Jack Taylors

She’s a thin person, verging on unhealthily so. Her skin is naturally olive, but it has a sickly sort of pallor to it as if she's not seen sun in some time or she's sick. Her black hair is pulled back into a sloppy bun. Her face is heart-shaped, with gaunt cheeks and tired, clear blue eyes that are usually peering from behind her battered rectangular glasses. They’re wire-framed, and have obviously been repaired repeatedly – there’s wire holding one of the arms attached, and tape on the bit which goes over the bridge of her nose.
Her clothing is a green t-shirt and cargo shorts, both worn to near white in places and showing signs of having several tears that have been hand-sewn together. Her shoes are sneakers held together with duct tape and hope, and her socks have safety pins in them to keep them up.
Over her shoulder is a cheap pink backpack that looks just as old as her clothes. One strap has a great deal of safety pins pinned to it (presumably to store them) and the other has been stitched back to the main backpack with tooth floss.
All of her gear, and her skin, is very slightly grubby, like she’s been working in an area where she’s brushed up against muddy/oily/dirty things.