The lock was a cinch. A simple shutter and four wafer that was almost no challenged for the skilled ninja, trained in some aspects of thiefdom. Of course he had little concern over the initial locks. Even with the updated security systems, thanks to some of Don's know-it-all, they were a breeze. This historical society was nothing special. He expected that as he came up on the inner office things would be more complicated. The slim tool kit was tucked inside his jacket. Along with his paired sai in his belt like old times.

'She's not my type' Elias's words rang in his mind. Amazing. Had to introduce the lizard's stomach with his fist. A human. He had almost been set up with an attractive human woman, one somehow familiar, and would have wound up with egg on his face by the end of the night, something which Elias had to have known. Maybe five years ago he would have given her a fourth glance, but after that first human date he had been stripped of that naiveté. No way would he go on a human date.

He had even waited long after eight, till he was sure this woman would be gone. Needless to say, when he saw her still there it had struck him as odd. In many capacities. Although not totally unpleasant. The girl was attractive in such a way he found himself struck to the ground. That this kind of creature had waited a whole hour stroked his ego, until he remembered she still didn't know who he was.

None-the-less, he had gotten rid of that distraction. Nothing would get in the way of his recovering the sword of the Hamato family. Not a woman, not the bottle of Mesopotamian wine on display, not the executive office lock, not a woman. The lock kit opened from the silent magnet clasps as he knelt before the hardwood door. It appeared to have been an antique at some point. But the lock and handle had been replaced by the impressive standards of the day. Locked, the door would only open to a signature fingerprint, releasing the three magnetic bolt locks in the wall. Not having a fingerprinted glove, as though he could use it, he would have to release the bolts manually.

A single bolt was tedious, and the triple lock required patient skill. It was something Donatello would be more adept with, of course. But he was not going all the way home to wait for his brothers just to sit around for four hours making one of Leonardos 'plans of attack'. As long as he was doing something stupid, he might as well be really stupid.

Firmly twisting the half dozen picks stuck in the locks' mechanics, he grunted as the last bolt released. Snatching the knob, he turned before the locks could return. The door willingly opened and he removed the picks, dropping them back in the case and sticking it back into the jacket pocket. He slipped into the office and stuck a slip of paper from his pocket between the lock and doorframe, keeping the locks from magnetizing—signaling the alarms. Pressing his hands against the door he exhaled. His wrists cramped from the twenty minutes and he rubbed them free.

The Minde office was a collection of primarily American civil war regalery and African tribal pieces. An unusual combination, Raphael thought. Exceptional only in it's tastelessness. There was a large colonial style desk facing out from the side of the room, the corners pillared with gold tinted world globes. Like the lock, another addition from a classic, he assumed.

The office was dark enough for his taste. He had traveled from the street side of the building to what the blue prints said was the reservoir side, where the office windows were open to the water. The moon reflected off the reservoir into the office, giving it only a pale blue light to see by. Raphael sat in the deeply cushioned seat and began holding papers from the desk into the light.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. Just anything that would tell him where the hidden artifacts were. Or whatever he could find that he could bring back to his brothers that night. Why doesn't this guy have a computer? He tried the desk drawers, also locked. Going back for his kit, he eyed a stone slab that had been mounted on the opposite wall, a sparse few lines of hieroglyphics. The display cases were parted before it. He dropped the papers on the desk and came around. He had seen some African drawn stories before, but these would hardly qualify. Frowning, he squinted down the slate. This central piece had no connection to the office design.

"It's druidic." The second voice went straight from Raphaels ears to his legs, which launched him to the ceiling. Instinct sent him up, out of whatever danger had been waiting for him, and instantly into ambush position. Although he was not wearing the hand spikes, he was able to cling to the tin paneling by sheer ninja willforce. A gift for which he was ultimately grateful for. The painted tin was cool, even through his shirt. He sealed himself against it and let the shadows blanket him. "What the…" It had worked. Not that he had doubted for a second—

Although he couldn't feel the back of his pants that well against his shell, he could feel the pants themselves pulling. As though they were being dragged down. And with horrified shock, turning to outright hatred for clothes, he heard the air being cut as his wallet dropped from his pocket. He glowered red into the ceiling, which he was otherwise correctly hiding upon, as the leather wallet clapped softly against the floor below his ass.

He heard the footsteps come forward, giving away the position by the door, and the shifting of clothes as their wearer knelt down to examine the vile projectile. He knew where their line of vision would go, and moved to a ready stance against the ceiling to either jump for the door, or at the intruder. When the stifled laughter came though, he was momentarily off guard.

"Holy god-" She managed. He heard her move back again. "What are you doing?" Shit fuck! It's her. She must have followed him. That was not on his agenda. He turned his head back slowly, his hold becoming rather precarious. "You can come down now." More hidden laughter. "I won't hurt you." He finally saw her screening her laughter behind his wallet. Since his attachment to the ceiling had become so loose he had to, flipping to the ground with an airy gracefulness. She stopped laughing as he stood before her, light colored eyes trained to his. The corners of her mouth smiled behind the wallet.

"What are you doing here." He asked flatly. She offered the wallet, and he took it.

"You piqued my curiousity. 'Working' and all." That was all? What is she, some kind of loser? "I saw you break in, and thought you might be some mercenary janitor for hire." She apparently thought this was amusing. But she had just given him a way out. Nodding his head, he added,

"Yeah. I am."

"Bullshit… What are really you doing here." She demanded simply. He scowled. Why should he have to put up with this? Grabbing her arm he walked her back to the door. This pest could mess up everything. "Let me go!" But she could also go to the police or something. He'd have to tie her up until his brothers finished after they came. The place was dark enough, he could keep her in some closet somewhere for a few hours. She wouldn't get hurt, and he'd make sure she could breathe.

Grabbing the door handle, he made the mistake of first twisting it the wrong direction. A definative 'Shunk' sounded. Followed by another. He closed his eyes, and the third one came. The locks had magnetized. They were bolted in. Long strains of curse words wheeled around in his head.

So caught up in his own frustration, he almost didn't feel the arm struggling to be released from his iron grip. Finally she gave a mighty yank that jostled him out of his place.

"Let me go!" She insisted. "It's not like I'm going anywhere now, anyway." He let her go and watched her retreat to the desk, rubbing her arm. He hadn't meant to hurt her. Scowling instead, at the trouble this girl had caused in the course of thirty seconds, he knelt down by the door. "You're a thief, aren't you." Leave it to a human.

"What," He took the kit out of his jacket. Maybe he could get them out of here before the swat team descended. "The only job a mutant can have, has to be illegal."

"You tell me. You're the one breaking into offices and picking locks." Touché. It would be worthless to try anyway. The cops would be there before he could finish the first bolt. Raphael laid the picks in the case and stuck it back in his jacket, standing up again. "And now you're going to be arrested."

"Thanks a lot." He went to the plush chair behind the desk and sat down, acceding to the useless stress of the situation. "…None of this would have happened if it weren't for you." He bit. Hopefully she would feel shameful. It felt appropriate enough.

"Oh whatever." She threw back. Not nearly shameful enough. "Pardon me, but after being stood up for…" He watched her head rotate until it found the wooded grandfather clock. At least she had a pretty face. Being thrown in jail with that wouldn't be as bad. "An hour!?" He smirked. "I'm not that concerned with politeness." She turned to glare at him. "Which is more than I can say for you." Still smirking-

"That I'm polite?"

"That at least I was decent before-hand."

"Ouch." He laid a hand across his chest. As long as he was resigned to his fate, he could at least be a shameless flirt. "Your words wound me, milady." Her eyes narrowed. No longer sure what to think of his tones. "I sense your anger, and I lay myself at your mercy."

"Oh?"

"Ravish me with your words." He closed his eyes nobly. Peeking just a little when he heard sound, he watched her walk across the office. A nice ass, in tight pants. He really wished for that date, now.

"That's one thing Elias left out." His eyes opened the rest of the way. He had forgotten that Elias must have talked him up good for this date.

"Oh yeah?"

"That you're a damn idiot." She managed, laughing. Turning around to him, he watched her face entirely bemused. Well why not. There was no reason now not to act like a fool.

Straightening in the chair, he hardened his face, resting his chin on his fist. Glaring into the distance he added, "I am but a noble, sworn to serve lady-kind, until I am run through by their loving daggers… of love." He spoke in a hushed tone. That was much to much, and he exploded into laughter. The chair spun around on its wheels, joyful hoots resounding off the walls. If the police were unsure of which building to reach, the noise was more than enough.

He heard an unfamiliar clunking and looked up as the chair rounded again the front of the desk. Across the office, the girl had backed up laughing until she hit the stone tablet. He wound down into chuckling as she had, and ground his heels into the floor. She turned around to the stone and quietly backed away, sniggering into her palm.

An entertaining situation wound down, like the chair after he hefted himself from its cushions. Raphael came around the desk to the far wall. The girl had begun to examine the slate again, and he remembered she had said something about the writing. That was, of course, before he sprung himself onto the ceiling, and couldn't totally remember what he had come there for in the first place.

"What'd you say about this?" He came to stand behind the girl. She coughed out the last of her amusement. "Druids or something?"

"Yeah. Or thereabouts." Her fingers hovered over the characters. He watched them trail down the slate for a few moments. Before he could continue though, she continued herself. "Was this what you were looking for?"

"Huh?" He had forgotten about looking for anything. "No, not really." He admitted. "I was looking for…" He trailed off. Why should he divulge anything to her. Well, it wasn't like it was of any importance now anyways. "Clues or something." She turned partways to him.

"Clues?" Her blue eyes glimmered with some curiosity. The bar! That's where he remembered her from. She had been at the bar last night. Hot damn. Again, the train of thought was lost as he looked into her eyes. He wouldn't have regained it if he hadn't noticed the raising of her eyebrow as the long moments passed.

"Huh, oh, yeah…uh." His eyes flashed up and back as he recalled the jolted memory. "Clues. Right." He turned back to the slab. What a fool. He restrained all the motions he was inclined to take to smooth over the akwardness, as they would be just a nail in the coffin. Taking a deep breath, "This guy stole something from my family. I'm trying to find out where he may be keeping it." Simple enough.

"Oh." She said softly, turning back to the wall. He looked down at the back of her head. She hadn't noticed his intent looks, and was peacable enough to just return to the stone. Whew. He let it go. "So," She looked over her shoulder, an offering smile. "Would you like me to translate?"

"You can translate?" She turned back again and looked it over. "Yeah. Do it." Her fingers returned, and began to trace around the incised symbols.

"It's a little broken here, but…

"Wondering eyes,

"Curious hearts,

"Seek my treasure,

"Speak the tongue,

"Be with…or at… Be at guard,

"A journey below."

A smooth grinding noise began churning around the floor. They both looked down at the oriental rug. Before Raphael could react, the floor opened up beneath them, letting them simply drop inside of it with a whisk of air.

~~