Authors Notes: Boy, a lot of changes to this one, formerly chapters four and five. With chapter four it wasn't so much about Donny-
Donny: Hey!
As it was about Mikey.
Mikey: Hah! :does a little dance:
Yep, I felt I hadn't put enough significance on his conversation with Rebecca, Miss Sales-Clerk-Hottie, so I added a bunch to that, not to mention just fleshing out the general story. Also, I noticed that my timelines conflicted with one another (I posted Chapter Six without rereading the rest of my story, and hence made the mistake of eluding that Mikey hadn't called Rebecca yet, and I don't know about you girls, but if some guy waited a month to call me, I wouldn't waste the time in answering) so I'm fixing that by adding it in here and editing chapter six. Also, since clumping chapter five with four left out my former Note, I would here like to thank Red Turtle, who had provided enough motivation and compliments as well as criticism for me to even consider this re-editing venture. Thanks a bunch! Standard disclaimers, blah, blah, blah.
In that first month of their human existence, Raphael had no idea how they survived. By all reasoning they drew entirely too much attention to themselves and the fact that they weren't used to being around that many people. That alone should have set off alarm bells with the local authorities, or even worse, ex-members of the Foot. But by the grace of God, or maybe because it was just New York citizens way of ignoring everything except what pertains to them, they were not subject to anything except each other. Which alone might have been bad enough.
It started with the shopping, which was an adventure that made them want to hurt a certain someone. Of course Michelangelo could never be controlled; they all knew that. But they discovered something that fateful day. Mikey with his brothers was one thing; Mikey with an audience was a whole different breed of outlandishness. And despite all they tried, there was no way to contain the blonde young man, who was reveling in the new way to express himself.
"Check it out!" Mikey popped out of the changing room wearing the most ridiculous combination of clothing ever conceived by man; truly these clothese were never intended to be worn at the same time. The baggy green cargo pants looked about two sizes too big. His bright orange camouflage-like tank topbarely reached his midsection and therefore showed off his washboard abs for all the world to see. Raphael had the sneaking suspicionthat it was from the women's department. Over this he wore a brown striped button down shirt hanging open.
Mikeystruck a pose with his hands on his hips, chest thrown out.His grin nearly split his face in two as a couple ofhapless girls wandered past. They took one look at him and broke into giggles, hurrying away and throwing glances over their shoulders.
"What?" He looked down at himself, confused. "These colors always looked fine together before. Then again, it might not be the colors. Are these pants supposed to be this big?"
"That would be a no." Raphael answered, still wondering at where he'd found that tank top, not to mention how he'd squeezed his broad shoulders and chest into it. No doubt it would be stretched beyond recognition once he got it off-if he could get it off without cutting it first.
Splinter sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Locks of his shoulder-length white hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked first to the ground, then to the ceiling, then to the young man he considered his son. "Michelangelo, I can't take you anywhere, can I?"
Mikey grinned again. "You knew that, Master Splinter. Don't say it as if it comes as a sudden revelation."
Raphael arched an eyebrow at his brother, crossing his arms over the too-large black shirt with the faded words "Eat at Joes" written across the front, compliments of the Salvation Army. April had been kind enough to snatch them a few things in order for them to go on this little shopping expedition, not to mention handing Splinter a large wad of bills for him to buy the clothes. She wasn't worried about them getting mugged. Who would suspect five men who looked every bit of the bum to be carrying that much cash? That and the fact that they could very easily handle themselves should they fall victim to one of the crimes for which New York City was notorious left her with enough confidence that she didn't worry.
"And he does know big words." Raphael joked.
"Aw, I only let you think I'm dumb." Mikey winked at his brother then looked down at his clothes. "I like this tank top, and these pants, but I think I'll lose the brown shirt."
Of course, lose the one thing that looks like it might actually fit. Raphael thought, rolling his emerald green eyes.
"Can I help you with something?"
Mikey looked up and allowed his jaw to drop. The salesclerk that had just approached was very easily the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. Well, aside from Mei. His conscious asserted, feeling an alliance to the female despite the lack of a blood relationship to her.
The sales clerk wore a long skirt and white blouse, which complimented her figure while giving her a professional air. Her hair hung in gentle, loose curls of pale gold that flowed down her back, clasped at the back of her neck by a decorative clip. Add to that a set of beautiful brown doe eyes and a knockout smile that displayed a row of perfectly even white teeth and you had a stupefied Mikey.
"Uh. . ."
"I think he needs all the help he can get. But I'm sure you knew that just from looking at him." Raphael grunted, silently admiring the female as well. He preferred to be less obvious than his partner in crime, but that didn't mean that he was any less amazed at her beauty.
She graced Raphael with a dazzling smile before turning back to Michelangelo. "Well, my name is Rebecca. Perhaps I can find you those pants in your size?"
Mikey blushed, pulling up the article of clothing in question. None of them had gotten any underwear and modesty was a new concept that he was rapidly learning.
"I don't want to be any trouble, Rebecca."
She smiled again, this one reaching her eyes. She looked him over again, taking in the disheveled shoulder-length blonde tresses, pausing to appropriately appreciate his well-muscled stomach before locking his gaze again.
"It's no trouble, Mr..?"
"Uh, just Mikey."
"Mikey. That's cute. Appropriate." It took a moment for the subtlety of the flirt to reach Mikey, but when it did his face lit up like a red Christmas tree light. She withheld her giggle and instead said, "After all, it is my job. So are you going to let me do my job, or be difficult?" Her words held no sting for her tone insinuated much, though her expression remained openly neutral. Only her eyes gave away her thoughts and affirmed that Mikey wasn't misreading her.
"Oh, well, in that case, I think I'll let you do your job."
"What size are you?"
Mikey blinked, then twisted and turned and fought with the back hem of the pants. "Well, I'm not a size 'L.' We could try a size 'J,' maybe..."
Rebecca laughed. It was a pretty sound, very light and pleasant. Mikey wouldn't have minded listening to it some more, just to memorize the sound, but she quickly recovered her professional demeanor and straightened. "Well, then, let me go grab some medium pants and see how those work for you." And with that she disappeared between the racks of clothing.
Leonardo and Donatello appeared before her return, carrying an armload each of clothing.
"Blue jeans and t-shirts. The essentials in life." Donatello explained as Raphael peered at their piles curiously.
"And we grabbed some underwear and socks for the two of you." Leo explained, tossing both of them a plastic bag of socks and one filled with underwear.
"This is a joke, right?" Raphael glared at Leo, who only grinned in response. What Raph held in his hands was a packet of tightie-whities-only they were all bright red.
"Awesome!" Michelangelo examined his bag with deep interest. "How'd you find underoos with Batman on them in my size?"
"We're just that good."
"Scary sometimes, how good we are, isn't it?" Donatello and Leo slapped hands in a low five, just as a sales clerk approached. It was, of course, Rebecca, and her appearance almost sent Donny and Leonardo into shock. Their composure-not to mention any thoughts of acting cool-disappeared as she smiled at them. All they could do was stare at her in open-mouthed amazement as she handed Mikey the cargo pants.
Mikey had completely forgotten about the underwear, until he caught Rebecca eyeing them curiously. He blushed then, which he seemed to do quite often in her presence, and tossed them at Donny. They bounced off his chest, unnoticed, and fell to the floor. Rebecca picked them up and handed them to Mikey with an impish grin.
"I think they're kind of cute.Very boyish. Fits for a man who goes by such a cute moniker. Besides, it's nice to see a man who is still in touch with his inner child, and not afraid to show it." She smiled at Mikey, a slow smile that seemed to house hidden meaning, and Mikey was pretty certain what that might be. He was just glad she wasn't laughing at him.
"These should fit." She said abruptly, handing the pants to him as well. "And if you need anything else, just let me know."
"I do need something else!" He blurted suddenly. "I need your phone number."
She turned and looked at him, glancing for a moment at his companions. "Excuse me?"
" 'Cause, um...well, I'd like to see you again, you know, for something other than clothes."
She smiled again, beginning to walk away. "When you're done here, then we'll talk about something other than clothing."
With that she was gone.
"How does he do it?" Donny muttered, thinking aloud. "You talk to her for about five minutes, tops, and already she thinks you're cute?"
"She obviously doesn't know him very well, and is confusing cute with annoying." Raphael jabbed, smirking to take the edge off his words. Mikey knew Raphael loved him in a brotherly fashion, and that included his fun-loving personality.
"Still, she's willing to talk to him about something other than clothes, meaning out of the workplace, meaning date, meaning that Michelangelo got a date before the rest of us even started trying." Donny shook his head in amazement, then mock bowed to him. "Teach me, oh Master, in the ways of wooing."
"Ah, grasshopper, you have much to learn, but watch me and learn from my encounters, and one day you too shall be a Master Wooer."
Splinter merely rolled his eyes as Donny and Mikey continued their back-and-forth banter.
Shopping was an adventure in and of itself. After purchasing all the clothes they could ever need, not to mention shoes, they walked out with three large bags each. Rebecca's cell phone number was burning a hole in Mikey's pocket and Donny was still shaking his head in wonderment.
Of course, if they'd had any idea what the next few days were going to be like, they would have spent more time shopping. Because after that, it was all long lines behind people clutching their squalling children.Of course everybody was sweating and there wasn't a working air-conditioner anywhere in the immigration offices. Michelangelo, never one to be repressed, managed to entertain quite a few people with his jokes, though half the people waiting didn't speak a lick of English. Donatello tried to hold a conversation with an older Japanese couple behind them, but apparently said something wrong.Suddenly the husband started shouting at him in Japanese, followed by the little English he did know. It turned out the extent of his vocabulary was learned in a taxicab on the way there, and of course none of those words were appropriate for anyplace other than a taxicab (which was arguable, considering some of the expletive poetry he spewed forth with his heavy Japanese accent). The older man of course drew attention to their part of the line, and the immigrant officers gave them nasty looks. Moments later, however, the Mexican child behind the Japanese couple began repeating the words, which of course got snickers from any who understood the situation, including the immigrant officers. The child, excited that she'd gotten attention, began singing those words, and soon the place was filled with laughter as the Japanese man glared at Donatello.
And that wasn't even the roughest part of the whole thing.
A bushy eyed man in a poorly fitting suit that was too loose around the shoulders and too tight around the middle sat behind a huge oak desk, papers stacked neatly before him. His entire desk screamed efficiency and orderliness, which seemed to contradict with his physical appearance. Even his hair was sticking up in the back, and his thick glasses were crooked. But his voice was deep and authoritative, so that even Mikey didn't snicker at his dress. A shiny nameplate read "Mr. Dean Smith."
"OK, I'm going to need birth certificates, medical records, any educational transcripts, shot records, family contacts, and previous occupations." He poised a pencil over one of the six duplicate papers. "One at a time, too, if you please. Starting with you, Mr..?"
"My name is Yoshi Hamato." Splinter provided politely, choosing that name in respect for his master.
"Mr. Hamato."
"Unfortunately, we do not have any of the appropriate paperwork."
Mr. Smith raised one bushy brow. "I see. And, may I ask, what happened to this paperwork?"
"The fire that drove us from our home land destroyed all our possessions, save for the clothes on our back."
"I see. And how is it, then, that you made it here in the first place?"
"The kindness of strangers is a powerful thing."
"I see." He liked saying that. It was a multi-purpose kind of expression. At the moment, he looked downright disbelieving of Splinter's story, but after a second sighed heavily and placed the papers, neatly, back into his drawer. "Somehow I think you're lying, Mr. Hamato, or at least not telling the whole truth. However, it is not our habit to turn anyone away unless given just cause." He looked up significantly at this, and then continued. "However, you six don't seem like the kind of people that would bring any real trouble, so let's get on with it. Though keep in mind, if you wish to become American citizens with all the benefits thereof, you must pledge your allegiance to the United States and break all former bonds to your homeland." When they nodded in acceptance of his terms, he dropped his ominous tone and continued as if he hadn't just threatened them. "So, we start from scratch."
What followed was too much red tape to begin to keep track of, and had Mr. Smith been a different, less efficient man, it would have been chaos. However, Mr. Smith was a man bred by the system who thrived on order and neatness, so the process was relatively painless. Over and over they had to repeat names and birthdays, which thankfully they'd sorted out before arriving at the office. Splinter was the oldest, obviously, then Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Mei Pieh.
"And your name is?"
And so the names they took were Yoshi Hamato, Leonardo Vinchi, Donatello David, Raphael Sanzi, Michelangelo Sistine, and Mei Pieh Chi (the boy's names were a joke, essentially, and if Mr. Smith realized the coincidence of the names, he did not elude to it).
After several hours of having to sit still, Michelangelo thought he would lose his mind, but just as he swore he was going to snap Mr. Smith had them each sign a paper and announced that they were free. He gave them various pages of information, including a number to the nearest G.E.D. testing facility, and then shook their hands.
"Mr. Hamato, I'm a very good judge of character, and I must say, you are a very fine man. I'm sure you'll do well for yourself here, as will your, er, children, I suppose."
"I consider them my children, though they are in no way related to one another or myself. I find that my heart goes out to those in need, and they have all needed me, at some point in their lives or another. And I agree that they shall do well for themselves. Thank you, Mr. Smith, for your kindness and your help."
And with that they were set free of the confines of the office, biding a carefully said farewell to the Japanese couple as they passed.
Leonardo considered them quite fortunate to have done so well. After all, things could have gone so much worse. Not being a racist himself, he wasstill aware ofthe fact that there were people who judged based on physical appearance. Perhaps being an outsider, and never looking even remotely like anyone other than his family, had been a blessing. For now, asa human man, Leonardo could look upon those he was sworn to protect and see only the people they were, not the color they were given at birth. Personally he thought it ridiculous, to judge based on something you could not control. It was akin to assuming that because one was born near the ocean that he knew how to swim. Simply because someone is born with a certain skin tone did not mean that they were genetically predisposed to violence, or even certain personality traits.
But Leonardo was, above all, honest, and he admitted to himself that had they not been "white" they would have encountered so many more problems with the immigration office.
Looking around their rag-tag family as they sat in April O'Neil's living room, he absorbed their appearances. It seemed the gas had finished it's work on them and exited their systems, leaving them with the images that would reflect back at them in the mirror for presumably the rest of their lives.
Splinter, or rather Yoshi, looked to be about fifty-five, which was the age he assumed. His hair was not so much gray as it was white, straight, hanging just past his shoulders. The way his hair hung, the hue of it, gave him the look of a wise man. His eyes only added to the image, for what better color to represent wisdom than gray? His face was serene, with barely a wrinkle on his brow, but laugh lines around his eyes, and deep creases in his cheeks. One ear was deformed, the top half completely missing, the lobe and some of the side remaining, a scar he apparently would carry even in his human form. He wore it with seeming pride, for he had acquired it in attempting to avenge his beloved owner oh so many years ago. Yoshi was tall, lean and strong. He looked as if he could have easily been a biological father to Leonardo, since both were built the same, and even carried themselves similarly.
As for the rest of them, they were basically the same as they had been when they moved in. Mei's hair had finally stopped growing rapidly, and she wore it in a long French braid down her back. The strands resembled a silken tassel, the brunette accented by pale gold and deep red highlights. Raphael had grown a little taller, and if anything he'd bulked up even more, especially around his torso. He was very broad and powerful, and he wore shirts that fit so snugly they accented the hills and valleys of his upper body. Michelangelo remained the same, allowing his hair to hang to his shoulders, usually pulled back by an orange bandana. Dark fringes that gave him the image of a young, innocent child thickly lashed his wide hazel eyes. Donatello's chocolaty dark hair framed his face perfectly, and he brushed the chin length strands back behind his ears. His arms were almost as thick as Raphael's, though his torso wasn't as cut.
Leonardo had taken to keeping his hair short, cut above his ears, but the midnight black curls refused to do what he wanted. He wished he'd acquired straight hair, which in his opinion must've been a lot easier to "deal with." He didn't suppose he'd changed much, and was slightly amused at the fact that he was the tallest. The typical stereotype for the oldest, the "leader," is that they tower over those they watch out for. The fact that he'd gained the most height did not escape his notice.
In all they were an interesting,albiet odd looking,family. None of them appeared to be related in any manner, which was of course the truth. Though Leonardo wouldn't have assumed them to be foreign, either. Perhaps the eclectic variety of nationalities in New York City had somehow affected his ability to distinguish between physical backgrounds.
Having just finished dinner, the satisfied group sat in quiet companionship, relaxing after what had been a long and torturous time. And while they were not yet official citizens of the United States, they had been given permission (not to mention the appropriate paperwork and identification) to seek jobs and schooling. They had already called and arranged for each of them to take the G.E.D. tests, and April had even picked up an armload of pamphlets that advertised various schools that they could attend, should they desire. Having a regular prescription to a plethora of various newspapers (after all, was she not a woman of the media?), the classifieds were something that was readily available for perusal.
At the moment Raphael was reading a copy of said classifieds, mumbling about "experience needed" and "four-year degree preferred." Judging by the rather grim scowl that marred his handsome (at least, Leo supposed he was handsome; if Mei's occasional, yet appreciative glances could be used to judge his physical beauty, then he must hold some appeal over women) features, there wasn't much offered to former turtles with no real job experience and no real education.
April lounged in her chair, legs curled up beneath her, her hands cupping a steaming mug of tea.
"So what's this I hear about Mikey flirting with some sales clerk?"
"Oh really? Mikey, I thought I was the only woman in your life." Mei joked, watching as Michelangelo turned an interesting shade of pink.
"You should have seen him." Donatello snickered, looking up from the pamphlet he held. "He couldn't stop turning red. It was like watching the mercury in a thermostat rise and fall-one minute he's cool and calm, then next she shows up and he's burning up! Then she leaves and he's fine, and bam! She comes back, and it's Red City!"
Mikey glared at Donny and threw a pamphlet at him.
"So are you going to call her, Michelangelo? Or should we call you Casanova?" April teased.
"Of course I'm going to call her." He paused for a moment, and then looked at April seriously. "When should I call her?"
"Three days after you meet her. You don't seem too desperate, like you're a loser or something, but not so long that she thinks you're a jerk." April stated, nodding her head to affirm her answer.
"Okay." Pleased, Mikey sat back.
Raphael suddenly folded the paper ruthlessly, not to mention sloppily, and tossed it to the ground. He then crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the ceiling.
Mei looked up from one of the pamphlets that she'd been poking through. "What's wrong, Raphael?"
He harrumphed before speaking, his voice gruff. Of all of them, he had the deepest, most booming voice, one that fit his physique and personality quite well. He still had that slight accent, one that portrayed his attitude nicely. "There isn't anythin' available unless you got experience. How can you get experienced if no one'll hire you without it?"
Mei smiled gently, her eyes softening before she seemed to realize what she must look like and regained her composure. Her voice took on the familiar clip that she'd had when first coming to America, but had lost in the first six months in their company.
"Well, if you go to school they offer internships and job shadowing, which is considered by most prospective employers as adequate experience. I think that perhaps they worry about hiring someone that has not been put into a position where they must take orders and take their place in the proverbial ladder of power. It might not necessarily be a specific skill they want you to have so much as a general idea of what it's like in a professional environment." She paused and considered for a moment before continuing. "Perhaps a job that is normally taken by teenagers would be appropriate to begin with. If nothing else, it will show an employer that you can hold down a job and get along with others." Toward the end of this statement she could not hide her smile, for she had been with them long enough to know that Raphael's people skills were, to say the least, lacking. "Besides, we're only eighteen and nineteen; the only job we're really going to be able to get is a minimum wage one."
"Flipping burgers and taking orders." Donatello put in, dropping one pamphlet and grabbing another. "Resign yourself, and start working on those people skills, Raph."
"Would you like fries with that?" Mikey joked.
"In your case I think it would be more like 'What topping would you like on that large pizza?'" Donatello quipped, earning a snicker from Leonardo. Mikey, however, got a thoughtful look on his face (which was an unusual expression for him; the others found it surprising that his features even remembered how to make that particular look).
"Now that's not a bad idea." He said seriously, grabbing Raphael's discarded classifieds.
"Remember that you're going to need to find something in this general area."
All of them looked up at the same time, curiosity etched on each face.
"Why?" Mikey finally asked.
April gave him an odd look, as if she thought the answer obvious. "Because I'm not going to be able to drive you all around town every day. I work odd hours, and I can't tell you if I'm going to be free to drive you to work."
Donatello pulled his eyebrows together, arching one higher than the other. "And that's a problem because..?"
"Well, how else are you going to get to work?"
"Um, walk? Catch a bus? Skateboard? Take a taxi?" Donny suggested.
"Oh." With that April sat back in her La-Z-Boy and relaxed. For an unknown reason she felt very protective over this group. Perhaps not Splinter so much as the others. Part of her held a motherly affection over them, finding herself concerned for their welfare. After all, they'd spent their entire lives relatively sheltered from the cruelties of the world. Shredder, the Foot, even that Dragon guy had all been more of a supernatural evil. They'd lived without knowing racism, prejudices, unexplained hatred, antagonism, or brutal death. Granted, when Shredder had kidnapped Splinter, the boys had mourned for the loss of their beloved master, but April knew that they'd never really thought he'd been killed. The world was a harsh place to those that didn't have the strength to fight back. While April knew they had that strength, she worried that they'd be hurt before realizing they had it. She felt the need to protect them and knew that she couldn't. For if she continued to hold the umbrella over their heads, then they'd never learn to hold it themselves.
"April, what's wrong?"
If there was anything April had learned since Mei Pieh Chi had joined their clan, it was that the female was very perceptive. Not perceptive like every female was; no, it was as if Mei was not only in tune with herself, but with everyone around her, and could sense the wrongness of something as if she herself felt it. April supposed it was an effect of her Shin obi training, only made more powerful because she was a woman.
"What? Oh, nothing. Just thinking. I've got a big assignment that I've got to start tomorrow, and I'm wondering what angle I should take on it." April knew she shouldn't lie to them, and guessed that Mei might be able to sense her fib, but perhaps she overestimated the girl, for she dropped the subject after that. If the boys knew how far and how deep her power ran, they'd never shared that particular information with April. Not that she'd ever asked or really felt such an interest in it. Perhaps she should research this Shin obi training. If there was one thing April did not like, it was not fully understanding something.
They discussed taking the G.E.D. and what they were going to do afterwards. There was no doubt that they were going to need to get jobs, though they still wanted to attend college. Donatello was of course interested in the Science Institute, having read about it in one of the pamphlets April had placed on the coffee table.
"They've also got various student loan programs, and co-op programs as well. Which means I could go to school and then work at a job that pertains to my major and get paid for it."
"They offer tuition assistance to former ninja turtles?" Raphael asked sarcastically, still quietly sulking. He was not pleased by the prospective employment in the area, since handling food was not something he was extremely interested in. Though if he thought about it, he wasn't entirely certain what he wanted to do. That train of thought sent him down another path, one that opened doors to various possibilities, most of them requiring schooling. Again, not something he was looking forward to. Books and notes and tests would no doubt be Donny's strong point. Leo too, probably. He was disciplined enough to study and devote himself to something. Upon thinking this Raphael resolved to dedicate himself to whatever he decided to study and to excel at it. He was not about to be outdone by Leonardo.
Where the rivalry between the two of them had come from is unknown. It was most likely a manifestation of their two very different personalities clashing together. Leonardo was born to lead and very dedicated. He'd always been good at what he'd done, and had, lately, been more patient with all of them. This patience and talent made him an ideal leader, and Mikey and Donny felt no need to challenge him or his ideas. Had Raphael been slightly different, he wouldn't have either. Privately he trusted Leo's judgment and knew he'd never deliberately put them in danger. However, Raphael was just too damn stubborn and pugnacious to let anything slide. He felt the need to confront Leo on everything, to pick apart his ideas and find any flaw in them. The fact that Leo usually came out on top did not pass his observation, and because of this Raphael felt at odds with him.Though, Leo would never pick a fight with him again. Not after Raphael's near death experience. Leonardo had, of course, blamed himself for the entire thing, finding no fault in Raphael, and had since avoided confrontation with him unless severely provoked. Which Raphael was good at doing.
Leonardo, meanwhile, was discussing various majors with Mei, who was interested in psychology and was thinking about getting her M.D.
"I thought you could read people's minds, Mei. Why would you want to be a psychologist? Wouldn't that take all the fun out of it?" Michelangelo asked, showing that he was paying attention despite the paper he was reading.
Mei smiled, rolling her eyes. "I don't read minds, Michelangelo. I suppose you could say I sense things. And I can influence people, to move, to start a fight, to end a fight. But that only works if I'm near them, and is most effective when I'm touching them. But read minds? No, that is something I'll never be able to do. The mind is too complex, too vast, to try and perform such a feat. But to study psychology, to understand why people do things, what motivates them, why they turn into the people they are, is something that will provide insight into the mind. The only real insight I'm capable of." She seemed troubled by something, for she stopped suddenly, as if she were going to continue but had changed her mind abruptly and merely sat back in her seat, an odd expression on her face.
Splinter would have asked her what was wrong, but after a second decided to wait until he could speak to her alone. Raising such a question in front of a large group would no doubt make her uncomfortable. After all, if it were something that she would tell all of them, she would have said it. Something had made her pause, reconsider what she'd been about to say and then elect to disregard the comment. Hopefully she would be able to open up to him, as a mentor and friend. Splinter would readily admit to himself that the boys could be rather immature, though as they aged they became more considerate of the female and her "sensitivities."
Splinter nodded to himself and leaned back on the couch, returning to the casual conversation as the four men and two women debated about various concerns. As the time went by, however, the group became weary and soon retired for the evening.
Across town, below the crowded bustle of the New York City streets...
"Where are they!"
The mighty bellow rang forth and echoed off the damp stone walls, causing all present and within a two-mile radius to pause and quiver in fear. The voice was many things; terrifying, ruthless, and powerful, but most of all it was angry. And the person that voice belonged to was not one that you ever wanted angry. When he was angry, people-usually his minions-got hurt. Needless to say, this tone did not bode well for all present.
As if to reiterate this well-known fact, the Dragon Lord grabbed at the nearest, hapless soul and snapped his neck, tossing him to the ground in a dismissive manner, his anger nowhere near satisfied.
"You told me, oh small one, that this is their habitat. You promised to deliver to me the five turtles and their rat friend. I hate being lied to, and it seems to me that you have lied. Unfortunately, it will be the last thing you ever do."
Had it not been for his lifetime of training that had developed his agility and speed, the young man behind the ninja mask might have joined the dragon warrior on the ground. As it was, it was only his quickness that saved his neck, for the moment.
He spoke quickly, distancing himself from the much bigger Dragon Lord, secretly intimidated but refusing to let his fear show. He knew that showing fear would be enough of a foothold for his enemy to kill him. Maki Seiya had survived the downfall of the Foot once Master Shredder had lost his mind; he was determined he would survive this Dragon Lord as well.
"This is the last known residence of the turtles. If they are not here it is because they suspected we would find them. But do not fear; so long as my comrades and I live, we will hunt down the turtles. We owe them for what they did to our master."
"While that's all well and good, why should I let you live? It's obvious that there are enough of you to find them for me. And should you fail, I can always send my warriors to complete the mission. Your life is insignificant."
Seiya threw his head back and laughed. "You fool."
"What?" The Dragon Lord lunged and Seiya managed to dodge, escaping the scaly clutches by the skin of his teeth.
"You forget that I am the only link the remaining members of the Foot have with you and your mission. Kill me, and the Foot will hunt the turtles down and destroy them, which I'm sure is not in your best interest."
The Dragon Lord stared hard at the ninja, considering his words carefully. He'd never been one to ally himself with anyone, having always been capable of handling every enemy and situation that presented itself. He was powerful, he knew, but perhaps this ninja and his clan would prove useful. After all, they had been battling the turtles longer and had a better understanding of them. If nothing else, the Foot would know any possible weaknesses. The Dragon Lord would keep them around long enough to learn all he could, and then he would dispose of them. He could not have anyone running around, threatening to ruin his plans or plotting to overthrow him.
He smiled, baring gleaming, elongated fangs. "Very well, ninja, you make your point and prove your usefulness. We will offer protection and numbers to you and your comrades, and in exchange you will bring us the turtles, unharmed and in one piece."
Seiya nodded, eyes flashing. "You have yourself a deal, Dragon Lord."
To Be Continued