Heavy palms dipped their leaves, dripping with spots of warm water. Thick perfume floated through the island, flowers in their full bloom. The soft ground warmed Leonardos feet as he hiked through, and moist foliage brushed his ever darkening skin. Above him the sun beat down, sneaking in between the canopy to say hello.
The fresh air in his blood put a light on in his spirit and warmed him a way he felt only a handful of times in his 21 years. Maybe it was just the wine he drank that morning. But if felt like things were finally settling into place. If you could call it that.
Pushing heavy set fronds from his path he found his feet stopping in place, willing the rest of his body to cease his disturbance. There in the flower cove his brother Mike was tentatively kissing Delihla. Holding back a lock of curly hair lightly in one hand, and the side of her neck with the other. She for herself seemed to be taking it quite amicably, for undoubtably was a new experience.
Leonardo let the fronds sink back into place and traced his steps away. At least the two of them were still standing. Earlier he had come upon Donatello teaching Sandy a lesson of his own on lip work quite horizontally on the beach. Which was more than what he could say about what he had more recently witnessed with Raphael and Ruby down on the shore of the water hole. For at least there wasn't a pile of discarded clothes beside Don and Sandy.
Whatever had caused them all to succumbed to their lusts this one afternoon he failed to understand. Instead he felt the wish to return to his room, away from the ever blossoming passions that had seeped into his companions heads. Who knows. Maybe there would be a pretty thing waiting in his bed for him as well. A mischeivious grin brushed over his mouth briefly, and he disapeared behind a sheaf of hanging moss.
Noise.... like ten thousand angels singing a funeral durge. No, it was only the hum of the engine. As it went down. A squealing soprano sung out, her voice turning to black smoke billowing past his window. Red alto and tenor flames burst ontop one another, climbing toward the sky... away from the propellers.
Donatellos head was jerking about beside him, eyes darting to catch what was happening. His book fell from his lap without his noticing. Travel guide to Japan. Lights began flashing onto the shiny cover from above. When he checked he saw it was the caution signs on the ceiling that bounced off the book cover. Then the lights went out. Screams came from all around, trying in vain to drone out the sound on the engines chorus, with a chorus of their own. The lights were back on. Then out again. On. Off. On..... Off. They didn't come on again.
Mike grabbed Donatellos arm, unsure of what to do. A hand grabbed his and held it tight. Mike held the arm tighter, and the hand gripped tighter still. This continued till his arm ached. But he couldn't stop. The darkness was too much. There was no action for him to latch onto, to draw his attention. Instead his imagination was free to draw conclusions only from what he could hear. And smell.... smoke.... Everything was buckling up. He felt his head sinking into his shell, leaving the hat and wig on his shoulders. Then he slipped away into his own blackness. Away....
Bright sunlight seeped into his dreamworld, coming in first behind many veils. As he tried to open his eyes wider in his dream, things only became darker. But when he stopped things continued to brighten unnaturally. And brighten until, blackness. Fear of his return to reality came, and he felt the urge to clamp up again hovering about just near his dying dream.
A crease of light cut through the darkness. A crack in his eyelids. The sun peeked and pulled its way in insistantly. At last he allowed his eyes to open more then just a crack, enough to see the sun above him. Warm air was welcome on his skin, and the solid sands grounding against his shell. The slosh of water beaching itself and slipping away played with his eardrums, petting them gently. Sticky salt was mixed with his saliva. He licked it off his lips as his head lolled to the side.
There he could see his brothers not far off. They were alive. They were all alive. He couldn't really grasp much importance to it though. Insetead he began hazily formulating a joke about the way Leonardos hand was lain over Dons groin.
Crunchy footsteps in sand came toward him. A silly smile came to him and he set his head right again. Above him an elipse of the sun occured. Nay! It was something closer to the Earth that blocked his view. Something leaning over him. Long hair. His eyes were squinting to make distungiushing features out. Long red hair. Like deep red wine. Stray locks caught the sun from behind and turned to transparent lengths of color. The face was still cloaked in shadow mostly. But he could make out a pretty face. The hair pushed back behind two delicate ears, the ends whisping back forward in a sway. His eyes followed the of her faces' symmetry down to her neck. Accentuated collar bones. Golden skin. A rack. Boy oh boy. An amused 'heh' passed his lips, ending his movements for the most part. His head which was inclined now dropped back in warm sand. He felt like moaning with pleasure. Never had he felt so exhaustedly good. Maybe a bit randy too.
Smooth hands slipped under his shoulders and gripped his armpits. Go speed racer, go! He quipped to himself as he moved up the sand. The tiny particles carressing his sides felt neat. The only other time he had experianced something like it was when Raphael used to drag him about by the leg on the rug. Sand was much better. Plus his leg didn't hurt as much. The memory was warm like the sand, and soon he drifted into it, using the journey over the beach to excuse him from conscienceness.