Indie OC RP Blog

Indie, selective, low activity RP blog for OC, Alex Rovaro. (Please read rules and about info before interacting.) ───────────────────────────

He isn’t actually doing this, right? But opportunity has been calling twice. He’s been calling twice. He’s starting to take the hint. Maybe…they’re destined to meet. Not-Fran might not be Fran, but she could turn out to be the exact person he needs.

There's the idea that he could be the Dog-boy from Outer Space, but that seems statistically unlikely to happen. Being blue could also mean he has rare genes. Or maybe it's a roundabout way of saying he's depressed.

The presence beside him was Fumi. But she wasn't saving the day beside him with a single paper towel. She was giggling at him. It was a consolation prize for causing a scene. Alex was posed like a mangy beast at the scene of a crime, paws clawed over in a sense of dread, and his shoulders nearly up to his ear boxes. He tried to take a deep breath, only to have his bearings yanked away from him. By the giggler, of all people. 

He didn't fight. That was a surefire way to make things worse, the same way a skier leaned into a slippery slope to keep balance, rather than out. Instead, Alex cracked a weak smile, even as his insides flipped, when Fumi dragged him down by the tie. If he fought, there was a chance she'd open up a portal and send him straight to hell. That's about what he'd expect.

There was something wrong with her eyes. Nope, that was rude. There was something different about her eyes, when she leaned in, that stood his sweaty fur on end.

He was so stuck in the moment, looking at those stars for whatever reason, the ending didn't occur to him. When she let go, his chin smacked the upper counter with a clack. He scrunched his eyes closed, then wide open again, doused in reality, as he bolstered himself against the surface with his palms. 

Alex followed Fumi’s pointer to the paper towel roll. He couldn’t process this right now.

“Sounds good,” he said, automatically.

God, he couldn't get a fucking second.

Alex’s tail thrashed as he spun out a wad of towels, grabbed them, and threw them on the mess. At the end of mopping it all up, he set the tree upright as if nothing happened. 

Wait!” he called over his shoulder. He lowered his voice a notch following, “Where does this…all come from?”

The teasing, the paper towels, the… everything. He couldn't articulate this any better.

If there was an answer, he’s wasn't going to stick around for long. Alex shook his head, scooping up piles of brown paper mush by the pawful to carry over to the nearest trash can that was not Rhonda’s. RIP kitten-a-day calendar.

Overview:

Alex crawled from rock bottom to his first job in adulthood in the early 2000s. First hired as a mascot for Wrexton Tech Co., the 2008 recession hit hard. After witnessing a brutal round of layoffs, he accepted marketing and presentations as new responsibilities. Alex scrambled to meet the demands, learning about technology from the scripts and slides he was given. He worked for two years in tech consulting before he became his own boss.

// Still convinced they should be siblings in another universe

Alex fought to keep his voice low. It strained out in high register, like a whiny teenager. He couldn't stand to hear himself talk. At least, they were alone in the corner, he was sober, and he wasn't on TV. But god, that almost made it worse. This was all his fault.

"How, how was I supposed to know? I dunno, I just thought, it wasn't the first time someone's tried to be coy about..." he scoffed.

How the hell does he save this?

"I mean, forget it. This, this is new. This, I've never seen anything like this."

Where were the strings? Where was the assistant? The volunteer on stage? Please don't kill him. Please don't kill him

His head felt like a racetrack, thoughts running figure-eights, new ideas screeching in from the sidelines. They were passing the go-line, shuffling rank, disappearing before he could speak.

"That's amazing." Alex began wheezing out of his head vents. "That's amazing. That's… a-amazing!" he squeaked. He stood, his knee smacking audibly against the bottom of the table. He didn't even wince, as the electrical high swept through his nervous system. He forced out a laugh, to relieve the pressure.

There was a shift in current around Alex, as Fumi wrapped her proposal. A static, no stronger than freshly-laundered clothing, easily dismissed as the effect of winter. The wiry fur of his neck ruffled like a rooster. One of the pink laminated pages stuck to his sleeve, clung to the fur of his knuckles as he brushed it aside, and shook it loose on to the table.

Talk like adults. He'd love to talk like adults, right now. But all the sudden, it felt like he was twelve years old again. Jet-lagged. Terrified. Cameras in his face. Questions he couldn't answer. Enthusiasm through the roof, performing.

His dot-eyes told the story. On features this large, it was a high-definition cry for help.

Beyond him, the little Christmas tree burned bright, the bulbs crackling like fireworks, until they burst into plumes of smoke.

Alex's mouth drooped. He looked dead-on at Fumi, not a word, but guilty as charged. He knew exactly what to do. Or, he didn't, but he had to do something, otherwise, this magical night was just one fire alarm away from…

"I do have a lot of questions. A-A lot of questions. Uh, ah, I will be right back."