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TurtleShroom said:
ANYBODY, you say? Heh heh.
*rubs hands together*
All right: let's see you do Una!
My picture is terrible, so I'll also post the format of art I am a master of: writing.
This Irken was unique to say the least. At eight foot eleven, his mere stature commanded respect, regardless of his actual traits. Irkens moved out of the way and even assisted him because of this, as was and is the custom.
He seemed unlike any other of his kind. Dressed in a long, clean white robe without a single wrinkle, his boots and gloves shined to the point of reflecting, a royal blue sash draped from his shoulder to what would constitute as his hip, he was a sight to behold, and obviously obsessed with cleanliness.
Upon his back was his P.A.K., which seemed to be straight out of antiquity: a simple brown, rectangular item with little features spare the life-support tube and the seal of the Irken Empire upon it. It seemed to be an old device- older than him -in that it made a distinctive whirring sound, as if it was powered by something other than the perpetual energy long ago perfected in such a vital machine.
Continuing with the awkward theme were his red eyes, sporting black pupils- an obvious flaw -and the thick, black Dib-like glasses that obscured them, with lenses distorting to the point his eyes looked little more than black squares in front of the frames. He had on a bowtie, and he donned what seemed to be a boater hat, conviently with holes for his antennae. One looked like an analog television set, and the other was bent over about halfway up.
He was definately different from your average Irken, and indeed, he was.
For this creature was Una, a being with a long and infamous past, though not because of his conquests, nor his actions. No, Una made Irken history because he was nice.
Since day one, it seemed, this alien was an alien to his own people: though baring every trait that makes an Irken an Irken, from the weakness to water to loud shouting, undyingly loyal to his country and in idolization to the Tallest, and even a fantastic evil laugh, he could never conquer, never fight, never shoot, or even act rude. A perfect gentleman and bound forever by etiquette, it was no wonder the Tallest specifically had him shipped to Planet Dirt, then Food Courtia, and finally, they just left him.
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![ANYBODY, you say? Heh heh.
*rubs hands together*
All right: let's see you do Una!
My picture is terrible, so I'll also post the format of art I am a master of: writing.
[I]This Irken was unique to say the least. At eight foot eleven, his mere stature commanded respect, regardless of his actual traits. Irkens moved out of the way and even assisted him because of this, as was and is the custom.
He seemed unlike any other of his kind. Dressed in a long, clean white robe without a single wrinkle, his boots and gloves shined to the point of reflecting, a royal blue sash draped from his shoulder to what would constitute as his hip, he was a sight to behold, and obviously obsessed with cleanliness.
Upon his back was his P.A.K., which seemed to be straight out of antiquity: a simple brown, rectangular item with little features spare the life-support tube and the seal of the Irken Empire upon it. It seemed to be an old device- older than him -in that it made a distinctive whirring sound, as if it was powered by something other than the perpetual energy long ago perfected in such a vital machine.
Continuing with the awkward theme were his red eyes, sporting black pupils- an obvious flaw -and the thick, black Dib-like glasses that obscured them, with lenses distorting to the point his eyes looked little more than black squares in front of the frames. He had on a bowtie, and he donned what seemed to be a boater hat, conviently with holes for his antennae. One looked like an analog television set, and the other was bent over about halfway up.
He was definately different from your average Irken, and indeed, he was.
For this creature was Una, a being with a long and infamous past, though not because of his conquests, nor his actions. No, Una made Irken history because he was nice.
Since day one, it seemed, this alien was an alien to his own people: though baring every trait that makes an Irken an Irken, from the weakness to water to loud shouting, undyingly loyal to his country and in idolization to the Tallest, and even a fantastic evil laugh, he could never conquer, never fight, never shoot, or even act rude. A perfect gentleman and bound forever by etiquette, it was no wonder the Tallest specifically had him shipped to Planet Dirt, then Food Courtia, and finally, they just left him.[/I]](http://images4.fanpop.com/image/answers/1202000/1202101_1294338004344.53res_92_300.jpg)
