Sad Man's Tongue
Doesn't Remind Me
Blurry
Let it Rock
Playing for Keeps
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BASICS
Name: "Pleasure. It's Lucas--'the redeemer,' apparently. How's your day been so far?"
Nickname: "Uhh, haha, a whole variety of things if you're the sort to use 'em. I don't really respond to 'Luke,' is all." His pseudonym of choice is Hans. Other than that, most people call him whatever the hell they want to call him: Monster fodder, jokester, puddin' pie, kisses, juice box, spear bro, daddy-o, rim shot, dollie, Betty, Henry...
Age: "Ooooooh, I ain't playin' this game; but I'd say I'm younger'n your daddy." Biologically thirty-two years old, but he looks and acts a fair amount younger.
Gender: It's a boooy...! He's been mistaken for a woman by some buzzed people, but it's not really in question in the sober society. Unless you're his grandmother, in which you'll often ask his gender in that sort of demeaning way certain grandmothers go about asking genders. (He remembers this fondly; it always gave him a chance to get creative. "What are you talking abouuuut, of course I'm a woma--oh my god my breasts fell into my pants, look at that.")
Rank: &&&
Race:Â Human, hailing from Corcillium.
Motivation: Not a whole lot, to be honest. At his very core, he wants to be "of use" to someone (else's cause), and maybe garner enough heroism to devote himself to the common good. Make the world a better place, become a man that... somebody... can be proud of. His bravado tends to get in the way of his meager aspirations, unfortunately.
On a more surface level, Lucas is governed by impulse and basic needs, but these easily become unimportant when he feels out of whack or some reason or other.
Defensive/Offensive: "But I'm a lover--!!" Defensive, though he would most prefer to avoid fighting Demoni entirely if he didn't absolutely need to. Not that he's a sympathizer, he doesn't have it in him to camp out in the front lines for too long.
Class: Senser; enhanced touch. You'll bother him a lot if you remind him that he can feel every nerve and pulsing organ and rushing blood in his own body. It's like telling someone to start breathing manually (which he may very well do to you for revenge's sake).
APPEARANCE
Eyes: Murky, muddy brown, prone to squinting and crinkling terribly when he's amused and/or in pain.
Hair: Chestnut brown, like the smelly coat of a horse in the fields. It's wavy and starting to become a mullet. He'll say he's thinking about getting a bowlcut for kicks, but don't take him seriously. He's actually a bit iffy about letting people touch his hair in certain ways, such as ruffling.
Height: Average for an adult human man; 5'9".
Weight: 168 lbs.
Skin Tone: "Oliver than olive oil."
Build: Average, "Leaning towards lean."
Body Markings: Scattered burns and scars here and there, like flecks of gold in a virgin mine; things you'd notice only if you were very close and he was very naked (which isn't that difficult a scenario to arrange, honestly). Overall, nothing drastic yet, in part because he determinedly avoids pain and injury. For good reason!
Voice: Fluid and steady as a flowing stream gently chipping away at stone, although sometimes he'll weave in sprinkles of a sly swaggering. Lucas has a knack for presentation, and as such, has attained masterful control over his tongue: exaggerating and elongating sounds with ease, and at his best is able to manipulate his vocal inflections to tell impeccable stories, lies, sincerities. Scoffs, whispers, shouts, and even laughter are timed and enacted with particular precision, usually accompanied with a matching gesture, such as a fluttering of fingers; with a matching expression, such as a grimace, a wink, a pout so subtle it would take a monocle to detect.
When Lucas is "in the mood" to do so, few can escape his capture of their attention (hence his old profound dislike of Ezekiel), and oftentimes (if he REALLY puts his mind to it), his capture of their emotions. He's a bug catcher armed with a bug net, baby, and those butterflies in your stomach won't be going nowhere. On the other hand, when pushed into being truly genuine with someone, his voice tends to be raw, hushed and passionate. His confessions are strained and pained, as if he hates hearing himself admit these horrible things, so if you could please... scooch over a wee bitty closer so he can rest his head in your bosom.... The sensor slips in and out of emotions like a well-worn pair of trousers, and it's rare for him to lose control for too long a period of time.
When pushed into emotional, mental or physical exhaustion, his speech turns drawling, lazy and careless, unwilling to try earning anything outside his immediate grasp. Other than that, he can go on and on sometimes, but he's never a dull guy to listen to. Coming from Lucas, even moody rants have prompted a little smile or two.
'You don't start anything you don't intend to finish. You use that--take that knowledge with you everywhere, hear me?'
Description: He's no spring chicken, but he's got a youthful quality to his features. It might have to do with his tendency to smile at the most minor of provocations. He might look older than he is should one take apart his face, and analyze it piece by piece, but on the whole he stands reeking of freedom, independence, and aloof love for the world around him. Lucas decided time ought to halt around the time of his life--shortly after loud dramatic spiels of adolescence and shortly before the quiet mid-life crisis insecurities--and time apparently nodded in agreement, with an approving finger snap n' point. As mentioned previously, this redeemer is all about presentation, and a huge aspect of that is belief. If you can believe enough to bet your still-beating heart that you're younger than you are, that you're a grand master guru in the bedroom, that you've got the whole damned world in the palm of your hand, hey, you're already a couple steps ahead of the game.
He slouches back more than forward, reclining on most anything he can find until he wants to feign some sort of keen interest. Lucas cares for his appearance, but never to the point of excess. You could call him the love child of practicality and half-assery, and peg him a scruffy scoundrel from a mile away. He's acquainted with how to look good, but he's not about to seem as if he tries terribly hard in order to achieve the status of looking good. It defeats the purpose of donning the attractive cloak at all, he'll say, and he might have a point. Maybe.
For one who's been in as many one-sided fist fights as he has (from most of which he has taken to running, mind), he has a very lovely nose. He has oddly prominent knuckles and wrist bones, and fingernails bitten down into stubs. His lips are dry and flaky, and beneath that he's lost a couple of teeth. He doesn't show them off due to obscure feelings of inadequacy, so his crocodile grins end up playfully lop-sided, obnoxiously smirking even when he doesn't intend to be smug. He also shaves as if it's a religion, and bears a couple of battle scars from the more disagreeable razors for all to see. Luckily he doesn't grow much hair to begin with, or else his jaw may have a plethora of jagged cuts and weeping wounds.
MENTALITY
Quirks:
- He's actually very jealous. Not "GRRR IS THAT YOUR HAND ON MY GIRLFRIEND I WISH YOU'D DO IT AGAIN (I'll watch you leave here limping)" jealous, because those emotions are fairly foreign to our senser boy. He might even share if you and said lover ask him nicely, maybe invite him along for the ride. No, what he envies is the gain of others. Lucas dislikes when someone excels at something he's supposed to be good at, and apparently, this trait runs in his blood. He's not proud of these shallow resentments, but is convinced he can do little to prevent them from being incurred. He's just not able to be happy for you... and he's sorry.
- He bites his nails when he draws maps. Didn't we cover that yet? He was a cartographer in his "past life"--sometimes a less than savory one, which is easily determined should one take a look at his more expensive maps, which in turn depict places he ought to have no authority to access. Such as say, a prison's secret exit, the servant's entrance to a nobleman's house, etc.
- He checks his nails frequently, too, picking at bits of dirt under them, flipping his palm up and down to get differing angles. But this never happens when he's alone. This is a maneuver he pulls when engrossed in conversation, when he wishes any instance of eye contact to be abrupt, unsettling, and utterly according to his whims.
- He also has an obese bias when it comes to children, namely toward the girls. He adamantly refuses to believe any aroused suspicions concerning one, refuses to strike or yell at them. While he does his best to keep his nose clean of conflicts, he springs into the fray when he sees a little lass being persecuted, in spite of all evidence supporting the fact that he reeeaaally should not. He had to be literally hauled off from interfering with a nasty scenario between a kid and her mother just last year, and proceeded to give everyone the silent treatment for about a week.
Fears: Slithering, hissing, narrow-bodied creatures. Anything that even reminds him of a snake will give him the willies, and he's easily duped when it comes to this phobia. One could point over his shoulder and announce the presence of one of these monsters, and yes, Lucas will fly two feet into the air--probably straight into the arms of the nearest strongman a la Shaggy and Scooby-Doo.
He believes in ghosts, and they unnerve him. He'll wholeheartedly tell and enjoy a ghost story and seem perfectly normal, but watch him closely a few hours afterwards. He will also vocally complain if forced into graveyards and abandoned homes, holding himself at the elbows and in advance blaming everyone around him should they get murdered by an angry specter. Drowning doesn't seem like much fun either. Or getting buried alive. Or the process of dying, in general.
- Spiders. Lucas is something of a bug dork in general, but spiders are the bomb. They're so spindly and dedicated and amazing, from the gorgeously detailed webs to the various survival mechanisms - such as poison and leaping ten feet in the air. He's just sort of in awe of them all, and they're cute little rascals. (Don't worry, he had a book on them once, he knows not to mess with the ones that can kill him). Daddy long legs are his favorite.
- Potato soup. Favorite food, never fails to pull him out of the dumps.
- Coffee. Makes him feel healthier than he is! It's an acquired taste though; he wouldn't drink as much if it weren't an effective bronchodilator.
- Oranges. The redder, the better.
- Skin. You know, as opposed to exposed flesh and bone. He ain't into gorno, now.
- Hair that he can twirl around his fingers.
- Board games--simple ones like reversi and checkers.
- Happy families. He likes seeing a couple hanging out with their kids and having fun, it warms the cockles of his heart.
- Goat's milk. Is it so weird that he actually likes drinking milk?
- The prickle of grass on his skin.
- The humanoid female anatomy.
- Being desired, idle conversations.
- Of the Redeemers in Litas: Amaryllis, Lilith, Grey, Fallon, Snow, and Manon. :V Then maybe a couple others, but he generally doesn't like them.
'I haven't seen my mom in yeeeaaaars... but I know you ain't her.'
Dislikes:
- Being told he looks like someone you knew once.
- Stripping games. HE ALWAYS LOSES. This wouldn't be a problem at all if games were held in places with modulated temperatures once in a while.
- He doesn't much like being mugged either. This happens more often than you think.
- Wounds and bruises, which hurt--and I quote, "like a bitch."
- Being openly, publicly underestimated or dismissed.
- Getting caught in huge crowds.
- Ultimatums, final judgements, absolute punishments, people with their heads so far up their asses they can't see past their--.
- Lying or being pressed flat on his back, because he has trouble breathing in that position. He'll either need to prop himself up with his elbows, or find some nice pillows.
- Intolerance and bossiness, especially when coupled together. Ugh, you think you're so damned holier than the rest of us.
- People he knows by name coming to harm. He's not the sort to ever say "Good! And I hope it HURT!" instead pedaling furiously backwards into "Wha--What?! Is he okay??"
- Hot, hot climates.
- Cold, cold weather.
Personality: Very easily provoked into laughter, Lucas is an active seeker of good moods; sometimes through merciless teasing and the pushing of buttons. He's learned to love both the practice and the ensuing reactions from his time in Litas, despite the trouble it tends to string along. Though he often finds himself feeling lost and without purpose (which can momentarily engulf him and make him very "philosophical"--described as such sarcastically by others--when he isn't daydreaming in solitude), he is highly charismatic and crafty, rendering many social obstacles less than pebbles on the road they tread. Thus, he is fully capable of convincing himself he has no time to dwell in the past or future for too long, and oftentimes declares himself a self-confident "man of the present." In fact, he gets deeply irritated with himself when he's down and being a negative nancy, and is fully convinced anyone exposed to his foul moods feels exactly the same way, if not worse. Thus, he tucks his problems and misgivings into a pink envelope, chucks it behind a humoring, easily amused demeanor; behind cute grins and lecherous tongue wagging.
He would rather not look past the surface. He likes his life simple, and complications such as "motive" are best left out until something stabs his sense of morality in the face. And he's regularly moral: he believes in basic rights, as he was raised to believe. Dog eat dog, yes, but fair play ought to be taken into consideration. Believing does not incur action, however, and he'll often try to put himself first and foremost, preferring not to stick his nose under a guillotine in order to help the weak stranger under the repressive thumb--that is, unless said stranger is a young girl. He has his own personal reasons for getting involved, then. Otherwise, he really, really hopes it works out for the best for ya, baby. Ciao! That said, he'll take some dangerous options if he feels it's for the best, or if it's for something he cares about. Y'know, like helping people save the world.
His penchant for getting intimately involved with every other woman he meets is, yes, in part due to his appreciation of squeezable breasticles and buttocks; but also stems from a childhood of difficulty in making male friends. Even now, he bonds to females with more ease. (No doubt, that women tend to smell nicer is an added bonus). Still, he's open-minded, and is willing to make a companion (momentary though it may be) out of any who will have him, on whatever degree they should desire.
Indeed, part of the reason he's such a hit at a number of taverns is his people pleasing attitude. The other part is that tongue of his--in more ways than one, but sticking to the metaphorical sense: Lucas is a gifted speaker, when he has half a mind to be. He's a persuasive son of a bitch, and he knows it full well. He knows how to present a scene in such a way that renders himself relatably chummy, tear-jerkingly victimized, admirable, what have you. His flattery and flirtery is laced with sincerity (people have sworn up and down that his eyes literally sparkle), and he's funny. Suave? Eh, sometimes, on good days. Cocky? Absotively. He often flaunts the trait, alongside with vanity, over the top for his own amusement--watching those certain personalities cringe never gets old. He is undoubtedly a moocher, a sweet talker, a fibber and a barterer; while lies and betrayal are areas he does not often need to traverse.
His actions can be dictated by his passions, though instances of this are few and far between. Lucas can get unreasonable, inconsolable, and then very keen on isolating himself until the emotional (and/or judgmental) lapse passes. He sweeps dirt under the carpet regularly, preferring to believe consequence is of no consequence, and that things that end up biting him in the ass are just crazy random happenstance--but he is far from reckless. In fact, the man is generally cautious to a fault until wasted beyond common sense. He avidly avoids getting into physical fights (violence is illegal where he's from, anyway), and tends to attempt to end verbal conflicts before they begin--even going so far as to being the middle man for conflicts wholly unrelated to his person. The habit is particularly prevalent in his Redeemer years, as it is only then that he (mostly) realizes there are things more important to see to than petty squabbles and grudge-holding.
He can still be thoroughly obnoxious and bitingly sarcastic if you antagonize him enough; bullying him and insulting his heritage and such. If he likes you though, he'll be sharing bread loafs and dancing in the rain all night long.
EQUIPMENT
Armor: Light/Medium, flexible. Leather jerkins and such.
Casual Clothing: Blue shirt&&&
Carried Items: Compass, portable pot of ink, crumpled and fraying writing feather, spare paper, spare cloth, a small shaving knife&&&
Main Weapon:
- Name: Temperance
- Type: Polearm
- Made of: Steel
- Length:7'0", comfortably longer than he is used to.
- Weight: Heavier than he's used to.
- Description/Info: She seems more like a piece of art than a weapon, but he would never trifle with her. Every edge and corner is either unforgivingly hard or sharpened to wicked points.
As soon as she comes to grow fond of him, Lucas is sure she will be the jealous type.
COMBATIVENESS
Natural Talents:
- Clever Git: What he lacks in worldly smarts is made up for with his perception. Lucas is a guy who just notices things. He spotted the fly hovering around the room ten minutes ago. He sees every shift in demeanor, appearance, wording. Not a lot gets by him when he's feeling at his best.
"Sex appeal--"- Silver Spoon: Grandma says he was born talking. He relies heavily on this--wouldn't be here today without it. What Lucas wants, Lucas gets with a 50% discount. He's very persuasive when he puts on his amicable demeanor, and can bluff like a god of poker. In bars, he tells stories to impress the ladies. He's even mooched some cash off of them before, though he really does try to keep that as a last resort.
- Agility/Flexibility: Great for escapes, distractions and ambushes. He can climb high places and squeeze into tight spots. If a place exists, Lucas can get there.
Skills:
- Mapmaker: Having spent his previous life as a cartographer out in the fields, travel is familiar territory. Lucas is blessed with a keen sense of geography (rocking even at spinning blindfold games), which is useful for scouting ahead and memorization of routes. He's quite capable of making an educated guess on whether the left or right path is what they want, too.
- Body Language: On which he is a fluent practitioner and reader. This is another thing that he's been involved with ever since before Redeemerhood, and his gifts have only enhanced his ability to maneuver in the social realm. Don't lie to him. Just don't.
- Spearman: Not the best, but clearly good enough to twirl it like a baton and slap it on the ground without breaking off the head. He can also fish with it, but only if he's desperate. The sheer amount of patience needed for the activity bores him out of his mind, and he rarely catches more than a couple of fish before he can't stand staring at the water any longer.
He sorta feels bad for the fish, anyways, what with the way they flap about so desperately.
Weaknesses:
- Low Strength: He ain't a powerhouse. He can't lift boulders, let alone a mountain. Of course he's not a stick, but he will most likely pale in comparison to his Redeemer friends in terms of body mass. While he'll use his flexibility/agility/craft to compensate, he won't win in a wrestling match against a bear, I'll say.
- Low Endurance: He gets tired. His asthma does not help. He can't run for prolonged periods of time, and can be on his knees rasping if he really pushes himself. He also can't stand any sort of pain, since they're enhanced tenfold due to his Demoni powers. Even mild bruising can cease his determined advances toward a certain goal.
- No Killing Intent: Unless a Demoni-or-whatever crosses him on a very personal level, Lucas will do his best to not have any deaths by his hand, at times even wishing to avoid conflict entirely. He's not a coward. He'll fight for his life and others' like the next guy over, but he doesn't like taking lives. It's more than he can say for other people.
- Kids: Again, namely girls. He will commit emotional suicide if you pit him against one in any way. Pit others against one and you may have made an enemy...
'Ever touched a tree? They have heartbeats just like you and me, you know. Rhythmically. One deep, quiet thrum that jolts through the whole body. Then it vanishes, then it's reborn. Again and again...'
Demoni Powers: Vibrations, in short. As long as there's movement, as long as there's life, he can detect it from afar. He can read it at a closer range. Lucas is the center of a spider's web, able to pick up on any squirming and writhing that sends ripples across space. The nerves all over his body are enhanced in sensitivity, giving him little need for any other sensory organ. Of course, being buffeted by too numerous going-ons is exhausting and, frankly, disgusting. While he's mostly fine counting every greasy bead of sweat rolling down your body, there are things that gross out even the resident Naughty Boy.
Don't... ask about his sex life.
In exchange for his wide range range in touch, he's lost both his sense of smell and taste. Which sucks.
HISTORY
Old Life
- Martial Status: Never married, never crossed his mind.
- Family: More important ones are listed here. Other than them, though;
Mother: Genna - Blue-eyed and of duskier complexion than her husband. What she lacked in the height department was made up for with the ferociously smart mouth of a merchant. She was argumentative to a fault--and dreadfully detail-oriented. As if this weren't bad enough, she was emotional. The smallest of disagreements with Broderick (particularly on the subject of "their" eldest son) often drove her to wringing her hair and slamming doors; and behind them, she would tearfully snuggle up with her children, singing shuddering songs and kissing their hair. Oh, but she was beautiful. While Genna took great care of her appearance, she also possessed a rare, natural beauty that was evident even through swollen eyes.
She left with Broderick one day, shortly after creating a scene in which she refused to breast feed her daughter.
Father: Broderick Truesdale - A devout believer in the strength of the individual, regardless of age, race, gender, anything. He's the sort of man who would say to his kids, "What, are you crying? You don't cry, all right? You keep your chin up. Come on, keep your chin up. Crying never helped anybody do anything, okay? You have a problem you face it like a man." before kicking them out of his shoe factory... </Jumanji reference> Haha no, but seriously, this was a trait he picked up from his own mother.
Duty always came first, though exactly what duty was, the boy never quite figured out. Lucas's grandmother often complained bitterly of his resemblance to his father. Cowlicks? Never taking anything seriously? Grotesque handwriting? Always smiling at the "wrong" girls? "Just like your stupid father." Apparently they even look a lot alike, though Broderick was much taller. Part of the reason Lucas took up the spear willingly was because he heard that was what his father used.
Lucas swears saw him once, briefly, some years after Broderick set off with his wife, and repeatedly used the event as evidence that "~*daddy still loves us*~," much to Cain's complete chagrin. - History: Nothing remarkable--he was the angst-filled middle child. Rich, but not aristocratic. Rebellious in his way. For specifics, see here.
'Haha! Trouble with that is, if you've gotten into a position I've yet to try? You're going to be teaching it to me soon enough.'
It wasn't an invitation said with a wink, nudge, and flourish. It was an everyday, commonplace fact.
New Life
- Reason for Becoming a Redeemer: To say Lucas was taken against his will would be a gross exaggeration, though his consent did come with some reluctance. As his sister's illness progressed, defying Cain's every effort to slow it, the eldest Truesdale grew desperate. A doctor who couldn't save his own poor sister. He would not allow such a label of incompetence to be pasted onto his forehead, to mock him every time he looked in a mirror. Cain gave a violent tug on his list of acquaintances, until he was finally in touch with a Redeemer. He begged them to take Luanna, hearing of the rumored negating properties of demoni blood. Fifteen years was surely more time than what she currently had remaining.
Of course, Lucas was pissed when he overheard their conversation. As usual, the brothers had a fight, but this time it was cut short of coming to physical blows. Lucas had just been dumped and lost a client that week, you see, and was under a lot of stress. His asthma saved Cain from a broken nose, and saved himself from some very, very nasty bruises.
The Redeemer had agreed to take the girl, but lamented that she lacked a more able body. So frail was she, that even if she successfully passed the trials necessary for her recruitment, she would have difficulty on the field.
Cain volunteered his brother to go along.
Lucas could never decide whether or not he fondly remembered the caravan rides; with his sister panting as quietly as she could so as not to disturb him, with her shoulders cradled under his arm, drenched in cold, clammy sweat but shivering regardless.
She was so small he feared he would crush her in his sleep, and so he didn't sleep. He tried to talk to her when she was awake--about animals, about the weather, about how she was feeling--but she could do little more than murmur indiscernible replies. He would pretend to understand, make a cute joke out of it, and she would smile so happily. She would whisper positive words to him, in her invisible voice. - The Changing: "... I did see my sister, you know. In the dream. I don't think--I'm sure she wasn't hurt, but just the thought of her being in that pit with me, watching me... doing nothing. She was near the front of the--the crowd. Faces from tips of my memory. I never deluded myself into thinking they would care for me for more than a sweaty evening, but the way they stared, they--like they were devouring me with their eyes while their hands held fast behind their backs. All but her were taller than I could imagine, I had to look up to them, and even then I could barely see above their nostrils. Just their muttering, their whispering, their laughing mouths.
"When the... light had burned away so much of me I could barely think, I...
"Luanna knelt down to me, placed a hand on my head like I was some dog. Probably the scariest shit was when she started talking in my brother's voice, heh.
".... She told me... She told me: 'You deserve this.' The same thing he told me when he had them take me as well, condemning me to this, this half life of servitude.
"Sometimes I wonder if they're right."
When he woke from that and was faced with a dead sister, he had a bit of trauma to deal with; as well as unusual powers he mainly had to coach himself through. The Redeemers could only do so much for him, and partially because he'd been recruited in busy months, where charlatans and criminals were being nicked off the streets left and right. He was relocated to Vincere, which at the time was a place less crowded with newcomers who didn't know the head of a darkseed from its ass. Lucas hasn't been home since. It took a good four months before he was able to function in normal society again, and three more before he even began to try being comfortable in his own skin. He made loose acquaintances, as he did in his old life, but never made (platonic) friends whose shoulders he could cry on without feeling like an utter loser. The closest he ever had to that was Luanna, and she wasn't coming back--outside the occasional, heart-stomping good dream.
He'd always had proficiency with a spear, and picked up a few tricks from a redeemer more skilled at the weapon than himself, but little else. Lucas kept away from actually fighting, though (with enough time and harsh chastising) he did his best to pull his weight in every other possible way. Up until the events concerning Litatio, Lucas had only encountered one abomination.
And of course, he can no longer smell or taste. At least he can still get drunk, but it's not the same as it used to be; and neither is he. - Opinions:
-He's somewhat insistent on refusing to accept the gravity of their task. Sure, he'll throw out goofy comments like "Welp! Time to save the world!" but that's all they are. Goofy comments.
-(Past): The organization... Well, formerly, he was greatly bitter that the ceremony had to take place in such a specific locale that they couldn't get the blood concoction to his little sister in time, yet they still benefited from his membership... but he's gotten less cocky. "Benefited from his membership," hahaha.
-(Present): The organization--"orgy" as he coyly calls it--is... well, it's necessary. He doesn't like or dislike anything specific about it; the group consists of people with a rotten job, and he happens to be one of them. He doesn't feel any great deal of community spirit either, and would just as easily hang out with a normal citizen as he would a redeemer. Having the title under his belt has gotten him laid a couple times... and assaulted in a back alley another time... And other than that, mostly laughed at by those Legionnaire pricks. Really, he's got reasons to end up feeling neutral.
-The ranking system: He wants to keep his head as low as possible, as mentioned many, many times before. Still managed to be roped into this demigod-seeking business though. Oy...
-"Wanna know one thing I'm really good at? Catching little gazes swinging the Truesdale way. Steadily, but without certainty, up... and down before snapping back to make that split second eye contact, before being struck with that embarrassed astonishment and turning away to concentrate on something ridiculously mundane.
"Meanwhile, I'm left a grinning fool, smiling about 'oh, nothing really.' Hahaa, it's a tame enough exchange, I guess. Maybe even cute. But if I know me, the 'tame' aspect won't last. Just gotta wait for it to allll boil over, one way or another."
THE WOMEN
-Amaryllis: Does he sympathize with her? Empathize? He could never decide. Lucas pegged Ama as one of the sweetest people she's ever had the pleasure of meeting, from the very start. However, there's no motherly familiarity that ties him to her. She looks like a mother, she acts like a mother.... but that's not what his mother was like.
Still, he thinks she's great, and would easily express his admiration if pressed. Shame he doesn't know more about her, is all.
-Lilith: "Lils babe, you don't even know what I can best do with my tongue yet." (Licking lamp posts in the wintertime, of course, what were YOU thinking?) He's sure made fast friends with her, hasn't he? He likes that she's just this everyman... woman... despite her high ranking. No demeaning looks or self-assured offers to train him, just a friendly face and a willingness to laugh and thrust a bottle to her lips. He wishes more redeemers were like her, to be honest. Except... in battle. He generally does his best not to watch anybody in battle, due to people like Lilith, desperately shoving their hands through innards as if to spite the skill and grace that dictated such movements. So, maybe he's a little intimidated. Maybe.
-Snow: "You don't talk much, do you?" He likes her in the same way he likes most women he newly meets: practically purely physically. Sure, he's not ogling her breasts every chance he gets, but he's taken plenty of chances to make passing glances. On the other hand, she's also really, really nice, and he appreciates that. Upon getting to have a tiny conversation with her, he's found that she really seems to be holding back, allowing herself little leisure. If possible, he might want to reintroduce her to the concept of fun. Because she just looks so sad when she doesn't know she's being watched.
THE MEN
Greyais: &&&
Fallon: [You May be Right] "Heheh. He wants to get under my skin because I'm so good at getting under his. It's pretty funny." WANNA KNOW A SECRET? The guy reminds him a lot of his brother, Cain; hence the love/hate obnoxious kiddy treatment. Lucas himself scarcely realizes that's what's up, only that it's really, really funny plucking at the strings of the elf's patience--not that the guy's normally an ice cube in the fridge, because he's a goddamned fried egg sitting in a frying pan, gladly waiting for his yolk to burst. A tangled pile of yarn. A sneering face beneath ruffled feathers. Wonder why? Bad experiences with some manner of trope Lucas was flaunting, perhaps. He'll have to pry sometime.
Lucas does, on the other hand, note the looks he gets from Fallon. Quasi-disgust mixed with generous, vexed curiosity.
Ezekiel: "... What about 'im?" There's a bit of hostility here, and Lucas adamantly claims to know Ezekiel's "type." Commanding, demanding, in whose presence you are thoroughly insignificant. You're never good enough. And the truth is... yes, Lucas does rather know the guy's type. His sister had a crush on someone similar, once. The guy never hurt Luanna, but maaaan Lucas just hated him regardless. It was the attitude, the very air about his ears, and the constant little sneer when they traded glances. Of course, when Lucas decides he dislikes someone, he goes out of his way to be insufferable... so, there's that.
In particular, he hates the way Ezekiel sighs. It's a sigh that grates on his nerves. Quiet, but most certainly there.