Roswell And His Siblings Find Themselves In What HQ Calls A Situation. Rolls Off The Tongue Better Than

Roswell and his siblings find themselves in what HQ calls “a situation”. Rolls off the tongue better than “Virrid Terrortoma escaping containment”.

finally, a realistic simulation of mesozoic combat

if the video game industry were a just place this would be the best selling game of all time

incredibly funny that this guy is a senior gameplay animator at sucker punch like… you can literally see the ghost of tsushima in this…………

kinda directionless for my own retrofuture content, but I know for a fact these are the horrendous recalled products of that time period

I love predictions of the future that oscillate between "eerily prescient" and "what the hell are you talking about?" Like that description of the year 2,000 written in 1933 where the author predicts flatscreen television, the glass wall trend in the homes of the wealthy, and the obsolescence of stuffed mattresses, but is also convinced that normal showers will be replaced by a device called the VAPOR LANCE that VAPORIZES the DIRT on you

The vexatious, venomous vixen herself:

ROSWELL MENTION?? I’d never pass up the chance to ramble about this bathrobe 🖤

Phone/Laptop:

Ros’ tech is strictly for business: freshly replaced screens and undecorated black/space gray exterior (matching on both devices, of course).

All the apps/files are unlabeled and stored away from potential onlookers. The vast majority are some kind of homemade MIB tech Scarberry cooked up: everything from hacking modules to airspace maps to clocks on galactic standard time.

There’s some classic surf rock, 50s hits, and jazz downloaded, but only like 6 songs in total.

Occasionally, he’ll change his wallpaper to a neat flower or insect he’s seen recently.

None of his contacts have photos.

Car:

That old black Cadillac is ALWAYS in top shape. The outside’s polished like a mirror and the faux-leather interior is always spotless: though the new car smell has long been replaced with his own strange metallic aroma.

The glove box is full of well-organized papers: some blank, many with forged arrest warrants and government documents. Plenty of dubious ID cards, too.

Secret hatches under and beside the seats: there’s always specimen jars, nets, handcuffs with too many wrist holes, spare parts, and at least one huge gun—that one’s especially well hidden.

The trunk is strangely durable.

Backpack (Suitcase, in his case)

There’s a surprising number of trinkets: apple seeds, dried flowers, vintage toys, maybe a skinny comic book.

There’s a space packed with gadgets that his phone and computer can’t take over: but there’s a large circular space that’s about the size and shape of his hat.

i think we as a society need to use cell phones/laptops/cars/backpacks to flesh out characters

after histology, this rings more true than ever

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