<strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Name: </span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Otis Treehaute</span><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Character Type:</span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"> Indoctrinated</span><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Physical Description and/or image:</span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Otis is a large man, tall and well-muscled. His age is indeterminate, but he’s somewhere over 30, and probably not in his 60s yet. He has a long, uneven scar that runs nearly the length of the right side of his face, and his right eye is blind. His hair is long and oily. He sometimes wears it back in a pony tail, which makes his scraggly goatee all the more prominent.</span><div align="center">(http://th05.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2011/048/c/f/__evil___by_helvi_chan-d39rct1.jpg)<br/></div><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Sex: </span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Male</span><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Sexual Preferences: </span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Women, Vanilla Sex, though mostly Otis is celibate these days.</span><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Skills: </span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Otis is proficient with a double barreled shotgun and his career working for construction companies as a demolitionist has left him with a reasonable working knowledge of mainly explosives and a strong ability for how to plant charges in order to bring down buildings. Otis is also a bit of a gourmand; he loves to cook, and if he can arrange to have someone tolerate his company for very long, he will inevitably cook a delicious meal for his guest. Otis is an excellent chess player.</span><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Backstory:</span></strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"> Otis has worked in construction for decades, and specifically, he has always been part of a demolitions team. His life was typical, happy. He was a working stiff and his wife, Patty, stayed at home to watch their daughter and son—Margaret and Jason. Life was good; he loved his wife and children, and his pay was more than enough to keep them living comfortably though not richly. He went to church with his family on Sundays, and the Treehautes were generally considered good Christians by most of their fellow churchgoers. This might have to do with the annual barbeque that Otis helped prepare every year for the church, or it might have been his recipe book that was put together for the community and sold as part of a church fundraiser. </span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">All of this changed when Otis came home late from work one night. He and his crew had brought down a doozy of a building and the guys had all blown off steam together as a way of releasing the tension about the building’s fall. He’d come home not quite drunk, but definitely a bit more than tipsy. His buddy Carl had dropped him off; Patty would be annoyed the family truck was parked in the parking lot of Simon’s Bull. She did chide him for drinking sometimes, but she should understand, or at least that was what Otis told himself as he crossed the threshold into his house. In the stark yellow kitchen light of their home, Otis saw crimson. Blood pooled on the floor, sprayed the normally cheerful walls with its red stickiness. Otis said nothing intelligible, but made a horrid keening noise in the back of his throat as he ran for the kitchen. He slipped in the blood and landed painfully on the kitchen floor on his back. He jolted his head on the linoleum so that he was disoriented when he turned to look at the pile on the floor next to him. It took him a moment to realize what it was: Patty, Patty strewn with her own guts and more or less torn apart. He turned and retched but struggled to keep the vomit down and dashed up the stairs with bile coating his throat. He left his bloody footprints on the carpeted stairs. The lights were off up here, but Otis was insane with rage and fear. He stumbled through the dark to the children’s room, calling out the whole way, his voice ragged with emotion, “Margaret! Jason! You answer your pa, hear! Margaret! Jason!”</span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">He burst through their door in the darkness. He could see something hunkering down on one of the children’s beds. There was the smell of wet dog, piss, feces. He hit the light switch and immediately wished he hadn’t. The thing perched on his daughter’s bed was—he didn’t know—something between dog and human, but there was nothing human at all in its features. Its mouth was a cavernous maw filled with ragged, yellowed teeth; it held up one of his daughter’s eyes, popped it into its mouth and swallowed. Glaring its bloodshot eyes at Otis it opened its mouth and laughed a low, husky laugh that shook its form before it mouthed two words Otis had to fumble with mentally in order to understand because of the thing's contorted speech: “Sweet meat!” As Otis stood there puzzling it out the thing stepped off the bed and began moving toward him—Otis raced back down the hall toward his bedroom where he knew he kept the shotgun loaded in their closet. But he didn’t even get to turn around. Instead, the thing buried its festering claws in his left shoulder and spun him around. Screaming, Otis unloaded both shots at the thing seconds after it batted his face with its large, clawed paw. They both fell backward, the thing yelping; Otis was more badly injured and laid on the floor slipping toward shock while the thing got up and crept away, licking its wounds.</span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">He laid there for about twenty minutes before the police arrived; he had thought, once he got better, that he had lived in a neighborhood where gunshots would have brought the police much sooner. So much for his pride in raising a family in a good neighborhood—but then none of that mattered anymore to Otis because he had no family anymore. All that mattered now was revenge—all that mattered now was bleeding the fucking dog that stole his family.<br/><br/></span><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">After Otis's family was murdered he was fired from his long term position with Allen and Jenson Construction based on the initial rumors that circulated about the murders: he had come home drunk, slaughtered his family and defaced the corpses. Forensic evidence eventually cleared Otis of these accusations, but the damage had been done socially and emotionally. Isolated from most of his former friends at St Thomas, the church that had been so much a part of his family life, Otis took the life insurance settlements he received--bitter fruit--and moved out to the edge of town. He bought a small 5 acre farm and used the remainder of the money to buy up livestock and seed. He has a garden that sustains his fresh fruits and vegetables needs for the most part, and he tends his animals and </span><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">works odd jobs on other farms for income now. <br/><br/>He has converted the basement of his large farmhouse to a weapons storage facility. There he prepares his own bullets so the casings are not wasted, stores his firearms, some of which are illegal, and his chemicals needed for explosives.<br/><br/>He often stays on the farm unless he is out hunting or drinking at Simon's Bull.<br/></span>