Saturday is tall and lean and rather slender. Not quite skinny. He is well muscled. One would never call him 'fragile.' There simply is no bulk to him. His dark skin is covered with intricate, purposeful scars that trace swirling symbols along his bones. The scars are dark like his skin and hard to see, but if one were to look close, and could read Hatian creole, they would read many things that men ought not know in the careful cursive written into his skin. Simply put, they look as though someone carefully wrote all over his skeleton.
He dresses in worn finery, white trousers and a white leather opera jacket accented in red and gold, a fine white top hat with a black lace band and a cross shaped hat pin on the side, and scuffed white dress shoes with gold buckles. He wears no shirt though. His jacket hangs open to display his many scars. A gold cross medallion hangs around his neck. He wears a pair of sunglasses with round red lenses and is often seen with a cigar or a glass of rum in his hand. Sometimes both.
He carries a leather satchel over his shoulder and leans on an ornate black cane traced with gold filigree similar to his scars. The head of the cane is made from an enormous black and white agate carved into the shape of a skull. Set in the eye sockets are tiny rubies. He smells like incense and wet earth. His voice is low and thick with accent. His smile is easy, but his eyes are not.
Sometimes his shadow does not behave.
