A man who looks like he should smell of smoke and oil but moves with a barroom slouch that betrays practiced balance. His leather jacket is patched in uneven hexagonal plates stitched with brass filigree. Faint scorch marks rim the cuffs and a thin tube of braided copper runs from a small canister at his hip up into an elbow brace. His left forearm bears a mechanical plate with a little rotating dial and a narrow glass tube that ticks faintly when he breathes. He walks like someone who has slept on tavern benches more than beds; his shoulders slope slightly as though bearing a weight no eye sees. Unexpected element: when he laughs he unconsciously polishes the brass fittings on his armor with the cuff of his sleeve, as if ritualistically cleaning something sacred.