The wind skirts around Seth Yamaguchi as he walks causing his short brown hair to fly all around his face, inhibiting his sight. Gray pants are held up by a simple black belt, a silver plated buckle seeming simple yet eloquent. The collared shirt, beneath the black sweater over it, is ironed perfectly while the lapels of the collar are pressed down neatly. As he takes a turn, planning a shortcut through the park, he gives a soft shake of his head. The tresses settle down between his eyes and around the sides of his face, his index finger coming up to push his round glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.
His light brown eyes take in every detail with each step that he takes, always on high alert. He keeps track of every leave that skitters across the ground and every branch that twitches with each breeze. His instincts and intellect are a sharp as any sword, but his mind wanders down to the plain white box in his hands. Black stripes stretch diagonally all across it, not so much