Covering this man's body is a knee level, morbidly blue trench coat, embezzled with stripes of silver that barely give sheen; Immediately contradicting his royal top are a pair of tough hide pants, made for adventure rather than cocktail parties, tightened by a dark belt and marred with numerous pockets and straps of brown leather, straps that stop any betraying, noisy sway the garments might make when cutting through air. His pants were sternly tucked into the crisscrossed laces of his boots, made for traversing the toughest of marshes, and should they ever find your groin in a kick, you would feel a reinforcing plate of steel greeting your genitals with a painful 'hello'.

Underneath the veneer of his mish-mashed attire, he was tall, broad and muscled like a maiden's fantasy.  A light, tousled hair was sprouting from his head like a whirlwind of gold, cut short and wild over a face that could have belonged to Alexander the Great; A face that showed no signs of aging, clean-shaven and clear-eyed. his forehead was unwrinkled as if his mind was never touched by concern, and it wasn't that he didn't have his fair share of trouble, it was simply that he saw the world differently, problems were just events needing to be solved, like puzzles.

Ladies were often met with an engaging smile, accompanied by a trickster's stare, an expression which seemed to say he was either planning on pulling your leg with some kind of a prank or pulling your panties down and filling you with spunk.

STREETLIGHT: People Wooohu oooooh~... don't stop.. believin'... Hold on to that feeeeeeeelin~