The Maven of Clock and Steam, Doctor Brimshaw is as energetic, curious, and often times loud as the machines she is responsible for. A lesson that is, decidedly, at odds with the often reserved attire that otherwise girds her thinning frame against the oils, unguents, and more esoteric reagents that define her craft and calling. Regardless, most are happy to point out there is a devil in that woman and it is eating her from the inside out. A fact that seems to have all the more credence in more recent months as her wide roving nature seems to have finally caught up with her and her public presence has become felt less and less even among the Guild of Gear and Piston.

Her fair complexion now often riddled with bandages livid with red, blue, and stranger half colours besides upon those patches of skin one can glimpse. A rasping cough haunting her lungs now and leading to dust the hue of glass and sapphire escaping her when the kerchief is not quite quick enough. Whatever the source of her malady it's whispered often enough to those at least learned in one exploit or another that she's invoked the ire of more than one warden for her efforts to wrest the secrets of the Actuality from what has been jokingly described as the tyranny of Suns. All the same, she remains a striking and sharp featured example of her breed and line with gold spun hair. Other oddites, if one doesn't mind invading personal space, can be glimpsed too... Like the tell tale scars of needle work about the wrist and neck or the delicate little click of gears and spring when ever she leads with her right leg.

Time, all it's own, seems a strange thing in her company; never quite solid and never quite flowing as it ought to. An oddity that's given birth to more than one rumor about the respected Doctor that circle around the particular impact she seems to have upon clocks and the mechanisms of time keeping. Their hands, sands, and waters never quite able to return to the hours, minutes, and seconds in the moment she was in their company.