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Isaac Lahey

Well, I'm a little bummed out about being a murderer, but other than that, I'm great.

0 · 548 views · located in St. Dymphna's Home for the Insane

a character in “St. Dymphna's Home for the Insane”, originally authored by Caged Bird, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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All that pain, and misery, and loneliness, and it just made him kind.




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Gender:Male

Age: 19

Nicknames: Bean pole, tree, or stretch

Occupation: Student at Beacon Hills High School and backhoe operator and grave digger

Sexuality:Hetero

Nationality:English

Mental Disorder(s): Anxiety, Attention Deficit Disorder, Depression, Claustrophobia, and Post-Tramatic Stress Disorder,






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Height:6' 2"


Weight:160


Build: Quite tall, lean and just a bit lanky but not boney.


Hair Color:Sandy brown


Eye Color:dark blue


Scars?:Isaac bares both visable physical scars, and the imperceptible emotional scars from living with an abusive parent. The most obvious of the physical scars would have to be the three of his fingers missing their fingernails. The middle finger and thumb of his right hand, and the ring finger on his left hand all have only a healed over patch of skin where nail should be.


Written Appearance Description:Isaac has very sharp, angular features; such as high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and so on and so forth. Needless to say, the planes of his face are very European. He has light beige skin, mostly hairless all save for his head; Isaac had a full thick head of sandy brown waves that seem to defy gravity by sticking up at all sorts of odd, charming angles. He has dark Oxford blue irises that turn blue-grey in the light and a pencil thin upper lip, but plump, full lower lip. His build matches that of a swimmer's, though he played lacross in school. He is thin and wirey, but it's all muscle mass with his broad shoulders but a thin waist.


Clothing Preference:He tends to don himself in large gray baggy hoodies, unsurprisingly. Hiding himself under thick layers of clothing - both literally (to hide the bruising) and metaphorically, to hide from the world, praying that nobody sees him. However, when he isn't the physical representation of a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; he always wears solid colors, mostly varying shades of blue. Beside's Isaac’s somberness, this suggests a kind of “cloaking"… Isaac shields himself in simple emotions, whether it’s fear, or arrogance, or sullenness. Simple is always the choice he'll lean to.


Video link:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDkCLy5f370


Please Watch the Video!




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Skills: As a former lacrosse player, he possesses serious athletic ability, good hand-eye coordination, and agility. However, all of isaac's strength's dont lie in the physical; he is also a rather talented artist, though he'd never share his "doodles" with anyone.

Quirks:Isaac, oddly enough, writes with left hand, but does everything else right-handed and he has a tendancy to speak out of the corner of his mouth.

Likes: Isaac has a private love for dogs, never having gotten to have one himself as a kid, it's a bit of a fixation of his. He also enjoys a good cigarette, private time, short and simple movies, racing games, lacrosse, and motorbikes

Dislikes: There are the apparent ones that coincide with his fears: Large freezers, swimming pools, mirrors or glass cups, but he also detests preppy or uppity girls, stereotypical jocks, loud or obnoxious people who HAVE to be the center of attention, and crying. Not just other people crying, but crying himself.

Fears: Obviously he is Claustrophobic, but also buried deep within him lies a bit of Aquaphobia and Hyelophobia; a fear of drowning and broken glass. If you know anything about Isaac's history, its easy to guess why he would be afraid of these things.



Written Personality Description:One of his prevailing traits is that Isaac never forgets people’s goodness. There is something inside him that chooses to hold onto it, long after it is gone. Even though his father was a monster, he chooses to remember when he wasn’t. Even though he might barely know you, when someone shows him a brief glimpse of compassion, Isaac can’t help but grasp it, and cling to it, and use it to light the darkness.

Maybe this quality is tragic, because it helped him stay in the house of an abuser. Helped him endure pain, and hold it within him; manipulated him straight into Stockholm. But there’s something beautiful about it too, because it’s the same thing that makes him stay by peoples side, even when he has no real reason to. Isaac has no particular bond to anyone - but he'll keep searching for a reason to stay and fight. Because he may not believe in himself, but he can’t let go of his belief in people.

The rest of Isaac's traits are somewhat easier to assertain, He's usually quiet, but when he speaks he's snarky and sarcastic. He has a dark, morbid sense of humor and doesn't take things all that seriously. He isn't a very curious individual, or extremely open, but he does feel on a deeper level than most when he starts to care. All of this is indicative of his abuse, shaped him as he is today, but now it's grown past that, it's not a symptom, it's who he is.





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Face Claim: Daniel Sharman

Brief History: Isaac’s home life wasn’t always a mess — in fact, since his birth until his preteen years, Isaac was actually quite close with his family, compared to a lot of kids his age in their rebellious phases.

Isaac was only 12 years old when his mother was taken away from him without the slightest bit of warning. His father and mother were driving on their way to Isaac’s school’s annual Christmas play, when a drunk driver ran a red light and hit the car directly in the passenger side. His mother’s life was taken at the moment of collision, but his father escaped with very little damage; only sporting a sprained ankle, a decoration of scratches and a massive headache. Isaac had already been at school at the time of the crash, and he was not told about his parents whereabouts until after the play had commenced.

Shortly after his parents accident, his father began to take on heavy drinking. The relationship that Isaac and his father had between them quickly began to dwindle away, and at first, Isaac was distraught at the loss of both his parents (though in entirely different ways.) However, when he watched his father slowly become completely unlike himself, and the abuse began to start, the relationship he once had with his family was the last thing on his mind.

It started with his father simply giving overly negative criticism, using degrading terms to describe Isaac, constant victimizing or blaming him for situations out of his control; but it graduated quickly enough until he required punishment for his "misdeeds". His father set up 'shop' down stairs in their concrete basement; wrapping the large floor freezer, for game and the like brought home after a hunting trip, in heavy iron chains. He would drag Isaac down the stairs, sometimes smashing him over the head with a glass beer bottle or some other blunt instrument to get him to comply, and lock him in for the night. "The night" soon escalated too, extending for days, based on the gravity of his crime. Isaac would claw at the lid relentlessly when he'd get low on air, or when his father forgot to unplug the freezer, sending Isaac's body into a state of hypothermia on several different occasions.

One faithful night, Isaac and his father sat down at the dinner table to eat, and when his father took a swig from his tea glass, he wound up spitting the drink contents back into his cup. Isaac had made a fatal mistake, he had forgotten to rinse out the tea jug before brewing a new pot. Isaac's father slung the glass at Isaac's face, fragmented splinters and shards raining down on Isaac when it smashed against the wall, nearly blinding the teen. He hadn't seen his father this worked up in a long time, and he knew what awaited him. He was going to have to go downstairs. The freezer. He made a break for the backdoor, fear kicking in as he wrenched it open. He tore across their lawn, attempting to reach the fence to hop into the neighbors yard...but he never made it that far. Mr. Lahey was on his heels, jerking him by the hood of his sweat shirt and hurling him into the pool. He then dived in after him, shoving Isaacs head under just as he came up gasping for air. "You were gonna run from me? You'll never run again!" Isaac kicked his fathers feet, planted on the shallow end of the pools bottom, out from under him; sending the man sailing backward, losing his grip on his son and falling back into the water. His head smashed into the cement bottom of the pool just as Isaac's head broke the surface where he could breathe again. Scarlet wisps and swirls bled into the chlorine as Isaac's father stayed on the bottom, dead.

Video link:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDkCLy5f370


All Saint's Day -- The Silent Comedy

I ain’t no demon, Lord
Oh look to me please
Good men are sufferin’
With the evil at ease
And millions of innocents
Are born to disease
Oh where is our solace, Lord?
Oh Lord answer me

I look to your people, Lord
But they’re being cruel
They sleep with the criminals
That they aim to recruit
They raise in their stadiums
A poisonous brood
I think they would crucify
Oh someone like you

One day, will this be over?

I ain’t no demon, Lord
But neither are you

So begins...

Isaac Lahey's Story

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Character Portrait: Alistair Wilson Character Portrait: Isaac Lahey
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Isaac had been orphaned for much longer than just the start of this year, because his real father died a long time ago; the monster who replaced him could not have been called Isaac’s father. Being an orphan pulled Isaac into the frame of a central image - drowning alone in the waters. Few people could be so deeply acquainted with the sense of drowning than Isaac. He went through hell, both metaphorically and literally, in the confines of a basement freezer. It was a hell that was not only personal, but invisible: few people noticed, and no one cared. Isaac endured on his own while the world of classes and tests and lacrosse games marched on around him. It was a hell created by the loss and betrayal of a parent - made even even worse because he had to feel it over and over again with every blow of his father’s fist.

So why wasn’t he angry?

Why wasn’t he vengeful?

Why did he stay?

He simply couldn’t leave. Paralysis was the instinct of any human being when drowning. "No matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct is to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding."

The Doctor's looked at Isaac’s bond to his father this way, they saw Isaac as helpless victim who’d been controlled and abused into submission, and his answer was casebook Stockholm - something tragic and pitiable. But Isaac felt differently. He felt he had a choice - and his answer was one that made him an honorable individual, not a pitiable one. And that answer was the antidote to vengeance.

Some time during a court interview with a psychologist, before he was found guilty of man slaughter, some prying questions sent the teen careening into a fit of fear he couldn't shake even though he knew his father couldn't hurt him anymore. This was when the psychologist told him about anchors, and with further prodding she admitted that her own anchor was anger…but it doesn’t have to be that for everyone. Whereupon Isaac’s mind jumps immediately to one thing. Then, with the next bout of terror, he calmed himself on his own. He had found his anchor.

Psychologist: "Looks like you found an anchor."

Isaac: "Yeah … my father."

Psychologist: "…Your father locked you in a freezer in the basement to punish you. It's why you were afraid..."

Isaac: "…He didn’t use to."


Isaac’s anchor wasn’t a person, or a fury. It was a memory. When love could have made him weak, pitiable, manipulated, and a victim, he picked love anyways. It wasn’t an easy choice, there was so, so much pain. When Isaac’s dad beat him for all those years, it would have been easier to just - let in the water. Give up the feeling, forget the memory. Give up the hope. There was no cause for hope when the only possible savior was a man who died a long time ago. It hurt holding on to things that couldn't save you, just make you stay. If he chose to care for someone, if he chose to trust someone, he chose to become vulnerable to the hell of pain and despair and loss and memory. Isaac could have chosen “peace", the ending where nothing hurt. But for Isaac, the pain was worth more. He would not drown...

Flash forward to the present at St Dymphna's where, after the court ruling on the death of his father, Isaac was sent for treatment. He had yet to see his new living accommodations or his room mate, but he had been at least been given a name. Alistair. He swiftly bobbed and weaved his way through the food line, chewing on the one thumb nail he still had out of nervous irritation. He really didn't play well with others, particularly a bunch of crazies. Isaac wasn't crazy, just someone who murdered his abuser, which according to the law must mean you were unfit for the public but not guilty enough for prison. The female serving them, nurse or nun; Isaac could never tell with religious/medical/mental facilities like this, slopped some unidentifiable substance on his plate with a look as dead as she must have been on the inside. "Um. Yeah, I asked for food, not this weeks sewage runoff. You don't have like a salad or something stashed back there do you?" He asked, his voice laden with heavy sarcasm but still hopeful. She replied with a deadpan stare that said 'I'm already 500% done with your shit, Isaac.' He pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded once. "Perfect."

He stood at the end of the line awkwardly in a pregnant pause, not sure where to go. Should he locate the mysterious room mate or be his typical brooding, unsociable self, and find an empty table...New beginnings remember? No drowning. He told himself as he moved forward hesitantly, eyes scanning all the table tops for someone alone who he could ask about Alistair. All by his lonesome, to Isaac's immediate left, sat a boy with dark hair and light eyes, stubble smattering his chin even though he seemed too young to be able to grow facial hair just yet. Isaac snorted, he was nineteen now and not a single hair had grown anywhere but his head. Damn English genes. He plopped his tray down on the table with a loud clatter and pulled a seat from another table to this one to join the stranger. "Hey man, please tell me you're not all 'One who flew over the cuckoo's nest', that you are totally aware I'm here right now."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Annette Santoni Character Portrait: Alistair Wilson Character Portrait: Isaac Lahey
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Ali shook his head as Annette, well Sarah came over and tried to convince Ali to let Daniel out with the promise of a cookie if he did. Shaking his head he sighed softly " not today Sarah. I had enough trouble calming him down last night, he doesn't feel up to coming out anyway. Go get some breakfast" Ali explained giving a soft smile as he finished his toast and started on his eggs.

His attention was drawn to a new person who walked in and looked around before going straight to the food line. Then he walked towards Ali and spoke "Hey man, please tell me you're not all 'One who Flew over the cuckoo's nest' that you are totally aware that I'm here right now"

Ali chuckled softly at the comment and spoke " don't worry I'm not that far along yet...ask me again in about half an hour when the meds kick in then the pink elephants start dancing around." He paused slightly and gave a smile " don't worry it's a joke, I'm Alistair call me Ali everyone else does. I don't like sounding like a 16th century English aristocrat" he placed his fork on his empty plate and stretched his arms out cracking his knuckles.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alistair Wilson Character Portrait: Isaac Lahey
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Image"Wow...Isaac." He stated lamely, giving his name with no surrounding information to indicate that's what he was in fact doing as he slid into his procured seat. He ran one of his hands through his tousled golden waves anxiously, the hair standing on end exactly where his grip left it. Isaac had locks like that, that were so thick that they seemed to defy gravity, the downside to this was he oft appeared bedraggled because of it.

He threw one of his long lanky arms over the back of the chair as he leaned backward, resting his left ankle on his right knee in an attempt at a casual gesture. "So Ali...turns out we are going to be room mates, mate. If you have any of those drugs you were joking about to spare, you might wanna save them for later. We could have a rave tonight." He chuckled dryly. "Weird luck I'd run into you first...picked this table at random. How long have you been a 'prisoner' here?" Isaac questioned, his gaze not focusing on Alistair, but on the pale luminous patches of light falling through the panes of the doors that led in the room. His whole aura screamed jittery, unfocused, slightly uncomfortable, and most of all, desperately trying to appear he wasn't. It wasn't Isaac's nature to be open or forth coming with anything. The less you believed him to care, the better.