Characters: Mr. Tinkles (
evil_bonnet) & Templeton Peck (
facing_danger)
Setting/Location: Streamdrab
Date & Time: Day 10, evening? (after his conversations on the Junogam)
Warnings: None
Summary: Mr. Tinkles finally manages to make his way to Streamdrab.
(
This was definitely worse than being treated like a doll... )
He sighed. If Hannibal were here, he'd tell him to worry about more important things. Actually, if any of the team could hear his thoughts at the moment, he suspected they'd say the same thing, albeit in their own special ways. They didn't understand the true triumph in pulling a scam like that. They weren't there when he convinced the house sitter that he was the one who wasn't supposed to be there...or when he convinced the neighbors that he was the ( ... )
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When the cat noticed the human male across the room, he wasn't in the mood for playing the 'I'm just a normal, mute cat' routine. This place had wolf-bird things; a talking cat might not be that strange. "You! Don't just stand there, help me with my fur or something!"
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The conman's mouth dropped slightly as he stared at the feline. Had it just...? No, that was impossible. There had to be some sort of trick. His confusion clearly painted across his features, Face looked beyond the cat and around the room. Cats didn't talk; someone was trying to pull a fast one.
"Is someone there?" He ventured in a somewhat louder tone. His eyes went back to Tinkles, disbelieving. It wasn't the cat. It couldn't be the cat.
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"I'm here, you fool! Do you see my mouth moving with my words? Right. Down. Here."
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And what if it was?
He frowned. While he didn't despise them, Murdock was the one who was good with animals. He gave the surly feline a look and a half nod.
"Huh. Right. Sorry."
He was talking to a cat. A cat. This had to be a new low.
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As glad as a grumpy, dirty talking cat could be.
"Now, as I was saying before, help me tame my fur. I don't have thumbs, you know!"
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He made no effort to move towards the cat, continuing to assess him from a few feet away. "There aren't any gloves or anything like that laying around are there? Or a brush?" Face already knew the answer to that and didn't wait for a response. "You want me to use my bare hands."
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And maybe once Mr. Tinkles was cleaned up, Face would think about the monetary possibilities a talking cat presented.
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