CHAPTER NINE
"Wow, it's certainly lively" said April as she took in the atmosphere of the party, seeing teeming masses of people dressed in their cosy bed wear, drinking from bowls of punch and helping themselves to servings of lightly toasted sandwiches. There was not yet any exquisite and succulently rich food to be had at this party, for reasons known only to the host.
"I'll mingle a little, don't worry though, I did a lot of book worming, so I should know something of what the eggheads are saying" Irma said, kissing Donatello on the cheek, "Love you"
"Good luck dear" Donatello said.
As soon as Irma turned her back and disappeared into the crowd, he began to do a little scouting of his own.
Waltzing around, he glimpsed a rather plump looking well-dressed man trying to woo a few of the guests, who were quick to dismiss him with a prime slap to the face. As he rubbed his aching features, the man noticed that Donatello was glancing over at him.
"Can you believe the nerve of that girl?" he said
"I believe it, I just wonder if I can withstand it" Donatello replied. The man laughed.
"Women. Ha. They're always trying to tell what lies within our heads and carefully creep into them, they should focus on everything outside of it, it's way more appealing" the man replied. Donatello could barely hide his dismay at the man's delusional view of himself, and felt worse for the male gender in general being as ill represented at this event.
Donatello walked over to the punch bowl and took to pouring himself a glass. Someone brushed past him, helping himself to the sandwich snacks.
"Calm crowd" he remarked. Donatello nodded, then took a second glance. His jaw dropped.
It was Kim Sagan. The host.
"It's funny how these people react isn't it?" he said.
"What do you mean?" Donatello said
"Between you and me, this really isn't why I bother experimenting on the regular members of Joe Public, they swallow the mildest form of chaos so easily but have almost no patience or enjoyment for the more drastic kind. They'll settle for events like this so long as it excites their primitive, childish impulses, they all share the need to rebel, they're all united in the cause of standing outside the pack...yet by standing for that cause, they tend not to stand out and follow a different kind of convention"
"Then why stage this event at all?" Donatello asked, "And just why are you telling me all this? I'm a guest, I should feel insulted by what you just said"
"If you feel something, you're more than welcome to try and change it. To challenge it. I've told fifteen people the exact same thing, from members of Joe Public to the eggheads walking on eggshells, you know what I get every time? A giggle, a threat, a walk-out...but that's all they ever do. They don't throw a punch, they don't raise their hand and strike me down, they have all the verbal ire, but not the skill to imprint their fire on to my skin and scold me...sc old me so very, very badly. That's their mistake, that's their bed, time to tuck them in and read them their story"
"You sound very drunk" Donatello said.
"I spiked the punch, that's no surprise" Sagan said, "Tell me something new, observe me in a different way"
"Ok, you're..like a child" Donatello remarked, "With quite a lot of growing up to do"
"No rush" Sagan said, and winked at him.
As he turned to take another dozen sandwiches, Donatello felt the ire Sagan had described build up. Deciding to answer the challenge, he took a slow breath, put on the fakest smile he could muster, and patted him gently on the back of the neck.
"Quite a kidder" Donatello said. Sagan turned and looked at him, his face sagged.
"I'm quite low, but never to the levels you people sink to" Sagan criticized, and headed to the staircase, still munching down on his plate full of bread and bacon.
Donatello's face steeled itself, and he calmly pressed one of the psychic patches in his hand and fastened it to his neck, and prepared to patch into the neural framework that would be channelled through to him by the patch he had just fastened to Sagan's body.
Despite his earlier misgivings, Donatello knew this was a mind that was calling out for proper psychological evaluation. He decided, against every bit of morality in his make-up, that he would answer that call by making the kind of connection Sagan would not personally allow.
It took only a few seconds to learn all he needed to know, and what he now knew chilled him to his core.
There were so many things to do, so many alarms to raise, but one name came to his thoughts immediately, and he sought that name out as quickly as he could.
"Irma" he thought, time and again
He found her engaging in conversation with the guests, specialising on a particular interest filled with many complex phrases and expressions as she could possibly come up with by ploughing through the verbal index she had set up in her mind, all trying to convey the same message
The science, and consistent benefits, of ice cream.
"Irma, you've got to get out of here" Donatello replied.
"Come on Don, don't cramp my very 'in' style here, I spent hours prepping for this type of lingo limbo" she said, clearly in love with the sound of her own voice and the mesmerising effect it was having on some of the scientists.
"Look, this is important, we're all in great danger, Sagan's nuttier than nutella spread and fruitier than the Fruitella candy, I've got to move you off the chess board before his pawns move forward"
"Pawns?" Irma asked, "If this is Chess, does that make me a Queen and you a rook? Because you're totally my castle"
The two were interrupted, along with the entire frenetically charged gathering, by the sound of a ringing bell from high atop the balcony. Sagan was holding court
"Friends, before my esteemed colleagues provided you with explanations and demonstrations, it is time to dine. Let us serve you well, and for my peers, let you be served...right"
With a click of his fingers, two trapeze artists attached to two separate swings on the left and right of the mansion's grand hall began to glide and somersault through the air, each passing the other and exchanging swings.
Down below, the doors to the kitchen opened and a luxurious banquet was wheeled out on a massive trolley, with three plates labelled , 'starter', 'beef, and 'sweet'
"Oh, can we play 'mass exodus' after dinner Don? All that talk of ice cream has got me souring for some sweets" Irma begged. Donatello tried pushing her away, but she skirted past him and dashed over to the table.
Donatello , realizing Irma wouldn't budge, chose to prioritise and think of the bigger picture beyond the captivating taste buds of his girlfriend, and contacted the other Turtles via Turtle-Com
"Guys, this is Donatello, we've got big problems in here, find a way in as quickly as you can" he instructed.
Letting her excitement get the better of her, Irma pushed her way to the front of the dinner table and enthusiastically lifted up the lid of the 'starter' , only to reel back in shock.
"I started...so I might as well finish" the female fly said, taking a laser gun out of her purse
Another member of the public lifted the 'beef' lid, only to be confronted by the male fly
"Where's the beef If you don't mind me asking?" Irma remarked
"Will a beefcake suffice?" the hulking, muscular insect replied, taking the plate he was under and breaking it over his head.
"And the sugar..." said a scientist, lifting up the final lid, to find a whole mountain of the substance piled on top of the ravenous insect child
"...Full of that and spice, time to feast on everything nice" he replied
As all three flies swarmed over the hall, wreaking pure havoc and sending the crowd into a frenzy, Sagan took to watching his trapeze artists, in reality, two androids, indulge in their act, unoccupied by the chaos down below.
"Try not to send anyone through any windows, I insist this not be the most expensive of parties" Sagan advised to the flies.
However, a fatefully brief glance at the crowd saw him take a gander at the panicked Irma as she headed for the door. Sagan gently pressed a button on his cuff-links, which triggered a locking system on the entrance to the mansion, sending it into lockdown.
No one was to have too merciful a night.
Especially her.
