You’re the sheriff, and you just got a huge tip.

Or well, perhaps it’s best to call it a tip towards a potentially huge tip.

Sauntering up to the counter, tipping up your hat like a big shot with one finger, you slam down a fist commandingly.

You want a sarsaparilla, intentionally. But now you sort of want some painkillers. Perhaps Tylenol or ibuprofen. 

That really sort of hurt.

You believe you feel a comforting squeeze on your shoulder until Rose tells you to “Get on point, John.”

That also really sort of hurt.

But you digress.

==>

Just then, the front doors of your saloon bust open.

In breezes THE BIG MAN and his lady accomplice.

It occurs to you that you’re not the main character.

==> The BIG MAN…. HASS the naratibe…….

Eurgh.

It’s just that weird cowboy marionette.

It keeps looking at you with those shiny blue eyes. You feel as though it’s sight creeps down your neck.

But that’s impossible. There no way it’s alive. It’s just a dumb puppet. You decide to go back to polishing the bottle.

==>

Today your bar is pretty freakin’ empty, you note with a little sigh.

You’ve been spending your entire day trying to seem busy polishing the same bottle of sarsaparilla all day.

On the plus side, it’s so shiny you can see a face in it. On the minus side, it’s so shiny you can see a face in it.

> Dave: Turn around.

We are officially out of hiatus.

—grimdark

We are still not out of hiatus.

Sad to say.

But me, the writer—I’ve finally gotten to the internet today. I sent off some page text to the artist, so maybe she’ll be able to post them as she finishes?

We’ll see.

I’ll properly notify you all when we’re back at full capacity.

—grimdark

Your name is Dave Strider, and this is your house.

Contrary to popular belief, it’s you who owns this town. Not the Sheriff. Even that guy’s under your little finger.

Yes, you’re the bartender. You’re the one with the sarsaparilla here. Egbert wouldn’t be able to find a good supply of it if he tripped over a warehouse barrel with a proper address and telephone number on it.

Actually, no. You believe that analogy was a little much, a little specific, and probably wrong.

But that’s cool too. It’s in your thoughts. No one else heard that.

Or did they?

==>

Short Hiatus?

Sorry guys, something came up and Grimdark doesn’t really have internet access right now and we don’t know for how long that will last.

So yeah, the story can’t really go on until that is fixed, which is pretty much terrible since we just fucking started this. >:c

Ugh, well.

— catpeecheesebrain

Thank you, sir!

We’re doing our best. But some days either I won’t feel like writing or catpee won’t feel like drawing, but when we are in the mood we’ll give you as many pages as we can possibly shit!

— grimdark

“I’ve recieved a tip about the Spider.”

==> Become the Brotender.