Lucan moves like someone who sleeps when he can and stands when he must, a habit from long late nights at the bench. He wears a stained leather apron over a tidy vest and shirt, sleeves always rolled to mid-forearm showing faint scorch patterns and the paler semicircles where goggles rested. His hands are quick and tapered, fingertips callused with small burn scars and tiny permanent flecks of solder in the right thumb. He favors a loop of copper wire wound into a spare ring on his left little finger. When he speaks he punctuates explanations by sketching invisible diagrams with his fingers, and when thinking he often tilts his head as if listening to an inner metronome. Contradictory element The left sleeve of his shirt is meticulously mended with bright, floral cloth patches that clash with the otherwise industrious look.