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A sickly child from the Lowers who nobody much noticed for his first ten or twelve years. Parents dead, or dusted? Fostered into a family? Something like that. Too week to grow into a proper earner, but a disgraced clerk, charlatan, or addict--or all of the above--took pity on the clever, often-bedridden boy and taught him. Maybe from kindness--maybe hoping for a better income from an educated Elisha. In any case, the boy took refuge in the written word more than the spoken one. Though when he does talk, he talks fancy, as educated as a silk--'uppity little shit,' the neighbors mutter, with more than a hint of pride. He makes the odd coin working as an unofficial scribe in the rare case that someone nearby needs reading or writing done, as he is extremely literate. Elisha is known to tell fantastical stories to his neighbors, sometimes in exchange for a bite to eat, tales which the kids occasionally spread throughout the Lowers. He's also known to beg from the silks if he gets hungry enough.

Thick, braided pigtails bob and sway from Elisha's head to his mid-back, though they occasionally creep in front of his skinny shoulders to jounce against his chest. His glossy black hair, however, is the healthiest-looking thing about him. His skin is pitted with the pox-scars of a childhood illness, his cheeks often flush as if with fever, and beads of perspiration commonly gather at his brow. He moves with the twitchy watchfulness of beaten dog. Despite all that, though, he's not entirely unhandsome. While his posture is usually hunched defensively, his proportions are fine--if underfed--and his smoke-stained fingers are sensitive. His eyes, though often glassy, shine with a warm brown light. His chin is strong and his lips are oddly lush on his otherwise ascetic face.

Dreamy--or more charitably, meditative. No; definitely dreamy. Chatty when he's frightened, and he's often frightened. Fundamentally shameless, though also embarrassed by minor, trivial things. A junkie, an addict, who will try anything just to see what happens. He has a hard time telling reality from imagination--truth from lies, too.