P. Simon Smyth

Nobody calls him by his full name, mostly because he hasn't told them. Why that might be isn't something he's willing to go into, likely ever. But those who do know him call him 'Simon'. If one desires to flatter, 'Captain Simon', as his home is behind the console of a rocket. Even if he finds himself "temporarily dispossessed", as the case may be.

Simon is a study in contrasts, as he very much believes in taking care of the details that matter. The gun at his hip is always freshly loaded, cleaned, and well oiled. His personal grooming is generally on point, both because he enjoys female company, and because appearance matters. Few people want to hire a slob. He doesn't really bother to shine his shoes, as he's not often hired for the kinds of jobs where one's shoes are examined closely.

He probably doesn't have the patience for that, simply because why do shoes matter? Or that matter, why do people take issue with his preference for daring hats and sometimes gaudy and ostentatious jackets? Flying was a dangerous business, after all, and he liked the look.