Aldren moves like someone who has measured distances with a ruler and the weight of objects with his hands. He keeps one palm often dusted with wood shavings and metal filings. His hair is cropped close at the sides but left longer on top and swept back in a careless wave. His apron is a patchwork of pockets and stitched repairs, each patch telling the story of an item salvaged or a customer helped. Around his neck hangs a small brass locket that he occasionally fingers when thinking. Unexpectedly, his left boot is polished to a mirror shine while the rest of his attire is comfortably worn. He smells faintly of lemon oil and pipe smoke. When he walks he taps his cane twice before opening a door, a habit born of routine more than necessity.