we joke that miguel got lyla in the divorce but... hey, at least xina kept everything else. miguel pushed her away for a lifeless life. he lives in spotless corporate housing, on the highest floor. too far up to recognize what is happening underneath him—and as he comes to realize, never far enough to be seen as more than a well-trained dog. most of the apartment is empty. the windows are sealed for his safety. his home isn't a home; the clearest trace of personality is xina's gift to him. lyla is, emotionally and physically, the brightest thing there. the bright yellow sun in the dark. the clearest sign of love, that miguel might be someone who is loved.
xina's home isn't on the top floor; that's not somewhere she needs to be—there is no validation there. she knows distance only makes you vulnerable. she decorates her walls with the things she loves. her windows open, leading to a balcony full of plants.
there are two chairs in her living room, waiting for company.
How difficult was Miguel to animate? I read somewhere that he is 6’9 and over 300 pounds haha what a beast. Were there any specific things to take note of when it came to animating him? It’s insane how through his movements he just exudes power and strength. Even the way he walks just makes him seem like a guy not to messed with. Did his frame hinder anything in animation that would not occur on the smaller models?
miguel was SUPER FUN i loved animating him!! i feel like a lot of 3D animation defaults to super skinny characters that are basically just tubes, so it's fun to work with a character that lets you design the shapes into something more graphic
we had to think a lot about how someone that big moved, but also how they carry themselves when just standing and talking. we referenced idris elba:
when a person has very well defined and built up chest muscles, their shoulders tend to be pulled forward. i did some posture tests early on to help out with finding a good slumped but still powerful, natural standing pose
a lot of tweaking had to be done too whenever he was doing any kind of dynamic action because of how defined his muscles are, extreme poses tended to get off model pretty quickly. here's an example with one of the shots that i animated, i tried to recreate what his model looked like without any shaping adjustments:
i wanna give a special shout out to eric de carolis, who animated a lot of fantastic miguel swagger, he really helped set the bar for how we should handle miguel's massive everything when walking. he animated this shot:
so, yes! there was a lot that went into finding his character through movement and it's always a challenge to animate subtleties on someone this big while still making them feel heavy
#REALIZED i haven't posted these yet from last month. more kat and mig content! also, their ship name is genesis.
+ donna and gabe hehehe i have sm in store for them ..
PS i KNOW miguel wears his gizmo on the left wrist. the angle just had to make sense
-–—–-
a lil ramble on the ship name GENESIS,
i've had a history of changing their ship name ALL the time and nothing quite felt right, but Genesis is finally something i could stick to, as the word itself holds a huge symbolism to their story together.
i don't think many people focus on the aspect of Miguel being a geneticist, and personally, i LOVE that aspect of his character—and in my adaptation of him, i explored that part of him more. do note that Katalina's origin is unknown (to him and the rest—to you guys though, i'll spill here that she's practically a Spot variant) and nobody knows what she is or where she came from and most especially WHY she cannot remember anything. still, she co-exists with anybody from any universe without glitching nor consequences. Miguel feels as though her being an unknown variable to his very meticulously constructed equation that is the Multiverse poses as a threat to its stability. with that being said, the moment Miguel found her floating within the time-space continuum unattended, he threw her right into HQ with the intention of studying every part of her. Katalina, obsessed with debunking her past and finding a sense of purpose, lets him. geneticists study the DNA and origin of species, which i found perfect, because it's the very line of work Miguel specializes in.
the word "geneticist" comes from its root, "genesis"; meaning beginning, creation, origin. in every universe wherein these two are together, Miguel always carries the responsibility of analyzing Kat and tracing her roots. to this main Spiderverse timeline, he does exactly that, all while Kat spends her genesis (beginning-as Katalina and not as Arabella, that is) by Miguel's side.
rlly like the way hoyoverse does their chibis so i tried it on no other than my serpent and eve, my crowned eagle and peregrine falcon, talonseye. i was never prepared for how difficult the process was ... it was the damn details istg 😭💥
WARNINGS: Introductory short chapter. Toxicology involved, graphic depictions of death by poisoning, suspense at the end, criminal activity, depictions of poisoning symptoms.
Summary: El Diablo has found a problem. Nothing a problem solver like himself can fix, right?
Chapter 1: Business Meets Personal
Nueva York, his kingdom, came alive as soon as the sun died on the horizon. Lighting dreams and crowded streets with that unceasing and lively buzz, that announced the continuity of the never ending night life.
The faint honks and screens announcements through Madison Square crowded his sight, distracting him momentarily from a modern-looking building his eyes had been staring at for the past minutes.
A faint wisp of vanilla and tobacco vanished in the cool air, leaving a tinge of sweetness in his already tart tongue.
“So…”
El Diablo placed the cuban cigar in between his plump lips and took a long drag, savoring it. The smoke burned his lungs with a familiar heat, barely matching the anger simmering underneath his calm facade.
Bad news were never welcomed in his presence. In fact, he despised them. Especially when said things arrived unannounced and unplanned to retaliate, and much to his apparent bad luck streak, the same information met his ears yet again.
Another cargo shipment, missing, and some of his men found in daunting conditions.
The pictures forensics provided were everything but what his mind needed, as they often came back to haunt him in the least expected of times.
The ecstatic and borderline blissful look were the most prominent trait in his men’s photos. Looking at the ceiling, as though heaven called and awaited right before them.
And if honest, Miguel didn’t know what unsettled him the most. If the lack of expected but nonexistent gore, or that stoked appearance that became regular in the evidence his insiders in forensics sent him. He knew his men and kept them as happy as he could. But never with this sort of joy.
Sure, he indulged his subordinates' whims from time to time to keep the morale active and soaring, but this, his brain could only translate it as a pattern. Something that took him a considerable amount of productive members of his organization to realize.
A mistake that now cost him the little calm his lifestyle provided.
A little too late he noticed the dryness in the victim’s eyes and mouth. Dry as a rock, that if he wanted to, he could crumble them into fine dust. Their flushed skin, red as a beet. Their pupils wide and their lower bellies full as a drum.
“How many they’ve found this time?” The question had been reformulated a couple of times during the span of four months. Going from ‘who did this’ to ‘how many’. But the effect it left in him was always the same. Absolute powerlessness and an anger that could boil hot, if not hotter than hell.
Because, no matter how many forensics paraded before him with thousands of pictures, none of them offered the real answer. Just clues that led him nowhere, with his cargo still missing and an upcoming headache not even the strongest of whiskeys could tame.
And missed cargo meant lost money and resources. His credibility became teetering among those in the same position of power as him. And although his men didn’t question him, sometimes their skeptical gestures as he spoke of catching the bastard hunting them, spoke for themselves.
Miguel knew it was a matter of time that his reputation as the King and Soul reaper of Nueva York fell apart.
“Three.” Said the fearful man behind him, unlucky enough to be selected as the scapegoat for today’s debrief. “All the same as the others.”
But as long as there was none fool enough to try and usurp that crown away, he’d make sure to find the culprit, and teach them why only he was capable of carrying it.
“Exactly the same?” El Diablo turned and the man behind him nodded while swallowing a gulp. His trembling hand pulled a small sachet from his blazer’s inner pocket.
Maybe an important offering, or not. His boss was unpredictable like that when it came to things that pulled him to the uneasy and worried side of the story.
Miguel’s eyes followed his subordinate’s motions as he offered the only valuable piece of information he might've come across in a long while. All packed in a coke-dose sized bag.
“Miss Drew found this in one of our agent’s upper gums.” explained the man, while his eyes struggled to meet him for more than two seconds. “Apparently there was more in his stomach.”
Miguel pulled a handkerchief from his pockets and took the satchet, seizing its insides with clinic and undivided attention. Unmistakably it was a berry, or part of what used to be one; half chewed, black and shiny.
A single quirk of El Diablo’s brow urged the man to speak further.
“And… one of them survived, sir.”
And his red eyes gleamed. Finally, one of his men that knew the true meaning of loyalty would put him in the right direction to end this targeted hunting, once and for all.
“Tell Ben to get the car ready.”
The man wasted no time and disappeared from his presence as soon as the king turned his back on him.
Miguel’s lips pursed in a thin smile, and gave his cigar a last inhale before crushing and throwing it at the void underneath him. The smoke escaped through the tiny gaps of his teeth, surrounding his head in a fragrant smog. Like a demon awaiting for his playground to be ready.
“Showtime.”
Hospitals sure held the last position in his list of places he wanted to be at the moment. Not only were they his least favorite of hideouts, but the humanity constantly lacking in the crowded halls, only reaffirmed his decision to target some of the board members inside.
Security knew better than to attempt and pull an heroic show for the rest. As soon as they saw him, their eyes became blind. They looked everywhere but in his direction as he made his way through the stairs, since elevators were always crowded.
His mind thought about the several questions he had for his employee. That if he was conscious and lucid enough to answer them.
The designated room soon appeared around a corner he turned, and the sterile stench nearly suffocated him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The door closed with a soft click behind him, making the bedridden man move his head towards the door.
And an icy chill ran down Miguel’s spine upon seeing the man’s irises completely dark.
His pupils had devoured any trace of color in it, giving him this possessed and void sort of gaze.
“Boss?” Whispered the man as his eyes searched for him in the entrance but found nothing but a hulking and blurry shape approaching. That was enough answer for him.
The machine beside him beeped, counting the irregular heartbeats and fluctuating with numbers Miguel could only make out as danger.
El Diablo sat before him, but the man wasn’t afraid. In fact, the machine registered the decrease of beatings for a couple seconds.
“I’m—” The man coughed, and Miguel’s head tilted, examining his body.
Flushed skin, blown eyes, dry mouth and swollen belly. The man hadn’t much left, he knew. And still, he stayed, observing the last moments of his collaborator with impersonal wonder.
The morbid in him had assimilated the wrongness of just watching this man's ongoing passing before him, right after Jessica’s results readings. But the analytical curiosity on his other side wanted to witness up close how these deaths occurred. He wanted to see what caused his men to look so blissed out as they left this world.
“What happened, Allen?”
“C…Club.” he sputtered in restless sighs after a minute of struggle with his tongue. “I… celebrated with others.” A difficult gulp made him groan. The machine beeped faster and Miguel’s brows pinched together. “This… —man…” He slurred.
“A man? A woman?” El Diablo pressed but all his employee could do was to gasp and grab the collar of his own robe, pulling from it as though the thing would choke him to death despite hanging loose around his neck.
The room filled with slurred syllables and soon unintelligible sobs joined the more Allen stared at him, or rather the monstrous silhouette his troubled mind created, sitting right beside him, with two burning red dots as eyes.
Blind as a bat.
Miguel thought as the man kept shaking his head, and gasping for air like his lungs were ripped apart from the inside. What had him stepping in, was Allen’s flailing arms trying to reach for him.
Miguel grabbed his hand with a grip so strong it momentarily stilled the raving man.
“N…Night…—” His ears perked. “Nightshade!” Allen groaned as his free hand slammed against his chest, trying to knock some air into whatever was left from his malfunctioning organs.
Miguel shook with him, trying to calm Allen’s panicking rage. But little could be done as the machine’s beeping skyrocketed in a matter of seconds. Shooting his readings from normal, to critical without warning.
“C’mon, Allen! Stay” Miguel held tighter but the man sobbed as no air filled him. His boiling hands delivered a couple of smacks and slaps on his boss’ head, trying to escape. “Who is Nightshade?!”
The name alone caused the man to stare at the ceiling, while his dry mouth mumbled it over and over. The machine’s beeping slowed, as Allen’s cardiac rate was nothing but a rollercoaster. Going from critical, to deathly, to decreasing in such a span of time Miguel barely had the chance to get a proper answer.
But what could he truly do, when the man was condemned from the very beginning? He was poisoned, and so were the rest of his men. Him making an act of presence was nothing but an excuse to confirm this wicked hypothesis.
The beeping stopped altogether. Echoing in a deafening and monotone key. And so did Allen, whose face stared right at him, or past him, he didn’t know for sure. But there it was. Heaven had called his subordinate, and like the obedient man he had been, Allen attended the call.
Miguel’s eyes stared at the long gone man, hoping that there would be a last symptom manifesting in his corpse, but there was nothing but an empty death. And before the nurses could rush in, he turned his phone’s lamp on and passed it before Allen’s eyes, mouth and hands.
The toxin had worked as expected. Twelve to fifteen hours later, just as Jessica’s apprentice had told him.
Poisoned.
His men were all poisoned by the same treatment over the span of four, almost five months. But now, vague as it was, he had a name.
Nightshade.
With careful hands, Miguel untangled himself from Allen’s grip and left the room, letting the medical staff deal with the mess behind.
His fingers searched Jessica’s name on his contacts, typed a brief message and pressed send.
[Miguel 2:44 p.m.]
Allen died.
Call me when you get his body. We need to talk.
His steps echoed faster as he descended through the stairs, dodging whatever person coming in his way. His long strides made him reach quicker to the door, only to collide in a sharp dodge against a masked nurse.
His hands quickly grabbed her, preventing her from falling entirely.
Some people stared at the commotion, others at the unusual placement of his hands, as they secured the woman by her neck and torso while her clipboard fell on the floor with an unnecessarily loud rattle.
Shit.
Her pulse quickened when he pulled her upwards, with such ease the nurse’s eyes just stared both in awe and discomfit at the choice of places his hands held onto. And of course, the force exerting in each muscle tensing under the sumptuous fabric.
“Disculpe.” His hands picked up the clipboard and handed it back to the woman.
Before the nurse could even thank him or someone else bumped into him, Miguel darted towards the door, leaving the place once and for all.
The king had been deep in thought enough to ignore the raring stare the masked nurse regarded him with.
A satisfied smile crept under her mask. Her fingers thrummed and clutched at the clipboard, right where his touch had been, absorbing the faint heat those gorgeous fingers had left behind.
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