Post by lucas on Apr 26, 2013 1:39:05 GMT -5
LUCAS ALEXANDER RYAN
"People marching to the drums, Everybody's having fun to the sound of love, Ugly is the world we're on, If I'm right then prove me wrong I'm stunned (to find a place we belong)"
"People marching to the drums, Everybody's having fun to the sound of love, Ugly is the world we're on, If I'm right then prove me wrong I'm stunned (to find a place we belong)"
WELL HELLO THERE! I'M KY AND I'M CURRENTLY 22! I'VE BEEN ROLEPLAYING FOR 9 YEARS AND YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY ROLEPLAY SAMPLE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE. AS YOU CAN SEE, I'M CURRENTLY USING DOUGIE POYNTER AS THE FACE OF MY CHARACTER! LAST BUT NOT LEAST, MY OTHER CHARACTERS ARE NONEXISTENT BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIRST! OH! AND THAT SECRET WORD YOU WANTED TO KNOW IS SLEUTH
the basics
character name : Lucas Alexander Ryan
nickname(s) : Luke, Cass.
age : twenty-one
date of birth : May 15th, 1991
member group: local
sexual orientation : heterosexual
occupation : unemployed
the appearance
appearance : He seemed to pick the short end of the stick when it came to his height, since he was nothing more than average, and even more so whenever muscles were involved. This wasn't to say he couldn't easily hold his own, but it definitely didn't give him very much of an advantage. He seemed to be stuck in a permanent state of bed head, too, with brown hair that was always messy and out of line. And he was almost always caught wearing something casual, if you could even consider what he wears clothes, since it mostly consisted of board shorts and muscle shirts. All tied together with bright blue eyes and a very... unorthodox sense of laid back style. He seemed to have the right things going for him, if he could ever get into gear.
play by ; Dougie Poynter
the personality
likes :
being outside
his friends
food
music
wandering
dislikes :
being told no
losing
being stuck indoors
damage to his guitar
strengths :
loyal
imaginative
adventurous
weaknesses :
easily excitable
troubled
selfish
over the top
personality :
at first glance, he was probably the first person you'd expect to be living on his own, alone, and isolated - how he seemed to enjoy being left to his own devices without worry that someone would encroach upon his solitude. Once you got to know him, though, he really was something comparable to a giant stuffed animal, he loved to be held, as strange as that sounds. He loves being around people, and he loves entertaining those around him. Sometimes he could come across distant and somewhat aloof, but once he gets comfortable around you, there probably wouldn't be a more goofy person on this side of the milky way, and that was a title he was proud to be at the helm of. He's a genuine, run of the mill sweetheart who had his heart broken one too many times, though, so romance and affection are a category that he certainly needs a good amount of work in. He's a bit of a guarded soul, but that's only because he's been through quite a bit and has a bit of a colorful history, and it isn't a particularly pleasant one, but so far it seems to have shaped him up in the proper way.
the family life
partner : n.a
children : n.a
mother : Eleanor Kennecott, 37, teen mom, deceased.
father : Wesley Ryan, 38, inmate
siblings : n.a
other significant relatives : n.a
history :
His mother was only sixteen when she became pregnant with him, and his father was only seventeen. They lacked the experience and time necessary to raise a child, but that did not mean they did not put forth the effort. They certainly tried, there could be no denying that. Born in a small suburban town a few miles outside London, he was often left in the care and under the watch of his grandparents while his mother and father struggled through their remaining years of high school. And for the most part, his childhood had been a normal one.
Up until he turned five, at least. His parents by that point in time, had long since separated, and it was becoming more and more difficult for his mother to hold it together for her toddler son. She fell in with a worse crowd, and got involved with things a young mother definitely should not have been involved in, and she began spending less and less time at home. At first it had just been petty infractions, vandalism, minor theft - but once Luke turned six, that's when the drinking started, and from the drinking, came the drug use.
It didn't take long for his mother to spiral out of control, and eventually she became an avid drug user who spent most of her money on her supply, rather than her son. His well being rested solely on his grandparents by this point, but despite all of his mother's screw ups and down time mess ups, they could not find it in their hearts to put her out onto the streets. They became enablers, turning blind eyes to all the things his mother did, between bringing new and strange people into the house, and leaving Luke alone for long periods of time during the day. Things finally reached their breaking point when his grandfather suffered a fatal heart attack. His grandmother was put into a nursing home by his mother's oldest brother, and once again, his mother had full custody of the then seven year old Lucas.
Things took an absolute turn for the worse though, when his mother got her hands on something much stronger than she had, and what started as a quick and easy high, had become an overdose from hell. Paramedics did all they could to sustain her, but she had quickly passed, and where Luke would go from there was up in the air again. His father had long ago signed away his rights as a parent, so that was out of the question; and with no where else for him to be placed, he became a ward of the county.
For the next few years he did nothing but bounce around from one foster family to the next, but by the time he turned ten, he had been adopted into a family known for adopting older children, and for a while, things seemed to improve. He went to school, played sports, made friends, he even got into music. But then even he started to attract trouble, or perhaps it was trouble that attracted him. He started hanging out with the 'bad kids' and while he never got too heavily involved with drinking and drugs, he was involved.
Music had become his retreat, his way out of the hectic insanity that had become his world, and he loved it. He found himself spending more time on his music that his education, and needless to say, that did not sit well with his adoptive parents. They always pushed him to be the very best that he could possibly be at something, and while he knew and understood that it was all coming from a very good place, and that they only wanted what was best for him, it seemed to do nothing but make him more and more distant from them.
The real trouble started his sophomore year of high school, between flunking classes and skipping classes, and pulling pranks and even smoking in the bathrooms, he had started to become too much for his teachers to handle. And he was given an option; a renown military academy, or juvenile hall. He spent his junior and senior year of high school at the academy, before he barely graduated, and from his graduation, came a newly found sense of liberation he was not too keen on losing. He had been saving up his money though, and managed to snag a plane ticket to the States by the time he was just about to turn nineteen. After a few months of idle drifting, he settled in Hope Harbor.
the sample post
He didn't know what it was about the marina that seemed to keep him remotely calm all the time; perhap's it was the sound of the boats as they came in to dock, or maybe it was the sound of the water lapping at the docks. Or maybe he was just increasingly weird and enjoyed the smell of salt water and the smell of the fish that the boats kept hauling in. That was probably why, how he could possibly be oh so calmed, and why his nerves never seemed to stand on end. He was weird, that had to be the reason. He could not think of a better one, at least. Not right now. He certainly did not want to waste time trying to decipher what it was about the harbor that kept him from going off the edge and into the deep end though, and eventually he sequestered himself along one of the less frequently used docks, away from the hustle and bustle of the marina, and away from most of the foot traffic.
He was starting to become grateful that he had remembered to grab his guitar that morning, not that he ever really did go anywhere without it. He enjoyed the solitude he was granted, long enough to work out a few chords before anything too hectic came along. Not that it usually did. Usually Luke was lucky enough to skate by without much attention being drawn to himself. He sat, then, with his legs dangling over the edge of the dock, with his guitar held protectively in his lap, under the careful curl of his arms. It was amusing, really, how protective he always seemed to be of his beloved instrument. It certainly did not look like much, but to him, it was everything all at once. It was his, something he bought, and it was something that could never be taken away from him.
It were times like these that he tended to forget that he was not holed up in the privacy of his room, and that he was out in public, where almost anyone could hear him, but for right now, he did not very much care. As his calloused fingers strummed lightly over the strings of his guitar, and his gaze was fixated seemingly permanently on the ever changing swell and rise of the water, both from itself and the wake from the boats going in and out of the marina, this was where he belonged. Not stuffed up in some clammy room, not in a class somewhere - and he had yet to come to the conclusion that he would eventually be in need of employment. Right now, he was perfectly content playing music.
Content, that is, until he caught a shadow leaning over head, and he silently tilted his head upward. "Oy, 'allo." Not the most... clear of greetings, but it certainly passed as amiable. Or at least, that was what he would like to think. Or something like that.
He was starting to become grateful that he had remembered to grab his guitar that morning, not that he ever really did go anywhere without it. He enjoyed the solitude he was granted, long enough to work out a few chords before anything too hectic came along. Not that it usually did. Usually Luke was lucky enough to skate by without much attention being drawn to himself. He sat, then, with his legs dangling over the edge of the dock, with his guitar held protectively in his lap, under the careful curl of his arms. It was amusing, really, how protective he always seemed to be of his beloved instrument. It certainly did not look like much, but to him, it was everything all at once. It was his, something he bought, and it was something that could never be taken away from him.
It were times like these that he tended to forget that he was not holed up in the privacy of his room, and that he was out in public, where almost anyone could hear him, but for right now, he did not very much care. As his calloused fingers strummed lightly over the strings of his guitar, and his gaze was fixated seemingly permanently on the ever changing swell and rise of the water, both from itself and the wake from the boats going in and out of the marina, this was where he belonged. Not stuffed up in some clammy room, not in a class somewhere - and he had yet to come to the conclusion that he would eventually be in need of employment. Right now, he was perfectly content playing music.
Content, that is, until he caught a shadow leaning over head, and he silently tilted his head upward. "Oy, 'allo." Not the most... clear of greetings, but it certainly passed as amiable. Or at least, that was what he would like to think. Or something like that.