Donatello blinked in confusion. There April sat in her pale underdress, she was soaked from previous play in the pools. The day's rays that passed through the colored leaves above was the only agent drying away the droplets dipping down her white skin. All of this wasn't an uncommon sight, what was was the red hair tinting in those bright rays.
Moving closer, Donatello had an urge to examine the strands, if April would let him of course. "April, your hair. It's like fire."
April was wringing out the length of it all, and as she did she glanced behind her to see Donatello seated conservatively on his knees. "Oh, sorry about that." She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "The dye never lasts long."
Donatello blinked again. "Dye?" He watched April pull out a jar she had kept in the pocket of her dress. It was full of dark liquid, and the moment she opened it a foul scent wafted into the air.
She shrugged, "The smell is terrible, but it does the job." She twisted and bid him closer. "Do you think you could help a girl out?"
"O-Oh, sure." Even though he didn't like the scent of the liquid in the bottle he was given, nor the fact that it conceals the westerner's true hair color, Donatello was happy to be of assistance. Anything for April. Besides, it even gave him a chance to examine her hair closer.
Running his fingers through the locks was something else entirely. He's had her hair brush against him before through passing contact, but actually getting to hold it against his palms was a different experience. It was soft, almost similar to silk, and with the fading dye chemicals there was a natural scent that was quite pleasing to his nostrils.
Donatello noticed immediately when April flinched. She reached back and set her hand on his. "Sorry, I hadn't had a chance to brush the tangles out today. Go easy."
"Sorry," Donatello muttered and carried on, lathering her hair in the liquid, watching it cover the red away remorsefully. "Why must you do it? Dye, I mean. Why do you have to dye your hair?"
April sat there while Donatello rubbed her hair dark again. "Because I'm not from around here, and my hair makes it quite obvious."
"In the west are there are others with hair like this?"
April smiled and rolled her shoulders. "Sort of. There's a lot of hair colors out west."
Donatello was smiling as he imagined the possibility of so many different hued heads. Though, he believes he's already found his favorite color.
"It's strange though," Donatello said as he wound up April's hair so the dye would set away from the rest of her skin and clothes. "The humans are one clan, for there to be differences and infighting, it's just something we're ever taught."
April sighed, rubbing at her itching scalp. "There's a lot to the human race, or clan as you call it, that you don't know about."
"But I'd like to know."
April fully turned around and stared up into Donatello's curious eyes. He offered her a smile even though her thoughts about the notion were negative. His and his brothers' naivety about the world was something that April cherished and wanted to remain a part of them. So she held her tongue about the matter. Instead she reached up and patted his cheek.
"I admire your open curiosity. Maybe if we humans were a lot more like you and your bothers this world would be a better place. Don't lose that."
Donatello rubbed where she had touched him because it left a strange tingle behind. He wondered if she had touched the dye and that perhaps the chemicals were reacting strangely with his skin, but as he watched her later, especially as she began painting, he noticed how—oddly enough—her hands were the cleanest part of her body. So it wasn't the dye then . . .
"You've been painting a lot lately." Michelangelo came and sat himself down beside April, watching intently as she moved her brushes along larger pieces. It was of an old temple. "Especially the big pieces. What are you doing with them all?"
April's smile showed excitement. "I'm putting them in a gallery."
"Really?" Michelangelo's eyes sparkled with similar excitement whilst his brothers leaned in closer for an explanation. "I'm glad you got one, whatever it is. Is it like a bigger case to hold your bigger pictures?"
April laughed, but nodded nonetheless. "Yes, it's similar in that aspect, but a gallery is where artists frame their pieces and hang them on walls for others to view."
"That's a little odd, isn't it?" Raphael spoke up. "Why not just paint the walls then?"
April turned to the larger brother. "Well, maybe someone who sees the art wants to buy it. How would they take that art from the wall?" Raphael was confounded, but April continued. "It's why we hang them, so that everyone can see it and maybe take one home if they like it so much."
"Oooh, I get it," Michelangelo said with a nod. "I want to see your gallery!"
April bit her lip at the stated desire. She was about to be the bearer of bad news when Leonardo stepped in to save her from that position. "You can't, Mikey. Those are for humans."
Michelangelo's excitement deflated. "Awww, that's no fair." He looked to April then. "You gotta do one for kappa then. Please, pretty please! Say you will!"
"She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," Leonardo said. "Besides, I don't think the others would appreciate human artwork."
"Yeah? Well they don't know what they're missing," Michelangelo said with a nod as he sat back with his arms crossed. "You gonna show everyone the pictures you painted of us? Huh, huh?"
April was quiet at those questions. It was something she had been debating herself over. She hadn't wanted Eric Sacks to see it in the first place, but even after he saw it he didn't seem worried over it. So maybe she would. She glanced over toward Leonardo whom she knew was very disapproving in any form of sharing their relations. He still kept skeptical eyes behind her every time she arrived to meet them, as if he expected her to bring others like she had that one day.
"I don't know," she said. Raising her hand to her hair, she realized it was finally dry.
"You've at least gotta tell us what it is like," Donatello said from where he sat.
April's smile retuned as she nodded. "I will."
When they departed and the brothers trekked back to their city and home, Michelangelo dug himself into his nest sheets and then began gathering his painted rocks. "I'll bet I could make a gallery, with just these rocks."
"Yeah, you do that," Raphael said whilst he sat at the edge of his own nest looking over large maps April called an atlas. Ever since he had borrowed it from Donatello's nest he couldn't keep his eyes off of it. "We're really so small, huh?"
Leonardo turned toward him. He watched his brother run his fingers over the small drawing of what Japan was. It really was minuscule in comparison to the other land masses.
"What do you think the other places are like?" Raphael's eyes were wandering toward the mass of Asia and then toward somewhere called the Caucuses. "Is this all just human territory, or do you think there are other clans out there . . . like us."
"We may never know," Leonardo said while Donatello poked his head into a mechanical book. At Leonardo's response, all brothers looked to him. "We're kappa, we're not meant to go anywhere."
Obviously, the response wasn't to Raphael's liking. He frowned. "But the humans are? That don't seem fair to me."
"Raphael's right, Leo," Donatello spoke up. He came forward and showed them the components of a steam engine within the book he'd been looking at and then pulled out his own schematics for one. "I've been reverse engineering a few of these models." Reaching into is pack he pulled out a small blocky thing. "Like this. If I just put hot water in it it'll move, and if I put structure underneath it then it'll float and if it'll float then it'll be like those western steam ships. What if I make one? What if we could travel and see the world just like the westerners do?"
Raphael and Michelangelo gazed on in interest. Their quiet enthusiasm always convinced Donatello as to their answers, but it was getting their eldest brother to agree and allow this endeavor which they all waited on. Even in his reluctance, they knew they've seen him interested in a world outside of the borders of their own. It's why even he's traveled to the edge of Kappan territory, to the Oni hills, and the Tengu mountains, and the Kitsune plains, and even to the human shores. So why not wander further outside even of all Japan?
"Say you built this," blue eyes met Donatello's browns. "What if there's just humans out there in all of that. What'll you think they'll do to us?" He was shaking his head, shaking away their hope. "No, put it away, Donnie. It's nice to dream about, but that's all it can be."
Donatello sighed and conceded. He pushed the makeshift engine back into his pack and sunk back toward his room where he buried his head back into the encyclopedias. Michelangelo once more turned his attention to his color coated rocks, but Raphael refused to return to just dreaming. Instead he slapped the atlas down and stormed out of their hut. Leonardo didn't go after him, none of them did, because they knew he'd be back. This wasn't the first time where his hopes had been shattered, and it likely wouldn't be the last.
. . .
It had taken her all night to frame and hang the selected artwork, even with the help of Sacks' staff. The man had rented out a riverside manor, three stories, with a courtyard bigger than April's own Japanese lodging, the garden it possessed boasted the finest shades of autumn and paths of winding rocks. It was an absolutely stunning estate, and with the docks just behind, it made travel to and fro much easier.
Her and her uncle had arrived the previous afternoon where they were offered spacious rooms and delicious refreshments. After a quick rest, April set to work in the base level where a large gathering room was cleared of décor and furniture to allow the art to be displayed. Deciding on which pieces to show in the viewing was one of the hardest parts of that evening. April had so many works that she found it difficult to pick favorites. She had to in the end, and by noon of the next day the first wave of the guests began arriving.
"April, are you still working on that piece?" April's uncle poked his head into her room to see his niece seated on the floor, legs crossed and paper in lap whilst she dabbed shades over the expanse of it. She looked up with wide startled eyes and gave him a short noise in question.
Augustus O'Neil laughed as he came in. "You know it's noon already."
April's eyes widened. "It is?!"
Augustus had never seen her get up so fast. But there she was, slapping her papers and paints onto the bed and then rushing over toward a vanity and trying as she might to fix her hair up into a polite style. A humorous gleam sparkled in his eyes when he noticed her realize the extra hue she collected on her face.
"Look at you." He said, coming up and taking her hand to turn her toward him. There were swatches of paint dotting her cheek and chin, as well as the underside of her sleeves. He let out another laugh. "No matter how old you get, you'll always be my little April. Why, if you didn't have some color splotched somewhere I wouldn't know who you were."
April gave him her typical wrinkle-nosed look but accepted his help to wipe away the smears on her skin and dab away what they could off her sleeves. Her gown, a blue floral dress, was just dark enough to hide away the evidence of her actions. Another article that would join her color-splattered wardrobe.
"Nervous?"
April nodded. "Can you tell?" She pinched her cheeks to bid the rosiness cover her pale complexion.
"The guests are just arriving."
April stiffened. "They are?" She turned again toward the mirror and worked at her hair and skin despite looking as good as she could. Augustus only shook his head and nudged her. When she turned back to him he offered her his arm.
"What say we go and greet them?"
There was a nervous hesitation. It was expected. After another breath, April nodded and slid her arm into his. They left the room and walked downstairs to do just that.
. . .
Donatello had stayed up late. The leftover tension from the previous disagreement and disappointment hadn't sat well with him. With a sunken heart and nagging worry over Raphael's whereabouts, sleep evaded him. So he passed the time by looking through April's encyclopedias. He was getting the hang of actually reading it. It took him some time to get used to the characters called letters, but he was progressing and soon enough he believed he'd be able to decipher all of the printed words.
That night, as he sat by candlelight, looking over the illustrations of modern human contraptions, his mind began to churn over the structures. It all fascinated him and encouraged him to enhance and create his own variations. But then there was Leonardo.
At the thought, Donatello turned his head toward the upper part of their hut where Leonardo's nest was. He could hear him breathing, sleeping more peaceful than he could that night. With a sigh, Donatello turned his eyes back toward all of the drawn plans he had concocted after collecting all of the written information he could on these mechanics. He knew he should get rid of them, and a pass over the candle was all it took for the parchment plans to go up in smoke, but he was reluctant to part with them, so he clung close to them and closed his eyes.
He didn't sleep, but the hours did pass until early morning came upon him. The candle had long since flickered out, and the faint sound of singing birds echoed in the distance. The sky began turning a deeper blue at the approach of dawn, and the heavy snores of Michelangelo was ignored in favor of paying attention to Leonardo's movement. He was up.
Donatello stuffed his blueprints underneath him and shuffled in his nest, closing his eyes tightly. He heard Leonardo slide down the latter and move toward each of their nests. Michelangelo's first and then he leaned over Donatello's. If he knew he was still awake, he didn't make any comment. In fact Leonardo seemed more focused on Raphael's cold and empty nest than the prospect that one of his brothers was watching him.
Donatello had turned and opened his eyes just in time to watch his eldest brother leave their hut. And with him gone, it gave him a similar urge to leave. So he stuffed his pack with essentials, slung it over his shoulder and then took off before Michelangelo could wake up.
Managing to dodge conversation and roadblocks during a waking city wasn't easy, but Donatello's roamed these streets since he was very little, so he knew quite a few sidewalks and alley lanes that would lead him past gossiping neighbors, overactive agitators, and the heaviest trafficked areas. It was a road his other brothers roamed as well, which was why he knew he'd find Raphael at the end of it.
Under crossing arches where the eastern falls run down into troughs, there's a pen area where animals were sheltered until the butchers come to make their selection. Raphael had thought it was petting zoo when they were little until certain favorite animals simply weren't there the next day. He cried for weeks after understanding the nature of the butcher's alley, but he still frequents the place to feed the animals and give them compassionate company.
It was Raphael's second most frequented spot besides the wrestling arena under the great suiko statues. And just as expected after his previous argument with Leonardo, Donatello found Raphael wallowing there with the animals, finding comfort in their company.
"Raph." Green eyes glanced only briefly at him before looking away. Donatello sighed and came closer. "Raph, can I talk to you?"
Raphael still wouldn't look at Donatello. Instead he sat, a cabbage in one hand whilst a large pig dined on the plant. "It depends if you're just a message boy for Leo."
Donatello felt offended just by the accusation and assumption. "Leo didn't send me here. I came here because I wanted to ask if you'd take me to one of the black ships."
Raphael was patting the hog's hide when the notion of Donatello asking such a question paused his movements. At least he turned toward him. "What?"
With his interest piqued, Donatello knew it was safe to move in closer. Maneuvering around the clustered pigs, Donatello came up alongside his brother and pulled out his small engine. "If you take me to one of the black ships and let me get a feel of how the mechanics work I can make this replica better." Raphael was looking at him with curious eyes. "I can make a ship of our own." Donatello didn't need to carry on and say, "We could sail the world!" because he knew Raphael understood him at just that simple statement. All he needed was a guide because, well, he knew Raphael's been the closest to them.
"Why are you asking me?" Raphael inquired, picking another head of cabbage out of the crate beside him and fed the next hungry mouth.
"Because you've been to the ocean. Whichever outlet you passed through had to have at least a couple in sight." Donatello wondered if there was now. What if Raphael took a quieter more bluff-based route to the ocean in his endeavor to secure a blue fin tuna for April? Was he the one being too assumptive in believing his brother had encountered the large steam boats?
After a pause of contemplation, Raphael nodded his head. The corner of his mouth upturned. "There were three, and I passed underneath the hull of one."
Amazement instantly sparkled in the younger brother's brown eyes. Raphael was close enough to touch one? Oh, the pangs of jealousy began to pulse through every corner of his body. "Did you touch it?"
Raphael rolled his shoulders. He stood up, his smile sharpening. "No, but I can, and so can you if you want to."
Donatello's smile widened. He could barely contain his excitement.
"You ain't gonna be telling Leo about this, are you?" Raphael's smile fell and his eyes pierced Donatello's.
A sardonic look was all it took to convince Raphael of his loyalty. Raphael's smile returned a second later and with a nod of his head they both took off out of the city.
. . .
Peers called Michelangelo an excitement-chaser, neighbors called him cacophonous, his brothers called him one bamboo chute short of a cluster. But he liked to call himself observant, an opportunist. And the opportunity to leave home and city without attracting the curious attention of his brothers was nigh.
It was usual for his brothers to get up before him. Often times he woke to an empty hut where a few notes were scribbled to notify him of where they'd gone and will be for the entirety of the day. Michelangelo didn't see those as absences or negligence, but permission to go off on his own adventures. Besides, he'd likely be back before the three even returned home, so it wasn't like he was unreasonable in his draw toward idealistic ventures.
For this certain time-frame, Michelangelo set his plans for far outside the city, to the edge of their borders, even going as far to say it was within human territory. He wanted to see April's gallery, alright. He was going. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it there or find wherever it was, but he had all day to unravel its location.
Taking a few fruit and vegetables with him to munch on on the way was all Michelangelo needed as he bounded off on the road he chose for the day. He managed to get to the human city just before noon. Already it was bustling and lively, with enthusiastic and antagonistic sounds mixing into excited squeals of children and huffing snorts of working animals.
What Michelangelo would give to just be able to walk openly into that mayhem . . . just once.
While Michelangelo and his brothers lived in one of his own clan's biggest cities and knew the crowded life very personally, there was just something about human gathering that was so very different than kappa. For one, Michelangelo noticed the extensive use of fans, humans used them for heat relief, directional pointers, and encouragement banners. He liked it. And wanted one, or two of his own. Second, their vibrant attire. After observing April, he noticed a completely different comparison to the shades of her dresses and those she painted. Western clothing was darker more often than what the Japanese populace donned, and Michelangelo loved their designs, full of swirls, flowers, and animals. The colors ranged from bright yellows and oranges to reds and blues and purples.
Kappa shared a love of silk and bright threads, but where humans covered a majority of their bodies in those, Kappa used it all mostly for decoration of their homesteads and towns and cities in banners and braided ribbons. Moving through moist estates most of the time, it was hard to find any cloth resilient to that much damp use, but that's not to say the Kappa were completely devoid of clothing as the humans called it. Ribbons were sometimes wound around arms and legs and waists, Michelangelo and his brothers often braided strings around themselves, and where ribbons fell away, carvings and skin ink was used to give individuality. Inspirational kanji was popular to paint along shells or carve into plastrons. Girls tended to paint their shells while the boys wore ink in the skin of their arms and legs. Michelangelo bore such markings, and so did the likes of Leonardo and Raphael, but even in those common aspects, there was something about human clothing that fascinated Michelangelo and made his imagination swarm with the likes of himself adorned in those colors and designs. It was funny to think about, but aspirational as well. Maybe one day.
The third human aspect that Michelangelo found himself admiring was their craftsmanship. Similar to Kappa who knew how to farm, herd, and construct, there was just something about the human mind that could come up with so neat a design like those daggers and knuckle blades that hung along a shop wall. Michelangelo's eyes were wide and drawn to the different types of weapons. Humans, though the smallest out of the clans and the most short-lived, they made up their threatening position with the likes of their constructed weapons and unique fighting technique
Kappa didn't fight with weapons. With the toughest natural defense, if all else failed then the wetlands were their saving grace to wrestle their enemies until they lost their breath. So to be near actual physical weapons, Michelangelo was a little more than giddy. That and the fact that he had yet to be noticed by any human eye yet only spurred his bravado.
With so many buildings, there was a lot of small spaces in between, and in those space spaces between there were shadows even as high as the sun sat that day. And that was where Michelangelo was—for the most part. Every now and then he'd get a dog barking at him, but no curious eye had yet to find him sneaking around the city, poking at shipments, carts, and stock.
"Oho, look at this." Michelangelo had taken—borrowed—one of the displayed weapons sitting on a lower table. It was made from wood, with the handles wound in leather. Two pieces connected by a chain. Michelangelo wasn't quite sure how it worked but he didn't let unfamiliarity stop him from playing with it behind the shop.
At first he held both ends, swinging the chain in the middle like a jumping rope, but that got old very fast. So he took one handle in hand and swung the other around like a flail. The strength of the chain held no matter how fast and hard Michelangelo swung, and the stoutness of it all made his fascinated grin widen. Eventually he began to experiment further.
From one hand to another, Michelangelo flipped the weapon. He even managed to pass it around his waist, though it was in that motion that it fell out of control and it smacked into a barrel, nearly toppling it over and the water inside hadn't Michelangelo acted and caught it before it fell over. It was after his sigh of relief that Michelangelo noticed a viewer out of the corner of his eye. A child. He was staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide. Michelangelo wondered how long he'd actually been there.
With an apologetic and nervous smile, Michelangelo pressed a finger to his mouth to signal the child to stay quiet. He was, for a moment. But Michelangelo had to endure watching the human hatchling stiffly move back through the curtains into the shop and alert one of his parents.
"Mother! There's a kappa near the water barrels!"
"Oh, really? Just yesterday they were down by the bridge running off with your ball." The child's mother didn't at all seem impressed by her son's exclamation. It made Michelangelo giggle, but he knew it was time to move on in his search to find April's grand gallery.
His exploration around the market turned out fruitless—well, not completely fruitless, Michelangelo did manage to get some fruit from the corner bins and they were delicious—but in concerns to where April was, it was an absolute mystery. He had about given up and moved back toward the forest hadn't he noticed funny dressed men.
Westerners!
Michelangelo crept closer and listened in on their conversation.
"Could you give this message to the lieutenant? I would, myself, but I'm near late for Mr. Sacks' gathering."
"Is it a gala, sir? You seem pretty well dressed." The man's partner was smiling at him like he was jesting, but the older only shook his head.
"A gallery. If it were a gala, Kipling, you'd know." The two men offered a few more banters back and forth before parting ways, one with a message to deliver as ordered, and the other with a kappa trailing behind.
"He said gallery," Michelangelo said to himself with a consenting shrug. He just hoped it meant April's gallery. Only one way to find out.
. . .
It was hard to believe there were that many people there to see her work. Though, April believed it was because of Eric Sacks' influence that so many gathered to his hosted viewing. The statuses of those who were there still surprised her; colonels, lieutenants, delegates, of many various nations. More surprising was the appearance of even Japanese officials. In similarity to the westerners, they were dressed in fine robes, their hair properly done, with entourages large enough to be considered an individual crowd.
April saw a familiar face attached to one of the oriental groups, and would have gone up to greet her hadn't Eric Sacks, himself, approached her with a wide smile on his face. "Officer O'Neil, and April, so glad you could finally join us." He motioned toward the filling room and the many spectators eyeing her hanging work. "As you can see, there is a lot of talk about your contribution."
April blushed, squeezing her uncle's arm tighter. "I'm really honored that you'd host my gallery, Mr. Sacks. Really, I can't thank you enough."
"I was looking for an excuse to hold a party, so why not one with something to show off?" He seemed just as pleased by the captivation. His wandering gaze seemed to set and interest peaked. "Ah, they're here." He looked to Augustus. "Officer O'Neil, would I trouble you if I borrowed your niece for a moment?"
Augustus shook his head and untangled himself from April, encouraging her to take Eric's offered arm. Fighting her own nerves, April did so, and when he moved them through the room she realized he was quite protective and kind, never once moving away or ignoring her when fellows approached to strike up greetings. Her apprehension began to dissolve as her countenance began accepting him as a friend. And it seemed as he proudly introduced her to his comrades in the same manner.
"It's a pleasure to see you here." While Eric usually offered a hand to his guests, this particular group he bowed respectfully, leaving April wondering if she should do the same. But her churning decision came a little too late when the opposite group bowed in return. "April, this is Oroku Saki and his clan representatives. He is head of the Ashi Clan, a very prominent and well respected sect that have a history as old as Japan itself."
April offering her hand in greeting was subconscious. "It's a pleasure to meet you." When her gesture wasn't reciprocated, she realized her mistake and quickly pulled her hand away. She wanted to apologize, but she was left speechless under the man's hard gaze. Oroku Saki was a silent, but observing man. His eyes were used where words weren't—whether it was because of language barriers or not—and, stature wise, he was a tall, taller than most of his compatriots. In his stance he came off as powerful, a call to be respected. And April tried.
When April's eyes were finally able to break hold of the man's stare she noticed Karai standing a few paces behind. Her face lit up. "Karai! I didn't know you were a part of this clan."
The woman was well-dressed like her fellow clansmen, and her hair was up and decorated. She looked beautiful, but in an entourage full of nothing but men, April wondered why she was there. The woman only offered a respectable bow at her comment.
"Greetings, April O'Neil. It is unfortunate that I was never able to tell you about my clan, but it is an honor to be here today with my master." After her bow, she stepped closer and then offered Eric a formal bow.
"Karai is their translator," Eric informed. "It interests me to know you two have met before. I'm glad you were able to make some friends here, April."
April smiled. She really was glad to see Karai, though her stance was distant, and she didn't want to overstep their public boundaries. April could tell that Karai took her job serious and went on to watch as she translated for her companions as they made comments in concerns to the party, the company, as well as her art.
"My master says you paint well," Karai said in her translations as she followed around her clan whilst they browsed the paintings. They stopped before a set in the back. There were pictures that April added last minute after struggling with herself over whether or not to show them in the gallery, but it was through Eric's encouragement and her own love for the pieces that she relented. "My master is curious about this set. What is it?"
April's eyes brightened as she stood beside the paintings. They each had names in her heart, but she refrained that information. Instead she said, "Kappa," she replied. "After living here for some time I've come to familiarize myself with some of the folklore and folk monsters. I saw so many drawn pieces that I thought I'd put my own spin on them. Does he like them?"
Oroku Saki's eyes were fixated on the pictures. There were four portraits, each dedicated to a brother, each finely drawn and painted. Three other pieces hung near of them together in various poses and playful action. Innocently captured moments that April was proud to have been able to draw as well as be a part of.
From the man's silence, April had hopes that her impeccable talent just rendered him speechless. However, when the man's dark eyes looked back at her, April didn't see a glimmer of admiration in them. Instead, it was something else, something almost . . . dangerous.
"These are very detailed."
April blinked, stunned to hear accented English come out of his mouth despite Karai's presence stated as a needed translator. Karai, herself, even looked surprised by the response. Eric as well.
"Wha . . . I . . ." April took a moment to compose herself before saying, "I've been painting since I was three. It makes me proud to know a figurehead such as yourself appreciates my skill."
The man was looking at April, watching her as she spoke, but he made no further attempt to carry on the conversation. Instead he motioned Karai closer and then turned and muttered something to her. Karai looked at her master with confusion in her features.
"Are you sure?" She asked in their tongue, and when he nodded, she relented. "How much for the kappa?"
April once more stood in stunned silence. The pictures of the boys were a last minute addition. They hung to provide a mystic feel to her otherwise landscape paintings. She hadn't expected anyone to admire them, much less desire to purchase one of them.
"Oh, which one?" April inquired, watching Oroku Saki nod toward the pictures again.
Karai then said, "All of them."
In the end April attributed the attraction to her portraits of the boys because Mr. Oroku was from a traditional and old family. Traditional paintings of their lore and culture no doubt lavished the man's home, and now he would have the westernized—though accurate—versions of familiar imagery.
"I'll get my servants to take them down and bind them for our buyer." Eric turned and motioned toward his household staff and they came immediately, pulling down the works.
"Wait." April grasped one of the worker's hand. She wasn't so sure what she was doing, but in that paused moment, she understood her actions. "Let me help."
Eric nodded. "Of course. No one will take better care of the paintings than the one who painted them."
As April offed to one of the backrooms where the servants worked to wind the paintings in paper and secure jute, April took a moment to look over her work. She remembered painting each of them, she also remembered the exact day and month when she painted the selected pieces, to even what she and the brothers had been doing that day. She smiled at the nostalgia and noticed her gripping fingers, reluctant to part with them . . . as if she were parting with the brothers themselves.
The way her heart fluttered and smile tendered made her realize just how close she's come to them. While basking in the way the pictures made her feel, and those connected to them she hadn't realized the rest of the staff had disappeared, their work already done with the pictures wrapped and bound on the table. The remaining was in April's hands.
"Oh." She let out a sigh and began winding that one up, ready to transfer them onto a cart hadn't a noise just behind her caught her attention.
She expected to see a lingering staff member, not Michelangelo.
"Ah!" April was quick to slap a hand over her mouth, trying to subdue her natural reaction. Michelangelo had given a startled yelp too, and the shelves he was pressed behind rattled as he shook himself out from them.
"What are you doing here?!" April came close to help pull the kappa clear. She was upset, so very upset, especially since Michelangelo continued to hold that stupid grin of his.
"It was a surprise," Michelangelo stated. "I wanted to see your gallery. Kind of a small place to hang pictures up though."
April groaned. She even had her rant ready hadn't Michelangelo moved toward the table and noticed the packaged pictures, especially the one April hadn't finished wrapping yet.
"Oh, heeey." He picked up the painting and looked it over. "I remember that day. You brought over five baskets of those pizza things and I ate them all. Everyone else wasn't too happy, but my stomach sure was." He looked at April. "I didn't know you were showing these."
"I was," she said while reaching out and taking the painting to finish wrapping it. "They were sold."
"Sold?" Michelangelo gasped. "Someone must have noticed our good looks!"
April held back her chortle, but carried on with her work regardless. As soon as the paintings were set on a cart she turned to the kappa. "I'm not sure how you even managed to get here, but you need to get back out before anyone sees you."
"But I didn't get to see the rest of your pictures," he complained. He looked at the door. "Is it out there?" The moment he moved toward the door, April slid in front of him and pushed her hands against his plastron.
"No!" she demanded. "There's a bunch of people out there. What are you even thinking? Just imagine what they could do to you." Her words made the kappa pause and actually think for a moment. April sighed. She didn't have time to stay and convince him further. "Look, I'll be right back, alright? Wait here."
The moment she carted the bound paintings back out, Karai was taking up her position for her. "Our gratitude," she said while one of the men handed April the sum that had been negotiated and agreed on by Eric Sacks.
"It's a shame you can't stay further, Master Oroku," Eric said. "But hosting you even for a little while was a pleasure." He offered a bow while the clan did the same before Oroku Saki turned and his entourage followed.
April was at a loss for words at the amount she was holding in her hands. Eric only smiled at her astonishment.
"You are a talented artist, and so I negotiated a proper price for you work."
Proper price. What April held in her hands was equivalent to a full year's wage back in the States. Her uncle's salary didn't even come close to what she'd just made on her paintings.
The day was simply surreal and absolutely wonder and she never wanted it to en—Oh god, Michelangelo was still in the backroom! Turning on her heel, she bade Mr. Sacks carry on with his carousing while she took a moment to relieve herself. Her race back to the room took less than a minute, but as soon as she came into the empty room her heart began to hammer in panic.
Her wide blue eyes took her back to the gallery where crowds thickened, people conversed and communed, and corner shadows rose just high enough out of window light to conceal a young kappa, straining his neck to see the artwork displayed along the walls. April about had a heart attack at the sight.
"Mikey!" She ground out as she approached him. Luckily he was covered in a sheet. Where he got that was a wonder. "I told you to stay out of here." When he turned to her she noticed his pale complexion. He was covered in flour. "Where did you even get that?"
"The kitchens," he stated. "Along with some other things." He smiled as he patted his abdomen. "But it's all good, April. No one's seen me yet. Hee, hee, I've got sneaking skills."
Just then, April noticed a couple moseying their way to that part of the gallery. She sighed and turned to push Michelangelo to sit, pulling the sheet further over him. "Not yet," she murmured.
"Are you April O'Neil?" It was a couple, and from their accents they were of French nationality.
"Oh, uh, yes, yes I am." April was quick to brush the flour coating her palms against her dress and straighten herself properly to greet the man and woman.
"Your art is astounding," the man said with a smile. "It must have taken you a while to paint it all."
April shrugged. "I had a lot of time on my hands."
"I particularly like your portraits," the woman said with sparkling eyes. "You have this outstanding ability to captures emotions in your detailed colors. Your art would be appreciated in France."
April flushed. "You really think so?" The two nodded.
"My wife was actually considering buying one of the portraits to take home with her," the man said. "How much do your prices run for?"
April recalled the amount she was given for the kappa set. She couldn't charge this couple that much, but she was curious how much they were willing to give. In her curious calculations she hadn't noticed the woman move around her and take a peak underneath the concealed lump behind her.
"Oh, I didn't know you sculpted too!"
April blinked and twisted around. There the woman stood with a wide smile, pulling off the sheet and giving a wide-eyed, but luckily quite still, Michelangelo a glance over.
"Oh, what on earth were you even trying to make out of this?" Her husband wasn't far from taking in the sight of the "sculpture."
April was speechless. Her wide eyes met Michelangelo's who looked at her curiously before looking ahead whilst he was examined by the pair.
"O-Oh, that?" April came close so to try and keep the two from reaching out and touching him. "I'm more of a painter, only dabbled with sculpting. It's an unfinished piece, really."
"But the detail is exquisite," the woman said as she leaned closer and let her eyes roam over the texture of Michelangelo's skin. "Surely, you must have named it."
April chuckled to try and play along with their upbeat attitudes. But the paranoia eating away at her was killing her. "A name? Oh, yes, of course. It's Michelangelo." The two looked at her quizzically. April wondered if she should have picked another title. "I, uh, the great artists of the renaissance always inspired me as a child so I often name my works after them." She looked at where Michelangelo sat, his elbow on his knee and knuckles under his chin. This was no doubt the most still she's ever seen him hold. Impressive. "The Japanese culture has an interesting set of lore, of which I captured in this work. Mainly inspired by their water creatures. I was thinking about showing this, but, really, sculpting isn't my strongest suit, so I should have never brought him here."
"You're quite humble, Ms. O'Neil. A pleasant girl you are," the man said with a smile.
"How much for the sculpture?" April turned to the wide smiling wife.
"Oh, I don't think you'll want . . . it's not finished," April excused.
The woman waved off the comment. "Many great pieces are unfinished. And I have just the place for this statue at my estate." She looked toward her husband and nodded.
"When the wife wants something, it is the husband's duty to appease her." The man chuckled as he pulled out his purse. "How much, Mademoiselle O'Neil?"
April glanced back at Michelangelo whose eyes moved to hers in a moment of shared worry. "I . . . I . . . it's very expensive."
The man chuckled. "Is of no matter." He remained expectant, waiting for her to relay the price.
April could literally feel herself sweating. She didn't want to offend the couple, and she most certainly didn't want to sell them a sculpture that would only get up and walk away. So, she said, "I can't sell him. He's . . . priceless."
That seemed to disappoint the couple. But as the man put his purse away he smiled. "I understand. Some work is near and dear to the artist."
April nodded, stepping closer to the couple and guiding them through the rest of her paintings. "But you said you were interested in some of my portraits? Which ones? I can sell you those."
As she walked off with the two she turned her head and nodded at the kappa who was quick to leave his position and move back towards the doors. April felt relief flood her like a wave. She'd have to deal with Michelangelo after she made another sell.
. . .
It was uncommon for adolescent kappa to be seen at the quarterly gatherings. Not because they were bared entrance, but because most kappa Leonardo's age held interests elsewhere, like in sports, girls, and pranks. While he gave his own attention to each of those subjects, he also set aside reverence for the goings on of their people.
Seated near the base of an arch, Leonardo watched the most respected representatives arrive with offerings and tribute and large entourages. Their territory was vast and wide and consisted of many villages, towns, and smaller cities. Seeing each colorful life pass through the capital was exciting. These characters were both familiar and unfamiliar as leaderships changed and new seats aged.
It was at the center of the city, in the bowl where springs bubbled underneath and bridged courts stood over where the kappa came to report their populaces, their territorial issues, and their stock statuses. Most were repetitive, but there were a few, groups that lived near borders, that experienced struggle with antagonizing neighbors. It was that kind of information Leonardo enjoyed keeping track of, that and to see a certain sect.
Seated before the entirety of them was Mother, an old but surviving remnant of ages past. She was well over eight thousand years old, but her resilience to time carved her position among their people, and it was she who approved or disapproved of the tribute given and the information relayed from each kappa before her. Before her stood rows of large and strong kappa, and it was they who formed her strength when she called for different sectors to come to her.
"The Miyagi district!" When the representatives for that territory came forward, Leonardo shifted and zoned his gaze on the group. They were strong and seasoned kappa. Their gift to Mother was nothing grand nor inapt, humble. They were easily one such group to slip back underneath the waves of the crowds gathered. They weren't numerous, nor was the town they stood in for, but Leonardo was drawn to them out of respect and admiration, and after their head—Mother—dispersed the gathering, friendly reunions and respectable banter took place outside of the bowl.
"Mamo, Junpei!" Leonardo called to their attention as he moved through the crowd towards them. The two immediately turned and smiled, welcoming him with open arms.
"Ienari!" they exclaimed while the others in their group came to surround the adolescent. "Look at you, you've gotten so big."
"You would say that, Mamo, because you've missed the past twenty gatherings," Ienari said, poking his old friend on the plastron. The kappa backed away as if the touch had mortally wounded him. But when playful laughter erupted, the joyous reunion carried on.
"I was sick, alright." Mamo shrugged and then nudged Leonardo with his elbow. "It was the best excuse I could come up with when the mate wasn't wanting to be the only one brooding."
Leonardo's eyes brightened. "She already birthed the clutch?"
Mamo nodded, holding up five fingers to signify the amount of eggs. "We're expecting them two springs from now."
"Congratulations." Leonardo was always happy to hear of the town's growth and that of his friends' families.
"But look at you!" Mamo said, patting Leonardo on his shoulder. "You're looking so much like Genbu; it's unbelievable." His lighthearted banter began to mellow out, his shifting mood was felt by the others in revere memory. "He was a good kappa, and an even greater suiko." He glanced toward Junpei who nodded in agreement.
"I can't even hope to replace all that he was," Junpei said, current reigning suiko of their town. When his eyes turned toward the statue erected in Genbu's honor—an honor only few were given—Leonardo followed. "Every gathering, when I see that, I still don't think it's enough." He looked back at Leonardo with the utmost respect in his dark eyes, as if he were looking at Genbu himself. "I regret I wasn't able to let you know him better."
Leonardo rolled his shoulders. He had vague memories of his father, after all he had died in battle when he and his brothers were less than a decade old. He wished the same, he really did.
"I just appreciate knowing those who he surrounded himself with," Leonardo said with friendly pats.
"Yeah, perhaps it's not too far off where you'll be a suiko of your own establishment. What do you think of that?" Mamo said.
Leonardo wouldn't lie, he's dreamed of doing just that for as long as he could remember. But he had years still before he could even begin that process of walking down that path. That and it was frightening in a way. Being a suiko meant being head of a village, a town, or even a large city. He'd have to make a name for himself, and not just glide on the tail of his hero father. It was a journey that he knew he'd have to take alone, and he'd never really been alone before, that and he wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue such a solitary life like that.
"What are you saying, Mamo? Of course the kid'll make a suiko position. He's Genbu's boy!" A proud cheer rang from the surrounding kappa, but then a further comment was added. "I can even see it in his brothers. Where are they, anyway?"
Eyes glanced around for the missing kappa. "Haven't seen them for a while."
"You know the others; just can't sit through the gatherings. Especially Michi," Leonardo replied.
There was acknowledging laughter from that comment, and nodding heads. "But it's great to see all four of you. Really wish you'd all come to live with us."
Leonardo's lips twitched at the idea, an idea that was constantly brought up. "Yeah, but we were hatched in the city. Don't get me wrong, I've love to visit sometime, but this is our home. We're comfortable here."
"Yeah, that's why your mother laid you here," Mamo said with a wave of his hand. "Smart girl. Genbu built our town well, with strong walls, but that's because the Tengu had a habit of flying over more than a few times a month. Hagino couldn't stomach it until Genbu made sure there was no more threats. Town's still haphazardly close to Tengu territory, but that's what gives it its charm and liveliness, don't you say, boys?"
The others let out cheers and laughter, but they were serious in all their comments. Leonardo wasn't afraid of encountering other clans, but he was fearful of his brothers' interactions. A hesitation which kept them in the city, safe behind thick walls.
"How have the borders on your side been anyways?" Leonardo asked. He heard their reports before Mother but he knew that they didn't always relay every detail.
Junpei and Mamo's faces shifted, as did the others' expressions. "We lost Nao and his family last month."
Leonardo's eyes widened. He hadn't expected a loss to have been exempted from their report.
"They lived near the river," Mamo stated. "We hadn't heard from them for weeks before any one of us went to check in on him. Not much was left of them, and his hatchlings were nowhere to be found. Tengu. They ate most of them."
It had been centuries since they suffered a casualty like that, and even still the previous casualty being a loss of a farm and its animals, not the kappa themselves. It was always a risk to live near bordering territories, but Leonardo believed in Mamo, Junpei, and their fighters. The dangers of their lands only emboldened them and made them strong. These sort of deaths didn't happen often.
"Was it a rogue attack?" Leonardo questioned.
"We wanted to believe that until Saburo's village was attacked just three weeks ago. Tengu, again. They lost fifteen hatchlings and two of their mothers."
Leonardo was at a loss for words for a moment. So much tragedy usually didn't come so close together. "Then why didn't Saburo mention this?" He'd been there, and remembered the suiko mention a loss of population, but blamed it on an illness that passed through their village. However, the truth was something much more gruesome . . .
"Because he's working with us to try and find out what is going on," Junpei said. "There's a reason why I could only bring half of my warriors. Five days ago there was another attack. Nothing came of it because I had my kappa stationed there, but these strikes keep coming. Something's unsettled the Tengu nearby, enough to make them attack more often than they do."
The news disturbed Leonardo, though deep down inside he was grateful for his own safe position, and that no opposing clan would travel so far into kappa territory to attack their best guarded city. But his heart went out to Junpei and his town, a town that was once under the guidance and protection of his sire.
"I don't understand why you won't tell Mother. She could send soldiers to strengthen your boundaries." Despite Leonardo's promising statement, Junpei just shook his head.
"Not in our district," Junpei said. "We're not rich enough for that kind of treatment. We have to look after our own, even our neighbors."
There was desperation in Leonardo's eyes, a want to help these friends so close to his family. The others saw it, and it was Junpei who placed a comforting hand on his tense shoulder. "Genbu used to give me that same look." He smiled. "You've got a good heart, Ienari, but you have your youth. Don't let these troubling times interrupt that, especially when it's so far from you."
"I promise I'll one day repay all the good you've been to me and my brothers," Ienari said with a sure nod.
Junpei nodded in agreement before motioning toward Mamo. "What say we take Ienari and wash away all this upheaval with some good food and strong drink?"
Mamo chortled. "He old enough for that?"
Junpei laughed as he slung an arm around the young kappa's neck. "We're about to find out."
And off they went to spend endearing times together, and in all the revelry, Leonardo almost forgot the worry at wondering where his brothers had went that day. Almost . . .
. . .
Donatello hadn't realized he was holding his breath until Raphael had helped pull him up beside the hull and set him right on deck of the ship. Eyes wide and smile painfully open, he didn't know where he should go first. His excitement only stoked Raphael's cross-armed pride further, obviously.
"No one's here," Raphael said as he watched Donatello roam about the deck with pleased green eyes. "Told you I could get you on one."
"You were right, you were right!" Donatello turned toward Raphael and reached out to grasp and shake his arm. "This is really happening! Do you even know what this ship can do?!"
"No, but I'm pretty sure you're going to tell me," Raphael said with a snicker whilst he followed his excited brother around.
"I can't believe I'm this close to the smokestacks." Donatello's smile never waned, nor did his excited enthusiasm. He moved, leaning over the railing to set his wide eyes on the propellers. "And the paddlewheels, they're huge!"
"Hey, Donnie." There was Raphael, lifting up a panel that led into the belly of the ship. "Let's do some further investigating. Maybe see how this thing works."
Donatello nearly tripped as he scrambled over toward his brother who let him down first. When they slipped inside Raphael shut the door behind them. Not necessarily wise given the extremely low lighting, but kappa had good eyesight, even at night.
While no human had been on deck when they climbed aboard, that didn't mean they wouldn't run into a straggler inside. Raphael was moving first, checking rooms before nodding the all-clear to his brother. But it was Donatello who found the boiler room.
"Coal!" Donatello picked up a piece. "That's what they're using to move it."
Raphael looked over the components of the engine room. It was clear he wasn't able to wrap his mind around the functions of the contraption, that's why he had Donatello with him.
"Why don't you start it up?" Raphael questioned.
Donatello guffawed in his brother's direction after stealing a piece of coal into his pack. "Start it up?" He parroted. "This is the first engine I've ever seen. I mean it's clearly got a boiler and high and low pressure cylinders, I can only expect those to move toward the pistons, if it's even got those. What if it doesn't, Raph? What if the schematics that April gave are outdated? What if there are further devices I don't know about?"
"Hey." A knock to his shell silenced the younger brother. Donatello composed himself and looked to Raphael. "I know you, you got this."
Donatello grinned and cracked his knuckles, very willing to dig his fingers into each compartment and lever.
. . .
"Did you see that, April? Those two wanted to buy me." Michelangelo let out a giggle. "I'm a piece of art."
April sighed while she tried to rub what flour she could off of him. "Yes, you're just lucky I didn't agree to their terms."
Michelangelo laughed again. "I know. You said I was priceless. Aw, you like me, April."
With that comment and that face, April couldn't help but smile in response. She swatted his head with the wet cloth just because she could and then turned to push the floury water back underneath the table. "Of course I do. Wouldn't sell any of you for the world."
"But you'd sell our pictures," Michelangelo noted.
April sighed, her smile faltering. "I'm starting to regret that now . . ." Though the portraits weren't as precious to her as it was the ones attached to them, there was still something endearing about the memory of drawing and painting them that softened her heart and the realization that she wouldn't get to run her eyes over those memories made her forlorn.
The distant sound of approaching voices alerted the both of them to the returning staff. A shared panicked look was all it took for them to dart back down the hall and feverishly search for the backdoor. When they found it they in turn found the docks.
"Woooow, check out the size of those ships." Michelangelo's eyes rounded at the vessels wading in front of them. "Never been this close before."
April jumped at the sight of patrolling sailors headed their way. Quickly grabbing Michelangelo by the hand she tugged him along.
"Where are we going?" He questioned, but with April's hiss he quickly learned when to cease his chatter.
"There are sailors around," She said lowly. She looked for a way to get him out unseen, but everywhere she turned she noticed the patrol gaining body. Spitting out a quiet curse, April then realized she'd have to make a run for one of the docked ships.
Once a pair of officers passed by, April and Michelangelo made a sprint for one of the ships. As soon as they were on board the railing was enough coverage to set April's racing heart at ease for a moment. A further sigh helped her steady her breathing.
"Stay here. I'll be back in a little while, but I just can't leave Mr. Sacks to carry on my gallery." April was reluctant to let go of Michelangelo's hands, as if she feared the moment she released her hold the kappa would run off into further dangers. But she had no choice. "Please, don't let anyone see you."
Michelangelo nodded and April left him. She had to.
"Hello, miss. What brings you here?" April hadn't gotten far before the sailors noticed her walking along the docks. She stopped and offered them a pleasant smile.
"I don't mean to intrude. I'm from the party and just wanted some fresh air. The garden was full so I thought a walk down the docks would do me good." The men were young and their eyes seemed attracted her so. For once, she was glad to have their attention. "I'm sorry to be a bother."
"Bother?" One snickered before nodding to his comrade. "It ain't every day we get a dame passing our way. You're presence isn't at all unwelcome."
April blushed at the comment and continued to keep their company only up until their eye wandered away from her. When she noticed how they widened and the paleness their complexion took on it made her heart drop. They'd seen something.
"Bless my soul! The ship!"
April turned to see the vessel swaying off. The sails weren't down and the anchor was still weighed. The only thing moving it was the paddlewheels, and from the smoke coming off of the stacks, it was obvious someone was in the boiler room.
For a brief moment April was clutched with fear, believing that Michelangelo had somehow gone below deck to mess around inside, but unlike the sailors who had turned to warn their counterparts of the sudden issue, she managed to see him tip against the mast, his eyes looking back at her in endless confusion, a shrug was all he offered to validate his innocence.
Really, the only thing April could do in that moment was scream as the renegade ship carried away her friend. "Mikey!"
. . .
Both Donatello and Raphael lurched the moment the ship began to move. The whistling and hissing inside the room indicated that every contraption was running as it should.
Raphael smacked his brother against his shell. "Way to go! You did it, Donnie. The ship's moving!"
Excitement had the younger kappa trembling and with a glance toward Raphael, both he and Donatello darted out of the room toward a circular window to watch the scenery pass by.
"Words can't describe how amazing this is right now." Donatello was all grins while Raphael nodded in agreement.
"We should keep going." Donatello blinked and turned toward his older brother with unbridled confusion. Raphael only leaned over to nudge him. "You want to get outta here, right, Don? Why not just keep going until we leave Japan entirely?"
Donatello stiffened. He leaned away, trying to understand just what Raphael was proposing. "Leave Japan? Raph, this is our home. What about Leo? And Mikey?"
Raphael rolled his eyes. Donatello could see that at the mention of their eldest brother an almost forgotten grudge returned to shade his irises. "You know what Leo would say. And Mikey? He'd probably just get bored. They like it here too much."
"I like it here."
Raphael shifted away from the window, looking fully at Donatello. "Yeah, but you're constantly looking at the maps with me. I know you want to travel."
"We can't though," Donatello said. "I still don't know too much about these ships, and what'll we even survive on when we reach the sea?"
"I know you; you'll figure out all the rigging in no time, and if you're worried so much about food then I can just teach you how to fish in the ocean. It ain't that hard. Come on, Don, Donnie, Denno."
There was a moment where Donatello's heart soared at the idea. The thrill passed through him quickly, enough to give him visions of grandeur of daring times with just him and Raphael. But when the feeling was gone, realization came flooding into him, and all it did was churn his stomach.
Eyes glanced back toward the boiler room. He could still hear the parts hissing and groaning, and moving in all those beautifully intricate ways. These sounds made him ache more when he understood his part in it all.
"This was it, wasn't it? You only took me so that I could figure out how to run it." He looked at his brother then with darkening eyes. "So that I could help you leave." He shook his head, even as Raphael opened his mouth to try to speak. "No. I'm not going to be an accomplice in your escape. You don't want me with you, Raph. You only need me for the technicalities."
A sigh was all that was heard before Donatello moved back into the room and began shutting the working components off. The ship stopped abruptly.
"Donnie, what are you doing?" Raphael came into the room. His eyes were wide. He looked devastated, so much so that he hadn't seen Donatello's own devastation.
Turning toward him, Donatello stood resolute. Lips pressed in a thin line and brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed, blinking only twice to bid away the collecting moisture. "I'm not doing this, Raph. Unlike you, I can't stand the thought of leaving my family."
As he made his way to the door, he had to bump into Raphael's hulking frame just to push past him. He could feel Raphael's eyes on him. He could even feel his distress.
"Donnie, where are you going?" Donatello didn't answer, instead he carried on his way until he reached the top deck. "Donnie, I'm sorry!"
There was a chance Donatello would have turned around at the sound of his brother chasing him up deck hadn't the sight of a very familiar face been standing before him. "Mikey?"
Michelangelo stood there, looking just as surprised but slightly more bashful than usual. At least he offered a wave. "Hey, Donnie." His eyes caught the sight of Raphael coming up. "Raph."
The chime of bells and blow of whistles alerted all three to the oncoming schooners headed their way. All packed with brands of sailors, the likes of which probably owned the ship they took. Not another word was said, only a look shared before they all dove off the side and into the river.
By the time the sailors got the boat they found it empty, and more than a few stories rose up on how the ship came to life on its own that day.
. . .
"I still don't understand what infatuated you so much about these paintings." Karai made a face as she opened the framed work, looking around her master's estate as to where he even wanted to hang them. She sighed, seeing no room for the westernized art. It would only put a blotch on the walls in her opinion.
Oroku Saki moved along the hall of tapestry and décor that had been handed down for generations. One such piece of art was a sheet that held images of five different clans. The Oni Clan, the Kappa Clan, the Tengu Clan, the Kitsune Clan, and the Human Clan. Karai had seen it a million times during her shared patrol, and she understood its presence in the home; those paintings were traditional. April O'Neil's render of their monsters was something so odd looking it was almost another creature entirely.
"We will keep them here," Oroku Saki said, waving over toward a collection that consisted of hung ancient weapons and two large shells from battles past.
Karai made another distasteful face as she approached the area where she was meant to hang the pictures. "Here, Master? But why?"
"Because," he said as he reached down to take up one of the pictures, the one depicting all four caricatures. "These images. They look just like them."
Karai's brow furrowed. Oroku Saki took his eyes off of the painting for a moment to look at her for a moment before he turned to place the picture near the relics. "It is an interesting notion to know that my own soldiers, sworn to fight against these creatures and to prevent Hyakki Yako, are unfamiliar with the true face of their enemies. Instead, a western painter has discovered a meeting ground, no doubt shamefully close to our territory."
"What are you saying, Master?"
The head of the clan looked back. His face riddled with upset. "It takes time to paint, and in such detail. She knows these kappa. It cannot be allowed. Not after all the years we've fought to keep our people safe."
Karai felt her heart seize at the notion. She wondered if April even knew of the danger she was in. She wondered if it was only a matter of time before they pulled her into the watery depths to steal her life away. What a stupid girl she was, but there Karai stood, sinking to her knees to prostrate herself before her master over her own incompetence. While she knew and understood the clan and their mission, she was naïve only in the sense of battle with these dark forces.
"Forgive me, Master, for not seeing this sooner! I beg you to teach me. To show me their faces so that I will never forget our enemies!"
Karai's plea was answered. The next morning Oroku Saki took many of the novice recruits and traveled to the far reaches of human territory where the trees died out and the grass faded away to gravel and ash. Stone structures remained in place for fortified solitude, lined up against one another as a wall. It was from there Karai saw her first monster.
"Kitsune," Saki said with narrowed eyes from the perch they holed themselves inside. "The size of horses when they're on all fours. Out of all the clans they possess the magic of fire. That is why we remain here in stone walls." He looked at Karai with hardened eyes. "They have the ability to shift into the likes of a human, so never let your guard down."
Karai nodded, and continued to look at the creatures down below. She was absolutely amazed. Though art had depicted these beings for thousands of years, no portrait in tapestry or vase could compare to actually seeing one in the flesh as they ran out from over the hill to assault their gates.
Red, golden, and black, the kitsune clan varied in shade and height, but even their smallest soldier was large enough to knock a man off his horse, and then the horse off its hooves. Their snouts were long, and their teeth sharp. Their eyes held a menace to them, unnatural and magical, especially when they began glowing as the fires they conjured.
"They attack as if we've caused them great offense," Karai said as her breath was taken away by the sight of their strength and speed and resilience to even the many arrows shot at them. She watched one finally fall after a hundred arrows pierced its hide.
"The only offense we have caused is by existing." Karai looked up at her master. "Kitsune hate humans, they hate Oni, they hate Tengu, and they hate Kappa. And the other clans share the same sentiments. If we do not fight, if we do not continue, then they will destroy us—if not the Kitsune then the other clans."
The sound of their growls and roars sent chills throughout Karai's body. They sounded like no animal she's ever encountered. But they weren't animals, and from those horrendous sounds, they reminded her of that fact.
"No matter which clan, when a new head takes their seat they rile their people to strike out. And Takeshi's resolution has not shaken even after all these years." Saki's eyes burned with a fire similar to the ones licking around the kitsune. She admired that ferocity in his eyes. That resolve coming from a man who's dealt with these creatures for a long time.
The sight of a fire-consumed kitsune leaping over the rushing ground forces had Karai turning her attention back. Its entire body radiated heat, especially when it whipped its many tails to a fro, sending kitsunebi into the unprotected sides of their flank. That was when Karai watched over five men fall from the flames, screaming and writhing in their painful demise.
"They are in need of relief." Karai's master didn't take his eyes off of the gruesome sight below. Nothing more was said or commanded, but Karai understood where she needed to be in that moment.
"I shall aid them, my master." Karai bowed and moved away. Behind her was a squadron of well-armed and armored soldiers. They had taken an oath, swearing to give their bodies, their breath, and their souls for the sake of their clan. Their bodies had been hardened, bent and broken through years of rigorous training, all to gain the ability to efficiently kill these monsters that constantly pushed into their world.
How prepared they were when they left the confines of their fortresses was a question that would be answered soon enough.
Half of the squadron that Karai ran out with took pikes, the other half rolled in wet barricades. Even from far away Karai could feel the heat, and her heart raced at the feel of the temperature rising the closer she ran to aid her brethren. The screams were the second thing that Karai's attention noticed after the heat.
Pushed up dirt formed trenches, and above were the barricades made of wet timber. They dried easily in the fervent attacks. Karai and those that came in relief did what they could with the barrels of water they brought with them, but in their efforts to put out the fires on the shields and those engulfed in the eating bright tongues, the sounds of the creatures only approached.
Karai turned around just as one of her clansman reached up and sent his pike through a kitsune's neck whilst it smashed through the broken barricade. It fell, crashing into the trench just as the others moved out of its way and speared what was left of it. Its spasming body sloshed blood everywhere, with a glob splattering across her face.
Gasping, Karai jumped back, rubbing at the sting in her eyes. She bumped into a barrel and immediately began cleaning herself from the stain. As soon as her vision cleared she heard shouts around her. Another kitsune had broken through.
The others ran, but she stood stunned, frozen by its size and its piercing gaze. It had five tails and with a twitch from each its body melted into fire. Then it ran toward her.
Karai hadn't been so stunned then to turn and run away. There was no need to look back. The heat reaching her was enough to know it persisted on her trail. She hoped over bags of dirt, over crates of supplies. When she ran into the water barrels she tipped them over, trying to stop its burning path. It didn't halt it whatsoever.
It hoped over and lunged at her. Karai believed she was spared the worst of it because she went crashing down into the water barrels. She was soaked in water and blood, and as she scrambled to her feet, she forced her nerves to remain out of sight and took up a spear, swinging it at the creature before her.
A thrust pushed the spearhead into its shoulder, but the weapon was lost after that, burnt up. Karai had nothing else but close-range weapons, so she ran again until the faint hope of coolness brushed past her face. She stopped. There was no more heat, no sound of pounding paws
Shaking limbs had Karai crumbling to the ground. There were tears in her eyes, running over the remnants of previous ones long since evaporated. It was there she sat in the horrors of the sounds around her and the sight of her dead clansmen, burnt beyond recognition all for the sake of defending their family, their people. No one wanted to die in such horrible ways, Karai didn't, but she had to be prepared to. She had to.
A hand fell on her trembling shoulder. Karai screamed, darting back. The man behind her looked at her with wide eyes. He pressed a finger to his lips and then pointed above them at the sound of pattering over the higher barricades. It was frightening that it was so quiet they could hear unhindered kitsune walking above them.
Karai pushed her hands against her lips and closed her eyes for a moment to try and compose herself. The scent of smoke and rotting flesh was everywhere, disturbing her from catching what peace of mind she was reaching for, if only to keep her from sobbing. When she opened her eyes she noticed that even her fellow clansman was sizzling.
Wait.
Her eyes widened when she realized his clothes were burning away, with the faint outlines of something behind him, something swaying—like tails. There was a smile on his face, teeth much too sharp to be human. And his eyes, oh his eyes were that of an animal's, glowing as fire descended out of them.
Karai would have met her end like those she had stumbled amongst, but two metallic claws pierced the man's—kitsune's—belly. Its cry wasn't human, and before Karai's very eyes she watched it shift grotesquely into a beast. It hissed, snarling as it turned.
In the light of the fires, the reflection off of her master's armor was mesmerizing. As was the way he fought the kitsune. Oroku Saki was head of the clan because he was seasoned and possessed the deepest understanding of their greatest art—bodily combat. While he used jagged gauntlets to pierce, he used his body to tear and to shred.
Even against the kitsune's fire, Karai's master lost no ground and rammed it through without fear of its heat. In the end it was its blood that put out its fading flames. And when the kitsune above heard the cries of their brother, they came down, three of them.
In her shame, Karai curled down to protect herself from the intensity of it all, but her wide eyes couldn't move away. She watched Oroku Saki take each of them, pushing them into one another before grabbing them, hurling them, and then crushing them.
The front had struggled with one and ran at two, but Karai's master, the head of this clan, took out four with ease. What she would do to have such confidence, such skill.
"My master!" she cried, bowing before him. "I am unworthy!" While he fought she sat there and cowered. She did not deserve his tutelage. She did not deserve to hold the clan's name. She deserved nothing but death.
"Yet you are the only one that remains."
Karai blinked away the tears and looked around her. Piled into the corners were bodies, new and old ones. Many of the faces she recalled coming into the trenches with.
"Get up."
Karai looked up at her master, at the man who would save them all. On shaking legs she stood. Unable to meet his gaze, she looked down.
"Look at the beasts."
Karai shook, fighting off the trauma she had just recently witnessed.
"Look at them."
She forced herself to look at the mangled bodies of the kitsune, of the creatures that raged against them. That sought their demise.
"This experience will make sure you never forget the faces of those that sought your end and the end of your clansmen. Remember them, Karai, because the dead cannot."
Even in her trembling, Karai felt her fists clench as her heart seized with a hatred that has been bred and passed on from generation to generation. And shall continue after that day.