Build thread - Luigi's Restaurant - 1

Luigi's Restaurant was one of a series of nearly identical kits offered by IHC.  AHM and Model Power offered similar kits, and I understand that all three companies used the same molds.  The kit contains four walls, separate windows, base plate, roof, and a sprue of architectural details that includes the front wall of the first floor storefront.  Optional extras, such as roof details and panels for bricking over a few of the windows, are also included.  Buildings like these are ubiquitous in the US, and probably in many international cities: basic, three-story brick structures with a storefront at ground level and offices or residences above.  Entry to the upper levels is through a door on the side, near the back, so an alley is necessary between neighboring units.  A few kits included a raised roof, bay windows, or other such details.

The kits are molded in four colors, so no painting is necessary - they're entry-level models, just above snap-fit.  Luigi's appealed to me as the first to look at, since the walls are molded in a dark red - I figured I could avoid painting altogether and move directly onto weathering.  More on that in a later post.  The green color looks to me like a weathered copper, too.

Since the windows are separately molded, they are easy to cut open, and it was this discovery that led me into a further exploration of the kit's possibilities as the foundation of a detailed, realistic model.

 I should point out that this is the second of these kits I've built.  Some 25 years ago I made and detailed one and gave it to a friend.  So, when I decided to get back into the hobby, this simple, familiar kit felt like a natural start.

In the second image, I've assembled the front wall, which is three pieces. The openings for the windows are obvious, but I haven't added them yet.  This shows the basic look of the kit, without any weathering applied, or any priming or paint.  I've used brush-on liquid styrene cement here, which I find works better than the thicker cement that comes in a tube.

If I were to do it again, I would prime the parts and paint them, even if I wanted the same colors.  Much too late, I realized that there is a slight sheen to the parts.  The sheen isn't severe, and I don't think anyone would look at it and say "that's shiny", but it does detract from the realism - it's obvious that something's wrong, even if it isn't obvious what exactly is wrong.

I would also plan out the interior, or its lack, before starting the exterior.  I knew that I wanted the storefront windows to say "Clyde Bruckman, Life Insurance," and that some of the windows should be open, and some fitted with air conditioners, but I hadn't made a decision about an interior.  As a result, I put the walls together without installing braces for internal floors, and adding those after the fact isn't feasible. Life is about making mistakes and learning from them.

Related, I got further along in my build process than is comfortable before deciding to add illumination.  Kits of this type are prone to light leaks at their seams and through the plastic (the walls will glow).  The solution is to paint the interior black, even if it's later painted another color; and to place an additional strip of plastic along the seams; but again, this should be done early in the process.  Whether painting the exterior walls will have the same result I don't know, but I didn't do so in this case.

The third image shows the same wall with some weathering.  All I've added is India ink diluted in rubbing alcohol.  The ink is an ancient bottle from Higgins (I think), and the rubbing alcohol is store brand. The ink settles into crevices, deepening them.  Used sparingly, it creates deeper shadows to give more weight to a model, but here I've painted it over the entire surface, in multiple dilute coats, to give a grimy, inner-city look.

I'll point out again that this is India ink, not calligraphy ink.  India ink can be diluted almost forever without the pigment particles becoming discrete.  If you dilute calligraphy ink too much you get blobs of pigment separated by clear areas with no pigment.  These days, there are inks specifically for modelling, which I expect have the infinitely-dilutable characteristics of India ink, but in colors beyond mere black.  Here, black is what I'm looking for so there was no need to look any further.  I used a large, soft-bristled bush here, overlapping each stroke with the next to avoid lap lines, without bothering to worry about how even the coat was.  As long as everything was wet, I was happy.  With multiple thin coats, an area that received less pigment on one coat will probably receive more on the next, and grime isn't even, anyway.

Next: more grime, and graffiti.

Truth and Beauty 14-7

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“Have any of you any salvage experience,” he asked, once he had their attention again.

To Jack’s surprise, Sergeant Strasser saluted and spoke. “I served on a first-entry crew for Chapham Recovery, off Sirius, then on a sweep team for Coventry, eventually leading an S team myself.”

“I see,” said Jack, to whom none of this made sense. “Well, I suppose this is a first entry mission, so why don’t you start your remarks there - for those who may not have been on a mission of this type, before.”

“Plastite,” said the sergeant without hesitation. "The plastic thermite cuts right through the hull, just like butter. You preload it onto a forced-entry sleeve, stand back, and ‘boom,’ you’re in. Assuming, of course, that you can’t just access an airlock - ‘try before you pry,’ you know. Then, once you’re in, it depends on the nature of the catch,” he went on, falling back into the jargon of his old profession. Stephen noticed a certain relaxation to his posture, too, which somehow made the marine seem more dangerous.

“If it’s a strait RA - roadside assistance - then the crew typically let you in and show you what’s needed. Coveralls’d be all you’d need, and work boots and a hard hat. Dead ships, they’re fairly straightforward, too. Everything has to be started up, perhaps repaired, but it’s all balanced, and of course you’re in survival suits until you have the life support back up. The half-dead ships, those are the widow-makers. Some of the compartments are pressurized, others aren’t any more, see. You get these pressure differentials across the bulkheads, and they can blow out without warning. That can be deadly no matter which side you’re on,” he said with a grim smile. “Survival suits, of course, though that isn’t always enough, if a blow-out catches you."

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Truth and Beauty 14-6

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He met his team in the hangar, along with one of the gunner’s mates checking over their small arms. In the background, their shuttlecraft pilot wiped down all of the control surfaces as he worked his way through his pre-launch checklist. “Doctor, how do you do?”

“Very well, sir, and you,” said Doctor Russ, transferring his bag to his left hand so he could salute with his right. This revealed one of the Roth’s pistols in a holster on his right hip, Jack noted as he returned the salute, handle foremost.

Pulling his attention from this unexpected detail, Jack surveyed the rest of the group. Three men (one a woman, actually) wore the heavy gloves and helmets of a forced-entry team. The road box at their feet do doubt held their equipment. Two marines under Sergeant Strasser held their rifles in a stiff, at-ease posture, their bayonets sheathed in thigh holsters. Five other men held their weapons uncertainly - though basic training included small arms training, the knowledge had clearly not stuck; Jack made a mental note to begin training when the storm settled down.

“All right,” said Jack, and the away team fell turned their attention to him. “We have an unknown vessel, seemingly adrift. She don’t respond to hails, shows nothing on the IFF, so she could be derelict and therefore fair prize, or she could be a trap, so don’t lose your heads,” he added; at the mention of prize money, an almost unheard of thing for a transport’s crew, his team had broken into an excited babble.

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Truth and Beauty 14-5

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The klaxon blared out. The mood lighting turned red. Jack’s officers dispersed to their various quarters, his premier and the gunner waiting for him on the landing so that he could enter the bridge first.

“What have we got, Mister Henreid,” Jack asked, stepping onto the bridge with his premier and the gunner immediately behind him.

“Engine signatures but no radio, sir,” said the master’s mate, moving from the center of the bridge to a position behind the helm.

“One of ours?”

“I can’t tell, sir. Engines are powered down to idle, so there’s not much to work with, and of course the storm interference.”

Roth gave a particularly sudden lurch and Jack, caught in the act of sitting down, missed the seat and sprawled on the floor, tumbling into the locked-out mystery console. Not for the first time he noted the peculiar inscriptions on its controls; a large dial labeled “warp cannon (TJ)” caught his eye, and he thought of the four 4-GW plasma-arc cannon that were his only armament against this potentially hostile unknown vessel. “Have their been any distress signals,” he asked as he picked himself up, waving off the offer of help from Mister Greenstreet.

“No, sir,” said Mister Henreid, who had automatically moved to the watch-officer’s station. “Though it could have been lost in the interference.”

“Thank you, Mister Henreid, I have the bridge,” said Jack, allowing the master’s mate to return to his position by the helm. Jack moved over to the radar station. His elbow hurt cruelly and he suspected that it was bleeding. “This is her?” he asked the radar operator, gesturing at the screen with the hand of his good arm.

“Yes, sir,”

Jack considered the display. “Shee seems to be adrift.”

“Yes, sir,” said the radar operator again, “I believe so.”

“Try for a handshake,” Jack told the communications operator.

“Too much interference, sir,” said the woman, having worked her controls and waited for a reply.

Jack considered. “Prepare an away team,” he told Mister Greenstreet. “Include a forced-entry team. If we have anyone with salvage experience, include them, too. And the doctor, or his mate if he is busy.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mister Greenstreet, saluting. “Who shall lead the team?”

“I will.”

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Truth and Beauty 14-4

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They were saved from futher awkwardness by a genteel ringing of a bell, followed by the voice of the Marine sentry at the door to Jack’s quarters, cracked and tinny through the intercom, “Mister Barus to see the lieutenant, sir,”

“Mister Henreid’s compliments, sir,” said the midshipman on being admitted. He stared hungrily at the banquet before him: high living and a general lack of planning meant that the midshipman’s berth was already reduced back to standard ship’s rations, and the sight of so much food - real food - drove the master’s mate’s message from his mind.

“Yes,” prompted Lieutenant O’Brian.

Barus jumped, saluted, and began the message anew. “Mister Henreid’s compliments, sir, and there is an unknown vessel off the port bow. He said, nothing on the I-F - um -”

“The I-F-F?”

“Yes, sir, and doesn’t respond to voice transmissions either.”

“Beat to quarters,” said Lieutenant O’Brian, standing, and Stephen noticed that he seemed to swell in size as he stood. “Gentlemen, ladies, forgive me for cutting this short.”

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Truth and Beauty 14-3

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This was three glasses of wine in quick succession, and when another lurch made them grab their plates and glasses, the engineer observed, “this reminds me of a nine-days blow we had off Sirius in the Savage.”

This was near-enough of a reply to Commander O’Brian’s toast to be allowable, far enough from shop talk to be discussed at table, and everyone had a similar story to share. They all politely listened to Jack’s reminiscence of a two day’s storm that he and a dozen crewmen survived in a shuttlecraft, tossed about “like BBs in a can of spray paint,” then the conversation became general. Courses came and went, the bottle went round and round, and jack, for a moment not engaged in conversation with either his right-hand neighbor or his left-, looked down the table and saw the smiling, convivial faces of his officers, truly enjoying themselves; his officers enjoying themselves at his table.

“Of course,” said Mister Humphries, “her name really is Wrath.”

The remark fell into one of those peculiar silences that punctuate even the most boisterous of gatherings. Ms Lund, to whom the remark was made, looked embarrassed and said nothing; and all other conversation came to an awkward halt, and the engineer found himself facing a full audience. “Mister Humphries,” began Mister Greenstreet, but Mister Humphries, who had by now had an additional two glasses in addition to those of the toasts, was already defending himself.

“Look at the lettering across the counter,” he said. “S'not centered. Too far to starboard, because the W, the first letter, is missing.”

“But the raised letters,” said the carpenter.

“Half of them are gone. W’s gone, half of the O, I mean A, most of the T. ‘S jus’ paint. The O is an A, see? Part of i’s missing and they painted it wrong. Records don’t go back more’n ten years -”

“Mister Hum…,” began Mister Geenstreet.

“- but she’s a Syracuse class - no bilge keel, see. Has to be older than that -”

“Mister Humphries, a glass of wine with you, sir,” said Jack at last, raising his glass an bringing the discourse to a close.

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Truth and Beauty 14-2

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Jack’s dinner party, held the following day in still-heavy weather, began in a starched, formal fashion. He had only entertained the wardroom once before, of course, and the wardroom, following his lead, had not entertained him in return. His guests therefore sat quiet and correct, the buckles in their in their rarely-worn uniforms chafing cruelly, strictly following the court etiquette of not speaking unless Commander O’Brian (the King’s direct representative) spoke to them first.

Jack found it heavy going. Having exhausted the usual types of small talk without success, he turned to alcohol as a social lubricant. “A toast,” he said, raising his glass, “to wives and sweethearts.”

“To wives and sweethearts,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them, but nobody dared add the facetious coda.

“To smooth sailing,” he proposed, when an unexpected lurch sent a (thankfully nearly empty) bottle out of Stephen’s hand, to smash a small red stain on the painted floor cloth.

“To smooth sailing,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them again.

“To shore leave and fresh supplies,” he proposed, once the bottle had been replaced and everyone’s glasses refilled.

“To shore leave and fresh supplies,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them yet again.

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