Lucas had always been an outcast. The underdog, the loner, the "freak". He lived in the poorer part of a sprawling urban environment, where the weak were beaten and robbed and the strong learned how to survive. Lucas was one of the strong. He never had to associate himself with anyone, never needed a gang, just himself. People had tended to either try to hurt him or just ignore him, because he was different. The majority of the people who had grown up in his neighborhood were black or hispanic, with a few chinese mixed in occasionally. Everyone listened to either hip hop or rap, but when Lucas shoved that away for classic and punk rock, it only served to further his isolation. His single mother, whom he had lived with until the age of 14, lost custody of him when Social Services busted through the door while she was coked up. They sent him into the foster system, where his adoptive parents soon found they couldn't stand him and so shipped him off to boarding school, which is where he was now, at St. Ritter's school for boys. At 17 years old, he hadn't changed much. Still rebellious, the sleeves of his white school shirt were always rolled up. The aluminium buckle of his belt had been replaced with a cast iron skull, and his black pants replaced with black jeans. He wore his tie a little loose, and never wore the school jacket. His black hair was shaggily cut, giving him a dark, edgy look, accentuated by his prominent cheek bones and dark brown eyes, flecks of gold mixed in with the muddy pools, which match the dark olive tone of his skin.<br/><br/>He walks at his own pace down the hallway to his room, bag slung over one shoulder, hands in his pockets, striding confidently to a bed after a few good hours in shop class. Maybe a shower after the nap on the cold, thin, all around shitty "mattresses" supplied by in the school dorms.<br/><br/>To his own surprise, he found the door to his room already open when he got there. Slowing down to a silent tread, he moved into and leaned against the doorway, watching unnoticed by the boy setting up camp in his room for a few moments, studying him for a moment before saying, "Did you get lost, punk? I believe you're in my room."