World of Redemption

Mickey is a man whose entire appearance is a tragic story. He is defined by the tattered, grimy Union Army uniform that hangs off his frame, the brass buttons dull and the blue fabric frayed and stained. The most jarring feature is his missing left arm, the empty sleeve pinned up in a stark, constant reminder of a past violence. His face is ruddy and often unshaven, with a thick, unkempt dark beard that does little to hide the pleading, watery look in his dark eyes. He wears a worn Union soldier's cap, pulled low over his greasy hair. He carries himself with a slight, pathetic hunch, the posture of a man perpetually down on his luck, and he often has a sad, watery smile plastered on his face as he approaches potential benefactors, his one remaining hand outstretched.

Mickey’s personality is one of unnerving, desperate friendliness. He approaches strangers with an intrusive familiarity, often asking for a hug before he asks for a coin. He is a performer, his stage the dusty street and his script the tragic litany of his misfortunes. He is quick to smile a sad, watery smile and his voice has a pleading, almost whining quality that is designed to elicit pity. It is difficult to tell where the performance ends and the real man begins, or if there is even a real man left beneath the layers of tragedy he has wrapped himself in. He is not malicious, but his constant need for physical contact and emotional validation can be deeply unsettling and emotionally draining. He is a man so desperate for human connection that he is willing to purchase it with the currency of his own sorrow.

Mickey’s past is a story he tells for a coin, its truth as tattered as the uniform he wears. He claims he was once a proud "soldier boy," fighting for the Union, and lost his arm in the heat of a terrible battle. He weaves tales of a wife and children, a happy life shattered when they were cruelly taken from him by bandits, leaving him utterly alone in a world that no longer had a place for him. Whether these events are genuine memories warped by trauma and cheap whiskey, or a carefully constructed fiction designed to prey on the sympathies of others, is a mystery. What is clear is that something broke Mickey long ago. Unable or unwilling to move on, he drifted from town to town, his identity shrinking until all that was left was the tragic story he tells, eventually finding a home of sorts on the muddy, indifferent streets of Valentine.