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──────────────𝐿𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛!

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𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏
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ＴＲＵＬＹ！！ ＴＲＵＬＹ！！

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[Politics]

- smart when he doesn't need to be
- a big stupidhead dorkster to the absolute maximum
- extroverted as all hell, will strike up a chat
- a pretty good sense of humor, often grim
- a lot of piercing holes he no longer uses
- has a small collection of antique weaponry
- a pretty bad memory
- can't do even the most basic math,
division is hard

- can this boy even get angry??
- a very hardcore cat person, his familiar(housecat) is a ragdoll
- the cat is named Mewlius Ceasar, and he is a tyrant
- always smiling! he has these little
dimples that poke out when he does
- great posture, muscular body, scarily flexible,
whoops there goes his leg
- also very clumsy
- bad hearing... what did you say again?
- Could probably actually eat a horse on a bad day

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𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓 𝐀. 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑

x001 ??? 002 confused 003 nobody
004 tl;dr local boy lives in an expressionist
painting: the musical
aka this is not a good day for Tib

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Tibbot just... woke up there. He hasn't been here, ever. At least he's not aware of the last time he's been here. Probably in a couple of years. But that's just time travel stuff. And he's really, truly sure that nothing around him is familiar. He finds himself in a bed of flowers. No, really. The room is overflowing with them.

”Well, alright.” He hummed under his breath, looking over his shoulder and promptly being met with a faceful of velvety flowers. It wasn’t quite a problem, and there seemed little more to do other than look around. All flowers. Almost all of them shimmered with a rich yellow, dancing slightly in the breeze of an open window. How pleasant. He then felt the pads on his face, down his unbottoned shirt, and wrists. Small, flat pads with tiny sensors. And he wasn't quite sure of what they did, but he was sure that the ones on his forhead feel very uncomfortable. For fear of something bad happening, he just kept... well, looking around.

There was a dull set of methodical beeps coming from whatever he was hooked up to. White and clean, it was very...hospital-y, though completely unfamiliar to him. And he was a professional in the cute twenty-first century hullabaloo. Whatever it might've been, it was tracking something. Maybe his brain? He thought that might spell trouble for him, but it didn't look like anything too sophisticated. So hopefully, hopefully Looking down, he still had his usual on. Nobody ever said that a tucked in, partially unbuttoned Hawaiian-print shirt was fashionable. But he had it on anyway. he could feel his feet, so his shoes were gone. His mop-top wasn't, though. And, naturally, small flecks of paint decorated his whole body.

The air felt warm around him. A pleasant kind of warm, comfortable enough to support him on the too-soft hospital bed and against the the thick smell of flowers. The kind rich with long-lost memories, maybe even a password to an account you forgot you even had. His mind started to slip again, eyes growing more tired with the relaxing air. "Gh. Hey. Wake up." He spoke to no-one in particular, watching his eyelashes flutter, shooing away the dreamy landscape that haunted him in the back of his head. He could hear the sound of the waves, again, and perhaps for the finite eternity he'd experienced he was at complete peace.

It didn't last long. His eyes were fickle things, and, naturally, that was because his mind lie behind them. They stood looking out, haughtily claiming that the whole world was nearly indistinguishable from paint strokes. The sunlight melted down over his face, and the flowers shifted to colors only possible to describe in tongues from lightyears away. That was the kind of reassurance he needed.

And so, for now, it was back into the endless sea.