tushanshu_logs

Characters:

michaeljangelo, + those specified in this post
Date: Several hours before and after the above network message
Location: All around Keeliai
Situation: The cadence, the coda, and one less turtle.
Warnings/Rating: Sads
Notes: Prose or actionspam are both fine; also, tags will come from both Michaelangelo and Leonardo

He wakes with a start, to the feeling of something snapping inside like a cord stretched taut and then sliced in two. With a sharp breath, his hand flies to his chest as though expecting to find some awful, bleeding crack in his natural armor. But nothing is there; just him, reeling and half-propped up in the darkness like he's just been struck. Disoriented, Leonardo sits up, rubbing his head to ease the pounding quickly settling into his temples. Weird. He's never had a migraine come on hard and fast enough to wake him up in the middle of the night like this. It's a new experience he could have done without, but at least the night is nice and quiet...

He freezes.

It lasts exactly four seconds: Leonardo sits frozen in place, one hand resting over his eye, because everything he has screeches to a halt and ramps inward, deep, deep into his core, listening. The absolute silence pulls him in, swallows every inch of his Self, until even the pounding heartbeat in his own ears fades into the night.

"No," he breathes, and then loudest of all is the shattering of everything that follows.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I know you are," he says quietly as they pass one another on Leonardo's path towards the chair, and Mike's exit to the hallway.

He'll have to be quick about it. Leo's room wasn't large, but still he has to check for himself, to see for himself, and the last thing he wants to do is leave The Bookends...

He stops in his tracks. No longer The Bookends, are they.
Is he.
Damn that's sobering.
Mike shakes the dissonance from his head and continues on towards Leo's room, hoping to find something in there to prove that Leonardo's intuition is wrong.
That the youngest of the cousins still left was...well, still left.

Mike doesn't turn on the light to the room, he doesn't really need to. As per usual the room is neat as a pin, but ever so much more so than when it was inhabited. The bed isn't made, it's a stack of folded linens on a naked mattress. Any books that were collected are gone, as are any mementos or tchotchkes. In fact, the only thing left to be found is a single peace-bonded sword on a plain display rack.

"damnit," he swears as he carefully lifts the sword and scabbard, and slings them both over one shoulder.

When he returns to his room he presents Leo with the water first, because he knows if he leads with the sword he'll never get his cousin to drink.

Mike pi

Leonardo doesn't notice that it's taking his cousin a bit longer than it should to fetch a simple glass of water. As he sits in his chair, massaging his eyes with a thumb and index finger, he's slowly sorting things out on his own.

Leo is gone. There's a pounding in his head, like a sort of migraine that pulls all of the blood from his insides and concentrates it behind his eyes, leaving the rest of him feeling empty. He knows exactly why. The spiritual connection he'd forged with his younger self had been forcibly and violently severed, and it makes him wonder - did he feel the very moment his little cousin disappeared, or did it simply stretch further and further as Leo Jr. slowly drifted away, straining until it snapped in two?

Whether he knew from the start, or whether his cousin was already far beyond reach by the time it happened, the once-comforting hum in his center is gone. Just gone. It's easy to comprehend, even if the effects of a spiritual severing have left him muddled.

When Mike walks back in with a glass of water, Leo accepts it gratefully. He's still a little shaky, but he no longer has the wan, borderline panicked look to him. He's no longer straining for a tune that isn't there.

"Thanks," he mutters, taking a slow drink.

"Anytime," is the quiet, rote response that comes before Mike takes a sip from his own cup.

Mike would be more relieved with regards to his cousin looking better if he didn't have Leo's sword slung over one shoulder. Briefly Mike considers stowing the weapon for another time, but he can see in his mind's eye how that will play later. It might be better to break his heart now, rather than later when his pride will undoubtedly take over.

Still sipping, he lowers himself to the floor where he sits cross-legged. With all the caution the blade deserves, Mike takes it from his shoulder and lays it across his lap.

He'll leave the acknowledgement of the weapon up to Leonardo.

He lowers the glass for the second time when the dark shape of a sword comes up around Michaelangelo's shoulder, stopping to rest on his lap. At first, Leonardo isn't sure what his cousin is doing with one of his swords. But when he opens his mouth to ask, his eyes skitter along the saya, across the guard, and finally come to rest on the braided dark cloth of the tsuka. In an instant, he knows what it is.

"Musashi's sword."

His own voice sounds distant to him, and he sits up straighter, both hands wrapping around his glass of water as though to steady himself. He feels as though it should hit him harder than this - perhaps he's merely still processing, but he isn't sure how to react.

Something strikes out a single note, deep in his chest. He winces, fingers tightening around his cup. Then, wordlessly, he sets it down on the floor next to him and gestures a request to be given the katana.

Mike nods before taking the sword in both hands and offering it to his cousin. His hands now freed, he picks up his cup and speaks quietly before taking another sip.

"It all that was left in his room. I'm sure he would have wanted you to have it."

The moment the sword rests in his hands, Leonardo feels a raw twist in his chest. It's the pain of a cracking joint, or cool water running over a burn - something deep and painful, but healing.

One hand slides up the saya of the sword, the kojiri resting softly in his other palm. He raises the hilt up above his head, gaze tilted upward to solemnly study it in the darkness. Here in the black night, it's such a contrast to the day not long ago when his other self called him to the turtle's edge, a gleam in his young eyes - but it's a perfect recollection to remember him by. Trust, love for their art, solidarity. The virtues that tied them beyond dimensions.

Far, far down, beyond where his center lies, the silence breaks to a quiet, steady echo; the afterimage of a sound passed on.

He listens for a while. Then he lowers the sword again, grasping it horizontally over his lap. Leonardo's eyes flicker to his cousin, his mouth pulling into a thin, steely line.

"Thank you."

It's Leonardo's smile that inspires Mike to do so as well. Not a broad toothy grin like normal, but a small restrained smirk. Mike nods once before merely replying, "You're more than welcome, it was my pleasure."

Leo's smile widens an inch at Mike's response. His gaze darts back to the sword, and he lets the scabbard slide across his palm, eyes closing in thought. A moment passes; then, with a quiet sigh, they open again and train onto an invisible spot somewhere beyond the floor.

"We have to tell the others."

The smile shows signs of a wince around the edges. Mike hates being the bearer of bad news, and really...is there any worse news than this?

"Yeah, I guess...I guess we really ought to."

Each time they lose someone it reawakens the ache in his chest that first opened when Master Splinter was taken from him and his brothers.

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