Ripley LaCross draws in a simplified-realistic cartoon-ish style, using a color palette of white, gray, black, and blue. The present-day scenes look digitally drawn, with crisp, smooth lines. The philosophical scenes have a much more watercolored look to them with softer, pencil-y lines.

Page 1
From an overhead point of view, we see an office party taking place in a warehouse-turned-office building. Rain pelts down against the enormous windows that stretch up to the ceiling. Guests mill around tables of potluck food. It's an all-ages gathering, so parents try to talk with the other adults while simultaneously keeping track of their small children who are making friends with the office dogs. In the center of the hubbub stands Ripley who is talking with another person. Ripley's hair is bushy with the sides shaved down to stubble, making a relaxed mohawk or dapper mullet. They wear a black blazer over their collared blue shirt, with black pants and boots, with skinny glasses topping them off. They sport various facial and ear piercings along with a hint of mustache and beard against their white skin tone. Their conversation partner is shorter and plumper in a cute black mini cardigan over their blue patterned boxy dress that comes down to their knees. Underneath they sport black tights with their two-toned retro shoes. They wear slim glasses and theirs ears are full of many piercings that pop against their gray skin tone. They short black hair shares a cluster of big curls in front and then quickly fades into a buzz.

"Some shingdig, eh?" Ripley asks their friend. "I'm loving your outfit, by the way."

"Oh, I'm glad you like it!" The friend enthuses. The camera now drops down to an eye-level view of our speakers. "It was a last-minute thing, really." They manage to strike a little pose to show it off without spilling their drink. "This dress has a great pattern, but... it's actually on backwards! I figure this higher neckline and flatter cut gives me the shape and vibe I'm looking for. Though the tag's a bit itchy around my throat. Oh, the choices we *gender revels* make for fashion, haha!"

"Well, you still look great!" Replies Ripley. "Kinda makes me wish I could wear skirts again!"

With a look of realization, the friend asks, "Oh yeah! You used to wear them all the time, didn't you? Was it the dysphoria? Or...?"

The narrator's caption reads, "Ah... not entirely" over a smudging streak of blue that could either be the water running down a window pane or the view going into a softer, pulled-back focus to transition to another time.


Page 2
The entire white page is cut with a grey-blue watercolor pathway that snakes across and down it. The art style is the same as the previous page, but instead of crisp, clear digitally-drawn linework, it looks like everything is drawn with a softer pencil and painted with blue-gray watercolor paint on textured paper. Far in the distance at the start of the path is a hunched over, indistinct figure walking in baggy, ratty jeans and a hoody pulled up over their bushy, scraggly hair. Infinitesimally closer is the same figure, but now standing more upright, their bushy, short hair uncovered. They fidget with their fingers while continuing to walk forward, but now they are in a boxy knee-length skirt, fishnets, and big chunky boots. Music plays faintly in the background. The next figure continuing the walk wears a beret underneath big headphones that connect to a music player inside their purse. They wear a tanktop with a long skirt and flipflops. The next figure is close enough to show their face a little clearer now. Their shin-length hair flairs in almost-curls at the ends and they lift their multi-playered skirts to avoid tripping while they walk. They are clearly at a special event because they wear a pearl necklace with long opera gloves and fancy little high heels. This leads to the person with bangs and long hair that goes down past their shoulders. They wear a choker and multiple strands of necklaces. Their hands hold the straps of their backpack that they wear over their open, fluttering collared button-up shirt that flutters around their tight tanktop that tops their calf-length ruffled skirt and thick sandals.

Narration: After the mess that was my teens, I wore skirts just as often as I did pants well into my thirties.

Decked out in Scene/Raver gear, Ripley takes a photo (with a slim camera) of the their next incarnation ahead of them. The picture-taking Ripley has big springy tubes added in their hair, wears round tinted classes, knee-high striped socks, canvas sneakers, a knee-length skirt with tanktop, a short scarf wrapped around their neck and lots of little bracelets.

Narration: They kissed the earth, tickled my knees, and hugged my thighs.

The figure, who is now recognizably Ripley, poses for the camera with a joyful twirl in a fluffy knee-length wedding dress with a bouquet of flowers in their hand. Their long wavy hair bounces with the movement while their flowered fascinator holds the top in place.

Narration: I celebrated their simplicity, their comfort, and my right to choose them.

Ripley hikes confidently along the trail, their hair in that bushy/shaved main from the first page but wearing an enormous camping backpack over their t-shirt. Their handkerchief is tied around their neck and they use two walking poles as they march in their hiking boots. Their knee-length cargo skirt reveals the scuffs on their lower legs.

Narration: Even after coming out as agender, skirts still felt like freedom.

Ripley is much closer to the camera now, looking up in the air in surprise as rain starts to fall. Their hair is beginning to grow out from a buzzcut and they wear an N95 mask over their face and a pendant necklack rests against their chest. An unopened umbrella is tucked under their arm, resting against the knee-length, armless, pocketed dress they're wearing. Puddles from the rain are forming by their practical but stylish sandals.

Narration: I don't have a gender and neither does clothing.

Looking up at the rain with worry, Ripley begins opening their umbrella. They have disheveled short hair, the same necklace, thick black boots, and wear a calf-length dress with short sleeves and a v-neck.


Page 3
Against the white background, Ripley huddles under their umbrella that is labelled "THEY/THEM/THEY/THEM/THEY/THEM" in blocky text while softly-written "She" and "He" words rain down against it in blue.
"It's tricky being under the nonbinary gender umbrella when your culture is still very binary." Explains Ripley to us, looking vulnerable as the hem of their dress begins to soak up some of the raining "She" and "Her" words that were not blocked by the umbrella. The rest of the water and pronouns build up into a puddle by their feet. "And despite my beliefs, skirts and dresses are still very much skewed to one side of that binary."

Framed within a comic panel border, Ripley tries to hold their dress up higher out of the collecting water, but it's already up to their thighs. "She" and "Her" leach up through the bottom of the dress, out of the pool of water that continues to fill from the relentless rain.

Narration: They were weighing me down. Anchoring me in the wrong gender through the eyes of strangers.

Back onto the open, blank page, Ripley falls to their knees in the puddle, their crumbpled umbrella tossed to the side and filling with rain itself. The gray blue watercolor rains down on everything as the bottom of Ripley's dress continues to absorb a dark inky blue from the puddle.


Page 4
Ripley's damaged but repaired THEY/THEM umbrella overlaps the comic panel's edge, shielding them as they sit on a tree stump. The dress is gone, replaced with a t-shirt, jeans, boots, and a large-beaded necklace. The rain continues to pour down but the damaged umbrella keeps them covered and the tree stump keeps them elevated out of the water. They look over their shoulder with an expression of displeasure.

Narration: It felt like betrayal- rejecting what I love simply because of what other people may think of me. What happened to my rebellious spirit? My stubborn nature?

From overhead, we look down over Ripley as they look up at us defiantly, saying, "Regardless, I still get misgendered on the regular. But how much more often would it happen if I dressed the way I used to? The way I want to?" A giant "S H E" rain drop splashes against their hand that shields their eyes.

Back on level ground, we see Ripley from behind, still sitting on their tree stump with the umbrella handle balanced against their shoulder and neck so both their hands are free to clean their glasses. The rain pelts down, but they're still just high enough to be out of the puddle.

Narration: Some folks tolerate it better than others. Others embrace it. Every day we each make choices for our own comfort, and this is mine.

In the distance, a flurry of people dance and frolic in the rain with their own umbrellas.


Page 5
The top quarter of the page is broken up into three distinct panels horizontally to each other.

The first panel contains the caption "Nevertheless..." with a view of a hand reaching down to Ripley under their umbrella, who in turn looks up at the hand in confusion.

The second panel is borderless against the white of the full page. From a distance, we see a new character, Eivor, standing confidently in the rain with their own THEY/THEM/SHE/HER/HE/HIM umbrella held aloft while the other hand reaches towards the seated Ripley who still huddles under their own repaired umbrella while sitting on the tree stump.

The borders return for the third panel, which shows their two hands reach for each other, their fingertips barely meeting over the caption, "...It maybe not be today, tomorrow, or even the day after that."

One single rectangular panel stretches across the width of the page, showing a close-up of Ripley's booted shoes firmly jumping into the puddle with a SPLASH that escapes the panel boundaries.

A medium-sized rectangular panel intersects with the previous splash, showing Ripley outside of a building, looking at it through one of the giant paned windows. The art is back to being crisp and digitally drawn. Inside the building, everyone is dancing in the rain with their pronoun umbrellas. Ripley's umbrella is nowhere to be seen, so the rain pelts down on their black blazer jacket.

Narration: But someday I'll feel free to weather the storm however I choose.
Once again, all panel borders disappear, revealing a blank white page as a small Ripley briskly struts through the shallow puddles to the far right side of the page. The rain continues, but Ripley looks confident under their umbrella. "Who knows!" They say to us with a smile. "I may grow to like the rain and my umbrella. Gender can be fluid, afterall."

Transcribed by Erika Moen on January 19, 2025 for ohjoysextoy.com