Patches

[Croaker]

- NAME: Patches
(Patch for short)
- AGE: 32
- GENDER: Male
- FACTION: Tower
- APPEARANCE: 6' 3", 163 Lbs
Dark Brown eyes, severe burns covering face, bald with a muscular build.

"People are quite jealous of my looks, they just won't admit it."
– Patches, Combat Medic

Everybody fights for something.
- PERSONALITY:
Patches may not look all too friendly, but please don't mind his terrifying visage, the man is quite truly a sweetheart. Despite the few – frankly awful – burns covering his face, Patches is almost always wearing a smile (witch may be a side effect of lip and muscle damage), and is convinced that he is "pretty". Beauty is in the eye of the beholder I suposse...

Nevertheless, putting deformities aside, Patches is more than a walking example of what happens when you smoke near flammables. He is a kindly gentleman with a somewhat skewed sense of humor. He is a musical soul, and though devastatingly untalented, quite passionate. He enjoys the company of other people, and is above all else, a dreamer.

- BACKGROUND
Before Patches became Patches, he was known by a different name, and before even that, he was Thomas Marymoor. Thomas, as far as Patch is concerned, is a dead man, as are the other blasted iterations. Those men were failed surgeons, disappointments, and murderers. Not anymore. No more is that little farm boy from Arkansas, no more is the surgeon who could never save a life, even when it mattered most. Those people are buried under the sands of humanities desolation, choking on the ashes of the damned. From now on, Thomas was gone...

When Patches awoke to find the world emptied and in its current state, there was a mixture of emotions that began to fester inside of him. Most certainly confusion and curiosity were at the forefront of his mind, but while many would be panicking or experiencing a wave of sickening depression, Patch must admit he felt no such emotion. His life up until this point had been a ruined mess. All that had changed now was the destitute surroundings matched how Patches felt on the inside. If anything, he was a little relieved.

Out of pure curiosity, the man emerged from the ruined house he awoke in, and journeyed into the arid desert land. He traveled for sometime, stumbling through plains of sand, before giving up and going back to that ruined house. There he collected himself, doing his best to make sense of what might have happened to the world he once knew. It didn't take very long for him to realize he didn't much care. The old world had been cruel to Patches, but this world held so much promise. He liked this world better.

The next day, Patches scavenged what he could from the decrepit house and set out into the wastes. He hoped to find others, but knew he shouldn't be disappointed if he didn't.

Several moths of travel, several months of scavenging, and several months of clinging to vitality. It was lonely in those empty fields, nothing but cracked earth and blue sky for company, but to a man who had lost everything already, Patches felt strangely at home.

Eventually, during his travels, Patches found a gas station not far outside of a city. Rummaging through the place, Patch found some supplies, including a box of cigarettes. He hadn't been much of a smoker in his past life, but feeling like a changed man, decided to give it a shot. What a terrible habit to have.

Patches isn't entirely sure how it happened, just that it did. By his calculations, the extreme heat from the sun must have cracked the plastic on the gas pumps, and somehow – whether it be from heat or some other means – gasoline rose from the metal tanks below ground and unto the surface, where a carless Patch tossed his match. Before things went dark, there was a flash of light, a terrible shock that rang through his bones, and a sensation of flight.

Waking up, Patches found himself in the shade of night. Or at least, he assumed it was night, there was something obscuring his vision.

In silence he sat, moment by moment his senses coming to him, before he came to the realizations he was wrapped in bandages. With that realizations came the pain. Terrible, awful, burning pain, all down his front side and especially on his face. He began to moan like some feral animal, his arms – unbelievably heavy – began to move to his face, but a disembodied hand eased them down and a voice came from the void. It assured him that he was all right, but that he couldn't touch the bandages. The voice introduced itself as Milo Slim, a medic from Tower who got himself separated from his party after a Scavenger attack. Milo relayed to patches, that he had seen an explosion from about a mile out, and decided that warranted investigation. When he arrived on the scene, he saw a man laying face up, nearly dead and face melted to oblivion. That’s when Milo patched him up, and brought him to his temporary camp. Through the night, Milo talked to his patient, keeping the burnt man’s mind off the pain. It was nice.

The next day, the two set out for Tower. Sadly, only Patches would make it back alive, as Milo was struck with a bolt from a Scavenger party. Doing his best, the burnt man set out to fill the shoes of Milo Slim as best he could, now under the moniker Patches.

STRENGTHS/FLAWS
>>> List UP TO 3 strengths and flaws (at least 1 mental and 1 physical for each)<<<

1. Patches is kind and has a good sense of humor.
2. Dutifully honest.
3. Athletic and healthy.

1. The damage done to Patches' face makes it quite hard to pronounce a number of english sounds. Also prone to sudden flashes of pain.
2. God awful bedside manner.
3. Patches has a tendency to burst out into song at inappropriate times. He's not all that good either.

SKILLS
– Thorough understanding of biology and the medical field
– Extensive knowledge of bands from the 70s-90s
– Really good at cleaning things (especially wounds)