|Date of birth:||2220|
|Occupation:||Brahmin Rancher, Veterinarian|
- "Ain't even gonna dignify your stupid questions with an answer."
- ―Gordon Potts
Born in 2220 in the commercial district of Swallow Hills to a retired prostitute, Potts was raised in perhaps the most stable period that the town enjoyed, where the newly opened to the outside world Vault 42 was beginning to trade with the growing town and explore the decimated ruins above in the former pre-war paradise. His mother insisted on education in the practical, something which she herself had endured in her childhood in Klamath under a strict farming family. Taught how to farm from an early age, often being sent to work with ranchers during his teenage years for a pittance at the request of his mother on what she considered work experience, Potts developed a lust for adventure from watching lone travellers and caravaneers walk past the various ranches dotting the outskirts of the commercial district and a hatred of farming from the back breaking work, though still dutifully followed his mother's requests, albeit grudgingly. During his early 20s, Gordon went in search of a life of adventure by exploring the ruins of the suburbs frequently when he found time off during his work, earning some extra money from scavenging in the ruins. However, on one of these trips he was wounded by a Feral Ghoul and narrowly escaped. His mother's resulting berating and scorn ensured that he lost all interest in adventuring shortly after, resignedly accepting his mother's demands that he take up a life of farming. Soon, he became a permanent ranch hand at one of the larger operations close to the district, splitting his pay to look after his mother and himself, sparing what he had left in bulk, bitterly lamenting his fortune.
After a few years of this, he soon found himself able to set up in one of the few remaining structurally-sound houses in the suburbs, running a small independent operation by himself at the tender age of 36. His mother joined him once the ranch was properly founded, taking the time to not only berate his lack of ambition when it came to handling the business but also his lack of enthusiasm, in a show of hypocrisy that was lost less on him than his mother. By the time Potts was in his mid 40s, somewhere around 2265, the ranch had a steady supply of customers both in Swallow Hills and elsewhere in the California wastes. It was at this time that his mother died from a severe appendix infection, bringing both grief and an ashamed sense of relief after her passing. As time passed after his mother's death, Potts began to experience depression and loneliness, tending to the Brahmin and rarely leaving the confines of his ranch. During this time, he read many old books on animal rearing, soon discovering that he had an uncanny knack for treating animal disease and injury. This meant a few extra caps on top of his current modest earnings, due to the lack of many experienced veterinarians in the local area, but still did little to fill his thoughts and combat his depression. Unable to bring himself to take up drink, Potts instead took solace in his occasional call outs to the ranches and visits to the commercial district, whilst also filling his spare time dealing with the odd Bloatfly and Radroach.
In 2271, now in his early 50s, found himself increasingly lonely and his livestock under threat by attacks from wandering Red Eyes coming from nearby flooded areas. During one such attack, he succesfully killed a female Red Eye, only after discovering a single child following its mother. Despite initial readiness to kill it, Potts found himself unable to do so, as he began to empaphize with the frightened and orphaned creature, finally deciding to spare and even adopt the creature as a pet of sorts. After warily adopting the creature, Potts soon found himself growing increasingly attached to the mute creature. In the space of a mere five years, during which time a healthy amount of Brahmin meat was consumed, not only had the creature grown to a towering 7ft over the old man, but Potts had actually taught the creature to feed the Brahmin and even act as a guard of sorts, in exchange for both food and water. Potts' loneliness and depression somewhat subsided with the arrival of the creature, which he now called Bob, and a form of parental attachment formed, replied with in kind by Bob in the form of the odd lick and toothy grin, despite the many uncomfortable looks and raised eyebrows this caused when Potts would discuss this, but also the respect of the newly arrived Luminate Tribe, having arrived in early 2282, who viewed him as an adept shamn capable of taming even the most ferocious beasts; this, of course, disgruntling and disturbing Swallow Hills residents further, though this affected his social life more so than his business, though his customers rarely found the courage to look him in the eye.
Perhaps he should have stuck to reading.
- "I told you once, I told you a thousand times - don't let the damned bull near the calf."
- ―Gordon Potts
One of the most respected ranchers and veterinarians in Swallow Hills, Potts is a humble character not known for over-exaggerations, with a pragmatic and calculated streak that has built him a solid reputation in the town. He is, however, also famous for his grumpy and self-deprecating personality, often grumbling about either his age or his current circumstances. However, he has been known for his more compassionate side, seen somewhat when dealing with veterinary needs, often times with a flicker of happiness at the successful birth of a calf or a prolonged grimace at the euthanization of a mortally wounded animal. Most notable is his paternal feelings to the adopted Red Eye he has since come to call Bob, referring to it more as a person than a pet and often treating it as a son, much to the chagrin and discomfort of both neighbors and acquaintances.
- "If you don't clear off, I'll cut you in half with this here boomstick!"
- ―Gordon Potts
- Double-barrel Shotgun: An old, rusted and battered Double-barrelled Shotgun that Potts bought at a weapons stall in the commercial district, this trusty weapon has been in Potts capable hands for years, helping him see off marauding Bloatflies, ravenous Feral Ghouls, and even savage Red Eyes.
- Rancher's Cloth: An old and tattered pajama shirt, worn suspenders and slacks and rough boots serve as Potts average wear. Never known for a taste in fashion or other fine things, this rather ratty attire serves its purpose well, leaving Potts very little mind to change it.
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