Notes / Background
The idea for this illustration came to me while I was working on Mel’s character sheet (you can take a look at it here) I realized that I hadn’t done much building of the actual story of Mel’s dragship racing era—aside from a sort of mental montage I’d created for myself, in my head, where no one else could see it. I wanted to remedy a bit of the lore gap in Mel’s backstory, and what better way to put her character on display than to put her in a tough spot?
Timelapse Process Video
I imagine that Mel and Beau were heavily focused on racing during the years after their parents went dark (Mel’s teenage years and early 20s). After all, they had to keep the ranch running somehow. So Luther and Hobie stayed on Puck to finish school (this, Mel was adamant about) and take care of the farm. Meanwhile, Beau and Mel traveled across the vacuum of space to take on odd jobs and enter races, sending their winnings back to Nightside City.
This kind of extensive travel meant being completely immersed in the culture of dragship racing–an illegal rite of passage for the cowboy rebels of Puck’s nightside. The type of folk they met in the racing scene were the same type of folk who might have been involved in more…dangerous activities: tech burglary, hacking, drug and weapons running, guerilla aid delivery, transport of various less-than-safe goods and services, etc. etc.
It was certainly Mel, the resident thrill-seeker, who first suggested the idea of mercenary work. Guns-for-hire, that sort of thing. Of course, they were fairly discerning in who they worked for—nothing that crossed the Alvus Code of Ethics™. But they did occasionally get themselves in over their heads.
The blurry sort of exposition I have leading up to this scene involves a tip that they had no reason to believe was bad. Maybe it was a personal vendetta, maybe it was Mel and Beau getting caught in the crossfire of a much bigger scheme—regardless, they end up being the ones to take the brunt of the heat from a deal gone bad. Their contact tried to give them a smaller payout than was originally agreed upon. When Mel and Beau turned out not to be pushovers (Mel has a notorious stubborn streak that gets them into as much trouble as it does good), things turned nasty quickly, and they fled the scene in the one and only Hornet IV, the Honey Buzzards’ legendary dragship.
Below, you’ll find a bit of short fiction that I actually wrote to help myself work out the details of this piece.
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Bad Tip [Microfiction]
But what had they expected, honestly? Their informant had assured them the job would be easy, but he’d also been shuffling around the whole time like a colony of ants had taken up residence in his britches.
And now they were taking evasive maneuvers through a jungle of towering skyscrapers.
Flashes of blue and red flew over the ship’s wing, singing the paint job. They’d just finished that, damn it. Mel tightened her grip on the ship’s yoke. The ancient metal and aged plastic creaked under her fingers.
“I’m gonna return fire,” said Beau.
“—no you’re not, you—”
Beau had already switched his yoke to co-pilot mode and rolled down his window. Mel’s ears twitched as his laser pistol charged, the warming reactor core humming.
“Sorry, can’t hear you,” Beau gestured at the window like the wind was somehow preventing him from understanding their withering glare.
“—you’re an ass’s hind end, we’ve got a whole swarm on our tail—”
Mel cut themself short as another dark ship zipped out of a side alley in front of them, nearly taking off the nose of the cruiser. Mel yanked the yoke hard, bit their lip harder, and tasted blood as they leveled back out, heart hammering.
In Mel’s right hand, Beau’s pant leg was crumpled in a vice-like grip. She released it and growled something irritable.
Polarized windows zipped past them in oily neon flashes, and Mel pressed the accelerator down.
Mel winced in sympathy as she caught the sound of Beau vomiting into the street hundreds of stories below them. Someone was about to experience an unpleasant weather event.
A sharp curve loomed ahead—the ship behind them was close, but if she took another turn like that too fast she was going to eject her brother from the ship altogether.
“Selaris, Mel, don’t fuckin’ slow down! We’re not out here to polish rocks!”
“This whole rig is about to rattle apart as it is, I’m not trying to spill you out into the void—get back in this ship now, you hear??”
The tight knot in Mel’s chest loosened as they heard Beau’s pistol go into standby. He pulled his upper body back into the ship, his face still a bit green.
“—and buckle up. I don’t want you drifting of into the dust while I’m trying to shake these scrapheads. Don’t develop a hero complex on me now, asshat. That’s my job.” Mel punched the button to roll up Beau’s window.
“You need a therapist so bad,”
“Oh yeah? You wanna talk Touchy-Feely 101 while we’re being shot at? I didn’t hear that seatbelt buckle.”
Mel took the next turn a little harder than strictly necessary, to drive her point home.
“Alright, alright, don’t go dark on me. Just get us outta this mess.”
“Gladly. Fire up the rear guns—this guy’s been on our tail way too long for my liking. Think it’s about time we remind him why we call this baby the Hornet.”