Brixi moves with a nervous, precise energy as if every step is measured against a clockwork beat. She is compact and darting, often hunched slightly from years peering into lenses. Her hands are ink-stained and callused at the fingertips; she wears a monocle of brass lenses over her left eye that clicks and whirs when she adjusts its focus. A small mechanical raven, the Ironwisp, perches on her shoulder and tucks under her chin like a shawl when she speaks. Unexpectedly, Brixi keeps a long, embroidered silk scarf that hangs incongruously amidst her soot-dark apron and leather belts—she treats it like a talisman and will refuse to let anyone touch it.