He isn't overly large, but Dekadin is overly clumsy. Fortunately, he is a Mirr, with an anodized exoskeleton. Its dull copper tinct is riddled with pale blue markings, the same blue you see at the bottom of a metal pot after it has been set over fire many, many times; the same shimmering blue as his eyes. He possesses hair, russet, and other features that make him indistinguishable from a human in a crowd of humans; at least, publicly, as rumors suggest the Mirr merely appear human to seem unthreatening, and there may very well be some truth to them. He carries a short metal flute of his own contriving, which he plays readily, and adorns himself in green clothing of the most fantastic design.
As of late, Dekadin has taken residence in Verisimilitude. There, he writes science fiction novels, symphonies, is active in charitable programs involving children―whom he loves to watch play sports―and, perhaps more critically speaking, he is on the city's defense council with top-level access to the military security net.
All told, it is a good life for a single individual far from his home planet.
Excerpt #1 from Dekadin's memory bank