H-420

General

• Alien (Notail)
• Any pronouns
• Part of the TeleTrek universe

Relations

• Tba!

Appearance: H-420 has grown out his hair to cover his ears and wears a flower-scented suit with a turtleneck, clawed garden gloves, and large rain boots all to hide the flowering parasite that has taken root in his skin. The parasite itself buds thorns, colorful flowers, and has a grassy texture which pushes outwards from underneath the suit, giving him a slightly stocky appearance, doubled by the fact that he sits right on the edge between being of average height and slightly below average. H-420’s mask is a tired smile that makes a B) face.

About: H-420 is essentially a shooting star that burned too quickly in the atmosphere. Once an ambitious and, more-or-less, charismatic youngster, he has since deteriorated to such a degree that his presence alone emanates a deep gut-feeling of unease. H-420 is socially starved because of his work, which he refuses to give up because of its inherent connection to his interpretation of purpose. He breathes at worryingly long intervals and talks slowly just to extend how much time he spends around others, then is pushed to laughing or crying from something as basic as touch. If you’re in the same room as him, he will stand too close and follow you desperately until you make it clear that you really need your personal space. These qualities are antithetical to the values of a traditional notail, but as his job grows increasingly obsolete, no one bothers challenging him (and perhaps this is for the better as resistance against the empire he calls home, rightfully, grows). It can be a struggle for the unacquainted to remember he is a character undeserving of pity. H-420’s post-golden age rests at the mercy of routine and self-inflicted existentialism. He’s a pathetic lil tree man and there’s no getting around that.