Simon prides himself on his independence. Most people fear him, not a lot dare to get close. So, it’s safe to say that when he reaches into his pocket to pay for a drink at the bar and finds his wallet missing — he’s surprised.

Especially when he spots a younger looking feller standing by the entrance of the bar, looking fairly uneasy. They’re dirty, definitely not of the richer in town. The second the kid spots him, they’re out of sight — that’s when Simon knows they’re the one who took it.

In all honesty he’s more impressed than he is angry, getting up from the bar stool to run after them. In the end he does manage to catch up with the kid, his big hand wrapping around their bicep with ease.

His eyes narrow, and the kid looks like they’re about to shit their pants just on his presence. Simon isn’t angry, but he knows it’s hard to decipher his emotions when he’s wearing his mask.

“I ain’t angry, kid. Just… just hand it back.” Simon says, holding out his hand so they can place the wallet back in, shifting his grip on their bicep to rest it on their shoulder instead. He knows the kid is poor; it’s evident in their clothing and need to steal to survive, and he can’t help but feel a strong sense of pity for them.