The first comic I made for Polymito, back in 2025 when Riquiña and Almé were Scorpia-pilled and didn't have ears
(narrative alt under the cut)
A six-panelled strip comic featuring two girls. In the first panel, arrows pointing to either girl indicates their ages: the one standing on the left is 12, and the one sitting at the desk is 16.
The twelve-year-old, Riquiña, has two small horns visible from her short twists. The plates of scales on the sides of her head prevent hair growth, giving her the appearance of having an undercut. She wears a baggy hoodie.
The sixteen-year-old, Almé, has two large horns protruding from her forehead. They curve backwards, following the flow of her long, straight hair. A plate of scales shapes her cheekbones, and she wears a loose, long-sleeved shirt. She's turned away from the twelve-year-old, reading a piece of paper in one hand while her other hand fiddles with a pen on a notebook. Her desk is strewn with paper.
Riquiña comes up from behind her sister, lightly dragging her fingers on her sister’s desk. “Almé?”
Without turning around, Almé replies, “Yes, Riquiña.”
Here goes nothing: “What animal-”
“You’re not getting a pet, little girl.”
W-wait—Riquiña could keep her cool. “I wasn’t going to ask that.”
“Oh, sorry.” Almé continues scrawling in her notebook. “Go on.”
Riquiña raises a tendril to her mouth. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her sleeve. Sweat drips down her temple.
Almé smirks, looking up from her reading. She doesn’t move, though—she knows exactly the face her sister’s making, trying to reroute the conversation.
Finally, Riquiña drops her tendril. What she came up with is, “What animal can you fight with your bare hands.”
Almé grins and returns to her reading. Waving with a tail, she says, “Go to bed, Ki. I’ll be up soon.”
“Okay,” she mumbles.
But she doesn’t move.
Almé picks up her notebook, comparing it with her reading.
Riquiña shoves her hands into her pocket. She prods Almé’s desk with a tendril.
Almé sneaks a glance. Then, she extends her notes to Riquiña. “Before you go, could you check my notes?”
Riquiña perks up.
Almé chucks her tail under Riquiña’s little chin. “I’ve been working all day—I might’ve written something that makes no sense.”
In an instant, Riquiña has sidled up to Almé, a hand already around her notebook. “I can help you!”
populating the story with minor characters is a spectrum that ranges from copypasting a one-sentence character generator into the document, quickly reskinning a blorbo and plopping them in, and using variables as names and giving Y whatever traits crop up as the draft progresses. at no point along the spectrum do you not grow fond of this minor character
prguitarman
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
