[hider=Symon][center][img]http://i1.lisimg.com/5780360/280full.jpg[/img]
[h1][color=#E8C9A0]𝕊[/color][color=#E3C39A]𝕪[/color][color=#DEBE95]𝕞[/color][color=#D9B990]𝕠[/color][color=#D5B38B]𝕟[/color] [color=#CBA981]𝕂[/color][color=#C6A47C]𝕒[/color][color=#C29E77]𝕣[/color][color=#BD9972]𝕨[/color][color=#B8946D]𝕒[/color][color=#B38F68]𝕥[/color][color=#AF8963]𝕤[/color][color=#AA845E]𝕜[/color][color=#A57F59]𝕪[/color][/h1][/center]
It's clear that before boarding (or being boarded upon) the [i]Ask[/i], Symon was a man who walked at the apex of humanity, a Michelangelo statue made flesh; he is tall and broad-jawed and glassy-eyed just like an old movie star. (Steve McQueen comes to mind.) And because the jumpsuit grazing across his body is so baggy and excessive, once upon a time he must have been well-built, too. He withered some during cryo-sleep, but he still has an ox's neck and shoulders: thick, sinewy, meaty, tough.

But physically the man manages to be subtly imperfect furthermore, quite unlike the McQueens and the Newmans and the Grants of the world: his eyes are too far apart, his teeth slightly gapped; and these two features combined bestow upon his face an air of backwoods inbreeding. He's also balding, not that it's terribly noticeable with his red-blond hue of hair, and the short style in which he has sheared it. His Ukrainian accent is thick and hearty like a meat and potato soup.

The man gets crippling headaches at seemingly arbitrary times, with no set schedule or pattern to their onset. When one has struck, he locks himself away, wishing not to be seen in that vulnerable state; but his moans are coarse and animal, audible through any of the cabin's doors. When not in pain, though, he is an explorer, almost childish in his quest to know every surface of the ship, and every secret squirreled away in the motherboard, the cabinets...

He's not terribly talkative, but when he does speak it feels weightier than would most men's words. Through no deliberation of his own, his voice carries a philosophical cadence and a profound naivete, extremely patient with points of view which disagree with his own. If there's one area to which this patience does not extend, it's his opinion on hierarchy and power: whether the man is a control freak, or a sexist, or simply stressed by his circumstances, he firmly believes in the discrepancy between ruler and follower. He wants the crew, as small as it is, to coexist not as a democracy but a dictatorship, with a clearly defined leader who all others should obey. Perhaps it's natural for a man who was born in an Eastern Bloc nation, with a rich history in oppression and suffering.

He has an intense craving for something. He knows not what, but he hypothesizes he was addicted to a substance in his old life.[/hider]