(no subject)
The IPD office was by no means the ideal location to be sleeping in - the stiflingly chaotic presence of paperwork was overpowering to those unfamiliar with the phenomenon, as was the lingering, heavy smell of the Commander Vimes' Death Cigars. But the T-1000 had grown used to it during the past two weeks.
It was better than the holding cell. In a way, it was almost home.
It was nearing midnight, and he had just returned from the showers (having even bothered to put a towel on, for the sake of the overly sensitive, despite the fact that two months of a mostly human existence had failed to give him any insight to the purpose of modesty).
The door was open. Sarah was gone.
This was bad.
The Commander was not aware of the presence of a big fucking man-eating cat in his office, and the T-1000 very much hoped to keep it that way.
He froze, gaze scanning the hallway in silent desperation. There were no signs of a baby jaguar.
"Sarah," he hissed out, since employing a more vocal method would go against the discreet nature of the situation.
He received no response. Unsurprisingly.
Brow furrowed in concentration, he began to walk in the direction of the rec area, maintaining absolute silence and making sure to examine every potential hiding spot for jaguar presence.
[Mostly naked terminator in search of a three months old jaguar baby. Feel free to have your pup find the cat - she only bites/scratches/variously abuses T-1000, anyway. Or help him look. Or collide with him, since he's pretty much in Stealth Mode. ST/LT welcome.]
It was better than the holding cell. In a way, it was almost home.
It was nearing midnight, and he had just returned from the showers (having even bothered to put a towel on, for the sake of the overly sensitive, despite the fact that two months of a mostly human existence had failed to give him any insight to the purpose of modesty).
The door was open. Sarah was gone.
This was bad.
The Commander was not aware of the presence of a big fucking man-eating cat in his office, and the T-1000 very much hoped to keep it that way.
He froze, gaze scanning the hallway in silent desperation. There were no signs of a baby jaguar.
"Sarah," he hissed out, since employing a more vocal method would go against the discreet nature of the situation.
He received no response. Unsurprisingly.
Brow furrowed in concentration, he began to walk in the direction of the rec area, maintaining absolute silence and making sure to examine every potential hiding spot for jaguar presence.
[Mostly naked terminator in search of a three months old jaguar baby. Feel free to have your pup find the cat - she only bites/scratches/variously abuses T-1000, anyway. Or help him look. Or collide with him, since he's pretty much in Stealth Mode. ST/LT welcome.]