#dame

Some Fire sword for your Sunday. 🔥

I had such a great time with all my flowmies down at Gasworks park this Friday.

One of them even let me borrow their fire sword and oooo boy, I am so hooked. I can't wait to finish my fire shield and other props with the help of Dan Treichel and get some of my own fiery steel swinging.

Sooooon.

Now it's back to the shop to get more orders finished up.

I hope you're all having a fun weekend. :)

UPDATE: Thank you to all the folks who expressed concerns about my artistically unbound locks.

As always, people shown here are trained performers, and while having longer hair around fire does come with higher risks, I and the folks I share on here are doing everything we can to maintain the safest environment possible.

That being said, when dealing with fire, the risks are never zero, and I do appreciate the concern about my well-being, and encourag those who are new to fire to talk to a professional before experimenting, and to tie your hair back to limit risk.

Chilvaric Love

On the first day of Christmas my truly love gave to me. A big kiss! 😘😘😘😘

Getting into the Christmas spirit now. Dame has hanged out some mistletoe hoping maybe a giant will come for a wee kiss.

I have done a blank one if anyone wants to throw their giant or character in to give Dame a kiss under the mistletoe. 🖤 can do it in colour or black and white. Feel free to do what you want.

See how many kisses Dame will get.

Film Noir

The alley reeked of wet brick and yesterday’s gin. I was tucked in the shadows under the fire escape, Lucky Strikes burning low between my fingers. The name's Jack Harlan, private dick.

I’d been tailing Frankie Malone for three days - small-time muscle for the Blue Room Lounge. Tonight he’d slipped out back with a fat envelope. I was waiting for him when she stepped into the light.

She was the only splash of color in the night. Red satin dress, black gloves, veiled hat, lips like fresh blood. She moved past the garbage like it wasn’t there, heels sharp on the wet cobblestones, chin high, shoulders back. Whatever she carried in that small black purse had Frankie’s name written all over it.

I flicked the cigarette into a puddle, following closely and keeping to the dark.

In this business, when the dame in red walks away, you don’t ask questions. You tail her. And you hope the bullets don’t have your name on them yet.

They usually do.

Organised by @mentorcreation