Lucas is the vestiges of a handsome man. His hair is still coiffed, pushed back from his forehead. His eyes are still dark, piercing. His skin is still a light tawny, though some of the red that once backed it is now gone. That's about all that has remained unchanged, however. The wrinkles around his eyes, on his forehead, and his mouth betray an older face. The dark circles deepen the sockets, making him look perpetually like he's glowering. His beard is often scruffy, somewhere between shadow and full, not quite unkempt, but with a hint of disarray.

Everything about Lucas's appearance hints at disarray these days. His clothes are usually a mishmosh hidden by a long brown coat. He does clean up well, but the issue is that he usually doesn't care to. He doesn't care much about his appearance at all, apart from looking presentable for work. Despite his height, Lucas doesn't look as tall as he once did. He no longer carries himself with a confident stride, his very presence commanding respect. These days his head bows a little, and his hands are quite at home in his pockets. He's not as fit either. Of course, his forearms and biceps are still toned, but he's all but given up on his core and legs. Fitness be damned. He's starting to develop a little paunch, but his frame is still thin, for the most part. Just a little squishier.

Lucas is the sort to move slowly, considering everything before he acts. This sometimes means he gets left behind in conversations because he takes a long time to think about all his options before speaking. He's, for the most part, a soft-spoken person. He's slow to anger, and pretty much everything else, but once an emotion sticks to him, it's hard to make it leave. Due to the longevity of his thought processes, he's highly forgetful. When you're deep in thought, it's only natural to forget things, right? Like eating...watering the plants...doing laundry...various items of personal care. No big deal. In crux, Lucas thinks a lot, but he doesn't do nearly as much.

Lucas is also very smart. He picks things up quickly. Explain a puzzle to him, and he'll sit down and do the puzzle. Give him directions, he'll find his way around. For some reason, despite the fact he perpetually forgets to take care of himself, he has a good memory for facts. Perhaps because he ruminates so frequently and so deeply, he retains a lot of information. The importance of that information, however, is questionable. His intelligence also does not span social intelligence. Lucas is very serious, and as such, he takes everything very seriously. He's bad at jokes. He's also bad at body language and picking up hints. Everything is face value to him. He can slowly start to work out sarcasm when he spends a lot of time around someone, but he doesn't really see the use of it. What's the point of saying things if you don't mean them?

Despite his serious nature, Lucas is very yielding. He has no problems going along with other people's suggestions, and he rarely complains. He doesn't really care. What restaurant do you want to eat at? Doesn't matter. What colour do you like? None in particular. What do you want to do? Whatever you prefer. If someone else can be the leader, he has no problems letting them lead. Just tell him what to do and let him think and he'll be happy. He has better things to afford his mental focus too anyway.

Born in Madrid, Lucas's family moved to America when he was two, after Spain entered NATO, due to several events that made the young parents worried for the safety of their son, including the attempted coup and the cooking oil scandal. Being fairly wealthy, the parents invested in the best education for their son, and quickly discovered that the young boy was very talented at music. As he grew older, it became very evident that the cello was his calling. He performed in first local shows, then across the country, joining the ranks of the child prodigies with his quick hands and the soft, soulful expression on his face as he played. The rest of his education was squeezed into the cracks around his young music career, but he was an apt and attentive student, preferring to spend his time reading or composing, rather than socializing or making friends.

As he aged, his life settled down a little. He played for various orchestras across the country, lending the precise yet tremulous strains of his cello to their sound. It was a decent living, rewarding for the young man who wanted nothing more than to play his cello and breathe the music. It was in one of the orchestras he played with as a guest that he met his wife. She was a flautist. A small, bespectacled woman with a smile like a bow. Elizabeth. They hit it off quickly, as their temperaments matched neatly. She brought some order to his scattered life. Some sense. Some light. Maybe it was bad to rely on someone so entirely. Maybe it was bad to pin his happiness on another human being. But he did it, and it made him happy for a while.

They married when he was 22 and she was 24. Life was still hectic for a while, but they eventually settled down in the city, signing with one of the orchestras in the area. It only took a year and a half of trying after that to conceive a child. A baby boy who brought with him postpartum depression for Liza, and a whole lot of confusion for Lucas, who was unused to fending mostly for himself after eight years letting Liza call the shots. Liza, the strong one. Liza, the one who made him whole was no longer whole herself. But everything didn't fall apart right away. It wasn't until, three months after the baby was born, that true chaos struck.

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome took the baby. He just went to sleep one day, and didn't wake up. The worst part of it for Liza was the police investigation. The worst part for Lucas was the months afterwards, where Liza slowly drifted away, letting depression carry her off into some place where Lucas couldn't follow. Soon after came the divorce. Liza couldn't handle how clingy he was anymore.

It's been three years since she left. Lucas quit working with the orchestra. The depression that always threatened the edges of his consciousness decided to strike after finding him completely and utterly alone. He stopped caring. He's managed to keep the flat by offering music lessons to the children of wealthy acquaintances, but he doesn't do much anything else anymore.