There are certain kind of jobs that leave their mark upon the one who performs them - you can usually spot a cop by the way they stand and the way they hold themselves; a priest, one who's heard the call has a certain sense of purpose and a hooker always has that slightly uncaring, empty edge to their smile... And then of course, there's doormen, the good ones - big, broad-shouldered slabs of utterly serene muscle, so solid that with a long enough lever, you could use them to move the world, and it's that solidity more than anything else that defines Killian, well - that and the faint but notable similarity between himself and Sin Cities 'Marv' that's caused him to be the butt of more than one (friendly) joke by his colleagues.

 Killians features are grizzled in a homely sort of fashion, with a chin intended by nature to belong to something that would use it to mould terrain and buzzcut-short hair that provides no purchase to anyone who disagrees with his professional decisions. His one arresting feature are his eyes, bright enough to throw silence over a conversation when his brow furrows while also startling enough to cause, every now and then someone staring into them to stop in astonishment and forcibly reassess him.

 His physique is similar, with broad and obviously powerful shoulders that make up in resiliance what he lacks in speed, with thick arms and a chest that tapers down to narrower hips set over legs you could probably use to prop up the side of a building in an emergency. Dressed for work he wears a somewhat ill-fitting, stretched white shirt and black suit combo, often accessorised with the sort of mid-length leather jacket that will cut out something of the cold city wind come winter. Casually dressed, he has a few pairs of black jeans and some t-shirts, as well as a slightly battered white polo neck he fancies makes him look somewhat sophisticated (it does not).

 Of course, for those who are a little more clued-in to the real world Killian's... well, actually there's very little difference - Sure, he's covered head to toe in scales, has a gator-like jaw with a bright crest and his clothes need to be cut to let his tail out... but frankly those are just details. He's still a big, broad-shouldered bruiser with a badly misplaced dress sense who gives the impression that he was built in a large shipyard somewhere rather than actually born or hatched. The occasional cheap cigar and a carefully nurtured cynicism round him out as the sort of person who's race is almost quintessentially irrelevant - there are worlds out there in the cosmos where things with twelve tentacles and no heads gibber throughout month-long nights, and even they would perceive Killian in their strange, alien way and go 'bouncer'.
 You can't buck fate - and if Killian would promptly turn that into a dirty joke about fishermen, then that's just all the more reason not to feel sorry for him about it.