Dark-skinned and possessing an impressive collar of hands which sprout in two pairs from his elongated neck, Mexico is a being of few words; the other Nightbreed say that if he utters more than a sentence in a week then he is in a state of agitation. However, this does not stop Mexico from claiming a place as one of the Tribes of the Moon's most accomplished lovers. His hands express all that his lips do not, and this has brought him numberless partners over the years, and with them numerous offspring. None of the fruits of his loins has been blessed with his exceptional physical gift, though- at least, none that survived. It is whispered among the other denizens of Midian that one of his many boys was born this way, but that the mother smothered him. When asked about this, the mistress in question simply shrugs. And shrugs. And shrugs.