[center][img]https://www.vfiles.com/api/v2/image/media/114480/filmstrip[/img] 
[i]“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly,”[/i] [/center]

Basic Info 
Name: Yevgen. 
Age: Twenty four.  
Inspiration: Chopin Nocturne in B-flat minor, Op. 9, No. 1 

Appearance
Height: Five foot eleven. 
Weight: One hundred and thirty one pounds. 
Build: Scrappy, Lean, Stark. 
Short Description: Yevgen has never been one to go unnoticed, and though he is of average height and build among the colonists of Tinleaf often draws looks wherever he goes. Mixed looks, to be sure, but people always notice him. Hair mottled with patches of golden blonde, fiery red and near raven black in no seemingly apparent order falls in ringlets to his neck and in waves about his throat and jawline. His eyes that of pale, cold electricity, noticeably uneven in placement upon his face and the near white blue color of one stricken with malaria, though possessed him from birth. Angular jaw and cheek bones made readily apparent by the sunken nature of what should be the fleshier parts of his face, a forehead too large for the rest of his features, and the pallor in hue all too common among wastelanders afford him an altogether unapproachable appearance not at all in keeping with his rather friendly and outgoing personality. 

History 
Life tends to be but a collection of happenstance events played out at random along an endless line. Finding the music in life is a matter of identifying the patterns among the cacophony, such is history. It all seems clear now, but at the time nothing was any more straight forward than a single note, played without purpose to be followed by another, and then another, drops in a stream heading toward unknown purpose. It isn’t until someone stops to reflect that they notice something beautifully cheerful, or stunningly haunting had gradually come into being. Yevgen, his younger brother Miron, and his father Yosyp are rare among the colonists in that their family isn’t from anywhere near Tinleaf, not originally. Their grandmother Halyna and grandfather, Valeriy were artists, musicians, employed with a traveling orchestra who found themselves preforming in what was at the time a backwater no cultured person of the old world would purposely visit. A fellow musician in their outfit was from Tinleaf, or what the colony was before there were colonies that is, and were it not for this engagement to have occurred simultaneously with a great forest fire which barred their progress along the road Yevgen would never have been born. 

The old world and those who called it home refused to accept the changes occurring before their eyes. The world had been as it was then for a very long time, after all, and a few strange weather patterns were nothing to be alarmed about. This too would pass, and life as usual would carry on into eternity. Empires would rise and fall, children would be born, bear their own children and then die, the crops would be sown, bud, flower, and be harvested, as it had always been. It was well past the time for action before anyone knew what to do to remedy the ails of the world, or that anything needed to be done in the first place. Some fled, tried desperately to return home wherever home was to them, others wallowed, turned to the bottle, the pipe, or put a barrel down their throat. Halyna, Valeriy and a few other musicians went to what was to become Tinleaf. There their lives continued as the world slowly burned away, they integrated into what had become the colony, had children, and survived as best they could, until the day acid like tar first fell from the skies above and took Valeriy, along with many others in the colony down into the earth along with it. 

Yusyp and his mother struggled by as best they could. The concept of pay for musical talent rendered laughable with the death of cattle and wheat Halyna adjusted to the life of a survivor, a wastelander, patching clothes from bits of leather and discarded cloth and catching what rare reptilian lifeforms she could to keep her and her young child alive. Things were hard, but they got by. Yusyp grew and as he did came to an appreciation for Gilly, a card game centered around gambling, and the dream tea some produced from snake venom and the occasional off colored mushroom which sprouted near the stream, spending his young adult life into the modern day as the town layabout, running card games and spending the profits on what dream tea he could manage to afford. Yevgen’s mother was one of the usual frequenters of his Gilly table, and his odd appearance is credited by most to her use of dream tea during her pregnancy, though she vehemently denied any such allegations until her early death from drinking too much of the stuff and falling ill. The elders say the tea rots the stomach. 

Miron’s mother was quite the same story, though she has survived to the modern day. Neither ever truly had a relationship with Yusyp, most assume they became pregnant only after having gotten into debt to him with their gambling, or ever kept it together enough to raise their children, the task of which fell primarily upon their grandmother, though where this gave Miron a bitter disposition from early childhood Yevgen never seemed at all dispossessed. Never cried much as a baby, or so Halyna claimed, and was always a happy child. Throughout his life he always came easily to friends, and despite his off appearance had always managed to have people who cared about him around. After her death near a decade ago, she was old and grey and had lived to become a town elder in her time, Yevgen always struggled to keep steady work unlike Miron who was apprenticed at a young age in some bet made between a local crafter and Yusyp over Gilly, and between the mundane tasks of a colonist and what little occupation preforming menial labor he could come into has floated around. 

A decade of running Gilly games alongside his father, brewing dream tea, and turning bits of blood, plant matter, and all manner of odd things into ink to either paint upon stones and what solid surfaces he could find to tattooing it upon the flesh of those so inclined after his father, who had once been quite the artist, gave up on the practice as the tea drove his hands increasingly to unsteadiness and shakes has shown Yevgen much of how bad things can be for people. Always drawn to the arts, music and song Yevgen has never given up on the dream of finding the instruments which his grandparents played so long ago, and learning the songs which his grandmother hummed to him as a child. 

Personality
Yevgen never quite fit as a colonist, though not for the reasons one might expect of an off looking son of a degenerate gambler. An inexplicably honest happiness pervades from his person seemingly at all times, a genuine smile apparently plastered upon his face from what most can tell despite it all. Friendly, caring, kind, -- all aspects found exceedingly rarely in the wastes, and all of which fit him to a tee. Nothing gets the guy down for long. Just as often as the collective people of Tinleaf find this behavior refreshing, however, they find it crude and rather insulting. Many of his fellow wastelanders are of the strong belief that he is either loony or feeble minded, and are not shy about letting him know as such. Still he laughs, jokes, sings, dances even, and bringing a smile to anyone’s face, even for a little while, means the world to him. Those who know him well however notice a still, quiet sadness deep within his core. Perhaps he feels that this sadness might abate should he make the world a better, happier place. 

Equipment
Clothing: Yevgen spends half of his days with his shirt off. This is not actually advisable in the wastes given biting sand storms, acid rain, and the fact that a stray cut on a sharp stone can easily become infected and lead to amputation, death, or amputation and then death, but the warnings of the colony elders haven’t slowed him down yet. He is never without his shemagh, once of grey wool and embroidered in geometric patterns though now faded, stained and muddied, though he generally wears it as a scarf rather than as a head covering, and when actually wearing a shirt owns only a patchwork sweater that was either red or grey at one time and is now a pale, ruddy phantom motley of the two. 
Other: Yevgen carries a steel tuning fork for a wooden, stringed instrument he has never seen, but which was owned by the paternal grandfather he never had the chance to meet. Some day he would love to find the instrument this fork was meant to tune and play with it until he could cause something resembling music to pour forth from its wooden bones, but as the elders say no such instruments survive to the modern day. He also owns a poorly crafted set of tin tokens meant to replicate playing cards meant for Gilly, and an old world set of tattoo needles his father won off a fellow colonist in a card game. 

Events
(To be added as the RP goes on)