Author's Notes: Okay, this one I'm not going to edit a whole lot, maybe make a few changes here and there, but for the most part it'll stay the same. Also, I'm happy to report that I have a means to scan pictures onto my computer, which means, tada! I can draw pictures and upload them to the internet, so that's a project I can undertake (I've already finished one, yay!). I'll fill you all in on an address as soon as they're done. Now, let's see what our favorite Turtles are up to today.
"No, no, no, no, nonono!" Michelangelo had had it, and he was determined to get his point across, to his companions and anyone within a five mile radius.
"Quite whining and keep up." Raph was irritable, and didn't care if anyone knew or not. Of course, with Raphael, you always know when he is irritated, annoyed, or tired. And right now he happened to be all three, with Mikey's whining only grating on him more. If Mikey had been more perceptive, or perhaps even paying attention, he would have noticed said mood and tried to contain his complaints. However, Mikey was never extremely perceptive, and at this point in the day far from caring how anyone felt except himself. More specifically, his feet.
"I refuse to walk any further. My feet are killing me." With that he stopped dead in his tracks, aching feet firmly planted on the surprisingly clean sidewalk. He ignored the flow of people as they ignored him, the pedestrians merely diverting around him like a stream past a rock. Raph and the others stopped a few paces ahead of him, turning to try and spot their companion through the slew of faces. It was impossible; though they couldn't have been more than five feet away from one another, there were simply too many people on the sidewalk. It seemed the constant plague of New York City. People were everywhere, all the time, and there seemed to be a never-ending supply of them. They'd been up since sunrise, throwing themselves into the mayhem of the city to hunt down jobs, and as the day progressed they'd stopped seeing individual people. Now all they saw as they looked into the crowd was blurred faces without features; bodies that melded into one another to form one seamless, ever-changing entity that took up every available inch of the sidewalk. Trying to discern one person in the crowd was the search for the proverbial needle in the haystack.
"Mikey!" Shit. Raph thought, standing on tiptoe in an attempt to get a better view of the surrounding area. Passing females turned to give his bulging calves appreciative looks, allowing their eyes to travel upward to admire the entire physique. Raph didn't notice, and probably wouldn't have cared if he had. Privately he was proud of the imposing physique he'd been given.Just this morning hehad stood in the bathroom for unneeded extra moments to strike ridiculous poses in the mirror, pleased at the size of the flexed muscles. However, at the moment he was not interested in female attention, and was honest enough with himself to know that in this mood he was not pleasant company. Not a good first impression for a potential date.
"Oh, this is not what we need." Donatello muttered, stumbling as a passer-by shoved past him. He caught his balance in no time and felt slightly annoyed, though at this point what could he do? As was his nature he didn't pursue a fight, merely concentrated on not getting separated from the others by theonslaught of the crowd. Donny was a born and bred, fully trained Ninja, and was used to disappearing into a crowd, vanishing into the night. Not fighting against it in an effort to remain seen. It went against his nature, and at the moment he was having trouble fighting that nature. "Where did he go?"
"Dudes! Where are you?" A shout rose over the normalnoise of the sidewalk: the buzzof conversations, click of shoes against concrete, and rustle of clothing against clothing. A shout that was distinctly Mikey's.
"Where are you, Mikey?" Leonardo was craning his neck and trying to elongate his already long frame in his effort to seek out his brother. Worry coursed through him, for he knew that the longer they were separated, the more likely they were to lose one another. Even now, he knew they'd traveled further away from him then when they'd initially stopped, compensating for the crowd, stepping back to allow someone past and so on. Though they'd been raised in the sewers beneath this city, their knowledge of the streets above was limited. At the moment they were in a fairly unfamiliar territory that would only seem all the more alien to Mikey without the comfort of their company. It was never fun to be alone and lost; being lost as a group was slightly more entertaining.
"Dudes, I'm just gonna duck in this place right here." Mikey's voice was barely audible now, either because the distance between him and the group was too great, or because the roar of the streets had increased.
"Where's here?" Leo yelled, drawing annoyed glances from people around him. Raphael glared back at them, and most diverted their eyes under such a look. Some held his gaze longer, ostentatious fellows who worked in tall buildings behind large mahogany desks with secretaries and intra-office affairs. Had Raphael had more time (not to mention maneuverable room) he might have gone after them. Though he was not one to pick fights under normal circumstances (and never would have if Splinter had been present) getting up with the roosters, barely eating, and hiking around most of New York City for the majority of the day had finished off all his wires.What was left was a raw, annoyed, and ready to brawl Raphael. Completely against his character, but current conditions had left them all acting odd.
"Uh, Pete's Pizza Pronto!" Mikey's voice answered.
"Figures. Well, at least it'll give us a chance ta eat. Maybe that'll shut him up." Raphael pushed forward, swimming upstream as they fought the current and struggled to spot the place Mikey had referred to.
They didn't have long to look, and were relieved to stumble into the cool, darkly hip pizzeria. One of those privately owned shops that struggled to stay alive against the franchises; this place was small, secluded, and comfortable. The tables were tall and round, stainless steel and gleaming, seating a maximum of three. The stools were upholstered in a swirling pattern of reds, and each table had white paper as a tablecloth, with a cup of crayons in the center to allow for doodling. The floor was bare, concrete gray, with what look like painted autographs of various celebrities that had graced the pizzeria with their presence. The walls were painted in reds to match the chairs, with what looked like sponge wall treatments in checkered patterns. On the right hand wall in a neat scrawl was painted the store's menu in bold silver, complete with prices and artist renditions of steaming pizzas. To the back was a single set of double doors, also steel, presumably behind which was the kitchen. A jukebox stood against the window that opened up into the streets of New York, and was currently blaring "Run Around Sue" by Dion and the Belmonts. A few tasteful pieces of artwork from local artists decorated the walls, but for the most part the room screamed simplicity. Only two other couples were there.A man and woman in their late forties pleasantly conversed over what looked like a veggie pie. Near the jukebox two woman with five o'clock shadowsslurped down their sodas in unladylike fashion and giggled over an open magazine.
Mikey sat at a table close to the window but across the room from the jukebox, one open-toe brown sandal lying forsaken on the ground as he massaged his arch, groaning in pain. He barely noticed as Donatello and Leonardo sat down beside him, Raphael dragging another table over so that he and Mei didn't feel left out. Not that he would have minded. If given the choice at this point, he would have preferred Mei's quiet, serene companionship to that of Mikey's loud company. For the moment, at least.
"Dudes, I think we should call it a day. We've been out since...since..." He looked at Donny for help.
"Six-thirty this morning."
"Right, six-thirty, and no luck. We either don't have enough experience to be considered, or have gotten there too late and the position's been taken. Today just ain't our day." Mikey sighed and released his foot, slipping it halfway into his shoe. "I'm tired, I'm not exactly inspired, and am in no way enthusiastic. In other words, I've been hauling ass since two, let's go home."
Leo was about to comment when the fresh faced waitress appeared, grabbing a green crayon from Raph's cup and scribbling her name first in front of him, then beside Donny on his table.
"Hey. My name's Amelia, and what can I get you to drink?" She said it in a rush, with a thick Southern accent, her pen poised over her pad in anticipation.
"Oh, uh..." Mikey leaned to one side in order to see around Donny, then ordered a Big Papa Pete size pizza with extra cheese, extra pepperoni, sausage, green peppers, ham, and the like.
"But no anchovies. Fish belong in the sea, not on my pizza." He tried to look stern but it was akin to a fluffy cocker spaniel puppy trying to look ferocious. It just didn't work.
"Gotcha doll." She was about to walk away when Leo suddenly remembered refreshments, and ordered a pitcher of soda and five glasses.
"Come on, Mikey, you can't just give up like that..." Leo started once Amelia had disappeared behind the stainless double doors.
"I'm with Mikey on this one." Donny stretched, tossing a wave of chocolaty dark hair out of matching eyes. "I mean, today's been a waste, and it's going to take us an hour to get home on foot, so if we want to get there before dark, or worse, rush hour, we should leave soon."
"But not before food." Mikey interjected as Amelia came back bearing a pitcher brimming with soda and fizz, setting it at the center of Mikey's table next to the crayon cup. She handedeach of them a glass filled with ice.The girlsmiled pleasantly at each, shamelessly admiring them in turn. One could hardly blame her.
"Oh my Gawd, is that your natural color?" Amelia either hadn't noticed Michelangelo's hair the first go round, or had decided that since there was next to no one in the shop that she could spend some extra time flirting. After all, she lived on tips, and found that stroking a man's ego only increased the percentage.
If only she'd known that Leonardo was holding the cash.
"Huh? Oh, yeah." Mikey reached up and grabbed a lock of his pale hair, the tresses silky and pliant beneath his callused fingers. "Yep. All natural, you could say." He grinned back at her, the pain in his feet forgotten as he flirted right back at her.
Mei stifled her smile as she watched the two flirt back and forth for a solid five minutes, Amelia reaching out and running a hand through Mikey's shoulder length locks, gushing about how soft it was and what kind of conditioner did he use? Donatello rolled his eyes and shot Leo a look, though the dark haired man merely arched an eyebrow.
"Well ain'the the Casanova." Raph muttered, arms crossed over his chest. Mei heard and giggled, hiding it behind her glass.
"So, what's your name?" Amelia tossed her bottle blonde ponytail over her shoulder and smiled at Mikey, baring even, pearly whites.
"Michelangelo."
"Get out! Like that painter guy?"
Donny snorted his amusement, and Leo was by now struggling to keep a straight face.
Mikey shot Donny a look then nodded to Amelia. "Yeah, like the painter guy. But you can call me Mikey."
"Well, Mikey, why don't I go back and check on your pizza?" Amelia backed away slowly, maintaining eye contact until she bumped into the table behind her, then giggled and turned for the kitchen.
"Dude, she's hot."
"Dude, she's, like, sixteen." Donny waved his hands in front of Mikey's love struck face. "Besides, what about Rebecca? And would you please tell me how on earth you get these women to go for you? I mean, what is it about you?"
"Blondes have more fun." Mikey said simply. "And I've got a date with Rebecca this Saturday. She was hot too. But Amelia is equally hot."
"One word, Mike. Illegal."
"It's only illegal if you get caught." Mikey informed Leo jokingly, but truthfully had no interest in seeking out Amelia as a potential date. What they had was playful banter between a customer and a waitress, and no doubt had she been older Mikey would have pursued her. However, of all the things Mikey was-a loveable prankster with a heart the size of Alaska and a goofy streak to match-he was not a pedophile. Nor was he interested in becoming one, especially not with someone like Rebecca already lined up. No, Mikey wasn't really interested in Amelia, but enjoyed the practice she provided in the careful art of flirting. He'd already had almost four years of practice with April, and recent practice with Mei, but looked for any opportunity to expand on his skills.
Michelangelo was on the road to becoming a world-class Casanova, complete with endearing smiles, gorgeous Fabio-like hair, and a deceptively innocent hazel gaze. Women would no doubt go wild for him, and heaven save his soul from the imminent throes that would pursue him.
But right now all he was concerned with was his pie, and with the absence of Amelia he was growing more and more restless.
"It don't take this long to make a pizza." Raphael noted, turning in his seat to stare at the doors leading to the kitchen, as if by the sheer power of his will he could conjure up their waitress with a steaming pizza balanced on her fingers.
Leo was about to comment about patience being a virtue when there was a crash in the kitchen followed by language that was never appropriate but nevertheless more interesting to use.
"Now listen here, Guido, you aren't the only person in New York that can toss a pizza, and you'd do well to remember that!"
"I refuse to work under these conditions! Either you pay me more or I walk, and we'll see how easy it is for you to replace me, especially with the dinner rush right around the corner!"
"I would sooner shut the store down then pay more to put up with your attitude! You should be paying me for the privilege of working here!"
A man burst through the doors of the kitchen, face bright red in anger. He yanked off his hair net, tossing it on the ground followed closely by his flour-covered apron. Another man followed, this one shorter but by no means less intimidating; his thick black moustache and broad shoulders gave him an imposing look, combined with the hue of red that dominated his features from the neck up, seeming brighter at the top of his head where the hair refused to grow.
"Privilege? What privilege? You mean working in front of a hot oven all day while bitchy waitresses come in and out shouting orders as if they were God's gift to a pizza parlor, whiny customers that think I'm some friggin' pizza machine, slaving away for a man that has no regard for how hard I work?" The man-Guido, presumably-was practically spiting his words, while the she-men watched with fascinated interest and the elderly couple tried to pretend they didn't notice the great ruckus being thrown in the middle of the room. "No, screw you, Pete. Find some other monkey to throw your pies. I'm out of here." With that he turned and marched out the door, disappearing into the throng of passer-bys.
"Yeah, well, don't expect a good reference, you ingrate!" Pete's comeback was not better-late-than-never, but seemed to appease the older man, at least for a moment. Then the shock of what had just happened seemed to settle in and a look of panic crossed over his face.
"I take it this means it's going to be a little longer on the food." Donny said blandly. Raph snorted and rested his elbows against the paper-covered table, reaching for a red crayon and beginning to doodle on the tablecloth.
"No way, man, I'm too hungry to wait. I'll make it myself." With that Mikey stood and approached Pete, who had turned and begun walking back toward the kitchen.
"Hey, Pete." Michelangelo stopped the owner with a hand on his shoulder. The shorter man turned and glanced at Mikey wearily, as if he didn't have the energy to deal with a complaining customer so soon after his head pizza man had walked out.
"Sir, I'm sorry about the ordeal, and if you don't mind waiting for a few more minutes I'll make sure your pie gets to you."
"Don't worry about it Pete. In fact, I was just gonna offer to go back and make it myself. Save you the hassle. After all, you've got enough of a problem finding someone to fill in for Guido there before the dinner rush." Mikey said it with all seriousness, clearly not aware of the policies every restaurant (at least every law-abiding restaurant) had about customers going into the kitchen. Pete, however, seemed surprised at Mikey's offer, if not slightly intrigued.
"You think you know about pizza making, do you?" Pete asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking Michelangelo up and down.
"Dude, if anyone knows about pizza, it's me. It was my first word. I've had pizza every day for as long as I can remember. Pizza from every place that delivers, with every imaginable topping. Except anchovies. Hate anchovies." Here Mikey inserted an amusing, albeit unintentional, grimace of disgust."I'm a pizza connoisseur. Anything you can ever know about pizza, I know. And that ain't bragging."
"Oh really?" Pete grinned from beneath his bushy 'stache, definitely intrigued with Mikey. "Tell me, then, son, which do you prefer-canned tomato sauce, or fresh tomatoes?" He pronounced it "toe-matt-toe," and seemed interested in Mikey's answer.
"Fresh tomatoes, cut into eighths and mashed and pasted by hand. To me, it has more texture, and a more tomato-y taste. Canned stuff will do in a pinch, but given the choices it's fresh, no less."
"What about onions on a pizza?"
"Onions are good, but only if you sauté them first, otherwise theylose flavor."
Pete seemed pleased with his answers and put an arm around Mikey's shoulders, whispering with him conspiratorially for a few moments before patting him on the back, shaking his hand, and entering the kitchen. Mikey turned to his companions and gave them an innocent enough grin, but they were not to be swayed. They knew he was up to something, and before they could even ask his excitement forced the words out of him.
"Pete's gonna let me come in tomorrow, and if he likes what I do then I've got the job!"
Silence from the peanut gallery, until finally Donny was able to voice the thought they all shared.
"Why does he get all the luck?"
To be Continued