Insane Mathematician

»»————-　MERLIN'S VINTAGE RADIO 　————-««

»»————-　    REPAIR AND RENEWAL　   ————-««

F-List Page: HERE

About the Muse:

Merlin Marigold (Hellaverse OC) - Once outgoing and bright, now shy and reserved working as a vintage radio repairman in Cannibaltown.

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 31 at his death in 1973

Genre: SFW, NSFW, light romance, character drama, angst, slice-of-life in Hell, noir stories, and more

Approach: IC / OOC friendly

Open to: Askbox memes, starters, threaded RPs, one-off interactions, chatting about the Hellaverse

Tagging: “#radio replies” for entire RP posts, “#merlin speaks” for text written 'as' Merlin

About the Mun: Writer is 28, uses he/him, low anxiety to interact, slow replies are just fine - really excited to write! I have a lot of experience roleplaying but not so much experience doing so on Tumblr. Don't be shy to say hi!

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ »|IN BRIEF|«

Merlin Marigold is the quiet owner of Merlin's Vintage Radio Repair and Renewal in Cannibaltown. He is the same height as he was when alive - 6'5''. Tall, by human standards, but middling among the denizens of Hell, with dirty blond hair and a slim build. You can often find him in studious clothes, tweed jackets and bow ties with the occasional smear of metal powder or grease on his shirt cuffs. He's nothing like the man he used to be. His quiet, shy manner is hiding something - something bright and charming and full of joy, but also something he fears. He has stories to tell - and many more yet to live. Why don't you help make them?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ »|IN FULL|«

He had been a parlor magician, in life. Marcus Marigold worked the nightclubs of Chicago in the 1960s, and audiences of people looking to forget their lives for a few hours got to enjoy his wit, his charm, and his sleight of hand. Both onstage and off, he was quick with a joke or a smile - the kind of charming man that turned cocktail parties from idle chatter and gossip into laughter and fond memories. In his hands, a deck of cards could become a firecracker of surprise, or a contemplative ode to wonder. Through it all he was proud to be a modest success, even as his finances became more dire. ("What would I need with money?", Marcus would say. "Money is for people who pay their bills.")

But competition in show business is fiercest at the middle, not at the top. By 1973, just a few years after purchasing his own nightclub, the rivalries and tensions that troubled his career came to a frightening climax.

How had he gotten here? Staring down at the woman he'd murdered in his motel room, broken glass shards crunching underfoot, cigarette glowing in his teeth? There had been some kind of insurance scam. Another performer, and another romance. The matter of thirty thousand dollars, hidden in the walls of a rival nightclub. It had all made sense, living through it at the time. Now, looking down at a dead body, it all seemed like a dramatic, nonsensical farce where anyone could have stopped it all by standing up and and saying - 'Wait a minute! What the hell are we doing?'. How much had he caused this mess, and how much had he been merely caught up in it? In eight short years, bad decisions had become worse, and drugs had made worse decisions into truly horrendous ones. Marcus left the motel and drank himself half to death. His car barreling off of a bridge while he drank at the wheel did the other half.

He found himself in Hell the same way someone wakes up from a dream. In life, his vibrant, charming personality was his strength. In Hell, he was granted a bookish, alabaster-pale look to contrast with it. Becoming shy, studious, and withdrawn in Hell wasn't some curse placed upon the mind of a sinner - he just realized that shining brightly and joyfully hadn't gotten him anywhere while alive. Where could it get him now?

Where he was once a bright and outgoing man, in Hell, Merlin - no longer Marcus - took to his radio repair shop and didn't make waves. Today, he tinkers at vacuum tubes and galena transistors, a hobby from his childhood, and keeps to himself.