<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 24pt;">~:Hatter:~</span></span></div><br/><div align="center">(http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5167/5268481739_8cd2035547_z.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Answers to:</strong> Hatter. Sir.  (<em>Never</em> "Mad Hatter", if one knows what's good for one.)<br/><br/><strong>Age:</strong> Old enough to not have to answer impertinent questions.<br/><br/><strong>Physical appearance:</strong> Lean and lanky, though his frame is hard to determine under the layers of mismatched waistcoat, frockcoat, shirts and suspenders that seem to have been taken from six different suits. Buttons seldom find their proper partners, and the whole is never free from stain, no matter how much washing might occur. His gray eyes behind the fall of jet black hair contain madness, and his great knobby hands with their self-inflicted scars are the instruments of its transmission. <br/><br/><strong>Domicile:</strong> He has the feel of a derelict about him, yet he has found in this world a home to suit him. A crumbling manse that seems supported by scraps of wishful thinking, the bricks mortared by their apathy and indifference to collapse. The attics are flooded, the basements are infested, and the things that cannot be found in the neck-high piles of detritus ought probably not to be looked for in the first place. It is a bleak, rotting place that shouldn't rightly exist, and in any more sane place it would not.<br/><br/><strong>Personification:</strong> He is quite, quite mad, you know. It's not the sort of jolly madness with which your eccentric uncle amuses the children at holiday dinners. It's not the kind of madness that makes one wish to utter soothing noises, saying that the fears are unreal and all will be better by dawn. It's the type of madness that reaches out and takes hold of everything within reach, twisting it around the neck until the eyes bulge forth purple, simply to see if the shade might be different this time. It is a madness that haunts him utterly, eating away at what is left of his humanity each day, leaving only damp cracks and corners for it to regrow slightly each night. <br/><br/>He enjoys pain. Rather, he enjoys others' pain, the way a chef enjoys the fresh raw ingredients of his craft. A man with so little self-control that he craves the domination of others as a bleak form of recompense. Fortunately for him, he's quite good at it.<br/><br/><strong>Vices:</strong> Cigarettes, Pain, Those Nice Sorts of Sugar Cubes That You Can't Get Around Here Anymore <br/><br/><strong>Sexual orientation:</strong> Dominant Sadist, Bisexual<br/><br/><strong>Pre-arranged associations:</strong> <em>The Cat</em>, Pet and Special Project. <em>The Hare</em>, Nemesis. Or was it Lover? These things are so confusing.</span><br/>