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How do I escape the your shadow when it's all I've ever known
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Middle Class
Rank
Writer
Occupation
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Nellie
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Jan 17, 2022 17:36:51 GMT
He/Him
Tag me @lewislodge
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Post by Lewis Lodge on Nov 28, 2021 23:29:09 GMT
| ~ • ~ | Character Basics | ~ • ~ |
.:Name:.Lewis Neil Lodge
.:Nick Name:. Lou by his mother
.:Rank:.Middle Class
.:Age:.21
| ~ • ~ | Appearance | ~ • ~ |
.:Physical Appearance:.longer blond hair that curls,deep set dark brown eyes with a larger nose that he always worries throws his face dimensions off. His brow is almost always furrowed and no matter how often he shaves by the end of the night he seems to already have stubble. Some days he thinks of just allowing himself a beerd, but when he does he looks far too much like his father for his comfort.
.:Height:.Strangely tall Lewis towers about 6’5”, he finds himself awkwardly having to duck several times when going through some doorways.
.:Portrayed by:.Aaron Tveit
| ~ • ~ | Personality | ~ • ~ |
.:Personality:. Lewis was always working to get his mother to laugh, or smile. He learned young that the best defense he had against the darkness in his family was his ability to make his parents laugh. Sure, he had dark thoughts, things that bubbled up in his mind as his father ruined any joy in the Lodge household. But he kept those to himself and his writing the words trapped in his head escaping by his hands. But often he was too scared to show them to his mother and knew better then to show his father. Instead he kept them, like many things, to himself. He is a private person when it comes to those thoughts you see. Sure he publishes them now, but in public he still plays the part of the happy, funny young man. He rather enjoys that part. When he was young he learned that he was only safe when everyone's eyes were on him. At the time it was safe from his father, but now it’s safe from himself. For when he’s alone the bottle that once promised to be his friend becomes his vice, his family, his crutch, and his curse. He writes with it on his desk, 100’s of pages like a man possessed, curls up with the bottle as it whispers to him cruel, and beautiful, and cruel things.
.:Skills:. Writing, he writes like a man possessed, stories, poems and all short literature spills from his mind. As such in the years since his fathers passing, he finds himself not only meeting his fathers sales figures but surpassing them in both amount and prais. He’s also quite gifted at riding, playing violin, and drinking his anxieties away.
.:Weaknesses:.Being alone with his thoughts, as any skill requiring physical strength. He’s also a budding functioning alcoholic, but we don’t talk about that. He also has a weakness of the lungs, a side effect from a bout of pneumonia when he was young.
| ~ • ~ | History | ~ • ~ |
.:Birthplace:. London, england
.:Family:. Dorothea Lodge (mother), Rollo Lodge (father, deceased)
.:Occupation:. Writer
.:History:.Lewis was born on a cold missurable winter, 12/02 in the city of london. The snow had been preceded by rain and the two had frozen making the roads treacherous and the home in which his family lived felt like a tundra anywhere but right next to the fire. As such a doctor was unable to make it in time to assist too much with the birth. By the time he found his way through the door Lewis had already found his way to the world.
This was the first and last child his mother would ever bear, and Lewis became the heir to his fathers not insignificant fortune he had acquired through his writing. He also became the sole witness to the dysfunction and violence of the house. For you see it wasn’t long before his father found himself deep in the arms of other lovers, some human, some opioid, but all a source of his mothers suffering.
Lewis as such grew close to his mother, comforting her when his fathers cravings caused him to strike out, or going off to do several odd jobs when his father used the money meant to feed them on his lovers. It was on one of these odd jobs that Lewis was forced to walk the streets with the gas lighters in the rain and snow at the age of 10. He came down with pneumonia and his father found other uses for the saving meant to pay the doctor. While Lewis survived, he would never see his lungs return to normal.
Years passed, 8 to be exact, and life continued. But there was one event that turned the tide in the family. Lewis found himself published. He had been writing for years and in an act of desperation to help his mother he had sent some of his short stories out to see if the family name could earn more coin. It was a surprise to him that a majority of those stories were published and sold well for the first time arthur. His father was less pleased then one would think, taking this as an insult to his skills he tried to take revenge on the boy in a fit of rage, which was to be fair to him also likely fueled by his current unwilling state of sobriety and the resulting withdraws.
It was his mother who saved him that night, calming his father and suggesting that the pair of them use Lewis’s new found fortune to fund a trip away from the city. Reward themselves for raising such a bright young man who could never have made it this far without the teaching of his genius father Rollo. His fathers pride soothed by these words eventually he agreed to accompany his wife to see the White Cliffs of Dover...which would be the last place he’d ever see.
The story then goes that his father, in an drunken stupor, fell off the cliffs to his death one eavning while his wife could only watch is terror. The world knew his father to be a drunk and drug addict, it was completely plausible that he would have done such a thing. But deep in his bones Lewis knew from the look in his mothers eyes that his dad had been helped off those cliffs, but he never asked for it did not matter. Weather gravity did Rollo in on it’s own or was assisted, the Lodge’s were free of their family terror.
Lewis went on to write and write, rebuilding his fathers wealth and his family name. Soon he became more praised, more known then his father could ever dream. And soon he fell into a similar vice, as the warm embrace of alcohol helped Lewis feel warm and lift his troubles off his back. For even if Rollo was dead there his shadow loomed over the boy, and the shadow of his own sins. On the way he looked at the stable boys, and the men shirtless lifting crates on the docks. The same way he looked at the women selling themselves in the brothels. All of them elicited the same want in his soul. He thanked Gods that no one knew, and drank to the hope that no one would know, and tried not to look in the mirror to see the boy who so resembled Rollo Lodge as he leaned over a bar.
| ~ • ~ | Member Info | ~ • ~ |
.:Name or Online Alias:. Nellie .:Your Pronouns:. .:Are you 18+:.
.:How Did You Find Us:.Caution 2.0
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Administrator
"All is fair in love and war,
but some battles leave
no victor, only a trail of
broken hearts that makes us
wonder if the price we pay
is ever worth the fight."
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admin
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Nov 22, 2023 15:47:07 GMT
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Post by The Writer on Nov 30, 2021 0:27:12 GMT
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