Commissioned from  PhoebeDesmons
Coloured and slightly edited by myself.
Also suprisingly long story... background, majigger that grew up out of suprise, by myself too.

Very funky rendition of Tom the Poochyena that throughout the current Morph projects timeline shapes so many lives. Through a series of egg-trades the Pooch hatched to his trainer MacCallum in the Highlanders of Scotland, nice harsh land and a very wind-swept trainer. Unsuprising that after those few formative years that after Tom, along with many other competitive mon were kidnapped and morphed, he developed much the same personality as his trainer though with a flair for the dramatic.

Learning the benefits of a fully developed mind and opposable thumbs very quickly, quicker than he ever let on in fact Tom soon found his nimble fingers and aptitude for learning were best focussed on sticking it to the Transgene corporation and the various terrorist cells they shipped the Morphs to for training.

By age eight Tom had built his first explosive, a very crude device that did little more than ruin one junction box... but he wasn't deterred and started to develop a bit of a methodical nature to his interest. By the time the other morphs in his Cell had banded together enough of an escape plan very little of the power grid remained to sound alarms or keep less conventional and harder to bash through rocks from snapping solid. Certainly made it a touch easier to slip out...

The next few years were a fun time spent improving on his talents of making things that go boom, pufft and pechow. Along with returning to his homeland and spending more than a few months with his old trainer, bit of a shock but they got on well enough and even got his first banjo lesson.

Course time spent in the world at large for Morphs was very limited but thankfully they had been spared internment camps or laboratories. With Transgene reeling from the uprisings the science behind Morphing was already available and secured... wasn't much to gain by splitting open a Pidgey-morph just to see how weird things would get, not to mention ethically questionable since they'd made the step to fully sentient beings.

He could've stayed in the Highlands, had even made quite a stir in one small town. Peace-time offered fun new directions for his explosives habit and had gone the way of fireworks and display pieces. But there was a simple fact of being a solitary morph... even if it meant being stuck on a large island best to stay with his many specied kind and so moved to the Refuge island with Banjo slung upon shoulder and a painstakingly applied for lisence to build his fireworks.

One thing he couldn't fully adjust to though and that was the orphanages and Boarding houses that were really the only places a Morph his age could lodge at. The communal aspect was good and all but he never felt all that needy for a roof... simply walking out one day he took to the alleys and became part of the developing Hobo community on the island. Those who still liked to live in the wild, even if it was an urban wild, though Tom wasn't aiming for scrabbling through bins or feeding on vermin like some of the others, instead plying his talents of bizarre music remixes on his banjo of pop tunes, a suprising knack for juggling and on weekends several shifts at the Bronzed Voltorb Cinema as Projectionist.

... Amazing how empty a contented life can look on realising none of it involved a mute Glameow girl, but that was one big step for the Pooch and he was interested in reassessing.