Disclaimer: I don't own Donatello, or any of the other turtles. Elisa is mine though.
Author's Note: This is for reinbeauchaser, who gave me the character Donatello, and the words "french braid" to work with. :) I hope the story is to your liking. Elisa is just a random OC I made up for this story. Because I needed a girl, and Elisa sounded like a pretty name.
French Braid
"You want me to what?" Donatello turned from his computer to look at the pretty raven-haired young woman sitting on the bed next to him. She was wearing a black t-shirt that said 'There are only 10 types of people in the world: those who understand binary, and those who don't.' She looked absolutely adorable in it, even if he'd had to explain to her what it meant. The fact that the t-shirt was at least three sizes too big and that she wasn't wearing anything else besides white socks made her look even more adorable. The only thing that detracted from the image of complete and utter adorableness was the white cast on her right arm that had 'Mikey was here', 'and here', 'here too', and 'but not here' written on it in black marker.
"I want you to French braid my hair." She smiled up at him, her green eyes sparkling in the light of the computer screen.
Donatello stared at her as if she'd spoken an unfamiliar language. And he knew quite a few different languages. Usually, even if he wasn't familiar with the tongue he could still determine the origin of the language just by the structure and inflection of the words. However, this term 'french braid' seemed to confound him. He blinked at her in a very uncharacteristic look of bewilderment that would have seemed more at home on the face of one of his brothers.
With a sigh, Elisa pushed herself off her boyfriend's bed and reached over to flip on the overhead lights with the arm that wasn't sporting a cast.
"I told you, I have that bridal shower to go to tonight for my friend. I want to look nice, and I obviously can't do it myself." She waved around her right arm as if he'd forgotten she'd broken it, and then sat down on the edge of his bed again.
"Yah, but… why me?"
She sighed as if trying to deal with a taxing child. "Well, it IS your fault I'm wearing this thing."
"My fault? How can it possibly be my fault? I wasn't even there when you did it!"
"If you hadn't kept me up all night, I might have been awake enough to notice the puddle at the top of the stairs. Ergo, it's your fault."
Don had the good grace to look a little bit guilty; but not guilty enough to regret the night before the fall that had broken Elisa's arm. In fact, he'd been quite pleased by that night, and so had she if he remembered correctly.
"Besides," she continued. "If I have to go to a salon to have it done, it'll cost me at least forty bucks."
"What makes you think I even know how to do it?"
"Oh please Don, what can't you do? Just… look up instructions online or something. I've got a brush and a hair tie in my purse. It's not that hard. Think of it as… a new challenge."
He raised an eye ridge at his girlfriend, but didn't say anything.
"Don, pleeeeeease? I want to look pretty. The shower's at a nice restaurant."
He wanted to tell her she'd look pretty no matter how she wore her hair, but had learned from past experiences that she wouldn't accept it. Of course, he'd also once told her that she looked the prettiest in the morning when her hair was messy, her eyes squinting shut against the morning sun, and she was yawning and scratching the soft cream colored skin where the curve of her hip met the top of her pretty little rear. …She'd declared Don unfit to judge beauty after that morning; but secretly, he knew she'd loved hearing him say it. It must just be a woman thing.
"Okay, okay, I'll give it a try."
She grinned and jumped off the bed again giving him a hug and a kiss. Okay, he thought, this is definitely worth it.
Ten minutes later found Elisa sitting quietly in his computer chair, looking for all the world like a renaissance Queen being painstakingly attended to by her lady-in-waiting. …Except for the whole t-shirt, lack of pants, and white cast thing; and the lady-in-waiting being a large green mutant turtle that happened to look nothing like a real lady. The tip of Don's tongue just poked out of the side of his mouth, reminiscent instead of a young boy concentrating very hard on his first model car, or perhaps a toy airplane. His hands were caught up in Elisa's thick straight black locks, and his eyes kept flicking from the back of her head to the computer screen next to him. On it, there were three pictures, all showing French braiding techniques from different angles.
It had been difficult with only six fingers to work with instead of ten, but Donatello was finally getting the hang of the braiding technique. Elisa had only made one squeak of protest when he'd pulled a bit too hard on one strand, and he'd felt so bad he'd apologized five times before working up the nerve to start braiding again. But finally he was done, and he gently tied off the end of her hair, stepping back to admire his handiwork. It wasn't absolutely perfect, but he'd done pretty darn well for his first attempt, if he did say so himself.
He handed Elisa a mirror and she examined the braid, lighting touching it with the tips of her fingers. After a few moments, she stood up and smiled sweetly at him, then leaned over and gave him a soft, gentle kiss.
"You know I love you, Don?"
He grinned and kissed her again, feeling a swell of pride in his chest.
"But," she pulled away and the tone of her voice deflated his ego quicker than a pin stuck in a balloon. "you do not have a future as a hair dresser." She patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up. "Don't feel bad though, at least you tried."
Elisa bent down and pulled on a loose skirt, still managing to tie the drawstring even with her arm bound in a cast. She seemed to not notice the downhearted look on his face. "I don't suppose Raph…?" With a newly determined air, she stepped over to his door and opened it, yelling out into the hall, "Hey Raph! Know anything about French Braids?" She reached behind herself and plucked the hair tie out with a practiced flick of the wrist, shook her hair loose, and then stepped into the hallway beyond.
Donatello could just make out the gruff response of his brother from the living room. "The only frenchin' I do involves-" Raphael's words cut off abruptly as the door closed and thankfully Don wasn't subjected to whatever his depraved brother might have said. With the depressed air of a man faced with the cold hard truth that his beautician skills were nothing short of horrendous, Don lowered himself back into his computer chair and turned his attention back to what he knew he was good at.
At least no one would ever be able to say he wouldn't have a future as a first-rate computer techno geek…
The End!
Melodist
Dedicated, to reinbeauchaser! Thankyou very much for the inspiration! I had fun with this little ficlet. Hope you don't mind the OC, she was just a spur of the moment girl I came up with. :)