¬ Person you are PBing: Michael Weatherly
¬ Character's Name: Lucas Alexander Holt
¬ Character’s D.O.B and Age: September 2 & 27
¬ Character's journal: [Bad username: lholt]
¬ Character's aim: luke loses it
¬ Character's sexuality: Heterosexual
¬ Housing: E 017
¬ Job: Bartender at Caesars Palace.
¬ Bio: Lucas Holt may have been born in Virginia, but he considers himself Coloradan through and through, having lived there from ages three to seventeen. When he graduated from high school, his extremely high income parents gave him an ultimatum: either go to CU Boulder and major in business, or make his own way in the world. Lucas gladly dropped his life as the heir to the Holt lifestyle, waved goodbye to his parents and siblings, and took off and a cross-country jaunt. He ran out of his savings around when he hit the outskirts of Las Vegas on his way back from the east coast, a couple of years after leaving Colorado. So he figured it was fate’s way of saying that it was time to stop, so he got himself a steady job as a bartender and a decent sized apartment. He’s more than a little accident prone, and has the worst luck with women of any man he’s ever met or heard about. That doesn’t stop him from going after every woman over eighteen that he runs into, though. Lucas is an insane optimist.
¬ Past RPing examples: See first entry.
¬ What are the 3 main things we look for when looking for a member?: Maturity, Description, and Active
¬ Do you understand that you can be rejected?: Yup.
Seated uncomfortably on a hard plastic bench - common of large fast food chains such as the one he was in - a dark haired man in his mid to late twenties glowered out a window for a moment or two before switching his furrowed brow and sharp eyes to the burger in front of him. At least, what appeared to be a burger. The slime made of too-warm cheese, juice from the pickles, and watery ketchup it was oozing made it look more like a space alien from a low budget horror movie, but he’d take the word of the “restaurant” he was in. Unless after he ate it the burger terribly mutated his insides and he started being able to shoot radioactive lasers out of his fingernails. Then he’d just have to investigate.
For now, he lifted the limp food item to his lips, the pain from his broken pinkie finger stabbing at him as it attempted to curl around the burger in question, and started to take a bite. Just as his teeth bit down, he caught the eyes of a five year old sitting a booth down. The little boy gave him a solemn look, pointed towards the burger still in his hands, and then made a slow, over exaggerated cutting motion across his throat. The twenty-something stared in disbelief at the preschooler for a bit before taking a large bite of his sandwich and chewing in large motions. Which would probably be incredibly disgusting to watch, if you were anyone other than a five year old. Finished chewing, the man swallowed and then stuck his tongue out at the little boy, who merely shrugged it off. Belatedly, he noticed the boy’s mother had turned around and seen this last part and had jumped to some odd conclusions, having missed the beginning of their cross-room pantomime. She glared at him as she hurriedly gathered her things and child and then rushed out of the place.
He pouted a bit at the realization that he had just run off yet another available woman - or at least one who had forgotten to wear her wedding ring. At the rate he was going, there would be no woman left in all of Vegas to date, which really would be a shame. Ah, the burden of being an attractive single bartender in the city that never slept.
Finally finished with the potentially radioactive burger, he stood and dumped his trash in the trash can as he waded his way towards the door through the typical lunch hour rush, setting his tray on top. He nodded at the cashiers, possibly the closest to friends he had in the city besides his dear sweet co-workers. He ate in the same place every day before work and then after work, and sometimes in between like now, so everyone who worked there knew him by name. The early morning shift knew more about him than even his parents since he tended to come in drunk after work. They say you’re not supposed to sample the wares, but he had never really paid attention to that golden rule. Plus, he was sure the bosses would prefer he just took sips from the bottles with his sleight of hand tricks instead of turning them loose on the casino floor. Or so he told himself, along with the reminder that Vegas was no longer a Mafia town. Reassuring, that.
He strolled through the large extended parking lot that the fast food place shared with a strip mall, dodging the SUVs that everyone and their brother’s sister seemed to have, and finally reached his junky Chevy Nothing at the far end of the lot. Why he had parked all the way out in the boondocks, no one (least of all himself) would ever know, but he always had, ever since he had moved to Las Vegas and found himself somewhere to pick up a quick meal. Habits could be fun, depending on what kind of habit it was. Like gambling, that was a bad – and he was distracting himself again.
He managed to cram himself into the driver’s seat and slammed the old rusted door shut, wincing at the creaking noise it made. Key in the ignition, and the equally old engine coughed into gear after a long minute. He shifted it into gear with a bit of effort and slowly pulled into traffic and made his way back to his apartment to catch some Z’s before his shift started.