Luka Forrester

Luka sits looking at the hatefully glowing screen of the phone with one eye shut. He huffs and types delicately with one fingers, trying not to let the light touch his eye too much. Around his chair there are a number of empty wine bottles and blackened cigar ends.

'My alternate theory is someone broke into my home and drank it all and then clubbed me over the head. A complex explanation for the headache but it at least meets the necessary facts.'