Professor Sephronius Steampunk Art Prints by metallicvisions
10.00 USD
This image is fully titled "The Desperate Experiment of Professor Sephronius" It is hand drawn by Bobbie Berendson W. in pen & ink, colored with copic markers, then given an antiqued background in Photoshop. Photographic laser print on Mohawk 10pt cover weight ultra glossy paper.
Details:
8×10: limited edition, signed and numbered with story segment.
The Professor's Story by Bobbie & Steve Wilcox:
Francine’s family was very well-to-do, as Edward understood the reckoning of such things. Her father had made his fortune shipping ether and floatstone to the New World, and had not cared for her bringing home a tradesman for a husband. That was before he had sold his first patent, of course, before his induction into various orders for service to Queen, country, and science. Before Sephronious had become a household name, and before his automata had made him and all of his creditors wealthy men.
Very little of that mattered now, of course. The doctors had told him he should be grateful, and that the accident could have put his dear wife into a coffin, rather than a wheelchair. They had assured him she would make some measure of a recovery, even talk normally, given time.
But the doctors did not have to sit vigil at Francine’s side. They need not watch the fine, sharp mind of his wife drift through clouds of pain and confusion. They need not hear her muted sobs beneath the breathing apparatus. They were spared listening to the awful stillness of his home, empty of the melodic pull of her cello, and the impromptu serenades she had once performed for him as he worked, just so they could be together.
The professor was not given to futility, though, and grief and loss had hardened scientific curiosity into focus that bordered on obsession. What more was a hand, than springs and joints? What more was a leg than struts and pinions? What more were lungs than bellows that moved in a particular cadence? Airships and war-mechs had made use of such things for years, and he held no less than thirty patents on the manufacture of limbs for automata. Fate had taken these things from Francine. Science would give them back.
“Barnabus,” he called to his auto-butler, “tea, and fetch the model 095F. I need a starting point for a hand.”
