Takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'!

{ APOLOGIES FOR FALLING OFF THE RADAR but IRL got me gud

    THERE it was again. That itch. The strange, aggravating sensation that he’d forgotten some vital memories. Painted nails dig into his dirtied scalp, trying desperately to scrounge up everything he could recall. He’s been here before - he’s seen this man as well. But when? Where? Or had it all been some strange and unfortunate coincidence? A dream, perhaps? A story Roadhog had shared that had only just now registered in his mess of a mind?

     Whatever the case may be, he’s beyond irritated. Left harboring a minor headache thanks to his frantic attempts at recollecting his thoughts, stumbling forward, quick to cast an accusatory finger and matched with an antagonizing tone towards the “source” of it all.

“ You... ” There’s a moment where he half expects a rough, large hand to press down firmly against his shoulder, holding him back. Urging him to not act out of sheer impulsion. “ ...Th’ hell are you? I’ve got the strangest feeling like we’ve met before. ” ...Wait. 

     Did he rob this guy? 

    Shit. 

    FASHION statements were never his thing; but this guy? Talk about outrageous. Bulky wears seemed more a haphazard than form of protection, and where does he begin with those clocks. The stranger is all but a time ticking abomination. A mysterious walking wonder that’s left him stumped for far longer than he should have allowed. 

     There’s a momentary pause before instinct has an elbow jutting out against thin air, words habitually spilling freely without thought nor regards towards possible consequence, all directed towards a man he continues to forget hasn’t been glued by his side since he awoke just hours ago.

“ PSST. Roadie!! ” Despite what he may think, his tone very well carries out, loud and proud, nowhere near close to what he’d expected to have been a whisper. “ Get’a load of this bloke. ” A swift gesturing thumb directs towards his target only to freeze upon its second jerk. The silence lingering after... It wasn’t one of which he’d grown far too accustomed to. It felt empty...

     NOT often had he bared witness to a variety of fauna before his infamous worldwide heist. Australia’s scarce wastelands barely homed anything more than the occasional insect, and more often than not, scorpions. Plenty of those. His mind instantly scatters upon sight of strange, orange patterned furs before even beginning to piece away both clothing and upright posture. Whatever this creature was - it was fascinating yet horrific all the same. A delightful change of scenery compared to his prior hours, wasted on aimless wandering to satiate that itch most called ‘deja vu’. 

{ when ya brain done broke