prompt 145- falling leaves. Characters: Donatello, Michelangelo, a rather slimy human OC
Rating: PG (violence but not graphically detailed, small talk over a man's groin area)
Summary: Donatello does some stealthy sleuth work.
The one-shot is what it is so don't look deeply into it too much, hehe. I don't need anymore LOOONG stories! :p
On Sundays, he visits his grandma in the nursing home and calls her pretty and trims her toe nails. As soon as her back turns, his greasy little fingers rummages through her purse and retrieves whatever amount of money he can find. Forty-something cents and a year old peppermint candy was last week's discovery.
Thursdays is television and game night with his lackeys where they drown in beer and role playing mayhem. He has a liking for dwarfen thieves and fighting zombies in waist-high sewer water. He also ignores his pregnant girlfriend's numerous calls, and when he does answer, he lies about where he is, curses at her, and hangs up during her sobs. He never does see her. The guy is a real prince.
He goes to church on Wednesday nights and only Wednesday nights. How poetic. Goes for the potluck supper and Singles mingling. The only thing single about him is his brain cell count.
Fridays and Saturdays are all about the streets and what ghetto treasures he can find. Sometimes his warehouse job forces him to work overtime. He hustles during his breaks and calls all of his ladies except for the pregnant one. Last week, she confronted him at work and he called security. I wonder if I could team up with this chick and we send him screaming to the pits of hell. I bet she would do it.
He's boring on Monday nights. Does nothing but sit in his tiny apartment of filth and shame and constantly scratches and pokes at his scrotum. I see a visit to the health department in his future.
Mikey tipped me off about Tuesday nights. I could easily torture this guy in his home on Mondays or make a fool of him in front of his friends on Thursdays, but that's too easy. Tuesdays, Mr. Macho goes to the pool hall, smokes a cheap cigar, and flashes his pecs and tattoos. I remember his falling leaves tattoo crystal clear. It's something I can't get out of my head for the past month, and until I knock a little vengeance in his grimy teeth, the leaves descend, never-ending. Recapitulating like clockwork.
It's time for a little pool hall visit with my finest trenchcoat. I actually had to blow the dust off it.
"Got a hump on your back there, buddy?" he says to me, puffing cigar smoke into the putrid lobby air. "Guess you need a little pool time 'cuz you won't be getting lucky tonight except with a blind bitch." His frozen hazel eyes reflect the smoke curling around him, and that spindling grin puts a nice cherry on top for this twisted, soggy cake.
I humor him and play a few rounds. He wins because I'm terrible at pool and don't really care about it. I never rip my sight from him, and as soon as he thinks he's the champion of the universe, I strike as hard as a hurricane: cigar holes in several places on his skin, a pool stick to the groin, meaty punches, screams, and arm twists, and finally, one good skull crack across his victory table. The place is shriveled at its very seams. It's gratifying and funny at the same time when the police and paramedics arrive, and the Hunchback of New York slithers underground.
When I rush back in the sewers, Mikey charges towards me, yelling, "I was totally coming to help but I couldn't get Raph off my butt but I got PICTURES!" He rattles on, shaking the polaroid camera, and wants to hear the story about five times and screeches with laughter all the way home. I have no way of ditching him at this point, really.
"Is the Chief in his room?" I whisper, entering our home quietly and peering around every corner. Mikey tiptoes around like a goofy cartoon character and makes the final rounds.
"Yeah! Let's go!" his hand signals, and we carefully creep to Leonardo's room.
Mikey adds the pictures to a nice, stout collection on Leonardo's wall. His room has transformed into a family shrine. It's rather pathetic but humble.
"He'll be so proud of you when he sees this!" Mikey squeezes between a makeshift table and the wall full of old photos. "Donatello the Brainaic Badass, defending his family and scorning guys with bad tattoos. You're a real detective, slick!"
I chuckle and rub my sore knuckles. They only tingle a little. "He needs to get his butt back soon and stop making us worry."
"And keep the Chief out of our shells!"
We meditate over the mini shrine and wish our absent brother the safest, quickest personal journey.
