DISCLAIMER – Okay, first up, I don't own anything other than this story. I also want to dedicate this to any and all who have accents, myself notwithstanding. Californians don't have accents, just ask anyone who lives there! (Grins) I also want to apologize beforehand to anyone who 'owns' an accent akin to either Brooklyn, New York; the UK; or Australia. I won't say why, as it will give away this chapter, but suffice it to say, how I've 'written' this chapter is based on how I 'hear' things. Whoo hoo, Phonetics rule!

This is a shorter chapter than the others, too, if only because I was getting worn out from having to remember how things 'sound' to me and then trying to write it out so that it reads as I would hear it. In either event, have fun! Bwahahaha.

Oh, and a bit of a nod to Ninjalara. In short, I used a Mother Goose Rhyme that she had used in her story, Genetic Prison, where it went so well with a particular part of this chapter. I did augmente it a bit, but basically, the verse is public domain, which means that one does not have to ask permission to use it, except for where one feels led to acknowledge, as in the case of Genetic Prison.

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Chapter 3 – I Say, Old Chap, What Was It You Just Said?

"So help me," muttered Raphael, "come morn'n, I'm kill'n Mikey." He flipped himself back onto his stomach again, his bed creaking and groaning as he did. He wished for 'all the world' that he had gone with his instincts and nixed the late-night pizza from the previous evening. "The pickles 'n sauerkraut was bad nuff, but then t'add gummy bears ta the mix, what was that idiot think'n anyways." Shaking his head, Raph snickered, "Yeah, right, as usual, Mikey wasn't."

Grimacing as another wave of nausea hit him, the turtle groaned again, "N'neither was I fer hav'n any of it. Stupid thing fer me t'do."

Unable to get comfortable or to ease the discord in his stomach no matter what position he tried, Raphael jerked himself upright to a sitting position. "I need somethin' ta distract me." Then, his attitude perked up a bit, "Hey, I think there's one more beeah in the fridge. Yeah, a nice cold frothy might do th'trick."

Feeling a bit better with the thought of a foamy draft of ale quenching his thirst, as well as possibly squelching any uprisings from his stomach, Raph gingerly eased himself off his bed and out of his room. Standing in the hallway, he listened to make sure that the rest of his family was still asleep and, hearing nothing of notable concern, he confidently swaggered through the corridor and into the living area. Crossing over to where the kitchen was, Raphael quickly reached the refrigerator, yanking the door opened with a flourish. There, all alone and way in back on the top shelf, was the last bottle of brew.

Smiling wide, Raphael grabbed up the hops and malt fermented drink, quickly popping the cap off with his thumb. Throwing his head back, he brought the now-opened bottle up to his mouth and pulled a swig of the chilled golden liquid, intending on taking all of it in one deep and sustained gulp.

However, as soon as the alcoholic beverage coursed over his teeth and tongue, Raph uncharacteristically spewed it out all over the floor at his feet.

"The SHELL?" he griped, "What's with th' taste?" He glared at the almost now-empty bottle, wrinkling his snout in disgust and quite confused how his favorite brand could taste so – awful. "Can beeah go bad?" he almost asked too loudly. Sniffing at the opened end of the glass receptacle, he quickly pulled the bottle away, wrinkling his snout even more, "Phew, I guess it can." Shaking his head, he poured what remained of the ale down the sink and then plopped the bottle into the trash. "Such a waste, though" he moaned pitifully.

Completely forgetting about the amount he had 'urped' all over the floor, Raph headed back out of the kitchen, with the intention of maybe taking in some television. However, the moment one foot slid through the beer-drenched floor, his feet went completely out from underneath him, sending the turtle unceremoniously crashing to the ground. It all happened so fast that he landed with a hard 'ker-wump', with his head cracking soundly against the concrete surface.

"Yow…man, oh man, that hurt," he exclaimed loudly as he lay there on the floor. "Oh, my aching skull; as if I needed one more achy anythin' t'night." He reached back and felt along the back of his head, quickly feeling a rising bump from where his cranium had kissed the concrete. "Gonna be a goose egg by mornin', tha's fer sure."

Scrambling back to stand once again, Raph went over to the counter. From under one of the upper cabinets, he pulled out a line of paper towels from its holder and then turned to stoop down to wipe up the puddle of beer from the floor. Once he was done and had the now wet towels properly dispensed into the trash, he resumed his exit from the kitchen.

Spying the television, Raph exclaimed half a loud as a strange change of inflections in his voice edged his words, "I wonda if waatch'n a bit of tha telly moight 'elp me ta…" His eyes widened a bit, "Telly, where in shell did THAT woud come from?" His eyes widened even more, "Woud? What in bloddy shell is that? Woud? Woud, woud, woud, woud, woud?" Then, emphasizing the obviously missing consonant, "Why can't I say WORRRRD with the stupid, bloddy aar?" Then, Raph began a litany of words, "Oy say, what kind of broogue am I speaking now?" He paused, wrinkling his eye ridges a bit, "Bloddy 'ell, Oy've got an English accent! O'ah, maybe it's Austrawlian, I can't tell, becawse they all sound alike! How in bloddy 'ell'd that 'appen– oh fa crying out loud, I can't say 'ell, without 'bloddy' 'ell and where'd the aach in 'ell go tu, anyway?" Raph started to panic. "Good God, I can't say any aaches!" As he thought about it, he realized yet another fact, "Bloddy 'ell, I can't even say any aar's'!"

Now, how could anyone take him seriously? His Brooklynesque talk made him sound tough and intimidating, but his new accent took the bite out of his words and his attitude. "Moikey's gonna have a field die with this one." Sitting down on the couch with his head in his hands as he leaned forward, Raph lamented, "I can't even say Moikey correctly. GAH…It's Miiikey!" as he emphasized the dastardly vowel in question. Raph then pounded against his head, "Get out of there you, – you...bloddy English accent!"

Raph looked up and shook his head again, his new 'speak' stubbornly adhering to his vocal chords, "Mahn, tha' fall must've really banged me around a good one." However, a sudden thought caused him to chuckle, his body shaking as a giggle seemed to rise up from his toes. He began to laugh a bit as he said to no one in particular, "Oy kin jus' see Leonahdo's expression tomahrow when we spah, though." Giggling a bit more, Raph's chuckle deepened, "O'ah, how 'bout Donnie when I staut talkin' as if I've been to Hahvid."

Then, a sudden phrase came to mind, "Petah Pipah picked a peck of pickled peppehs, if Petah Pipah picked a peck of pickled peppehs, how many peppehas did Petah Pipah pick?" Now, Raph was rolling on the couch, thoroughly enjoying himself to no end, while completely losing it. With tears now streaming unabated down his face, he reasoned, "Well, ol chaup, I'm ce'tain c' moning, I'll be back to me ol' self. Right now, I wan' ta watch some telly."

Sitting back up and flipping the television on with the remote and keeping the volume down so as not to wake the rest of the family, Raph clicked through a few channels until he came to an on-going movie. He didn't recognize it at all, where it seemed that everyone in the cast was dressed up in nineteenth century period wear and spouting Queen's English rather than American slang. When it broke to a commercial, briefly announcing the title of the flick as it did, Raph saw an excuse to grab a quick snack.

Quickly going into the kitchen, he took up Splinter's teakettle and filled it with water from the tap, then settled it onto one of the stove's burners. He soon noticed Splinter's favorite breakfast bread lying off to one side towards the back part of the counter - Thomas' English Muffins – and smiled. Taking a muffin from the bag, he looked at it for a moment, as if uncertain what to do next. Then, finally figuring out what to do, he took a sharpened knife from one of the drawers, sliced the muffin in two, and plopped it into the toaster. Once he had pushed the start lever down, he peered back into the living room and was relieved to find that the commercial was still going.

After a moment, the muffins popped up, all nicely browned and crispy.

Raph then retrieved a small plate from the cabinet and carefully removed the now hot muffins from the toaster. Quickly dropping them onto the plate and blowing on his scorched fingertips to cool them, he wondered quietly, "Hmm…I wonda if Splintah 'as any lemon cud?"

Raph checked the refrigerator but found only a partially filled jar of strawberry jam. "This'll

'ave ta do, oy guess."

As he spread a thick layer of the preserves on his muffins, the teakettle began to whistle. Raph quickly turned off the burner and suddenly realized that he had not retrieved a mug for the tea, yet. "Ah, but oy know that Splintah has a fine bit of Chiner someweah." After a moment of searching through the cabinets, he found what he was looking for.

Holding the floral print saucer daintily between thumb and forefinger, with the cup balanced on top and right side up, Raph smiled, "What's a nice British tea without an English bone Chiner cup to sip from?"

He then rummaged through the cupboards again for another much-needed item, exclaiming almost in proclamation when he found it, "Ea'l Grey! Ah, yes, me lad, good ol' Ea'l is the best tea to 'ave when viewing such a fine show as - 'Pride and Prejudice'."

Plopping the teabag into his teacup and after pouring in the steaming water, Raph waited the required five minutes, which – as any Englishman knows – is the proper time for any proper cup of tea. While he waited, he whistled a little tune - God Save the Queen.

A few hours later, Raph sat morosely on the couch; a box of Kleenex on his lap with several used clumps of the tissue piled up along one side of him. He currently had one tissue propped squarely under his snout while muffled sniffles emanated from within. His eyes were red from – crying and his face stained with – tears, as he watched the ending of Pride and Prejudice. As the wedding took place and as all the actors with their happy faces beamed into the camera, Raph cried a bit more, uttering between hiccupy sobs, his British accent as thick as ever, "Oy'm - so – so 'appy for Miss Bennet. So 'appy for her and Mr. Darcy. Weddings are – so…" he bawled, "'appy!" Raph then blew into his bunched up Kleenex, snorting and sniffling some more before wiping his snout dry.

Then, almost as if he had just realized what he had been doing for the past several hours, Raph's eyes grew wider than they had all evening - or morning considering it was nearly five a.m. "Good God, Oy've just watched the sawppiest movie there is; what's wrong with me?"

"Yeah, bro, my question exactly!" piped out a horrifically familiar voice.

As Raph turned around and locked eyes with his youngest brother, who had the most anxious expression on his face, the facts suddenly struck him. Not only had Mikey overheard his older brother speak with a British accent, but he had also caught him red-handed watching, of all things, a movie about a girl, her sisters, their romances, their zany mother and kind father, and, lastly, a wedding.

Could it get any worse than this, Raph thought not. As it was, it only took a second for him to realize the truth of the matter. As the credits began rolling along on the television screen, Mikey had to know that Raph had watched Pride and Prejudice and that he had lost his beloved Brooklyn brogue. Yet, the red-banded turtle's reaction to all of this was atypical.

He screamed.

A/N – Well, I know I probably slipped from Queen's English to Cockney, with maybe a bit of Aussie in there and a trifle bit of Scottish. I'm apologize if I caused some of you to get facial ticks from trying to read it, too. It's hard to write out the brogue, believe me, especially when it's a stupid American doing it – and a Californian, no less – and without an accent! LOL.

Now, I have three down with at least two more, but not more than three, chapters left to write.

For those of you unable to decipher some of my phonically written words, here's a few of the less obvious ones – Lemon cudlemon curd; HahvidHarvard; O'ahOr; Ea'lEarl; dieday

COMMENTS – Thanks to all who read and reviewed! CHIBI ROSE ANGEL – LUNAR NINJA – SOMELLAMAFREAK – PRETENDER FANATIC – LEONARDO MYSTIC – RAMICA – PACPHYS. Be blessed.