Disclaimer: We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction.
A/N: Thank you all for your fantastic reviews for the previous chapter, minasan! It really makes our day to hear what everyone thinks about this fic, and we're all excited to see just where it leads. Considering the vast number of talented TMNT writers in this site, the possibilities are virtually endless!
Chapter 3 written by Dierdre and Melodist. Go read their stories.
TRES
Dierdre:
(Raphael, a few hours earlier)
I had barely stepped into the convenience store before my cell phone vibrated, announcing the arrival of yet another text message.
Cursing under my breath, I quickly strode passed the front counter. I automatically tucked my chin against my plastron, cloaking my hooded face in deep shadow, and ducked into the relative privacy of the canned goods isle.
I needn't have bothered, though. The only human in the store at the moment was the clerk, who was absently flipping through a magazine, chewing mechanically on a wad of bubblegum and oblivious to everything in his boredom. Rue Paul could've sashayed right by him in a spandex nightie, and he'd probably just yawn and continue blowing big, pink bubbles. Not much of a threat to my continued anonymity.
Sheltered by tall isles of preserved fruit and vegetables, I relaxed a little, straightening my spine and extracting my phone from its deep pocket. I flipped it open and began pushing buttons, suppressing a startled curse as a fat cockroach skittered past my boot. Damn bugs.
This place had started out as a nice neighborhood grocery, but had declined steadily over the years as the families left and the gangs moved in. It was rumored that the owner bought protection from one of the more powerful gang leaders, which was as good an explanation as any for why his store remained in business and relatively unmolested. He apparently didn't have much left to spend on maintenance, however, for the florescent lights occasionally flickered with age and the building had an abandoned feel. Kind of sad for the owner, but it worked well for those of us who needed to shop without being surrounded by a dangerous number of people.
It took an annoyingly long time to access the message, but when I finally did I wished I hadn't bothered, for it only served as further proof of my brother's insanity.
(From
Pinhead cell
Saturday 3:54 pm
12-3-05
And buy some ribbon! Yellow, if possible, and lots of it. / Mike the Man)
…Yellow ribbon. Sure, whatever.
Confusion was a perpetual state of being when one lived with Mikey, so I simply muttered darkly and closed my phone. Walking two isles over with my hands shoved into my pockets, I stopped in my tracks and stared at row after row of various hair-care products, eerily illuminated by the wavering overhead lights. Shampoos and conditioners, hair-removers and hair-restorers, a whole rainbow of different dyes, blow dryers and things I didn't even have a name for… and ah, yes, curling irons. About five different kinds of them, some with weird spiny rollers that looked disconcertingly like implements of torture.
I read the back label on a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo, feeling way out of my depth and deeply grateful that I wasn't born a mammal. No wonder humans were always going nuts and killing each other; pouring all these tongue-twisting chemicals on top of your head had to do funny things to the brain.
Replacing the bottle gingerly, I selected the cheapest curling iron available and went on the hunt for ribbon. I found a packet a few minutes later, crammed into a basket of brightly colored squiggly things called Scrunchies. The bag was crumpled, the ribbon inside was creased and the wrong color, but I wasn't going to look anymore. Mikey would just have to deal with pink.
I straightened and glared down at the items, feeling like an absolute idiot. If Leo saw me carrying this stuff, I just knew he'd never let me live it down. I'd have to move to another state to get away from him, maybe even another country. I hear Canada's nice this time of year…
Feeling the need for an explanation before I had to make travel plans, I balanced the items in one hand, fished out my cell phone and laboriously typed in a text message: (What the hell do you need this stuff for, anyway?)
A response came almost immediately.
(From
Pinhead cell
Saturday 4:07 pm
12-3-05
LOL For the poodle, of course! Later. / Mike the Man)
I blinked, read the message twice, and still didn't believe it. Shaking my head in defeat, I allowed the shadows to once again settle over my features and walked slowly to the counter. The clerk had stopped reading and was now staring vacuously at the ceiling, apparently having mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open.
I rapped on the counter to get the guy's attention, set down the curling iron and ribbon, and rifled through my pockets for Casey's money. The clerk rang up the items and stared dully at the top of my head as I began counting out change. Slowly and deliberately, he blew a big, pink bubble.
Melodist:
(Leonardo's POV)
Sometimes I wasn't sure why I bothered. Trying to reason with Raph was like trying to reason with a brick wall. A brick wall that swore and cursed and liked to hit back when pushed. Honestly I'm not sure why I covered for him last night. Master Splinter must have seen right through my carefully worded excuse, but he hadn't called me on it. Besides, it wasn't like I lied exactly… I just withheld key information. And Raph was supposed to have come home early this morning. Knowing him, though, he probably ended up passed out at Casey's again. If he was passed out at someone else's place, then I didn't want to know about it.
I glanced at the clock and groaned silently. It was almost a quarter after 4 in the afternoon, I really, really didn't want to call him again to find out where he was. It would only aggravate him further, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with a pissed off Raph right now.
A brilliant idea formed in my head, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. I didn't particularly want to talk to Raph, and he didn't want to talk to me… but I could probably get Don or Mikey to call him and find out where he was. And hopefully talk him into getting his shell home before Master Splinter decided to question us about his whereabouts.
Figuring Don would be busy in his lab, I decided to try Mikey first. He and Raph had always gotten along best anyway. As I walked through the lair, I tried not to notice how peaceful and quiet it was without my hot-headed brother around. No sooner had the thought run through my head, though, when a loud crash from my youngest brother's room disproved my theory. There was an unintelligible shout, what sounded like a whimper from behind his door and I cringed. What now?
"Uh… Mike?" I tapped lightly on his bedroom door and there was a sudden silence from the other side. After a few moments I finally heard a hushed whisper from the other side.
"Shhhh. If we're quiet he'll just go away."
I knocked again, louder. "I know you're in there, Mikey. What the shell are you doing?"
Another moment of silence, then, "Uhh…. Nothing. We're all fine. Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about… so you can just go now."
I really don't want to know, I thought to myself as I tried the handle to his door. Locked. "Why don't you open the door, then?"
"Um…" I could practically see the gears working in his head as he tried to come up with an excuse. This was going to be good. "Because…" There was a fake yawning sound followed by, "I was just going to take a nap, Leo. Come back later, 'kay?"
"I don't thi-" I was interrupted by a girlie squeal that made me ashamed to admit Mikey was my brother.
"Ack! No, Maggie! Don't lick me there!" There was another crash and a soft whimper and then Mikey's panicked voice. "I mean.. uh…"
"Open the door, Mikey! What the shell is going on?" I rattled the door, trying not to think of all the possible explanations for what was going on in there. Had my brother snuck a girl down here? No, certainly he wouldn't have done that. Raph, maybe, but not Mikey.
"Leo, really! Everything's ok! It's fine, jus-Hey! No, I said don't lick me there! Don't make me tie you up again!" Mikey squealed again and I stepped back, ready to kick the door open.
"Open it up, Mikey, or I'll do it for you!" This was getting out of hand. I didn't know what Mikey was doing in there, but I was going to find out. All thoughts of Raphael and his absence had been pushed from my mind.
"No, Leo! Please, it's fine!" Another whimper, louder this time. "No, Maggie! The skirt looks cute on you, don't tear it off!"
Just as I was placing a well-aimed kick to the door of Mikey's room, Donatello stepped around the corner with an intensely inquisitive look on his face. "What the shell-" he managed to get out right before the door jam splintered and the door violently swung open. I stared into the room, with a look of what must have been pure shock on my face as I took in the scene. Mikey was sitting on the floor with his arms around his… companion… both of whom had an utter look of horror on their faces.
Donatello moved carefully down the hallway to look over my shoulder into the bedroom. He let out a low whistle and I could hear the amusement in his voice when he finally remarked on the setting in front of him.
"Where's a camera when you need one?"