Dynamic PDF Forms
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“Father, I have come to assist,” said she, in her most authoritative voice. “And it’s no use telling me nay, because I know this stranger’s demands cannot be met without my help.”
The printer looked up from the yellowed papers on the table and raised his gray-tinged brows.
“I expected to hear such nonsense from ye, my daughter,” said he, waving her off. “Be gone with your mischievous plans.”
“But I —”
“Here is a new commedia dell’arte that I acquired yesterday while in town,” Totts interrupted. “I was saving it for your birthday, but here, take it as an early gift. And be gone with you!” He handed her a thin volume with a cover of purple leather and gold lettering. His smile belied his harsh words.
“Oh, my,” said Ella, distracted. She held the book to her nose and inhaled deeply. “I can just smell how exhilarating this read will be. Very well, Father. As you wish.”
With that, Ella hurried to the barn to read her comedy.
And also, to plot.
Her Father would need to stop for a refreshment or to rest his weary feet, surely! And what if he accidentally consumed his beloved hot toddy that always made his eyes droop a bit, perhaps for half an hour? The lost time would not matter at all, as she would step in and continue the work while he slept. If she glanced at the words while progressing on this arduous task, it would not hurt anyone, and her curiosity would be satisfied.
Setting her new tome aside, she hurried into their cottage to put the pot to boil.
Illustrations Coming Soon
Every morning is the same. Cap, the gull, never feels like starting a new day. He doesn’t sleep well and getting up is a struggle. He certainly can’t sleep among the colony in their ground nestings. All night long he listens to the surf from his roost in the eaves of the seaside balcony.
At sunup, other birds start squawking and foraging. Cap would rather roost, but he can’t. No one will bring him breakfast in nest. So, as duty calls, he spreads his wings and goes out.
First stop is the park where a couple dozen other gulls are gathered. Seagulls are very sneaky. They get together, stamp their feet to imitate rainfall, and the earthworms come right up to be breakfast.
For the other birds, it is a joyous and bountiful dance with friends. For Cap, it is maddening when some wingnut snaps up a worm that Cap had his eye on. The other birds have fun cackling and screeching to each other. It’s hard for Cap to understand what all the noise is about.
A daily routine involves teaching the young gulls. Cap has been teaching acrobatics for many years, like hovering spread-wing over bridges. He rides the waves of heat rising from the pavement and barely has to beat his wings. He loves to fly, but teaching makes him grouchy. The youngsters aren’t serious about their lessons, they think it’s time to play.
For lunch, Cap goes to the beach for some mollusks. First he finds one, then drops it hard onto the rocks until it breaks open. Crack. Snap. Slurp. Just don’t disturb him while he’s eating. He’s likely to bark your head off.
Midday, Cap hangs out at the pier with others from his colony. Fishermen often clean their catch and leave the scraps behind. Makes good snackin’. When neighboring colonies try to move in, Cap and his mates defend their territory by attacking and harassing them. Cap thinks, “Who do they think they are, intruding on our spot? Just beat it!” Just about ruins his day.
Things pick up when he spots a nice whale close to shore. He lands right on the whale when it surfaces and harvests some good bits before the whale submerges again. Back on shore he sees a large swarm of sand flies. Quickly he lowers his head, opens his beak, and runs through the swarm, catching a full dinner from midair. Cap feels much better after he eats.
He takes his full belly up to the eaves and hangs on with his claws as the evening wind blows strong. Just as he’s getting comfortable, he notices something strange happening inside. The people are sitting around watching flat pictures on the wall. These are moving pictures of exotic places.
Cap adjusts his perch so that he can get a better look. Lands of green, blue water bodies, fantastic blooming plants, strange animals, and white clouds. Not at all like his LA home. He watches through the glass and wonders. He watches wide-eyed until the pictures stop. He wonders and imagines himself visiting such wonder worlds. Before he knows it, he’s fast asleep, dreaming.
When he wakes in the morning, he feels better than he’s felt in ages. He even looks forward to meeting up with the colony so that he can tell them of his discovery. His playful students make him chuckle because they remind him of his youth, when all the world seems ahead of him. Best of all, he can’t wait for sundown to see the moving pictures again.
Illustrations Coming Soon
Twee and Pip are best friends. Twee is a Least sandpiper. Pip is a Western sandpiper. They buddy around together every summer. Twee is slightly smaller than Pip, but just as strong. And Pip is way strong. He and his family are migrating birds who travel long distances.
Twee’s family live at the marsh year-round. During the summer, though, the marsh is crowded when other kinds of migrants come to visit.
Hundreds of other sandpipers just like Twee and Pip gather on the shore to feast. Twee and Pip poke, poke, poke with Pipe-like bills into the wet sand to find and eat tiny delicious mollusks by the score. They skitter along near the water’s edge grazing and searching.
Pip liked to capture a small beach worm, hold it up, say, “Lookey, lookey, lookey.” And toss back his head to let the worm slide down his throat. It made Twee laugh. By the way, you haven’t lived until you hear a bird laugh.
Many shorebirds like to spend their summers at Arcata Marsh, a resting place between their breeding range and wintering range. The marsh is a fine place to fatten up.
The party begins the moment the migrants arrive! Commons, Westerns, Black-necked Stilts, Short-billed Dowitchers and more. It is fun to see how each bird looks so different.
Crowns, plumage, size, even their legs are different. One family has a large white spot between their bills and eyes. Another has stripes along their wings, and another has shining green backs.
Each bird brings exciting stories of the world beyond the marsh. It is like a new blockbuster coming to town, but of course, birds don’t go to the movies.
Birds would gather around Pip and urge him to tell stories because he is so entertaining. “We go to Alaska in the spring to breed,” Pip begins. “We’re on the beach, see, and this big King Salmon sneaks up and splashes us. That makes us twee-twee-twee so loud it scares a fisherman and he drops his pole right in the water.”
The birds agree, fish and fishermen can be an endless source of merriment. The natives show the migrants around the marsh and boast about the abundant insect population.
There are many farms nearby and it is a sandpiper’s job to help the farmers control the insects. Summer meals are especially filling.
Sometimes when the birds are looking for insects they fly in large formations. Large wisps of peeps launch into the air, flinging themselves into acrobatic flights of fancy.
Often humans stand on the shore taking pictures of the birds’ remarkable flying coordination.
Twee and Pip fly together in the formation. Twee communicates particular moves to Pip so that he can learn the ways of the Westerns. With stiff wingbeats, alternating with short glides on down-turned wings, the birds skim over the water. Exhilarating!
At the end of the summer, the migrating birds got ready to continue on their journey to the Baja wintering range. They thank their hosts for their hospitality and say goodbye to their Arcata friends. Pip says to Twee, “Hasta luego, amigo.”
She began walking the stony path toward home, but then she smelled the gentleman’s gray nag, that oddly scented creature, and she turned back to where she stood tied to the side of the shop.
Which happened to be near an open window.
A sly smile crossed Ella’s rosy face.
What harm would it do to entertain their curious guest’s horse? If she happened to overhear more particulars as she watered and fed the nag . . . well, then . . . surely she would learn everything in a fortnight anyway? Nothing remained a secret in a little village like Haven.
The nag bared its teeth at her as if in a conspiratorial grin, its long eyelashes fluttering, tail gently flicking away the flies that encircled its bottom.
Come join in my merriment, the nag seemed to say. I am here for the same reason as you: to see what my master is about . . .
Ella attended the horse while cocking her rather large ear toward the open casement.
“These words have the power . . . disastrous if spoken aloud . . . you must understand my dilemma . . .” the stranger said, his voice growing tinny as he grew more agitated.
And then her father’s reassuring murmur, “You may trust me, sir. I have even printed . . . for earls . . .”
Then Ella could hear the bundle being unfurled and spread across the table she had been standing on.
“Oh, my. This is quite old . . . ” her father said. She pictured him squinting through his glasses, fingering the parchment reverently, already deducing how the machine components would need to be assembled.
Then a clearing of throats, and the clinking of coins on the table. Minutes later, Farvington crossed the threshold again, and Ella walked up to him, pretending to have just come up from the pathway with his mount.
“Sir, I trust your horse is quite rested now,” said she, releasing the reins into his long, bony fingers.
“Aye, aye, kind lass,” he said, sounding distracted. “Your father has my instructions. If he encounters any difficulties, you may find me at the village tavern. Perhaps a tankard of ale can ease my burdens this afternoon.”
Farvington threw himself atop his horse dejectedly, murmured “Sorry” beneath his breath, and the duo slowly made their way back down the path again, the green of the stranger’s coat blending into the surrounding pasture.
Ella waited until he had disappeared from sight before entering the shop, lest he see what she intended.
Stardate: 041794, Sector 79: Europa Orbit
– First Officer’s Log: Acting Commanding Officer –
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Captain Bosh meant to put us down on that planet for keeps. That bastard never intended on any of us making it off that monster-ridden planet. When I think about it, he must have known one or two things that don’t sit well with me. That he thought so little of us that he knew we wouldn’t be able come out the other end alive, and that he didn’t care if we lost anyone else besides himself. The part that doesn’t sit well with me is that he was right. I hate it when he’s right, even if he is dead . . .bastard.
When she nodded, he continued, “Farvington is my name, and I hail from —shire. I am in dire need of a reproduction of this artifact. It was entrusted to me not a day ago with the most particular and demanding instructions.”
His thin, wrinkly neck strained against the folds of his cravat as if trying to escape confinement.
“I must get it printed before the sun sets this very evening,” he continued, “or I will not be welcome back among my fellow brethren.
“You see,” he continued, noticing Ella’s dubious expression, “it is because the document must be kept as secure as possible. If I cannot complete this task, they will assume the very words on these pages have already spilled into the night air. It has happened once too often.”
Ella thought the man talked most oddly, and she didn’t understand at all, but her eyes flickered with curiosity. “Why, that is most urgent, indeed, and will require much skill and haste. You have come to an exceptional place for both,” she boasted.
She reached for the document, but he hesitated, staring down at her and then tapping his fingers on the parcel. “You are a young lass, however, not at all the Totts described to me by the villagers. Is he about, kind miss?”
She looked away from his object and back up to his green eyes. “Of course, sir, I will fetch my father for you straight away. Please, have a seat inside, and we will assist you with this matter to your satisfaction.”
Within minutes, the senior Totts came hastily from his afternoon ablutions and extended a moist hand to the seated Farvington.
“Thank you, daughter,” he told Ella, raising his eyebrows and clearing his throat until she crossed the threshold and escorted herself outside.
“Now, I understand from my apprentice that this matter requires both delicacy and privacy . . .” she heard him say before she swung the creaky door closed.
Ella kicked a passing frog and harrumphed. Typical, was it not, that she was excluded from the most fascinating request ever encountered at their shop? Possibly in all of Haven? Why must these unfair circumstances always happen to her? Surely her father would eventually require her assistance to meet the demanding requirements?
Illustrations Coming Soon
When Sunny isn’t playing games on squirrels and other creatures, he is busy foraging for enough food to share with WhiteWing. Back and forth from bush to grassy flat and back home again.
Each time, carrying a juicy morsel for WhiteWing. He couldn’t help but sing now and then, he is so happy. Breee, breee, breee.
On the twelfth day, their waiting was over. Cra-ack. Craa-ack. Cra-acck. Crrr-ack. Peck by peck, the hatchings pecked out of their shells. They are tiny, wet, wobbly, bony, and hungry. “Peep peep peep peep. Food food food!”
WhiteWing nuzzles them and folds them under her wings while Sunny flies off to get breakfast for his family. Don’t even think McNuggets. Mockingbirds prefer bugs and seeds.
Sunny and WhiteWing take turns hunting for food and feeding the nestlings. Luckily the summer is a rainy one, so food is plentiful. Best of all, the stone bird bath has a little pool of water, perfect for bathing, also perfect for softening up a beakful of food for the youngins’.
The parents carry the food in their beaks, stop by the bath pool for a little dip, then bring the moistened take-out back to the nest for the peep-peep-peepers.
After a week anyone could see that the nestlings are well fed. They are putting on weight rapidly. They still look like their necks are too scrawny to hold up their big heads, but their downey new feathers give them a cuddly, oh-so-cute look.
Babies of any species are adorable. But Sunny and WhiteWing are convinced that Jumper, Big Boy, Rosey, and Moonglow are the cutest ever.
Sunny is so proud he steps up his singing in tempo and volume as the nestlings grow. Almost a month after Sunny and WhiteWing met, the fledglings are ready to leave the nest.
Flying is such a gift and they are naturals. On the ground, the young birds practice wing flashing. They raise their wings when they meet a new and strange object.
They approach the object slowly and haltingly. They raise the wings upwards, sometimes alternately and peer at the object in an archangel fashion.
They are careful to keep a look out for cats. Cats are sneaky. They can come out of nowhere and pounce before you can say, “Eeek!” Beware of cats.
Soon the youngsters learn all their lessons and they are ready to leave home. One by one they launch into the air to start their new lives.
Their parents have done their jobs and must get busy again. During the breeding period, Sunny and WhiteWing will create five broods. Their territory is plentiful with a small hackberry, an elm, and a stand of hawthorne bushes. The grass is short and sparse, so Sunny finds it easy to snag insects.
At the end of each day, Sunny and WhiteWing snuggle, wing to wing, and sing. Thrill, thrill thrill. They will remain mates until next season when the cycle begins again.
Illustrations Coming Soon
Sunny and WhiteWing were busy building their nest. They picked a location in Sunny’s territory and WhiteWing told Sunny exactly how she wanted it built. It would be a grand nest with room for at least four eggs.
Over the next few days, Sunny worked frantically while WhiteWing supervised. He built a platform of twigs, then laid an assortment of grasses, leaves, moss, and hair. They made a smashing dance to compact this layer for a soft floor.
Very carefully, Sunny formed a cup in the middle and lined it with the finest, softest things he could find. Mostly he found young rootlets. Sometimes, though, he found nice pieces of wool or string that he would present to WhiteWing as gifts.
Before long, WhiteWing honored him by laying four mockingbird eggs–pale blue, with cinnamon blotches. Life is good for Sunny and WhiteWing.
WhiteWing loved to watch Sunny take off from the highest tip and float aloft, with his wings spread wide. He would leap up and float down, gushing his hunting squawks all the way. He would pounce on a grasshopper suspended amongst the wildflowers.
She liked it when he brought other bugs, like beetles, ants, moths, and spiders. And she was especially pleased when he brought home wild blackberries, fig bits, and loquat fruit.
The happy couple awoke one morning to find intruders in their yard. A gang of young mockers were helping themselves to the bounty. They were stealing from Sunny and WhiteWing.
Flinging himself into the air, Sunny went to defend his territory. While the intruders were busy stuffing their beaks, he attacked from the left. He attacked from the right, above, around, again.
He was so fierce and swift. Shriek, shriek, shriek. Feather storm. In minutes the strays were overcome and fled. WhiteWing beamed with pride as Sunny did a victory lap, gliding along his boundaries. He conveys the story about the enemies and the danger so that Racer can be on the lookout. Squawk, squawk, squawk.
Both birds were busy the next few days. Sunny loved to chase the squirrels. Threeep. Threep, Threeep. He had to chuckle at the silly squirrels.
Sometimes, just for fun, Sunny would stage attacks on the mailman. In the nearby crepe myrtle Sunny would wait for the uniformed mail carrier to come walking up the sidewalk.
Just as the mailman reached into his bag for a handful of mail, Sunny would swoop down close to the man’s ear and shout, “Cack, cack, cack.” The man would let out a surprised squeal, stumble a little, and look around to see if the attack would continue. Sunny never tired of this game.
Meanwhile, WhiteWing stayed home to incubate the clutch. Her job was to keep her family warm and safe. All four eggs fit nicely under her ample breast.
She didn’t mind sitting there so much because she had time to dream about all the things she would do with her new brood. She would feed them all the good things that hatchlings like to eat.
And when they were ready, she would teach her babies to do all the wonderful things that mockingbirds do. WhiteWing would be plenty busy when the eggs hatched. She would save up her energy until then.
He perched on a branch so high up in the oak he could survey his whole territory. All else was quiet in the yard on this early summer night. Only the night creatures were awake. The mating season was new and Sunny sang his most joyful songs into the night air.
His songs told the story of his search for a nesting mate. One verse proclaimed his promise to stay with her throughout the season. In another verse he chirped of his excellent nest building skills.
He sang verses of all his heart. He imitated other neighborhood birds like the cardinals and the finches — even the morning doves. Every warble, trill, and chickadee-dee-dee. Strung together, he made a symphony of mixed up calls and he did it so loudly and so long, he thought his chest would pop.
“Hey, Sunny. Keep it down.” Sunny’s brother, Racer, pleaded as he joined Sunny on the branch. “Birds are tryin’ to sleep.”
“I know. I can’t help myself. I want all the females to hear me and want to join me. I know my songs will bring my mate to me.” This bird language produced a soulful string of breee-breee-breee and preep-preep-preeps.
Racer wanted to cover his ears, but of course, birds don’t do that. So he flew back to his own nest where his mate had tucked her head beneath her wing.
And so time passed. Night after night, Sunny sang for a mate. Racer and his mate in a nearby tree complained, “For goodness sake, that knucklehead makes such a racket. How in BillyBlueBlazes are we ever going to get any sleep?”
Even Sunny wondered how much longer he could sing. Eating and sleeping weren’t as important as his songs. He had to show what a good match he’d make. He sang of the beauty of his territory–flowering plants, berry bushes, fruit trees and a water bath. His melodies would surely attract a mate.
One night, with the fragrant scent of jasmine in the air, Sunny’s song was extra sweet. He crooned the ancient melodies of love and life, of family and home.
“Finally,” WhiteWing smiled her bird smile. “He’s singing the song I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been interested in Sunny for some time, but tonight, he’s touched my heart.” She sashayed to his tree and watched him display his tawny gray and white tipped wings in the moonlight.
“Hello! Hello! She’s here! Sunny likes WhiteWing! Do you, do you? Like me, like me? Too-too-toooo!”
WhiteWing wanted to be courted the proper mockingbird way, so she flitted to another tree. Mating is a serious decision because the two would be together many, many seasons. Sunny pursued her and made soft, hewing calls. The two sat close together and exchanged contented chants. The more they sang together, the more sure she became that she would choose Sunny for her mate.
“Together! Together! Happy! Happy! Happy!”
Together, Sunny and WhiteWing quickly became mates and danced the happy dance of family making. They filled their days with dancing and singing; of course, Sunny always sang louder than WhiteWing. Now when Racer saw the two new mates he told his own mate, “Well, whaddaya know? Sunny found someone. They’re cuddling and cooing softly together. Maybe we’ll finally get some shut-eye.”
Might as well put this cosplay construction momentum to good use by designing the Calibretto Helmet. Came out Good. If i can track down any pictures of the flat pattern I made, I’ll post that up as well. I am seriously pumped! Seeing your cosplay costume come together, whether you design your own cosplay character or are creating a character cosplay, is very encouraging for any cosplay designer. Stay Tuned!
Gotta get started somewhere, so the first piece was kinda two for one. Since that’s the way it is drawn. It may appear that I took some slight liberties with it, but the damn thing changed from one page to the next in the comics so I had to pick what I thought looked good and went with that.
A long time ago, in the mossy village of Haven, a printer by the name of Totts operated an old press handed down to him by his father, and his father’s father, mainly printing poetry leaflets for enamored knights and prayer booklets for God-fearing folk. Totts had grown up as a wee lad in this shop, running about with ink smeared on his nose and ligaments, so that decades later he remained much the same, with ink spots where the age spots might normally be. On any given day, he operated the press by rote, changing out letters and pressing and sliding here and there until the press gave forth crisp, clean renditions of the written word and graven images. No print request was too difficult for Totts, not he; many moons had passed since his apprentice stage and now he was passing his knowledge to his only child, a daughter named Ella.
Ella did not care for printing, but she cared for books, and since Haven did not have a lending library, she feigned an interest in the printing craft so she could read every word as it spewed out of the press. Dull or brilliant, foolish or wise, her golden eyes hungrily ate up each word and then mulled them later as she drifted off to sleep each night. She thought perhaps someday she could trade those words as currency elsewhere in the world, in a place besides Haven, with folk other than Havenites, and maybe they might be of value.
One autumn afternoon, when the wind was stirring up leaves and musty memories, Ella stood upon a table, brushing away cobwebs from the rafters so that dust specks wouldn’t wander into the ink pots, when she spied a rickety gentleman riding on a dapple grey horse. His bony arms and legs poked beneath a green velvet suit with matching checkered cravat, and his chestnut leather boots were quite pointy. His hair was tied neatly back in a queue, and although she could not gauge his age, he seemed as worn and pockmarked as the graveled path.
Ella could not recall ever seeing him before, so she stared rather freely until he startled her by calling out, “Hey-o, young miss!”
She curtsied hastily beneath her dark blue pinafore, nearly falling over in this attempt to appear polite, then ruined it all by hoisting her skirt up and jumping off the table so the poor wooden floors squeaked mightily.
“Good day, sir!” said she, striding up to him and patting his horse tentatively on the nose. “May I be of assistance to you or your nag?” She sniffed and smelt a blend of cinnamon and cloves that lingered about the pair, alongside the usual scent of manure that drifted in waves from the surrounding farmland.
The man smiled down at her with a squint, then patted a long leather tube that was affixed to his saddle with thick golden-colored cords. “You are in the printing trade, are you not? Totts, is it?”
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Geek out with the OddHour staff and contributors as we write, illustrate, and color various online comic book stories, tall tales, and adventures.
Here at OddHour Creative Studios, storytelling and publishing online comic books are like second nature—just as important as breathing.
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Dynamic PDF forms that can calculate, formulate, and validate are efficiency boosters! Getting those frequently used business forms and documents fielded for ease of use makes a big difference!
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