A lithe Tabaxi with the polished poise of someone who grew up on parade grounds and the grease under her nails of a workshop. She moves with sprightly, almost rehearsed steps that end in catlike pauses to inspect details most would miss. Her fur is banded in warm amber and dark rosette stripes that shimmer faintly where arcane filaments are woven beneath the pelt. She wears a pair of brass-rimmed goggles perpetually pushed up on her forehead, lenses faintly fogged with oil and a rainbow of micro-scratches. At her hip dangle half a dozen compact pistols and clockwork tools in an asymmetrical harness. Contradicting the preppy neatness of her shirt and sweater-vest is a tasteful splash of chaotic embroidery sewn into the inside hem of her coat: a childlike depiction of a burning starship and a stitched phrase in a foreign script.