[b]Name:[/b] Edris Alder Horatio
[b]Alias(es):[/b] U.S.N., Pitcher Plant, Agent E., Poison Edris
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Hair:[/b] Feign Lavender 
[b]Eyes:[/b] Dark Brown
[b]Skin:[/b] Dark Olive
[b]Height:[/b] 6’3
[b]Distinctive Features:[/b] Annoyingly, flower petals seemed to randomly appear during his monologues, and no one can quite figure out why. Naturally, he gave off the slightest bit hint of pollen causing people to sneeze.

[b]Likes:[/b] Women, Ackee & Saltfish, Beach Apples, Elderberry shakes, Yewberry pie, Honey-roasted Apricot kernels, Jatropha, and Cashew apple fruit snacks.
[b]Dislikes:[/b] Being called Poison Edris 

[b]Appearance:
[/b]
An impeccably tailored off-white tweed suit, to go with his absurdly proper posture. Examining closer, you'll notice the subtle herringbone pattern woven from the finest ivory and cream wool. Beneath, a soft cashmere white turtleneck with a silver Cuban link choker chain resting at the collar. His ensemble was in sartorial harmony with his slim-cut trousers matching his blazer. In the breast pocket, Edris sported a vibrant crimson rose, meticulously positioned to contrast and add a dynamic focal point. Hailing from the school of Bond, he blended elegance and sophistication with in-the-open, easily identified, explosive methods of espionage and unnecessary chaos.

[b]Personality:[/b]

Habitual unsolicited winker, no woman was safe from the self-proclaimed heartbreak kid's [i]“passionate”[/i] pursuit. Only second to his espionage escapades, his love bombing knew no bounds, often landing him in the company of not-so-innocent socialites, one half allured by his propensity to spring rare flowers on them, and other dangerously aroused by the prospect of this so-called agent's naïveté. His notorious at this point, lowered guard flew too close to the sun, but there was a reason why his assignment inbox was full. Many of his enemies by now figured his flirty, flower petal bullshit entangled antics as a front for a deadly killer, dubbing him [b][i]The Pitcher Plant[/i][/b]. 

[b]Powers, Skills, and Abilities:[/b]

As felt by nature, his passion burned with the white, hot intensity of a thousand suns. Enough to influence seedlings to sequoia with little time in between, he'd rather clench the thorniest rose between his pearly whites. Never wilting, his posture was absurdly great. His skin, photoshop fresh. The definition of his flexed muscles felt like snakewood. He'd attribute his way with ladies more to his charisma than acknowledge his natural cologne of pheromones.

[b]Equipment:[/b]

[b]Un-prettier Lance:[/b] A Lance as much a mystical force as it is a physical object. As the manifestation of nature's power, taking the form of a blade with an immeasurable Janka rating, Edris could blossom it out of a pot of collard greens on Thanksgiving if he wanted. Its unparalleled hardness and durability clashed with metals at no cost. Any chip reformed with evergreen vines and radiant chlorophyll, absorbing bright energy sources like sunlight. Only the rightful wielder can summon the full blade from any nearby plant or even the smallest mustard seed. It was an antenna for all things nature, life, and growth.

[b]Seeds:[/b] Lots of them.

[b]Seedshot:[/b] Crafted from ancient wood revered for its sturdiness, the Seedshot is both elegant and powerful. To the touch, it felt like cool iron. The [b]“bullets”[/b] it shoots are extremely hard, imbued with natural energy allowing them to penetrate surfaces and germinate upon impact, rapidly growing into thick vines or entangling plants to immobilize targets. The gun itself is charcoal-black, ergonomic, and adorned with intricate gold leaf and vine engravings. Were there an assassin’s museum, it deserved its own exhibit.

[b]Your Last Memory:[/b]

“One knee down, kissing the delicate opera-gloved hand of Jadwiga, a beautiful woman I had only just met at the Celestial Soiree, a gala serving as the main event of a long week celebrating breakthroughs in fashion, technology, and interstellar culture in the Prolix star system.”

[b]Additional Plot Hooks:[/b]

Once, Margaret Iedeeren hired him to kill Merse, so promptly, our favorite anthropomorphic information broker shows up uninvited to her manor, having a destructive skirmish with Edris in her luxurious ballroom only for Margaret to show up in her bathrobe, mid-facial scrub, screaming at the top of her lungs for both of them to get out and that Edris would not be getting paid. The two shook on it as they had a relatively fun exchange and bid farewell.  A very unorthodox beginning to their ongoing professional relationship.