Between his mop of blonde hair, his ragged clothes, and his dumb smile, one’s first impression of Finley is of a bumpkin who took a wrong turn on his way to the corn fields.
While not entirely inaccurate, that impression swiftly subsides once one notices the blue shimmering stone where his left eye should be, surrounded by moving gauges and spinning cogs, and fastened with metal straps going all the way across his head.

Fin, however, seems unaware of the attention such an accessory attracts. If asked about it, he would in all likelyhood respond “What, this ol’ thing?”
He is genuinely polite, endearingly optimistic, and more than a bit naive.
It is unclear whether he is humble or actually oblivious to the fact that he is an extraordinarily talented artificer for his age.

For some reason, he is currently employed at a Seatower bar. What he does there and why is unknown.