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 Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 8:14 pm
The Cecil Hotel
Down in the depths of Soho (London) is where the Cecil Hotel resides. It's a rundown building surrounded by dimly-lit street lamps and questionable characters. Inside is a small pub, run by a man named Tim who speaks in rough hush tones. There is a few people in the room, none recognizable in the smoke clouded atmosphere. Most are alone, and those who aren't speak quietly to each other as if conducting some kind of secret. Up the dark oak stairs to the right of the bar is a long hallway lined with somewhat ancient carpeting and stained, hole filled walls. Near the end of the hall, beside another flight of creaking stairs is a door with the numbers 213 nailed on it. Inside is a room with one window, covered by shabby blinds and to the right is a small bathroom in which a tub and sink reside, along with visible piping. Inside the room is a small double bed and desk, both covered by misplaced papers and cigarette butts. There a few empty bottles on the floor and a stack of Daily Prophets in the corner, next to various textbooks written in such languages as French, English, German and Spanish. In the farthest, darkest corner from the door is a beaten up old chair, in which a contemplating smoker usually resides.
This is the home of Lorcan Kane
Gaia Username: [ . Vexation . ]
Character Name: Lorcan Kane
Nickname: Kane
Parent: Patrick Kane and Mariella Bassey
Blood: Pure
Birthplace: Galway, Ireland.
Date of Birth/Age: '63
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Job Position: History of Magic
Head of House: None.
Personality: Lorcan is most often a typical irish man and therefore somewhat of a bad example. Though easily aggravated and never truly sober he always manages to have a certain command on himself and those around him. He is tolerant, but only to a certain extent and more often then not takes things personally. Aside from all his 'difficult' traits he manages to make life interesting, while managing to keep some things a secret.
Bio: Born into a large family with small living space in Ireland, Lorcan quickly learned the views and values of most men living there. His father was a very strict man and clearly enforced all the rules of the household. By the age of twelve he was sent of to the Durmstrang Magical Institute to begin his studies as a wizard. Although he was a common disruption and an infrequent favorite, Kane managed to greatly succeed based on talent. After graduation he returned home, to the disapointment of his father, and lived life in a spontanious and somewhat questionable manner. Shortly after returning home from various far off lands his father fell ill and he began to care for his siblings in his mothers abcense. Shortly after his father's death he was offered a somewhat suprising teaching position at Hogwarts, which he took.
Pet: None.
Appearance:Lorcan Kane
Other: He is a notorious chain smoker and has a fairly thick irish accent, which can sometimes be difficult to understand when clouded with his rough voice.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 9:25 pm
Lorcan Kane woke to the muffled sounds of sirens and a throbbing headache. He'd fallen asleep in the chair yet again, and was beginning to wonder if he would ever use the bed for anything other then a place to through things aimlessly. Looking around he saw that nothing had changed; a cigarette was still smoking in the tray next to him, indicating that he hadn't slept long.
Kane stumbled as he got up, grabbing for a pill bottle on the near by desk as he walked towards the window. As he looked through to see the source of the commotion that had woken him he popped three pills, and swallowed them dryly. Seeing nothing through the dirty glass he shut the blinds, blocking out red flashing light coming from a sign across the narrow street, and reached for a half empty bottle of scotch lying on his cluttered floor. Sitting back in the chair he took a few swigs, and then stared at his watch. It was four o'clock in the morning, and he wasn't sure what day it was. Quickly losing interest in the time he reached for the fresh Daily Prophet which resided next to his feet. Although he never actually saw the Owl that delivered it, he assumed it was quite clever since Kane frequently forgot to open the window for deliveries. It was the same as every other day, this and that about the ministry, some stuff about that Potter kid, Voldermort this, Voldermort that; the usual. Kane found it all relatively boring, and questioned his habit to read it every morning. Eventually, the conclusion he came to was that he really had nothing better to do.
Dropping the nearly empty bottle carelessly, Kane rose from his chair and stood in the middle of the room absent-mindedly. He leafed through the papers with his eyes and eventually, after an extended period of searching, he bent down to pick up one particular piece. Still crouching he read the paper, for what seemed like countless times. All that was written on the small piece of parchment was:
Dear Kane,
I'm sorry.
The name of the person who had written it had been rubbed out, and stained with alcohol, making it unreadable. He placed the paper underneath the pile in which he had found it and stood up. Then grabbed his coat and keys and exited the room.
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 8:30 pm
Lorcan Kane's black shoes clicked slightly as he walked down the dark oak stairs that lead him out of the hall. He gave a small glance to the hazy room as he entered, with little attempt to actually see anything of interest. Once again it was the usual, drunk, poetry spouting old men with little to no sanity. Tim was wiping the bar and looked as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The only person to look up was (presumably) a prostitute one of the men had brought in, apparently unfamiliar with the unspoken no eye contact, no questions policy at the Cecil.
It was a typical foggy London morning, and Kane's footsteps were small in comparison to the deafening silence that surrounded him. This was his most preferable time of day, although never being much of a morning person ruined it. Being a person at all was difficult with limited sleep. Some shop keepers were opening their fronts, while others in a different trade were just closing. A few women strolled down the street in a lonely manner, missing food more then companionship. A drunk sat in a doorway, and merely stared at Kane as he passed by.
Kane lit a cigarette as he walked, and then took a deep breath of smoke, savoring it before he let the grey pass his lips. He unfolded a piece of paper recently present in his pocket and looked at it loosely. It was a timetable for the school year soon approaching. He was still trying to get familiar with the Hogwarts system, which was foreign compared to Drumstrang in more ways then just language. He knew very little about Hogwarts on a personal level, and was yet to hear anything about the quality of students. Kane never really set out to be a teacher; it didn't seem like a most likely field. He didn't really set out to be anything that wasn't available in a moment, and, according to his father, he wasn't cut out to be anything but useless.
Kane smirked slightly at the thought of his father and how little they ever had in common. The son who became a drunk instead of a successful pure blood. Kane had always suspected they were never truly related, but his mother was too proud to speak about anything of the sort.
He looked back down at the schedule as his smirk faded away. It would be interesting, to be so close to the source of conflict in the wizarding world.
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 9:23 pm
[[ I guess I’ll bring Kane to where the action is. ]]
I was nearly ten o'clock in the morning when Kane finally made his way back to the Cecil Hotel. He'd wandered the streets of London relatively aimlessly like he did every morning, stopping at the occasional cafe or book shop, anything that caught his eye. Things in the bar looked relatively peaceful, seeing as most of its previous occupants had finally gone up to their rooms. Tim was polishing a glass and the only beam of sunlight in the room managed to reflect upon it.
"I'm thinking I'll be leaving now Tim." Kane said as he began to lay muggle money on the bar.
Tim took the money and counted it silently, then nodded at Kane in his usual relaxed manner.
"See you again soon then."
"Nah, I got a job to do now. Won't be around for a while."
The barman cracked a small smirk at Kane’s comment as he picked up the glass he was previously polishing.
"Well, good luck with that." Tim said sarcastically, the smirk still present on his lips as he turned to place the glass on a nearby shelf. Kane made his way to the stairs and chose to ignore the barman’s comment, seeing no reason to be offended by the factual truth.
Minutes later Kane was standing in the middle of room 213 with a small trunk at hand. It was mostly filled with books and the little clothes he had, also a bottle of whiskey which he had seen no sense in leaving behind. With a slight crack he appeared in a shaded alley. A cat ran by swiftly as Kane re-adjusted his clothing, feeling a little disoriented after living in the muggle world so long, where he rarely practiced Apparition. He knew Tim wouldn't question how he'd managed to leave the hotel without using the front door, since nothing was ever questioned at the Cecil.
Kane walked out of the alley way and made his way down a fairly busy London street, a woman in her mid thirties clutched the small boy beside her and shot Kane a suspicious look, he smirked, which unintentionally made the woman more uneasy, and continued walking. Just down the street was a hardly apparent pub, to those who didn't know it was there. Kane headed toward it with a slightly foreign feeling he hadn't experinced in several years.
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