// Alex is truly the 90s/00s sitcom protagonist of all time. The premise is: "Wow! This alien/mascot was an adorable TV star back then and then he grew up and now he's a normal-guy loser..."
The difference is he goes about his day without the laugh track in the background, because life doesn't work like that. It feels like cold silence to him. He feels like he's living in the Truman Show, except no one's watching. It's driving him up a wall.
// Still convinced they should be siblings in another universe
Transcript:
Alex: I swear to god, can people stop asking how we’re related?
Rex: No, no, see? There was a missed opportunity. Listen, if you ever change your mind about being a Lines and not a Face…
A: Shut up, man. Whatever, it’s your choice. I don’t care. Can you try to respect my opinion on this? I don’t want to be just a brain because that sucks. Like, how am I supposed to…
R: Chase money, get high, have sex?
A: I was going to say: eat, walk around, interact with people normally. Also, the other things are normal things to want, by the way.
R: If you want to suffer and die one day, on your own terms...
A: See? I could end up weird, like my brother. Who doesn't know shit.
R: I hate this conversation. Mutt, justifying his bad decisions as usual...
In other news, I’ve started saying “well that’s showbiz babey!!!” in an obnoxious voice to myself every time I start thinking too hard about shitty stuff that happened to me in the past and it has a 90% success rate in making my brain go “hm well I suppose that IS showbiz” and stop dwelling on whatever it is.
// I think a clearly nonhuman creature gaining human attributes should count as body horror too. Alex is the epitome of "wait, no go back" except it's over the course of his entire life.
I bet it feels good as hell to loosen your tie 👔 yell 🗣"I QUIT!" 🚫‼️ throw up a flurry of papers 📃 and storm out the tall gray building 🏢 with a little box 📦 of your stuff including a cord dragging behind you and a small Plant 🪴 never to return 🥰
// When dealing with Alex, there's always a chance that somehow, things can get worse. No matter how bad it's gotten, it can get worse. He has some involuntary electrokinesis as a superpower, but it's nothing compared to his natural universe-given-gift of fucking things up spectacularly in the most unexpected ways.
Alex watched the show unfold, a cavern opening in his stomach. His paw formed a pointer, his jaw opening and closing like a fish, failing to form words, other than "uh", and "um". He was searching for the strings attached. He couldn't find any. Self-moving chairs. Disappearing acts. Human shell game. She wasn't just an entrepreneur, she was a magician. She didn't need to try to shut him up. He was rooted to the spot.
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."
Alex grabbed his soda, yet unopened, and pulled the tab. He jogged to the reception area and doused the tree in Diet Coke. He tossed the empty can aside, batting fake tinsel against the desk, like cat-against-rattlesnake, until the sparks were gone.
// Alex actually hates cigarettes. He's thinks they taste even worse now than the 80s and has been a cigar guy for decades. But being nicotine dependent, they're easier to find when he feels jittery and hits a mental spiral. It's like a chore. He'll just bum one off somebody, go sulk in the corner for 10 minutes, and feel fine.
// I love Alex, but I'm also active on @alg0rhythm1c and testing a new muse on @arculeatus-muses. I admit to prioritizing the Rex and Erin storyline lately, but all three are connected and also my beloved OCs.
Alex's tail twitches like an angry cat. "Wait, wait, hold up," he tries, but the mumble isn't enough to cut through.
She's talking about knives, Solitaire, shoes… some ragtag crew. His jaw twitches, involuntarily, as he turns a half-circle. A far window stretches wide with the view of an urban skyline, sunlight sparkling over glass complexes, a few wisps of cloud dotting the blue. He journeys across the room, until he finds a chair, and spins around toward the pleasant scene. Waiting, he squints against the stray speckles of sunlight glancing off glass windows.
He's thinking about installing blinds. Then, the last phrase hits him like a bus.
Alex stiffens up. His facial geometry arranges, abstracting, angled in odd places in puzzlement. Leaning down into the phone, he wants to say, 'run that by me again'. But he's sure he heard that correctly.
"How'd I—?" He's holding the phone out in front of him. The number is unmistakably Not-Fran.
His claw twitches above 'hang up', trigger-happy. Hastily, he sweeps the phone back up toward his ear-box, with an edge to his voice. "I-I, I was calling the pizza place. I don't know how it—" He stifles the urge to swear.
Inside the house. Alex swallows wrong, pulls the phone away again, as a panicked cough expels from his head-vents. It's slightly inhuman, sounding more like a dog-sneeze. He won't let that stop him, though. If she hangs up right now, she'll probably block him. He'll think about it for the rest of his life.
Hastily, the phone hits the edge of his exoskeleton with a plastic click. "Wait," croaks Alex, "Which floor?"
He's on the empty fourth floor area, in an open expanse made for cubicles. Although there are a few hallways full of locked doors, nobody's here. Nobody should be here. Not her, not anybody else obsessed with Solitaire, knives, and avoiding people... unless they're the construction crew. God that'd be even more embarrassing.
// This blog believes that a guy muse can be flirtatious, emotionally an open book, and at some point, good-looking... just as much as he is awkward and prone to screwing up at every turn.
As Fumi set down her fork, Alex sauntered over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. His tail slinked through a gap at the back, ruffling the carpet back and forth, as he settled. He hardly questioned the towels and pink papers. Only, a brief thought that sitting up against them must have been awkward.
His eyes followed the packet placed in front of him. He set an elbow down, a thumb hooked over the bottom edge of his exoskeleton, as his pointer rubbed the coarse fur under his chin. He listened. At the joke, he offered a light scoff from his body vents.
The terms and conditions sprawled along, impressive, well-rehearsed. It was always a lot of talk, talking business. In recent years he'd gotten pretty good at cutting out the noise, reading between the lines, aiming right for the heart. If he didn't, further business would be dead and buried, under the relentless sprawl of emails, meetings, and pitches like these.
Several years into the company, he'd started getting more hopefuls on the line. Recent grads were relentless during lunch breaks. They'd gotten it down to a science.
Alex studied Fumi's face, as she spoke. She looked slightly older, not too much. Still attractive. By now, a person like her should be established, maybe married, with better things to do than put a spell on him for an entry level interview.
Finding a way into a private party, well. That's pretty damn bold.
So what's the goal, here?
Alex took a breath, put down the page, folding his paws. Both elbows rested on the table now, informal yet composed, as he worked to articulate his question. It was a matter of finding the right words, gently, to not drive a wedge so soon. The business card was a nice touch. The laminated pages, very professional. Nice, nice. At least, it showed she was serious, in the right headspace for business.
But Fumi should know, he's got a whole team for transportation already. A whole network of freights and warehouses connected across the continental 'states, one or two airlines for the rest. In fact, he could point to the logistics department from here, that set of glass doors by the reception desk.
He waited for the mention of staff, equipment, anything. So far, none. One-on-one. What kind of transportation system works one-on-one?
He was getting closer, to unveiling that intentional mystery. The flirting. The mystique. The down-low.
Alex Rovaro was a different man, now. But he couldn't say that the rumors weren't the least bit funny.
Transportation for what?
A front? A limo full of hookers?
His chin tilted down, covertly. His simple mouth fought against the corners, stifling a laugh behind his paw as he rubbed his cheeks in faux-consideration. Only a tiny wheeze out of his head-vents might betray him.
Illegal, huh? Does this cab also come with a free toke?
He met Fumi again, with a convincing enough poker-face. He knew he was about to fuck up. But… whatever she's selling, he was certain it wasn't magic. It wasn't gonna save the company overnight. It wasn't gonna save his sex life, either.
"Alright, I'm curious," Alex pushed out a chuckle, holding up a palm. "What are you selling, exactly?"
His voice lowered, "We're both adults, here. If it's not… 'all ages' friendly, we can both be upfront about it. Right?"
// There was a question lingering in my head about why Alex is specifically an alien and the answer is: you cannot take him anywhere without recognition. His big, glowing face is literal iconography.
Even the most famous human actors have the grace of being human, at some point blending in, but Alex is cursed with being a standout wherever he goes. He cannot ever stop being glowing and blue and to say it’s the most frustrating thing in the world is an understatement.
The stares are never-ending. It makes him feel like the parts of him that are disgraceful and failing, in appearance and personality, are not just noticeable but actively being broadcast. No amount of human cosmetics or surgery could fix his insecurities about his standout traits either. He’s literally a different species. And therefore, exists in his own special kind of hell.
// By the way, Alex gets short-lived crushes on people very easily, sometimes even by first impressions or vibe, but it's not a sign I'm looking to ship.
I intend Alex's feelings to be unrequited by default and mostly there to add to add tension, comedic value, or act as a conflict for your muse to actively push against. Alex is still kind of a Casonova, and even as he ages, the tendency for him to want to pursue people is part of his character.
Whether we bring it up in DMs or it's part of a starter, I'll do my best to make sure his feelings don't come out of nowhere. If the idea of Alex having unspoken feelings for your muse is uncomfortable, (even if they're only hot to him for all of 3 seconds before they talk) I'll make sure it's not part of our threads.
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
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