TMNT The Glasses of Life
Chapter Four, Book Three
Mikey woke up to Mel's hollering.
"I did it, I did it! I got hired! WOOHOO!"
Mel and Quinn were doing the Egyptian walk when Mikey stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes. "Guys, it's nighttime, we're trying to sleep…" Mel had rushed up to him.
"Mikey wake yourself up you're going to love me for this!" Mikey shook himself awake and met her glimmering eyes. "I got hired at Antonio's Pizza place!" Mikey gasped, grinned, picked Mel up, and spun around.
"Yes! Yes! You're serious?!" Mel nodded. Mikey hugged her. "Yes! I could kiss you!" Mel laughed and tapped his head.
"Mind letting me go? I don't like hugs very much." Mikey stared in horror.
"What? Who doesn't like hugs?!" Mel laughed as he released her.
"Uh, me? I'll settle for a fist bump, though," she said and extended her left fist. Mikey pouted and bumped it gently, avoiding the bruises on her last two knuckles. "Hey, cheer up, I can still get us discount pizza without hugging the customers."
"What is going on out here?!" Splinter bellowed from behind them. Mikey and Mel jumped. Quinn screamed, then laughed upon seeing the giant rat. "It's late, Mel, what is so important that—?!"
"Splinter, look!" Mel shoved the letter of acceptance in his face. "I got a job! I didn't think I would get it, but I did!" Splinter took a deep breath and pushed the paper away.
"That's nice." He didn't want to ruin her good mood. Mel took the hint and calmed down.
"Sorry, I was just really happy. I really did not think I would get that job, I mean; you have to smile, all the time. I was only smiling because I'm here," Mel gestured to the lair, "even though I could literally die momentarily, it's so much better than my dimension."
"Speak for yourself, kiddo," Wayne mumbled as he shuffled towards her. Mel smiled sympathetically.
"Sorry, Wayne, I know you don't like indoor jobs…" Wayne held a similar letter of acceptance to Antonio's Pizza place.
"The one city that's completely booked for everything that has to do with the outdoors." Mel chuckled nervously.
"Yeah… bummer." Wayne sighed.
"At least I'll be able to keep an eye on you." Mel stuck her tongue out.
"Well, I guess I'd better go practice my service smile in the mirror," Mel said and strolled towards her room, a small square she'd claimed simply because she knew she'd have it to herself. "The last time I smiled at someone, I was in Costa Rica challenging one of the monkeys to an alpha-off." She looked at them over her shoulder with a smirk. "And I won."
Hun entered the pizza place and waited for the hostess. Shredder had told him to search the city for new 'recruits'. Having no clue where to start, and having skipped breakfast, a pizza place sounded good to him.
The hostess, after speed-walking from table to table, gave him a quick smile and told him she would seat him in a minute. She had short black hair with some fading blue on the bangs. Hun didn't think much of her; she was petit and looked to be more of a fashionable goth than a fighter.
"Sir?" Hun glanced at the girl. Her eyes shocked him; stunning violet. "How many in your party?" he held up one finger. She nodded, which he found odd; most people were insulted by such gestures, and jotted it down. "Follow me," she said after tucking a menu under her arm. She led him to a table in the center of the restaurant. "I'll be back with your water and a menu." She scurried away.
Hun glanced around the crowd. Not many people looked like fighters; all were flabby and jiggly, huffing from the thirty second walk from the door to their table. Others looked so skinny they would snap if the wind picked up. He sighed. Maybe he should have gone to a bar… "Here you are," the hostess said and handed him a menu. "Do you know what you would like to drink?" Had she not set his water at just the right angle, Hun would have missed it: bruises on her last two knuckles, gruesome looking—she could have only gotten those in a fight.
"Coffee, black, espresso." He did not look away from her knuckles as she left. It would explain her attitude, he supposed. Most people were intimidated by his presence; knowing he had power over them. Either she didn't fear pain, or she had enough power to feel safe.
Then again, the bruises could be from delicate skin… no, she was carrying a steaming mug towards him without a towel; her hand was right on the mug. "I'll send over a waiter to take your order."
"Thank you." She left. Hun retrieved a notepad from his pocket and jotted down: Antonio's Pizza; short blue haired girl, violet eyes, bruised knuckles; maybe.
"Hello, are you ready to order?" Hun looked up. A skinny, wrinkly man stood before him. The man, most likely in his 40's, was tanned to the bone, and his teeth were yellow and crooked. He smelt of alcohol and cigarettes, and had scars and calluses as far as Hun could see. He looked awfully unhappy.
"Yes, a small meat lover's pizza with extra sauce." The man scribbled down his order.
"Anything else?" Hun huffed in annoyance.
"No."
"Alright. I'll be back in a moment with your food." Hun let his breath out; the smell had nauseated him. He scribbled in his jot book: tanned alcoholic; maybe.
Fong sighed as Sid and Tsoi hit each other behind him. Hun had instructed them to attack two people; a blue-haired goth girl and a skinny tanned man, to test their skill and see if they would be useful to Shredder. They'd missed the goth: she was quieter than they'd thought, and more agile. They were stalking the skinny guy now, and Fong was losing his patience.
"Would you two idiots shut up?!" he whispered harshly. "You'll spook the guy!" the duo stopped like children caught fighting over a cookie neither was allowed to have. Fong looked ahead and was stunned to find the skinny man staring at him, arms crossed, tapping his foot.
"Can I help you, boys?"
"Hello, Mel," Splinter said as he heard the girl skipping—skipping—past him.
"Howdy, Master Splinter," she replied. He still wasn't sure about her attitude. "I gotcha something." His ears perked and he faced her. Mel was smiling so intensely; it showed her dimples. "Well, actually, I made you something." She handed him a piece of wrapped paper. "I get the feeling, being a traditional Sensei from Japan, you don't care for my… let's call it an attitude." She chuckled nervously. "I want us to get along, since I always looked up to you in the show… I know it's not a show anymore, but…" Splinter stared at her. Mel ran her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, you're right; shutting up now."
Splinter hesitantly took the paper and slipped it out of the ribbon. He unfolded it, and it nearly took his breath away. Mel had drawn Tang Shein in charcoal, in amazing detail.
Mel cleared her throat. Splinter glanced at her. "Does that make up for the endless snark I have?" he blinked. "I know I'm not exactly easy to like." He shook his head.
"It's not that, Mel; it's just that I feel the swearing is unnecessary. And the drawing is beautiful."
"Beauty is an abstract, but thank you," Mel replied, "and swearing helps me express myself. You know, without hitting people." She shrugged. "I may or may not be constantly battling with my violent rage, and swearing may or may not keep the hatred at bay." Splinter's ear twitched in annoyance, and Mel noticed. "I know that sounded rude, but that's just how I talk. Sorry… the bluntness also helps keep me calm." She chuckled. "I'm a wreck, I know."
Splinter walked to his shelf and placed Mel's drawing behind the photo of him and Shein. "Should I be taking any of what you're saying seriously?" Mel pursed her lips and rocked on her heels.
"Not serious-seriously, but seriously enough for it to be true… and that doesn't make a lick of sense, does it?" Splinter stared, calculating every word. Was this really how she talked to everyone?
"It's common for you to put yourself and others down when you speak?" Mel arched a brow.
"Myself, yes; it boosts my confidence, believe it or not, others… I don't think I've ever put anyone else down. Deliberately, anyway. I'm not a bully. And if I ever do, I totally give you permission to smack me upside the head," she pointed to her temple, "I deserve it; I'm picking on people…"
"I don't think that's necessary," Splinter said quickly. What a strange human. "I don't want us to fight either, Mel. You're a good person, to be helping us when you don't know us."
"Well…" Mel gave a tentative smile. "That's debatable. You guys are, kind of, my heroes. But I always promised myself, no matter how much I love someone, I'd never change to please them."
A heavy silence followed Mel's declaration. Splinter couldn't decide if he tolerated her yet. She was good; there was no denying that, but she was… rude. Unstable. Selfish. A bit like Kennedy, he realised, but worse, somehow. Flawed. "Mel?"
"Hmm?" she looked at him.
"What did you mean by; 'beauty is an abstract'?" No better way to tolerate her than to know all about her.
"I meant, everyone's definition of beauty is different, some call beautiful a sunset, a mother-child relationship, a song, blood, a bad joke. Beauty has become so many things; that it's nothing: it no longer physically exists. It's a dying metaphor: it's meaningless. Empty. Every time you use the word; you're a dehydrated man drinking from an empty jug. It means nothing because it's different for everyone." She leaned on her left leg. "You probably think the smiles of your children are beautiful." She smiled. "I think freedom and revolution, acceptance and sympathy, colours and music, are beautiful." Splinter was so caught up in her speech that her laughter shocked him. "I like English, in case you couldn't tell."
She stuck her hands in her pockets and walked to the reflex bag. Splinter watched her attack it like a rabid wolf. "Where is Wayne?"
"He told me he was gonna be late," she replied before giving the bag a slug. Splinter approached.
"How late?"
"Late enough," Wayne replied from behind, "sorry, some punks tried to rob me." Mel stopped hitting the bag.
"Is that why you were in such a rush to get me back here?" Splinter detected annoyance in her tone. Wayne gave a gentle smile.
"Maybe." He pat her head. "So, how long have you spent on the bag tonight?"
"Literally zero minutes." Wayne winced.
"I guess someone's only getting seven hours of sleep tonight, isn't she?" Mel laughed.
"Make it six," she said and knocked the bag over with a roundhouse kick.
Shredder examined the wounded purple dragons, pleased at the skinny man's work. "Bradford, Miles." His lackeys approached and bowed. Shredder smirked and handed the mutants four sheets of paper. "We have our four new members. See to it that they're recruited right away."
Griffin Lockhart sighed and turned off his TV; nothing to watch, just like any other night. He stood, wandered into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water; classes started early tomorrow, seven am. He had ten students, all of which were nearly ready to become black belts.
He chugged his water, put the glass in the sink, and strode to his bedroom. It was small and simple; a bed, a lamp, a dresser, and a yoga mat at the foot of his door; to help encourage physical activity mornings and nights. He dropped onto his knuckles and did push ups, not bothering to count. He didn't care about beating old records anymore; as a 56 year old man who'd eaten processed food and smoked for over half his life, he just wanted to live to see tomorrow.
"This time it'll be different," Mable Loraxx's manager insisted, "this guy's really looking for a top-notch fighter like you!" she sighed. "C'mon, Loraxx, he's holding an interview at that old TCRI building, give it a chance, would ya? 12 o'clock, bring your Gi." Click.
Mable hung up. Damien had lead her astray on his supposed 'sure-shot deals' many times, so many; Mable had started to doubt herself as a fighter. She'd been kickboxing for 19 years, over half her life, and she'd always been labeled as average. None of the bigger agencies had wanted her; none would even acknowledge her existence, until Damien had come along. He'd promised they'd reach their dreams of fame together. He'd made her feel significant. But as offer after offer was rejected, both had been worn down by the stresses of organising each other's cluttered lives. Mable could still fight; of course, just a few hours ago she'd whopped three men's sorry asses for trying to rob her, and then some…
She headed to her couch and lay on her back, letting out her breath. "I swear, Damien, if you get my hopes up again, those three assholes won't be the only ones missing teeth."
"Hey there, stranger," the bartender sang as the cloaked figure sat before him for the third time tonight. "You lost?"
"Give me the special," the man grumbled. The bartender, Corbin, chuckled and shook his head.
"Take it easy, Homie, wouldn't want one of my most popular customers to die of their favourite product." He slid the shot glass to the cloaked figure, who caught it with a gloved hand and downed it. He let out his breath, then flicked it back at Corbin.
"Another."
"Jeez, dude." Corbin reluctantly poured the man another drink. "Seriously, take it easy."
"I'll take it easy when I'm dead," the man snapped.
"You might be if you keep this up." Once the man finished his drink, Corbin politely cut him off and went back to washing his prized glasses. This cloaked man had been in here at nine o'clock, causing a ruckus over nothing. Corbin, as usual, had settled his drunken adrenalin rush with the offer to take the fight outside. Not many people won a fight with Corbin, not because of his freakish bulk, but because of his cunning and skill; he had no formal training, he merely knew how to expose people's weaknesses.
The man had put up a good fight, even landed some pretty brutal hits on him, until he'd made a foolish judgement in movements, and Corbin had seized the opportunity. He supposed he'd won the man's respect, because he hadn't left the bar alone afterwards.
"You're pretty good in a fight," the man remarked, slurring. Corbin shrugged.
"Ya hafta be in the bartending business." The man nodded.
"Y'ever wanna get better?"
Corbin shrugged again. "Everyone wants to get better, it's human instinct." The man sat up straighter. Corbin got a better look at his form, even in the harsh bar lighting, and god was he bulky. And short.
"What if I could help you?" Corbin arched a brow.
"No offence, sir, but I think we've established the better fighter already." Though his face was shadowed, Corbin could feel the man smirking.
"Have we, now?" his voice took on a demonic vibrato and he stood so quickly he knocked over his stool. "Shall we 'take this outside', stranger?"
"You already up for another round?" Corbin asked in disbelief. The man snickered in response and beckoned Corbin after him with his finger as he made his way outside. Corbin sighed and followed; he knew he should have made the man lay off sooner.
A crowd gathered around the two fighters, customers and old friends cheering for Corbin. The beefy brain had never liked fighting, he only threw a punch if there was nothing else he could do, and he rarely accepted requests of combat, even if it was just sparring; but something about this man's dark demeanor and aura told him declining the fight would end in disaster.
He noticed the man hadn't flat-out attacked him like before, he stood still, waiting for him to make a move, Corbin guessed. "You'd better start, or we'll be here awhi—!" Fast! Corbin looked to his left—where he thought he'd seen the man run—but a slug to his right cheek broke his focus. He tried futilely to block the on slot of punches, but the man was stronger and faster; when had he gotten this good?!
"Not everyone who wanders in here is a stupid drunk who reveals all his secrets in the first fight," the man cooed before upper-cutting Corbin so hard he blacked out for about three seconds. When he came too, the man had him pinned with a blade to his throat. Corbin gulped; it was hidden behind his massive gloves; none of the bystanders could see his doom. "Now," the man began, and Corbin froze at the sight of his eyes; they were lizard-like, yellow corneas and dirty green irises, "about my previous offer."