On the ok side of desperately poor, Cornelius (or Newt as everyone he cares to respond to call him) is a little dollop of chaos in a human suit. He wanders the streets of the East End, hoping to find some work to sink his teeth into. He has been involved in some petty, and sometimes some medium crime. His heart is good, at its core. But like anything good and soft should have, its shell is quite thick and coarse. Like a boiled sweet filled with a gooey center, you have to suck pretty hard to get there. He does not suffer fools. Unless he is paid to. He is happy to be paid to do almost anything. Within (some dubious) reason. Creative and sardonically comic, he can be the life and soul of the party, or he can sit on the sidelines and drink it all in. Chameleon in nature and with an aptitude for getting into sticky situations, he is in search of a purpose. He remembers little of his childhood. He was taken in at age seven by a kind cobbler and his son Felix. Felix passed away in a wagon accident when Newt was 19 and the pain is still quite raw. He is a fairly skilled pickpocket, grifter and “escort” for whomever takes a fancy to him that evening, regardless of age or gender. Money is money. Perhaps he will find a group to belong to, or perhaps he already has!