Floating down into old London Town with an umbrella... what? you didn't get the name?

Regardless!

If nothing else was memorable of this individual, the near constant possession of a little white paper bag full of sweets in hand was his apparently defining factor. A seemingly endless supply of the treats in carefully organised and delicately sealed paper pouches, he had something to scintillate the taste buds of anyone with a sweet tooth.

Standing just over six foot tall, an athletic, yet relaxed build. There wasn't an ounce of fat to be found on the man, muscle definition Michaelangelo would have been proud to have left on a statue - but all hidden under loose fitting, usually simple attire.

Fashionably scruffy hair draped over the sides of his face, forming a perfect frame for the soft hazel eyes that took in the world around him. His features offered expression where his words lacked so severely.

Speaking of words (hur hur). Never a sentence passed the lips of this particular curiosity. Single words surrounded by hand gestures and facial expressions were the extent and breadth of his communication. He was still alive, so apparently it sufficed.

Should those simple clothes for any reason be cast aside, then what was found beneath may be unexpected, given the man's curious nature. On his torso, a chain hanging between pierced nipples was the only remaining of what appeared to have been extensive to the point of excessive piercings. His body a canvas of scars where everything from simple studs to bars appear to have been pushed through his skin - to the more observant, those in his shoulders would have been thick enough to hang his entire weight from.

Whether he'd decided to keep anything else? There lies the Tuppence question.