Slightly hunched but with quick, precise movements. Michael keeps his left sleeve cuff perpetually singed and smudged with ash, as if constantly brushing a candle. His face is narrow with a diagonal pale scar across the left cheek that never seems to scar fully, the skin subtly shifting as if something just beneath it is restless. He wears a battered wide-brimmed hat with a crushed feather tucked into the band and a strip of braided red cord that ties an old coin near his collarbone. His unexpected element is a pair of children's wooden marionette hands he keeps looped at his belt; they are polished and clean, incongruously innocent against his darker trappings.