Clive is a small, quick-moving gnome who delights in theatrical disguise. He commonly wears a shockingly cheerful blonde curly wig and a faded pink pinafore dress over practical traveling clothes — a deliberate, unsettling contrast that makes witnesses both laugh and forget. Beneath the wig, his natural hair is steel-gray and cropped close. His hands are ink-stained from paperwork and light-scarred from pick-lock work. He carries himself with the restlessness of someone who never stops watching: quick glances, a half-smile, and a posture that leans toward the nearest conversation. Up close, his face shows a map of tiny laugh lines around the eyes and a narrow, precise scar across the bridge of his nose as if nicked by a blade and healed with care. A faint scent of lemon oil and old books lingers about him.