He's a thief, a rouge, a conman, a scoundrel, a trick- or that's what he's been called anyways, he never really listened much.

That's what you get when you're abandoned and raised in the streets, not that he complains much anymore.

Cian was laid back on a roof wall, basically lounging under the shade of the afternoon sun and humming, flipping a coin in the air as his gaze stays trained on the street below him, searching for a target or virtually anything interesting.