Big, ugly, violent, crass, surly, impulsive, and boorish, Marion is almost completely unsuited for polite society. He is far better suited to inflicting obscene amounts of violence upon people, things, and even places than going to dinner parties or negotiating contracts with corporate management.
Luckily, out on the Frontier, polite society is pretty rare, and men of his talents are a lot more useful. He brags that he has yet to lose a fight and given his home planet it’s likely this is true. On Halcyon you are either predator or prey, and prey gets eaten there.
A life like his has led to some interesting personality and physiological quirks. Marion’s tolerance for discomfort is notable even by Halcyonian standards, including the mightiness of his digestive system. Marion’s innards are so hardy he can eat food most people consider far too gone to attempt making a meal of. When he’s between contracts, this cuts down on his cost of living significantly, although it doesn’t help his dating prospects much.
He’s prone to angry, violent outbursts against perceived threats, and his history of always having to look over both shoulders simultaneously means he perceives a lot of threats. Marion calls it “watching his back.” Most sane people call it “being a dangerous paranoid nutcase.”
Surviving Halcyon in general tends to make someone dangerous. Surviving the <REDACTED> incident has made him absolutely lethal. He’s got sharpshooter-level proficiency with rifles of all kinds, whether conventional, electromagnetic, or laser; Marion has been observed taking a man’s head off from a mile away using a good rifle and scope. Naturally, his proficiency with other guns is nearly as good, and he’s no slouch with a good knife or machete either; that brush knife has clearly seen a lot of use.
In short, Marion is a cruise missile – you wind him up, say “that guy,” and wait for the loud noises to start.
Marion’s standard loadout when outside the ship consists of his clothing, concealable vest, Montalban Arms Terrorsaur and two extra speedloaders, brush knife, and earpiece communicator. If he’s expecting “average” trouble, he carries an EM autoshotgun with a variety of exotic ammunition and wears his flexible armored suit with the vest over it.
He also owns a suit of armor intended for space combat, complete with atmospheric seal, rebreather, and air tanks. He typically wears it when he’s expecting major trouble or a dangerous EVA. He’s also been known to wear the space armor on colder planets or even in cold weather on warmer ones. As far as he’s concerned, snow is a symptom humans shouldn’t be there in the first place without a spacesuit, just like space. Attempts to persuade him otherwise have been completely unsuccessful – he’s simply too stupid and hidebound to be vulnerable to logic or reason.
Unless he’s on an EVA or engaging in similarly dangerous activities, Marion is accompanied by his platonic nonhuman life partner Little Marion. Little Marion is a Halcyon Devil Monkey, and the two have remarkably similar personalities. Some former associates have remarked the main difference between the two is the human Marion’s slightly lesser probability to open a bar fight with a salvo of his own feces.