alright alright alright alright

Your name: daisy

Contacts:

email: howlackadaisical@gmail.com

aim: pm for it!

Timezone: gmt

How did you hear about us? vi mugged me <3

Name: Isaac Zajaczkowski

Nicknames: n/a

Birthday ; Age: 02/02/1992

Occupation: caretaker

Apartment Room Style Request: studio apartment

details :

Undergraduate School: what

Graduate School: lol

Relations: n/a

appearance :

PB: Harry Lloyd

Any distinguishing features?: Sun-starved skin. Twitchy manner. Eyes that some find rather… worrisome. Maybe it’s the way they don’t blink much. He’s tall, spindly, sure of himself. He cuts his own hair and it looks pretty awful (alright Spock?). He doesn’t dress very well but he’s remarkably clean.

biography :

When asked, Isaac (if he deigns to answer at all) will simply state that he’s always been in the house. He’s come quite a way, in truth. His mother relocated from Ustka, Poland to the west end of London when he an infant. His very early childhood was spent in the Polish quarter of Ealing in a block of flats centred around a bustling club, a quiet shadow amongst the more gregarious characters that occupied the cramped spaces and constant comings and goings of business and pleasure. Then when he was six his mam up and shifted the both of them over to Edinburgh, with the offer of a new job in a club up north and a roomier apartment in mind.

That was the first time he moved into The Haunts. And it suited him, honestly. He was an odd, quiet kid who liked to be left to his own devices and in this new place he frequently was. He spent the rest of his childhood and adolescence there, only leaving to go to school which he dropped out of after his O-levels when he was sixteen. He was tipped rather unceremoniously into work at a call-centre, where he learned the valuable life lesson of Everyone Is Stupid. Maybe if he'd tried a little harder in school he'd have done a lot better, but Isaac hated it with a passion from very early on (several years building up on the preceding lesson of Most People Are Stupid, really). Then he left home at seventeen to work as live-in staff for some Tory family everyone hated on the outskirts of the city, but that only lasted two years. After his mam died of a brain tumour he wound up gravitating back to the (rather unfortunately named given the circumstances) Haunts.

He'd missed it, sort of, and even sort of forgotten during his couple of years away that the House Is Alive. That is to say, the furniture he used to carefully measure by the centimetre wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling had a tendency to stray off course for no findable reason. He started doing it again as soon as he moved in-- all that measuring and cleaning stuff, all that fixing. The house was a living being, you know? It needed looking after. (Not that this stopped idiots from leaving greasy fingerprints on windows and tracking mud into the place, but that was easily cleaned.) He sort of became unofficial caretaker, and then the official one after 1) the old one popped his darling clogs (not really, he moved to Stornoway but he might as well have been dead to Isaac who rarely leaves the premises let along the city) and 2) it turned out that two years on housekeeping staff had taught him a thing or two about maintenance.

Anyway, that's all dust in the wind (except no dust is allowed around these parts anymore). It basically comes down to this: Isaac's been here for three years as caretaker, but lived here since he was six except a two-year gap (yep). He's a recluse, never leaving the house if he can help it. Not even into the garden unless some disgusting rat-child done fucked something up out there. He's odd, and has always been odd. Has a tendency to obsess and fixate over things most people deem pointless. Access to all spaces tends to make him privy to secrets, but he won't tell a soul. Any spider harmed in his presence will be avenged like a long-lost sibling separated from him at birth and only recently rediscovered on their wedding day/last day before retirement. Technically he's staff, but this is his home too and it doesn't stop him from being a smug, self-important shit who knows he's better than you already. Because who's the idiot calling him at 2.26am because they can't figure out how the hell they broke the handle off their bathroom door? Yeah, that's right.

To what extent can your characters sense ghosts (if at all)?: He can’t see them at all, though over time he’s picked up a certain instinct for the house’s… moods. He thinks it’s the house, though, not ghosts. He thinks the house is Alive.