Some fun news, yesterday, the first of several promotional comics for Sonic Forces drawn by my friend (and previous guest artist), Adam Bryce Thomas, was released. And it seems he couldn’t resist sneaking a Poppy cameo right in the first panel to give me a heart attack.

Thanks for making my Original Sonic Character (Do Not Steal) canon, Adam!!


Friedrich tried to struggle, but the man behind him just shook his head and roared impotently, his body paralyzed. His sense of touch was almost completely desynced, nothing was right anymore. Friedrich couldn’t feel the straps on his arm and legs, or his shoulders shake as he moved, or the heart beating in his chest. He only felt a deathly stillness as Mr. Moxie looked back at him in the mirror. The camera eyes on the doll swiveled in its head as Friedrich looked around in desperation, but nothing else moved at his will. Nothing on his new body was designed for locomotion, the bones were too unstable and the musculature was just there to fill space. This was a body designed to do one thing: Feel pain.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Friedrich snarled, more feebly than he said it in his head, but Chiaroshiro didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Mm, time for Mr. Zarigüeya to go away for a little while, Mr. Moxie,” Chiaroshiro chirped, squeezing the doll’s shoulders like a mother to her child. “We don’t need him just yet, he’s not trustworthy enough.” She grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and turned the view away from the mirror, pointing Mr. Moxie toward a nondescript wall. Friedrich was now left almost entirely stranded, the frustrated growling from across the room serving as the only point of reference to his origin. Then, she gently and deliberately lifted his dangling arm.

For the first time in twenty years, Friedrich felt his right elbow sag over an armrest at his side. For the first time in twenty years, Friedrich’s right hand’s fingers intertwined with someone else’s. For the first time in twenty years, Friedrich felt bones in his right arm crumple within flesh.

[Image 1]

What’s that sound filling the room? He thought.

Oh. It’s my screaming.

“So, darling, what exactly is it that was so important you had to disrupt my poor boys while they were trying to close up shop?” Shiba inquired, tapping a claw against the glass case he was leaning on. Poppy was stunned to see him in such casual pajamas; even to bed, she had expected him to be impeccably stylish.

“Well, I had a bit of an unorthodox request regarding these,” Poppy carefully unfurled a tied up cloth, revealing a change of clothing she’d grabbed from her hut.

[Images 2+3]

“You still have these rags?” Shiba sneered, poking a finger through one of several frayed spots in the denim overalls. “Best use for these would be decorating the inside of a furnace, if you asked me.”

“Please, Ms. Shiba, just hear me out for a second.”

“First of all, Ms. Shiba’s bedtime was at least a half-hour ago. You’re dealing with Howard right now,” he corrected. “Second, sweetheart, you know I’m just teasing. If you could make this quick, though?”

“I want these clothes cleaned, thoroughly.” There was a pause that lasted a second too long for comfort.

“…You want me to do your laundry?” Shiba asked.

“No, no,” Poppy scratched her head. “I mean, I want every trace of magic wiped from these. Down to every single stitch. I’m in… a weird situation and I’m not taking any chances.”

“You’re right,” he nodded. “That is an unorthodox request. Charming and discharming fabric is really more Betty’s expertise, and she can be awfully picky.”

On cue, there was a crash from the bedroom as Mrs. Shiba rocketed over to investigate the sound of her own name. She hopped atop the counter and skittered over on all fours, coming to a stop and sliding her back legs forward into a kneeling position in a single graceful motion.

“Hello, most valued patron~*HEART*, it’s so good to see you once mo-”

[Image 4]

“I didn’t bring food today, Betty.”

[Image 5]


[Image 6]

“Isn’t it a bit late for dinner anyway?” Poppy laughed. “It’s not good to go to bed right after eating.”

“Hm! I’m not constrained by your pedestrian habits. The night is my muse now! Genius like mine can’t be-!”

“She’s an idiot who took a five-hour nap a week ago and threw her entire sleep schedule out of sync,” Howard interrupted. “Ms. O’Possum wants you to discharm her clothes, dear.”

“…You want me to do her laundry?!” Betty shrieked. “No, no no, I’m much too busy to waste my time on something that.”

“I have money,” Poppy noted.

“But what is time but an illusion, anyway?” Betty reconsidered. “How much money are we talking?”

“Uhhhh…” Poppy dug around her jacket, pulling out a bundled wad of notes and tossing it to Howard. “This much?”

“This is like two hundred thousand nibbles,” he marvelled, skimming the bills. Betty simply sat frozen, mouth agape.

“Is it?” Poppy asked. “I don’t spend a lot of money, so I sort of lost track of what I’ve been making. So how quickly could you get it cleaned?”

“Poppy, for two hundred thousand nibbles, my pride as a couturier would allow me no less than to remake these rags from scratch, clean as a newborn’s dream!”

“Howarrrd, we already have orders to fill tomorrowww,” Betty chided, though she did not look away from the money.

“Oh, well,” Poppy mused, “if you can do that by tomorrow evening, I supp-”


“HOWARD, WE CAAAAN’T” Betty insisted, rubbing bills over her face.