The Outside World
- Leonardo in Blue
A/N: Was previously a one-shot but I decided to build upon it. Bear with me, this is my first attempt. -cries- Kinda based off of the old cartoon assuming Splinter was once human. Hope you enjoy!
Prologue: Not Too Proud
The pungent aroma of grease and flour attacked starved senses as a half-wrapped, half-eaten cheeseburger from a local fast food establishment landed on a stained and worn bed sheet.
"Sorry man, s'all I got," a slightly dismissive voice declared as its owner shrugged and continued his evening commute down the city sidewalk.
The beggar to whom he spoke sat hunched pitifully on the bed sheet, shrouded completely in a dark bundle of musty, moth-eaten blankets which mystically concealed his entire visage. He had excellently acute hearing, and the soft jingle of pocket change growing fainter gave away the pedestrian's untruth. It did not matter anyway; the beggar was keeping his fair share of secrets and exhibiting his own little untruths. Slowly and cautiously, two slender hands padded in heavy black gardening gloves moved forward to grasp at the still warm scrap of food that had been unceremoniously tossed down. The beggar drew in the paltry bit of food and nibbled fiercely at it until he was lapping at the greasy, non-biodegradable packaging. Having fed, he neatly folded the crackling paper and placed it down beside him as if it would come to some further use. A soft sigh escaped the hood-like blankets and the beggar leaned forward to peek into the soft drink cup he had converted to a charity receptacle. It contained a decent sum of coins and a crumpled dollar bill or two. With a nod, the beggar sat back against the brick wall by which he had set camp and continued his people-watching from behind shadowy eyes. Hundreds if not thousands of rush hour commuters and pedestrians strolled or hurried by within the two hours the beggar allotted for his evening soliciting. Some were generous and offered him food (usually partially eaten or otherwise cheap and unhealthy) or a few coins, while others seemed uneasy or repulsed by his cult-like appearance and steered clear of his camp. During his scavenging around alley dumpsters, he had come across a working black permanent marker and some dusty cardboard boxes. He tore a section of a box lid and used it as a makeshift sign, on which he wrote, with much dismay, "World War II Veteran".
Though quite familiar with that era, claiming to be a veteran of war was the aforementioned untruth. But never the less, the sign sat propped beside him and, although he was sitting hunched silently in the same exact shroud as before, people seemed more interested in tossing change into his cup and looked upon him with less disgust in their eyes. When occasionally spoken to, he would shudder, cough and speak in raspy incoherent words to sound as sickly and pathetic as possible so no one would care to approach too closely afterwards.
So this had become his ritual, day in and day out. His shadowy eyes gazed up to the large clock adorning the side of a tall building on the opposite side of the busy street. It was nearing on six o'clock in the evening. It was time for him to go.
The beggar took excruciating care in the way he stood up. If people were to take notice of any odd features or see that he might be a little more able bodied than he let on, it could have been trouble for him. However, it was New York City, and most people did not allow strange-looking or acting individuals concern them if it was not an inconvenience to them personally. The beggar rose up slowly and reached down discreetly to collect his effects. The cup of money was nestled snugly within the nest of blankets that enveloped his person. The sheet was folded delicately and compactly for easy transport, and the sign was similarly folded and tucked away into the blankets. For one so burdened, he moved quickly and efficiently and drew little to no attention from those around him. Then, just like that, he slipped away into the shadows of a nearby alley.
He treaded cautiously but swiftly down the passageways between the towering buildings. He weaved adeptly between dumpsters, stacks of boxes, and other obstacles that would impede his progress. Minutes later he arrived at his destination: a main street of China Town. Hugging his blankets close to his body, he shuffled more as though he was impaired physically and made his way to the marketplace. The street was still relatively busy with outdoor grocers and vendors selling their wares, but the beggar knew that as the sun waned, the vendors would be preoccupied with preparations to close their shops for the evening. It was on this fact that he depended to keep a low profile as he did his shopping. A particular fruits and vegetables vendor with very reasonable prices and decent produce was his daily stop. More importantly, the owner was always scrambling about and barking at his son to stop being lazy and to help bring in the wares while he tended to last minute customers. The beggar plodded down the row of fruits and veggies and selected a head of lettuce that looked healthy and still crunchy. His gloved hands moved to a bundle of six carrots that seemed dry but still good, and then to a large white radish. After selecting several fruits, both dried and fresh, he moved to the stand owner who was bickering with his ward.
"Please," the beggar said in a hushed yet audible, raspy voice.
The merchant turned and glared at him, but his uppity mood softened at the sight of the talking pile of blankets. "Oh it's you," his heavily accented voice greeted. The blankets nodded. Quickly the merchant scanned the items the beggar held up in his gardening gloves. "Three dollar," he breathed, turning to give his son a commanding look. The younger man grimaced and hopped down from the concrete stoop and held out his hand in front of the beggar. Without seeming too expert in balance, the beggar cradled his purchases over in one arm while digging into his blankets with his free hand. Though most people would have trouble reaching into a small plastic cup through cocoon of blankets while wearing thick gloves and counting out dimes and nickels without looking, the beggar did it rather quickly and dexterously. He placed the exact amount into the young man's hand, bowed graciously, turned, and tottered off. Although this had become a daily phenomenon, the young man was still puzzled and amazed by the strange patron.
Now came the last leg of the beggar's routine. He stealthily slipped into the shadows of an alley way and stopped next to an neglected tin trashcan that saw no use. He stood there motionlessly for several minutes, eyes shifting in all directions and senses sharp. If he detected someone in the vicinity, he would move to a different alley or lay down as if to fall asleep. Once any danger of being watched was gone, he would move the trashcan to reveal a loosened manhole cover. With great speed and precision, he would remove his blankets and stow them away in the trashcan and slide open the heavy metal cover in one swift motion. A second later, he had completely disappeared.
A wave of rotten sewage coursed through the stuffy air beneath the street surface, and despite his heightened sense of smell, he took no notice. The blankets had concealed what most would think of as an abomination: a tawny, four and a half foot tall rat now clad in traditional Japanese garb. He quickly slid down the ladder and into the unsavory mix of sewage below. With fruits and veggies bundled in his arms and his cup of coins tucked into his kimono, he made haste against the flow of unspeakably unsanitary liquid.
Though a dark, foreboding, and innundated with "poo" (just ask Mike Rowe), the sewer was his home and place of safety. Having lived in them for over five years, the rat Splinter, as he now called himself, knew each twist and turn of the massive underground system by heart. Though certainly far from his prime, he moved with unbridled speed to a remote corner where a rotting, boarded up wooden door lay hidden in the dark. Even if one was looking for it, it would remain well hidden unless one knew its location by heart. Splinter approached the portal with caution, sniffing at the putrid air to make absolutely certain he had not been followed by any manner of being. With the greatest care, he pushed his shoulder against the door which gave slowly despite the illusion of being nailed shut. With bounty of vegetables in arm, he stepped into the dark space beyond the door and closed it with the heel of his hind paw. A disused utility area spread out before him; this was where he kept his four most precious treasures.