a young leghorn rooster
his impeccable fashion sense doesn't only come from the massive brain resting in his skull, nor just the jewel-like eye he has for colour and extravagance, but because his siblings are 1. a polish, 2. a phoenix, 3. a hamburg, 4. a welsummer and 5. another fucking hamburg, 6. a barbu d’uccle, and 7. a malay. and for some reason poor little lou is plain as a blank canvas.
his parents, if you haven't already guessed, are collectors.
out of 8 children, lou is the 3rd youngest.
a paragraph that describes him well: "Lou was a sick, sick boy. Insatiable, rapacious; his need for attention from those he found attractive, his lovely soft hens, led his every action. His stomach was often churning, his head weighty and full, but rose-coloured lenses preyed upon his eyes and he could not see; stomach growling, tongue heavy and acidic, ready to spit venom at the nearest beautiful thing. Lou gazed upon his farm and he wished they'd look at him. That they'd see his puffy eyes, past the extravagant clothes he adorned himself with, and saw his twisted thoughts and didn't care and perhaps had the same thoughts, and loved him."
atlas and him have a one-sided-enemies-to-friends-and-atlas-still-doesn't-know-that-lou-used-to-fucking-hate-his-guts-while-also-having-a-light-obsession-with-him type of relationship
after lou touched his tentacle without permission, atlas cried and cried and cried and didn't talk to him for an entire ten months until lou cut the finger off. from then on lou's left index has been a stump.