of whether to depict her without her hijab, and at this point in time I leaned away from the idea. Being brutally honest, I kind of expected people to make a big deal out of seeing her without it - it’s sort of an unfortunate but understandable downside of also being a femme-focused pin-up artist, having a cast of women, and drawing it all in a cute art style. A lot of people are here who admire cute feminine character art and I’d be a hypocrite to say there’s anything inherently wrong with that when that’s literally what half my art is! I think I was right with this judgement too, because I definitely did get a comment or two from folks who were all “aww I thought we were gonna get to see her hair”. I know there’s tons of people who like me would shift their mindset to think nothing of it, but I know the folks who don’t would kind of bug me, so I think it’s easier to just not.

Having said all of this, I can’t deny it was a really fun artistic challenge to come up with a way to hide her lack of hijab in the nighttime scene without it feeling intentionally like an Austin Powers prop censorship gag - at least that was my hope!

Realistically I don’t think she would be wearing a cap around Cammie in the morning scene - in more recent comics of course we had another scene where Cammie and Layla shared a room, and I decided to go for a middleground where the point of her hijab is still kept for the audience but I was a little more relaxed about it, since I’ve read threads from folks who wear hijabs who feel it’s misrepresentational to depict them being worn 24/7.

#132 - Accent

Not much to say here.  I swear there was a story or inspiration behind the gag of Cammie’s sleeptalking, but it’s gone forever now! I did enjoy deciding that the pure and innocent Cammie has horrifically unsettling dreams that she thinks nothing of.

#133 - Cereal

This was just a one-off gag I had in the idea bank for a while that I never quite knew how to do. The punchline of “all these cereals have expired” was always there and this could have just been a Cammie at home talking to herself strip, but somehow said punchline didn’t feel as funny talking to herself as it did to another character, no idea why. This arc was a perfect opportunity to finally use it even though it doesn’t tie into the actual story of the arc whatsoever (which is fine of course, it’s November by now).

Cammie’s cereals are:

Sugar Crunch (with added Vitamin), a broad parody of sweet cereal Moist Nuts, which is just some funny words Frog Flakes, with regular JezMM mascot Frogy of course Mostly Bran, a parody of All-Bran Wheated Bix, a parody of Weetabix Corny Puns, both a parody of Corn Flakes and one of many silly cereal names that showed up in my old comic Phantasm Dyad, in the episode where they were tracking down the cause of a gaggle of inanimate object ghosts found on the beach - a Cereal Killer.

Funnily enough, another cereal in that comic was “Corned Flakes”, which is basically the same joke as Wheated Bix. Mr. Burns saying “I am enjoying this Iced Cream” in The Simpsons was one of those humour-defining moments for me as a kid I think.

#134 - Dark

Just complaining through my characters here.  I hate when the clocks go back and would always rather have more light in the afternoon than the morning.  Having the daylight end at 4pm is so depressing, but waking up in the dark and having it get light as your day begins is sort of romantic to me.

I do like how this one has sort of unique lighting - very few comics that take place exactly at dusk like this and I tried to capture that vibe even though it’s just a standard blurry background.

[More Chamomile Comic Trivia] (Above link may not work correctly on tumblr app)    

Ghosts.

Something a little Halloweeny for the girls because Ellana’s birthday is the Thedas equivalent of Halloween. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Travellers tell of an old abandoned house in a dark and lonely wood. Some say that the house isn’t there. Not really. That it appears to lost and lonely travellers on dark and stormy nights. Others say that it's a broken shell of weathered boards and broken windows. However, it appeared travellers all agreed on one thing. It should be avoided at all costs. Or, if one’s misfortune was dire enough the house would allow you to stay until the first grey streaks of dawn appeared over the horizon. But if you remained when the morning light crept across the cracked and splintered threshold that was where you would stay. Some travellers thought it foolishness, a local legend to keep quiet paths undisturbed. Others heeded the words, days added to their journeys to avoid the place - out of both fear and respect. Every year a few reckless souls took the legend as a challenge. And every year they were never seen again. Though one traveller tells of their time there with fondness. Tells of an old house in a sun-dappled wood, their only company the wind and the birds as they made their way through the quiet landscape. It was chance that they stopped there. A late afternoon autumn storm saw them finding shelter from angry leaves and cold rain. For them, they say, though large the house was quiet and welcoming. The feeling of someone just having left lingers in the air, along with the smell of tea and something they can’t quite name.  Despite the storm that rages outside there was a cosiness within those walls. Though by all appearances it looked like no one was home, fire was burning happily in the hearth, and the unfamiliar smell seemed to linger in the plush armchair they sat in to rest their road-weary feet. A small book rests beside them on a spindly-legged table. Curious, the traveller reaches for the smooth black leather spine, in the hopes of seeing the name. Before they can catch a glimpse of the title they’re interrupted, their hand hovering over the book when they hear a voice. “What are you doing?”  The traveller freezes. “You shouldn’t be here,” the voice tells them impatiently. Now the traveller had seen many things in their time, and compared to most they would consider themselves to be unfazed by most things that they come across in their line of work. But, that isn’t to say that the traveller was unmoveable.  They rise, to greet the voice and apologise for imposing on their hospitality, only to be caught by surprise at the sight before them. Perhaps, the traveller thinks, the woman before them is the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen. Perhaps it is hard to say. Perhaps, they will spend the rest of their life comparing all others that they meet to them. They don’t know. “This is trite,” Cassandra huffs looking up from the page that she is reading “Varric has almost outdone himself.” “It's sweet,” Ellana laughs softly, gazing at Cassandra affectionately. The weight of her warm, comfortable against her thigh. Like so many nights before Cassandra found herself anchored to the lounge in front of the fireplace, warmed by both flame and the body that rested against her. Reading until she felt Ellana grow heavy, finally asleep despite fighting her tiredness to spend one last moment with her before the responsibilities of tomorrow dragged her away. “‘The Traveller’?” Cassandra groans “Who are they? What are they doing.” “Oh hush vhenan,” Ellana smiles, her eyes sparkling with mirth.  Cassandra rolls her eyes with a snort, finding the place where she left off and continuing to read.  The woman is pale, like the shadow of a moon, with silvery hair that coils around her shoulders. She is small, but there is no mistaking her presence. There is a familiarity that surprises the traveller, something about her feels like they’ve met her before. And maybe they have. But surely they would remember meeting such a woman. But maybe not, considering the tales that lingered about this place. “You shouldn’t be here,” the woman speaks again, this time with more force. “My apologies,” The traveller begins. “I only seek shelter from the storm, forgive me for imposing.” “She speaks,” the woman murmurs, looking at the traveller curiously. As she reads Cassandra finds herself being drawn into the story. A travelling warrior seeking shelter from the storm. A lonely ghost trapped in a house in the woods, cursed to not know peace. The tales are more a defence than a truth. The last wish of a woman gone before her time, burned in the name of a god she didn’t believe in for a crime she didn’t commit. She feels her eyes burn at the thought of love found too late. Lovers that were destined to meet before the cruel hand of fate intervened. Maybe it didn’t matter? Maybe what mattered was that despite everything they met at all. For the ghost the moment of happiness was enough. It was the thing that they were missing, and now that they had found it they were free to pass on to whatever awaited them. But for their love, it was a burden. An ache they had to live with for the rest of their days, knowing that nothing could ever compare. Not really. But despite this there was hope. That eventually the two could - would - be reunited. Somehow Varric managed to weave a bittersweet story that pierced something deep within Cassandra’s heart. Not that she would ever tell him such. It was bad enough she ‘owed’ him after convincing him to write the story in the first place. And she suspected he only did it because of both his fondness of Ellana and his desire to poke and prod at her every chance that he got. At some point Ellana has fallen asleep, her small form heavy as Cassandra marks her page and shuts the book quietly trying not to wake her. It's a testament to how many times she’s done it that Cassandra can lift Ellana without stirring her from her sleep. Or maybe it was because of how tired Ellana always seemed to be these days. Once settled under the sheets and blankets Ellana seems to gravitate towards her even in rest, and Cassandra shifts in the darkness to meet her, tangling her limbs with hers.  “Love you,” Ellana mumbles half awake against her throat. “Happy birthday my love,” Cassandra breathes into the darkness, drawing her closer with a kiss, hoping that if she held her close enough she could keep the ghosts that haunt them at bay.