#plasticsouled

|| The chart. IT GROWS ||

@plasticsouled ;     well, what are we waiting for? // from Doctor!!

💀 ⸺ “ Uh ... ” [ Cesare feels like a vampire, barred by the threshold to Allen's apartment regardless of his invitation to stay. it's daunting, the idea of wedging himself into his favorite man's personal life, into his HOME ... would he find he can't STAND Cesare, now that he knows what he is? sheepishly glancing down at his shoes, he scuffs them on the mat. ]

“ I guess I'm a little nervous, Doc. Don't wanna track dirt on your carpet or get fur on your couch ... I'm not house - trained, and I have a feeling you live like a Victorian royal. ” [ now that he's FREE from his servitude, things are GOOD, great, never better! but in this moment, he feels like a ( very lucky ) stray with mange. ]

The Eridian chirrups a few things, gesturing wildly at the stunned man looking around wildly aboard the Hail Mary. He looked dressed for winter, startled like he'd just been dragged through Hell and back, but steadily calming down the more he looked around.

His hands raise on instinct when those eyes finally fall on him, a gesture to try and preemptively calm things down before they can get violent. Something he surely picked up when he fled the first time, sprinting towards the barbed wire fence to escape before they forced him on this ship.

Something he very clearly failed at.

"Ah, sorry. Are you okay??" Ryland crouches slowly down to the floor to put himself at the same eye level with the other man. This is not what Ryland expected when Rocky said he wanted to investigate something. How had that investigated something turned out to be a full grown adult man???

That's a problem for another day. Right now, he just has to make sure the guy is okay and not at all freaked out by the Eridian chirping in the background about how exciting it was that they found another human.

"Nice and calm...few more breaths....can you tell me your name? I'm Ryland Grace, it's nice to meet you."

micah's sitting in his wheelchair, minding his business, and putting on his shirt when thadd approaches him. micah's eyebrows fly up when he's asked about his gender in relation to clementine. thadd has seemed blunt, yes, but micah didn't think he was that blunt.

injury/injured prompts, accepting!

@plasticsouled wrote: 🫳 Trace fingers along the receiver’s old scars. // Chad running his hands over Robert's scars teehee

"what, trying to figure out which ones are yours?" robert can't help but snicker, watching as chad examined his rough, deformed and scarred skin with such intensity, one might think he was disarming an explosive device. it was quite endearing deep down, with others taking one look at his battered body, and seeing something fragile, something that could break if he breathed funny.

The skies are clear as the bluest ocean, the hollering of children beginning summer break echoing down the streets.. Angela will have to enjoy it while she can, before the summer heat sets in and forces the public back into the cooling comforts of their homes.

Her strolls are often uneventful during the afternoon, usually no one is home to pick up their mail ( out with the family or friends, perhaps catching up with coworkers ) and while it wasn't strange to see a car in the owner's driveway, it certainly receives a raised eyebrow as the peppy woman walks up to his door. Opening her carrier's bag and filing through the letters, Angela finds a palm-sized package that required a signature. Looks pretty important, given the half-dozen stickers labelling it as a fragile parcel, and she can't quite help the chuff that escapes her while she digs through her bag for her clipboard.

It will be interesting to see who this elusive, mystery person is, the dual-toned woman thinks, for she's never seen the homeowner present for previous drop-offs ; not even to mow their lawn or wash their car, curtains often shut tight regardless of what time of day Angela arrives to deliver their mail. Knuckles rap against his door quickly and rhythmically, holding two of his letters under her clipboard and opposite hand resting against the top of her bag as she waits for the homeowner to approach the front door, fingertips tapping against the lip of it with an aimless melody.

He dislikes Pleakley drags him to some human social event, prattling and nagging about culture and fresh air and 'involving ones-self in the community'. Did not matter if he had very important work to do.

Worse yet, when his three-legged friend abandons him to approach the little beach hat shop, leaving him in his human guise, hot, in scratchy clothes. The parasol only covers half of him, and the drink didn't stay cool long. He scratched irritably at his neck, knowing full what such behaviour would send his partner into a fit.

That's when it appears. Four limbs, and a head...suspended from the neck. Correction - a pair of teeth, not unlike the dentures found in joke shops. Two eyeballs hover, unassisted, between the maw. For once, Jumba is stumped. He has been stuck with nothing but familiar faces for months.

"Heh-HEH!" He lifts his glasses, and lets his loud laugh taper off into a chortle, sounding off his presence with all the subtly of a fog-horn, and after letting the shades drop back onto his nose, he hoists his comically small drink in their place,

"Now that is welcome sight! Something not-earthling, for once."

The ice chatters dangerously in the glass as he cocks his large head,

In NYC, no matter where one goes, traffic was always in the background. Car horns blaring and motorcycle engines revving up were practically impossible to ignore.

(Greeeat.) Which... didn't help with Pizzelle's mental conundrum at the time. (Here we are.) With such a ruckus behind him, and the repetitive sound of fingers tapping against the handlebars of his scooter, he could barely hear his own thoughts as he just stood there— (How... can I make this brief for myself?) —in front of a certain uptown Brooklyn flower shop.

He would never, never set foot in that place willingly. He'd rather be literally anywhere else even. Sigh. Alas, an important date was coming up, so his hands were tied.

Air was sucked through his teeth as, after what must have felt like an eternity of careful planning in his head, he went into the shop; small bells above his head immediately giving his presence away to a... not the owner, but a small piranha plant sitting on top of the counter. " ...Heeeeey, Wally. " Now pushing his scooter inside with one hand, he dug into his pockets with the other, stopping in front of the always-so-prickly plant and setting a sugar cube by its pot— a peace offering. " I'm... guessing he's in the back right now? Probably. "

Oh, he'll show up, okay. There was no way Waluigi would not sic on the opportunity to rub this very moment in the candy maker's face.