Another commission from a wonderful person who asked to remain anonymous. 

Tom is likely just out of frame snoring away, Lily has more of a problem with insomnia, so Gein often sits with her awhile, and the two exchange stories and conversation over dwindling firelight before Lily nods off, and Gein himself makes his way to bed. 

Themesong: I’ll Be Here in the Morning - Don Williams

I found out just recently that Don Williams, the artist who sings many of the songs I’ve chosen to represent Gein, has passed away. May he rest in peace, and his music continue to inspire. 

Commission Info

I haven’t decided the exact order in which JunkTown events occur for Clickspring, but as the pieces fall together I’ve been writing little excerpts to capture the scenes. I do love first encounters, so the following scene is a bit indulgent. Enjoy the read! 

Coming back around from the aching grog of my forced slumber, I sit up slowly and press warm palms onto my throbbing forehead. I keep my eyes pinched shut, not yet prepared to greet the light again. Even with eyes closed it is immediately apparent that my surroundings are very different. I am quite used to the coarseness of fabrics woven for humans. It isn't exactly easy to find something with a high enough thread count to feel soft when you're less than 5 inches tall. The fabric laying across my lap is an entirely new level of coarse, however. Strong woven and thick like an airship sail, with threads nearly as big around as my thumb.

"What in the hell-"

I halt the words in my throat and finally pop my eyes open as I feel vibrations in the ground. My instincts scream danger, but the quaking ceases, and then recedes into the far distance again. Definitely not at home in the Inn, that's for certain. It is also immediately clear that running away is out of the question.

This new, foreign place seems to stretch on for tens of meters. It'd take me half an hour to situate myself in the nearest cover. Not to mention that everything around soars leagues over my head in height. I can't even see the end of the massive mattress I'm essentially trapped on. But the dresser in my field of vision is far above me. A bed just plopped down on the floor? Seems like a borrower sort of choice; you end up taking a few shortcuts when you have to make your own furniture. I feel my waist to find my utility belt and all my tools missing. The chance of escape is nill without at least thread and a fishhook to  grapple, so the only logical choice is to let the situation play out.

I remember bits and pieces of the events that brought me here as I stew over the situation. I recall a group of scavengers, being squeezed tight in a human's hand, having my gear ripped away, and then forcefully being shoved into a padded metal jar. There were harassing voices above poking fun at my position, and then suddenly the whole world was draped in shadow.

I'd never seen a junk giant up so close, not outside the safety of my repair room where I was under constant protection and surveillance. I was vulnerable, and from what I could see with my restricted viewing, this one’s shadowy figure loomed far above the head of my captor. A voice rang out too loud to comprehend, but there was anger to it’s tone. I forced myself into the bottom of the surrounding padding and held my head tight in my arms, fearing that if the behemoth continued to speak, my eardrums might actually burst. There was a crash, and the jar went flying. The ground came hard and fast as I was painfully rattled about and flung from my unsealed prison. I recall feeling the dirt grind away the skin on my cheek and arm as I slid across the ground. The back of my head met with something hard, and the world went black.

Legends say a junk giant can swallow you whole without even knowing they've done it. A borrower is a bug they could smash to pulp with one finger. Bugs they enjoy toying with and slowly killing for some sick, fetish-like pleasure. Gods I hope that isn't true.I pinch my eyes shut. My blood runs fast and my heart pounds in my throat as the rhythmic quaking makes its return. My whole body quivers.

Metal slides against metal as the great door across the room is slowly freed from it's latch. I brace my arm against my side and hang onto the sail cloth below me for dear life as the world shakes out of control. I'm too terrified to open my eyes. The quaking halts for a moment, I can hear the sounds of air being drawn in and out of cavernous lungs, and the tension of massive cables of muscle straining to hold up the behemoth as it leans over and sets something down on the end of the bed. A brief moment of silence, and then comes the greatest shaking I've ever felt as the monster lowers it's whole massive weight to the floor. In the chaotic movement I'm flung back on my side, and I curl into a tight fetal position to protect my head.

"Oh! Sorry!"

The whisper, deep and still horrifically thunderous, hits my chest like a punch. I open my eyes wide with fear and unfurl my body. Turning over to gaze up equally in fear and confusion.

"S-sorry?" My voice blurts out, dumbfounded.

Above me looms the giant from before. Wide as a truck bed, probably as tall as a warehouse. He seems less terrifying now. His face is youthful and rounded, framed by a mop of brunette hair in disheveled bangs, a rhomboidal red birthmark splashed across his nose, from which hangs a bull ring I could probably sit on. He lifts a hand and waves awkwardly, in a way that would be halfway cute if his fingers weren't wider than my torso.

"What did you say, little buddy? I-uh," he swallows anxiously and scratches at the back of his head. A few flakes of dandruff as big as my hand flutter down to the mattress. "I-can't really hear you. I'm so sorry." His face becomes even redder than his birthmark as he blushes embarrassedly.

I immediately sure up at his apparently soft demeanor. I lift myself back to sitting. He's young, naíve. Maybe I can make this go my way with a little bit of gusto.

"That's Clickspring to you, bub," I point at him with some falsely inflated attitude. "Where the heck am I, I want some ans-"

"Hang on, hang on," the behemoth stifles a giggle. "I can’t even tell what you’re saying. Gosh your little voice is adorable,"

My complexion broke at his words and I could feel my face heat up, angry tears well up in my eyes as I shoot him a venomous glare.

"Ack- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you! Let me get down more so I can actually hear you. I am so, so sorry."

He continues to apologize as he lowers himself even further. It is a much more controlled movement this time, but even without the massive earthquakes his body can cause, his voice still hits like a physical blow. His massive, resonating vocal chords make even the lowest whisper rumble through the air like thunder.

I soon find myself looking into intelligent violet eyes vastly larger than my whole head as the giant lays down before me and thrusts the lower part of his face into the mattress. The warping of the surface almost tosses me forward toward him, but by some miracle I am able to hold on and stay still.

"I'm really sorry," he says again, the muffling of his voice by the mattress makes him much easier to listen to. "I really didn't mean any harm, I swear. I even brought some things to help those wounds." He brought a hand uncomfortably close to gesture, but was careful not to touch me.

I suddenly recalled the bad road burns on my head and arm, beginning to throb again now that my adrenaline rush was calming. I jumped as the man's eyes suddenly pinched shut for a moment.

"Crap, I didn't even tell you my name. Gianni would kill me for being so rude," His violet irises returned and locked on to me. "My name is Celio. Celio Featherson. What's yours?"

I couldn't help but stare blankly, taken aback by the irrational averageness of the situation. I can feel my body still shaking from weakness, anger, and embarrassment. As much as I want to, I can't quite summon up my voice and attitude. Here I sit mere feet away from a creature so  vastly different in scale to me that  he could quite literally obliterate me with a sneeze. Awkward moments stretch out between us. Celio patiently waits, but doesn’t turn his expectant periwinkle eyes away. I find myself beginning to be overtaken by panic.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, don't force yourself," He picks up his head from the mattress and shows me a soft, encouraging smile. "Let's get you all fixed up first. I'll just call you Sorellina in the meantime. That’s uh, ‘little sister’ in my native tongue. Sound like an okay arrangement? ...I'm still so sorry for what I said earlier, I didn't mean to break your confidence like that, that was an awful, jerky move on my part."

I nod, half assured. Suddenly those huge purple eyes widen even bigger. I narrow my own, confused.

"Shit, your ears are bleeding! H-hang on!"

With muscular arms he launches himself back to standing and rushes away with familiar quaking steps. I was accustomed to light auditory trauma, and my body was already in such pain, I hadn't even noticed the sudden perforation of my eardrums. What was one more thing?

“Damn it all, am I really that loud? Crap, what if she can’t hear at all anymore? What the heck do I do? What the hell do you even say when something like this happens? ‘Sorry I literally destroyed your ears?’ Damn it...” Celio mutters from an adjacent room. I hear glass jars clinking about as he searches for something. Guess I’m not quite deafened yet.

I breathe deep and submit to the ache for a few meditative moments. Usually I have to handle these kinds of things all by myself. Strange as this day was going, it was kind of nice to have some compassionate company for once. Celio obviously cared - it wasn’t his fault that he could only be so careful with his big body. Rough handling was kind of normal in the business of robot repair, so this wasn’t anything too new. Not that the robots at the inn meant to be cold or uncaring, they just weren't programmed for contact and companionship. People hated me for being small. It was infuriating and unfair, so I made a point not to hold the consequences of size against anyone.

Celio's quaking footsteps returned, and I finally got a quick look at his full body. He had a proportionally short, sturdy form that was highly muscled. His clothing, minimal: his shirt leaving his entire arms, shoulders, and the sides of his torso exposed. His pants were cut just below the knees, and he wore no embellishments whatsoever. Not even shoes to protect his feet. I brace myself as he crashes into a kneel. He sets a bundle of loose cotton fiber in front of me. I look at it confusedly for a moment. Then back up at him. He gestures at the soft bundle and then pantomimes a compressing motion with his fingers. He then swishes his bangs aside and makes a gesture toward one ear. Earplugs. Got it. Apparently we’re done with talking for now.

I follow his pantomimed instructions. By the time I finish, I smell the astringent sharpness of surgical spirits, and look up. I expect to be handed a swab to clean my wounds, but instead find a massive hand approaching with soaked cotton. I automatically begin to backpedal, but almost immediately find myself braced in place by another massive hand. I struggle against his hand with all my strength. I can clean my own damn wounds, dammit!

"Stop that. You can’t hold me back and I don’t want to hurt you. C’mon, this isn’t so bad, just take it easy." Back to whispering again.

The earplugs helped lessen the blow of his voice considerably, and they held off the bleeding. My struggling is brought to an abrupt end by a swift brushing of Celio’s thumb that pins my uninjured arm and body down effortlessly. I flinch and close my eyes as the cold medical alcohol comes into contact with my arm and dabs the burn repeatedly. It stings horribly.

"I know, I know, this stuff sucks. But you’re not a junk giant, you’ll get an infection if we don’t clean these. Can’t you little guys die that way? I will not let that happen. Keep your eyes closed, I'm doing the burn on your face now."

When the alcohol drenched swab and Celio's hands retreat, I relax, thinking the torture is done. Celio rifles around things on a tray he'd set on the end of the bed when he first came. A jar of herbal smelling salve is unscrewed, and suddenly I find myself caught by the giant once more. I struggle against his unyielding massive strength again to no avail. Instead of allowing my stubborn fight to continue, the junk giant scoops me up in his palm and effortlessly wraps his fingers around my entire body in an imprisoning arrangement.

"That's enough of that! It’s just one more tiny thing. Geez, I'm not hurting you." I can feel the quake of a soft laugh echo through his hand. Then a clearing of his throat as he recoiled. “Not that it’s funny or anything. You need this, just work with me for a minute. I don’t want to do this any more than you do.”

Celio opens his hand for but a moment and carefully snatches my injured arm, holding it up straight as he curls his fingers back up, supporting my comparatively miniscule limb between his middle and ring finger. I decide not to struggle, being squished against his unbearably warm palm is enough of a punishment.

The junk giant is shockingly gentle with his treatment. His hands might be huge, but they're as deft as a surgeon's. He barely applies any pressure to my body as he slathers my wounds with the minty, cooling salve. It frightens me to allow it, but he even manages to gently apply some to my cheek, opening his palm and lifting my head with an imprisoning thumb. Despite my discomfort I almost laugh at his intensely focused expression: face crinkled tight, one eye closed, and mouth  slanted tightly to one side. He finishes the job more quickly than expected, though leaves a massively thick layer of ointment on my wounds because of his vast size. I don't protest. Finally, his palm opens, and I scramble back to seated, taking in some cool air after being trapped next to his stiflingly warm skin.

"There. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? That ointment should help the pain and fend off infection. We should let those wounds breathe a bit before we bandage them up. How about a cup of tea while we wait? I’m sure my brother has some snacks I could get into if you’re hungry: how about it?"

My blood is still boiling a bit from the last experience. Good intentions or not, being handled without permission is embarrassing. I hate not being given a choice, I allowed it, but now I need answers. I give him a stern glare from my position in his palm, and as loudly as I can manage, I give an order.

“Put me down. Now,” I say resolutely.

I am dizzied by a sudden move closer to his face. I crouch and try to maintain my balance, flinching away from his hot breath as I’m drawn to his level. The collective circumstances are dizzying, and I want to be down on solid ground more than ever.

“I-I’m sorry? Can you repeat that Sorrelina?”

Frustration boils through me. “I SAID PUT ME DOWN. NOW.”

The giant’s eyes grow wide and suddenly the world drops. I nearly faint as the big guy promptly follows my order. He spills me off onto the mattress again. I hold onto my stomach and spinning head, and my body flinches hard as I am hit with a sudden realization: I just yelled at a giant. Not a robot that will follow orders, but a fully autonomous person far outside my locus of control. I curl myself small, expecting anger, retaliation, violence even; but moments pass and nothing comes. I look back up at Celio. He appears concerned, a little hurt.

“Hey, you don't have to… Please, don't be scared like that. I promise, I would never hurt someone like you… Never on purpose anyway. I didn't save you from those lousy scavengers just to put you in harm's way myself. I mean, it’s not every day I get the chance to make a friend...”

The giant rises a bit and then very deliberately lays his head on the mattress next to me, making sure he was finally within earshot. I hesitantly plod closer and take a seat against his nose. The unexpected touch stirs a flinch that almost knocks me over.

“I hope you can forgive me for handling you like that. I just… I didn't want to risk you saying no to my help... I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't take care of your wounds.” His body shifted a little as his big arm swung overhead and covered his eyes embarrassedly. “I’ve heard littler folk can get such bad infections that you'll lose limbs or die. That doesn't happen to us giants. Our bodies are just too tough. I didn't know how long before it would be too late to stop it - y’know? Ugh, it’s probably a stupid assumption to make, but I was actually worried you’d die if I didn’t do anything,” he took a long, tentative pause. “Y’know Sorellina, I only really know four people. Two of them are my blood family so they don't even count... I just didn't want to lose potential friend number three before I even learned your name.”

I try to absorb the thought that someone other than a broken robot would want me around. To nearly every other organic person I've met, I'm 'just another borrower.' It is an unusual feeling to be wanted.

“Ah shoot! Sorry little feller, I didn’t actually mean to catch you up here. I’ve jus’ seen you up here plenty, thought it would be a good place to leave a little somethin’ for ya. Don’ be mindin’ me none, I’ll be on my way now.” 

Ignatius “Iggy” Oliver and Oswald “Ozzy” Stopclock (c) Kelly-Scribes

Schweitzer here is the robot that takes care of Clickspring after her encounters with larger folk. When dealing with junk giants especially, she rarely gets off without at least some scrapes and bruises. He also chaperones her around outside of the inn, when Spanner is struggling too much with his fear to accompany her.

The nickname Schweitzer was given to him by his buddies in combat, it was at first a joke, drawing attention to the strangeness of a humanitarian robot.

His healing technology is very similar to what we have today, with the addition of some special advanced tools that trigger accelerated tissue and bone regeneration.

Need to start posting my sketches, I have quite a few decent ones that I’ve been meaning to show! Hoping to chip away and finish some of these after my thesis exhibition. 

I’ve been slowly refining Philo’s design since day one. He’s the philosopher of the passions - both carnal and creative. His form changes fairly often as he likes to keep up with mortal trends, but he very much adores the custom of applying makeup. It’s something he even prefers to do without shape-shifting, though it is much harder for him, because he has great respect for it’s nuances. He’s still learning however, and looks forward to one day asking for pointers from an experienced mortal so he can attempt more advanced techniques.

It has been officially too long since I drew Astrophel! So here is my favorite size-shifting philosopher, ready to chaperone some GT kiddos for trick-or-treating (though everyone is a “kiddo” to an ageless immortal)! Probably bigger kids because holding a small form gives him the nastiest headache, but he is willing to be buddies with anyone who needs a friend, so everyone is welcome! 

Why a unicorn ballerina princess? Astrophel loves all sorts of dance for one! He also thinks there are far too many scary things in the world right now, so he wanted to be something there aren’t enough of, that is also happy, safe, and comfortable, and so this was the result!

Wanted to participate in @tinysupervicki‘s amazing GT Halloween because I haven’t done anything for Halloween in awhile. Hopefully this incites some smiles!