Appearance: Amphibian-like in appearance and ability, Toynbee would stand at about 5'9" if it weren't for the curve of his spine; as is, he stands at about 5'6" and weighs 130lb. His frame is wirey and thin, and it's slightly difficult to gain weight due to a mutated metabolism. His skin is a dull green dappled with darker green spots on his upper arms, legs, and back, his teeth are shark-like and jagged, his eyes are buggy and yellow with cat-like pupils, and he possesses eight webbed, clawed fingers and six webbed, clawed toes in total. The real kicker's the 10 foot long tongue.

Being bipedal can be slightly difficult with his anatomy, so Mort's more likely to crouch and hop than stand or walk. Similarly, his clawed, flipper-like feet make it very difficult to find shoes in the right size (or shape) so he usually forgoes them in favor of wraps.

His typical outfit that isn't spandex consists of hoodies, v-necks, and skinny jeans in varying combinations of navy blue and grey. His dreads are decorated with metal beads and usually either tied back in a ponytail or with a bandanna. His speaking voice is high-pitched, and he's been told, a little bit like what Shaggy would sound like if he was a stoner from the early 2000's rather than the 60's.

Personality: Infamously cowardly, Mort's flight instinct is much, much, much more developed than his fight instinct; because of this, he's usually branded as pathetic, inadequate, and more trouble than he's worth. One minute, he's faking (over)confidence and coming off as slimy as his abilities, the next he's hiding behind the nearest person-sized object.

That description isn't actually fair, however. Even if he's terrified, even if he'll most likely die, Toynbee won't abandon those he's loyal to. And he's not a bad fighter; he can hold his own in a fight with any old mac off the streets. It's just when there's three or four macs, or one combat-trained, super-soldier-esque X-Man, it makes more sense to use his powers to get away. That doesn't mean he's brave by any stretch of the imagination but he's not without principles.

Mort despises himself and lacks confidence and it shows; he tends to bend over backwards for anyone he thinks cares about him, doesn't argue unless actually enraged (or scared, but that's more appeasing than arguing), and his body language is nearly always submissive when he's in neutral or allied company. With a tongue like that, boot-licking is easy.

Abilities: His mutations aren't on the prettier side, and none of them are actually heavy hitters. He has a lot of them, though: superhuman agility, balance, and strength, a 10' long prehensile tongue, corrosive or adhesive saliva, and wallcrawling (if he licks his hands). He can jump upwards about twenty-five feet and thirty across, and his kick is strong enough to dent steel. He's better adapted for water than land. Asides from mutations, Mortimer has an untapped talent for machines.

Inventory: He has a pack of cigarettes, a flick blade, and a cellphone with no service in his pockets, and in an old satchel he has a bag of doritos, a lighter, a stolen wallet with $40:35, a lock-pick set, and a pack of cat stickers. Just...just shut up, they make him happy.

Appearance: According to Moominpappa, he appears to have never taken a bath in his life. The tip of his hat barely reaches a human man's naval, which makes him an average sized joxter, and he's surprisingly strong for such an exhausted-looking thing. His hair is a mess, his hands are mottled with scars, and he has dark marks the size of Manhattan under his eyes--which are, surprisingly, iridescent blue and alert.

Personality: The Joxter has conflicting talents for both pettiness and not giving a fuck. His name literally means "to mess up", and he lives up to it; "...the only thing that could awake him out of his sleepy, cat-like existence was a notice forbidding him to do something or other." Imperatives don't sit well with him, he's obstinate and crude and terribly, terribly lazy--there's nothing he hates more than doing work, except for maybe Park Keepers--and how! If he could remember any of it, he'd gladly relate to you how many of his scars are the result of scraps with them. He distrusts governments and dislikes the concept of private property. He's a jerk and a liar, too.

On the positive side, he's highly non-judgemental and resilient, used to living outside and scraping by, used to seeing every kind of person and situation. His biggest concerns are sleeping enough and eating so being in the situation he'll find himself in, he should be fine. A very roll with the punches kind of guy, and old enough to have learned patience.

Most of the time he sleeps, eats, and smokes. Preferably in someone else's bed.

Abilities: Can sleep anywhere at anytime in any position. No prison can keep him in and no lock can keep him out. Gets "forebodings" or vague premonitions of the future.

Inventory: A rapier disguised as a mahogany walking cane, a pipe, a few apples.