Mercury

Listening to classic rock and blues bands as he was young, he had a bit of interest in it. His father and mother doing well to keep him educated in some music, even helping him learn to sing. His life was good, but poor. His family had problems with money for most of the life he had while they were alive. His mother being a seemstress a living, and his father helping to put food on the table by playing the local night clubs with his blues music.  He kept up with honing his music talent well enough, even learning to play the guitar and drums. He never got good at it, playing simple songs. He started going into blues a lot at age 8. Following his father to the bar where he would play, listening to him strum the bass guitar as everyone else enjoyed the music. This went on for years, the boy growing into a young man as he admired his father. But something happened that changed how his life would go. The brutal death of his mother. He found her, walking in before his father after a great night at the club. The crowd had loved the show. The night still felt young, the air cooling and refreshing. Till the taint of blood brushed across there noses. The boy, looking at his mother as she was strewn across the floor. Seeping blood still from her open wounds. Half of the belongings gone in the house. He stood there, looking at her, even when his father rushed by to hold her mangled body. Even when the police showed up and pulled him away. He didn't stop looking till they covered her body with a pristine white sheet. Turning him away as they walked him out of the building to talk to him.

The blues went to a much more sad tone then, less comedy coming from his father. Though he seemed to get better with time, the young man growing older. And a bit wiser. He wouldn't let his mother's death put him down. Or so he thought.  But watching his father die from a heroin overdose while performing at a blues bar when he was 16 changed his viewpoint. Wanting to follow where his parents had gone, that night he went home to find his father's revolver. Finding a note left by his father before the show that evening. It was his confession that he had started using the drug shortly after the death of his wife, that he had grown more attacted to it every time he took it. The more recent memories of his father sinking in a bit more. The lack of his attention. His almost coma like smile. The way he would react when he stubbed his toe, and walk on as if nothing had happend. And those nights where his father would rumage through the house for things to sell. Saying it was for the Rent. He left that house, going off on his own. He found a job at one of the clubs, working as a waiter there for the next 2 years. He began to try and make music, like his father. But with a more angry tone. Finding rock and metal more suited to do this then the blues. 

Trying his best to write music,  he couldn't think of anything more then jingles and such. He scrapped the idea when even that turned out to be a bust.The only way he could keep afloat was doing show after show, covering songs. But he found out, that people really enjoyed it. People telling him that he didn't just sing it right, it was almost identical to how the original artist sang there music. Even if it was the album version he sang. He had a talent for mimicry, which wasn't gonna make him a millionare, but it could keep him from being in a box for the rest of his life. 

Building a small garage band that plays covers of other music, he looks about for places to play his gigs at. Well paying places. 

Females and some males.

Nothing too flashy, but the more gritty it gets the more he may like it. (That goes for everything)

 Anything that uses a guitar, makes you bob your head, rock your body, and  just out right toss rules and restrictions out of the window. 

Yuppies and hippes. 

 Pop music. 

He is an anarcist at heart. Thinking the social system is corrupted, but feels too small to interrupt it. So he likes to play music that instills the feeling of bringing down the system and feeling good about doing it. He also dislikes his real name, following his father's foot steps and only answering to his statge name. Which was an idea from his father. 

 His most noteable feature is his eyes, which are a pale blue. Almost ghostly. 

His hair is naturally jet black, but he dies the ends of it red. 

Loves Anthrax. the band. Wearing a shirt to this fact. 

 His jeans are worn, having few other jeans to rely on he wears them thin and till there almost falling appart. Hence why they are often torn, by nessecity not by design. 

(Warning. He isn't looking a mate, pet, or a master. Friends and sex is welcomed.) 

 He likes females, and males. Not to keen on herms or transexuals. 

As a feline he does have spines going across his member. (They tickle instead of tear.) 

 His kinks are doing different positions other then missionary. Having an affectionate partner. Someone that doesn't mind trying to be dom, but prefers submissives. 

Sliver is his bandmate. though he finds himself running from her more often then playing with her.

Zhuu is his bandmate as well. He finds him as a good source of comfort, but doesn't like how he takes away his booze. 

 Ariene as a friend.