Hey, Folks! Yep, it's update time again, YAY!
Some things to keep in mind for this chapter: This chap has a sizeable scene with Glen Devon so there's going to be a LOT more difficult speech than usual. I've done his scene a little different, though, because he's so hard to understand - readers should be able to discern most of what he's saying without having to consult the translations at the end, other than a few intentionally vague sentences. Hopefully I managed that. If not, as always, there are translations at the end. Bart and Ginny have allowed their accents to weaken over time or, in Ginny's case, actively squelched them to fit in. Glen is the exception here - he's either refused to change or has been unable to change and his speech is still incredibly thick.
Never fear, Amber's family won't be a common character and after the trip to Willsdale's over, the Scotchness will drop back to normal levels.
TBH, feedback is ALWAYS appreciated, but it would seriously make my day to get some feedback on this chapter if no other. Literally WEEKS of binge-reading and binge-researching went into this chapter - that's plowing through every bit of Scots literature I could get my hands on, devouring my volumes of Scott and Byron, hunting down online language sources...ahem. "Etc" works, I guess. LSS, this chap took more research and reading than most others do. Finally, after this chapter, we've got only ONE more installment of Absolutes - as of #56, we're leaving behind Willsdale and all who call her home. Hope y'all enjoy!
To my US readers - Happy Fourth of July! Please resist any and all drunken urges to shoot off fireworks from your bodily orifices and be mindful of neighboring veterans and pets. Non-US readers - Love y'all to bits just the same and wishing you a lovely Wednesday in July! ;D This chapter dedicated to Wolf for being an awesome and ever-patient beta, and to AmelessUnderworld for acting as a consultant on the Scots in Glen's scene. You two really blow my mind, no joke, and I appreciate all your help - Thanks!
Suggested Listening: Red "Yours Again," Our Lady Peace "Somewhere out There," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You"
54: Absolutes III:
Parallel Worlds Do Not Collide
When Donatello opened his eyes, what they saw made no sense. Not long ago, he was in his own bedroom, crawling into his lumpy cold bed purely to get Leonardo off his back about resting. Now he stood in a familiar alley – from the looks of it, the dark alley behind April's apartment building – with no recollection how he got there. Stranger still, the sun was high and the sky clear, but for the first time in his lifetime, the city was silent. New York was never quiet…this made no sense.
Struggling to catch his bearings and understand what couldn't be possible, he crept toward the mouth of the alley, careful to keep to the grimy shadowed walls. At the very end of the darkness, he found proof he wasn't alone in that illogically empty neighborhood: a young woman, perhaps about his age, leaned back against the filthy brickwork, beaming up at the sky as though her wildest dreams were all coming true.
Taking advantage of the shadows concealing him, Donnie studied the stranger. She was petite—a good head shorter than he was—and somewhere between curvy and voluptuous. The hair pulled into a messy ponytail was an unnatural shade of red - surely dyed - and her clothes were comfortably sloppy. Though rather plain, to him, she was lovely—lovely, and, at least outside of dreams, out of reach. Silently contemplating the human female before him, he wracked his brain for an explanation. Despite her unfamiliar appearance, something about her seemed very much familiar—something tickled from the deepest recesses of Donnie's memory like a favorite song long forgotten. Surely he was mistaken, though; the only human female he knew in person was April, and April looked nothing like this woman.
A surprised gasp tore him from his thoughts. The bottom fell straight out of his stomach…he was seen. Despite his expectation, the strange woman grinned up at him like he was an old friend. "Dunnie!" she cried shoving off from the wall, and in a manner all-too-familiar, she launched herself into his arms. Stunned at the sudden tackle-hug, he found himself unable to do anything more than stand there, arms feebly outstretched at his sides, and wide eyes locked on the top of her head; lost for a purpose, his hands reflexively clenched mid-air, unable to pull his attacker closer or push her away. Why would he pull her closer?! "Donnie, I did it, I found ya, I really found ya!" As she rattled off her excited proclamation and the equally rapid-fire explanation following, he gingerly settled his hands on her shoulders in preparation to push her away. "Ya told me we'd find each other someday, an' we did! I died, granted, but I found ya, I really found ya in real life!"
Confused, partly by her words and partly by his inexplicable reluctance to push her away, he, craned his neck to meet her eyes. Perhaps something in his eyes worried her because the smile fell away from her face and she backed away. "You…found me?" he asked with a forced smile.
"Just today," she explained, excitement fading. "Technically you found me, but you didn't recognize me…you brought me home with you." She shook her head in confusion, a small, hopeful smile tilting her lips. "Don't you remember? You and your brothers found me in the subway—you took me to April—you saved my life, Dee!" No…when did…he didn't remember ever meeting this woman before, much less taking her to April! Still, it made no sense—something told him he knew this—this person—knew her from the fine specks of grey in her eyes to the smallest and most hidden pattern of freckles on her skin. He couldn't know her, though, this was only a dream—just a strange dream!
Her expression twisted in hurt, in dismay, but why would she be hurt or dismayed? "You forgot me," she sighed. "I knew it—I knew one of us would forget." Visibly steeling herself, she reached up to his face, cupping his cheek in a gesture that, despite being unexpected, felt entirely accepted. Against his own better judgment, Donatello's hand drifted upward to cover hers, his thick fingers lacing awkwardly with the four narrower digits curving along his jaw.
"Remember what we agreed on, Dee," the stranger insisted even as he struggled to understand the conflicting signals he received—familiar and unfamiliar, old and new, accepted and dubious—the whirlwind of worry and wonder left him speechless, struggling for air. "Remember the secrets we shared—you told me why you were assigned the bo and that you started out with tonfa,* and I—"
"Why would I tell you anything of the sort?" he demanded, finally finding his tongue; though it made his gut twist in protest, he pried her hand away from his face and backed a safer pace away. "Who are you? Why am I dreaming about you?" The woman winced but quickly steadied herself.
"My name is Amber Jean O'Brien," she explained solemnly. "We first met in dreams as children, and we've been meeting here ever since. The last several dreams, you've been confused and lost, so I guess it's not too surprising you've forgotten me completely." She gave a slightly bitter smile, turning to stare off into the distance; overhead, the sunlight dimmed, rain clouds building on the horizon. "I don't understand why our timelines aren't meeting up, but maybe it's got to do with why I aged faster than you…maybe there's still a chance you may remember me in time."
A sharp glance cut off his impending protest. "On January 23rd, 2016, you'll find a half-starkers~ lunatic in hoochie-boots lost in the underground—freezing to death in an abandoned subway station. You'll take her to April, Casey will be an arse, then you'll decide to bring her home. I'm gonna be a mess, Darlin', but I know it'll get better in time…and once you remember me, I can tell you what I couldn't tell you in the alley today…then you'll understand."
"Wh—What you couldn't tell me?" he scoffed in disbelief. "What can't you tell me?"
"Hawd yer fashin', ya silly braw speccy,"~ she reprimanded solemnly, then grinned when he blinked back in silent confusion. She smiled at some secret thought, then shook it away and turned pleading eyes to him. "Dee, you've got to remember—ya gotta remember, and when you do, ask me about Clayton Gregory."
Willsdale, Missouri – The Staggering Rat Pub
Day 3
"As you can see this is the heart of Willsdale proper – the Town Square and what passes fer Downtown Willsdale. Funny, huh?" All around Amber, passersby shot her scornful glances and rolled their eyes. Of course, she couldn't really blame them too much – she was the one wandering around outside a local bar with a Bluetooth headset clipped to her ear and her phone in the air like some delusional tourist shooting their pathetic vacation. What the good people of Willsdale couldn't realize, however, was that she wasn't just shooting a video—she was live-streaming it to Donnie's phone, introducing him to places and people he could never see in person…starting with her uncle Bart's pub.
"Unusual name for an establishment," Donnie remarked from his end of the call, the butter-smoothness of his voice sending goosebumps down her bare arms. "You said your uncle owns it? Was the name perhaps chosen in the old European standard of choosing names that could be illustrated for the illiterate?"
"Not exactly, ya cannie-fanny,"~ she teased, gleefully visualizing the slight flush surely blooming in his cheeks if he mistook the playful barb for a compliment. "It's a pun – the rat's staggerin' 'cuz it got rat-arsed—or 'drunk as a skunk.'"** A low chuckle echoed through the headset, sending even more chills down her spine; she could practically feel it along her skin—just like she felt it this morning when she woke up to find him curiously mapping out her vertebrae through the tender skin of her back and mumbling the terminology and such to himself. Criminy…if he kept up being brilliant and curious around her, he was liable to find himself tackled the moment she got back to Aaron's trailer, witnesses or no witnesses.~
Right—her family was waiting. "Well," she muttered turning the camera to her face to offer Donnie a somewhat nervous smile. "On with the show. You're gonna love what he's done with the place!" The moment she crossed the threshold, she found herself swept up in a bear hug, courtesy of her much taller and leaner uncle.
"Yew really thought yew were foolin' me, Lil' Burd?"~ Bart teased with a lopsided grin that seemed all upper teeth. That crooked and misaligned grin was one common to every Devon Amber ever met, and at one time, it embarrassed her to pieces; now, it was just more proof that she was finally home. "I wasnae born yesterdee,"~ Bart reminded shooing her over to the bar. At the old formica-topped counter, her family gathered, finally unified again, and a fresh tumbler of her favorite fine Scotch whisky waited for her. "Now," the white-haired Scot-expat grinned as she settled on her stool, "how aboot~ yew fill us in before the lunch crowd hits?"
Over an hour later, the Devon family and Amber's father were disbanded; Amber and Aaron remained at the bar catching up while Bart looked on, seemingly waiting for something to happen. He always seemed a bit flighty before—long-haired head permanently in the clouds and pale grey eyes always focusing on sights no one else could see. Now Amber couldn't help but wonder if they all misjudged him. Other than Aaron, he was the only person to recognize her in her new shape. Perhaps Bart wasn't just daydreaming or hallucinating all these years…perhaps he was actually seeing things his family could never see or believe. Her family would never believe even half the lunacy Amber now knew to be fact…perhaps she and her endearingly awkward uncle had more in common now.
All around her, familiar sights, sounds, and smells tugged at her senses. Between Aaron's updates on their hometown, Amber heard the clack of resin on resin—her father was clearly shearing another local over the pool table. Bart's prematurely faded hair, as always bound in a loose tail, shone clean and white in the unnaturally bright lights over the bar. The sour tang of stale beer hung in the air, countered by the smoky perfume of her scotch—scotch she still, after over an hour, had barely touched. Separately, those sounds, sights, and smells meant little; taken together, they meant everything. Be it ever so humble, Amber realized with a faint smile, distractedly tracing the rim of her glass, it was good to be home. Wait…did she get that wrong? Oh, who cared—the company was good and the whisky better, so what could possibly matter?
Wait…there it was again – a slight prickling of the hair at the back of her neck. Eyes fixed on her glass in determination, Amber drew on everything Donatello taught her in hopes of ferreting out the answer. Eyes on her—she could practically feel the gaze of another crawling down her spine. Aaron, bless his heart, didn't pick up on her sudden silence or her tense posture and went on about her being "a fancy-pants city-biddy now." Of course, Aaron tended to miss any social cues that weren't delivered with a sledgehammer. Oblivious to her growing discomfort, he prattled on about things that should matter to her—the many changes the town went through, the vast differences between this town and what she was now used to, and a slew of other, equally familiar comments.
Her eyes darted upward, and over the brim of her glass, the cause became clear—the waitress, Kimber, hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen, bottle-green eyes uncertain and painted lips locked in a slight frown. Amber met that stare for a while, hoping a good, long, hard stare would deter Kimber from confronting her, but eventually, she faltered. In the time between Amber looking to Aaron for comfort and returning to the staring contest, the other woman vanished among the bodies oozing through the front door.
Without warning, Amber shoved her stool back from the bar and lurched to her feet, startling Aaron. "I'll be right back," she told him with a weak smile. "I gotta hit the ladies'…keep an eye on that waitress." Before he could question the odd order or get out one of his usual jabs—for instance 'Don't ya mean hit on the ladies?' or 'Call me if ya want me to shake it for ya!'—Amber bustled to the back of the pub. With every step, the feeling of being watched intensified…and so did the already overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
Footsteps behind her—her pursuer tackles her, shoving her through an open door. An unfamiliar face in the mirror—she's never seen the woman before, so why does she seem familiar?
"Ya hussy! T'a fuck're ya doin' in my bawdy?!"~
Kimber. Amber shuddered at the realization and quickened her step; sure enough, the footsteps behind quickened as well. Her dream about Donnie and Aaron in Aaron's backyard played out differently, though, so maybe the dream of Kimber could be changed too… Determined to not fall into that trap, Amber put on an extra burst of speed, darted past the door to the women's room, and ducked into the men's room instead. Sure enough, the footsteps outside paused, their owner hesitating—hesitating long enough for Amber to prepare herself to meet her counterpart.
The sound of a familiar tune startled Donnie from his ruminations, drawing his eyes from the notebook page to his cell phone. Amber. Shaking off his stupor he checked the message. 'Gran'da just left,' he read silently scrolling down the screen with a distracted thumb. 'It's just Aaron and myself now so we'll probably be back early. See you soon, Darlin.' How soon? He shook his head. Not for the first time he wished Amber was better at communicating, or that he was better at reading between the lines. Either way, he wouldn't find answers staring at his phone.
The distraction set aside, he stared down at the worn notebook splayed open across his lap. Overall, Amber seemed to have forgotten her journal, or else she simply stopped writing in it. Perhaps there was no longer a need for it, in her mind? No matter. Now it had a new purpose—a different person scrawling out their problems and struggles in its worn pages, starting from the back and working forward.
'Specky'~ – where have I heard that name before? Obviously from Amber, but she's the only one I've ever heard use it – why did it feel familiar the first time she used that name? Even stranger, why does the Amber I dream about use that name? Surely it's only a coincidence. Then there's 'The Crazy Celt' – it's not the sort of nickname I'd come up with but at the time, it fit. Then to hear Mercy use it – AFTER I used it on Amber! – and claim it was a common nickname in her previous life – how is that possible? Then there's the Amber in my dreams again, bragging about how 'the Crazy Celt' outdrank another victim…this makes no sense!
Even nicknames aside, there's too much to ignore. "Here I thought you grew from spores like a mushroom." To hear that in person after hearing it in a dream…is it just an Amber-ism, is it coincidence, what? Physical appearances – Kimber's hair is more brown than red, but if the photos in Aaron's album are to be believed, Amber's hair was almost auburn. The Amber in my dreams has the same color hair! This can't be possible—it's completely illogical!
Realizing his scribblings were becoming more and more frantic, Donnie paused, slowing his breathing and stretching the crick from his neck. No matter how I may agonize over the questions, I won't get any answers just thinking about them. There's only one thing I can do at this point – I have to hunt down answers, confirm a few things I've noticed regarding the Amber in my dreams. Did the real Amber have braces as a child? I know she had back trouble and fused vertebrae from the accident, but did the scars on her back stretch vertically or horizontally? What about that birthmark – 'dream' Amber has a blotchy brown birthmark just above her left glute, shaped somewhat like a half-deflated football. Did the real Amber have a birthmark like that? …okay, maybe that's not the best question to ask. I need answers, not a knuckle sandwich. This is getting out of hand…
With a frustrated sigh, he dropped his pen to the couch cushions and flipped back a few pages. Ah, yes…there it was. The mere sight was enough to bring a small quirk to his lips. The first time he found the poem – scribbled on a wrinkled sheet of paper lost between his nightstand and the wall – he was sure the verses were copied. Now he knew the truth – they were original, written by the confusing woman he now called his own. Transcribed to the notebook by his own hand, now, he studied anew the riddles hidden between the lines.
I met my lover in a dream. Why hide ye in the night? The shadows are my right. He was never very good at this sort of thing…perhaps that was why Amber felt confident enough to put the words down. Shaking off the realization, he trailed down to the second half of the poem.
The dream is done but he is here –
I've met my lover 'gain.~
My life is over, a'thin's~ changed,
How much, I dinnae ken.~
"Why must a'thin' change," I asked?
"Why must a'thin' end?"
"Because it must," I realized.
"Just smile and be his friend."
Friends…well, that would explain why she kept pushing him away. Still…Amber never spoke like that aloud—at least not when he was around, or when she wasn't furious beyond measure. Clearly, she was imitating someone—hiding her words behind the style of another, hoping he'd be fooled. She underestimated him. "The dream is done," he muttered aloud, flipping back to his notes and scribbling out another. "She references dreams a lot in this, and in her journal…maybe there's a connection?" Mibbe~ someday he will see – Someday the truth I'll tell. What truth? Was there something beyond what she confessed that May? Something even more unbelievable than his family being fiction in her world? In dreams…I fell…in dreams…
With a frustrated sigh, he slumped back into the over-stuffed sofa, tugging at the back of his neck. Perhaps he was wrong…perhaps he was misreading the signs given him…but if he was wrong…if they really did know one another from years before, why didn't Amber bring it up before now? If she dreamed of him and he of her, why did she still maintain silence about it? If their roles were reversed – if he was granted a new chance at life in her world after dreaming of her – he would have brought it up before now…wouldn't he? Now my lover watches me / His eyes as hard as stone. / The love we knew in dreams is through… / My lover-friend is gone. Her lover-friend…if he was reading this right - if she truly knew him before he knew her, how she must have suffered for hiding it from him…
The back door creaked open in the kitchen, and a moment later, clicked shut. Stashing the journal under the sofa, Donnie dug out the photo album and feigned interest in its contents. "Hey, Hon," he called out thumbing through the crackling pages. "How'd it go?"
"So yer the one she's hidin'." The unfamiliar voice sent Donnie's heart-rate through the roof—a stranger stood in the doorway, clear blue eyes fixed on him in amusement. Of course, that amusement might be more due to finding himself face-to-face with a ninja armed with a dusty table lamp. In the hands of a master of ninjitsu, anything could be a weapon…unfortunately, Donnie was no master, so he probably just looked silly. Frozen in place, lamp held at the ready, Donnie scrutinized the stranger hovering in the doorway to the kitchen.
The stranger was tall – almost taller than Donnie himself – and though he was now visibly frail, he was clearly strong and sturdy in his youth. Clear grey-blue eyes, a shade or two clearer than Mercy's and several shades murkier than Mikey's, stared right through him. His hair was overlong and curly—dark brown between the grey and white spread like patchwork across his scalp—and his greyed beard, sideburns, mustache, and mutton-chops were trimmed bushy. Despite sneaking up on him, the elder strode confidently into the living room and lowered himself into Aaron's recliner, visibly waiting for Donnie to realize he meant no harm. "How did you get in here?" Donnie asked when the other volunteered no explanation.
"I's a small toon,"~ the elder replied thickly with a disaffected shrug. "Nuwun locks their dares when they're hame; some folk never lock'em even when they're gane."~ The mutant stared back, blinking in confusion and struggling to decipher what he heard. The stranger was difficult to understand, but then again, so was Amber when she got angry…and angry Amber sounded a great deal like the stranger before him if a good deal more understandable. Something about not locking doors...? "We've never met – Ah'm—"~
"Glen Devon," Donnie finished for him. "Amber calls you Grahn'Dah." Sure enough, Glen grinned at him, baring a glimpse of familiarly misaligned upper teeth. Huh…a crooked overbite was a family trait, then, maybe?
"An' yer the cannie speccy she waited fer," Glen acknowledged gruffly, "The one'oo brought'er hame to us an' brought tha' sparkle back in'er een."~ Despite the thick broguish accent coloring the elder's words, the meaning was somewhat clear—it was either a confirmation or a compliment. Donnie ducked his head, hiding an awkward smile.
For a time, the two simply compared notes, both surprised the conversation was as easy as it was, language barrier aside. After all, it wasn't exactly normal for someone in Glen Devon's world to find themselves chatting with a mutant turtle, let alone the mutant turtle dating his no-longer-dead granddaughter. "I'm surprised you're taking this so well," Donnie remarked after a time. "Normally when my family first meets someone, there's screaming and stammering, or at least fainting. Some people even wet themselves."
"Ma yoongest has seen thin's fer years, Lad,"~ Glen retorted rolling his eyes, "thins nuwun else ever sees, but thins that sound awfy fameliar an' fectional. Compared ta what he's told us aboot, yer pure dead tame. Ef ye wan' a body tae faint, ye'll have tae meet ma daughter."~ Donnie wasn't sure what to say about that—partly because he couldn't understand even half of it—and held his tongue. "Ah'm grateful tae ye, Son—ye brought ma Ahmber hame, ye've tekken good care of'er, an' Ah'm sure ye mean'er nae harm, but Ah need a promise. Ah need yer word tha' ye only want the best for'er—tha' ye'll no' hurt'er."~
It took a moment of bewildered staring on Donnie's end for Glen to realize the other didn't understand him. Growing a tad frustrated, the elder tried again, slowing down and enunciating more clearly; that careful enunciation, however, also resulted in some pretty warped pronunciation that didn't quite work out. "Swear tae me ye willnae—will no' hurt Ahmber," the elder summed up gruffly. "Swear tae me ye'll dae right by'er." ~ Promise you won't hurt her—promise you'll take care of her - that much, Donnie could understand.
"I wouldn't dream of anything otherwise," the genius admitted avoiding Glen's eyes. "She means too much to me. I can't promise I'll never hurt her, though…I…I kinda…already did." To his surprise, Glen didn't automatically jump all over him for the confession; instead, the elder leaned back into the recliner's plush backrest, his hairy arms crossed, and waited for explanation.
It took a bit to get out the whole story, from first finding Amber in the subway to their long feud and all the way to the present day—the juicy bits censored out, of course. So far, Glen seemed almost comfortable with him being a mutant, but should Donnie let slip that he and Amber were intimate…EEK. His family might never find all the pieces of him. "I love her, Sir," Donnie summed up once he finished, "and there's little I wouldn't do to make her happy. We've made amends and moved on from that fight, but I'm—I'm afraid I've done something else—something even worse than not trusting her."
Glen waited for him to elaborate but to no avail. "What have ye done, then?" he asked lowly. Donnie turned back to him, looking much like a kicked puppy.
"I forgot her," the mutant confessed, gaze dropping to the photo album again.
"Fergot'er?" Glen repeated, grizzled brows pinching in disbelief. "How cud ye've fergotten'er? She's been wit' ye this whole time, yes? How cud ye ferget'er when she's right under yer snoot?"~ How could he forget her when she was always with him? Even with Glen's thick accent, the question was clear, but the answer was far from it.
From the moment Donnie first found Amber, freezing to death in the underground, she seemed familiar; he was sure he'd never seen her before, but something tugged at him from the depths of his memory. That tugging only grew stronger over their first few months with her, months peppered with hints and secrets seeping from the past and into the present in the form of remembered dreams and deja vu. Then came the day he thought sure would be their last together—the night she dreamed of Kimber demanding answers, the night he first showed her his heart, first explored her through touch and taste, and the night before they faced down Hun and Northpaw for her freedom. That night, the slow trickle of memories swelled to a tsunami—memories of dreams long forgotten, some recalled in the light, others relived in the night, and most featuring an older, wearier version of the Amber he knew now. It took a few weeks to realize he'd been remembering all along - that the Amber in his dreams was trying to tell him so - but the overload of remembered dreams nearly drowned him.
"It sounds too far-fetched to be true," he summed up still afraid – ashamed, angry, frustrated – and unable to meet Glen's eyes. "Logic indicates shared dreams are impossible, based in fiction, but I've seen logic proven faulty many a time, often by my sensei—a master of ninjitsu and the wisest man I know. Not to mention this inter-dimensional travel bit," he added under his breath. "So much makes me wonder if these dreams of Amber…if they're another instance of logic being overruled by reality." He heaved a sigh, tugging at the back of his neck and struggling to center himself despite his thoughts skittering every which way. "If…if we really did - crazy as it sounds - experience a shared dream-state throughout our lives, then how could I forget her? She means the world to me…how could I possibly forget someone so important to me—someone who wasted her entire life waiting for me, who even died waiting for me?" Before he could launch even further into self-deprecating stammering, Glen spoke up.
"Never underestimate the abelity of a braken heart tae brak the mind," he warned crossing his long legs. "Ef ye truly fergot'er, why'd she seem fameliar?"~ Why did she seem familiar if you forgot her? Donnie blinked in surprise; it never even occurred to him to wonder that. "It sounds like ye blocked oot'er memory, Son, perhaps oot'a sorrow. Her las' few years, she wiz jus' a shell of'erself – wur lil' Jeanie-burd wiz fallin' apart. It brak wur hearts seein' it frae the distance she kep' us at; Ah cannae imagine how much it would've hurt tae see it up close."~
Amidst the thick words, a few stuck out that made sense. Blocked, memory, sorrow, falling apart, hurt…Donnie was sure there was more to the explanation, but the bit he understood was clear enough. Could he have been so broken-hearted over watching Amber fall apart that his own mind tried to spare him from it by striking those dreams from his memory, by declaring her a fantasy and dismissing her? Donnie wasn't sure what to say to that. What could he say? It hurt watching her wasting away her life, even now long after the fact when all he had were echoes of dreams past; surely in the moment, it must have been even more painful to see it. Nervously, he looked up to meet the eyes of the elder—the grandfather Amber mourned more than anyone else in her world. "Did…did she d-dream…" He faltered, losing his nerve and turning away in embarrassment.
"Ah cannae deny nor confirm tha',"~ Glen warned calmly. "Ef ye wan' answers, ef ye would knuw whether yer dreams were yers aloone, then ye'll have tae ask'er yerself. Ah've goat no answers fer ye on tha'."~ Glen studied the other silently, searching for any reason to distrust or doubt the strange being before him; he found none. "Ah've a question fer yew now…well she be able tae come back again? Es thes the only chance we've goat tae say goodbye?"~
Donnie startled from his ruminations. "Can she come back again?" he repeated to ensure he didn't misunderstand the other's words, then upon receiving a nod, answered with a shrug, "I don't see why not. We used a portal technique to get here—a spell of sorts meant for travelling to other dimensions for ninjitsu training. The technique is easy enough to manage, timeline variance aside." That timeline variance, of course, being two years gone by in Amber's world for less than a year in his world. He shook off the realization; it wouldn't help his case any, but the elder deserved to know. "We should be able to come by once in a while but I can't guarantee it'll be regular or frequent – she's been in my world less than a year, but Aaron Willis told us she's been gone from yours for two years."
"Did ye truly expect defferent worlds tae march tae the same drumbeat?" Glen chided with a grin. "Yer world an' wurs cannae ever cross, su what wud be the point of'em mahtchin' up?"~ Donnie stared back at him, struggling to grasp the other's point; failing that, he searched instead for what he wasn't hearing or seeing and still failed.
"You really aren't disturbed by any of this?" the genius muttered disregarding his confusion for the moment. "Your granddaughter's dating a mutant turtle and came back from the dead, but you're not the slightest bit disturbed?"
"Desturbed?" Glen parroted back with a smirk. "Entirely. Aboot tae lose ma heid? Naw. Ef it'll comfort ye, Ah'll be sure tae faint the morn."~
One moment Amber O'Brien was being chased down by a counterpart demanding answers; the next she held that counterpart pinned to the dingy ivory tiles of the men's room wall, faithful Buck knife at the other's throat. "Lemme guess," the braided other-worlder remarked with a calm she didn't at all feel even after the fact. "I'm Kimber Bryant, what're ya doin' in my body, have a knuckle sandwich."
"Ya don't have ta do t'is," Kimber urged instead, slowly reaching up to the shaky hand at her throat and easing it—and her favorite knife—aside, never remarking on the blatant threat. "I don't mean ya no harm…I jus' want answers."
Hours later, Amber still wondered if she should have fought harder—should have insisted more and refused to trust the woman whose corpse she wore like a fugly Christmas sweater. Hours later, though, she was alive and unharmed, and so was Kimber Bryant…and come sundown, the Jersey Nutjob would meet Amber, Aaron, and Donatello in Aaron's home for a long overdue talk.
Kimber claimed she only wanted answers—swore up and down that she had no intention of causing trouble—but after seeing the disaster the younger woman made of her life before dying, Amber was reluctant to believe that. "This could be a trap," she muttered to hugging herself, unable to tear her eyes from the blind-shaded window. Gentle hands at her shoulders turned her about, one migrating to tip her chin up; sure enough, hazel eyes, veering brown in the dark parlor, met hers.
"It might be," Donnie conceded enfolding her in his arms. "Then again," he added into her hair, "it could also be she made the request at face value. It could be she really just wants answers."
"…and it could be she wants'er body back," Amber snorted into his shoulder. "Not sure how the heck that could work. At least the world didn't blow up when she touched my hand." He craned his neck back to shoot her a bewildered glance. "Doctor Who. Doc took Rose back in time to see'er Da before he died, she ended up creatin' a paradox, then'er parents blew time to hell an' back by makin'er hold'erself." # Donnie blinked; Amber winced. "Okay, that sounded way dirtier than it was meant to."
"Something you're trying to tell me?" the genius teased. His expression was entirely innocent but Amber knew otherwise—a callused thumb hooked in one of her belt-loops and the rest of the massive hand cupped the curve of her rump with a playful squeeze. God forbid she even contemplate what the other hand was occupied with—she needed her sanity intact.
"You're really distracting, ya know that?" she groused but smiled all the wider.
"I'm happy to oblige." For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something—looked like something heavy wore on his mind—but that moment passed, and instead, he nuzzled into the warm crook of her neck and shoulder. A gentle pinch of teeth at her pulse - a firm squeeze at her hip - who cared that Amber would face down her psychotic counterpart in half an hour? The present, spent with her brilliant, remarkable, impossible lover was far more pleasant a distraction than worrying over what she couldn't change.
Whatever would be, would be.
LONG-ASS WORDS NOTES
My advice? Skip or skim unless you're confused. Most of the following are Scottish slang, Scots-English, or pronunciations warped to fit the most well-known Scotch dialect. (Henceforth noted as "SS.") Other instances will be noted. In the instance of entire sentences being explained, I have sometimes simplified and translated the sentence as a whole rather than tediously define every single world. Keep in mind, as always, dialects and intensity of speech color vary from person to person. Glen's incredibly thick speech isn't an example of how 'everyone' from his home talked, only how HE talks; Aaron and Mercy's intense twangs, too, are only to show their personal flavors, not to say 'everyone from Missouri talks like a hick.' Lastly, regarding Glen's portions below, unless otherwise noted, his speech defs are all SS.
~Half-starkers – Starkers is a regional variation of 'stark naked' so half-starkers means half-naked. Consider that Kimber wore her skimpiest skankiest clothing when she took to the underground in hopes of either coaxing Raph's cooperation or at least earning sympathy cooperation when she turned up freezing. Also, hoochie is a slang term for either 'a woman of questionable chastity' or 'a hot-mama.' Basically Amber's calling Kimber's clunky black boots hooker boots. That said, she's not insulting the boots, she's just being a smartass…as evidenced by the fact that she's still wearing them regularly even now that she's been able to afford something else.
~Hawd yer fashin', ya silly braw speccy – Hawd – hold, as in 'stop' and fash – to raise a ruckus or be fussy. The most commonly used phrase, traditionally, is hawd yer wheeshd – basically a fancy way of saying 'shut the frick up already,' but Amber's always had a tendency to twist phrases around to suit herself. (Turning non-verbs into verbs, twisting words she learned from her Gran'Da into new combinations and assigning alternate meanings, etc.) One such example is a repeat offender from her, "Hawd yer haverin'," with havering meaning 'talking shit,' 'speaking nonsense,' or 'being ridiculous.' (Side note: anyone who's ever heard the Pretenders' "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" that verse uses the word haverin', not some other mistaken word. From what I've read, the band (or at least the lead vocalists) are native Scots and were normally ordered to suppress their accents for music by their managers/label. This song is reportedly one of the only tracks they were allowed to really be themselves for, and it made a world of difference. Nerd rant over.) The last one, braw, is also SS and means beautiful, handsome, or otherwise good-looking.
~Cannie-fanny – another SS Amber-ism. Cannie – smart or clever, and as before, fanny – twat or arse. Basically, she called him a smartass. ;D
~Criminy – this one's a less elaborate form of the regional slang term criminently, a non-obscene swear. Some consider the terms interchangeable, some consider criminy weaker and less emphatic than criminently. Pronunciations: CRY-mi-nee and CRY-mi-NENT-lee or CRY-mi-NEH'lee, with the –neh— being pronounced with a half stop. (In the latter case, the "-nt-" is usually dropped and replaced with a sharpening of the syllables before and afterward to create a stop.)
~Yew / Ye / Ye've / Ye'd / Ye'll – You / you / you've / you'd / you'll [SS] As always, I've based this mostly on extensive research, but the presence of two different pronunciations of 'you' is largely based on the region this is set in. In some regions of the US, particularly the Midwest, it's not unusual to hear one person use three or more different pronunciations for certain words (the, or, for, and you are a few common culprits) differing only by what words they're used with. Because our application of the 'twang' can change by the sentence (you/ya/yeh/yew being a particularly common example of variations of the same word) this region's speech patterns are alternatively linguists' nightmares and wet dreams. In this case, Glen's adopted this 'multi-pronunciation' habit along with a few other changes as per his residency. Personal note: IRL, I've got a pretty thick twang (honestly even thicker than is shown in Blocked) and Cold remarked something about this recently. We were on the subject of me misunderstanding something he said, he responded with a teasing "You have trouble understanding me? Fuck, I've heard ya pronounce "or" in 'bout half a dozen different ways all in the same conversation an' I still understand ya. Hearing. Aid." (I don't need a hearing aid. He mumbles. Doctor. Verified. Mumbler.)
~Lil' Burd – Bart's nickname for Amber, compare to "Jeanie-burd" with burd/burds referring to females in general. SS.
~I wasnae born yesterdee – I wasn't born yesterday, SS
~Aboot – about, SS.
~T'a fuck're ya doin' in my bawdy?! – Kimber's Jersey twist, "What the fuck are you doing in my body?!"
~Specky – Donnie doesn't know how to spell Speccy, which just means he wears glasses. SS
~'gain – again, SS
~A'thin – SS Everything so a'thin's would be "everything's" as in everything has
~How much, I dinnae ken – How much it's changed, I don't know. SS. Amber's imitating the works of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns, and very poorly. Real writings by Scott and Burns are obscenely different and, IMO, an absolute delight to the eyes and ears.
~Mibbe –maybe, SS
GLEN'S PORTION:
~I's a small toon – 'It's a small town.' I's would be pronounced like hiss without the h-. SS
~Nuwun locks their dares when they're hame; some folk never lock'em even when they're gane. – No one locks their doors when they're home; some people never lock them even when they're gone. SS. Believe it or not, this is true of many small towns. It absolutely boggles my mind that only a few cities away, people can sleep with their windows open and their doors unlocked without getting murdered in their sleep!
~Ah / Ah'm / Ah'd / Ah'll – I / I'm / I'd / I'll, SS
~The one'oo brought'er hame to us an' brought tha' sparkle back in'er een. – The one who brought her home to us and brought that sparkle back to her eyes. (Made her happy again.)
~Ma yoongest has seen thin's fer years - thin's nuwun else ever sees, but thins that sound awfy fameliar an' fectional – My youngest [child] has seen things for years - Things no one else ever sees, but things that sound awfully familiar and fictional. SS. Glen's referring to Bart's problem with seeing things/hallucinating. There's every possibility he's not so much hallucinating as picking up things most people don't see. Believe what you wish, but I've seen that sort of sensitivity before IRL. (Growing up with a verified poltergeist doesn't do much for skepticism, either, TBH. Damn "Gopher.")
~Compared tae what he's told us aboot, yer pure dead tame. – Compared to some of the things he's told us he's seen, you're nothing impressive. SS.
~Ef ya wan' a body tae faint, ye'll have tae meet ma daughter – If you're expecting fainting and conniptions, try Ginny – she'll oblige. SS.
~Ah'm grateful tae ye, Son. – I'm grateful to you, Son. SS.
~Ye brought ma Ahmber hame, ye've tekken good care of'er, an' Ah'm sure ye mean'er nae harm, but Ah need a promise. – You brought my Amber home, you've taken good care of her, and I'm sure you don't mean her any harm, but I need a promise. SS.
~Ah need yer word tha' ye only want the best for'er—that' ye'll no' hurt'er. – I need your word [a promise] that you want only the best for her—that you won't hurt her. SS.
~Swear tae me ye willnae—will no' hurt Ahmber. Swear tae me ye'll dae right by'er – Promise me you [will not] hurt Amber. Promise me you'll do right by her. (Doing right by someone has a broad meaning that can include protecting, supporting, caring for, and loving someone.) SS & regional slang.
~Fergot'er? How cud ye've fergotten'er? She's been wit' ye this whole time, yes? How cud ye ferget'er when she's right under yer snoot? – Forgot her? How could you forget her? She's been right there with you this whole time, right? How could you forget her when she's been right under your nose? SS.
~Never underestimate the abelity of a braken heart tae brak the mind. – Never underestimate the ability of a broken heart to break your mind. (IOW, emotional distress can negatively affect the rational mind in ways we don't always understand.) SS.
~Ef ye truly fergot'er, why'd she seem fameliar? It sounds like ye blocked oot'er mem'ry, Son, perhaps oot'a sorrow. – If you truly forgot her, why did she seem familiar to you? It sounds like you mentally blocked out her memory, perhaps out of sorrow. SS. "Son" - in the Midwest it's not uncommon to hear older generations referring to younger males as "Son" even if they're not related. Sometimes this is done out of affection or to comfort, and sometimes it's meant as a warning. (Anytime my own father calls COLD "Son" we know he's PO'd to the max and reminding himself why making me a widow is a bad idea.) In this case, Glen's calling Donnie "Son" to comfort him and say-without-saying that he accepts him, trusts him, and approves of him.
~Her las' few years, she wiz jus' a shell of'erself – wur lil' Jeanie-burd wiz fallin' apart. – Her last few years [alive], she was just a shadow of herself – our little Jeanie-burd was falling apart. [Amber was fighting depression and apathy, nothing new] SS.
~It brak wur hearts seein' it frae the distance she kep' us at; Ah cannae imagine how much it would've hurt tae see it up close. – It broke our hearts seeing her fall apart from the distance she kept us at; I can't even imagine how much it must have hurt seeing that up close. SS.
~Ah Cannae deny nor confirm tha'. – I can neither deny nor confirm that ["That" being 'whether or not Amber was dreaming about you, too.'] SS.
~Ef ye wan' answers, ef ye would knuw whether yer dreams were yers aloone, then ye'll have tae ask'er yerself. Ah've goat no answers fer ye on tha'. – If you want answers, if you wish to know whether or not your dreams were shared, then you'll have to ask her yourself. I've got no answers for you regarding that. [Gran'da washed his hands of this. He ain't gettin' involved. Nope, not touchin' it.] SS.
~Ah've a question fer yew, now…well she be able tae come back again? Es thes the only chance we've goat tae say goodbye? – I have a question for you, now: will she be able to come back again? Is this the only chance we've got to say goodbye to her? SS.
~Did ye truly expect defferent worlds tae march tae the same drumbeat? Yer world an' wurs cannae ever cross, su what wud be the point of'em mahtchin' up? – Did you really expect different worlds to march to the same drumbeat? [exist in perfect sync?] Your world and ours can't ever cross, so what would be the point of them matching up? [synchronizing] SS.
~Desturbed? Entirely. Aboot tae lose ma heid? Naw. Ef it'll comfort ye, Ah'll be sure tae faint the morn. – Disturbed? Entirely. About to lose my head? [experience a mental breakdown] Hardly. If it'll make you feel better, I'll be sure to faint sometime tomorrow. SS. Two guesses as to where Amber got her smartassery from. ;)
NOTES
*Tonfa – Tonfa are a blunt wooden weapon typical of some Eastern martial arts and normally used in pairs. The basic shape is a sturdy length of wood, similar to a bo but just longer than the upper arm, with a peg or handle jutting out of one side, almost at the end. Generally, the handle is held in your fist with two basic positions for defense or offense. For defense, the long portion of the weapon is laid along the outer edge of your lower arm to enable blocking, bracing, and bashing; the shorter portion will extend a short distance from your knuckles and is good for jabs and punches. For strictly offense, some reverse that position – the long portion is extended beyond the fist and the shorter portion is laid along the wrist to brace; in this manner, you can really whallop someone, and easily concuss them. Some varieties of tonfa are built for easy switching, and will thus have a two-piece handle – the inner portion is attached to the staff and the outer grip is built to rotate, so you can rotate the weapon as needed. (For visual: If you've watched the first Hellboy liveaction movie, Krœnen used a pair of tonfa modified into blades instead of staves.) Tonfa, according to my research, have been commonly used in the Japanese military and police force because they can be lethal or non-lethal depending on their usage – no carrying a pistol AND a stun-gun and fumbling between them.
On the bit about Donnie starting with Tonfa, this is a head-canon of mine. ALL THREE of his brothers were assigned weapons in pairs—Donnie's the only one who was assigned a single weapon. Keeping to the weapons theme - "two sharps and two blunts" - I feel like Tonfa would have been a good dual-weapon for him. TBH, the single weapon was most likely chosen by his creators because a single weapon makes it easier to perform his super-special-geniusy-background-support stuff than stuffing one weapon under his arm to chuck a smoke bomb. In the Paramount verse, however, Donnie's shown with vision problems, probably far-sighted, and that made me mentally picture him accidentally bashing himself in the head during training before he got his glasses. XD I couldn't resist, LOL!
** The Staggering Rat Pub – As Dee mentioned, traditional English/European pubs and taverns were given names that could be shown on the sign in pictures – a few examples from pop culture would be 'The Prancing Pony' and 'The Green Dragon' from the Lord of the Rings and 'The Hanged Man' from (I believe) the Dragon Age game series. The practice was started during times when illiteracy was more common than literacy, but over time, kept because drunks don't read so well while they're puking in the gutter. "The Staggering Rat" is a pun based on the SS term 'rat-arsed' meaning 'drunk.'
# Reference: Doctor Who episode #163 "Father's Day"
