Work had me delayed, but here we are, got him sorted out finally.

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[b]Name[/b]: 
Alexander Whitmoore

[b]Age[/b]:
37

[b]Sex[/b]:
Male

[b]Your S.P.E.C.I.A.L. / Skills[/b]:
Strength - 4
Perception = 5
Endurance - 8
Charisma - 5
Intelligence - 8
Agility - 6
Luck - 4

[b]Skills[/b]:
Guns
Science
Unarmed

[b]Appearance[/b]: 
Alexander is a man of middling height, around 5'10" at the most generous estimates, with a build that's hard to pinpoint from under his clothing and gear. Alexander has jet black hair, mostly well kept and swept back, running down to the back of his neck while a thick, heavy beard also runs down a fair ways, giving him an almost wildman look if it wasn't for his attire. A long jacket with a peculiar winterized design often makes him stand out like a sore thumb, though he will never ditch the item, not even to save his life, while he wears apparently salvaged body armor underneath, the hard plates a hold over from pre-war designs. Sturdy blue jeans and well insulated boots round out the clothing, and one might be forgiven for thinking he had just marched out of some frozen north at a glance, though there is no evidence of any sort of identifying insignia . 
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[b]Armor and Equipment[/b]:
Keepsake Body Armor: Passed down father to son for as long as his family can remember, Alexander still keeps wearing and maintaining his family armor whenever the opportunity arises. While similar in style to the NCR Ranger armor, it lacks nearly as much protection, covering mainly the core of the body and seeming to lack a number of pieces that the more well recognized design has. Still, there is a decent amount of agility to work with, owing to the lack of plates interfering with movement or unplanned scavenged additions weighing him down either.

Bugout Bag - On his person at all times, Alexander has learned the hard way that sometimes you need to leave [i]now[/i], and as such keeps his most important worldly belongings on him at all times in this white bag. Has a variety of vital supplies, including stimpacks, food, clean water, radaway, the ammo for his guns, and a sleeping bag. While he may have other items on him at any given time or place, if things are in a scramble, he'll at least be able to get to relative safety before having to start worrying about problematic things like 'eating' and 'someplace warm to sleep'. 

[b]Weapons[/b]:
Lever Action Shotgun
10mm Pistol
Brass Knuckles

[b]Personality[/b]: 
Alexander is, on a day to day basis, generally a pleasant enough person to deal with. Usually maintaining a, if not optimistic, at least upbeat outlook in the face of most trouble, ready to crack a joke in the face of trouble when others might not exactly appreciate the attempts at humor. While not actively discussing or talking about things, the man can become lost in thought, entertaining trains of thoughts, whether they be of recent events, or reminiscing on the past and grappling with all the ugliness he's seen in his wandering vagabond lifestyle. He'll wax philosophical when given the chance, willing to debate and discuss beliefs and points of view, never seeming to take one side or the other, almost always acting as the 'Devil's Advocate' or otherwise at least challenging the beliefs of others. He is notably tight lipped when it comes to his own, though whether its because he doesn't want to share, doesn't know what he believes, or otherwise remains to be seen. 

[b]History / How they came to be part of Whitlash[/b]:
Alexander is the son of a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, from a surviving enclave that set up in the North, past where boundaries of countries once divided the land. The nuclear winter hit hard there, requiring hardy flesh and hardier souls to survive, creating a rather pragmatic, if forgotten, offshoot of the Brotherhood that scoured the wastes for forgotten bases and convoys, making ends meet through such methods. Such an upbringing was not easy, nor was it kind, but the warmth of camaraderie kept them going when all else was stacked against them. So it was that the boy would be raised into a young man, although despite the promise of a path of prestige following in his father's footsteps, he couldn't help but want to range out on his own, cramping under the regimented confines of the Brotherhood bunker complex. This was a foreseen issue, and he was granted equipment, including his father's old armor, and the blessing to return once wanderlust had been satiated, or to return with finds that would help the Bunker and its denizens continue to survive.

So the young man, barely 18, went first South, and then East. He'd been told of Brotherhood bands to both the East and West, and his fateful decision would get him embroiled in a conflict between the Enclave and his Brotherhood comrades. To say the skirmishes and battles were unpleasant was an understatement, and the increasingly weathered man found himself growing more and more weary of the battles, making friends with others in his squad only to see them cut down by energy weapons not scant days later, and while part of him hates the Enclave for existing and forcing the issue, another part of him wonders what good the Brotherhood goals were if it constantly led to conflicts with both people trying to survive and other factions who may or may not ever have been a problem to begin with. After spending quite a few years fighting the Enclave and other enemies of the Brotherhood, Alexander left and went West instead, chasing the horizon and stories of a shining Jewel in the desert, New Vegas.

New Vegas would bring him into contact with various groups, various ideologies and beliefs, something that Alexander grew fond of learning, discussing, and challenging when need be. What had started as curiosity in the outside world had been tempered, through fire and blood, into an outlook of eternally questioning and second guessing everything, for the sake of teasing out what was worthwhile, and what should be cast aside. He never stuck around for long, either run out by people who got tired of his debates, or because it had grown stale and boring, and Alexander found himself heading back north to report his findings, and what had happened in the East, to his comrades. All he found was a frozen, empty bunker, long abandoned. No notes, no indication what happened, but no signs of conflict or violence either. A complete mystery, something that continues to haunt him as he wonder what happened. But no one survives alone in the North, not for long at least, so he went back south to warmer climates.

His arrival in Whitlash was not particularly eventful, nor even stood out for that matter beyond the peculiar design of this stranger's attire, but Alexander found the mix of people quite fascinating. By far one of the more recent newcomers, barely approaching his first year in the community, he earned his keep through oddjobs and helping keep the place secure, though his knack for technology and scientific endeavors came in handy whenever someone brought back some prewar tech, a mix of his old Brotherhood training and long years making ends meet on his own coming to the forefront. Still, he never discussed his past, and he gained a reputation for debate and discussion, matching a stubborn intelligence against any point or stance if given the opportunity or asked. He had not intended to stay very long, but something had kept him rooted here, be it the curious gathering of people or the strangely varied outlooks, something compelled him to stay here just awhile longer. So he stayed, pursuing this strange feeling and his own strange beliefs while earning his keep as needed.

[b]Extras[/b]: 
Alexander speaks with a bit of an accent, not unintelligible but, despite all the years away from home, uniquely stand out compared to what most folks will hear. Doing oddjobs and never settling into a singular role in the community has never exactly endeared him with the common folk, as most folks expecting him to just up and vanish one day, as abruptly as he arrived. 
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