Arsenal Cosplay. Belated Halloween Post.

Me as New 52 Roy Harper aka Arsenal.

Over the past year I have been working on an Arsenal cosplay costume. Arsenal is Green Arrow’s ex-sidekick Roy Harper in the DC Comics Universe. Currently, he appears in the Red Hood and the Outlaws ongoing monthly series. There are very few cosplays of the character online.

I have been a Green Arrow fan for a very long time, and Roy Harper has always been an interesting character. I remember as a kid creating arrows which would ignite on contact in the garage. For lack of a bow to fire them, probably a very good thing, I would throw them into the air and then run away before they struck the pavement of the road. Street hockey would no doubt  have been a safer pastime.
Comic Panel from Red Hood and the Outlaws.

As it turns out, going as an obscure comic book character only really works at comic conventions. For Halloween in Vancouver, I was only recognized when I entered the comic book store to purchase a copy of Red Hood to carry with me. “I’m this guy.” worked a lot better than trying to describe the character did.

Creating the costume was very difficult. I had to tech myself how to sew and made a lot of mistakes doing it. Things like the hat and mask were fairly easy to make, paint and a bit of foam were all i required. The vest, belt, and quiver were another matter entirely. I documented those with videos on my YouTube channel which I will post below. Making a costume as simple as this one really gave me a better appreciation for the work which goes into cosplay. This costume took me hours of labour and I gave up on the project several times. Luckily, I kept returning and the final piece was able to be worn. I don’t know when the next opportunity to where the entire costume will arise, but when it does, I’ll be sure to share it in more detail.

From the Page on My Nightstand

I am not usually one who remember dreams, let alone shares them on the internet. Like Netflix original series, dreams are things I consume in a single night which then loose all detail in the morning. The other night however, I woke and felt compelled to write down the events of the vivid dream I had just exited, before once again falling asleep. There is a an incredible amount of detail written down describing this dream of which I now have very little recollection. It is strange for me to think that this paper which I hold in my hand contains more information about my own creation than the does the mind which created it. Upon reading the dilemma I myself had written down only a few hours before, I was struck with a sense of panic which some strange corner of my brain echoed back to me. The writing describes in rough, stream-of-consciousness style being trapped with the face of another human being. My dream-self seems to have struggled with the idea of how to gain the trust of his/my loved ones while stuck with the mutilated face of another man. Since the dream ended without resolution, as dreams are so prone to do, I can only assume that he/I was unable to find a solution. Even awake and in full control of faculties, I can think of no way to convince someone to listen to what would seem to be the ravings of a lunatic long enough to present what scant proof my memories could provide. It is a truly terrifying concept to ponder, but one which thankfully has no of ever coming to pass.

From the page on my nightstand:
“I remove myself from the bank and still blind, release myself from the board. Kneeling, I turn to see an old, once white school bus with a red stripe facing parallel to the run above and in the direction of the lodge. I see a skier approach the edge of the run so far above. He has long straight black hair and a beard. He is much taller than me. He says nothing but I can see on his face that he is deciding what to do. The man is my brother my panicked brain suggests. I call out to him but the words make no sense. They form in my head as Korean letters. I yell to the same result. The man looks up the slope to his right, then leaves.¬†
I take off my thin black gloves and look at my face (Dreamworld? Or did I look in the bus mirror? Memory fading). My left eye is swollen, but open wider. It is puffy and a solid, opaque, dull red. My hair is shorter and my face is cut. The injury seems un-shocking, even expected although I feel no sensation of pain. I look as though I have been stung by bees although I have not. The scary part is that my face in unmistakably not my own. It is the face of a younger Korean man! What dispare grasps me then. I imagine trying to prove my identity to my family. They would turn me away just as the man turned from me. I am hideous and ranting. My own mother would surely push me aside. I move away from the bus…”