Commission by kendraw
As Emmet & Sully’s poker game at the Pronghorn Saloon went slowly awry, Emmet found himself scheming how to get ahold of Victor’s DNA.
Time travel aside, the inventor’s desire was typical of him. Any sufficiently interesting stranger would have provoked the same reaction. However, getting this individual’s DNA was of crucial importance, especially given his guarded answers to Emmet’s questions. If Victor didn’t spill his secrets, the genetic sequencer would.
But how to do it?
A blood sample was right out, although Emmet made a note-to-self that there were benefits to posing as a medical doctor instead of a paleontologist.
As for stool or urine, the feline’s clothing indicated he spent much time out of doors. Waiting for him to camp somewhere and dropping by for droppings was a promising option, except that Victor seemed the type to be wary of being followed, and Emmet’s wilderness tracking skills were not exactly up to snuff.
That left hair, skin, or saliva.
Emmet’s interest piqued when he saw the card playing cat turn his head and expectorate. Leukocytes, the wombat thought. I can work with leukocytes.
But just as he was working out how to discreetly swab the spittoon and preserve a culture aboard the NECESSITY, the reindeer abruptly hacked up his own “sample” into the same vessel. Emmet sighed. Gestating a smilodon-caribou hybrid somehow didn’t seem the best use of his lab time.
There were also the phase distortion pistols, but as Emmet had instructed they were strictly for emergencies—and he meant it. If the wombat had a choice between acquiring Victor’s genetic code and leaving him blissfully ignorant of the tech they possessed, he would choose the latter without hesitation.
Sully spoiled that alternative with drunken gusto. (Note to self: in the future, monitor the ferret’s alcohol intake.) And although the duo had several other near-encounters with Victor before they managed to repair their ride and jump home, no DNA sources were forthcoming.
Back in the present, Emmet was about to write off the mission as a complete failure when a security sweep of the timeship uncovered a tiny stowaway.
A single, white strand of fur.
A sample! And also proof that the timeship’s wrecking was no accident. Victor clearly knew he was being hunted by other chrononauts... but here was a possible key to understanding him. Emmet set to work immediately.
Unfortunately the data yielded more questions than answers.
Victor's DNA was utterly normal. He was free from significant genetic abnormalities (he had escaped a close call with hereditary deafness), and from all appearances was a perfectly average saber tooth tiger, certainly not much older than thirty.
This last point baffled the wombat. Tachyometric readings showed that this individual had been active since as far back as 20,000 B.C. If Victor was "alive" during the intervening intervals, then without modifications to his DNA he would have succumbed to old age long before he hit all his marks. Even so, molecular damage and methylation patterns perfectly fit an individual who was aging at a normal rate.
Either Emmet's time alteration sensors were off kilter and there was more than one "Victor", or something was periodically rejuvenating him.
But even that wasn't confounding enough. Victor was indeed born prior to the development of agriculture: he lacked many genes that conferred resistance to modern diseases. He would have been at a remarkable disadvantage on the American frontier, with its tuberculosis and scarlet fever and smallpox. An immunological analysis would have been far more informative than a purely genetic one.
If only I had those cursed leukocytes!
As the wombat sat pondering, Sully sauntered in, demonstrating his irritating knack for discerning what was on Emmet’s mind by hawking and spitting into a nearby wastebasket.
"Why not try it on?” the ferret asked innocently. “Maybe it'll give ya superpowers!”
==
At first Emmet thought to tell Sully to "try it on", seeing how fond his assistant was of the Scrambler Ray.
But Sully had a point. It was an uneducated one, but all the pair had were uneducated guesses. If Victor’s DNA did somehow grant "superpowers", it was best that Emmet be the one to absorb them.
The wombat pushed himself to his feet, grunting as some stiff joints creaked in protest. Forget superpowers, he'd settle for rejuvenation. In any event Emmet strolled over to the room that housed the machine, input the sample data into the slot and soon after awoke as a saber tooth tiger.
While he waited to see what came of his transformation, Emmet went about his regular work. (By this point the shop’s customers were used to witnessing abrupt changes in the proprietors' appearances.)
His voice was gravellier. His teeth were fangier. Yet aside from having to resist an unnerving craving for venison steak at the supermarket, the inventor felt much like his usual self.
Maybe it was a flaw in the machine. Emmet understood why his fur color didn't change (he would need to wait for it to fall out first), but... something about this felt incomplete.
“Why dontcha try suckin’ in yer gut?" Sully's reflection suggested from the mirror.
Emmet harrumphed. "I am suckin' it in!"
As Emmet & Sully’s poker game at the Pronghorn Saloon went slowly awry, Emmet found himself scheming how to get ahold of Victor’s DNA.
Time travel aside, the inventor’s desire was typical of him. Any sufficiently interesting stranger would have provoked the same reaction. However, getting this individual’s DNA was of crucial importance, especially given his guarded answers to Emmet’s questions. If Victor didn’t spill his secrets, the genetic sequencer would.
But how to do it?
A blood sample was right out, although Emmet made a note-to-self that there were benefits to posing as a medical doctor instead of a paleontologist.
As for stool or urine, the feline’s clothing indicated he spent much time out of doors. Waiting for him to camp somewhere and dropping by for droppings was a promising option, except that Victor seemed the type to be wary of being followed, and Emmet’s wilderness tracking skills were not exactly up to snuff.
That left hair, skin, or saliva.
Emmet’s interest piqued when he saw the card playing cat turn his head and expectorate. Leukocytes, the wombat thought. I can work with leukocytes.
But just as he was working out how to discreetly swab the spittoon and preserve a culture aboard the NECESSITY, the reindeer abruptly hacked up his own “sample” into the same vessel. Emmet sighed. Gestating a smilodon-caribou hybrid somehow didn’t seem the best use of his lab time.
There were also the phase distortion pistols, but as Emmet had instructed they were strictly for emergencies—and he meant it. If the wombat had a choice between acquiring Victor’s genetic code and leaving him blissfully ignorant of the tech they possessed, he would choose the latter without hesitation.
Sully spoiled that alternative with drunken gusto. (Note to self: in the future, monitor the ferret’s alcohol intake.) And although the duo had several other near-encounters with Victor before they managed to repair their ride and jump home, no DNA sources were forthcoming.
Back in the present, Emmet was about to write off the mission as a complete failure when a security sweep of the timeship uncovered a tiny stowaway.
A single, white strand of fur.
A sample! And also proof that the timeship’s wrecking was no accident. Victor clearly knew he was being hunted by other chrononauts... but here was a possible key to understanding him. Emmet set to work immediately.
Unfortunately the data yielded more questions than answers.
Victor's DNA was utterly normal. He was free from significant genetic abnormalities (he had escaped a close call with hereditary deafness), and from all appearances was a perfectly average saber tooth tiger, certainly not much older than thirty.
This last point baffled the wombat. Tachyometric readings showed that this individual had been active since as far back as 20,000 B.C. If Victor was "alive" during the intervening intervals, then without modifications to his DNA he would have succumbed to old age long before he hit all his marks. Even so, molecular damage and methylation patterns perfectly fit an individual who was aging at a normal rate.
Either Emmet's time alteration sensors were off kilter and there was more than one "Victor", or something was periodically rejuvenating him.
But even that wasn't confounding enough. Victor was indeed born prior to the development of agriculture: he lacked many genes that conferred resistance to modern diseases. He would have been at a remarkable disadvantage on the American frontier, with its tuberculosis and scarlet fever and smallpox. An immunological analysis would have been far more informative than a purely genetic one.
If only I had those cursed leukocytes!
As the wombat sat pondering, Sully sauntered in, demonstrating his irritating knack for discerning what was on Emmet’s mind by hawking and spitting into a nearby wastebasket.
"Why not try it on?” the ferret asked innocently. “Maybe it'll give ya superpowers!”
==
At first Emmet thought to tell Sully to "try it on", seeing how fond his assistant was of the Scrambler Ray.
But Sully had a point. It was an uneducated one, but all the pair had were uneducated guesses. If Victor’s DNA did somehow grant "superpowers", it was best that Emmet be the one to absorb them.
The wombat pushed himself to his feet, grunting as some stiff joints creaked in protest. Forget superpowers, he'd settle for rejuvenation. In any event Emmet strolled over to the room that housed the machine, input the sample data into the slot and soon after awoke as a saber tooth tiger.
While he waited to see what came of his transformation, Emmet went about his regular work. (By this point the shop’s customers were used to witnessing abrupt changes in the proprietors' appearances.)
His voice was gravellier. His teeth were fangier. Yet aside from having to resist an unnerving craving for venison steak at the supermarket, the inventor felt much like his usual self.
Maybe it was a flaw in the machine. Emmet understood why his fur color didn't change (he would need to wait for it to fall out first), but... something about this felt incomplete.
“Why dontcha try suckin’ in yer gut?" Sully's reflection suggested from the mirror.
Emmet harrumphed. "I am suckin' it in!"
Category All / Transformation
Species Sabercats
Gender Male
Size 955 x 1150px
I like your new looks :) so handsome looking
You are still hired for me :3
You are still hired for me :3
You have much more tact than my assistant. This counts for something in my book.
Maybe not enough for a discount, but maybe we can bump up the priority of your work order.
Maybe not enough for a discount, but maybe we can bump up the priority of your work order.
:) I do not wish to replace anyone :3 I just wish our friendship to continue :3
And I am being honest :) I am sure you will find a nice way to enjoy it to the fullest and do something regarding that p, you are the smartest wombat i ever known ;)
And I am being honest :) I am sure you will find a nice way to enjoy it to the fullest and do something regarding that p, you are the smartest wombat i ever known ;)
yeah...I agree...definitely the leukocytes would have made this an absolute perfect prove for the experiment, that's why he is feeling incomplete!
It's a sign that Emmet is looking at things the wrong way. He couldn't see it at the saloon, but the saber cat is covered in scars—but not nearly enough to account for how long he's supposedly been around. Forget old age and illness; Victor should be crippled from the sheer number of injuries he'd have accumulated by now.
Emmet can just about believe that Victor has access to some sort of rejuvenation technology. But all he needs to do is see him naked once (it's bound to happen. Victor has a habit of reverting to his natural state when he means business) to know that something doesn't add up.
Oh well. Maybe he can ask him about it when he drops in for tea.
Emmet can just about believe that Victor has access to some sort of rejuvenation technology. But all he needs to do is see him naked once (it's bound to happen. Victor has a habit of reverting to his natural state when he means business) to know that something doesn't add up.
Oh well. Maybe he can ask him about it when he drops in for tea.
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....Victor naked.. >w>
I just wanna see his ass, that was a delightful experience the las time, the one chance we had to see his junk wasn't that amazing...
I just wanna see his ass, that was a delightful experience the las time, the one chance we had to see his junk wasn't that amazing...
It's too bad that his species says "Pleistocene" but his physique says "Krispy Kreme."
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