😈
An eleven-year-old Jack Garman Spicer stepped out of his bathroom clad in his newly-arrived goth attire; he’d ordered it a few days ago after a long thought-out, calculated decision to start wearing darker things. Black, bronze, red; they were the only colors that really went well with his natural color-scheme. The outfits his mother always made him wear clashed far too much with his appearance.
He expected that the next time a living person saw him, they’d look at him strangely, the hyper-goth kid who apparently went the extra mile to be edgy–not that he could help half of it. What he didn’t expect was to come across another living person so soon.
He flinched, freezing in place. The stranger wasn’t actually very tall, but in comparison to a child like Jack, he seemed giant, especially with that big hair and impressive armor.
“Um, hi,” he stuttered, “Did my mom invite you here or something?”
