"What the fuck is going on here!" Michelangelo exclaimed, dipping his hands into the crystal waters. He discovered their ice cold properties and leapt back with a yelp. Leonardo knelt down by the calmer waters where it was warmer. He looked in at his reflection as it began to warp with ripples. Raphael perched himself above on a rock and looked down at him.
"I think we might be stuck here." Leonardo announced in his best doctors voice, after Michelangelo had figured how to soothe his hands by jamming them beneath his armpits. Although he didn't look up, he could feel the almost disbelieving stares he received. He felt like giving one himself. "The tides are too bad to let us out, and the reef's high."
".....What are you saying." Raphael said calmly for one of the few times in his life. Not that it was ever a good thing. Leo rolled back on his heels and stood, leaving wet hand prints on the smooth grey rock.
"I'm saying we might actually be here for a little while."
"Little while?" Mike whined. "....But they're just about to announce who the eighth digi-destined is!"
"Everyone already knows its Kari, you moron." Donatello frowned.
"Guys, guys." Leonardo lowered his palms as softly as his voice. Raphael picked up the slack.
"How long is a 'little while', Leo?" He slid off the rock onto the ground beside his brothers. He had the familiar 'you-better-have-the-answer-I'm-looking-for' look and Mike and Don began backing away to rinse their hands.
"I don't know ok? We're just going to have to make a plan and start working."
"What the hell's your plan...." His voice started to come from deep in his belly. But Leonardo already was ready to cut off any tantrum.
"I don't have one yet, alright? It's not going to do any good getting angry yet. There's nothing any of us can do right now." Leonardo wiped his hands off on his plastron. He could see the mini fire quickly diminish and his brother went to wash his hands down a little way around the pond. Turning back to the rest of his family he went on. "We'll be safe here for now. There's food and fresh water-"
"And girls." Donatello interjected. Mike stifled a laugh.
"....Yes. And girls. And there's shelter... So we'll be alright until we can find a way off. But just.... don't tell any of those girls about us leaving.... I don't know how much we could really trust them yet..."
When the turtles returned to the camp the fire was going. The setting sun turned the entire beach red and orange, saturating every pore it touched. The now red grapefruit waters spread softly along the sand, softening the footsteps of Delihlas walk along the shore. She gave a great big smile as they came onto the beach, and waved them over to where the fire was burning, and the fish were stuck upon arm length branches to be cooked. Fresh flowers and fruit sat upon carved plates around the fire. Sandy took a flower from the plate and slid it behind her ear as they joined them all, the red petals resting against the side of her eye. Or maybe it would be pink with out the sun.
That night they ate and talked and were discouraged. The girls had many tales about their attempted escapes from the island. Delihlas were always the most harrowing. But they all ended in either them turning back against rough currents, or being capsized and having to swim for shore.
But still, Donatellos mind was already off an clicking about ways to avoid their downfalls, and learn from their mistakes. While Raphael would only stare blankly into the fire. He could simply not accept that it was happening to them. They had gotten all the tough breaks in life, and this one just bound them all together like a big 'ha-ha-what-a-bunch-of-losers' ribbon. Michelangelo also was adopting this mode of thinking. At least to the extent of him losing his world back in New York. He had friends, and commitments, and a general schedule he followed (not to mention all his writing stuff....and his cat) that he had just lost. The rest of the world would be going on without him again. Right when he had begun to taste what it had to offer. Fuck. Leonardo paid close attention himself. Although he reclined himself in the warm sand, twirling a dark lily between his thick fingers, his mind was greedily soaking up the stories, phrases, tones of voice, nuances of speech and movement. All the while piecing together parts of what he considered a puzzle. To find out whos company they were truely in. Four well-meaning young ladies that offered to look after them for the time being. Or four well-meaning young ladies that would later betray them for any chance off the island. Or both... He caught Rose starring at him, and looked to her. She was laying back in the sand with a flower bloom resting in her belly button. Her eyes looked at him in a way that made him realize, she was wondering the same type of things about him.
Soon the moon had risen high into the sky, and everyone surrendered to the insistant urges from their bodies for rest. Wet sand was poured over the smoldering branches and things were brought inside for the night. The turtles returned to their little porch for the night and were fast asleep before any of the girls could say goodnight.
Trapped.
Alone like animals on a display
but no one is watching
The bars are made of the strongest steel
but you can walk right through them
Everything you need is here
but your still yearning to live
Frowning, Michelangelo began scribbling the words out of the sand with his stick. The south side of the island was draped heavily in vines and dark leaves, and had almost been scripted with poetry. But no. It was unfinished and rough. Mike wasn't up to polishing it. Instead he sadly made circles over the words, the tip of the stick dipping into the soft and mallable sand.
The gentle crunching of footsteps emerging from the greenery increased his efforts to erase the work. Suddenly Delihla was beside him and held onto his hand so she could read, her hair falling down his arm.
"What are you writing, Mikey?" She asked tenderly, he began picking the bits of leaves out that had gotten caught in her hair. Before he could answer she began reading what she could outloud. "The bar... the strongest .... steel?"
"Yeah. Steel. It's a kind of metal."
"Oh! Of course. Steel!" Mike smirked.
"Everything... still... what?... what's that word?" She pointed with her toe toward 'yearning', making a round imprint in the sand once she was satisfied he had seen. She removed her foot and looked down at the word again.
"That's yearning." He watched as she walked to the shoreline, stepping into the wet sand. She turned and looked at him again, raising up sand in her clenched toes.
"What's yearning?"
"It's like... wanting. Really wanting." He cocked her head as she did, and watched as she rested her arms ontop of her head. The blond curls which had once been her modesty, now sat atop her shoulders. Mike swallowed, trying to avoid the glances his eyes continued to make at her bare chest. Shit, a nice chest. He closed his eyes and looked away when it appeared that he wouldn't be able to look at her without admiring her nipples.
"So what are you yearning for." His eyes were forced open on that one. "In the writing? All the steel and and the bars." He forcefully cleared his throat.
"Uh.... I dunno. It's just a stupid poem." He quickly returned to scraping it out. Light footsteps came and she was beside him again, kicking up a small wave of sand against his tight ankles (he had spent the morning jumping around the rocks on the east side with Don and Sandy.)
"No! Not a stupid poem. Don't get rid of it!" She pleaded. With a wide squiggle the rest of the words disipated into the sand. "Noooooo." Her shoulders slumped and she hung onto his arm. "Why did you do that?"
"I dunno. I didn't want to write it anymore I guess." He shrugged and plunged the stick down so it stood straight up. Sitting his behind down in the sand he looked far across the water, just below the horizon line. Delihla still stood above him.
"But it was good!" She declared. He turned his eyes up at her. Her hair was back over her chest again, and cast shadows down her face that made her look almost angry. But it was him who erased his own work.
"You didn't even read it all." He turned back to the water, letting his shoulders slump forward. There was a puff of air on his thigh and she was on her knees beside him. Big blue eyes sought out his-
She's got betty Da-vis eyes-
"But if I hadn't... I wouldn't know what steal is, or what it is to 'yearn.'" I still would. He flopped back in the sand, nice and warm against his neck and shoulders. "...You haven't been here three whole days yet, please don't tell me you're going to get all sad already." Turning his cheek in the sand, he looked up at her golden complexion again. He had the right to be depressed. Maybe he held back when he was younger, but now he would be sad whenever it pleased him. Except, it didn't really please him.
"Delihla... I want to go home." She smiled.
"But this is home." His eyes became blank slates. It felt like the bottom dropped out from under him, and he was falling. Home... He looked back up at the cloudless sky. "Oh, Mikey. I... I don't mean that." She touched her shoulder. "What I mean is..." He looked at her sideways to see her eyes searching for an explaination. "Well, it's my home... and... maybe it can be your home too... for a little while." She added. A hopeful and proud smile came across her face. He couldn't help but smile back, even if it wasn't whole hearted.
She took his hand then and began hitting it playfully against the warm ground. "Come on! Let's make sand houses now!"
"You mean sand castles?"
"Castles?"