Roger "Yardbird" Page

Calling to mind a buffalo's build and pilosity, this duster-clad bloke has a warm smile that carves a deep arc in his bushy beard. It's hard to tell what cut of his bulk is schlepped gear versus actual mass. His eyes are a burnished bronze, and his brown hair amounts to a shaggy mane, shoulder length.

The left sleeve of his leather jacket bears a patch broken into four quadrants, each a different scene: a smoldering desert with dunes and grey stones, yellow clouds draped across a navy blue sky, a sun emitting fuchsia gradients, and white-tipped tides leaping from a teal sea. Two robotic hands (one white, one black) clasp in a handshake at the center of the patch. The upper back of his jacket has two ragged gashes that have been mended with camping tent canvas. Upon closer inspection, grit and grime appear to be the only things holding the duster together -- it would sooner survive an explosion than a spin cycle.

A mellifluous tintinnabulation of rattling nuts, bolts, screws, and scrap metal accompanies each step Roger takes in the disfigured tread of his coal black military-issue boots. The steel toes are exposed by wear. The leather tips of his gloves are also nowhere to be found, and the only thing shorter than his fingernails is his attention span. The man's fidgeting and freeform tangents suggest a busy, abstract mind, given over nearly fully to imagination.

He moves like a pack mule in its prime.