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The Old Salty Dog

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... in a playground desert populated by children playing king or god, the man was admittedly out of place. Too many suns had risen and fallen, counted in every damned grey hair upon his head, and even though his age had barely crested over forty, he was ancient to this land of dry sunlight. Out of fashion, people like him had fallen, shed like a winter coat and stored away never to be brought back from the attic, locked away behind high wire fences where the cities again began. None in the wastes would know the meaning of all those blessed tattoos, the reason why his Barette stayed against his hip or under his pillow. No wanderer or patient or any damn one could guess why no one had ever heard his name. Oh, yes, he still cursed like the sailor that he was, still drank and smoke as though he was not even a day beyond his considered prime, but he was aware of the way the youth looked at him, measuring how long he had to live, wondering if an old man was worth bothering the least bit. The Doc was not the Spaniards that ruled this corner of the world, was not a member of their not so little posse, but his hands had seen blood. More blood than all his nights of tending the people of the clinic could ever wash clean. A hard face, a tough exterior, and enough colorful language to make his younger counterparts blush. There was no trace of the bite of loneliness in eleven years missing his runaway wife, the stress in loving three kids as though they were his own, and the worry, that tomorrow ... the sun would no longer rise, and that old, salty dog, would be put down with a bullet between those seafoam eyes.

Featured here is the ex-sailor turned doctor, creatively called Doc. His real name has been buried deep beneath a freezer, hidden instead a safe, and he aims to keep that, as well as the finer aspects of his character, his deeds, his dealings, clean and wiped from his hands. He is a bit different from my other characters, being forty-three, and I have grown to adore him, though I have yet to know him all that well.

The tattoos here are from the old artist Sailor Jerry, and I thought them fitting of him. Scarred, taciturn, foul-mouthed, caring, a little bit dangerous, with a deep, interesting background and a bright, interesing future. 

I do hope to render more of him.

Enjoy.

xxx

Doc belongs to Himself
Artwork belongs to Me
Tattoo references belong to the respective artist/artists

Do not steal, use, et cetera. 
Image size
528x887px 1.07 MB
© 2015 - 2024 merrimus
Comments6
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bhudicae's avatar
You have a knack at creating the most interesting characters!  I like that he's older (I refuse to say he's "old", since I, myself, have "barely crested over forty" :P)