Turtles' Lair - The Sewers, New York City, Monday
They were restless again.
Four turtles had been raised to be ninjas, fighting crime on the streets of New York. This was the life they knew. This was their life's work. So when Master Splinter sent Leonardo, the leader of the four brothers, on a training quest, the other three - Donatello, Michelangelo and Raphael - were no longer allowed to fight until their brother returned.
Try keeping three normal brothers cooped up in the same small space for a year and a half and see how well it goes. Then add ninja skills and take away the freedom of doing good and fighting bad guys whenever they wanted to.
Yeah, they were restless.
Leonardo hadn't returned when he was supposed to. It was adding insult to injury. It didn't help the situation at all.
"He's not coming back," Raphael snapped at his brothers as he pulled a box of cereal out of the cupboard. "So you can forget it."
Michelangelo looked up at Raphael, wide-eyed and mouth agape, a spoonful of half-chewed cereal just barely visible within. "Dude," he said, and then decided to swallow, "Don't even say stuff like that, man. It's just not cool! I mean... I mean... dude!" Dude. Dude said it all.
"You know it's true as much as I do. He ain't coming home. He's too busy off doing his own thing. If he was coming home, he woulda been here already."
Donatello huffed a sigh and glanced up from his book, giving Raphael a hard look. "You don't know that," he said, sounding as though he'd said this before. "He's probably just delayed. Splinter would have told us if something had happened."
Mikey nodded enthusiastically, pushing away his bowlful of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs and attempting a grin. "Yeah, Raph. Donnie's right. Leo's okay. He has to be. He's Leo!"
"Yeah, he's Leo. Always gotta be the one in charge. Well maybe him walking out on us made him realize that he doesn't need us anymore. Whatever." He dropped into his chair and filled his bowl. "We don't need him."
"Leo wouldn't do that," Donnie said firmly. His own cereal was soggy and untouched and continued to be ignored as he frowned at his brother. "And of course we need him; he's our brother, Raph."
"We're doing fine without Leo." Raph was back on his feet, unable to sit still. "And we'll be better than fine the sooner we forget him and get over it."
"But Raph..." Mikey slowly pushed his seat back and stood, backing away a little. He didn't want to contradict Raphael within swinging range, as he rather valued his life. This was one of the few lessons Mikey had learned over the past little while. "He's our brother, man. We can't just forget about him."
"Take a cue from him, Mikey. He forgot about us or he'd be back by now."
Donnie didn't want to believe that, but as long as Leo had been gone without any word... He shook his head. "He's coming back, Raph. If he weren't, he would've told us," he said, glancing at Mikey for support.
Michelangelo gave a firm nod. "What Donnie said, man. Leo cares too much to just take off like that and not come back, like, ever, dude. He's the fearless leader? Right? So he's gotta come back and, uh, lead!"
"Exactly," Donatello said, putting aside his book and standing with his uneaten bowl of cereal. "We know he's okay, at least, and that should be enough - it's enough for Master Splinter, isn't it?"
Donnie didn't mean to be quite as caustic as he sounded, walking around Raphael carefully to put his bowl in the sink. "It's hard, but we need to be ready for when he comes back. Even you, Raph."
"Splinter gave him a deadline. That deadline's over, Donnie. He disobeyed orders. So no, it's not enough for me. He thinks he can just walk outta here and then come home months late and everything goes back to normal? I don't think so. But I'll be ready when he finally shows up. How 'bout you two? Sitting around here ain't doing anybody any good."
"We haven't just been sitting around," Mikey pouted perhaps a little as he tapped his fingers together sheepishly. "I mean, we've got... jobs and stuff, you know?" Totally not the same thing. But perhaps it was worth mention anyhow?
Nodding, Donnie gave his youngest brother an encouraging look. "We need money for food and supplies," he pointed out, trying not to sound accusing. "We're at least making sure of that - what have you been doing, Raph?"
"I've been doing what I'm supposed to do - keeping my skills as sharp as they're supposed to be. How 'bout you, Donnie? With all that lazing around in your cushy computer job, you still got what it takes?"
He snatched the nearest thing from the counter, which happened to be the toaster, and hurtled it at Donatello. It was yanked from the power socket and went straight for Donnie's head.
Donnie had been moving to the open space of the lair to get out of fists-and-feet range; given Raphael's current level of agitation it seemed like the safest thing.
But Donnie hadn't expected a projectile attack and he had only his highly-trained reflexes to thank when he pulled his head down into his shell with a startled yelp, the toaster sailing right over him and the back of the couch, towards the TV.
Mikey's eyes went wide. Every muscle in his body screamed at him in protest as he launched himself forward to save that which needed to be saved. There was no time for thinking! Only action! The television was at risk! "DUDE, SAVE THE TV!"
It was possible, however, that Michelangelo's reflexes had indeed gotten a little rusty after such a period of neglect. It was possible, also, that he had misjudged his leap horribly. His heart fell at about the same time that, instead of making solid hands-on contact with the toaster of doom, he instead made shell-first contact with the appliance that he had been attempting to rescue, sending it toppling as he tumbled off into a wall.
There was a crash.
There was a burst of sparks as the television hit the floor. And then, to add insult to injury, the toaster still managed to make its mark. "On the bright side, dudes, at least we don't have to put up with any more soap-opera marathons when Splinter beats us to the remote?"
The television, now with a handy-dandy built-in screen-toaster, spat out a few more sparks in agreement.
A deathly silence reigned for a few long moments. Then it wasn't a turtle that spoke. A bellowing voice rang out throughout the sewers. Splinter.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOYS!"
They were in so much trouble.
[OOC: Co-played with turtle_techie and halfshell_hero]
Four turtles had been raised to be ninjas, fighting crime on the streets of New York. This was the life they knew. This was their life's work. So when Master Splinter sent Leonardo, the leader of the four brothers, on a training quest, the other three - Donatello, Michelangelo and Raphael - were no longer allowed to fight until their brother returned.
Try keeping three normal brothers cooped up in the same small space for a year and a half and see how well it goes. Then add ninja skills and take away the freedom of doing good and fighting bad guys whenever they wanted to.
Yeah, they were restless.
Leonardo hadn't returned when he was supposed to. It was adding insult to injury. It didn't help the situation at all.
"He's not coming back," Raphael snapped at his brothers as he pulled a box of cereal out of the cupboard. "So you can forget it."
Michelangelo looked up at Raphael, wide-eyed and mouth agape, a spoonful of half-chewed cereal just barely visible within. "Dude," he said, and then decided to swallow, "Don't even say stuff like that, man. It's just not cool! I mean... I mean... dude!" Dude. Dude said it all.
"You know it's true as much as I do. He ain't coming home. He's too busy off doing his own thing. If he was coming home, he woulda been here already."
Donatello huffed a sigh and glanced up from his book, giving Raphael a hard look. "You don't know that," he said, sounding as though he'd said this before. "He's probably just delayed. Splinter would have told us if something had happened."
Mikey nodded enthusiastically, pushing away his bowlful of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs and attempting a grin. "Yeah, Raph. Donnie's right. Leo's okay. He has to be. He's Leo!"
"Yeah, he's Leo. Always gotta be the one in charge. Well maybe him walking out on us made him realize that he doesn't need us anymore. Whatever." He dropped into his chair and filled his bowl. "We don't need him."
"Leo wouldn't do that," Donnie said firmly. His own cereal was soggy and untouched and continued to be ignored as he frowned at his brother. "And of course we need him; he's our brother, Raph."
"We're doing fine without Leo." Raph was back on his feet, unable to sit still. "And we'll be better than fine the sooner we forget him and get over it."
"But Raph..." Mikey slowly pushed his seat back and stood, backing away a little. He didn't want to contradict Raphael within swinging range, as he rather valued his life. This was one of the few lessons Mikey had learned over the past little while. "He's our brother, man. We can't just forget about him."
"Take a cue from him, Mikey. He forgot about us or he'd be back by now."
Donnie didn't want to believe that, but as long as Leo had been gone without any word... He shook his head. "He's coming back, Raph. If he weren't, he would've told us," he said, glancing at Mikey for support.
Michelangelo gave a firm nod. "What Donnie said, man. Leo cares too much to just take off like that and not come back, like, ever, dude. He's the fearless leader? Right? So he's gotta come back and, uh, lead!"
"Exactly," Donatello said, putting aside his book and standing with his uneaten bowl of cereal. "We know he's okay, at least, and that should be enough - it's enough for Master Splinter, isn't it?"
Donnie didn't mean to be quite as caustic as he sounded, walking around Raphael carefully to put his bowl in the sink. "It's hard, but we need to be ready for when he comes back. Even you, Raph."
"Splinter gave him a deadline. That deadline's over, Donnie. He disobeyed orders. So no, it's not enough for me. He thinks he can just walk outta here and then come home months late and everything goes back to normal? I don't think so. But I'll be ready when he finally shows up. How 'bout you two? Sitting around here ain't doing anybody any good."
"We haven't just been sitting around," Mikey pouted perhaps a little as he tapped his fingers together sheepishly. "I mean, we've got... jobs and stuff, you know?" Totally not the same thing. But perhaps it was worth mention anyhow?
Nodding, Donnie gave his youngest brother an encouraging look. "We need money for food and supplies," he pointed out, trying not to sound accusing. "We're at least making sure of that - what have you been doing, Raph?"
"I've been doing what I'm supposed to do - keeping my skills as sharp as they're supposed to be. How 'bout you, Donnie? With all that lazing around in your cushy computer job, you still got what it takes?"
He snatched the nearest thing from the counter, which happened to be the toaster, and hurtled it at Donatello. It was yanked from the power socket and went straight for Donnie's head.
Donnie had been moving to the open space of the lair to get out of fists-and-feet range; given Raphael's current level of agitation it seemed like the safest thing.
But Donnie hadn't expected a projectile attack and he had only his highly-trained reflexes to thank when he pulled his head down into his shell with a startled yelp, the toaster sailing right over him and the back of the couch, towards the TV.
Mikey's eyes went wide. Every muscle in his body screamed at him in protest as he launched himself forward to save that which needed to be saved. There was no time for thinking! Only action! The television was at risk! "DUDE, SAVE THE TV!"
It was possible, however, that Michelangelo's reflexes had indeed gotten a little rusty after such a period of neglect. It was possible, also, that he had misjudged his leap horribly. His heart fell at about the same time that, instead of making solid hands-on contact with the toaster of doom, he instead made shell-first contact with the appliance that he had been attempting to rescue, sending it toppling as he tumbled off into a wall.
There was a crash.
There was a burst of sparks as the television hit the floor. And then, to add insult to injury, the toaster still managed to make its mark. "On the bright side, dudes, at least we don't have to put up with any more soap-opera marathons when Splinter beats us to the remote?"
The television, now with a handy-dandy built-in screen-toaster, spat out a few more sparks in agreement.
A deathly silence reigned for a few long moments. Then it wasn't a turtle that spoke. A bellowing voice rang out throughout the sewers. Splinter.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOYS!"
They were in so much trouble.
[OOC: Co-played with turtle_techie and halfshell_hero]