Mark Vern
Age:
32
Gender:
Male
Appearance: (Words necessary, picture optional)
Tall, standing at around six foot four inches tall, and muscular in a lean way. His eyes are a dark blue, always furrowed, always hard to read. His face seems constantly plagued by a five-o'clock shadow that can grow into a rough, dark beard if he isn't careful. His hair is an unruly mop of brown that, no matter how hard he tries, he will eventually end up looking like he just got out of bed. He usually dresses chic casual, not because he likes to be a fashion monger but because it's easier and more comfortable than the suit that the FBI would otherwise have him wearing.
Personality Rundown:
There is no superficiality to this man, thus he isn't exactly the man to call on for social functions. He will say what he means, when he means it. Velvet lies are an unknown concept to him. Sharper than you'd like, intelligent, and cynical. If you saw the world the way he did, you would be the same way. He is an expert at micro-expressions as a regular pass-time, but the skill that he is employed by the FBI for is as a psychological profiler. The devil is in the details, and he can tell the state of mind of a killer from the details left behind at a crime scene. At least, the state of mind that the criminal was in when he committed the murders. Of course, this is a skill that he can't turn off, so he sees everyone through their details, how they dress, how they work and assimilating their thoughts and future actions is something that is so painfully easy for him that he prefers the solitude of his own home when he isn't working. Nothing like dating someone who is a pathological liar and cheated on her last five boyfriends to ruin you for the market.
Bio:
He grew up in the suburbs of Buffalo, New York, where his father was an aspiring lawyer and mother a nurse. Both worked hard to keep their family as the pregnancy was an accidental blunder in college. They had a nice little place, not too far from where either of them worked, and close enough to the stadium of a local baseball team that they usually went there on game weekends. His father started drinking around the time that Mark turned 3 and it just got worse and worse. Around this time, it almost became a reflex for young Mark to be able to read his father's mood by his face. Sometimes he might look like he was in a bad mood, but if Mark asked him for money for a comic book, he would just give it to him to keep the boy from interrupting. Other times his father might look like he was in a good mood but he could flash into something ugly the next, beating wife or child, whichever one was closest. Mark, of course, hid this from teachers and friends in school, covering up the bruises on his face with his mother's make-up when she wasn't looking. It made him a proficient liar at a very young and impressionable age.
When he was 11, one Sunday, him and his father went to the stadium to watch a game. It had been a nice day, with good weather, not too hot and yet with the sun shining brilliantly. His father bought him a hotdog and popcorn during the game and an ice cream afterwards. When they got home and father was called away, Mark found his mother washing clothes and he asked her," Mum, why is daddy leaving?"
This shocked the mother of course, who boxed his right ear and told him that his father wasn't leaving, and that he had to hush that instant about it. He was pained and he rushed off to his treehouse, which he had built with his father's help and was his safe place. Of course he was leaving, he thought. Why couldn't she see it? Of course, father left three days later, packing his things in the dead of night and leaving them a note as well as most of the cash. After that, his mother avoided him like the plague, afraid of him. Forced to raise himself by the time he was 12, he was self sufficient and he threw himself into his studies. He went from being an average student to straight A's in all subjects. He didn't engage in sports and only got involved with a girl for the Prom. Otherwise, he was a loner at the school. He graduated from highschool with honors and was offered a scholarship in Harvard. He studied psychology, criminology and criminal forensics, all of which he graduated among the top ten of his classes. Jobs all over the country appeared for him, but instead, he moved to join the FBI. The Academy was a bit more difficult for him, requiring him to fraternize with the other trainees, and he barely passed that, becoming a forensic instructor at their base in Washington D.C.
Notes:
He likes motorcycles and has five cats.