Age: 29, looks closer to 40

Race: Were-Rat

First Appearance: Episode #9 - September 16, 1997

Description:

The who you see isn't quite as important as what you see. Then again, considering the abundance of human trash that litters the city right now, perhaps the 'what' isn't so needful after all. The man appears to be well past his prime with sunken eyes, wrinkled and dirtied skin, a stoop that he doesn't bother to hide and greying hair. His teeth are yellowed and overly long, giving him a buck-toothed manner when he speaks. If you get close enough you can see that he only has one working mechanical eye, the other is simply some sort of shiny, metallic orb. His clothing is true patch- work, a mixture of styles, colors and eras. The only thing that all of his clothing has in common is that none of it is in particularly good condition.

His hands move constantly and he appears to have a slight tick which jerks up his chin on occasion. He might be at the tall end of five-feet if he stood up fully. Just another aging, burnt-out, dying husk of humanity crawling around.

Background Info:

Patchy is, and always has been 'family,' he's just the black-sheep of a family that was, in and of itself, not quite 'respectable.' Being the backend connection of an Irish marry-in to the Italian scene, the local 'crew' always got the 'small' jobs. In the quick-and-easy banter of 'legal' drugs, the family locally excelled. The family are known for their flashy cars, nice houses in secure areas, and an absolute abstinance from their own wares. Patchy never was one to follow tradition. He has a solid (and damned good) chemistry and chemical engineering education and he knows the trade both from the top, and from the bottom. He'd be the perfect money-maker for the family if he didn't have such a bad 'habit' of not only sampling the wares, but constantly trying to make his own.

He's been in and out of some of the hospitals so many times, that many of them keep a running account for him. He's gone blind from some of his worse experiences, and his constant hypes and highs have left him a shell of his former physique. However, when high on his varied wares, he can ../temporarily pull back his old strength and more, run faster and so-forth. A few hours later, he'll come down hard and be sicker than the lowest rat. More on the rats later. He tries to keep his brain jacked up almost constantly. He uses some of his own Flash-derivatives and pops the pills like candy. If, for some reason he comes off of these, he'll be dopey for about a day solid before comming up to his 'average' thinking speed and levels. While high though, he tends to correlate everything he hears and sees and never forgets anything. He'll usually regain the drug-assisted memory once he's flying again.

His unclean carriage and other 'problems' have forced him out of the more 'public' family view. Very few these days realize he still is connected. Even with all his troubles, he still is one of the better peddlers on the street, and makes a good patsy for family. So even though he lives like trash, he has connections to both money and 'the good stuff' in a number of markets. He's lately taken to preaching about the wonders and the Magic of the drugs. He's started to see things after his latest recreational 'accident,' and the flowing forces and shapes he sees around certain 'people' have him almost believing in himself.

Patchy's real reason for turning to drugs was his one best-kept secret from his family and his few friends at the time. He's were. Nothing impressive or exciting. He's a rat. He always knew it deep inside. Nothing like having your worse fears realized however. When in were-form, he looses considerable mass and becomes a rat about the size of a medium-large dog. Some of his chemical taints cross over with him as well. He's gotten good at controlling the switch back and forth, but still hates himself and loathes his rat form. He does seem to hold rappaport with the rats though, which will run and do simple biddings for him.

He's turned his fried brain, host of buyers, little 'pets' and his connections back to the family into an extensive information network of which he tries to keep himself at the center of. He'll buy most any information, sell dearly and can actually be paid to 'research,' if the job can catch his limited and sporadic interest. He's usually considered to be fairly reliable, albeit 'crazy.'

He tends to carry a four-shot derringer when around his usual haunts and in his 'rags.' When he's out on the prowl and may have to shift around, he wears a simple double-edged blade in a sheath he wears around his arm with an elastic holder.