Roof Second Floor Lobby Back Door

Killian Shea 'ey kid, watcha name? *Head snaps up quickly* *eyes you cautiously* Killian Shea, and I ain't a kid,. *Studies you with a slightly unnerving blue-gray gaze* Been blessed wit a newsie nickname yet? *snorts and settles back in his chair, folding his hands behind his hand* No, and i don't really care fer one, t'anks. Where'd dat come from, anyway? *seems to be mulling this over for a moment--his forehead creases with consideration* I'm from lots a places. Born in Chicago though. *nods* When's yer birthday? Know how old ya are? November 4. I'm seventeen. Whatcha look like? sniffs slightly, the critical gaze still on full beam* What, ya blind? *as you begin to shake your head no, he interrupts* Yea, dat's what i thought. So i don't got to tell ya how i look. *He sits back and gives you a "what you see is what you get" kinda look* *Killian's about 6'2, with a muscular build, slightly skinny from lack of food. He's got dark brown, almost black hair and gray-blue eyes. He has a tan complexion and sharp, almost hawk-like features, with a few scattered freckles across the bridge of his nose. On one biceps, there is a raised scar, a knot pattern that must have been inflicted there purposely--no knife wound would ever leave a mark like that.* And wadda ya like, huh? Got mucha a personality? *snorts again, mouth curving into a smirk* Nah, i don't got no personality. It's a shame, i know. *sighs, mock-upset, shrugging his shoulders* *For the record, Killian is kind of a loner, wary of people and what their intentions are. He's not to outspoken, and it's quite a challenge to befriend him. He rarely reveals anything about himself, and will freely admit to you that yes, he is quite an asshole, that is true. Killian's got reasons as to why he acts the way he does, though. He's a classic tough guy, mysterious and quite a lady killer.* So... where'd ya come from an' watcha doin heah? *shifts slightly, the suspenders hanging around his waist clinking against the wooden chair* I've been travelin' around fer awhile, seein' the sights...but i kinda ran outta money. So i took the last of it, bought a ticket, and ended up in dis fine city. *Smiles, though it is a little off--kind of hollow* Don't s'ppose ya got any friends, do ya? Oh god, hell no. I've had exactly one friend in me life an'....*stops suddenly and glares at you as if you've done something awful* No. Don't got any friends. *the way he says he means the subject is closed for discussion* What about a, uh, signifigant othah, hmm? *wink wink nudge nudge* *Cracks another smile, this one a little on the michevious side* Shoah, girls are fun. I like girls....not any particular one, no, but in general, *winks* They're a good time. Waddya do 'round heah? Get into trouble? *Shrugs* If ya emptied ya pockets right now, what'd be in 'em? Well, let's see, eh? *jams his big hands into his pockets, withdrawling quite a collection, and throwing it on the table between you* Lesse...brass knuckles, knife, slingshot, fifteen cents..*picks up a teeny white-gray object and squints at it* ...i think dat's a tooth...*laughs a little* *nods* But it ain't mine. *looks up at you and shrugs* All me worldly possessions.... Anythin' else we oughta know? *shakes his head* No. I don't plan on stayin' fer long. *appraises you once again with that heavy stare* Back to the bunkroom