Lucan White
father; poet; couturier
- Messages
- 191
- OOC First Name
- Claire
- Blood Status
- Pure Blood
- Relationship Status
- Married
- Sexual Orientation
- Homosexual
- Wand
- Knotted 15 Inch Whippy Rosewood Wand with Mermaid Scale Core
- Age
- 3/2004
"You're sure you're OK?"
The contents of Lucan's wine glass swirled around as he laughed. "I'm fine," The slight man insisted for the fourth time that evening, his voice thick with false sincerity. Keevan had raised a doubtful eyebrow, but was struggling to keep his gaze from drifting across the room. Clutching the edge of the polished mahogany counter for support, Lucan swivelled on his stool to follow his brother's gaze. With their fancy business suits, expensive wristwatches, and slightly balding heads, Keevan's colleagues were instantly recognizable. Lucan squirmed uncomfortably at the mere sight of them, secreted away into the quietest corner of the wizarding pub. McCarrick was there, as were Madley and Rodeau. There were a few men Lucan didn't recognize, too, though their pretentious smirks were equally as disconcerting as the rest. He tried not to dwell on Keevan's choices in partners for too long before turning back on his stool, which creaked beneath his weight. "But if you don't get back over there soon, Rodstick is going to poke someone's eye out with that watch," Lucan said, smiling fondly behind his wine glass. A second eyebrow was raised at Rodeau's nickname, but Keevan must have taken sympathy on the men because he promptly took to his leave. Lucan watched his brother's back until he had crossed the tiled floor before draining the last trickle of wine from his glass.
"Another?" Lucan's glass had barely touched the counter when a curvaceous, sandy blonde witch offered to refill it.
Lucan shrugged in way of accepting. He shouldn't have, really; Keevan was here on business, which meant that Lucan was, too. Not only that, but their get-together was likely to last at least another two hours. At the rate Lucan was going, he would be drunk before the clock even struck eleven. Vowing that it would be his last of the night, Lucan dragged his newly filled glass across the counter. "Thanks," He said quietly, rubbing with his forearm at the trail of liquid it had left on the polished wooden surface. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he sipped sparingly at his drink, eyes darting restlessly around the brightly lit room. It was a nice bar; a little too fancy for Lucan's taste, but its distinct lack of candles put him at ease. Well, as at ease as he could be in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. He forced his lungs to inhale deeply, his feet fidgeting slightly on the rungs of his bar stool. The wine helped, but it only took the edge off of his growing discomfort, and his glass was already nearing empty again. A quick glance toward Keevan confirmed Lucan's suspicions that the evening was far from over. With a shaky hand, he rubbed at his forehead, combing his fingers through his wavy curls. One more hour. That was all he needed to get through. Keevan would surely be done by then. One more hour.
The contents of Lucan's wine glass swirled around as he laughed. "I'm fine," The slight man insisted for the fourth time that evening, his voice thick with false sincerity. Keevan had raised a doubtful eyebrow, but was struggling to keep his gaze from drifting across the room. Clutching the edge of the polished mahogany counter for support, Lucan swivelled on his stool to follow his brother's gaze. With their fancy business suits, expensive wristwatches, and slightly balding heads, Keevan's colleagues were instantly recognizable. Lucan squirmed uncomfortably at the mere sight of them, secreted away into the quietest corner of the wizarding pub. McCarrick was there, as were Madley and Rodeau. There were a few men Lucan didn't recognize, too, though their pretentious smirks were equally as disconcerting as the rest. He tried not to dwell on Keevan's choices in partners for too long before turning back on his stool, which creaked beneath his weight. "But if you don't get back over there soon, Rodstick is going to poke someone's eye out with that watch," Lucan said, smiling fondly behind his wine glass. A second eyebrow was raised at Rodeau's nickname, but Keevan must have taken sympathy on the men because he promptly took to his leave. Lucan watched his brother's back until he had crossed the tiled floor before draining the last trickle of wine from his glass.
"Another?" Lucan's glass had barely touched the counter when a curvaceous, sandy blonde witch offered to refill it.
Lucan shrugged in way of accepting. He shouldn't have, really; Keevan was here on business, which meant that Lucan was, too. Not only that, but their get-together was likely to last at least another two hours. At the rate Lucan was going, he would be drunk before the clock even struck eleven. Vowing that it would be his last of the night, Lucan dragged his newly filled glass across the counter. "Thanks," He said quietly, rubbing with his forearm at the trail of liquid it had left on the polished wooden surface. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he sipped sparingly at his drink, eyes darting restlessly around the brightly lit room. It was a nice bar; a little too fancy for Lucan's taste, but its distinct lack of candles put him at ease. Well, as at ease as he could be in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. He forced his lungs to inhale deeply, his feet fidgeting slightly on the rungs of his bar stool. The wine helped, but it only took the edge off of his growing discomfort, and his glass was already nearing empty again. A quick glance toward Keevan confirmed Lucan's suspicions that the evening was far from over. With a shaky hand, he rubbed at his forehead, combing his fingers through his wavy curls. One more hour. That was all he needed to get through. Keevan would surely be done by then. One more hour.