Player Name: Jack
Player Faction: Luce
Player LJ: lololol
Player Contact: AIM !

Canon Character Name: Paul Smecker
Canon Character Age: KJnfng no idea
"Real" Character Name: Paul Smecker
"Real" Character Age: Uuuh 52 sure like Willem Dafoe

Who? :
Paul Smecker is an FBI agent, allegedly pretty good at what he does. Who's he kidding, he is good- certainly better than all those donut-munching sissies who call themselves cops these days. Cops who on more than one occasion he's had to babysit since most of them are incapable of solving a hundred piece puzzle on their own. Isn't life wonderful? What makes them at least a little useful is they don't seem to mind (--too much--) picking him up a Café latte and a bagel, and keeping out of his way while the big boys solve the crime. Like this one. Smecker stops in his tracks and crouches to inspect something.
"Well I don't know about you ladies..." He begins, "But it looks to me like we have ourselves-"

Seems like ... :
--He wakes with a start, blinking slowly then pushing himself up off the... counter ?
He frowns at the newspaper he was slumped over, blinks at the date then slowly up at the rest of the small shop he now finds himself in.
Well what the fuck was going on here? A gaudy gold chain round his wrist jangles a little as he moves. Oh, now that is just not funny. Unclipping it he drops it on to the counter in disgust and takes in his clothes. They could do with a wash. They could do with not being so damn cheap, too. He plucks the shirt then runs a hand through his sandy hair warily. How the fuck did this happen? What happened to his suit? There better be an explanation for this.

Where? :
Paul leans back (-- in an incredibly uncomfortable chair -- ) and glances sceptically at the narrow aisles selling all manner of junk food, carbonated drinks, limited stationary and magazines then required about as much education to read as you'd need to run this kind of place. The place looks worn in rather than new, the odd bit of damage here and there (the kind of place that has to reduce everything to even survive, and that lowlifes might come to for cigarettes and information. Cigarettes, now there's an idea--)
He swivels in his chair- behind him are various forms of tobacco and alcohol, batteries and painkillers and--
Well if this was someone's idea of a joke he'd have to repay them.
Unless... Hadn't he been at a crime scene a minute ago? Or had that been a dream?
Something pretty fucking weird was going on here.
On the other hand, maybe he's just watched too many fucking cop movies. Who knows?

Sample:
His attention is focussed as a bell tells him someone has entered the shop. A little girl with dark hair picks up a magazine that has pictures of cats plastered all over the cover and pursues it with interest for a minute or so, then grabs a chocolate bar and puts them both on the counter before starting to count out the exact change with exaggerated concentration. Not exactly the kind of custom he'd have expected.... She looks up at him after a minute.
"Are you okay Mr Smecker? Um, are you on your own?"
She knows his name? On his own? What the-
"Just sorting some stock out, Michaela!"
Paul turns slowly and looks at the man now standing in the small doorway.
Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding!

Abilities Carried Over:
Knowledge of law/ forensic and investigate skills/ability to handle a gun and somehow cross dress convincingly