Old age snuck up on Median while he wasn't looking. Not that he's old, per se, but he does certainly "look his age". A large gut from early years of good times and good company is one of the few remnants to remind him of who he was. I could have been a star, he tells anyone who will listen. Should've been. If only I hadn't crossed that black cat's path... Nobody pays him or his tall tales any mind, much less any of the sort of ladies he used to be able to pull out of crowds like a magic trick.

Still, he's got a couple good reasons to keep on kicking. One of them is that he's far too stubborn to fade out into obscurity. The other is that there's some unfinished business he'd like to see through -- unfinished business that ends up with him turning into a crocodillian beast a few times a month. Frankly, he's getting a little tired of waking up with blood smeared across his jaw and being just a little unsure what sort of animals he set out to catch. Now, if he can nab himself a certain two-headed black cat, that'll be a different story...

• Shifts into a crocodilian feral form under specific circumstances that he has yet to pin down.
• Retains hints of his curse as a humanoid. Itchy skin, elongated/sharp lower canines and odd pupils can make people give him a second look. He likes to laugh it off as "getting old, am I right?"
• Works as a groundskeeper for an old mansion, which allows him ample time and space to "slip away" and follow his various vices.
• Secretly longs to leave some kind of lasting mark on the world, some proof that he was here, whether good or bad.