Zechs.

Name: Zechs.
Species: Human.
Age: 17. (not exactly, but approximately.)
Gender: Male.
Good, Evil, Neutral?: Like everybody: has good days and bad days.
Appearance:
Zechs has a tall body, standing by a near one meter eighty. His arms and legs aren't muscles, but neither are they frail. Has stained very pale skin, and his clothes hide almost all of his physical features, being composed of one large, long dark red (nearly black) scarf wound around his face, only letting his eyes peer through the fabric, one long-sleeved bark brown shirt, the sleeves hiding his hands, and one large pair of gray trousers, being held up by a strainly tightened black leather belt, along with a pair of white sneakers. His eyes are of a very dull bluish hue, resembling a polluted sky in the horizon.

History:
Normal.
In the bad way.
One night, after he -supposes- he was attacked in a dark alley, Zechs lifted himself up, and didn't remember anything he had before, as if someone had created him, and had thrown him out in the shadows. He supposes, because he noticed the very large and painful wound at the back of his head, slithering down his neck soon after he woke.
He gave himself the name of 'Zechs' after hearing a conversation between Germans. Don't ask why, he just felt like he needed to identify himself from the others in this world.
He doesn't search to get his memory back, even though he gets it slowly by finding out things about himself from the past. He tries to live, with whatever he has in the reach of his arm.
After his waking, he quickly covered himself in cloth, following what his instincts said. Maybe, since he was attacked, people didn't want to see him, he thought to himself.

Powers:
Humans don't have powers, except the one to adapt fairly quickly to their surrounding environment. Has a certain talent with his instrument, and sometimes, -but rarely- has the symptoms of 'phantom limb'.

Hobbies: Playing the beaten black harmonica he found in his right pocket.
Job: None.
Relations (Family): None.
Relations (Spouses): None.
Best Friends: None.
Pets: None.
Accent: English.
Clothes: Described in Physical Appearance.
Distinguishing Features: None in the physical term.
Special Abilites: None.
Likes: Nachos. But who doesn't.
Dislikes: Crowded or tight places.
Fears: His past.
Habits: Gently stroking the innder side of his index with his thumb when nervous.
Personal quotes:
"I don't like the way you say that..."
Personality: Not the talkative type, Zechs is ready to afford a lot of physical and mental investment in something to try and get a better life, and maybe get another chance of finding more about himself. He doesn't trust other people, unless he gets a good chance of knowing who they really are. He didn't get a chance up until now, ironically. People don't like to show who they really are to a street wanderer.

Sample RP post:
The moon was slowly rising in the calm, hanging, starlit sky. Opaque clouds were closing in onto the moon, beginning to hide it's shining white surface. As the bright light disappeared, a gentle, metallic tone hummed from under. The graceful music slithered through an alley, fading out in the atmosphere.
A small, hastily-made fire was snapping at the wind, beginning to dim away. It spread out its calming light onto a clothed entity, who was playing a small, scratched black harmonica. The being moved the instrument across its dried lips, poking just over the cloth of the enormous scarf around its head. The flamed flickered, making shadows dance behind the human.

ACCEPTED.