It would be deeply annoying if he wasn't such an absolute dote.
This is Barry. He is the only monochrome gremlin in a world of colour, which you'd think might bother him. It does not. Barry has not given it a great deal of thought. Barry is currently watching a leaf.
And he hums to himself while he does it.
He has never noticed that he does this. He has never noticed that not everyone is built this way. He isn't lonely by himself. He has never found himself in the position to be even mildly over-socialised. His company and presence is enough. For him. For everyone he meets.
That peaceful feeling you find in nature, the one that both takes your breath and allows you to breathe deeper than you've ever known you could? That's Barry.
Barry sings in forests. Not for anyone in particular. Not for any particular reason. The music is there, and it feels nice in his chest. The wind pauses when he sings. The animals go still. Barry does not notice any of this. For Barry, it's just Tuesday.
He's not waiting to be seen. He's not lonely. He's complete. He just is — and the world goes quiet around him without him ever asking it to. The forest already knew. The animals already knew. And now the depot knows.
This is Barry. He doesn't know he's extraordinary. He has absolutely no idea that he is someone extremely special in a world that forgot how to be quiet. He is watching a leaf right now and finding it genuinely interesting.
There are so many good leaves today.
Let me tell you about Barry.
— The Gremlin Wrangler
