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SOLDIERS DO NOT CARRY WEAPONS OFF BASE UNLESS THERE IS A VERY GOOD REASON FOR IT!

/capslock o' rage

Seriously, that's a bad idea. Disguises are meant to blend in so the Agents aren't noticed. Places like Rivendell, where Agents can walk around as Orcs without being noticed are the exception rather than the rule. Squaddies in uniform catch the eye when they're not armed. Adding an SA-80 to the mix is just asking for the Monkeys to be called to deal with them.

Drake will help out. After all, he was a CAF when he started and if not for a mistake, he might have been put to death instead of having found a good home.

in Dragonlance, Bronze dragons can breath (or throw, I can't remember which) lightning, but only after having absorbed some, be it from a lightning strike, or launched by another bronze. that, at least in the dragonlance continuum, is enough to fry a human. or a dwarf, or any other non-magical being without protection. or, of course, I could simply portal into the forgotten realms continuum immediately before the Dragonrage occurs, and have him sleep for the several centuries that it lasts for. that would also work.

the continuum i will *normally* be in is set in modern britain. therefore an assault rifle is technically canonical, according to the time period. besides, the agent will probably at least try to disguise himself as a sergeant in the SAS. justifying him carrying an assault rifle when he is in human form. and his partner's Arctic Warfare Magnum sniper rifle. and the ammunition. and anything else he might need.

"Truthfully, I was being kind," he admitted. "I'm not usually so polite, but I think it would be disrespectful to say something like..." Here, he let loose a stream of profanity that made Adder stuff the rest of the Bleepolate bar into her mouth and reach for another. "...in the middle of a memorial gathering such as this.

Adder rolled her eyes heavenward again. "Well, so much for that..."

At that moment, Cthulhu (who had been asleep in Adder's hood until this point) abruptly awoke. Nose twitching, he spotted the Bleepolate and scurried onto Adder's shoulder to lunge for it.

"ARGH! NO! BAD FERRET! GET YOUR OWN!"

Cthulhu chirruped something in annoyance and nipped Adder sharply on the ear.

It's given me good ideas in the past.

http://www.behindthename.com/random/

So I've got an almost-completed first draft for a mission (if anyone needs a copy, I can send it to you)...but my two agents are still nameless.  Anyone up for helping me on that?

Thanks in advance.

I can usually ask at work to arrange my shifts for the week so I have whichever day free. (Joys of working part-time.)

... or at least not to sit down in it on fabric seats in public, since the largest concentration of maple syrup and fake blood would be on the tail end, ifyaseewhatImean. (Hard to find fake blood out of Halloween season too, but there are costume shops and such which have it.) Hm. Will need a few yards of orange fur fabric, some white for the belly, and some black for the tail-tip. Buying black gloves and socks for the paws might be easier than doing the fiddly bits even if it means they aren't as fluffy as the rest - will have to remember to buy two pairs of gloves. Can cut up the unnecessary fourth glove for the nosetip and such. Some of that hard-drying modelling clay (what's it called?) would be useful for the claws and teeth. Not sure how to make the snout stay stiff, though - something to keep the snout sticking out and not flopping over my face would be useful.

"Zarking. I must write this down," said Krisp. "Don't worry about the Vulcans, it's a joke between us. What' is the oldest, so he often get to be called a Vulcan."
"I think I'm old enough to qualify, but for the rest.."
"There ain't no rest."
"What South said. Anyway, you guessed well for the 'zarking idiots'. It's the first time in quite a while we've been called so mildly. And whe I say a while... it means the 1950s or 60s. The usual stuff we got from our fellow tall ships was '...ing arseholes' and even that was rather mild. I spare you the rest."

Possibly only two. I can't remember whether the person who got turned into a Pak Protector was in disguise at the time. But anyway, that one and the two people who got turned permanently into elves got stuck because they'd experienced something which would kill them if they changed back (in the elven case, several hundred years). The other case is Tawaki, who is now a Time Lord due to being on the verge of death when he was disguised as one. That meant he regenerated and thus would be dead if he changed back. Again, disguise filter or something.

Note that this doesn't work for weapon strikes - Jay and Acy got shot up with arrows as Ents, but were still able to change back. So I can't see any reasonable way someone could become a dragon due to that sort of malfunction. Any other kind, I don't know of any precedents for, so that's up to the author.

hS

Swallowing her mouthful of Bleepolate, she nudged her partner. "Say Deuce, what would you say about this Infernal Trio?"

Deuce snerked. "Vulcans my arse. They're a bunch of zarking idiots."

Adder gaped at him. "I never thought I'd hear you talk in Douglas Adams slang. Somehow my brain fails to fathom it. I think I need to scrub that from my memory." With that said, she took another large bite of Bleepolate.

Why not take something canonically appropriate? Sure, it'd be harder to kill the 'Sue, but the PPC isn't supposed to have it easy. If they do, we're doing something wrong.

hS

-Agents that came by. His head cradled in his hands, he didn't bother finishing off what was left of the drink, trying to gather his thoughts. Of course, with the alcohol in him that wasn't easy, but he still made an effort. How could he have been so stupid? He was just screwing it all up. Did Sara have a point...? Did it matter? When Leto called the toast to the fallen, he raised the almost-empty bottle. "T' absent friends!" He shouted over the din of people toasting.

"To the departed, who go to a far better retirement than we will ever know!" Small Murphy piped up, hoisting his flask.

"Ta a right an' propa WAAAGH!" Zodfang bellowed, though he himself had no drink.

"To the glorious dead!"

"DEDICATION: TO THE ONE THOUSAND AGENTS KILLED IN THE MARY SUE INVASION."

Shot glasses and Bleepka bottles were raised high as dedications ran the course of the store. Marcus supposed most of those in the room deserved to be there far more than he, but he couldn't help it. If he couldn't fight, he'd at least pay his respects, he figured. "Tch, disrespect...what does she know...?"

It's probably a good thing that I plan on working primarily in the Warriors continuum, which is set in *probably* modern England/Britain. And is about cats. Therefor, I could use the agent I plan on turning into a dragon to hold onto the equipment while they are cats. I mean, how often do you see a cat with an anti-tank weapon? Or a Tavor assault rifle? The dragon's shapechanging ability morphs the dragon and any weapons or clothing they are wearing while in humanoid form. And the kind he would become glows very brightly when transforming.

The Trio was giggling. "Oh, I think we're nothing new here, looks like you'll get used to us very fast," said Krisp. "I'm also stuck with this fraking Vulcan and this kriffing fake Southerner."
"The fracking Vulcan is right there and ready to blow your face, you frelling twit."
"Frelling twit? Your imagination is running short. You're really turning Vulcan."
"I ain't holdin' no candle for you two," said South." There ain't no way."
"You know where you can put this bleeping candle? Yes, there."
"I ain't puttin' no candle anywhere, you twat."
"Twit, twat... Is my brother also turning Vulcan? I feel so lonely."
"I think you'll be lonely very fast if you keep calling us Vulcans."
"Vulcans. Still there?"
It went on for a while before they ran out of witty comebacks and substitutes for the f-bomb.

... and apparently, center-clicking on the "return to messages" button (to bring it up in a new tab) posts the message. Good thing I finished the sentence...

Anyways, to continue with my thought, Acacia manages to carry enough stabby things to mangle a small army, regardless of disguise. Details change to fit the disguise - bows become big ugly Uruk-Hai ones, arrows become poisoned, and so on, but the weapons stay around, useable, and canonically correct. I would add a caveat to that, Continuums don't know what to do with anachronistic weapons, so a shotgun brought into Middle-Earth would remain a shotgun.

I would strongly advise against making an agent into a dragon, especially if it works perfectly and there are no humorous side effects afterwards. Look at what the PPC does: We're ordinary people slowly going insane because we're trying to do an impossible job to save not just one world, but many. Becoming a flying, hyper intelligent, armor plated, magic-wielding, fire-breathing killing machine really doesn't seem to me to fit that theme.

There have been crazy fanfiction ideas that have worked, and worked really well (E.G. "hey, let's make a school for suethors where all the Canons are teachers!"), but this one really does concern me. I'm not sure how practical, or even possible, it would be to pull off well.

Also, you must consider that a dragon is a fairly significant creature in a lot of continuums, to the point where a dragon agent could well be noticed and forced to play the part of a random dragon - which would be just as disruptive to the Council of Elrond as, say, a Sue. (And quite a bit more risky, too - Glorfindel took down a Balrog, I suspect he could do the same to a dragon.)

D&Dverse dragons are extremely powerful. I would suggest you think back to TOS a bit - Acacia manages to carry enough stabby things to mangle a small army, regardless of disguise.

"Infernal, Abominable, same blighting thing," he responded. "They're just spelled differently." He shot his partner an insolent grin. "Like 'Adder' and 'annoying'."

Adder raised a fist as though to punch him, and then apparently thought better of it. Instead, she rolled her eyes upward as though seeking patience, exhaled loudly, murmured "buttmunch", and pretended not to listen.

Suddenly she whipped her head around at a small plate on the counter. "Oh, thank Agnost, Bleepolate."

Deuce smiled slightly at the Infernal Trio. "That'll keep her quiet."

Through a mouthful of Bleepolate, Adder could only manage an incoherent snarl at her partner.

"So many people we won't ever get to know..." said Krisp.

"I guess I'll end up inventing this thing just to make sure we get something after Krisp," said Whatever.
"I knew it. You're really turning Vulcan."
What' took some of the drinks for himself and the rest of the Trio. "Here."

"I'm Whatever, and these are South and Krisprolls. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the drinks. Krisp, your glass is already empty?"

"Montgomery Osbert III, at your service. Most call me Osbert. I'm one of the Agent trainers in Operations, probably why we haven't met. It's a pleasure," shaking Milask's paw, he gave a small nod before releasing. "Most of us here were in the fighting, so I thought I'd ask. Consider yourself lucky, though. Was a terrible business, even if we forced them back in the end."