A poised, weathered human with a narrow face, careful posture, and the stillness of someone accustomed to dangerous rooms. Their hands are roughened by rope, salt, and old burns, yet every fingernail is clean and neatly trimmed. They move with the rolling balance of a sailor even on solid floors, never quite placing their heels down. A faded scar runs from the left corner of their mouth to the jaw, giving their polite smile an unsettling second shape. The unexpected contradiction is their immaculate presentation: beneath the tailored coat and polished boots, one trouser leg is crudely patched with sailcloth, and their left shoulder occasionally trembles from an old injury they refuse to acknowledge.