-Distractions-
Michelangelo's eyes widened in a happy excitement, his hands pulling the magazine closer and closer to his face as he neared the end of the brief article. As his eyes peeled over the last words on the page, it began to mist with the turtle's hot breath. Gently he sat Creative Writer's Monthly down on the table. "Wow," Mikey said as his eyes glazed over, some large portion of his sentient mind already leaving the stratosphere of Earth. "A thousand dollar grand prize for the best short story… The five winning short stories published in the next five issues… A year's subscription to CWM…" Mikey stared off into the far reaches of space, his eyes wide as flying saucers and his mouth slightly agape in a goofy, dreamy smile.
A shelled pistachio nut hitting the back of his throat at warp speed sent Michelangelo into an instant choking fit and back to reality as he tried to cough up the invading nut. He liked pistachios, but not when catapulted at his epiglottis. The enemy nut and coughing now quelled, Mikey looked around with a glare to find his attacker. Raphael leaned against the countertop not three feet away from his brother, contentedly crunching a handful of nuts and grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "You'd better watch it, leaving your mouth open like dat," Mikey's grinning brother warned. "You never know what could fly in there." Michelangelo gave his best glare as Raph sat down and passed the can of nuts across the table.
"So what was out on Planet Spazz before you were assaulted by the Pistachio Invaders?" Mikey's scowl instantly melted, his mind suddenly returning to the happy excitement of the writing contest. He shoved the article across to his brother.
"Dig this! Winner gets published and a thousand bucks!" Raphael picked up the magazine and quickly glanced over the article. It was hosted by the company itself, so at least it didn't look like a total scam. His little brother would be dumb enough to fall prey to those contests. He tuned back in; Mikey was still rambling. "…So I'm going to spend some quality time writing the winning story!" Was THAT all? Raph leaned his cheek in his palm. At least Mikey was enthusiastic about it, even if it was just for some silly writing contest.
Donnie came through the kitchen and joined his brothers at the table, bringing with him cold sodas for each of them. Michelangelo and Raphael were both sitting at the table. And not arguing. Far too fascinating and rare to pass up joining, Donnie thought as he pulled up a chair. "What's up guys?" Raph passed Don the magazine.
"Our little Mikey's plannin' on writin' the Great American Novel," Raph said with a grin. Don inhaled; he could already sense the argument coming. So much for the peace. Mikey frowned over the top of his soda.
"Am NOT," Mikey protested. "Not yet anyway. I'm just going to try and write a winning short fictional story and see where I can go from there." Don glanced over the article.
"That's a nice prize to work toward," Don said as he read through the rules. "But I think you might have overlooked a few things." Raphael looked at Don intently; this was starting to get interesting. Mikey frowned. Write a story, mail it in by the due date. What was there to miss in that?
"Like?"
""Submission must be original work of fiction not resembling or borrowing elements from another writer's works." That cancels out any of your comic book superhero stories." Mikey stuck out his tongue; fan fiction was legitimate writing.
"I wasn't planning on using one of those, anyway," he said with a pout. "I was thinking about basing the short story off of something easy to follow from our life down here." Raph looked quizzically at Mikey.
"What about the part about it being fiction?"
"Dude, we're ninja turtles living in a sewer, raised by a talking four-foot rat; the truth, in our case, is by far stranger than fiction." His brothers certainly couldn't argue that one. Don held up a hand, pointing at a tiny paragraph at the bottom of the pace with the other.
"Hold up, Mike. Says way down here that the monetary prizes are given in check form, but if you're under eighteen you have to have a parent or legal guardian sign off and let them accept the money in your name." Mikey slurped the bottom of his can, indicating that he didn't see the problem there. "We won't be eighteen for another year and half or so, we don't have checking accounts, and we don't even have social security numbers. If you won any of the prize money, you wouldn't be able to accept it legally."
Mikey thought a minute before looking up. "Well… I could have April sign off as my legal guardian who can accept the check in my name and give me the cash for it!" There was a sudden silence at the table that, after a long moment of staring, gave birth to a loud guffaw of laughter from Don and Raph.
"You're gonna write a fictional story," Raph said between gasping for air. "Based on our lives, and have April sign the submission form, pretending she's your legal guardian! Ha ha ha!" The two brothers continued their chorus of laughter as Mikey stood abruptly, "Oh, this is rich!"
"Just you watch," Mikey said defensively. "All I need is a little quiet with no distractions and some time to write it before typing. Just you watch. No distractions and I can write write write write write write write!" Raphael stared with a grin as his little bro walked away from the table in a huff. Donnie smiled apologetically as Mikey walked off – he probably didn't need to laugh quite that hard, but the idea of Mikey pretending to be April's legal family was amusing. He glanced over to see if Raph shared any of the same feelings when he saw that grin. The one that meant he was up to something.
"No distractions, eh? Ladies and gentlemen, let the games begin."
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Michelangelo sat on the worn old sofa with one leg crossed over the other's knee, providing him with a decent enough leaning surface for his notebook. He sat there, wordless and deep in thought as he attempted to balance his pen over his upper lip; truly there was something to be said of having a human nose and lips that made this task simpler.
Raphael looked over his shoulder from the kitchen as Mike's pen hit paper and began to scribble slowly; after several more seconds it became obvious as the pen began moving at a faster, steadier speed that the young turtle was on a mission. Raph grinned broadly, which earned him an odd look from Don.
"Okay," Donnie said as he crossed his arms. "WHAT, pray tell, are you up to?" Raph's psychotic grin curved its way toward the brainy turtle.
"Remember that 'game' Mikey used to play when we were little where we'd focus as hard as we could on whatever we needed to and he would try his damndest to distract us in any way possible?"
"Used to play? When did he ever stop?"
"Exactly. Well, I think it's time that I see if he can put up with his own annoying game by my rules." Don looked somewhere between amused and afraid.
"I'm not sure I wanna play…"
"Oh sure you do. At least for round one… I rented the newest Resident Evil game and I know you'll wanna help me play it!" Raphael quickly produced a video game case and ran out from the kitchen to leap upon the sofa, followed quickly by Don. Even if he didn't want to be as rotten as Raphael did, this was a round he could at least claim ignorance of.
In all the leaping and settling and fighting for controllers, Mikey had actually done really well so far; video games were typically his domain, and the kind where your main objective was to blow zombies to itty bitty bits were among the best kind. He hadn't even lifted his eyes from his paper, Raph noted. Don't worry, Raph thought. I'm only getting warmed up. The zombies were getting cooler and cooler, and little bits of gore were flying across the screen. As the video game mysteriously got louder, out of the corner of his eye he could see his brother struggling as his pen slowed considerably as Mikey's gaze continued to pop up at the screen for longer and longer moments.
After several more minutes of struggling against the awesomely gravitational effects of zombies, Mikey sighed in frustration, gathered his pad and pen and left the sofa for a better place to write. The kitchen, Michelangelo thought as he walked off. The kitchen won't have any distractions, and I can write write write write write write write.
Ding ding, thought Raphael with a grin as another sweep of bullets sprayed through zombies. Me:1, Mike: zip.
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Michelangelo walked through the kitchen to the table, soda and sandwich in hand. The sofa probably wasn't the best place to try and write out a storyline or brainstorm, but it was the comfiest. The kitchen ought to do well, though, if for no other reason than the table being there. Mikey's pen began to scribble again on the yellow notepad, jotting small groups of ideas, circling some while scratching out others and drawing lines connecting them all over the place. Was his thought process always so messy?
His writing slowed a little bit as he leaned his cheek in his hand. His thought process was going nowhere fast; zombies had been traded in for now, and the music videos on VH1 were becoming more and more appealing……. Mike mentally scolded himself as he stared harder at his notepad. But…. Why….. Why did Shakira have to be so almost naked? STOP THAT!!! Mike got out of his chair and into one that didn't face the television. Mikey forced his pen to the notepad and the ink to start flowing, but after several words from his head all that came out were the words to the song the pop star was shaking her bom-bom to. Focus… center… tune out all of the…. Ah, who was he kidding? Mikey sighed in defeat, putting his pen down and placed his plate in the sink. The dojo was nice and quiet; Leo was in there meditating, so he probably wouldn't mind if Mikey was in there writing out his story.
The chair made a little scuffling noise as Mikey pushed it
back under the table and took his pen and pad to the dojo to try and write. He
didn't notice Raph's eyes peeking out around over the sofa's top, watching
Mikey as he left. Raph let out a quiet chuckle. Me:
2, Mike: nada.
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The dojo, though dimly lit with dozens of little candles, had an instantly soothing feel to it when combined with Leo's odd taste in meditation music. What was that gal's name? Anna? Enya? Onion? Whatever. Still had a nice effect when combined with the lighting – very soothing. Michelangelo decided immediately that he should have come here first. Leonardo either took no notice of his brother's presence or didn't care, and the lighting and music finally helped to get the ink from Mike's pen to flow in a much less muddled direction.
Fragmented sentences filled the page in small clumps and clusters, circles and lines connecting one blob of thoughts to the next. Leonardo took no notice of the sounds of Mikey's pen scratching across the yellow tablet, and Mikey took no notice of Raphael watching from around the corner. For a long moment, Raph silently watched his brothers, wondering if he should intrude again to continue the game. So far he had won both rounds, and what would interrupting him all evening long really accomplish? Surely by now Mikey knew what Raph was doing – he generally wasn't that dense. Generally. He honestly was considering ending the game, having proved his point at least to himself, until Leonardo finally opened his eyes after his long meditation and stood to stretch. Raphael casually strolled into the dojo as innocently as he could pretend to be.
Raphael grinned with a pleasant sarcasm. "Have a good time?" Leo gave his brother a quick smirk and continued to stretch. And stretches were usually a promising thing from Leo… they meant that he was going to exercise his body now that his mind was done. And what better exercise could there be other than…
"Hey Leo, how about we do a round, just for the fun of it?" In a flash, Raph had leapt over Michelangelo where he sat, both sai drawn and pointed for Leo's chest. Katana clashed with sai, and the two turtles began a delicate and fearsome dance with the four shining blades. Dividing his attention when he and Don were playing video games was one thing – trying to watch for Mikey's reaction while there were two very sharp and pointy things attacking you by a very skilled swordsman was not exactly the most advisable thing one should be doing. As a matter of fact, many people would point out that it was, indeed, quite a bad idea. But even though one of Raph's sai went sailing from his hand, catching from the corner of his eye that the pommel and hilt nearly smacked Mikey in the head made losing one of his weapons totally worth it. After a few more minutes of fierce play, he heard Michelangelo sigh in defeat and leave the dojo.
Raphael began to mentally gloat over his latest victory when Leo caught him by surprise, hurling the deep emerald turtle onto his back and with no other choice than surrender to his brother.
Mikey: zero, me: 2, Leo's sword: 1.
After all, he himself had lost because he was distracted.
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The door to Mikey's bedroom shut behind him as he plopped himself down at his little desk. He knew better than to try and write here, but where else could he go? No matter where he went, it seemed that he was just getting distracted. That, or he wasn't concentrating hard enough. On the other hand, if he'd been focusing too hard he would have inevitably taken a hit from Raph's flailing sai. Michelangelo sighed heavily. Why couldn't he just concentrate enough to write his story ideas? He sighed again and looked up pleadingly at the large poster of Kiera Knightly, whose smile presently seemed like a cross between seductive and encouraging.
"Oh Kiera," he pouted as he put his cheek in his hand. "Everywhere I go in our house seems to be so distracting! The living room, the kitchen, the dojo… the only other options are my room or Master Splinter's, and we know the odds of the latter happening. Augh, where can I go for some decent environment and inspiration?" Michelangelo looked up at the poster again, hoping that she would somehow answer his plea. Kiera Knightly, however, said nothing, as she was a poster and posters can't talk. He sat a while in uffish thought, his eyes wandering all over his room for something to inspire him. He had resolved to write about their life, but which part, and who was to say that that part was more interesting or more realistic than any other? After all, he'd only had sixteen-and-a-half years of memories that, by normal circumstances, were all pretty interesting.
His scanned the shelves… Master Splinter kept all the family albums in his room… And… Wow, those Wonder Man comics weren't put into protective sleeves yet… Donnie kept the video-recordings of their life (and very well locked-up at that)… And… A pizza would be fantastic right now. Deep dish, double toppings… Leonardo would probably frown upon the whole venture, even if Mikey went to all the trouble to change the names and places… Half Supreme with no anchovies, and half Meat Lovers with a side of garlic bread…
Michelangelo tore his eyes away from everything, shutting them tightly, burying his face in his hands. "Never mind my home distracting me," he groaned. "I can't even concentrate with ME around!" He cautiously peered once more at the lovely actress frozen forever with a perfectly drawn arrow and allowed his eyes to follow where the arrow pointed to across his bedroom. Hanging on the wall next to his bed was a window-sized picture of Manhattan Island, plugged into a socket so that all of the city lights twinkled in the darkness. Michelangelo had received that as a Christmas gift from Donnie once, so he could imagine that was his window overlooking the sparkling city he loved. The young turtle's eyes widened and lit as he jumped to his feet.
"That's IT! Thanks Kiera! I knew you'd have a solution for me!" Kiera once again said nothing as he giggled to himself and rushed about his room to don his human winter clothing. Nobody really had much of a chance to ask him as he rushed toward the exit to come up to the surface.
"But, WHERE are you going?" Donnie looked confused for about a moment before sending a look in Raph's general direction. This was probably his fault.
"Well, I need some fresh inspiration, and I just can't concentrate all cooped up down here. So I'm going up there to a coffee house to do some writing!" Yup. Definitely Raphael's fault. Within moments, the giddy ninja had already vanished down the sewer and headed toward Central Park.
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