|Appearance: Ah, hmyes, perhaps introductions are in order. But not before discussing my accoutrements. After all, style that befit the man beget the man. Youíll not find me without some form of fitted attire, my favorite ensemble consisting of a pair of brown dress shoes, fitted pants a magnificent shade of violet held up by a brown belt, with a matching purple and white flannel shirt. Ah, the set couldnít possibly be complete without my khaki vest and accommodating trilby resting atop my crown. I am quite taken with the shaved sides haircut these days; it quite accentuates my cut cheekbones. On colder days Iíll tend to opt for a fuchsia scarf, as maintaining every sense of professionalism and decorum know no excuse, even when braving the elements. My wooden Fritz-style cane, albeit a medical necessity, only further adds to the air of sophistication I naturally exude. Yes, all this resting atop my slender 5'9" frame completes the package that is Percival Simmons. I am enchanted to make your acquaintance.|
|Personality: I can only imagine youíll find a particular fascination with me once your eyes perceive my visage. Iíd surely love to discuss even more of myself at your behest over some java at a low-lit nightclub sometime, but most of my days are spent trawling about the area, exchanging information with the locals who have yet to make my acquaintance. If my time isnít spent socializing with the upper echelon of society, then, surely, itíll have been spent poring through the annals of Mobian history to come to a proper understanding of our unique interactions and, most importantly, how to insert myself into that grand picture. You... Hadnít taken me for the studious type? My good sir, madam, or one of neither, Iíll need to inform you that, while you may not stumble across me nose-deep in books or toting a notebook, I am always connected with the world with my cellular device, seeking information and forming connections to aid in my aspirations.|
|Backstory: Hmhm, so you simply could not resist your fascination with me? As you wish, Iíll allow a more... Intimate conversation with me.|
If I spend enough time in recollection, Iíll find myself back in the alleys of Casinopolis, a youth constantly hounded by the authorities. I suppose I followed in my fatherís footsteps, a miscreant whose life would serve to leave, at most, a footnote in the history books should he become successful, infamous in his profession. My father spent most of his life chasing anything, any means with which he could acquire money, and that often lead to pilfering, taking any traces of scrap and chemicals from police raids and assaults, selling them to the seediest lot he could find, making enough money to barely scrape by. My motherís pity and a night of passion would be what led me into such a frigid world.
The company my father kept would soon prove to be his own undoing. My mother kept her head down, ensuring my safety and raising me, while my father would attain clout and recognition among local gangs. His occupation soon shifted from pilfering to thievery, inevitably to grand larceny, and this job was to involve stealing from GUN officials. Somewhere along the line, my father perished before the job could even take place, I imagine. All my digging turned up empty, so I can only assume the job never actually took off. If I were to theorize the best about a man I never really knew, I could imagine a reality where he refused to take the job, knowing that his loves were waiting for him at home; perhaps he was betrayed for the refusal. I canít say for sure that Iíll ever know. With my mother having an essentially empty skillset for living in Casinopolis, we ran through whatever he managed to save up for us until we inevitably had to resort to making a homeless shelter our new lodgings.
And there I was, a spry, lanky teen, pickpocketing whomsoever dared to leave themselves unaware, in a misguided attempt to save enough money to afford a home for us when I met the end of my old life at the hands of a concerned citizen. And it was such a thrashing he handed me that my leg would never quite be the same again.
Instead of throwing the proverbial book at me, my homeless motherís plea would somehow sway the judge enough to allow me to breathe free air so long as I attended a special reformation institution. It was his initiative to attempt to reintroduce troubled youth into society. Iíd attend the institution for a probationary period; if I proved myself studious, attentive, and peaceful, then I would be allowed to continue the program. This was my opportunity to lift us from our poverty; as such, there was no way I would fail. In fact, I aced my classes. I fought, struggled, made acquaintances, and even managed to cozy up to the staff there; everyone would know my name so long as I attended the institution.
I came back to my mother at 18, keys to an apartment in hand, extending my hands to lift her from her pit of despair and into a new life, free from fatherís curse.
Three years later, I now contract for a number of news outlets, and, my word, the market for news is only ever increasing these days. I suppose I dabble in investigative journalism; every nook and cranny of Mobian history hides layers of mysteries within every subsequent entry, and I am certain that my ambition can lead me to solve as many out there as possible.
|Residence: Although I had planned to give you the tour after we established the proper mood myself, I suppose I can fill you in on my residential affairs:|
I have made myself an abode in a 1/1 apartment, my mother now living in an apartment a few blocks down. Sheís discovered a dormant skill in influencing the youth on the internet on how to properly apply makeup, becoming famous to the point where sheís sufficiently self-reliant.
|Abilities: If youíre referring to special abilities, I did learn to play violin exceptionally well during my education, and I keep up to date on the latest public news and technology due to my occupation. That is... What you asked for, yes?|
- Well, Iíd like to consider myself a great conversationalist
- Iím also particularly dexterous; Iím great with my hands, and can hold my chopsticks as well as I hold my cane
- Well, you may have noticed that I require my cane for adequate mobility. Some torn ligaments stay that way, Iím afraid.
- I have been told... Once (thrice) that my loquacious nature has run someone away from my presence.