A splendid dandy of a man, if overly found of dissection.
He began his maniacal laughing at an early age, around second grade to be precise. Ever since he has developed a rather inflated sense of self-importance and a thoroughly ill-advised grandiose sense of style, a self-proclaimed "Dandy of my particular archetype." He pretends to have an interest in avant-garde art and theater while hiding a distaste for individuals who he perceives to have a greater sense of self-importance than his own (Though he has a very real adoration for what he terms as "good" food). He speaks in a stilted and condescending manner, always with a thin smile peeking up from underneath his milky eye, never from the other side. He does not laugh normally, though he smiles often and fully. Anywhere he walks he stumbles, both upstairs and across even surfaces, never managing to actually fall over. Though his taste in clothes and lofty language may suggest an artistic perspective, that assumption would be sadly mistaken, as there are very few things he does not view in a coldly mechanical fashion and those he does not are subjected to his curiosity, a far worse fate to be sure, normally indicated by a rapid twitch of the mouth. Contrary to his assumed status as madman and generally unwell practitioner of science, he does not often wear a lab coat (only when in surgery), instead preferring leather coats with fur running along the hood because "It gives me a tingly feeling to know that I am definitively using another animals remains for warmth. Early subjects were useful after all." Incidentally he sleeps with a blanket he lovingly refers to as "My first real pet." His right ear is pierced in three places along the cartilage. He has recently taken to wearing a fedora.
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual... though asexual is probably a better description.
A set of surgical implements and tools for dissection of creatures with tough skin (likely confiscated). Most things are capable of being turned into impromptu utensils however, so long as the subject is not too concerned with cleanliness. Fedora with small red feather stuck in the brim. Buddy the blankie. A book with the title "A Sense of Humor: For Dummies". General hygienic necessities. One of his old femurs which he is currently whittling. A bone whittling instrument.
Henry Lazarus was born April 17th, a normal boy to a normal house in a normal sub-urban neighborhood. There was no true instigator that set him down the path of maniacal madman (and possible future dictator?), though if asked he would likely respond with a maniacal laugh and continue cutting something. During those formative years he spent most of them making Buddy the Blanket from his sister's rapidly disappearing family of dogs and putting his obsessive knowledge of human and animal anatomy to field test. Eventually his parents noticed scars forming on his arms and assumed depression (they did not realize until high school as he always wore long sleeved shirts or jackets). After meeting with a therapist about holding him back for a couple of years (He was twelve years old during his junior year at high school due to grade skipping) he responded with "Well, while I'm off forgetting everything I have ever learned the rest of my peers will just pass me by." His parents took the bait and he continued his high school and soon college career. It was in college that mysterious disappearances around campus began to occur, though the culprit remained at large for five years until the prodigiously intelligent Mr. Lazarus finished work on his M.D. It was at this point that he revealed the fruit of his research, self-experimentation that stimulated his muscles in a similar way that a cats purring constantly stimulates their muscles, resulting in startling fitness and agility (though fifty incision marks were visible because he had not yet found a way to purr). When proof of his research was requested he proudly presented the mangled remains of various students who had disappeared over the previous years. After apprehension and a short time in jail his parents, now very influential and wealthy maneuvered it so that Henry would be placed in the Dofrey Asylum rather than spend the rest of his life in prison. As the Dofrey employees came to pick him up they entered the house and found him in the lab with his parents freshly inspected corpses on the table. "Well then, I certainly hope that the place you're taking me is more interesting than this place." What a Twenty-one year old.