Argyl Tweed, District 8 (WIP)

The sight of young mister tweed is not one that would soon be forgotten. His very stature is different than most of his colleagues and conspirators, shorter than most with limbs that seem a bit too long for his torso with chorded muscle that seems almost picturesque and out of place in the place he lives where emaciation and distended bellies are a far too common sight. While his physique may impress, little more does; skin dotted and lined with scars ranging from burns and knife cuts to one bullet hole, a story he likes to tell. A thin layer of grime and soot covers most of his pallor, giving him a false tan that he's long stopped caring about. His large hands are tipped with long dexterous fingers that are often cracked or bleeding due to lack of hygiene and end with dangerous looking long yellowed and cracked fingernails. His face is also a bit of an odd sight, the rough leathery skin of an older man stretched tightly over a boy’s skull capped with a head of matted brown dreadlocks, his lack of grooming has led to the growth of a somewhat impressive pair of muttonchops that are possibly a bit nastier than the rest of him on a regular basis. Despite this very manly growth, he has nary a hair to speak of on his neck, chin, lip or chest. Sharp green eyes peer out from deep sunken sockets. His face hasn’t been spared a life of cruelty either dotted with small sores and long healed scars criss cross his cheeks and fore head.
His manner of dress doesn’t exactly help him blend in. A patch work of scavenged or stolen leather and cloth though brown and black are the prominent colors, it’s obvious he’s had to stitch together what was on hand including but not limited to; a pink heart shaped piece of leather studded with plastic gems, a neon blue strip of corduroy, part of a stop sign, a peace keeper’s badge and other random bits of whatever he could find at the time. Grime covered khaki cargo pants with more than the daily recommended amount of holes in them keep his legs ‘covered’ or at the very least his unmentionables. His foot wear is truly choice; two very rugged, strong, and well-worn feet. Socks if he can manage a pair.
Don’t let this simple exterior fool you though. No street crawler lasts long in 8 if there slow on foot, fewer make it if their slow of wit. While not particularly ‘book smart’ he is quick to solve almost any problem he encounters as long as math, proper English, history or most sciences are not required to do so. His quick wit does however make him more than a little abrasive, coming off as snarky or sarcastic (Smartass is a relatively common moniker flung his way). His manner of speech and general demeanor are apparently void of any form caring when it comes the subject of the world at large or anyone in it aside from those who may be deemed as useful in his own opinion.