turbcat-blog

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corruptedcandy has a nice helmet

Well, this wasn't something that you saw everyday. Sure, Turbo could have maybe accepted the alternate version of his disguise, or himself, or the form he had taken after being eaten by the detestable bug. But this? All these people in one place? There were twofers, there was just one, but four people? The last of whom he still wasn't sure what to label as? (He had tentatively settled for calling him another Turbo based on his appearance, though he certainly didn't look like any he'd know. But then again, his own helmet hadn't been the square of the twins', either.) 

The disguised cat really didn't know how to react to a scenario like this, especially when faced with such a ragtag band. Ears going back, he started putting his paws one behind the other. If crazy was going to start rubbing off on him, he'd still at least prefer to not be too close to these people.

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ask-sassy-gay-turbo found the party

The cat's ears uncertainly went back as it regarded its counterpart, head tilted in confusion. This... This was another Turbo? But there was... So much pink (and this was DEFINITELY pink, not salmon) and glitter. Quite frankly, the racer hiding in the feline was bewildered. He had never expected to see anything like this.

Almost timidly, he took a step forwards, completely unsure what to expect from this strange alternate that he had unexpectedly met as he cautiously sniffed in the flamboyant other's direction.

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Turbo couldn't help the pleased perk of his ears at the compliment, though he simultaneously wanted to correct him. Pretty, after all, wasn't exactly a very masculine adjective. Still, he continued to hold his tongue, indulging himself and allowing the stroking.

He gave Set a rather deadpan stare (though the cat supposed it wasn't very obvious considering his feline features) as the other twin stuck his hand right in the former racer's face as well, rolling his eyes. What one of the two smelt like, so invariably did the other, other than subtle nuances that the creature couldn't bring himself to care about, so he didn't see the point in doing much more than a cursory nosing before turning away.

The conversation about his fate wasn't one that particularly concerned him. If worse came to worst, he could always escape after all, and whether he was recovering in a garage with old familiar cars (Turbo idly wondered if his own one was still there) or in an empty plane of Game Central Station, he'd still be gathering his strength. Anyway, he had rather missed his old Turbo Time, which of course would never get replaced as the best arcade game ever.

ask-jet-and-set-turbotwins have been loitering too long

There’s not a lot of reasons for Turbo to leave his safe nesting place in the middle of nowhere. He doesn’t need food, and even if someone finds him he doesn’t look anything like himself. He’s just a white cat, after all. But feline or human or whatever else, he had always craved attention, and even as he knew he needed to plot and plan quietly his restless paws lead him back to the Central Station.

Dodging the oncoming traffic of crowds upon crowds of people was no hard feat for the animal, though the complete lack of any recognition did still smart his ego a little. Even though he knew he was supposed to be blending in, the former racer’s pride refused to listen to logic. 

Maybe he’d find some familiar faces to follow? Keeping this in mind, Turbo started glancing up higher than people’s ankles, the cat darting through the place as continued his pointless trek.

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Hmm. The twins, huh? Of course, Turbo's very own pair were dead as doornails (He had never liked them anyway, they were slow slow slow, slow to think and slow to rise and definitely slow to drive. The racer didn't have time for slow people.) so they couldn't be his. Still, it was nice to see some more Turbo Time racers, no matter how disdainfully he regarded them and they didn't even know who he was.

Still holding his tongue, since Jet probably hadn't expected an answer from the feline anyway, he delicately accepted the offer of a hand, sniffing at it though he wasn't sure what that was supposed to accomplish. The familiar smell of motor oil and rubber tires did provoke a brief purr out of him, however, his crimson red eyes brightening as he pressed closer, still inhaling the old scent he had once spent all his time with as he more or less disregarded the fact that he was rubbing his face against a twin, one of his old rivals. 

ask-jet-and-set-turbotwins have been loitering too long

There’s not a lot of reasons for Turbo to leave his safe nesting place in the middle of nowhere. He doesn’t need food, and even if someone finds him he doesn’t look anything like himself. He’s just a white cat, after all. But feline or human or whatever else, he had always craved attention, and even as he knew he needed to plot and plan quietly his restless paws lead him back to the Central Station.

Dodging the oncoming traffic of crowds upon crowds of people was no hard feat for the animal, though the complete lack of any recognition did still smart his ego a little. Even though he knew he was supposed to be blending in, the former racer’s pride refused to listen to logic. 

Maybe he’d find some familiar faces to follow? Keeping this in mind, Turbo started glancing up higher than people’s ankles, the cat darting through the place as continued his pointless trek.

[turbcat-blog]

ask-jet-and-set-turbotwins have been loitering too long

There's not a lot of reasons for Turbo to leave his safe nesting place in the middle of nowhere. He doesn't need food, and even if someone finds him he doesn't look anything like himself. He's just a white cat, after all. But feline or human or whatever else, he had always craved attention, and even as he knew he needed to plot and plan quietly his restless paws lead him back to the Central Station.

Dodging the oncoming traffic of crowds upon crowds of people was no hard feat for the animal, though the complete lack of any recognition did still smart his ego a little. Even though he knew he was supposed to be blending in, the former racer's pride refused to listen to logic. 

Maybe he'd find some familiar faces to follow? Keeping this in mind, Turbo started glancing up higher than people's ankles, the cat darting through the place as continued his pointless trek.

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Happy Easter

"... Thanks." He graciously accepts the well-wishing of a holiday, though seems a little curious as to why the other is here.

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Hello

'?'

There was an inquiring tone to the cat's meow as he lifted a paw in greeting.

Another Turbo or not, he didn't seem quite forthcoming with the idea of speaking.

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oldhamhandshimself wandered too deep into the station

If one were ever to venture further into the large hub that made up the intersection of all the games in Litwak's Arcade, past the last few plugged-in games was a section of nothing, a rather desolate, unkempt place that people usually failed to notice.

However, it was here that the villain of the entire station had limped into, nursing his wounded pride and broken coding as he tried to recover. Forced to take over the body of a mere background event animal, Turbo's defeat had stewed angrily inside him. 

But that wasn't the important part, for now that the once-racer had recovered from a death that he had only returned from due to circumstances he highly doubted he'd have the capacity to repeat, the feline craved attention, something inherent that not only the foreign programming but also the original cat had wanted.

Would it come to any surprise at all that the small creature had ventured from its den in search of what he wanted the most? And if he managed to find one of the core four that ignited black rage right into the depths of code along the way, well, he only looked like a simple white cat. Would they really be suspect of him? 

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!!

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Welcome.