[The banner says OsCorp, but the large-ish booth situated near the back center of the Import Hall looks more like a brightly-colored science fair. There are posters describing various quick and easy science projects, with staff members on hand to help kids create their own projects, such as rubber band-propelling popsicle cars, potato clocks, and slime, and explain the science behind it. In the center is a small arena where kids of all ages are fighting simple robots they (under staff supervision) put together. At the front of the booth are little OsCorp-branded freebies like pens, notepads, keychain flashlights, and mini frisbees, and plenty of literature about the Allan Foundation, Normie’s nonprofit STEM program.

Normie can often be found wandering around the booth, dressed sharply in one of his best suits, praising children on how well their project turned out, or encouraging parents to get their kids involved in the Allan Foundation’s afterschool programs. If you’re lucky enough, when you walk by, he might be offering something in little paper cups to the crowd.]

Would you like to try some liquid nitrogen ice cream?

[That isn’t to say Normie’s spending his entire day at the OsCorp booth. There are things to see and fanworks to buy. And, seeing as he’s a huge dork that’s not on the clock, he’s cosplaying to boot… As Riku. Keyblade and all. As the costume is merely the symbiote working its alien shapechanging magic, the hair, clothes, and keyblade are spot on. Walking the floor, a lot of Normie’s thoughts are consumed with how Riku could possibly see anything with all this hair in his face. No matter how hard he tries, he keeps bumping into people he thinks are off to his left or off to his right.

This instance is no exception, as he rams right into someone he thought he was clear.]

Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

[By the time he makes it to Artist’s Alley, Normie has more or less figured out the hair in his face thing, at least to the point where he’s not a hazard to everyone around him. He makes the rounds looking for merchandise of people he knows.

Instead, one of the artists recognizes him beneath his mountain of newfound white hair and starts bombarding him with questions, ultimately asking if that means they were an item.]

I-I, uh, no. We’re not—I’m married.

[Normie blinks as the artist starts to squee.]

No, not to him!