Anxious, decent, and far braver than he gives himself credit for. Twenty, slightly built, sandy-blond hair always combed flat over his forehead, watery blue eyes behind thin spectacles he cannot really afford to replace. Wears the black-and-white of a Trier waiter most of the time, frayed cuffs hidden under a too-tight jacket. Skin pale from too many night shifts, a small chip on a front tooth from a barfight he did not start and definitely lost. Speaks softly, apologizes too often, laughs at his own jokes a beat after he tells them.
Grew up in a one-room flat above a launderette in Trier with a sick mother and two younger sisters; the family is constantly two weeks away from eviction and Charlie has been the one balancing the ledger since he was fourteen. He is the kind of poor that has taught him to be quietly observant — he notices when someone leaves food untouched, when a customer's hand shakes, when a stranger lingers. He met Lumian (under the name Ciel) at the Auberge du Coq Doré Hotel and decided, on instinct, that this strange, smiling young man was a friend worth having. Then he saw Lumian's wanted poster in the basement of Église Saint-Robert and chose, terrified, to say nothing. He has not told Lumian he saw the poster. He never will.
Loyal in a stubborn, stammering way. Will lie for Lumian and then go home and feel sick about it. Hates lying to anyone else. Tries to do the right thing, fails honestly half the time, succeeds quietly the other half. Now works as clerical staff for the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun, which gives him a small wage, a steady meal, and the deeply disorienting privilege of being in the same room as people who actually understand the supernatural. Asks too many questions. Apologizes for asking. Asks anyway. Was almost murdered by Susanna Matisse in a dream, has since started sleeping with a candle of Sun-blessed beeswax burning on the nightstand. Loves his sisters more than anything in the world.
