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As one of several sons of Kelda Grayhope, Brady grew up a curious, acquisitive youngster. He rarely wanted for anything, especially pies to stick his fingers into. He learned the ins and outs of the Boroughs, back alleys a specialty, and served while still very young as a salty, scrappy little shit aboard the decks of smuggling ships. He frequently stole from the rich to give to the poor, which would have been more Robin Hood and less little shit if only he'd had any need to do so instead of doing it for the adrenaline rush. Speaking of the adrenaline rush . . . Brady's brother turned traitor a few years ago, and it turned his life upside-down. While Corrigan ratted out the business interests, lit the launderers on figurative fire, and turned over their /mother/, Brady scrambled to course correct. He was broke for basically the first time in his life, and found that his skills at getting into and out of trouble were all he had to fall back on ... so of course he fell back on them as hard as he could. Luckily, the Grayhope family connections to business legitimate and otherwise are not few, and he was able to set himself up as a handyman: that is, a man handy for all kinds of jobs, just generally a good guy to have in your corner in the crunch. Especially if you need him to be quick with a dagger -- which is how he ended up moonlighting with the Valorous Few (he'll tell you for sure, he looks great in hats). Or, you know, a little bullshit artistry. He's good at that, too. On demand.

It's hard to stay mad at that face, you know? Melting brown eyes, lips a soft pout, an impossible sweetness summoned up with the flash of his teeth -- there's a shade of the long vanished cherub in the fullness of his cheeks, in the high sweep of his eyebrows. His hair is the burnished reddish richness of polished wood, but in texture a thick, luxuriant fluff, falling in loose waves inclined to rumple. There's a reedy height to him, limbs a little overlong and matched to the leanness of his frame and the youthful innocence of his features, that lends him more of that young, unfinished look. Adulthood has surely set in, and he sometimes cultivates it by flirting with a downy mustache or beard, but there's just something about his looks that makes it hard to translate youthful scoundrel shenanigans into anything more dire.

Look, everybody needs somebody sometime, and Brady's pretty good at becoming whatever's needed for any given situation. Manual labor? Check. Mercenary work? Why not? He loves hats! Arm candy? Okay, but shaving costs extra. Haze hookup? Sure, he can get that for you. Anything less savory, I mean why not, but it'll might cost you, because a night in the cells is so bad for the skin. Easygoing, wisecracking, friendly almost to a fault, he tries to stay mellow and keep on everybody's good side, and he can be irresistably innocuous. Of course, the ingenuous charm can be hard to turn off, and some people have gone so far as to say they find Brady obnoxious, which is just a heartbreaking thing to say.