Chapter Three:
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"So she was supposed to have hair?" Don looked at his short tempered brother with a meek smile, suppressing the urge to chuckle.
They were in Michelangelo's room sifting through a box he had salvaged from the old Y'Lantian lair.
Surprisingly enough, Donatello had found many of his and his brothers' missing notebooks and sketch pads there. He did not know why or how most of them had even had gotten there, considering how some of them were ages old, as old as their first lair in fact, but decided it would be a question best answered some other time. He and Raphael were sorting the items in the box to tell which were originally Mikey's, and which were theirs and had mysteriously found their way to their brothers stash.
The other occupant in the room huffed embarrassedly at the question, and kept himself occupied by flipping through the pages of an old stained sketch book. Its pale blue colored cover was muddled by clear water and strawberry juice stains, as pink spots adorned some of the pages, where others were practically glued to each other from the sticky sugar that was in-between. The wad of white paper inside that survived the sticky situation was left wrinkled and splotched by the moist; the liquid had somewhat dried and left darker and lighter spots all over the pages, ruining whatever artwork or text the book had contained.
"Look, I was only nine at the time and I've never seen a bald girl before, so it's not like I knew any better." Raphael then whined irritably, eyeing the sketch book in his hands, then fell quiet, distracted by his own thoughts.
When the olive green turtle saw his brother had zoned out again, he chuckled, "Yes, I understand; it would have been awkward to see a bald girl, anyway." he stared at the picture of the little turtle girl in his hand.
He had managed to find the book Mike had, at the time, decided to test the crystal with. It was placed on his bed, and their hyperactive brother had forgotten it there. Donatello had barely managed at the last second to rescue it from Klunk, who thought it made a nice scratch pad. The book had a leather cover but it was flaky and wrinkled from both age and overuse, the thing clearly saw better days.
But if Mike had the book on his bed, and had fallen asleep after unknowingly bringing Dew to life, then wouldn't that mean she was born in Mike's room, and then wondered out till she somehow got to Raph's room? If so, then how was it that Mike didn't wake up at her birth, or at least sense her there? Their youngest claimed Raphael cried for their brainy brother around six hours after he had gone to bed, so was it possible it took the crystal that long to turn Dew from a picture into a real being?
Was she even considered a being, or an alter fragment of nonexistent imagination? Like an imaginary friend, except she was seen and felt by everyone… he had no explanation, and it boggled him to the point of frustration.
"So she was supposed to be a cute blonde with blue eyes, and a year or so younger than the four of us." He then murmured, reading what he recognized as Raphael's handwriting, a scrawled profile of the girl messily written on the same page, text lost thanks to the page's withered condition. The wrinkles did not help him read what the text written said exactly, either.
"You really had horrible handwriting, you know that?" he then casually commented. "At least it's readable now,"
Raphael snorted, tossed the sketch pad he had into the pile in the box and picked up another, slowly skimming through the pages. "Rub it in why dont'cha." He growled, "Why else do you think sensei kept giving me extra calligraphy lessons, whenever Mike or Leo and I get in some sort of misfit? It's not my fault my handwriting was so unreadable back then; I was just a kid, damn it." He sourly grumbled, and then returned to sorting through the heap of books in the box before him, albeit roughly; he threw them in instead of placing them casually.
Don furrowed at the messy handwriting that scrawled besides the picture, half trying not to think about how he just ruined the temperamental turtle's mood, and how he might get bitten on the tail for it later.
Apparently, while looking at the picture, it was some sort of description of the little turtle girl's appearance and character, but he couldn't quite read much of what was written due to the water stains, smearing the ink with the colors that gave the artwork life. One thing he was sure of, if his brother's current handwriting started off as being this horribly messy, then it had impressively improved throughout the years; their father's tutoring had seriously improved it.
While looking at the scribbled picture of what they now knew as Dew, the purple masked turtle quirked a brow when he realized something, so he turned to face his brother with a teasing grin, though he would often know better than to jab the cranky beast, he was in a daring mood and wanted payback for all the babying he suffered the past few weeks.
"You know, I just noticed you have a thing for blondes." He grinned, though with a hint of a leer.
The hothead glanced to his cheeky brother and growled embarrassedly, "Well, yeah. I happen to like blondes; probably just as much as you like redheads." He shot back with a warning and somewhat hinting tone, "Why? Ya got a problem with that?" he growled, cheeks darkening as a scowl drew his lips apart, enough to flash a pearl-white set of sharp teeth.
He shrugged a shoulder, "No." the purple clad turtle chirped indifferently, deliberately ignoring the hint regarding redheads, smothering another bemused chuckle as Raphael turned his attention away with intangible muttering under his breath.
After that, he paused for a moment to give his brother a moment to calm down, and distracted himself by studying the picture once again. After a moment he eyed the red clad turtle again through the corner of his eye, noticing how the hothead had grown quiet again rather quick. Raphael looked distracted, as if he suddenly remembered something, and it was so intense it completely took over his mind.
Donatello was curious and concerned, but did not fret.
He and Raphael had decided to go through the heaps of books Michelangelo had salvaged from the old lair, when their youngest accidentally exclaimed how he had horded them since they were kids because he saw they were fragments of their childhood, pieces of their past they're not supposed to throw away. He collected them for their sentimental value, and because he liked to sift through them every now and then for inspiration, or so he claims.
He and the hothead, in order to find Raphael's missing sketch book, decided to raid Mike's so called treasure chest while he was distracted with the little girl, to find the specific book Raph talked about. Luckily they didn't have to look for long, for Donatello found it displayed right on top of Mike's bunk bed, and he rescued it from the tabby's sharp claws.
The hothead admitted he had completely forgotten about the thing, when he skipped down memory lane while skimming the pages. He remembered the notebook itself was a gift from their father when they were young, and each had a booklet to draw or write whatever they wanted in it. He had thought he lost it when they were seven, after an incident where their old lair got flooded and they had to evacuate to a higher level area.
When he had gone back, their home along with the furniture and belongings were soaked and there really wasn't much amiss, since their home got flooded, but not enough to drift any of the heavy furniture out of the lair. They did have trouble stepping into the kitchen, though, since their father claimed the fridge blew a fuse and it was too dangerous to go in till the power was killed to prevent getting electrocuted, and then have all the water filtered out.
The book was among the things that got washed out, but not too far, from the lair.
Michelangelo had found it and claimed it as his, since Raphael refused to take back a soggy book, and claimed it was useless to keep since he didn't want it anymore, anyway. So it had later been forgotten among the heap of wrinkled old grungy comic books, the youngest had no heart to through away despite their poor condition.
Obviously, throughout the years and losing three homes, Mike still managed to take the book along with him wherever he went. Michelangelo claimed the book was there for a reason, if it survived a flood so many years ago, and survived again when Karai blasted their second lair, then he was willing to bet it lived this long so they could have Dew.
Mike's reasoning simply stated that if there was no Raphael, then there would be no sketch book, and if the sketch book did not exist, then Raph never would have drawn Dew, for whatever reason he refused to share and nearly pummeled Mike into pancakes when he pestered him about the details, and if Raph didn't draw Dew, then Mike never would have found the book along with Don's crystal. When Donatello had met and then lost Kirby, Michelangelo was the only person he told the tale to. So then, if Don never told Mike about Kirby, then Mike never would have thought of using the crystal to bring Dew to life, and she never would have been born.
Besides, their youngest always wanted a little sister, so what harm would it do?
'A lot!' Donatello thought in answer to that question, but never said a word.
One little detail, though, Donatello had forfeit of telling his little brother: Not all artwork brought to life by the crystal remains for long.
The brainy turtle was sad, and Raphael, at the time when they were at April's place, was too upset about the heater not getting fixed, to listen to his disheartened brother. Hence, when somehow Mike had found out about the crystal Don had previously found in the Y'Lantian lair, it was obvious he would have tried to make things come alive using the crystal first chance he got, so it was only a matter of time till this happened.
At the moment, Don wished if he had told Mike about the disappearing act, for it might have deterred his enthusiastic brother from doing something like this, and also saved him the heartache.
Upon confronting him earlier, Mike confessed finding the crystal, but he swore that he found it on the brainy turtle's workbench, not in the duffel bag, so he did not go rummaging through the bag, because he didn't even know it was there to begin with.
It could have been worse, Donatello thought; Mike could have tried to draw a hot turtle babe and get emotionally attached to her. Or worse, used the crystal on some of the imaginary monsters Raphael had drawn in his book, and they'd end up trying to either wait it out for the magic to fade, or spend god knows how long trying to catch the thing, assuming its aggressive.
Amusingly, Raphael admitted having a fancy dream about a crocodile-dog chimera of sorts when they were younger. He claimed to have seen it in a dream once and that the creature was 'pretty awesome' so he drew it, and wanted to use it to scare Mike.
Nevertheless, Michelangelo, however, claimed that after he had used the crystal while outlining and inking Dew's original picture, in hope to fix whatever damage the water had done to the colored artwork, once he was done and put the pen with the crystal taped to it on the table, the jewel glowed in a bright pink hue before it just popped like a miniature balloon, sparkles of dust exploded then faded like a wisp of smoke to the wind.
If Mike had known the tiny crystal he found strewn on Don's desk would take so long, to transform a picture on a piece of paper into a living being, he would have stayed up to see it happen.
The hyper turtle confessed that he probably stayed up only ten minutes, and when he saw that nothing happened he gave up and went to bed, so when Raphael had woken up screaming for Don six hours later, Mike never even considered the thought the picture had come alive. To his knowledge, the crystal simply malfunctioned and never actually worked.
He was psyched, in a good way, when he realized Dew was born. He wouldn't leave her side, neither would she with him.
Raphael was unimpressed to say the least, waking up early in the morning only to find a little turtle child sitting on his plastron, staring down at him as if he had a worm crawling across his forehead. It took him will alone not to kick her off or toss her off his chest, though he did remember jumping with a shout and making the poor thing flinch and hop off him in a split second. But he didn't race after her, more because he was groggy and feeling a wave of déjà vu at her presence, than actual fright to see her there.
Eventually, he remembered her from the depth of his childhood memories, though barely an image.
Her familiar dolled face and sweet little smile were what calmed his racing mind, and reminded him, though the recollection came painfully slow, of who she was and what she resembled to him during his youth. He was shocked to discover the magic crystal and how it worked; he was even more stunned to realize the truth behind it when Don told them about Kirby.
It all came rushing back and slammed into his mind so hard, he had trouble sharing those memories with his brothers. He knew exactly why he wanted her, Dew, and what she was supposed to be to him and his family, he just felt fuzzy and unsure. She just came into their life after so many years of being nothing but a fleeting thought; how can one adapt to the birth of an idea he never saw coming?
Raphael had no idea who the shell Kirby was, even after Don told them the story, (to admit, he wasn't listening,) neither did Leo, or why Don looked at the little turtle girl with a rueful smile, but he knew she needed a name and the first thing that came to Mike's mind was Dew. In truth, it was the name originally given to her by her creator, Raphael, when he was a seven year old.
Dewdrop the turtle; Raphael swore he had no idea what he was thinking when he came up with it. He just knew if April or Casey were here, they'd tease him and never let him live it down!
Besides, the original name Raphael had given her, and had clearly crossed out with a black coloring pen when he first created her, was Mona Lisa, but it didn't quite sound that good on her.
Right now, Donatello and Raphael had finished locating the sketch book, and sorting the ones their youngest had in his stash. Donatello was miffed when he found all those missing notebooks he lost during the years with precious calculations and footnotes and such, only to discover Mike borrowed them and forgot to give them back.
The brainy turtle skimmed through the pages, admiring the imaginative creations of Raph and Mike when they were younger.
Raphael, during that, merely thought back about those times when he was little, and wondering what the hell he was chewing when he came up half the critters drawn in those wrinkled pages. Some creatures were so made out of sheer whack he wondered if the book was even his; it sure gave him the impression to belong to Mike from the rich imaginary creatures that existed within its folds.
"Out of curiosity, why'd you make her?" the olive green turtle curiously asked.
Donatello hadn't yet told his brothers about the vanishing effect of the revived artwork, he couldn't gather the nerve to mention it, actually. Dew will go poof before anyone got emotionally attached, he hoped. Although, it might have already been too late, Mike was clearly attached onto her like a parent with his newborn child, from the second he laid eyes on her.
After a long contemplating pause, Raphael shrugged with a sigh, "I guess I need to admit that it's my fault she's mute," he mumbled, and at the confused frown he received from his brother, he sighed again a bit sadly.
"When we were kids, when I drew her, I wished for a little sister," he began embarrassedly, a little sheepish smile followed, "and at the time I remember I made a wish; I wished to have someone I can talk to who wouldn't talk back at me; like Leo does." He mumbled, a sad hint tainted his smile. "I wanted someone I could talk to who wouldn't talk back, not couldn't talk back. What's the point of wishing for a mute sister?" he grumped, frustrated.
The olive green turtle nodded, seeing his brother's point. "I guess we'll just- have to wait and see." He shrugged.
Maybe it would be wiser if he didn't tell them about the disappearing phase, if Dew didn't vanish soon, then she'll probably stick around for a while longer. He didn't know how much time she had left, but he really wanted to know what his family life would be like with her in the equation.
Everyone seemed so happy to have her around, especially their father who seemed to really like the idea of having a cuddly little baby girl, and to have his father heartbroken by a child ripped out of his grasp, made him feel so horribly guilty for keeping a secret so deeply buried inside.
But… how can he tell them she's not real? That she's just a picture come to life and ought to vanish in a blink of an eye any second now? He didn't even know how much time she had with them… it was like watching her slowly die with an incurable illness or something… Was this how people who have cancer felt? Live their life to the fullest though they knew they didn't have much time left?
"I think I'll go check on her," Donatello abruptly declared, and at the lack of a reply from the absent minded hothead, he let his brother dwell into his thoughts as he exit Michelangelo's messy bedroom.
He was troubled; if he told them about the vanishing effect, they all might get attached and treat her like a dying person, but if he didn't then they'll all be shocked when she'd just vanish one day. He didn't know if she'd suddenly go poof right before their eyes, or gradually fade like the door Kirby drew had done, and he had a cold knotted feel in his stomach just thinking about it. Would it be quick and sudden, or slow and painful to watch? It it took her six hours to be born from a picture to a real living person, how long would it take for her to fade?
Would a child even be allowed to suffer such a fate?
He was emotionally torn. How the hell was he supposed to tell his family about this? Her life span was either just a few more seconds, to perhaps a few months, only time could tell.
But the main problem remains; he didn't know how much time he had, at all.
It's times like this he wished he knew the right thing to do.
. o 0 o 0 o .
She had only been in her new home for barely a day, and only the one wearing orange liked to stay with her the most.
The big furry mouse was nice to cuddle with, but she got the impression he wasn't completely comfortable with her on his lap for long. She wondered if she upset him when she squirmed, or maybe her shell was too hard? She wished she had a voice so she could ask him. Last she saw the big mouse he said something about candles and went into a big room; he'd been there for a while now.
The one in purple and the other in red weren't around, and though she liked the one in purple, the one in red scared her. She didn't know why, but she liked the color red and the big turtle in red, and though he was big and scary, there was something about him she really liked.
Curious where red and purple had gone to, she went exploring as soon as orange went to get some food from the kitchen.
She wondered into a big room with long shiny objects and lots of candles poised around some squared mats, but instead of red and the big swinging bag, there was the one in blue.
She couldn't really describe the expression on his face, or lack of, but he looked like he was sleeping while sitting up, having a not so pretty dream, too. She glanced up at the turtle sitting there on the mats, calm and still and almost like a statue. She quietly stepped closer and peeked at his face, curious to what he was doing, but not daring a touch, still uncomfortable being physical with anyone but orange and the furry mouse.
When his eyes suddenly flashed open and stared at her dead-center, she soundlessly gasped and stumbled back, falling flat on her tail before ending up rolling onto her shell. Startled and dazed, her heart beating wildly in her chest, she stared at the ceiling for a moment before she struggled to push off the floor. She flailed her arms and kicked with her legs, but her limbs were too short to push her off the floor, she was stuck on her shell cause though she could touch the ground beneath her with her fingertips, her arms weren't long enough to push herself up.
She tried again, but became frantic in her movements when she felt the one in blue come closer. She tried to say something, to struggle and get back to her feet and back to orange, but she was frightened to tears when he loomed over her like a beast from a nightmare. Voiceless, she whimpered and squeezed her eyes tight, coiling around herself and afraid of the unknown.
He was probably mad at her for coming into this room uninvited, she was afraid he'd yell at her or something.
"Dew," came the soft, gentle whisper that almost matched orange's nice voice, "I don't know why you're so afraid of me, but I tell you I would never, ever hurt you." He said with a voice so sweet and calm, but looking at his face, she knew there was something that made him sad.
Her young mind could not yet connect why he was sad; little did she acknowledge that her irrational fear of him hurt. But then again, big bro as orange liked to call him sometimes looked at her with that sad smile too, almost as if he saw something she couldn't see.
She stared at him, still a little unsure. He smiled warmly and slowly and tenderly reached his hands for her to take. She hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, trusting he would not hurt her. She took his hand, her tiny hands curling around a finger from the differences of their size; he was so big and she was so tiny, her fears were tossed aside when she took notice of that. He gently tugged, pulling her more upright and off her rounded shell, till she was sitting up again before letting go of her hands.
She sat there and blinked, looked at the floor now cushioning her seat, and then back at the one wearing blue, who smiled at her as if he was going to laugh. She didn't understand what was so funny, or why he was looking at her funny, but she found herself growing shy and smiling about it.
"Dew! There you are." Orange strode into the big room and placed a tray with milk and cookies on the floor, before kneeling besides her and grinning at the one in blue, "Sorry bro, hope she didn't get too curious?" he chuckled.
The one in blue smiled wider and looked at her, "She's a curious one, though I think she might need training." He commented, glanced at orange and then continued, "She fell on her shell earlier and had trouble getting up, I figure she might need some basic training to help her in case she fell again, and there was no one to help her up." He explained.
"Oh, I remember sensei had something for that, right?" orange replied, then scratched his head, "She's too young to have a weapon, maybe a staff or a cane of sorts would do?" he then suggested. "I mean, I remember we weren't allowed to carry real weapons till we were twelve, and practice weapons when we were nine." He paused to look at the baby face that peered back at him curiously, "Raph claims she's supposed to be five, but she barely looks like a three year old to me." He confessed.
"Hmm, regardless of her age, Mike, a cane might help, though we might have to ask for sensei's permission first." Blue then replied.
Orange then glanced at her and brushed down her hair, stroked her cheek and smiled warmly, "Okay, listen up, squirt. I want you to behave while I'm away. I'll just go call Raph and Don so we can all have a sweet snack together, alright?" he cooed gently, and then gestured at the trey with a jug of milk and pile of cookies in a huge bowl.
Eager for the treats, she nodded too fast, which made her hair bounce and flick around till it covered her eyes like the tattered tail ends of a sash.
With a chuckle, Mike, as blue called him, brushed away the hair from her sight, "Alright then, I'll be quick about it so be good with uncle Leo, okay?" he eyed her with an expression she couldn't quite read, and at her shy nod he grinned, "Good, I'll be back before ya know it!" he cheered and tenderly kissed her temple, before he playfully ruffled her blonde hair and pushed off the floor.
If she had a voice, she would have giggled in glee at the kiss, it made her skin tingle and her face warm up for some reason, in a delightful ticklish feel. Her dazzling smile only lasted as long as he stepped out of the room. Already feeling alone, and a little foreign with the one in blue quietly eyeing her, her expression turned more placid, though gradually turning uneasy and shy, she occupied herself with the tangled hair covering her eyes.
Mike had given her a coloring book earlier, but before she went exploring she had left it in the den.
It was a book about a pretty unicorn orange had gotten her. Red wasn't very pleased with the choice, saying that it was a bit too girly, but since she liked it as much as refusing to part with it, he let her keep it.
A few minutes later red and purple came back, so she scooted as much as she could closer to orange. Red still scared her and the way he looked angrily at everything didn't help calm her heart.
She didn't quite get what they were talking about during the treat, besides blue saying they're not supposed to be having snacks in this particular room, and red telling him to shove something, then Mike putting his hands on her ears and mumbling something she couldn't hear.
She blinked; grownups were weird.
All she could understand was that they were busy getting one of the nearby and smaller rooms, turned from a place where they put lots of stuff they don't want, into an extra bedroom. She was going to sleep with orange for the time being, that much she figured, but why red and blue started complaining to purple about something else she didn't understand, made her wonder if she should just go find the mouse.
She cuddled next to Mike who petted her head and cuddled her closer.
She really didn't like the way red was always so angry, it made her feel very uncomfortable, but at least he wasn't angry at her.
She decided that maybe it would make red happy if she did nice things to him? He really looked not-happy. Maybe he was like a puppy? Cuddle him and give him treats and he won't bark so loud? She hoped so, he wasn't a puppy but maybe it would work?
Well, only one way to find out…
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A/N: Constructive critique welcomed.
