Name: Larry Witosc
Gender: Male
Age: 47
Nationality: Republican

Personality
Larry is a coarse, casual man. He is a feisty little jackass with a sharp mind for business and a distinct lack of morals. Or so he feigns, anyways. Being the archetypal older brother – half-raising two brothers will do that – Larry looks out for his friends and employees. He does it behind the scenes, though. It wouldn’t do to have anybody ruining his reputation, after all.
He’s the rare mechanic who knows how to pilot a zoid. Larry took a fourteen-week course on zoid piloting as a lark, never really getting into it very seriously. He never much cared for zoid pilots, figured they were all just a bunch of crazy kids with less brains than balls. The only thing he really liked about zoid piloting was the glory and thunder of it, the war without the carnage and death.
If Larry were any more of a womanizing ass, he’d be an archetypal Hemmingway code hero. He drinks, has a sort of casual disrespect for just about anything other than a preacher or an old lady, and goes hunting with his brothers and buddies when season opens up. He spends his nights in quiet reflective solitude, never seeming to sleep.

Background
A middle-class man born to a lower-class family in the wrong part of Logan’s Gear, a run-down city within two hundred miles of New Helic City, Larry has had to fight and claw for everything he has since first drawing breath in NC 35. Larry grew up hearing little and caring less of the world at large. People in Logan’s Gear were more concerned with just making do. Times were tough, what with the recent Trillstani invasion and subsequent counter-attack. Larry’s paternal uncle, Stuart Witosc, served in the Eastern Continent under General Arthin’s renegade command. Larry’s father, Frank Witosc, would have nothing to do with his brother after that. The few times Larry saw Stuart were when Larry’s mother, Mary, brought Larry and his younger brothers to visit after Stuart came back from the war.
Larry had a three-year lead on his brother Eric. Larry was already smaller than Eric, much to the elder’s chagrin. Larry was often picked on for being the short, stumpy kid. Frank or Mary would probably have done something about it, except they were overworked just trying to keep food on the table. Frank worked three jobs – weekday janitor at a power plant, night janitor at a local church, and foreman at a refrigerator factory. Mary had the hassle of raising kids on top of waitressing at Maguire’s Pub for less than minimum wage forty hours a week. They impressed upon their children the importance of getting a good education so they wouldn’t suffer a similar fate.
Larry ignored them. Eric didn’t. The younger sibling bent his mind to schoolwork, an odd trait for a ten-year-old boy. Larry was in junior high, and was on the football team. He only performed to bare minimum expectations, though he did get the odd C in his classes when he liked the teacher. Being the runt of the team, Larry wasn’t given much opportunity to play. He warmed the benches, attending practices with that diligence his brother gave academia. Larry hit upon the right method of tackling. He was short, low to the ground, and thus had a quick turning radius and low center of mass. Combined with the fact that he had the endurance of a horse and outweighed a good deal of the kids on the other teams, he was a natural linebacker.
In the beginning of Larry’s freshman year in high school, the people of Logan’s Gear received spotty reports of the coast falling. By winter break the line had moved to the city itself, dangerously close to New Helic City. There was open warfare between the Republican soldiers and militia and the Imperial troops in the very streets of the city, tearing apart already-blighted neighborhoods. The Imperials captured the junior high, using it as a fortress out of necessity. There was almost no semblance of normal life anymore. Eight months later, when the Republic fell back once again, Logan’s Gear was in ruins and Larry’s family had to flee with hundreds of other refugees to nearby towns and cities. Though many lost their lives, the actual deaths were far fewer than what the Republic claimed. There were surprisingly few civilian deaths, and the Witoscs were spared any lasting harm.
Surprisingly, the football team stuck together. Finding a new camaraderie in this new, dangerous situation, these fourteen high school kids kept up their practices and playing skirmishes against each other. It was a bit of normalcy in a world gone insane.
By the time the Republic and Empire made peace in NC 64 Larry had already settled down in another town. This was Velor, a city populated mainly by refugees. It was almost untouched by the battle lines whipping back and forth, a place where people made their return to normalcy. He worked for a few years doing this and that before finally settling into a career as an auto mechanic. He apprenticed in four shops over the course of a decade, working to amass the funds needed to open up his own. He moved to New Helic City, capitol of the Republic, where he opened up a garage. Larry’s been working there ever since, his life effectively static and unchanging. He’s worked hard to break even for many moons, and only now is his garage beginning to pull ahead.

Appearance
Larry stands at 5’6” tall and weighs about two hundred and ten pounds. He is a little on the chubby side, with a receding hairline and a face that could be called a lot of things, not many of which are complimentary. He has acne scars on his cheeks and broad nose. His black hair is long in the back, though it is rather heavily streaked with iron grey. He usually wears it in a short little ponytail. His body is rather soft, but he is by no means merely a motile ball of blubber. Larry has slightly above-average strength, a holdover from his high school days on the football team.
Larry usually wears either an old pair of overalls and work shirt or a grease-stained grey jumpsuit when he’s working in the auto shop or piloting. Either way about it he wears a pair of gloves to protect his hands and a tool belt holding bolts, wing nuts, wrenches, lubricating oil, anti-septic spray, and other things generally handy for a mechanic. Larry’s casual wear isn’t that different from his work clothes. He’ll usually wear jeans or slacks with a belt, dingy old clodhoppers, and a reasonably clean shirt. Larry just doesn’t care too terribly much about his appearance. Or what other people think of him, for that matter.

I don' care if it just skips a decade. I can get away with that.
Approved, 50k.