A kenku whose plumage is kept impossibly clean and arranged like a human courtier's hair: glossy black primaries layer over charcoal down with a deliberate rightward sweep. They favor a high collar that hides the short, useless wings; a brass monocle rests on the left brow, magnifying a small, glassy eye that gleams with calculation. Their beak bears a faint notch and a hairline scar that curls like a comma. They move with the measured, deliberate glide of someone trained to occupy rooms—always presenting the flank, never the back—yet they will, without warning, jitter like a cornered finch when something unseen upsets them. Contradiction follows them: while they wear impeccably tailored silks and gloves, one wrist is wrapped in oil-stained cloth where a working hand once tended rigging and rope. They leave a faint scent of pipe-tobacco and citrus.