Black Cat
Character Information
Name: Black Cat
True Name: Patrick Stevenson
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Birthday: 17th Oct 1997
Greatest Ambition: To have what he had as a kid…A family
Physical Description: 6’ tall, longish hair for a guy, skinny with a sharp but handsome looks and brown eyes. Tends to dress in dark vintage when he can find it
Distinguishing Marks: Arrow shaped scar
Sexual Orientation: Err…Mostly straight
Single or taken: Single
Best friend: TBD
Personality: Seemingly laid back and open, quite gregarious, but he has a deep desire to change, but is afraid of losing the protection of the image he has built for himself, which he uses like a shield, so he has a bit of a hidden side. Likes to make others happy, and gets on well with kids and in large groups, though he would deny the former.
He will try his hardest to be loyal, but has bounced around from about the age of eleven, so he can be a bit fidgety, but he longs to feel safe enough to keep still find a genuine love and confide in someone. Is highly respectful of women, but can still be a bit of a slut.

Personal History: Patrick was born the youngest of a large Irish American family, in downtown Chicago. It was a tough but, happy childhood, surrounded by a large family of four brothers and one sister. His sister Mia was the eldest of the family, and acted as a surrogate mother to the younger ones when their own was run ragged, as both of their parents worked full time in order to be able to support their children, while retaining their pride, by not relying on charity. While there were, of course, the usual filial disagreements, the family generally pulled together as a team, so Patrick is used to sharing his space and to pitching in with group tasks.
At the age of five, Patrick picked up an arrow shaped scar on the first knuckle of his right hand when his older brother John, hit him with a home fashioned wooden sword. Patrick did fairly well in school, and basked in the glow of being surrounded by a supportive and loving family. His oldest brother Matthew taught him to play the guitar at the age of seven, and Patrick discovered his singing voice soon after, beginning with singing old Irish folk songs, before moving to rock songs, his voice isn’t flawless, but it isn’t half bad either.
At eleven Patrick’s world was pulled apart. While returning home from work, his mother, father and four eldest siblings twenty three year old Mia, twenty one year old Donal, nineteen year old Matthew, and eighteen year old John, were killed when their car was hit by a heavy goods truck that skipped a traffic light. This left Patrick and his fourteen year old brother Damon alone in the world, as, as first generation immigrants from modern Ireland his parents had no extended family in America, and none could be traced in Ireland. Once in the care system Patrick and Damon were eventually separated, when Patrick was thirteen and Damon sixteen. Patrick hasn’t seen his brother since and has no idea if Damon, who would now be twenty seven, is still alive.
After leaving the care system Patrick took on the world alone, and in the irascible, undisciplined style that had got him through the care system. Never short of friends but lacking the desire to get a ‘proper’ job, Patrick got by on his singing, his charm and sometimes, the seat of his pants. Crashing on people’s floors while simultaneously avoiding people he owed money to. Occasionally he would mange to gather up enough cash to keep an apartment, but the longest he managed to stay anywhere before the Virus was four months.
Post Virus, Patrick continued to float around, suddenly glad that his older family were already gone, as he witnessed the world falling apart. He actually found himself coping quite well, as he hadn’t had a stable ‘normal’ life in many years, so he was more used to the chaotic existence that the Virus had created. He moved around as the fancy took him, but eventually he found himself gravitating towards water, moving with the currents, until he ended up in Sundance with the River Runners, still singing, and still valuing his own freedom.
He earned his tribal name Black Cat, before joining the River Runners, due to his nomadic, charming ways and his ability to move in almost complete silence.

Birth Location: Boston
Blood Family: Mother (Catherine) Father (Podraic), Sister (Mia) Brothers (Donal, John and Matthew- Deceased in car accident, with parents and sister) Donal (Unknown)
What tribe do they belong to if any?: River Runners
How long have they been with that tribe?: Not long maybe weeks
Personal Strengths: His resilience, his humour, his ability to listen
Personal Weaknesses: Family, his inability to commit, tends to talk himself into corners
Personal Skills and Training: A fantastic listener and very charming, he can sing
Job that they have in the tribe or whatever they do to keep themselves alive if they’re alone: He lives, as before the virus, on his charm, his voice and his wits
PB: Adian Turner

Plot ties
Plot tie 1: His brother
Plot tie 2: Real love
Plot tie 3: Permanent home

Your Information
Characters Insanejournal Name: black_cat_
Your Name (Real or Internet): Loz
Your Email: purplebeetlewings@gmail.com
Your Messengers(AIM, Yahoo or MSN): Alexis5410
Link to color photo of PB for the Character page:
What interested you in this RPG: I already live here as Windchaser
Sample Third Person Post of the Character: Black Cat roused slowly, the light creeping in through the window of the boat rousing him, but the rocking of the craft on the water keeping him lulled in relaxation. Not that he was ever particularly stressed. It was an unusual morning, by virtue of the fact he was sleeping alone, but he always got up early, normally paying scant regard to whoever it was who slept beside him. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect women, he really did, the memory of his sister and mother always staying close to the forefront of his generally restless mind. It’s just that it always seemed, just a little to easy, he’d pull all the wise old soul stuff that he always did, spin a yarn or two about the old country and that would be it. It wasn’t earned, so it meant less.
He wandered out onto the damp jetty beside his boat, agile feet gripping as he moved to sit looking up, to feel the rays of the new sun hitting the skin of his bare chest and the coolness of the wood beneath his feet. He looked around at this place he found himself in. How odd, in the midst of what so many other people would have deemed chaos, to have found himself his first permanent home in years, or as permanent as he could let it be.
For all his front, for all the cheeky chappy, wise old sage, couldn’t care less attitude, he did care, or he wanted to, he wanted to be like his Da, and care more for one human being or one group of human beings than he did himself. He wanted his yarns to be the same as the real ones his parents would tell about dancing around each other doing ridiculously romantic things, just so they could spend time together. He wanted one very boring thing, to be normal again.
He sighed, he’d made himself an image to live by now, that of the post Virus rock star, and even though, now he’d grown up a bit it wasn’t really him any more, but he didn’t know how to leave that image behind.