Disclaimer: I don't own the ninja turtles. I just like to write about them.
Author's note: This character was given to me by Turtlefreak121 huggles Also, I might be writing more one shots from time to time about Devon, and I'll be posting them on this story. But it is still a one-shot.
Devon vs. Raph
In the stillness of night, while the quiet of the lair filled the air, someone stirred. Underneath Michelangelo's bed, amidst all his forgotten toys—noisemakers, stuffed animals, and games—there lay one who had gotten tired of it.
Devon was not like most toys, having been made not by machine, but by the careful hands of Donatello. He'd been sewn up in the form of a mutant turtle, like Donatello and his brothers many years ago. (Donnie had been trying to show Michelangelo that dolls didn't only have to be human-shaped to be fun to play with.) He was plushy, and soft, with two button eyes, and a smile stitched on. Well, actually after having gone through much loving abuse from his owner Michelangelo, he now sported worn fabric, patched up in some places, and one eye. The other eye had disappeared after a rough game of 'Mutant Devon vs. G.I. Joe.'
In the end, Devon found himself shoved underneath a bed, and lying for years in dust, forgotten. Something he didn't appreciate. Especially not after being able to taste fresh air for the first time in years after that ill-fated Mouser attack. He'd been found again by Raphael who'd been scavenging the old lair for any surviving possessions, and had decided that Devon qualified. He was thrown into a box, and brought to the lair with all their other stuff. Oh, the feeling of fresh air against his fabric, plushy face!
So he came to an executive decision. He wouldn't put up with that which was dark and dusty anymore! Oh no, he considered himself a genius in the realm of toydom, and he felt far too cunning to simply accept his fate. He would break all the rules, and do whatever he desired.
And what, you might ask, would a mutant turtle plushy toy desire?
Oh, nothing much.
Just world domination!
Devon paced, thinking and pondering, as all genius minds must, trying to discover the best method for complete control of the globe. What would he need?
Servants… people that would unquestioningly do his bidding. Looking around at the discarded toys that had foolishly come to terms with the fact that they were nothing but fodder for the dump, Devon smiled.
He definitely wouldn't have any problems with gathering servants.
Ok, then he needed a plan.
Devon paced. He brought his plushy hand up to his chin… and then remembered he didn't have hands.
Bah. The first thing I'm going to do once I become the supreme ruler is have someone sew me up some hands!
But now for a plan. Hmmm…
He would think of a plan later.
Now, all he needed was a weapon.
Yes, that was it! A weapon.
In all the games that Michelangelo had played with him, Devon had noticed that without fail, the toy that had come out victoriously always had a weapon.
But where to get one?
Devon stopped pacing underneath Michelangelo's bed. It was night, and his owner—ahem, that is, his former owner—slept, and also snored like a chainsaw.
He shook his head.
My next decree shall be that all snoring personages should be shot. It wouldn't do to allow the 'snoring' gene to pass on, would it?
Crawling out from underneath the bed, he jumped as high as he could, trying to make it to the top of Michelangelo's bed. He smacked against the side of the bed and tumbled to the floor. Michelangelo groaned, and rolled over, remaining unconscious, and snored (if possible) even louder.
And there shall not be any beds taller than one inch!
Devon gave it a shot again, and failed miserably. Needless to say, this didn't help his temper much. Growling underneath his breath, Devon marched underneath the bed once again, and began to pace.
So he couldn't get Michelangelo's nun-chucks, eh?
Now that he thought about it, he doubted very much if he could use that weapon properly. As they were longer than him, he couldn't very well make them 'whirl' like they were supposed to.
No matter, he would find a different weapon.
His growl changing to a smirk, he began to walk out from underneath Michelangelo's bed, and out of the room. He hadn't been this way before, but he was sure he'd run into some weapons somewhere. What with four ninja turtles and a ninja rat running amok all over the place, he felt bound to run into some eventually.
Making it out of the room, which for some reason had no door in the doorway, Devon found himself facing a ledge. Apparently, he stood at the top of a two-story structure. He found himself at a perfect viewpoint, being so high up.
In the middle of the lair stood a still pool of water, over which crossed a footbridge. Off to one side lay a rug surrounded by tall candelabras, with candles that looked as though they had gone through much use, even though they currently were unlit. The other side of the lair, directly opposite Devon loomed Donatello's lab, with the computers and the lab equipment, and interesting looking devices that Devon felt as though he needed to possess at a later date.
And there it was! A rack simply chock full of weapons. It stood to one side of the candelabra-surrounded rug, and looked as though it were pleading.
'Please!' Devon heard, 'Come, and partake of my spoils!'
As a gentletoy, Devon simply couldn't refuse. He began to make his way down to where the beautiful weapons called.
What Devon hadn't been able to see was that directly underneath him, stood a panting Raphael who had been laying waste to a particular punching bag.
Raphael pounded one more fist into the bag. "Three hundred!" He muttered to himself.
Working out felt so good!
He stretched his arm muscles, preparing for another rep, when something odd caught his eye.
He turned to look, and then found himself frowning in disbelief.
Was he just dreaming, or was there this really ugly doll-turtle thing walking on its own? He stood still, watching as the doll—patched up, and one-eyed—made its way from the bottom of the steps that lead to the second level of the lair to the weapon rack He scratched his head. Then he rubbed his eyes.
"Man, either I'm really tired, or I'm loosin' it." He muttered, and then opened his eyes again.
Yup. That doll thing was still there. And it looked as though… was it pacing?
Hmmm. Well. The swords were definitely out of the question. They had to be at least four times as long as him, and about that much heavier than him. No, they would be of no use to him.
And that long wooden stick…
Devon didn't even waste time thinking about it.
There were some nun-chucks! But again, as he paced, he knew that there would be absolutely no way he could wield them.
Then he saw them. He smiled in contemplation. They were perfect!
Forks.
Oh yes, the three-pronged grandeur of them! How regal, how terrifying he would look!
Just for measure, Devon struck a proud pose. (Actually, his plushy body was too floppy to allow him to look even remotely striking.)
All Devon would have to do would be to climb the stick thing to get to the top of the rack where his prizes rested. He again thought about how wonderful it would be to order somebody to sew him some hands… but first thing's first.
Climbing the stick thing, he shimmied up to the top. Flopping all over the place, he folded over the swords, and tumbled around the nun-chucks to the forks. Then, with a large and evil grin on his face, he knocked both of them off the rack. They fell to the ground with a satisfying clang.
Jumping off, and meeting his prizes at the bottom, Devon began the process of trying to pick both of them up at once.
Soon, after struggling for a few seconds with the broad handles, Devon realized that it was physically impossible for him to pick both up at once.
Sighing, he decided to settle for one. He wouldn't look quite as terrifying, he supposed, but there was nothing for it. Soon, he had the handle wrapped in his soft, plushy arms, and began dragging it across the floor. The pointed end of it scraped against the floor, as Devon wasn't quite big or strong enough to lift the point into the air, nor was he tall enough to keep it from dragging.
No matter, I'll just cut it down to size once I get it up to…
"Oof!" Devon found himself booted off to one side by a gigantic turtle foot. That effectively separated him from his fork.
Turning around, and looking at his attacker, he seethed, "Who dares oppose me?" Discovering Raphael, towering over him, with a glare on his face, he narrowed his eye. Or, at least he tried to, as buttons were hard to do remotely anything with. "So, we meet again, insolent fiend. This time, I shall not be so lenient."
Raphael glared at the little mutant plushy. After all, it's one thing for a toy to all of the sudden start walking and talking, but when that toy decides to go after his sai, Raphael found himself beginning to get a little ticked off.
"Listen, dolly, just go back to wherever you came from," He growled, leaning down to pick up his sai, and twirling it meaningfully. Then a thought struck him. "Hey, aren't you that thing that Donnie made for Mikey a really long time ago?"
Devon chuckled evilly.
Raph backed up a few steps. "Whoa…" he said. Then he remembered it was some plushy mutant toy. And that he was much, much bigger than it. He pointedly walked up to it, towering over it threateningly, and pointed his sai at it.
"You got two seconds to live, dolly."
Devon wouldn't ever admit it, but he felt a twinge of fear at the giant towering turtle sporting his fork. But he growled defiantly, and said, "I seem to recall from somewhere that you are… ticklish." He then sprung, before Raphael could react, and began to shimmy up Raphael's leg.
Raphael frowned at first, as he began to shake his leg to get the thing off of him, thinking, I'm not ticklish… am I? He didn't think he was… he use to be, but..
Devon held on with tenacity and shimmied until he reached Raphael's belt. Then, with all he had, he began to tickle Raphael on his right side, where he was most vulnerable.
Raphael's eyes widened, and he batted at Devon with his hands, and wiggled.
Horribly, to his surprise, he was ticklish! Still!
He tried hard not to laugh, and managed to get a grip on the thing at his side.
Taking a deep breath, and rubbing his side, he threw the mutant turtle plushy across the entire lair.
That thing has a date with a paper shredder! He vowed.
Devon landed on top of a desk. Donnie's desk to be exact. Something stuck through him.
Looking down, and to his surprise, he found a tack sticking out of the worn fabric of his torso.
Slowly, a smile crawled to his stitched lips.
A weapon!
Raphael marched over to Donnie's desk, after having replaced his sais in their proper place. Thoughts of, 'I'm hallucinating,' and 'Maybe I'm dreaming,' strolled through his head, as he walked. One thing was for sure. There was no way he would even mention the fact that he had been having a tickling session with a plushy stuffed toy that he'd all but forgotten about to anyone! Not as long as he lived.
When he reached the desk, he found it devoid of any Devon-like being.
"What?" He scratched his head again, and began to look around, hoping that he really had been dreaming it. He leaned down to look under the table, when he felt a sharp sting in his foot.
"Ow!" Looking around, he spotted Devon, pushing a tack into his foot, and laughing maniacally.
"That's it! You're goin' down, you lousy little—"
He reached down to squeeze the little monster to death, but all that met his fists was thin air. Devon wisely decided to make a tactical retreat; and taking care to bring along his tack, he ran as fast as his plushy legs would let him.
Raph made a good chase, but unfortunately, the little creature crawled into a hole in the wall made by rats, a long time ago. Devon smiled, seeing a tunnel. Raph sat patiently by the wall, ready and waiting for his quarry to come out. What he didn't know was that Devon was headed up the wall, following the tunnel wherever it would lead. Ironically, it lead to the upper-level of the lair, and Devon secured his tack, and dove underneath Michelangelo's bed.
Note to self: Big, ugly mutant ninja turtles don't like to be tickled all that well.
Raphael woke up in the morning still leaning against the wall where Devon had disappeared into. Surrounding him were his three brothers and Sensei. All were giving him questioning looks.
"Raph," Asked Michelangelo, "Were you sleeping there all night?"
Raph growled.
"Don't ask."
Ok, so should I do anymore stories about him, or is he a "meh, just another oc for the turtles." kind of character?
