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Lana Penrose

My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality...

0 · 317 views · located in Batteridge, Colorado

a character in “This Damned Town”, as played by Boomerang

Description






ImageImage





Role: Girl numero Une
Name: Lana Genevieve Penrose
Birthdate February 14th, Denver
Sexuality Bisexual
Gender: Female
Nationality: 50% French || 25% Hungarian || 25% American







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Appearance

:T H E M A S K:


Height: 5'6
Physique: Curvy
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brown


There is no denying it; the Penrose girl is pretty. She keeps up appearances.

Lana lives in a world of slip dresses and denim jackets. She is a whirlwind of powdered cheeks and glossy lips - her hair is russet like autumn leaves. Countless dyes and treatments have contributed to her ever-changing style. She spends her mornings hunched over the mirror, waving off her brother's cries of narcissism in favour of black eyeliner and mascara. She dresses in lace and combat boots, long skirts and denim, her fashions inspired by 20th century icons and grounded firmly in her very own upper-class street.

Down-turned lips the shape of a heart; cherry lipgloss glazing them with the finest pink.

Now, don't be fooled- Lana doesn't live in her own personal whirlwind of superficiality- she is just a very aesthetically inclined person, and likes to have her outfit... and hair... and makeup on point as much as humanly possible. Okay, maybe she's a little superficial, but aren't we all in our own way? In fact, most of her clothes are vintage, hand-me-downs, or thrifted from the thrift store on Forsyth Avenue. Lets just say she's more likely to be rocking the styles of Grace Kelly than any modern style icon.

Her eyes are wide, wide as the moon when nobody is awake to see it, the kind of moon that chimes with the sound of a thousand werewolves howling all at once. They are sea-foam blue and often ringed with black eyeliner, or at bare minimum- mascara. Her eyes are almost the secret to her powers- they are pointed, glacial- and seem to frighten people a little when they are directly in your face. However, she can often be seen wearing some fashionable sunglasses if she doesn't feel vindictive.

Her skin is a cool beige and spectacularly clear due to a fanatic regimen of skin treatment as well as her excessive water-drinking habit. Of course she gets the odd blemish, but it is quickly gone with her harsh acid treatments and thick creams. If all else fails- there's nothing concealer and powder can't fix. Her nose is long and narrow, fanning out rather abruptly at the end. On each side are strong, prominent cheekbones that lead into hollow cheeks. Her jaw is rather angular and cuts forward into an upturned chin, above which rather pouty lips can be found. They're rarely pulled outward into a smile, more often pursed in insouciance or slight annoyance. Her neck curves smoothly into wide but delicate shoulders. She stands at approximately 5 foot six and a half inches, a fairly tall teenage girl. Taller in high heels.





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Personality

:THE INSIDE :


Myers-Briggs Type:
Mental Disorders/Ilnesses: Night Terrors
Optimist or pessimist?: Realist
Bad Traits: . Quick-tempered. Emotional. Vindictive. Aloof.
Good Traits: Creative. Intelligent. Passionate. Curious.


I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer - not a very popular one,
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why - but there's no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean...
And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying...
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.


When you are somewhere in the middle of a family like Lana's, you don't really have any choices. It's as if you are surrounded by water and you can't quite reach the bottom - there is nothing to do but kick your legs and hope to stay afloat. Sometimes the waves threaten to pull you under, but you fight all the same. After all, you are Lana. The little girl who was always known for trying over and over no matter how many times she failed. The girl who's eyes darken when she begins to lose any battle. Perhaps it would be easier for you if you worked at one fight at a time, throwing all the right punches. But you don't. This is what happens when you can't help but want to be the best at everything, my dear. The water starts filling your lungs. And that is when you sink. It's not your fault, though. Never your fault. Always a slip of the rules or a unfortunate roll of the dice - this is what it is like to live when you cannot bare to lose. A constant battle against reality, which pushes against your defiant body like a tide.

There's a rumbling inside of her. A stampede of feet, paws, hooves, claws. A want to explore, a need to rebel, a must to climb and yell and scream and shout. Perhaps it's just a nature of hers, but she has always had the strongest of yearnings to stretch boundaries, break rules, take off into the night like a bandit and return as the rising sun that breaks over the horizon. She simply must stretch, fight, break the rules a thousand times over. She's not a bitch. Nor a slut either. Not a drunkard or an attention-seeker, she's her. Labels. Stereotypes. And when she gets criticized for being one of those things, her favorite comeback is "shut up," because it works on all occasions. She never really liked staying anywhere, you know? From my very first memory, all she ever wanted to do was explore and visit the places beyond the US. She felt like she was being held back from something bigger than us. She thought that somewphere out there was her purpose in life. All she's wanted to do since was look for it. She wanders the world looking for it every day.

Nobody can doubt your influence on people, though. You pick and chose at your friends as though they are playing cards - trading them off, backwards and forwards, making a game of it. And for some reason they keep coming back - captivated by your cheery smile and infectious laugh and the daring courage which dances in your eyes. That's what you like to think, anyway. Sometimes you catch yourself wondering if it is nothing to do with who you are at all and more to do with who your parents are and how many bedrooms are in your house. What does it matter? You were never really one for caring what others thought of you, Lana.You shrugged of the hands of your mother without a second glance because where she wanted you to sit down and behave yourself you wanted to run free. How can you captivate people if you don't have a chance to show off exactly how much daring you posess? Always trying to prove yourself, in your own way. Attention-seeking. Pushing forwards every tiny success you might happen to stumble upon for one reason. Daddy doesn't give out his attention plentifully, and there are other children who crave it just the same as you. Maybe that is why you fight so hard. Losing is simply not a choice in the games of Lana.

Never good enough, and yet always fighting for it anyway. When you were little it was always about hiding pieces of your sisters jigsaws and writing the answers to spelling tests on your hands. Sometimes you even start to believe your twisted versions of the truth. It's funny - if you tell yourself that you what you did was right (you did see her cheating, you did!) you start to think of them as the truth. New memories that never happened form in your mind until you can't tell the difference. You're not a bad person, Lana. Just a proud one. You hide it well enough, too - masked beneath laughter and a smile that can convince anyone that the things you do to win are just a bit of fun.

Dirty tricks are all fun and games because she should have seen it coming. But it's not about the lying, is it, Lana my dear? It's about you and who you are underneath the facade of blushing and showing off. Beneath that cherry chapstick, who are you? A girl who spends lonely nights on the roadside, the girl who sings in Jazz Bars when looking for an extra buck, the girl who rides her motorcycle around the state and back every weekend just to feel alive... Perhaps. But you're also the five year old who stayed up all night making a birthday cake for her Mama. Not because you hoped you would get a few words of appreciation but because you wanted to make her happy. You're the girl who wraps her arms round her sisters every time you see them- tighter than they wraps theirs. Who feels dizzy and shocked and overwhelmed when she sees them and laughs with the sisters she rivals almost every other day of the year. Because under all that, Lana , you are good at being kind and caring and sweet. But not the best. Never the best.

Every night I used to pray that I'd find my people, and finally I did on the open road.
We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.
Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun.
I believe in the country America used to be.
I believe in the person I want to become.
I believe in the freedom of the open road.
And my motto is the same as ever:
"I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I'm at war with myself I ride, I just ride."
Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?
I have. I am fucking crazy.
But I am free.







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History

: THE PAST :

Parents: Colette and Jaques Penrose
Religion: Agnostic
School:Batteridge High


The hallways of your house have always seemed a little too empty for you. Yes, there are six people living somewhere between it's walls, but there is too much distance between them for you. Perhaps not distance in space, although that too is plentiful. No, you are afraid of the distance wedged between you and your siblings. A constant vying for attention, rivalry gone just a fraction too far. You love each other. But you fight and squabble and laugh and cry and at the same time there is all this empty space. Maybe it is just the house, after all. What if the ceilings were lower and the draughts didn't sweep over your ankles so? Would it be better then, Lana? Would that alone be enough to stop you sneaking out every single chance you find? The answer, plain and simple, is no. Not because you don't wish the nights were just a little bit warmer and the family a little softer, somehow. Just because the only reason you leave is in order to feel more at home when you are there. Like the more time you spend away the more you will feel like this is your family, after all. You love every single one of them more than anything else, and yet you hate them, too. The things you want more than anything - the attention and time of each of you parents - are limited only by your siblings. Because of them you are the self-obsessed, desperate girl clawing for the scraps of attention left behind. And sometimes you are stupid enough to wish it all away.

It doesn't work, because like everything else you do, you are no good at wishing. And then you regret wishing when you stare your sister in the eyes and you end up sitting down on her bed and trying to talk to her out of guilt alone until you are screamed from the room. This is the only time you ever cry. To say you are strong would be a lie, but you have different ways of breaking down to others. When you start to lose it, you grow hard and determined and withdraw all the love you give. Your eyes flash grey and your slender hands curl into fists. It is only when there is no hope left - and for you it is always worth trying one more time - that you cry. The door closes and you sob into the soft linen of your pillow case. You never really stop to think about where all the luxuries come from. Like the rest of the rich people in your neighbourhood, you tend to take them for granted. As your tears sink into the material, you don't consider the poor factory worker that sewed it with tired fingers. You think of yourself. And when you are quite done you walk lightly down the hallway and knock on Cora's door. Your little sister. The only one in the family who was never really a threat to you. It was like she already had Daddy captured in a way you would never had, and you accepted that. Dear, sweet Lana. Never questioning exactly what it was about Cora that made you feel different in her company. Maybe it is the way she looks at you and reads you so easily and perfectly there is no point in pretending. The way she doesn't always return your smiles and fall into your sweet laugh like the others.

As for my mother, you see far too much of her. The epitome of homebody, she's the reason you tend to spend your free time as far away from the house as possible. While your father's chair at the dining room table remains cold and empty every night, the seats surrounding it are often filled by mother's social circle, the endless chattering of women - and the painful bright yellow that comes with it - and the clinking of wine glasses a constant song that floods the high vaulted ceilings and wraps around the thick marble columns in the hallways of your little chateau. You were thirteen when you demanded that your bedroom walls be sound-proofed.





More





Favourite...

Movie

The Virgin Suicides

Book

The Great Gatsby, Lolita

TV show

Twin Peaks

Color

Pastel Blue

Season

Winter

Animal

Eagle

Clothing

Boyfriend Jeans, White T-shirts, Flannels, Slip Dresses, Denim/Leather Jackets

Hobby

Painting

Song

National Anthem, Lana Del Rey

Subject

History
This or that?

bold the one you prefer.

East Coast or West Coast?

Pop Music or Rock Music?

Night or Day?

Star Wars or Star Trek?

Classic or Modern?

Pepsi or Coke?

Horror or Comedy?

Psychological Horror or Slasher Films?

Movies or TV shows

Italy or France





Likes

Motorcycles - Old Cars - Sunrises - Fireworks - Plaid Skirts - Political Satire - Optimistic Misanthropy - Cartoons - Hydroponic Weed - Open Roads - Biker Gangs - Travel - Learning People's Stories - Mountains - Musicals - Random Acts of Kindness - Singing - Deserts - Bacardi Chasers - Outside Parties - Kissing - Marilyn Monroe -Sex - Red Lipstick - The 90's - DiAngelo's (she works there part time) - Honey - Cafes - Stars - Road Trips - Dare-devils




Dislikes

Yuppies - Judgmental People - The Old Town - Batteridge High School - Cities - Sexists - Condescending People - Close-mindedness - Feeling Stupid - Bad Color Schemes - Comic Sans - Action Movies - Unfunny Comedies - Jocks - Greyscale - Plotholes - Existentialism - Coke - Tobacco - Boring People - Sleeping - Criticism - Tests - Loneliness




Fears

.:: Becoming 'Patrick Bateman' ::.

After watching 'American Psycho' with the gang in Fourth Grade- her brother's favourite movie (pretty sure it messed us up- what with all the axe murders) Lana's always been scared of becoming 'Patrick Bateman'. A rich, fit, handsome, successful guy with a deep unhappiness and... nothingness. A person who bases everything on material possesions, a person unfulfilled in life. A psychopath in every sense of the word- but that's not entirely it. So Lana compensates for iit by adrenaline-rushes and spends all her time trying to get spiritually fulfilled.

.:: Being Hated ::.

.:: Loneliness ::.

.:: What's Lurking in the Dark ::.

.:: Being Murdered ::.










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So begins...

Lana Penrose's Story