#also imagine him with half circle black eyes like the logo design because that's legitimately the only colored art of him

[murderofsomeone]

it's probably decently obvious that my main lemon demon design was created BEFORE seeing any fandom depictions (or even really that much official art past the logo) because of how violently he stands out in comparison to other designs. it's a little obvious that my inspiration was self-contained and it granted me a bit of creative freedom along with a completely different train of thought while designing him. his three eyes however is very much a relic of 2022 because I was designing a lot of demons with asymmetrical faces at the time and well, why not make another

anyway here's a comparison of him to my most recent lemon demon original design (where it's a bit more obvious I was influenced by somewhat of a fandom culture)

extra bonus rambling under the cut

my general design process has actually stayed relatively contained with a few exceptions like soft fuzzy man's color and weirdly neil himself. yeah sorry chat neil is the first guy that was highly influenced by someone else's design you can shoot me too if you'd like. but I legitimately believe he's the only real example because every other character that has a design remotely similar to someone else is likely due to us both following a similar source material (like my cabinet design being based off polybius) or there being only so many ways to interpret the design (gef the mongoose would've fallen into this category if it wasn't for the fact I made him Joker colors)

in general I tend to follow a mindset of how "weird" I can make a design or how much I can push a lyric/implement it into a design. I also like to twist around the convention and try new things. a good example of both of these apply to my doctor amnesia design.

really the main things going through my head were "well he didn't state HOW many eyes", chosing an eye color that often is overlooked in conventional beauty standards to elevate them and cause you to think, while leaning into the somewhat otherworldly nature she's depicted in by giving her blue skin, a color I associate with the song.

another fun thing I'll do is create a "design pipeline" where I'll take an attribute and run it through a list of connections before we end up in a place long past where we started or just combining a bunch of traits that could be interpreted that way, resulting in designs like this.

though wolfgang isn't my weirdest design, he definitely did not start where we ended off. I believe before the wizard of oz theming for clown circus was set in stone (a choice that has EVERYTHING to do with oz explodes and an element I'll explain later), he was some kinda mirror object head that had absolutely nothing to do with his current namesake. since I wasn't satisfied with that design, I kept a relative aspect of the personality and shapes and thus ended up creating a really interesting take on a character who is largely depicted as... well there's no really good way to say this, but Bad.

since I was working with a new fresh aspect I started by making him a wolf... and then connecting him to "there's a robot in my head". this kind of connected the dots to ultimately make him associated to the tin man, since no one was connected to that character for the wizard of oz element and it was up for grabs (this is also how he somehow got associated with toasters via connecting the previously mentioned song to "what's in the toaster", etc etc). these pipelines of connecting songs that aren't normally related, but making them Work in a believable way makes designs more interesting for me and gives them a bit more purpose and personality. I think this is what ultimately makes people get a bit lost on my interpretations considering they aren't super simple by just being about One Song, but by being about multiple that aren't originally related in the source material. just like how I connected dr amnesia to when he died, explaining a bit of her more mildly supernatural or off-putting elements by making the man in that song her father.

the final real design element that I focus on is the strange rule I follow in terms of how these characters are shaped. there's a massive sort of "alice in wonderland" theming going on in terms of how human/humanoid designs look in contrast to designs that look less and less human. their proportions become more cartoon and shaped, their sizes are affected etc etc all while the human/humanoid characters stay relatively normal next to each other with more believable design elements.

here's the horrid long strip of nearly 100 different character renders next to each other to get a general idea on what I'm talking about

the silhouettes of the human characters "pop" less because they're supposed to contrast to their nonhuman counterparts. which isn't something I normally do, but given the source idea of a sort of "wonderland", I think it works in this specific context.

in conclusion: I'm design autistic and like to use designing to try new things, which is why I fucked that lemon up. sorry about that chat

[we-speak-english]

Practical Good Omens References (25/?): Afternoon Tea at the Ritz

Part 1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5

At this point, we’d been there for forty-five minutes (halfway through!; they weren’t exaggerating when they said this would last for an hour and half / hour and forty-five minutes), though it did not feel at all like that much time had elapsed. To mark the halfway point, we spotted one of the servers (this one slightly older) going around to each table with a trolley full of cakes. We saw him coming our way and were a little incredulous, but this was merely course #3. When he reached us, he asked if we’d like some of the “trolley cakes” (his words, no lie, trolley cake man has to be the best job in the world). There were two types available (these aren’t mentioned in detail on the Ritz menu, and nor are the confectionaries on the top tier of our stand, so presumably they change from time to time, or day to day), a strawberry sponge and cream cake and a sort of apple pastry. He informed us that the cake came included with the afternoon tea, so we got one of each and split them between ourselves. He provided us with new plates and utensils, and whisked away our previous ones. Somewhere in here we also got fresh pots of tea and hot water, even though we’d barely made a dent in the ones we already had and hadn’t even touched the hot water (I’m telling you, the sheer amount of dishes that place must wash on a daily basis has to be staggering). The strawberry cake was about what you’d expect, with plenty of tasty cream and a jam-like filling. The apple pastry was still rather cold (presumably they’d chilled it to harden the cream), and in my opinion would have been much better a few degrees warmer, as it was too cold to properly appreciate the apple taste. I haven’t the foggiest what the round things on the end of the slice were, but they were quite hard and impervious to my utensils, to such an extent that I, getting a little too firm in my jabbing, managed to flip it off my plate and into my lap (see, that’s what napkins are for!). Needless to say, I made an extra effort thereafter to keep my food on the plate. ;) This was the second major hit of sugar, and we were beginning to feel the strain even as we turned back to the top tier of confectionaries, which we hadn’t yet had the opportunity to eat.

Each of the confectionaries was set on a thin, gold, glossy circle made of something akin to cardstock, and was adhered to it with some sort of edible sticky glue. So when you picked one up, the gold base came with it, and you then had to peel it off (fairly easily) before you could eat the confectionary. We started with one pink macaron each. They were a bit crumbly but quite delicious, with a cream cheese centre and some sort of jam tucked away in the centre. We then proceeded to the vaguely spherical chocolate blob, which came topped with a tiny white chocolate circle with the word “Ritz” printed on it over and over in a pattern. The exterior of the blob was hard and crunchy but—much to our surprise and delight—very thin and fragile. The interior was filled with a light, floofy chocolate cream. Next was the fascinating-looking sort-of-biscuit with an elegant spiral design on the top. Despite appearing solid, the spiral wasn’t more substantial than cream, and the knife cut through it smoothly. Inside, it was layered with two layers of chocolate, at least one of which was also coffee-flavoured. This treat also came with a tiny white chocolate circle, this time with the Ritz “R” printed on it. The last of the confectionaries was the peculiar blob of jelly (Jell-O, to my American mind), adorned with another white chocolate “R” and half a raspberry. Surprisingly, it was only the exterior that resembled jelly; the interior was a light, raspberry-flavoured cream surrounding layers of raspberry jam and cream, all on a biscuit or pastry base. This third hit of sugar was proving too much for us, and our stomachs were also beginning to register the first hour’s worth of food.

We poked around with the second plate of sandwiches we’d been brought, and drank some more tea. We flagged down a passing waiter and asked for water, and were brought narrow cylindrical glasses (again, etched with the Ritz logo) with water and slices of lemon. The meal was nearing an end—Thank God, we said—and we’d been there nearly an hour and a half. One of the waiters asked if we wanted more of anything, an offer we hastily declined. The table was looking fairly decimated at this point, with the culmination of so many individual spoons, plates, and cups, each with their own designated purpose.

This served as lunch for us, and it was good that it did, too; I can’t imagine having eaten anything substantial in the preceding twelve hours, if I wanted to get anything close to my money’s worth out of it. Dinner also seemed like a rather foolish thought, as I’d been fantasising for the past twenty minutes or so about the next time I would eat a salad. Before we finish up, here are some other general observations:

Palm Court is quite a beautiful space, but I won’t get into the details of what it looks like, because it truly does look just like the pictures, both mine and the official advertising ones. A more useful note may be that, overall, everything seemed much smaller than I’d been imagining it, both based on looking at the outside of the building (where it seems incredibly large) and the architectural plans. On the plans, each of the rooms looks quite lofty, but the Palm Court only fits four small tables width-wise, with only enough room between them for the waiters to weave around. This resulted in it being a lot more intimate of a space than I’d been expecting. That being said, I wasn’t in a good position to make easy eye contact with anyone sitting at one of the other tables (perhaps due to the strategic placement of the chairs and floral arrangements), so it also felt like we had privacy. The noise level was about what you’d expect, with people talking and lots of china and silver clinking together, so we felt comfortable talking to each other at normal volume (helped by the fact that we were sitting side-by-side instead of across the table) while confident that no one was paying us any mind or listening in. Conversely, no one was sitting close enough that I was able to eavesdrop on anyone else (and, as I’m fairly certain you can’t order afternoon tea for only one person, why would you want to?). That all being said, it was relatively easy to flag down a waiter if needed, since there were always several floating around at any given time. The background noise was also added to by the playing of Ian Gomes, the resident pianist, who started playing at some point after we were seated. Though advertised as playing “Puttin’ on the Ritz” and “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,” we didn’t hear either, though we did hear “House of the Rising Sun.”

The clientle was overall rather mixed. It was a little hard to tell who was legitimately rich and who was faking it (because everyone was putting on their best), but no one looked too snooty. There were male-female couples, what looked like parent(s) with teenage child(ren), groups of old men or old women, etc. I would wager that a fair percentage of their visitors are tourists (or at least from outside of London), based upon a) the number of people taking selfies, b) the fact that our waiter asked if we’d been to the Ritz before, c) the fact that the trolley cake man volunteered the information that the cakes were included with the price of the meal without us asking, and d) the fact that, as we were preparing to leave, one of the waitstaff asked if we’d come far to be there. Granted, maybe the regulars all come at the proper afternoon time slots, because they booked six months in advance. Regarding photos, the menu said that they were permitted, so long as they were taken discreetly (some people were clearly not following those directions *looks pointedly at selfie people*), but you could also ask one of the waitstaff to take your picture with your phone, a request they were happy to oblige.

Speaking of the waiters, there was a clear hierarchy of employees, if you cared to look for it. The main waiters wore a classy uniform of a long black coat (short in the front but long in the back, complete with coattails), red waistcoat, white undershirt, and black bowtie. There were quite a few of these, so I’d reckon each was assigned to a handful of tables (three to five, I would guess). All of those that I saw were rather thin, young white men with black hair, though not necessarily of European decent (is there significance to the lack of fair-haired [or even brown-haired!] men, heavier-set people, or women of any sort? we may never know...). A second tier of waiter was the trainee; we saw one near the end of the meal. His uniform was a more sober, plain black suit and bow tie, and his duties seemed restricted to clearing and setting the tables, though he did also bring us our water. The third class is the manager. These tended to be slightly older men (portliness and silver-hairedness [or growing baldness] allowed in this tier). Their uniform was slightly different as well—I seem to recall there was a waistcoat involved but it wasn’t red, and there weren’t any coattails—and they were quite obviously in charge, directing the other waiters and overseeing the room. On the opposite side of the room from where we were sitting was what looked like a speaker’s podium, near which the waiters would occasionally cluster, presumably to receive directions and discuss things amongst themselves. Behind the podium was a door, which was where the waiters would enter and depart the room from. All of the waitstaff were polite and refined, and you could tell that they’d had training in serving etiquette; in addition to things like pulling out our chairs for us, I noticed that they swept one hand behind their backs when bending over to pour tea. But at the same time, you could tell they were also quite human, and that’s important to note.

Because, for as much as we were paying, and for the Ritz’s reputation, I was expecting absolute, five-star perfection. Was it perfect? No. There were strange stains on the carpet, the apple pastry was too cold, and the tea took a long time to arrive. But was it amazing? Yes. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

They clearly had the afternoon tea crowd down to a science, as well. You can only book at certain times (11:30, 13:30, 15:30, 17:30, and 19:30 [there are other options on the reservation part of their website, but they’re always greyed out—what a way to create an illusion of scarcity!]), and they go in two-hour chunks. We were the 11:30 shift, meaning that we all arrived at roughly the same time, were seated within ten minutes of each other, and received our tea, sandwiches, scones, second round of sandwiches, trolley cake, and second round of tea like clockwork (perhaps this was why our tea was slow to arrive; they were waiting to serve everyone at the same time?). And then, when the hour and a half was up, we all paid and left within twenty minutes of each other.

Once we’d assured the waiter that we were fine without any more sandwiches, confectionaries, or tea, we were brought the bill in one of those black, rectangular “books.” It came out to exactly the £54 per person as advertised, meaning the total was £108. I supplied my card and the waiter returned with a handheld card terminal. There was no indication of whether a gratuity was included in that price, or if one was expected to be left.

Now paid, we retrieved our bags from their under-the-table table and descended the stairs into the central lobby. We were thanked for coming by one of the waitstaff. Other people were beginning to leave at the same time we were—around 1pm, an hour and a half after our arrival—and, in any case, we were obligated to surrender the table by 13:15 at the latest, presumably so they could ready the tables for the 13:30 booking.

We retrieved our coats from the cloakroom and meandered our way back in the direction of the east door. We paused in the vestibule to take some discreet photos and decide where we were headed next, and though we stood there for probably two minutes, no one appeared to tell us to bugger off. Once we were ready to depart of our own volition, we strolled (or perhaps ‘waddled’ is a better term) back out through the revolving door and down the steps to street level. The doorman offered to call us a taxi (I think a few were already lined up by the pavement), which we politely declined, and then we went on down the street and on our merry way.