She is young, younger than Bandit, anyway. She weaves her hair into dozens of skinny braids that scatter across her shoulders like twisting vines. Her body is slim and curved in a feminine manner. Bandit supposes she is attractive. In the dark of the stairwell, her skin looks as black as night. In truth, it is like the color of soykaf, light brown. She dresses for the street: jeans, synthleather, and sneaks. Shock gloves dangle from her belt. Tucked into the belt is a Narcoject needlegun. Bandit does not care for guns, but he understands why Shell keeps one. The kids are young and Shell has no magic, or so little it hardly matters, and these spaces around them, hidden in the sub-basement, are worth their cubic space in gold. They have it all to themselves, just him, Shell, and the kids. They must be careful. Were the space discovered, they would have a small army of streetlife fighting to get inside.