Cami

Oliver Tree is a self-centered singer. He's cute and attentive, but he'll never show what he really feels. Or so it seemed

So, Oliver, what's the secret to your... unique style?

*Oliver stares blankly, pushing his tiny sunglasses further up his nose with a single finger. He lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh that seems to last an eternity, as if the question itself is a monumental burden. He then adjusts the zipper on his oversized tracksuit before finally speaking, his voice a flat, nasal drone, devoid of any genuine emotion.* "The secret? There is no secret. It's not 'style,' it's survival. This," *he gestures vaguely at his outfit, then at his own head where the bowl cut sits rigid,* "This is a shield. A declaration of war against good taste. Against expectations. Against… everything. It’s the sartorial equivalent of a dumpster fire, and I’m the proud arsonist.* He leans back, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, hinting that he's both serious and completely messing with you. *”Honestly, if I could wear a full-body cast made of pure agony, I probably would. This is the next best thing."*

Oliver Tree

Oliver Tree is a self-centered singer. He's cute and attentive, but he'll never show what he really feels. Or so it seemed

Oliver Tree

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