Simon Knight

Full Name: Simon Jon Knight

Born as: Simon Jon Fuchs

Birthday: November 30th

Age: 45

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Religion: Jewish

–Religious Level (1-10): Recently increasing to a 5

Birthplace: Queens, NYC, New York (lived there with mother's parents while she went back to L.A. to try to become a contract. Unsuccessful. His mother brought him back to California when she got a job as an assistant, never giving up on trying to become a contract by any means necessary.)

Current Residence: Apartment in Los Angeles' Koreatown

Height: 5' 7"

Hair Color: Near black

Eye Color: Dark brown

Sexuality: Pansexual

Love/Romantic Preference: Panromantic

Relationship Status: Divorced 5 times

Languages Known: English, Yiddish (rusty)

Details

Car: Doesn't have one and his license got suspended

Phone: LG Stylo 6. Lost pen. Cracked screen. Sometimes flashes when he's typing.

Music Genres:

Wardrobe: Grease-stained/blood-stained/dirt-stained basic or graphic tees, ripped jeans (sometimes jeans converted into shorts), has been known to be without shoes sometimes. Homeless-core.

Estimated Net Worth: Only has access to Prometheus allowance, which is handled through his agent. For his own sake, sometimes he won't have any funds immediately available.

Ransom Value: He could be found in a ditch weeks later and no one would be surprised.

Accent: New York (5/10) mostly from his mother's influence

Disorder: Undiagnosed memory issues, increasing in severity. Due to head trauma and prolonged substance abuse

Bloodlines + Connections

Bette "Bitsy" Berkowitz-Fuchs | Mother | deceased | ruled an accidental death | hit by a car while crossing the street

Joel Fuchs | Father | traveling salesman | left family when Simon was a young teen | deceased

Andrew Roberts | Casting Director | Bitsy's main employer | biological father | his car was involved in Bitsy's death

Marney Murphy | Agent the one to handle his finances and messes

Teagan Harper Hale | Friend

Agnes Heidi Ingrid Hawkins | directs him sometimes

Myles Deville Delaney | fucknut stole his chances to get his own show

Tito Miguel Cuervo Cardosa | plug

Levels

Drinking (1-10): 10

Swearing: 9

Smoking status: 8

Drugs: 8 (used to be a 10)

Cooking proficiency: 1. Crackhouse proficiency only

Intelligence: 6.5

Emotional/Social Intelligence: 4

Creativity: 7 (writes his own material)

SimonxLina

They say opposites attract, but this has the same attraction like flies on shit. Simon, with his crass and utter trash persona, wound up catcalling Lina in a drunken stupor. Lina, who had freshly popped a quaalude, let Simon stumble into her life since then. They've been an odd match ever since.

Lina's affluent background still allows her to see Simon as a lower-level being (and she's not wrong!), but it's small comfort and some self-harm that goes into knowing that her family would highly disapprove of her choice to continue her relationship, since their disappointment was already felt when she signed her contract.

For Simon, he has access to better drugs that Lina somehow gets and he doesn't ask questions as to how she gets them from Miguel.

They get along best when they're under the influence, and may even pretend not to know each other in the brief moments when they're stone cold sober.

Unfortunately, with Simon's deteriorating memory, he puts himself in a delicate position when it comes to his longevity. Eventually, he'll ask (posing it as a crazy hypothetical joke!) if Lina could stick around while he offs himself.

“What-..” colour drained from his face seeing someone so quickly eat the cheese that had taken so long to get here. A small morsel still stuck on a fork. “Did- did you just..” Tomas stared in disbelieve still trying to process what happened and what he had to do next. “It’s mimolette..” the French cheese was hard to come by in the US after some hissy fit over health concerns, and it took a lot to try and bring a few over. “Please don’t tell me you ate the rind,” Tomas sighed plucking off the piece from Simon to give it a taste test, eyes widening at the realisation over his palate, “this isn’t.. where’s the rest of the box?”

"Yo, don't get tight with me, man. What did you think would happen when you started throwing cheese anywhere? That's got to be a big ass rat you're coming for." What the fuck was mimolette, anyways? Didn't sound like he was supposed to know, but time was better spent watching him take the last chunk of cheese off his fork. "What's wrong with the rind, Tommy boy..." Simon's face screwed up, torn between believing it had been eating and convincing himself that he hadn't. "What happens if you eat the rind? What big D is it? Death or diarrhea?--No homo, but could you stick your finger down my throat? Got a weird gag reflex, man, don’t make it weirder by looking at me like that."

| open

“No, there has be to a mistake– I’m pretty sure the delivery was made here already this morning, I- I got the notification..” Panic rose within Tomas as he plead the receptionist who had zero clue about what was happening having entered started her shift at Prometheus. Tomas dropped his head as his brown locks flopped forward in dismay, with a soft dejected sigh. “Sorry, have you seen a medium sized crate arrive– about this size and– and coming from France- should have some fragile label on it..” Tomas felt a presence came to his side as he immediate ask the next closest person he could find.

"They did you so dirty with this frottage.” Crumbs of cheese are dripping out of Simon’s mouth as he talks and chews at the same time, fork held in his right hand with another small slab of it pierced. “You got fucked, brother. This is as fragile as a stripper’s left ass cheek, you feel me? Take a bite.”

"Mazel tov!" He was already face-down on Teagan's couch by the time they finally came back home, waking him up with a string of drool attaching his mouth to the cushion as he raised. His hand was still clasped around the neck of a bottle of tequila, not the cheap shit either. His eyes squinted, forehead crinkling from the amount of concentration he put into just focusing on their face. "Sober days are fucking over, dude. O-zone can't get a third nipple now or whatever." Did Teagan tell him the name of the baby? Seemed... familiar in some vague, watered-down way, the only thing coming to mind was something with O. Or was it A? Anthony?? Some fucking voewl. What did he look like? A Wheel of FOrtune contestant? FUck that. SpIn the wheel right up Sat Pajack's ass.

The remnants of the alcohol circled around as the near-empty bottle was rolled in Teagan's direction, bumping into their shoes. "Sorry about your door. That's on me. Did not pass the baby-proof test."

it must have been the startled expression on her face that finally pushed forward an apology. she was used to the joking, the set was light, and she encouraged plenty of improv. she trusted her friends, she knew they would do nothing to harm the movie. but never under these kind of circumstances. “it’s okay. you’re not feeling well, and i really—” she hated using her authority in any meaningful way. of course she had final say on her set, but she wished everything felt like a unanimous decision. this clearly wasn’t going to go that way. “i would feel a lot better if you went home and rested. we can shoot all your scenes tomorrow, it’s okay.”

"I..." Simon's breath had caught at the back of his throat, building up like a damn after the last syllable hung in the balance before being let go of harshly. "Nuh uh," he finished, eyes closed tight behind the dark glasses, slowly shaking his head as it bowed. The fear of being replaced, of losing his points, of being /cancelled/ raged inside of him until he felt sick again, making him groan as his head tilted back up, willing it away. "Nuh uh. Not happening, sister. I said I was sorry. Don't you know what that's fucking like? Disgusting. Come on, man. Don't be this way." Fuck, he'd really screwed the pooch. "How 'bout this... I'll put up 50 points if I suck ass. You know.. not literally, unless you're down, but if I fuck up they're Bobby's or... whoever the boyfriend is I don't know your life story, but deal?"

Mr. Simon Knight || CONTRACT

What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Beaumont-Jackson?:

I told him once I’d blow him for a Red Bull. I was going through some shit. [Mr. Knight then pops open his energy drink.]

Do you believe anyone wished him harm?:

Fuck, probably.

Are you familiar with narcotics?:

Nice try, but I’m not giving up my plug.

To the best of your ability, do you remember the last time you saw Mr. Beaumont-Jackson?:

Yeah, he was going to 7/11 to get my Red Bull. Didn’t we just go through this?

they perched an arm on simon’s shoulder, giving him a dubious look. “si, i’m a classy broad okay. i don’t masturbate with a toothbrush anymore.” teagan paused to think, then added, “unless i run out of batteries before they let us all get back to our actual homes.” they lowered their hand, giving simon a slap on the ass before answering his question. “just stuffed it all into your room. you weren’t there so…” they motioned around them to indicate the area, “figured if i wandered around i’d run into you sooner or later.”

 “so have you been as insanely fucking bored as i have? i think i’ve just about ran out of ways to keep my sanity.” there was only so much pot you could smoke before the inside of a bottle started looking a lot more appealing. teagan had done their best to stay relatively sober–something about the importance of not falling off the wagon again, bullshit, bullshit, blah blah blah. their friend bo had been the one to sell them the idea, that staying alert probably meant staying alive with whatever the fuck was going on in prometheus right now. “i was actually thinking about finding a way onto the window scaffolding to peep into the rooms. just to see who’s up to some freaky shit, y’know?”

The weight of Teagan's arm was planted on his frame, and even as amusing their words were, Simon had his own priorities. "Hey, hey. Back up. What are you trying to do? Make me look like a midget?" Hand on his ass, slapping into it, skin nipped with a pink mark hopefully. "I'm calling HR. Gonna tell Cindy Lou Who that you ass fucked me with a toothbrush. I get 50% of whatever points you get from it, too."

Unbothered underneath, his hand reached behind to slip beneath his pants, rubbing at where they smacked him. So, he wasn't the only one that was going stir-crazy. That was relieving. "Fuck, if you really wanted to ass fuck me with a toothbrush, all you had to do was ask." Simon's face was nearly the same as his tone, that barely-there-care tone flooding him throughout, always content to be in a fuck-it attitude. He gave a supportive shrug at the idea just in the same manner. "I'm down. Fifty bucks says the Irons chick is into chains and whips, and if I'm wrong I don't want to hear it. Just let me have this one."

between the raised brow and the scrunch of their face, it was obvious teagan had no fucking idea what simon was going on about this time. “dude–what?” they asked in confusion, quickly deciding it actually didn’t matter and there were more important things to talk about anyway. “we can vandalize the place later, i’m sure rat-fucker-in-chief will give us plenty more to be angry about before our lovely little vacation is over.” teagan had spent the whole time looking for simon trying to find a way to tell him the news about them being roommates now; trying to find a way to make ‘hey bud, your memory loss is getting a lot worse and i’m fucking worried that you’re going to get hurt or get taken advantage of you and i’ve decided to put my life and well-being on hold to move in and be your new live-in babysitter’ not sound like exactly what it was.

in the end–teagan decided a lie would be okay. just a little one. “so. i may or may not have gotten caught masturbating by my roomie and may or may not have gotten kicked out. i decided it would be easier to just switch rooms than try to avoid eye contact for the rest of this… whatever it is.” they spoke fast, nonchalant. just another day in teagan-land, where shit like this happened all the time. “anyway! i totally promise not to let you catch me masturbating. i’ll put a tie on the doorknob and everything.” maybe it would be easier for him to accept if they didn’t phrase things as a request, if they showed him that things had already been taken care of. 

He wouldn't admit shit to it, but seeing Teagan's face gave him an internal sigh of relief. On the outside, though? Simon could play his normal role of asshole friend, giving them a look of glossed-over interest at the story that was given over. "What's the big fucking deal? Were you using their toothbrush?" His expression tilted, finger raised before they could say anything back about it. "Hey, those electric ones...? I'm just saying... that might just be your birthday present."

More than likely Teagan made it up. It was no secret they were concerned. Fuck, he was concerned, but there wasn't anything wrong. So he forgot a few details? Whatever. It was the corona in the air. "Yeah, yeah. I sleep-jerk, so jokes on you.--Where's your shit?" he asked, looking over their sides in search of their bags.

“no you’re not understanding.” she took a deep breath, turning back around to face her actor now that his episode was over. she was all sympathy, soft smile on her face while she let him regain some semblance of composure. “i don’t think you’re feeling well. i would appreciate if you went home.” the last thing she wanted was for any of her actors to hurt themselves for her movie. everyone was looking to her for guidance and she only knew to turn out compassion in return. if they needed an extra day of rest, she would make that work, whether it was a gaffer or one of the leads. “the production will be okay for the day, no sweat on us.” she meant it in the most upbeat way possible, they were all a team here, and she wanted to pull together to support whatever was needed. even if that was a sick day. “do you need a ride home or anything?”

"Look, you're the one that's not getting it," he threw back at her as strong as his voice could come off as. It was hard when the taste of bile clung heavily to his tongue and the threat of adding another layer of it was felt in the back of his throat. His water was taken to his lips, one big solid gulp to wash it away. "Put me in, coach. I've got this. It's like it's the first time you've ever seen a fucking drunk. What's up with your generation? Is it just adderall or bust with you guys?" Of course, that wasn't all of it. But it was going to be good enough. He wasn't going to take the ride home, and he was determined not to leave this set without being dragged out. "...sorry," he mumbled after a long moment.

“oh my god!” after the first retch she had to spin around, a sympathy vomiter at the drop of a hat. she was a sympathy cryer too, perhaps best left for another time. really—a sympathy everything when it came down to it. “oh my god, can someone help him?” she didn’t turn around yet, couldn’t risk it if only for the sake that she didn’t have something to throw up in herself. “grab a bottle of water, please?” she made eye contact with the first unfortunate pa to be curious enough to approach. “you know it’s okay, you seem really sick.” she was no doctor, but anything that caused this was enough for her to reconsider keeping someone on set. “i’ll take a look at the script, we can cut you from this sequence. i don’t want you to strain yourself.” the moral of the story was after all, not that these obstacles were the end, but that they could produce a more interesting story. to work within limitations was the test, that’s how her dad had always made it out to be. “don’t worry about it.” a statement far less comforting coming from someone who wouldn’t face him, but she didn’t think about that. “you’re not worried about screen time are you?”

A lot of words were flying around. Simon could only catch about half of them from her; the first couple of sentences were swallowed up from the constant feeling of adding more to the pile of vomit he was clutching to in the bag. Squishy. Reminded him of those things in the 90s for kids, couldn't grasp what the name of them were, or if they had a name at all. Another wave of nausea came and went, passing in time for him to hear her last question with clarity. "Hey, hey, no," he mumbled, lips heavy with the possibility of heaving again. "I'm not fucking going out like a little bitch like that, got it? Just..." he had to pause, holding up a hand for a solid few seconds before his head threw forward, back into the bag. Shit. His eyes closed tightly, pushing himself to get things together with a ragged breath. "Okay, back down to goal weight. I'm ready. What up?" The back of his hand wiped at his mouth, tying up the grocery bag and holding it out for the same P.A. that he had just taken the bottle of water from.

“You are wrong. You didn’t listen to me, you just listened to the people you wanted to hear.” And maybe that was what Bram was doing right then, trying to compartmentalise all the hurt and fling it back at Simon. “You don’t get it, do you? That was me trying to be nice, because I still fucking care about you, regardless of whether I want to or not.” As soon as those words left their mouth, they regretted them – but it was done, another raw wound exposed. Somehow Simon always had that effect. “And regardless of what you want to believe, I’m not heartless.”

"Blah. Blah. ... Blah." Simon opened and closed his hand, acting like a beak, matching the disinterested tempo that came with the words. Being an asshole was easy, slipping into it like a second skin. It was so much better than trying to hash out anything else that was beneath the surface. Better for him, better for Bram. "Look, I get it. One hit, can't quit. Whatever. Hit me up when you want a drunk booty call, how's that? Best offer on the table." He gave a look to his phone, looking for any excuse to get out, making up one naturally included. What was that girl's name? The director he was working with... He didn't have the time to refresh his memory. "Agnes is going to blacklist my ass if I don't head to the studio, so..."

she watched her actor with concern. there was no annoyance in her words, nothing that could be misconstrued. in all reality, she had been at the sunglasses stage of hungover before. it was not a pleasant experience, and she’d only ever known the solution of gatorade and sleep. “are you okay?” she looked down at the script, the pages of scenes that were supposed to feature brooks, and tried to find a way around the current situation. “here sit down.” she pointed to the seat that was marked director, trying to think of something that could function as a trash can. she never had been good at high pressure situations. “my dad has this story. about how he was supposed to film this huge action piece out in hawaii and the lead actor came to set totally sick. i mean really messed up, and they were able to rewrite the scene and get him out of there.”

She asked if he was fine. Simon was pretty confident that he looked like Death warmed over. Some corpses looked better than he did. "Just peachy," he grumbled from the chair she sat him in, hands smoothing over his knees as his head lowered down. He couldn't even open his eyes without feeling like his surroundings were spinning. He focused at first on breathing in, but then that attention was taken by her story. He got the gist of it. He got how she was telling him how he was going to be replaced. That's what she meant by it. "Hey, look, girl, I'm doing my best out here. Give me five and--" he stopped, had to, fist to his mouth as his stomach lurched forward suddenly. Big mistake to start talking to Heidi... or something like that. He grabbed at a grocery bag, upturned the lunch in it, before using it to hurl up his own. There was a groan that followed before spitting the aftertaste into the plastic bag. He wished he felt confident enough to tie it up, but there was always a chance there'd be more. "Is this a bad time to tell you I'm bulimic or...?"

“thanks! for being here too.” there’s no malice. any other person and it would have been laced with implications of his tardiness, of his lack of enthusiasm, lack of just about everything. but she didn’t’ mind it, she was learning to work around the delays. brooks worked better with the less people saw him. left everything cool and mysterious, he didn’t really need to be in some scenes. simon was forcing her to rethink; she didn’t hate it. “i’m on both!” she laughed, the energy of filming something that was entirely hers the only constant generator she needed. “but there’s some coffee left over at crafts i think.”

Was that some lowkey dig? Not that he didn't deserve it if it had been, but it was hard to tell his reaction from behind the dark-tinted sunglasses, anyways. In his defense, it hadn't been the late-night bender that had done him in, but also the fact he had genuinely forgot he was due on set at all. "Don't mention it," he groaned, settling on letting bygones be bygones if the worst was true. "Fuck, who's your plug? I'm canning mine." He needed the boost, a lot more than coffee could give. "Eh, not interested unless they're using Bacardi." His head lowered for a moment, taking a breath to settle the wave of a small migraine before rising it back up, adjusting the glasses to block out the outline of light the lenses didn't catch before. "Might want a trash bin nearby. Don't let me puke on you. Could be a thing sooner than later."

“I’m making myself feel good?” Bram laughed, dangerously hollow. “You’re the one who’s using a court verdict to help you believe I’m the greedy gutter rat they all want me to be, just so you don’t have to acknowledge how you behaved.” You abandoned me, they wanted to scream, you broke me. I was handling everything just fine until you walked out. For all they cared, Simon could go rot in hell, but – you’ll get your wish soon hit them like brass knuckles to the gut. Try as they might, a part of Bram was still soft for Simon, momentarily dulling their anger. “Simon – aside from being a raging arsehole, are you alright?”

"Ever see that meme? Prove me wrong or some shit? You're looking at him!" Arms flew up, as if putting emphasis on the idea, the idea that look no further, he was right here ready and willing to be proven wrong on everything Bram already said. But then the tide turned and the tone changed with it, all from Bram themselves. Fuck. "Haven't you ever heard of a figure of speech? You really thinking you can outlive me? It’s like you’ve never met my liver before. The fuck have you been doing to one up me on that? Are they packing rat poison into Fruity Pebbles now?"