#bornloscrs

;;Wasn't his middle name Tobias tho ;;I MAY BE WRONG BUT I COULD'VE SWORN IT WAS

[🔥] — ❝I swear to God if I hear someone say the Earth is flat one more time I am going to fucking lose it...❞

   🤖🤖 — Disconcert narrows his eyes upon the body JUST across the street -- upon the kid adorned from HEAD to TOE in the very same outfit Theodore himself was wearing; there was no denying it. Sky blue shirt, orange vest, belt, shorts, shoes -- EVEN a full head of blonde hair to go with it -- & as if to add further insult to injury: despite how messy it seems from behind, he could SWEAR that the bangs were swept to the side, mirroring his own cut. Such details stopped him in his tracks, leaving him gawking before a tingling sense of vexation trickled into his system, one that left his chest swollen with a sensation of static.

  Now; among the public, it’s common knowledge that something like superheroes & supervillains are considered popular & ever-trending; & the same nary spared Wordgirl, her escapades, & all those affiliated with her in ONE way or another -- thus leading to fans worldwide, & inevitably - merchandise & keepsakes, apparel & costumes included. It was one thing to spy a doll of the Tobey McCallister look or a pen that held his visage near the clicker, but THIS? --Outright wearing the same ATTIRE & holding the same HAIRCUT--??? Fans were dedicated, DEVOTED creatures, but the clear sense of good taste aside - this was more than discomforting. Mere strangers flaunting his trademark look & masquerading alike himself? The mere concept sent shivers down his spine like static electricity through a robot; & this was going to stop IMMEDIATELY.

    The wannabe-McCallister goes about whatever they were up to as he glared, seeming so unaware of THE boy genius himself from afar. Oh - how THAT would soon change. Upon noticing the distance between them begin to increase, he emerges from where he’d been peeping - an inactive lightpost, & the dull clicks of his slipons against the pavement are the first to break his silence. Rapidly, he delves in, determined to not let this copycat too far out of his reach. 

   ❝ My-my-my, --& what DO we have here? ❞ Upon reaching earshot, he comments dully - an evident vexation, if not exasperation laced in his tone. There’s not a single shred of hesitance in grabbing the other by their sleeve-clad arm, holding them in place & planting his feet on the sidewalk. They weren’t going anywhere.

     ❝ You know, I’ve heard such things like ‘ imitation is the SINCEREST form of flattery ‘ -- ❞ His frame turns to meet the other, ❝ --& while your taste in fashion is appreciated, ❞ -gaze locks onto theirs, ❝ -I’ll have you know th------- ❞

  His face & stomach both drop to the ground at once, he can feel his pupils SHRINK in his newfound horror & realization strikes as eyes analyze the child’s face:   it’s not just FASHION & HAIR they seem to have in common.

  ❝ --GA-aAH--! ❞ 

  He can’t seem to pull his hand away fast enough, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he sends himself backward. His gaze flicks from one detail to the next at a burning speed & each one seems IDENTICAL to his own, or so NEARLY perfect -- but nothing compares to the face. & in a moment of trying to contain himself, he’s staring back at his OWN face on his OWN body that’s NOT his own.

   ❝ Y-----yo--you’re---you’re-- ahah--ahAHAH--! ❞ He scrambles for words, even laughing uneasily in the brief silence - before his tone grows stern, though clearly struggling to stay that way. 

 A A A ,,

I know we. Have only interacted on a blue moon (and this. Will change. Damn it.)

But you’re still such a delight.. ;__;

You’re so kind and just a positive light to see on my dash as well and your words are,, very kind and I appreciate them sm ;-; jfg

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 — Make a pick, Hipster!                          There’s two flavours:                          Vanilla & Chocolate.

    ⚛ ⚛ — This was mere CHILD’S PLAY at this rate. Scraps of metal, chunks of mechanical limbs, & enough gears and screws to fill a hardware store littered ruined pavement, as once lumbering robots were swiftly taken down upon Dexter arriving to the scene. Lasers flew, miniscule missiles blew, & even a few mere punches from the opposing mecha sent parts flying; perhaps reckless tactics - but in the end, the city would have DexBot to thank - yet again, for saving the day. Though really, the pleasure was all his to do; after all, the imminent glory & fame aside - it was especially WORTH it if he got to see the ringleader’s face as he took down each & every hoard of robots the boy had brought with him. Even after their few battles prior, it NEVER got old.

    That day’s clash had begun to draw to it’s close, the scientist admittedly a LITTLE too eager to beat any other crimefighter to the scene - just to beat down & dismantle the collection of bots that had stormed in without mercy. It was almost disappointing when so few were left; it’d take NOTHING to bring them crashing to the ground, & he’d be left to watch the villain get dragged away before returning to his own work. He could never consider being a ‘ full-time ‘ hero, but the occasional experience was nothing less than a THRILL when the occured. In a moment like this, there was brief hesitance -- only to ponder how he’d be taking the remaining few down.

    He could easily crumple them up with his own robot’s mighty hands - as if they were nothing but paper, he could melt them down into nothing but silver puddles on the road with a single shot from laser beam fingerguns -- HECK, he could grab them all up & use them as mere toys, swinging them around the court that was the already damaged area of town. His options were ENDLESS - but time was far from it, he didn’t need any of them getting too far away from him & causing more panic & destruction. Opaque, the screen that formed the ‘ glasses ‘ of the scientist’s machine had narrowed upon the remaining few robots, mirroring their blank expressions & - from the inside of the mecha, covering them with symbols of targets. 

  Dexter, with his hands still steady on the controls, couldn’t help but spare a glance toward the creator of the rampaging hoard through the mecha’s screen - who he’d LONG since stolen from one of the robot’s shoulders & placed at the top of a nearby building, to assure he wouldn’t become one with the rubble that sprinkled the streets. Eyes guided toward his expression, to relish in the presumed dismay at the scene before him: nothing short of an inventor’s nightmare come to fruition, & a smirk split his face. 

    Here came the very best part of ANY battle: mocking the villain & stealing his win. With a pull of controls, the scientist had the mecha’s head turn toward the blonde’s direction, the glasses shaped windows cracking open - just enough to reveal his devilish grin & half lidded, knowing gaze that screamed the ginger’s victory was nigh. Parking the robot briefly, a gloved hand released off of one of the controls & toward a button just in front of where he sat inside it, & pushing it - would reveal a stringy little microphone rising at the panel, his hand gingerly coiling around it. After a short squeal of feedback, speakers erupted with the boy’s snarky tone.

    ❝ Ready to admit defeat, robo-boy? ❞ He cackled into the microphone, his smile ever widening.      ❝ –Or do you REALLY think you still stand a chance here? ❞