<a class="postlink" href="http://i833.photobucket.com/albums/zz260/TimeKeys/Decorated%20images/Stare-Heise.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/>Name: Lukario Devanichi<br/>Age:18<br/>Ethnicity: Greek<br/>Personality: Skittish, Uncertain, Shy, Funny, Caring, Loving, Honest, Loyal<br/><br/>It was another long and busy day. The wind had picked up and the cold chilly wind was a relief from the hot and humid sunny day. The trees were dead. Their leaves when they fell to the ground were crunchy and brittle. The cars in the streets were roaring by. The people walking wore very little clothing. Just what was needed for respectability. Short to no sleeved shirts could be seen everywhere. Capri's to shorts were seemingly the in thing. As animals that were strays ran to and from. Everyone seeming so busy on such a hot and humid day.<br/><br/>The young man staring out the window looks around. He was the best of the best but he had a problem. He was being stalked by some woman who claimed she loved him. Yet he's never met this woman in his entire life. He was a fashion designer who was very famous. He even wore many of his own outfits and garments that he designed. He sighs and picks up the phone. He needed a body guard. And he needed the best out of the best. Yet he knew not where to find someone like that. He sighs and puts an ad in the newspaper requesting a bodygaurd. One with the background and training of a secret agent. He just knew he needed protectionâ€¦before the stalker took things to the next level.<br/><br/>He was pacing back and forth. Back and forth. Over and over again. Looking out the window. "Please...let someone come that can help me." He says. Jumping at every shadow. He had started out being a fashion designer very young. Designing his own clothing and being unique. He was thirteen going on fourteen when he was discovered during a state wide talent show. He was showing off items he had made. He was always considered eccentric yet stylish growing up. People both envied him and made fun of him. He never changed who he was though. Not for anyone would he stifle his talents.<br/><br/>He snapped back to the present as he heard a loud knocking on his door. Paling as he hid behind the corner of the room. He was often chased around as the youngest, richest, most creative fashion designer ever. He was not a guy who thrived in the spot light. No...he prefered to be the unseen artist. He bites his lip and walks to behind the door. "Wh-who is it?" he calls out in a nervous voice. If it was the person he needed protection from, he knew her voice oh too well, he would be dialing the cops.