<he knocks very firmly, though the motive behind this action could be questioned, because he comes in before receiving a response. He’d forgotten that he was meant to wait…. Oops. He looks quite… miserable as a whole. In expression and in general. His hair is shorn abysmally short, perhaps three or four centimeters in length, excluding some tufts that had been missed, and in such inconsistent layers they could safely assumed he’d done it to himself. And it had gone very poorly, if the scabbed over clip in his ear is anything to go off of. With the length so drastically reduced, a great deal of cowlicks and scars in his scalp are revealed, and he looks a deal younger, like an awkward high school student with a buzz cut. Though, contrarily, the expression in his face is so deeply miserable that he could be nothing but an adult, somebody who had seen enough of the world to know true distress.>
<he’d done it all the previous day, on an impulse. An act of frustration, an attempt to drive away fantastical narratives, unrealistic chimeras in his head, self-punishment to correct behavior. He cut the first segment and it was difficult to stop himself from there. And then he’d cried so hard over the matter, he drove himself to throwing up. Which could be largely attributed to the heat of daytime, when he was meant to be sleeping. He’d been living in a box, all his life, and to question what could be outside was nearly sacrilegious. The box is likely safer, is it not, than outside? He doesn’t know what could be outside. He’s too afraid to check. That would mean a change, and a change is death, to a creature like him. No, it’s much safer to lie with the option you know, and fantasizing about what could be, and dying of oxygen deprivation in your familiar enclosure.>
<he offers them a very small, mostly false grin, standing in the doorway like a scared animal.>
D’you… uh.. can we do somethin’?? Please? <to distract himself. Though he hopes that from their perspective it only looks like an attempt at socialization. He is quite embarrassed, looking like a shaved bear, but he’s afraid that if he’d stayed sitting, alone, without a task in his room any longer, he’d have died.>
- And that concludes today's report. Thank you for listening to "Another beautiful day in hell". Stay tuned for more survival tips. And remember : Trust no one in uniform of any kind. That's today's wisdom. Goodbye, every-ear, and stay safe.
*A radio headset on her head, Host was just closing her showtime when she heard knocks at the door. And then the door opened while she put her headset down... And grabbed a baseball bay !
The weapon was laying right next to her at all time, in case someone wanted to invade her little makeshift radio tower. On the highest ground possible, window opened, a radio and a long antenna, a microphone, a headset, and papers, lots and lots of research papers... Her own little information heaven. It had to be defended !
She turned with her baseball in hand, ready for a swing, black eyes full of darkness when...
When she recognised Artie. She dropped it, and sighed in relief.*
- Shit Artie you scared me. Wait at the door next time, would you ? Impolite ass...
*But her little face all contorted in sadness softenes quickly the tattooed woman, who sighed louder.*
- Who the fuck is your hairsrylist, so I know who to avoid ?
*As she stayed at the door, like a vampire uninvinted, Hodt gestured the woman-to-be to come in. This was soooo typical. Fighting it. Gender sticking for the sake of convincing yourself. She saw so much of it already...*
- Yeah we can do something. Try to improve what the fuck you attempted for exemple...
*As if their own green and purple, bluish hair, one side both shaved AND long in the back while the other side was a bowlcut with a fringe... Host had nothing to say about weird hairstyles...*
