My head hurts. It like, really hurts.
No, I didn't bump it against anything or smack it like some clumsy dimwit, thank you very much. And no, I didn't do it on purpose. Seriously, who does that?
The cause for the this pain in my skull is all compliments to my dumb-syndrome.
No! I don't mean down syndrome, I knowingly said dumb for a reason. Jesus, I'm not entirely stupid. And, okay yeah. I made it up.
What? Are you going to criticize me for having a smidgen of creativity and now of all times it's finally showing through? Better not if you know what's good for you.
Sorry. Didn't mean to get all defensive.
Anyway, dumb-syndrome is where your intellect is so low compared to some higher being that it literally hurts—not literally, but you get the gist. For example, you know how you have those days at school and your doing your work and everything's going good until suddenly the smart kid with the 4.0 GPA and five scholarships comes up and corrects your work out of nowhere? So you sit there, clearly dumbfounded and your first instinct/action is to try and match them on their level of knowledge. But in the end, you only embarrass yourself in front of all the other surrounding students.
I know that this example isn't valid in the least due to the fact that I have no business being in a normal school full of normal kids going about their normal days. For those who haven't noticed, I am nowhere near normal. The exact opposite, if you will.
So who am I to say that I know what it's like to be outsmarted by another student when I have no memories of doing so? I get it, it's not my place to say anything on the subject so I'll stop. I just needed an example to explain why I have such a huge headache.
After Leo's little confession, I decided to get my bearings on what exactly is going on around here since no one tells me shit. And who better to get information from than the brain of the group, Donatello.
I find him in his laboratory area, pouring over a tablet. I've only seen glimpses of Donnie's lab and yet I'm amazed at just how much science equipment is crammed into such a small space. Not to mention a whole freaking ninja turtle taking up a third of it.
It's a miracle I managed to squeeze my way in. In every corner, glass vials, Bunsen burners, small bits and pieces of machinery, and electronic devices occupy the tops of the tables. From beakers bubbling with bright, radioactive colored liquids to television screens vomiting wires and metal parts from their backs. It's all a controlled, chaotic mess that just screams, "Science Geek at Work!" But I don't say that out loud, of course. You've got to give me credit for at least trying to not be an asshole, especially to him.
I stand behind him for awhile, uncertain of how to approach him. I don't wanna interrupt him in the middle of his work, whatever it may be. That'd be rude, more rude than biting his brother's arm, that's for sure.
Yeah... that wasn't my best moment.
So for a solid five minutes, I stand there awkwardly twisting my fingers and shifting on my feet debating whether or not to speak up. Later on, though, he turns around and goes to another spot and scoops out bits of purple liquid from the inside of what looks to be a glass dart. Then he goes to another table and readies a microscope, muttering to himself incoherently. He does all of this without ever seeing me. It's as if I'm not even there.
I'm still wondering whether I should announce my presence or not when he pulls out a pair of glass slides the size of silver dollars. Smudged in between the two is a single drop of the violet liquid.
"Okay, Donnie. You got this." He whispers to himself. He blows air of his cheeks and places the glass disks under the lense of his microscope. He continues his hushed ranting of cohesion and other terms I can't comprehend, studying the purple spot under the machine with his intelligent hazel eyes like a scientist expertly conducting an experiment. I watch him with unbeknownst interest, observing his careful, meticulous movements as he handles the lab equipment.
Considering his size and strength as a mutant who's very hands were nearly four times bigger than my own, he was surprisingly gentle. Putting aside the fact that he's a ninja and was probably drilled from his youth to today to be light on his feet, and compared to his fellow turtle brethren, he's much more diligent. While the others (particularly Raphael) look like they could bend metal with their bare hands, if not snap it in two, Donnie looks as if he wouldn't hurt a fly.
He turns the knobs on the side of the microscope, rehearsing some science-y mumbo jumbo I could never understand. Everything he does, every twist and every word that effortlessly flows past his mouth is all professional. A task he clearly has done a hundred times. And the more he continues, the brighter he seems.
See! This is what I mean about having dumb-syndrome. Maybe I'm not some egghead with straight A's and a high school diploma, and I'm definitely not compatible for any of those titles. But at that moment I really wished I was. Then I'd be able to decipher what the actual hell Donnie was talking about.
Donnie, a reserved, sheltered creature with not only natural intelligence, but the mind of a genius, living alone and untouched by the struggles of a simple life that leads to a simple mind. Who knows what goes on in that big brain of his? That brilliant mind trapped in that skull, which is most likely three times bigger than my own—which feels like a shriveling peanut by now.
I'm brought out of my thoughts when Donnie suddenly straightens up, no longer hovering over the black lenses of his microscope.
"Is it really possible?" He said, more to himself than anybody else.
"Is what really possible?" I ask, finally finding my voice after all of this time of creepily standing by his side without his knowledge. He turns his head, not to me but to a distant point on the other side of the room and hastily stands up, heading towards something that has caught his attention while swiping something from yet another table. I follow him, rather eager to hear what mystery the purple clad reptile has unraveled under his microscopic gaze.
"What's really possible?!" I ask him again, raising my voice to divert his train of thought to the person literally trailing him, but he keeps steadfast on his target as if I hadn't said anything at all, as if I didn't exist.
Maybe to some people they might find it charming how focused he can be to the point of obliviousness. But to others, such as myself, they find it peevishly annoying that he unknowingly—if not unintentionally—ignores them.
Yet back in the present, I understand why he was so determined on the subject at hand, seeing that it not only brought a great deal of importance to their mission, but a once in a lifetime opportunity that would change their lives dramatically.
"Leo. Leo!" He calls out to his brother.
It only registers at this very second that Donnie has led me to the leader in blue, and I blindly obliged. I'm not saying that I don't want to interact with the blue-banded turtle due to our previous conversation, but... I don't want to interact with him because of our previous conversation. Who wouldn't? It's not like anything bad happened or anything, it's just that... I don't know. I guess it would just be the fact that we did have the conversation and the relationship between the two of us is now uncertain. At first, it was rocky, completely unstable with lack of trust, perhaps too much caution, and mainly suspicion. But in those few minutes alone together with our hearts on our sleeves, the glass wall of wariness and distrust shattered into a million pieces. Now I don't know what we are. Friends, allies, enemies. Who knows?
Donnie rushes up a short flight of stairs to where Leonardo sits on his large, queen-sized mattress.
We've just entered the most patriotic, most chivalrous room in the history of bedrooms. The walls are decked out in racks of shining swords, small yet deadly weapons accompanied a wall plastered with the American flag sealed in a giant glass canvas as if the leader in blue regularly recites the Pledge of Allegiance. A majority of the living space is painted in a somber shade of cobalt blue with a matching comforter neatly tucked in the sides of the mattress to match. If this isn't a perfect, spitting image of what Leonardo's room should be, I don't know what is.
Said turtle sits on the side of his bed, casually polishing one of his swords with a small square of cloth. He regards us with a tranquil attentiveness. Meanwhile, I'm over here nearly fuming all because I can't get Donnie to look at me for nothing.
"This is incredible. You won't believe this!" He says rapidly with barely any breath to speak. He probably realizes this because he takes a deep breath before he continues. "Okay. So I made a sample solution to expedite the analysis of the isotope. But while I catalyzed it..." Donnie continues to ramble on and on.
Not going to lie, I have no idea what he is talking about. I try to keep up with him as best as I can, but in the end I take a step back and watch the two converse instead.
When Donnie brings up the purple ooze (I'm assuming that's what the strange purple stuff is) Leo inclines his head.
"If the purple ooze can turn humans into animals, perhaps…" Donnie ventures, ushering for his leader to come closer. I do as well, standing on my tiptoes to see what the reptile has to show. Donnie holds up the object he had snatched not so long ago—an eyedropper filled with the violet liquid—and cautiously squeezes out two drops of the substance onto his other hand. It sinks into his green skin like water to a sponge, coursing through his veins and bones. His fingers twitch and one second there's three of them, and the next there's-
Five.
FIVE?!
Oh my God!
He has five fingers! He's got five fucking fingers?!
You've gotta be shitting me!
"It can turn us into humans." He breathes out, mesmerized by his newly sprouted appendages. He flexes them, testing if he can control them all. They wriggle around slowly, fresh like a flower blossoming for the very first time. I stand in absolute astonishment.
You'd think that for someone who had been hanging around four ninja mutant turtles and their rat sensei that I would've expected nothing less from this bumbling band of misfits. But no, I still internally freak out when someone's hand pops out two more fucking fingers in a matter of seconds! You would, too. Trust me.
Leo remains silent, absorbing this new information much more calmly than I ever could. He sidesteps his younger brother, distantly walking to the other side of the room to collect himself. Donnie and I watch him, one eye on the katana-wielding turtle and the other on the supplementary fingers that begin to merge back to their old three-fingered selves.
"If we can get our hands on more of this stuff, it could be life changing." Donnie says, rather hopefully, I might add.
That's when I see it. That's when I see the significance of this newfound discovery. The way Donnie rushed to his older brother to tell him the news, the way he stiffened in his lab when the glass disks were under the microscope, how he was so delicate as he controlled the experiment. It was all leading up to this opportunity. The opportunity to change their lives completely. To change who they are. This serum, this purple ooze, is some kind of mutagen that can change who or what you are in some magical, scientific way that's almost impossible to believe.
"We don't need that kind of change." Leo says, facing us. He remains expressionless as if unfazed by either the transformation of his younger sibling's hand or the news that he can become human. Maybe both.
The same could not be said of Donnie. He looks like a boulder had struck down the corners of his mouth from the once jovial grin to a downcast frown. I swear I see a line of water form in his hazel eyes. But he looks down for a moment at the sparkling ooze glowing faintly in its minuscule glass prison then back up, disappointment clear as day.
"You're right." He asserts, his excitable tone completely vanished. "Changing form would... jeopardize our strategic advantage. We have a system that works, we shouldn't be messing with the ooze." He finishes. He begins to turn away when Leo calls him back, stepping forward to say something quiet to the purple-banded reptile.
"Listen. You can't say a word to the others. That includes you, too." Indicating to me. I feel like shooting a snarky remark, something to possibly ease the brick-thick tension building up in the atmosphere. But the words get stuck in my throat and all I can manage is a nod. Donnie does the same obediently and shuffles away, head hanging low.
"What was all that about?" I ask. Leo returns to his previous spot on his bed, the royal blue sheets crumpling under his weight. He picks up his sword and begins polishing it once again. For a moment I think that he didn't hear me, but then he looks up and our eyes lock.
"I'm not so sure I should be the one to tell you." He says, absentmindedly rubbing the cloth back and forth over the steel blade, the metal face glistening in the dull light.
"Well, no one else will talk to me. And I'm guessing you have nothing better to do." I say back, motioning to his task. He stops for a moment, gaze flickering uncomfortably. He seems to be having some internal battle. Like one of those bloody, gory wars you see in old films, and it is raging in the confines of his conscious. It's that much of a struggle for him to decide whether or not to spill the beans on this whole escapade.
"H-How do I know I can trust you with this information you seem so interested in?" He hesitates.
I give him an "Are you kidding me?" look. Does he seriously not remember our conversation from like what?! Twenty minutes ago?
He seems to pick up on his mistake because he stops what he's doing almost immediately. "It's not that I don't trust you. Honestly." He raises his hands up in surrender. "It's just the fact that's it's a possibility that I can't."
I sigh heavily, dragging a hand over my face, nails digging into the soft meat of my cheek.
I guess there's no use in fighting about it… but that doesn't mean I can't try.
"Okay. Let's say that I am some accomplice of the Shredder, as you so lightly put it not so long ago. Wouldn't I know what I was doing if I was actually working for him?" I say. "Wouldn't I know the ins and outs of my leader's plan? And whether or not you tell me all the details of whatever is going on around here, it wouldn't make much of a difference."
Leo ponders this for a moment, absentmindedly running his thumb over his weapon. His biceps expand and contract continuously, the scales of his skin glinting softly with every flex of his muscles, rippling the leather-like flesh. I can't help watching how this simple movement causes so much of his arm to work. From the tattoo on his shoulder dancing to the stiffening of his wrist. It's a practiced technique he must have committed to for God knows how long.
"I guess..." Leo draws out. "I guess you're right." He rests his sword at his side and waves me over. I take a seat at the bottom of his bed, facing him as he adjusts his leg to fold underneath him. There's three feet of space between us, but it seems like two, maybe even one. I haven't been this close to him ever since he carried me off when I was trying to escape. You know, the second time.
"Um…" He chuckles mirthlessly, a crooked smile curling his lips upwards to reveal surprisingly clean, straight teeth. "I'm... not sure how to go about this." He says in uncertainty, scratching the nape of his neck.
I don't think I've ever seen him like this. So uncertain and so unlike himself. Although I've only known him for a few days, it's a startling change. If you've been with me while I've embarked on this journey and got to see me meet Leonardo, you would know that he is most definitely not the nervous type. He's confident, strong, and wise. He may be a little uptight at times, but never to the extent of anxiety. It's strange to see him so out of character.
"Just go with your gut. It'll come to you." I say.
Wait?! Now I'm encouraging him? Why the fuck am I encouraging him?! Sure, I'd love to know how everything seems to be a ride or die situation with this band of turtle mutants and pressing Leo for the information may be one of the only ways to find out why, but acting like I care about his supposed performance of explaining it is beyond me.
What the hell is wrong with me?!
"Alright." Says him. He sits up a little straighter, one tapered hand clutching the hilt of his sword and the other rubbing the cloth along the thin steel face. "Here it goes."