Carnival of Rust Application

[yesthatsmyname]

Player 
Name - Vin
AIM Name - StillAliveGlaDOS
E-Mail - scarecrowlubs@gmail.com

Character
Name - Mary Lightly
Fandom - Psych
Canon Point - Post!Death in Mr. Yin Presents.
Age - 35
Gender - Male

Appearance - 

Mary is young-looking - naturally baby-faced, despite his age. He's rather willowy and pasty, and he seems...frail, somehow. His dirty blonde hair is short and messy - he cuts it himself - and his blue eyes sport a pair of rather thick glasses from one too many nights of intensive research. 

His style of dress is rumpled and casual - usually polo or t-shirts, slacks, and his favorite beige jacket. All of his clothes are...slightly too short for his limbs, making him look gangly despite not being remarkably tall. He has been known to wear very, very odd things now and again in his private time - like onesies, or wearing a plush monkey as an ascot.

He also wears ankle weights. ALL THE TIME. He insists that it's for health and fitness reasons.

Personality - Mary can be summed up tidily in just one word - peculiar.

A somewhat less succinct version of the description would go on to describe him as incredibly off-putting to most people, even creepy. He doesn't emote very much, if at all - his expression is more often than not the same blank stare, and his smiles tend to look sort of...sickly. He isn't particularly unfriendly, but he is used to alarming people, and he most certainly doesn't care if he does anymore; he is resigned to it.

Mary is full of tics and odd habits, many of them developed over his years of studying killers and resarching in isolation. The one that is most immediately apparent is the way he holds his arms...wrists almost always limp and letting his hands flop about. There's nothing wrong with them...it's merely a habit. He picks up and holds things in odd ways, moves in a somewhat loose and drapey fashion, and doesn't seem to notice that its in any way weird. It isn't so much that Mary is crazy as that he is very strange - though because of his interest in the habits and patterns of killers, he comes across as quite flippant and even excitable about murder. He's never killed anyone himself, but if if he had to, he's researched any number of ways to do so.

On his off time, he quite enjoys movies and television, and is actually quite up on pop culture. His eating habits are strange at best...he has a penchant for things like sardines or buttermilk. His social skills are somewhat lax - he does have the unofrtunate tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and be quite misunderstood for it; honestly, Mary is just a lonely man, feeling like his purpose in life is now finished and unsure what to do with himself.

History - http://psychusa.wikia.com/wiki/Mary_Lightly ((There isn't much - so this is mostly all headcanon, and thus a bit brief.))

Mary was born into an average household. He was named after his Father, who was also named Mary - who was named after his grandfather, another Mary - who was not named after HIS father, Craig. He led a truly unremarkable life, very little out of the ordinary happening in the grand scheme of things. True, the boy was very bright - methodical, even, and somewhat alienated from his peers as a result - but his life was otherwise simple. He loved to read, and he was a very clever student.

Until he was fifteen, and his father never returned from what he was told was a business trip. His mother told him he had run away. Mary knew better.

His father was a mechanic and didn't take business trips.

He said nothing.

The boy became somewhat reticent, suspicious of what happened but unwilling to face it. He threw himself further into the puzzles and riddles he was so fond of...and heard a few years later of a serial killer who liked to leave riddles. Mr. Yang...someone who abducted people. And those people were never heard from again, because no one was good enough at the puzzles.

He was good at puzzles.

For thirteen years, he learned everything there was to know. Studied patterns. Habits. He became obsessed, even going to far as to ADMIRE the intricacy of the killer's work. He was brought in to help stop Mr. Yang when he surfaced again...and they caught him. Or rather...her. She was apprehended and placed into a mental institution.

He wasn't sure what to do with himself.

He pored over old notes, redid old puzzles, watched and waited...until it hit him. Mr. Yang wasn't alone. Couldn't have been. There MUST be a Mr. Yin, too. He approached the team again, imploring them to take a second look...just as the killings began again. Admittedly, he was excited. His purpose was back.

But that purpose was mistaken for motive. He became the prime suspect in the case...and when they followed him to find out for sure, they were there right in time to see his murder.

Stabbed in the chest...pushed down a flight of stairs. His death staged to look like a scene from Psycho...meant to be viewed.

As the world went black, he thought what he believed would be his final thought.

'I didn't pay enough attention.'

Skills/Abilities/Powers - Mary is a completely average human. No magical or supernatural powers to speak of. He's not particularly strong, not particularly quick...though if he ever took off his ankle weights, he would probably be pretty swift on his feet (but he never takes them off). His strongest asset is a keen eye and a quick wit, his intellect honed from years of studying murderers and their patterns. He's very good at codes and riddles, in particular.

Power Restrictions - He might cut down on the strange interpretive poetry?

Job - Introducing - THAT GUY! He is a master of all those talents you learned in grade school! See him do a Rubik's Cube in the blink of an eye! Be amazed as he jumps up and down on a pogo stick indefinitely! Gasp in horror as he WRITES ON A CALCULATOR! ALL THIS AND MORE!

Mark Location - Diagonally across his heart, right over where he was stabbed.

Samples
First Person Sample (Communicator, Bulletin, or Mirror) -

[The voice over the comm is a quiet one - deadpan, breathy, even a little bit creepy. It's a little hard to hear him over the sounds of the Carnival, if one is honest.]

Hello. Is...this thing on? There's kind of no way of telling, is there? I had a walkie-talkie watch like this once. It only worked for ten feet and my cat wasn't very talkative.

Anyway.

I was just curious. Is there anywhere I can get some sardines in this place? It's not that important. And I am a fan of delicious flavor. 


Third Person Sample (Log) - The last thing he could remember clearly was falling.

Everything after that was just a blur of pain and fractured bones, but the fall was still clear to him. The riddle had told him to come alone. It was his moment, and he knew it. His time to shine. He had entered the building, just as instructed...climbed the flight of stairs, carefully watching his path. In spite of the gravity of the situation, he could feel his heart hammering his ribs in excitement. Mr. Yin had contacted HIM. Finally, him. He'd been waiting thirteen years for this...and now...here he was. Who would he find tied up? He hardly had any family anymore, so he supposed it must be his Mother. Or would it be a passing acquaintance? Someone he had only brushed by?

Three more steps. His footfalls were heavy, his ankle weights dragging his feet down. One. His blue eyes were fixed, staring upward, ignoring the camera staring him in the face. Two. His left hand brushed lightly along the railing, limp-wristed and dragging upward. The other slipped into his pocket for his flare gun. He would surprise him. Bring him down. 

Three.

As he arrived on the landing, he was immediately met with a knife to the chest. Before he lost his footing, he could see, for just a fleeting moment, the face of his killer...the face of Mr. Yin. He was smiling down at Mary, still gripping the knife with his eyes burning beneath his fedora. His face pulled away as the world turned on its side, feet scrambling to find purchase as he tumbled backward down the steps.

When he hit the ground, he could feel his ribs cracking - he could feel the burning in his chest where the knife had sunk in. Numbly, he had known he was going to die. He choked, he sputtered. The flare gun clattered from his fingers, and everything began to fade, fade...he admitted he just wanted to be heroic...even made a joke. It was over.

Or it was supposed to be.

Now he was opening his eyes again, and instead of a dingy warehouse roof, it was a dark night sky. For a moment, he thought he must be in heaven - until he sat up, his body giving sharp stabs of pain in protest. He dragged a hand across his shirt, looking down to the blood and the tear that was there. There was the wound...but..... He wasn't dead? How was that possible? It...couldn't be possible. He looked around, a little frown on his lips....

Where was he?


Any Other Details We Should Know - You guys are such enablers.