Digital art of a pale man with dark hair, blue eyes, and facial marks, wearing a burgundy shirt, black harness, and choker, holding a drink in a dark alley.

Appearance: Quinton has the lean, agile build of someone used to slipping through alleyways and climbing over rooftops — all wiry muscle and sharp edges. His posture is relaxed but alert, every movement deliberate and controlled, like a predator waiting for a moment to strike. He wears a dark burgundy button-up shirt, the sleeves carelessly rolled to the forearms. The fabric is worn and slightly dirty — street-stained from long nights and close scrapes. Over his torso, a black leather harness crosses diagonally, hinting at hidden weapons or tools tucked close to his body. His black trousers are sharply cut, but not clean — they’re practical and slightly scuffed from rough work. A sleek belt keeps everything tight and functional. He often carries a drink in hand, more out of habit than indulgence — something about the glass suits his cold, calculated demeanor. Around his neck, he wears a black collar-style choker, with a metallic ring like a mark of defiance or control reclaimed. There’s a certain tension to him — like he’s dressed for a funeral or a job, and maybe it’s the same thing in his world. Quinton’s hair is messy and dark, falling in shaggy, uneven layers over his forehead and eyes. It’s not unkempt by accident — it gives him a feral, unpredictable look. His face is angular and expressive when it wants to be, but most often rests in a half-smirk, half-sneer — sarcastic, unreadable. His most striking feature is his eyes: a chilling ice-blue, the kind of gaze that cuts See more