ORANGE is pretty, so she's used to getting lots of attention. Funny thing about her: when you're giving her what she wants, she's dismissive, like she'd just as soon you fell in a hole; but the day you start withholding your attention -- even if she never liked you before -- she'll beeline right for you and cuddle right up and ask if she did something wrong. You'll say no; they always say no to Orange.
YELLOW's reputation is curiously muddled. Because of the way he looks, people always think he's a pushover, a patsy, an easy mark: someone who can be pushed around. In truth, that's not the case at all: decades of people thinking that way have made Yellow as hard as a block of steel, and if he wanted to, he could kill you where you stand without even getting winded. But the thing about Yellow, he hates that tough-guy stuff. He thinks that violence is barbaric and force is uncivilized, and the whole idea of fighting makes him feel slightly ridiculous; so he never does it. At what point does the man who can fight but won't become the man who just can't? At what point does conscience make you a coward? Are you the man you could be, or the man you are?
GREEN knows what she wants and she'll do anything to get it. Anything. Luckily for all of us, she's a woman of few needs. Wherever she goes, she walks in like she owns it; put an object in her hands or an idea in her head, and she treats it like a creator, not like a user. Once she saw a guy down at the ballyard with a big tattoo that said "THE WORLD IS MINE", and she acted like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course the world is mine," she said. "Who else would it be for?"
BLUE is bad luck. No one even talks to him, because he's a curse, a taint, a bad smell. He don't wear glasses, but his range of vision is two feet in front of his nose and no further: all Blue can see is the guy standing in his way. All Blue can hear is the dame telling him to get lost. All Blue can taste is his own inevitable defeat. All Blue can smell is the shit coming out of his own mouth. He can touch anything, though, but beware: everything he touches turns to him. Whatever you've got, he's got it worse plus one; he's the large fries of self-absorbed misery. Don't even ask how it's goin', 'cause he'll tell you.