Crispin Glover...

[bryant]

... looked like a vulture who'd been poured uncomfortably into a suit half a size too big for him, lurching around the screen as if he expected to find balance with the help of his no-longer present wins. His hair was jet black, and more or less immovable; it swooped down over his right eye with the certainty lacking from every other aspect of his body. Even language was a risk: half-hearted, foredoomed to failure, and that failure foreseen by the vulture within.