Gully is a whirlwind of soot and sea salt. His skin is a patchwork of grease and grime from the Dock Ward rafters, but his hands are surprisingly clean and move with surgical precision. He moves with a jittery, bird like precision, often squatting on high ledges rather than sitting on chairs. His hair is a matted nest of chestnut curls that hides various small trinkets, pieces of twine, and sometimes a stolen silver spoon. He smells faintly of smoked kippers and old wet rope. Most striking are his eyes, which are a piercing, crystalline blue that seems far too sharp for a child, capturing everything they see with a cold, analytical weight.