Jen's Quarters, SPD HQ, Newtech City, California, THE FUTURE
Jen squelched her way back into her quarters, trying not to think too hard about the messy trail she must have left all the way into the building and mentally resolving to buy cupcakes and premium motor oil for the biological and mechanical contingents of the entire cleaning crew tomorrow. Whatever the thick, yellowish goop she was covered in was, she chose to think of it as Dijon mustard; the other option was shrieking in disgust and flailing her way down the corridors, and no. Absolutely not.
"Well, that was a bust," she grumbled, and headed straight for the showers clothes and all. First covert surveillance mission for Time Force since she'd relocated to this era, and it had ended like this? As it had turned out, the time-displaced suspect wasn't a threat, anyway. Just a poor, confused hot dog streetcart vendor who'd gotten sucked into a time vortex into post-apocalyptic Corinth City for half an hour before getting unceremoniously dumped back onto the streets of Newtech, panicked and defending himself with whatever he had on hand.
Poor guy. Per orders, Jen had brought him back to HQ and let some of Commander Cruger's staff deal with him, which was just fine with her; there was going to have to be memory adaptation, and she did not want anything to do with that.
. . . yeah, actually, it was Dijon mustard dripping out of her hair. That made it slightly less disgusting, if less than dignified.
Oh well.
[OOC: Dude, I have no idea.]
"Well, that was a bust," she grumbled, and headed straight for the showers clothes and all. First covert surveillance mission for Time Force since she'd relocated to this era, and it had ended like this? As it had turned out, the time-displaced suspect wasn't a threat, anyway. Just a poor, confused hot dog streetcart vendor who'd gotten sucked into a time vortex into post-apocalyptic Corinth City for half an hour before getting unceremoniously dumped back onto the streets of Newtech, panicked and defending himself with whatever he had on hand.
Poor guy. Per orders, Jen had brought him back to HQ and let some of Commander Cruger's staff deal with him, which was just fine with her; there was going to have to be memory adaptation, and she did not want anything to do with that.
. . . yeah, actually, it was Dijon mustard dripping out of her hair. That made it slightly less disgusting, if less than dignified.
Oh well.
[OOC: Dude, I have no idea.]