Louverdis, Ira Marcello (WIP)

[iralouverdis]

ira marcello louverdis,

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ALL AROUND ME ARE FAMILIAR FACE, WORN OUT PLACES, WORN OUT FACES

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BRIGHT AND EARLY FOR THEIR DAILY RACES, GOING NOWHERE, GOING NOWHERE!
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WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME?

DO YOU HAVE ANY NICKNAMES?

WHERE IS BIRTH PLACE?

THAT MAKES YOUR NATIONALITY...

WHEN IS YOUR BIRTH DATE

HOW OLD DOES THAT MAKE YOU?

WHAT IS YOUR RELIGION?

WHAT IS YOUR SEXUALITY?

[/s] Heterosexual[/ul]
WHAT CRIME SENT YOU HERE?

HOW LONG IS YOUR SENTENCE?

WHO DO YOU BEST RESEMBLE?

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IT'S A VERY, VERY, MAD WORLD!
THEIR TEARS ARE FILLING UP THEIR GLASSES, NO EXPRESSION, NO EXPRESSION.
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WHAT DO YOU ENJOY?

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Suits
Friends
The Sea/Ocean (or any large body of water)[/ul]
WHAT DO YOU NOT ENJOY?

WHAT DO YOU FEAR MOST?

WHAT ARE YOUR GOALS IN LIFE?

WHAT ARE YOUR FLAWS?

WHAT ARE YOUR TURN ONS?

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Intelligence
Confidence
Artistic[/ul]
WHAT ARE YOUR TURN OFFS?

[/s]
Stupidity
Insecurity[/ul]
WHAT IS YOUR BEST MEMORY?
at least 50 words please. If not, not really going to care
WHAT IS YOUR WORST MEMORY?
much like best but opposite
TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF!
at least three hundred words.[/size]

IT'S A VERY, VERY, MAD WORLD!
THE DREAMS IN WHICH IM DYING ARE THE BEST I HAVE EVER HAD.
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WHO IS YOUR MOTHER? HOW OLD IS SHE? WHAT DOES SHE DO?

WHO IS YOUR FATHER? HOW OLD IS HE? WHAT DOES HE DO?

DO YOU HAVE ANY BROTHERS?

DO YOU HAVE ANY SISTERS?

ANY OTHER RELATIVES I SHOULD KNOW ABOUT?
all right here!
TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PAST!
This is Still a WIP History

Ira was the first child of a very young, wealthy couple. His father, James, was English, and met his mother, Halimeda, on a trip to Greece when he was eighteen and the two had kept in touch until he twenty. James moved to Greece, to Halimeda, and the two were married within another year. They had their honeymoon in Florence, Italy. It wasn’t for another year, when James was twenty-two, and Halimeda twenty-three, that Ira was born. They decided to have a proper criteria for their names, so that they wouldn’t have to choose through an entire book—they planned on having many children, so they decided to have Hebrew first names, and Italian middle names, to honor the country they had fallen in love with on their honeymoon, and each name would be a different letter. Obviously, it wasn’t until later that they decided to have the twins and triplets have the same letters—thus the same initials. Ira, being their first, had their favorite name, and first choice, and they followed it with an ‘M’—Marcello. He was an odd baby. He often woke up at odd times in the night, like every baby, but he was extremely talkative and tended to want to make noises rather than cry—or cry, but for no good reason. Of course, like any baby, he cried for reasons as well, but he did enjoy the sound of his voice to an extremely extent. He was born and grew up in Koroni, Greece. Halimeda and James had moved there from Athens when Halimeda was three months pregnant, closer to her family to care for the baby. She got a job as a history teacher in the closest secondary (high) school, and James got a job at the local museum, as the same career path he had had before—he was an anthropologist. A young one, thus not very experienced, but he worked under a wise old man, and he was happy with his work. Besides, it was very good money, and combined with Halimeda’s teaching, the two were very well off for such a young couple. Two more years, and Diego Ambrosi (that would be his middle name, by the way, not his last) was born. Unlike Ira, he didn’t scream just to hear the sound of his own voice, which was a good thing—considering Ira was, at the time, two years old, and speaking actual words—and if sounds weren’t annoying enough, words were much worse. The couple wouldn’t have been able to handle another 24/7 screaming baby and a toddler who didn’t know the meaning of ‘quiet time’.

He learned to read when he was three, and the instant he knew he could get his parents’ attention by saying new things he learned, he wanted to learn everything. He had to be pried away from his books at night, when it was time to go to bed, and though he was young, he was incredibly smart, and had an unlawfully good memory. He learned things quickly and often became bored with simply reading children’s story books. He wanted facts. He wanted to learn things—so, of course, Halimeda and James enrolled him in a preschool, so that he could learn with the other children.. and not annoy them with information they had long learned—like that, the dot shown here.. was, in fact… green. Ira didn’t quite like preschool, though. He either got into trouble for talking too much, not sharing his things, or reading when he was supposed to be taking a nap. His parents had a few discussions on what exactly to do about it, but after a few disagreements and calls to the teacher’s room, they simply decided to tell him that he was not allowed to read unless told he was allowed. Ever obedient (to his parents’ knowledge), he did as he was told, and tried to be sneakier next time. A few more weeks and he was caught reading during nap time again, and his parents pulled him from preschool, much to his dismay. At home, it wasn’t much better. When he was supposed to be playing with his brother or helping his mother out with the house, Ira instead started to read in his bedroom, leaving his crying brother where he was until Halimeda awoke from her nap from the screaming and went to get him—causing even more loud noise, this time from her own mouth, to her first born son, who tried in vain to explain why he wanted nothing more than to learn. She didn’t understand—and his father wasn’t much better. He would come home, usually a few hours after Halimeda, and hear of his child’s misbehavior, and send him to his room with no dinner, or dessert, or simply yell at him as well, and take away his books for a day. From this age, Ira learned how to fear loud noises, particularly from others, and that, no matter how hard he tried, his parents would not find his information amusing or interesting—so he would have to learn more. This process continued for another few months until Ira turned four, at which time his parents abandoned the thought of putting up with him on their own, and shoved him back into preschool, only this time, Ira behaved quite well. He participated when he was meant to. He read when he was meant to. He even napped when he was meant to. After a few weeks, his mother asked why he was behaving so nicely in school, and he answered that he didn’t want his mama to yell at him anymore. At the glances of the other parents, she quickly bundled him up and took him home.

Preschool was otherwise uneventful. Ira didn’t make many friends, though it wasn’t as if he didn’t try. The other kids just thought he was weird. He read too much; he was too smart; his glasses looked funny; he looked funny. Eventually, Ira stopped trying, and made up his own friends, which, though normal for his age, didn’t help his ‘weird’ status in his class, as he was often found talking to himself, seemingly, about things in the books he read that no other child could really understand. His teacher and his parents thought nothing of it, and it wasn’t a big deal in the slightest. It continued through the end of his preschool and into the summer before kindergarten, then his parents never heard of his little friends again. When asked about them, he simply said that they weren’t real, and that his parents really needed to stop believing in make-believe friends. A few months after Ira’s uneventful fifth birthday, the first set of twins were born—Adaya Felicita and Abiela Fedelia. His mother was overjoyed about having two baby girls, while his father seemed a little more apprehensive. Twins were expensive, especially with two other children, but his career was going very well, and they had enough money. He was always a bit of an extreme money-saver, anyway, so his mother, the wise spender, wasn’t really concerned. Ira didn’t give the babies much attention. He didn’t like them. Not only that, but he had to take care of his three year-old brother while his mother was busy with them while she was on maternity leave, as she didn’t see the point of putting Diego in day-care if she was going to be home, anyway. Ira didn’t like their screaming—but after a short experience of watching his mother change Abiela’s diaper, he finally learned the difference between little girls and boys. And, no, he did not wait an instant to tell his daddy of the news. Of course, he was told not to tell anyone at kindergarten. And, of course, as every good boy, he did as he was told. The next day, his parents were called into his classroom to discuss the subject of his speaking to other girls and boys, the differences between said girls and boys. To say the least, he got into trouble, with both his teachers and his parents. He was no longer allowed to sit near the other children in class—for at least three days—and he was no longer allowed to have dessert—for at least five days. He didn’t like it, but he decided not to complain, as he always did. Complaining just made his parents angry and yell, and he didn’t like that.

Ira made his first friend in kindergarten, a Greek, of course, boy named Androcles Minos. Andro, for short, was a bit of a mousy boy, quiet, like Ira, but a chatterbox once you got him going. He liked to read, which is the reason Ira approached him in the first place. The two would talk about lots of things—but books were usually the main things, as well as why Semele was looking at Andrew like that, and giggling to the rest of the girls in class. Girls, was something Ira never understood, and didn’t really care about. They were too giggly, and he had yet to meet one that enjoyed more than playing with dolls and coloring stupid pictures. He wanted to read, and to go swimming off the docks. He wanted to climb trees and pretend he was Captain Long-John Silver, from an American movie he’d seen once or twice, or more than fifteen or so times. Either way, whatever they were interested in, he wasn’t, and he liked to keep it that way—otherwise, the girl was weird, or he was queer. That and.. their parts were weird, something he couldn’t stop remembering since he’d seen them that fateful night, that dreadful diaper change. Andro agreed with him completely, up until the point of their parts, as Androcles was an only child, and, thus, never had the chance of happening upon a monstrous diaper change that even the fates of hell could not compare to the awkward evilness looming in that lack of… Anyway, Ira and Andros continued their friendship until Ira entered his first year of primary school (first grade). Andros moved away—far, far away, all the way to England—to live with his dad, since his mother had a drinking problem. One night, she drank too much and they found her on the floor, lying in a pool of her own vomit. Ira gave Andros his Treasu νησί (Treasure Island) novel and never saw him again after that. Grade one was… lonely, to say the least, and no matter how many books he checked out and checked back into the school library, it wasn’t any better as time went on. Nothing, it seemed, could replace Andros’ company. Home wasn’t much better. His little sisters were growing up slowly, month by month, and his mother became used to taking care of two babies at once, and paid more attention to Diego now, who was growing more and more rowdy. She didn’t have time for Ira, and it wasn’t something he minded, or even noticed until one incident made it blindingly obvious. He had convinced her to take him to the zoo after school one day, and she agreed to pick him up from school. He waited at the front doors until seven o’clock, when his parents finally noticed he wasn’t in the house, and his dad came to get him. He said that he didn’t mind, and that it was okay, but it hurt. Horribly.

His mother claimed to have had no idea about the plan for the zoo, which hurt even more, that she had forgotten, not only him, but their plans—their day. It was supposed to be just them. So, his dad planned it for the weekend, and they got up early Saturday, and all went to the zoo. Ira didn’t like it. Not only was he not alone with his parents, but the crowds were stifling and he found it difficult to breathe. He didn’t complain. His dad even bought him a nice tiger figurine, even if Ira wanted the penguin one. He didn’t mind. It was cool looking, but when his mother asked if he was going to tell his friends all about his day, it hurt again. He went to his room when he got home, and read Treasu νησί, praying to God that Andros was having a much better time than he was, wherever he was. Even so, Ira decided not to be so sad for very long. Within a week, he was back smiling again, and telling things that no one cared to listen to. Summer started up a mere two months after the incident with the zoo. Ira spent more time by himself now, cooped up in his room and reading incessantly, anything he could find and understand at his young age (seven, now). He was horribly lonely, but he kept that down, at times playing with his little brother to ease the pain. Of course, Diego preferred, often, to play with his own friends than Ira, as Ira still told him random things that he didn’t know what to gather from and, often, the two wouldn’t be able to come to an agreement on what they would play. Ira liked puzzles. Diego liked to be a knight in shining armor, the boy who saved the princess. Ira didn’t like princesses. Diego didn’t like puzzles. Throughout Ira’s second year at primary school, he tried to keep his head down. He tried not to annoy the teachers with reading books when he was supposed to be paying attention to what they were saying. He tried not to join in his classmate’s discussions with facts that they didn’t care about. He tried not to be sad when no one spoke to him, because he knew why they didn’t. They thought he was annoying, and perhaps he was, but he didn’t see why no one wanted to be his friend. His mama became pregnant again, so he supposed. She became sick in October and November, and some of December, and on Christmas, she told her little ones that she was going to give them a little sibling in six months, in June. Ira wasn’t stupid, but he was young... so he asked for a book instead. Second grade ended. Summer began.

Now eight years old, Ira still played with his little brother when the two could agree on the game. In June, his mother gave birth again. Sure, Ira knew it was going to happen. He’d forgotten Christmas, when she’d said something, but he knew what he knew, and he knew that large bellies, at least on his mama, or other women, meant that babies would soon come. And Ira adored siblings, sometimes. He liked when they smiled at him, when they giggled and played with him. But they gave him headaches when they screamed and cried, and his mama wasn’t much better, snapping at him when she was annoyed or busy. Janco Clemente was a beautiful baby, with high cheekbones and bright brown eyes. He was beautiful, and he was his mama’s little babe. As she was busy with him more and more now, Ira started spending time with his papa when he could, watching him on his computer, or going to the store with him. More often than not, his mama would stay home to watch six year old Diego, three year olds Adaya and Abiela, and newborn Janco. Ira was older, but his mama, after conversations with her husband, began to spend a little more time with him, whenever she could. She asked him to spend time outside of his room, to read with her at night sometimes, and Ira was more than happy to. The two would share tidbits from what they were reading, and, though that time only lasted for a few minutes until his mama was distracted with arguing twins or her little babe, or Diego, Ira was the happiest boy that he could have ever been, at that simple moment. Third grade began, and he was learning new things, something second grade didn’t really help him do. In his opinion, second grade was just a lot more like first grade, but he felt like he could pay more attention in third grade. It was interesting, even if he discovered that his penmanship wasn’t very good... at all. His teacher told him he needed to work on it at home, more than simply reading, so he did...

He wrote as much as he could before his wrist began to hurt and his mama complained to the teacher, so the teacher said that he was better, and he could stop practicing so much at home. Thirty minutes, instead of three hours, should do perfectly. He never liked writing by hand quite as much as he did before. Besides that, however, it seemed third grade was simple. The information was new, for the most part, but he was very good at learning anything, and though he had to train himself thoroughly not to read in class unless told he could, he realized that his teachers liked him a lot more than the ones he had before, though his penmanship teacher did treat him a little differently than the others, if only for the issue with his wrist. His literature teacher liked him extremely so, as Ira seemed to be one of his only students who read when gave permission to, and he learned to make his book reports extremely good, though he tended to misspell a couple words--still, after told how to spell them once (twice if they were more difficult), he tended to never misspell it again in a report. His mind soaked up everything he possibly could, some less so than others, as he had more difficulty with the more controversial of things, or the things the Greek (English) teacher would tell them because they were young and didn’t want to ‘confuse’ them just yet. The Big Bang made little sense to him, as he reasoned that, they would have kept traveling and would not have stopped, in space, and spun different directions, and created their own gravitational pull out of nothing. However, he also couldn’t comprehend a God existing before anything, because nothing could be created from nothing... Either way, he memorized what he had to memorize, and wrote it on the tests, and his grades never reflected the confusion he had, and brought to light during class. The teacher couldn’t explain, and the kids didn’t know what the hell he was on about, so he left it alone.

Though, he did ask his parents. His parents were religious, though not close-mindedly. They sat with him in their room and spoke to him about God and Jesus, and the stories were wonderful, sure, but Ira was ever curious, and his questions could never be answered. How was he doing it? He was not a child who believed in Superheroes, because the laws of Physics proved them wrong. Science told him that you could not make something out of nothing, but science also told him that the Big Bang created the universe, and he couldn’t accept that either. Where did the Big Bang come from? No where. Scientists were doing roundabouts and going against their own words, whilst religion couldn’t explain things like that, and perhaps nothing could. It gave Ira headaches thinking about. So, from his parents, he was sent to their pastor, a very nice man by the name of Julius Papadopoulos. He was an older man, with gray hair and a thick mustache above his top lip, and a thin frame. His eyes were a bright hazel and bouncy, always twinkling with happiness. He spoke to Ira as his parents had, and though he didn’t give answers to the questions he asked, he explained that many turned to religion as a meaning for life, because no one knew that. He told him that there was a place where people went after they died, to heaven, if they believed in God enough. Of course, Ira asked what happened to those who didn’t? And how did he know that they go to heaven? So Mr. Papadopoulos told him that people need something to believe in. They need something to hold to and believe, especially when someone they care for dies. They want to believe that they go to somewhere wonderful. Although Ira didn’t understand psychology very well, he did ask if animals went to heaven to, because he wanted a puppy, and got a chuckled ‘yes’. Pleased, Ira stopped asking about it, even to his teachers, who very much appreciated the change of curiosity.

Next stop, evolution.

The summer between his third and fourth year at school was quiet, but thankfully, did not bring any more children. Ira enjoyed interacting more with his siblings than he had before and he spent more time with his parents. At the same time, he was now nine years old and was allowed to go down to the docks to sit and read at the water. He enjoyed watching the people, more so than trying to speak to them. He seemed to have passed the ‘cute’ stage when he told people random things, and they just thought he was some weird kid, or a very rude one, depending on what he said. Ira didn’t exactly have a filter, and when he saw a fat woman or man, he would tell them how likely they were to have heart attacks and die before the age of thirty-five. Apparently, that wasn’t as helpful as he thought it would be, and they didn’t appreciate being called overweight. Being a child, though, he didn’t get slapped in the face. They simply glared at him, which hurt him just as much as a slap would, and told him that he was a horrible child, and left him alone. He really thought he was being helpful. Who wouldn’t want to know they were candidates for heart-attacks? They needed to know... After a couple of weeks, he simply shut up. He didn’t speak to random people unless they spoke to him, and if they did, they always stopped after a little while. No one really wanted to speak to Ira, of all people, and he couldn’t blame them. Although he found his facts extremely interesting, he knew that he himself was extremely annoying, and no one liked annoying kids, particularly adults, and the kids at his school. His siblings were growing used to it, slowly, but, still, they rolled their eyes and ignored him, most of the time. He still had no friends, but he tried to ignore that for now, often simply going to speak with his mama or papa, or his little siblings, but they were only so interested in what he was saying or doing, and he would find himself alone in his room again, or at the docks, with his head in a book, because books never glared at you, or judged you. They told you stories and never once yelled at you, and Ira loved that more than anything. Fourth grade started and things became worse. The kids seemed to slowly stop ignoring him to instead simply pick on him. Mostly, it was simply what they said that hurt, and though Ira used to only not speak because no one understood him, he now went out of his way to sit in the back of the class, in the corner, so that he could better ignore them, and bury himself in a book. He never once complained to his parents. He knew it was his own fault, anyway, for being how he was with others.

Diego was in the first grade, at his school, and almost immediately, talk went around. How was Diego so normal, and had so many friends, while Ira was so weird? His mama often said that Diego was a little flirt. He would talk to the girls and get them all giggling and red in the face, and they would go and talk to their friends over how nice he was. The boys in his class liked him because they could play with swords and climb the jungle gym outside during recess. Ira tried hard not to be jealous, but it was hard. Not even three months into school and Diego had more friends than Ira ever had. It was worse when Ira’s birthday came around, and, as they did every year, they had a small party with the family only. Diego’s birthday, however, was filled to the brim with kids and parents, squealing and playing and having fun. Ira tried to stay the entire time, but, eventually, the pain in his chest was too much, and he had to go to his room. It hadn’t bothered him when Diego was in preschool and kindergarten. He reasoned that grade-school was much more difficult. The kids were much meaner and everything was harder. Diego didn’t get into trouble even once during school because he always did what he was supposed to do, and the teachers liked that they didn’t question anything they said, or read when he wasn’t supposed to. They liked that he wouldn’t talk when he was meant to be quiet, but had such good relationships with everyone else in the class. During the party as well, his friends met his little siblings and they got friends too—at least the twins. Janco was too young, after all. Ira tried to be happy, though, and didn’t complain, even when he got into trouble for leaving to his room during the party, told that it was extremely rude and that Diego missed him, though he doubted he did. Diego didn’t look like he did. He was playing with his friends outside. Now that he was growing up, Diego played less and less with Ira, until he didn’t want to at all, and his sisters were the same. By summer, Ira was completely shut off again. Ten years old, he tried to be as good as he ever could be, but his nervous tick of spouting information, and constant nerves, didn’t help him, and eventually, he just sat in the corner of his room, or went to the library or docks. His mama was so proud of Diego and talked about him a lot to her friends, and when she did, Ira usually tried to tell her a new thing he learned, only to get into trouble for interrupting, and told to go read in his room or something. He did as he was told, but her friends always thought he was a rude little thing, and so he simply curled up away from everyone and tried to ignore it. He had a friend once, he reasoned. He’d have a friend again.

Fifth grade was worse than fourth. Words turned to throwing little paper at his head during class, or shoving him in the hall. He didn’t complain, still, but they sometimes got into trouble for throwing things during class, which at least gave him the littlest light of pleasure, and a little smile, even, that, though it wouldn’t last for the entire day, would help him through everything. His grades were wonderful. He no longer asked questions over things that the teachers said, because he wanted to make them proud of him, and, in response, make his parents just as proud of him as they were Diego. It was difficult, though. Some of the things they said didn’t make sense, and the research he did on them made them make even less sense. Even so, he kept his mouth shut and answered the questions as they told him they were to be answered, and he made good grades in everything he did—well, almost everything. P.E., for instance, was not a strong subject for him. He couldn’t run very well, and dressing into the athletic uniform made others make fun of his bony figure. Playing games wasn’t easy. No one would pass him anything, or even associate with him. He supposed it was because he wasn’t too good, but he would always get his grade reduced because he wasn’t participating, when it wasn’t his fault at all. Group projects and participation in school also reduced his grade. He didn’t want to talk. People didn’t like it when he spoke, so he didn’t like to, and bringing attention to himself just made it all so much worse—the teasing, the shoving, the names. Everything. All his reading, however, was straining his eyes, and in November, he had to get glasses—thick, bottle-cap glasses. He’d never been laughed at so much in his life. Even his mama giggled sometimes. And he wondered why she asked why he spent so much time alone in his room? He hated people, he decided, as much as he loved them. He wanted them to like him so badly, but as time wore on, he gave up any hope of that. He didn’t make one friend, not since Andro, while he could bet good money that Andro himself had found lots of friends where he moved. .

IT'S A VERY, VERY, MAD WORLD!
HIDE MY HEAD I WANT TO DROWN MY SORROWS, NO TOMMOROW, NO TOMORROW
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THE ROLEPLAYER!

NAME/ALIAS

AGE

GENDER

EXPERIENCE

CONTACT INFO

TIME ZONE

RULE PHRASE

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IT'S A VERY, VERY, MAD WORLD!
CHILDREN WAITING FOR THE DAY THEY FEEL GOOD, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY
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okay, here is how it goes. this application letter is made by eunicegoesRAWR! @
caustion.2! lyrics are by gary jules and tears for fear. please so do not steal or claim it as yours.
i have a short temper and if i see it and see no credit or anything like that, i will have to hurt you, biatch!
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