Please welcome the agents of Response Center 15b: Department of Floaters~!

Agent #1- Robert Vernet, formerly known as Sherlock Holmes

Appearance: Wild, shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, and a faint stubble across his chin. Facial expression can best be described as 'pensive', unless you're in the Harry Potter continuum, where 'thoughtful' will have to do. Tends to have a meerschaum pipe clenched between his teeth, full of Longbottom Leaf. Tall and bony. Wears the black uniform of an average PPC agent, with a Floater flash patch on his right shoulder... and a dark brown deerstalker hat and a long blue scarf. If asked about these accoutrements, he simply laughs.

Personality: Brilliant, arrogant, and just a leetle too self-confident. Vain, when it comes to his mental capacities, and responds a little TOO well to flattery. He's originally from the Victorian era, and was originally one of the 'leading men' in a piece of slash. He has a number of hang-ups related to this. Has a highly addictive personality, though his addictions tend to be to ward off boredom. Before coming to the PPC, he smoked like a chimney, drank too much, did cocaine and morphine, played World of Warcraft, and watched entirely too much bad daytime TV. Now, he doesn't really get bored, so he mostly restrains himself to the wide, WIDE array of bleeproducts available to agents. Doesn't make friends easily. A bit of a loner. Tries to be coolly logical, like his (original) namesake. Some days he is better at this than others. Has inherited his namesake's deductive skills, and tastes in most areas. Talks like a book, and never uses a one dollar word where a ten-dollar word would do. Oh, and his RC looks like it's a mess, but he's got an 'idiosyncratic' (read- completely batsh*t) system of keeping everything where it goes.

History: Robert comes from an Implausible Crossover RP- South Park/Sherlock Holmes. In this fic, instead of barely surviving his plunge from the Reichenbacher Falls, Holmes fell through a portal into South Park. General hilarity and some slash-y romance ensued. When the PPC came to clean things up, they found themselves with a problem, in the form of one Sherlock Holmes. In canon, Holmes is repeatedly stated to be rather sexless, and almost emotionless. However, while this Holmes was more than capable of emotion, and had fallen in love with (an adult version of) a South Parkian, he wasn't a Gary Stu. He was like Paddlebrains- a legitimate, functional Character Replacement. Long story short, he decided to work with the PPC rather than die. His name's Robert in homage to Robert Downey Jr., and Vernet because he always liked the name. (It was a relative of his.) He's at the PPC for almost a year now, and has already driven two partners off (they couldn't handle his 'quirks'.)

Weapons: A sword-cane, which he can use as either a sword or a singlestick, and a revolver. He's an accomplished boxer, and has trained- but is not very good- at the Japanese art of Baritsu.

Lust Objects: John Watson and Irene Adler, from Sherlock Holmes; Christophe 'ze Mole' DeLorne from South Park; L from Death Note; Charlie Epps from Numb3rs; River Tam from Firefly.

Fandoms: Anything remotely Sherlock Holmes related, Death Note, Numb3rs, Lie to Me, South Park, Firefly, Ender's Game, and Lord of the Rings. He enjoys any canon that's big and complicated and has well-defined rules. He really loathes bad Holmes adaptations, and HATES Psych.

~~~

Character #2: Mundar o' the Five Hills (A.K.A. Mr. Fivehills)

Appearance: Mundar's a dwarf. As such, he's short, squat, and thick-boned. His beard's long, thick, ruddy, dirty, and beer-soaked red. He TRIES to braid it, but ends up leaving it half-done and/or coming apart. He's also got a full head of thick, wild, dirty ginger hair. His skin's tanned, almost weatherbeaten, and also dirty, he seems to have a permanent layer of grime about him. He's got twinkling, dark eyes, and a merry, cunning look to his face. He's bare-chested and barefoot, though he wears a black kilt with the Floater flash patch on it. He refuses to wear any other clothing. Unfortunately for the rest of the PPC, he's discovered Jayne's Hat, and wears a replica of it, as often as Vernet will permit.

Personality: Mundar is cunning, shrewd, and a wee bit of an anarchist. He's obsessed with his own personal freedom, and will do anything to flaunt the fact that he's 'free-er' than you. In fact, he is the freest dwarf ever. Any who dare to challenge this claim are met with a first-hand view of what lies under his kilt, until they require large amounts of bleeprin. If Mundar's life is threatened, he'll announce that he'll die a free dwarf and rip off his kilt. He's hearty, laughing, and fond of drink and song. Usually all of those together at once. He's extremely gay- his straight, male creator made him so for the LOLs- but is firmly in the closet, and won't admit to any of his LOs. He has a bad habit of using any piece of paper in reach as a towel/toilet paper. Vernet has taken to leaving a copy of 'New Moon' out for him to use for the purpose. Mundar is having some trouble adjusting to PPC life, for three reasons: First, he is having some trouble adjusting to the idea of following the rules/charging Sues instead of killing them on sight/not being able to drink 24/7. After a few run-ins with the Flowers that Be, he's grudgingly following the rules he needs to follow, and ignoring the rest. Secondly, he can't read. Vernet is teaching him, and he's learning Canon from books on tape, but until then, it puts him at a disadvantage when it comes to the Words. Thirdly, he clashes with his partner a lot. Vernet likes stability and order, and is less than patient with people who break the rules; Mundar is nothing if not chaotic and unruly. Their arguments are legendary.

History: Mundar is a minor character from an original Dungeons and Dragons campaign setting named 'Erythos'. He was supposed to be a friendly NPC, assisting the heroes. Once his role in the campaign was up, his author had no idea of what to do with him. He let an authoress adopt him. Said authoress promptly stuck him in the PPC, where he's been languishing ever since.

Weapons: He'd prefer his axe; failing that, pretty much any heavy weapon. He's not averse to using his fists either.

Fandoms: Lord of the Rings, Firefly, Pokemon, Order of the Stick, and Artemis Fowl. He has a guilty weakness for Twilight, though he'd never admit this to any of the other agents.

LOs: Gimli, son of Gloin, from LOTR; Mulch Diggums, from Artemis Fowl, Jayne Cobb from Firefly; Jacob Black, from Twilight. Of course, he won't admit to any of these.

Writing Sample:
[From Axis Powers: Hetalia canon.]
The Rules of War

A chill hung in the air, seeping its way through the tears in England's red uniform. He watched the land retreat from the deck of the Indomitable, a sick knot of fear twisting in his guts. Carrion birds circled high in the cloudy, gray sky. Blood hung in the water of the Mississippi River, and corpses in red and blue sprawled along its banks. The cold, salt smell of the sea lingered in the air, sending a shiver down his spine.
It was sunset, January eighth, in the year of the Lord 1814. The Battle of New Orleans was over.
He had lost.
America had made a fool of him again. It wasn't enough that England had had to lose the first bloody war, oh, no. America had to torment him again. All because he wouldn't see reason. It was no use expecting Alfred to be reasonable, but Arthur had to try, if only because he didn't want to give up on the brat.
England bit his lower lip and paced the deck, letting himself wallow in self-pity for a while. A cool breeze whipped his bangs back and made his massive eyebrows bunch together for warmth. Images of the battle hovered behind his closed eyes.
He saw America leading the charge over the redoubt he'd captured. In his mind's eye, Alfred's face was gashed, dripping blood down his cheek. His face was pale, pale as a ghost's, and his eyes were wild. His dingy blue uniform hung off him like a torn sack, and he waved a howitzer in the air, swaggering like a common thug.
“C'mon, boys, let's get 'em!” he'd yelled.
England couldn't think of Alfred as anything but a sweetheart, but in that moment, he'd seemed to be a demon.
He saw other images, too. All around him, his men fell to the ground. Legions and legions of redcoats dying like so many flies, and a sharp pain in his gut every time one of them fell. The blue-coated Americans moving like monsters in the fog. A gout of fire coming from America's flamethrower-
/Wait a second.../
England snorted.
/He cheated! That little git cheated!/
He opened his eyes, waking from his reverie, and strode over to the bright red switch on the Indomitable's cabin wall. It looked hideously out of place- it was made of plastic, and its smooth curves fitted the thirtieth century far better than the nineteenth. Yet, oddly enough, none of the crew seemed to notice.
There was no good reason why they should. After all, they weren't real.
England pulled the switch and the world faded around him. One second, he seemed to be standing on the swaying deck of a ship that hadn't existed for a thousand years, and the next, he was lying on his back, in the deceleration chamber of the Diana's games room. The artificial gravity made him feel ill, as always.
America lounged on the other couch, looking over at him. The bigger nation's blond hair was a tousled mess, and his eyes were bright with amusement.
“Have a good nap, Iggy?”