Black Cat/Staff
Patch
Patch is the steady hand behind the Black Cat — the owner, lead bartender, and the one who makes sure the place doesn’t collapse under its own chaos. He’s calm, observant, and rarely raises his voice, but when he does, people listen. Patch has a way of reading a room in seconds, knowing who’s about to start trouble, who’s worth talking to, and who needs to be cut off before things go sideways. Behind the bar, he’s efficient and precise, pouring drinks, managing people, and quietly keeping control without ever making it look forced. He’s not flashy, but there’s a quiet authority to him that even the roughest regulars respect.
More than anything, Patch understands what the Black Cat is — not just a bar, but a haven. He keeps things balanced, making sure the Anarchs, ghouls, and drifters who pass through have a place to land without letting the whole thing spiral into chaos. He’s the one who sets the tone: no unnecessary heat, no stupid risks, and no bringing problems through the door that threaten everyone inside. His past isn’t something he talks about much, but it’s clear he’s been around long enough to know how things work — and how quickly they can fall apart. If Roxy keeps the floor in line and Big Al controls the kitchen, Patch is the one holding the entire operation together.
Roxy
Roxy is the kind of presence that keeps the Black Cat from tearing itself apart on a busy night. Tough, sharp-tongued, and completely unbothered by intimidation, she runs the floor with a mix of sarcasm and quiet authority that most people learn not to challenge twice. She’s quick on her feet—both in a crowded bar and in a fight—and while she knows how to handle herself physically thanks to her Krav Maga training, she usually shuts trouble down with a cutting remark or a well-timed joke before it ever gets that far. Beneath the attitude, though, Roxy looks out for her people; staff, regulars, even the Anarchs who pass through know she’ll step in if things go sideways. She came up rough, spent time riding with a biker crew, and walked away from that life on her own terms. Now she’s planted at the Black Cat—steady, reliable, and maybe still a little more connected than she lets on.
Big Al
Big Al runs the kitchen at the Black Cat like it’s his personal territory — and everyone knows better than to get in his way. Gruff, quiet, and straight to the point, he lets his food speak for him, only occasionally tossing out a dry comment to regulars he actually likes. He’s a master of short-order cooking, turning out burgers, wings, fries, and his well-known loaded mac ‘n cheese with speed and consistency, and he takes real pride in doing it right. Years in rough kitchens have also made him more than capable of handling himself if trouble spills through the door — whether that means throwing someone out or grabbing whatever’s nearby to defend his space. Despite his hard edges, Al has a soft spot for people down on their luck and will quietly make sure they don’t go hungry. He ended up at the Black Cat after walking away from a bad situation in Vegas, brought in through mutual contacts, and has since made the kitchen his own. He doesn’t ask questions about what goes on outside his domain — but it’s clear he understands more than he lets on.
Scratch
Scratch is the voice and restless soul of Nomad, a hard-edged desert rock band that turns every bar gig into something halfway between a sermon and a street fight. Wiry and long-limbed, he cuts a sharp figure beneath the dim lights — wild black hair falling into his eyes, a battered cowboy hat pulled low, and a cigarette that never quite leaves the corner of his mouth. His voice is gravel and smoke, the kind that sounds like it’s been dragged across a thousand miles of bad road and washed down with too much whiskey.
On stage, Scratch radiates a dangerous kind of charm — equal parts preacher, outlaw, and ghost. His guitar work swings from rough, blues-soaked riffs to aching, soulful wails that feel like open highway and regret. Off stage, he keeps to himself, a man of few words and long silences, the sort who seems half-lost in a story he never quite finishes telling. People say he’s been everywhere — from border towns to desert dives — but no one’s ever sure where he’s from, or what he’s running from.
