Ew's: Here's a fun category. xD I overlooked a few rather disgusting mistakes in the last chapter. And I can't even blame them on MS Word (It messes up the spacing occasionally. Happened in the first chapter, you probably noticed…). A few grammar mistakes, like including the word 'really' about three times in one sentence, and 'cards' or 'games' a dozen times in a small paragraph. Shh. You didn't see them!
Um… Let's see. I found this prank online (Though all of yours were very good suggestions. I might write 'em yet.), not sure if it works or not.
For the sake of simplifying life, I need to know a set way to spell poor Donatello's nickname. I've seen it spelled "Donny," "Donnie," and…maybe "Danny," for the nonconformists. I'm not in the wrong with the "-ny," am I? Maybe I should be the bridge between these two worlds and spell it, "Donniy." I'm good like that.
Random trivia fact for you! I was watching TMNT; The Movie, and it turns out that April's antique store is on the street I used to live on. That got me in the mood for writing. x)
As always, enjoy. And review, or doom to you.
"Back-stabbing, double-crossing, two-timing-"
"Mikey, if you don't shut up, someone's gonna' hear us."
Donatello waved a hand at his little brother. He was getting sick of his ranting. So Leo had helped Raphael trick him… Don had lost sympathy after the first hour or so. The next six were just an annoyance.
"Who's gonna' hear us?" Mike snorted. The pair were walking through the tunnels beneath the city. It was late, at least midnight, if not later. It was obvious the pair had snuck out on their own. Master Splinter wouldn't dare let them wander the sewers alone, let alone at night.
"Does that really matter?" Don shifted something between his hands, a small plastic bag. "C'mon, we've got to get back to the lair before someone notices we left." The turtle tightened his fist around the bag and began to jog, trusting his brother to follow his lead.
"Who's gonna' notice?" Michelangelo was in the mood to argue. His arms pumped as he caught up with his brother. "It's, like, two in the morning. Everyone's asleep."
"Whatever. I'll race you!" Donatello knew just how to side-track the younger turtle. He didn't wait for a response, knowing it already. Kicking up a bit of water into the face of his just-too-slow brother, Donny raced down the maze of winding tunnels, his fist clenched tightly around the zipped plastic bag.
"Oh, hell no, dude!" Mikey exclaimed. For a nine-year-old, that was powerful language. He dove foreword, attempting to tackle Donatello. The effort was useless, he was too far behind the turtle to touch him.
"Ha!" Donny laughed, turning his head to watch as his brother lost his balance and fell into the muck. "You can't- Ooof!" He stumbled, his legs tangling together, throwing him to the ground. The water in the tunnel was barely deep enough to be bothersome while walking, but it was enough to cover Donatello's underside in a thin coat of slime. He did not want to know just what it was made of.
"You've always been the graceful one, Don!" Mikey laughed, slapping him on the shell. The film of dirt was just as noticeable on his body, but he did not seem to give it any thought, unlike his brother, who leapt to his feet and viciously began to wipe it away.
"It won't be funny if these things get wet," he retorted, tossing the plastic bag to Michelangelo. "They won't work if they do."
"Precisely why we brought the bag, dear brother," Mike purred. He lifted the bag into the air. Stray beams from the moon trickled through a nearby drain cover, illuminating the clear bag. "Where'd you hear about this, anyway?" He asked, poking its contents through the plastic.
"I have my sources, dear brother," Don mocked, free of filth now. He snatched the bag. "Come on. We have to get back."
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They wasted no time in returning to their lair. It was a blessing that no one had woken up during their absence. Donatello rolled out the chair that sat in front of his desk. Clicking on the desktop lamp, his working space was illuminated with a sharp beam of light. He held the plastic bag up dramatically, before dumping its contents onto the table.
Seeds floated downwards, spinning like an old rotary phone. They were the product of a maple tree, seed pods with leafy attachments spread out like wings. The Whirligigs, as they were fondly nicknamed, were dead, brown, and brittle. It was a miracle they had even found any. Unless you wanted to take a walk to Central Park, trees were few and far between.
Carefully, Donatello tore the leafy cover from around the actual seed. It was brown in color, and looked almost silver in the light. He repeated this action until a collection of the seeds were exposed, taking two in his hands.
He fished a pair of glasses with magnified lenses from one of the desk draws. Slipping them on, he peered down at the seeds in his hand as though it were a delicate part of an operation. As he chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, he turned the seeds over in his hands.
"Hey, Doctor Frankenstein, do you think we could hurry this up a bit?" Mikey said impatiently. He gawked over his brother's shoulder, watching him slowly shave slivers off of the seed pod with a razor blade he'd taken out of a drawer.
"If you'd get out of my light, sure I could." He ran the blade along the seed. "Ow!" he gasped. The steel had slipped, and cut a shallow slice in his fingertip. "This isn't working," Donny mumbled, shoving his finger into his mouth.
"Try rubbin' them together!" Mikey declared. "C'mon, try it!" he insisted as he brother shot him an annoyed glare.
Donatello rolled his eyes and pressed two pods together, working them against one another to Mike's satisfaction. He blinked as silver slivers fell from around the seeds, collecting on the desk. "I can't believe that works."
"Ha! Who's the evil genius now?" Mike beamed, punching his fists in the air.
"Alright, alright. You're the evil genius. Now help me, we need a lot of this stuff for them to even notice it," he said, sliding a handful of Whirligigs towards his brother. "You only want to casing on the seeds, okay? So be careful."
"Just this silver stuff?" Mikey echoed. His brother nodded. "Ha. Totally radical, dude!"
Don dropped his hands, staring at Michelangelo over his glasses. "What?"
"Nothing," he murmured.
"I thought so."
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Michelangelo had the bag held tenderly in his mouth. Between his hands was the thin flannel bed sheet he'd pulled off of a sleeping Leonardo. It was times like these when he cursed Rock, Paper, Scissors. He'd wanted to perform their act of sabotage on Raphael… But Rock beats Scissors every time. He had gotten stuck with the light sleeper.
Leo shifted, shivering slightly as the cold air rushed onto him, but continued to sleep. Mikey breathed out softly, folding down the sheet and taking the bag into his hands. He slowly opened it, wincing as the seal snapped apart. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room, but the sleeping turtle did not stir.
Michelangelo tilted the bag, watching as silver flecks fell like snow onto the sheet, then onto the mattress, and finally onto young Leonardo. He tugged up the blanket, dropping it over his brother. Eager to leave before the turtle awoke, Mikey spun around, and tiptoed silently out of the bedroom.
Donatello was in the hall, waiting for him. In his hands was a crumpled bag, not unlike Mikey's. "Mission accomplished?"
"Did you doubt me?" Mike questioned with a smile. His heart was beating frantically, despite his cool attitude. Don rolled his eyes theatrically. He continued. "You?"
"Of course," Donatello smirked. "It shouldn't be enough to wake them up, but they'll notice it in the morning."
"Who knew you could make itching powder at home, huh? And it's all natural!" he boasted.
"I knew," Don replied smartly as he waved his brother down the hall. "C'mon, we'll sleep in the living room tonight so we're not there when they wake up. We'll tell Sensei we fell asleep watching monster movies."
"Awesomely radical carnage, dude!" Michelangelo sung as they reached the safety of the main room. It was doubtful the nine-year-old knew what he was saying, but it sounded cool, and that was all that mattered..
"Mikey!" Donatello whined, diving onto the couch. He threw a pillow over his head, burying his face into the sofa cushion. "Spare me!"
I thought that I'd wait until the end to tell you what in the world they were doing. Made you wonder, though, didn't I:P