Quinn is of average height with skin that ripples in mottled gradients from russet to violet, as if multiple pigments can’t quite settle. His teal hair stands in wild tufts like twisted alchemical flames, and his curved, onyx-black horns bear iridescent chalk marks from absentminded note-taking. His sharp eyes dart restlessly behind round, coppery spectacles, often smudged with fingerprints. A long, practical coat riddled with mismatched pockets seems to trail dust motes and bits of dried herb wherever he goes. Though his hands are perpetually ink-stained, a single finger on his left hand is meticulously clean, always used for handling delicate vials.