tushanshu_logs

Characters: Raphael and others
Date: Threads backdated from 3/14 through the month of April
Location: Wood Sector (primarily the dojo), and lots of sulking around the Water Sector
Situation: Raph's trying to take his mind off things after this little fiasco.
Warnings/Rating: Probably

((This post serves as two months' worth of catch-all. Feel free to use the post as a lead-in or come up with your own scenario. Or you can hit me up at

willowslament for plotting. I'm open to pretty much anything.))

It's been a bad week. A bad couple months if Raph really thought about it. And he did. Way too much. Replaying the fight with Leo, the thing with Monet over and over in his mind, his memories soaked with red-spattered fury.

It can drive a guy crazy; thinking like that. Letting it play over in your mind until it twists itself into something that makes you ache inside. Makes you feel sick. Makes your thoughts race at night and dark things flash through your dreams.

Raphael hates this. He hates fighting with Leo, with any of his brothers, but he definitely hates fighting over this same old crap more than anything.

But now Leo's taken a page out of his book and disappears completely. Leaves only traces of himself behind--food missing from the pantry, a window left ajar. His brother's turned into a ghost. Made it really freakin clear he has no interest in changing his mind.

He doesn't listen. He never listens. No one ever understands...

So Raph stays home; too afraid to venture out to his usual rooftop haunts, even to the Fire Sector, where you'd think the lure of the fight ring would be irresistible. But the possibility of running into Leo makes him too sick with bitter anger to swing it.

Without a tangible one, Mike becomes his verbal punching bag. He lashes out for no reason over the stupidest things. He breaks things... plates, the bathroom sink, the front door...

His anger at Leo has become generalized. More mad at the world than anything specific. Because it's easier than having to deal with any kind of real feelings. It just is.

Mike gets tired of it after a while, grapples to find something to distract him. He drags him to the dojo one day. He teaches kids there, and he's good with them. Of course he's good with them.

The dojo brings Raph a type of peace he wasn't expecting. A shadow of home and belonging that soothes some of the rawness inside. So he comes back. Sometimes with Mike, sometimes on his own to use the space to practice sai kata or to spar with whoever's willing.

And when he finds Korra there, he almost never wants to leave.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The dojo is quiet this time of night, and that's when Raph likes it best. Even if he's still sore about losing that bet with Korra, he had to admit, it was a pretty nice gig. He only had to come in a couple times a week, and it was always when no one else was around. Not to mention he finally had a way to save up for a bike without Leo suspecting something.

But the best part was, he could have the dojo to himself for a while, moving through katas and using the equiptment until Korra came in for her own workout session. Then they'd spar for hours at a time.

He's working the heavy bag when he hears the front door open, figures it's Korra until he hears the voice. Definitely not Korra.

Reaching out a hand to stop the bag, he wipes the sweat off his brow with the other, throwing the kid an irritated look.

"Yeah, we're closed. If you wanna sign up for classes, use the network."

Otherwise, scram.

He ignores the unspoken 'scram' in favor of stepping further into the room, but Casey mentally stops a little bit short. Weird-looking (by his standards, knowing the guys and Splinter), he's found out he can handle pretty easy. The other Mike was practically no problem. This Raph sounding different was something he figured he'd probably have to expect, too, but the whole package put together?

Jeez.

This guy is a freakin' brick house. Kind of on the short side, darker, and generally differently-shaped as a base rule, apparently, but talk about being built. What the hell kind of voice is that for a teenager, anyway? Maybe he's not even a teenager. That'd be a new one. Casey stumbles his way over this immediate 'oh right, different universe's territory in a big way' hurdle with an owlish blink, and pretty much without any grace whatsoever. That much is not new to him, at least.

"Uh. Nah, man. Don't need any classes." Hockey sticks and bloody knuckles do him fine, thanks. "I just ran into Mike a few weeks back, and I'm friends with the version 'a you guys I've got back home, so, y'know. I asked him where I could come say hey. Scope out this other universe stuff face-to-face."

He follows up with a shrug. Leo may apparently be scarce for the finding right now, but he's got time.

Not more of this alternate universe crud. It never fails to freak him the fuck out. He has no idea who this kid's supposed to be, even if he does look vaguely familiar, and he's got enough stuff to deal with right now.

"Yeah?" He says, crossing his arms and lifting an appraising brow. You come to scope him out, well he's gonna scope you out, too.

Or maybe he's just sizing him up. But y'know.

"Can't say I'm much of a fan of this alternate universe crud."

But he's not asking the kid to leave, so there's that.

He cocks his head to the left. Size away, bro, see if he cares.

(He does. Kind of. First impressions are so stupid when you can't meet someone in a fight or by having a door kicked down.)

"Yeah, well. You and everyone else, man. Hard enough keepin' track of my own." Casey moves forward again and extends a hand. "Name's Casey Jones."

"You gotta be kidding me," he snorts, half disbelief, half relief. This? This is Casey? He's just a kid. Probably not even older than him. But as he moves closer, he can see the resemblance. It's in the shape of the face, and definitely the eyes.

He'll grab that hand, squeezing it in that way that all bros know.

Not his Casey, but he's a Casey. And if he's anything like his friend back home, he's a bro no matter what.

"You're Casey? I guess you look uh... younger than I remember."

And the hair. He can't get over the hair. That moron's always going on about his "caveman style".

And moderate success is achieved. Matter of fact, this meeting thing's gone better than he dared to expect. There's probably something to be said for great minds and good bros reacting alike. Of course, the fact that Raph, unlike Mike, actually sort of knows who he is? That also helps. There'd be no justice in having to explain the whole friendship deal to a Raphael who'd been sadly deprived of it.

Lucky for him, the multiverse thought it was a good idea to make at least two Casey Joneses who went and palled around with mutant ninjas.

"Like you got room to talk? Last time I saw 'em, none of the guys looked like they could deadlift a freakin' truck." Seriously, man, that's some bulk. Impressive and probably useful, but still so much more... square than he's used to. "But what do I know, maybe that's your thing."

Oh, jeez. Compliments are never something he's very good at taking. Barking out a laugh, all he can do is tighten his squeeze on Casey's hand before letting go.

"Now don't go tellin' me you're from the world of weakling ninja turtles," he jabs, still trying to study the kid's face. He really does look like Casey. Just young, and it gives him that uncanny off-feeling in his stomach like every other alternate he's ever met.

He doesn't like it, but he's trying. He's trying because Casey--if this one's anything like his Casey--at least deserves a chance.

"Oh, they're great," he says, innocently enough. "Kick down an awful lotta front doors for masters of stealth, though. Forget about knockin'. But it's not like just anybody's got the same natural delicacy as me, so." And a shrug for effect.

All the natural delicacy of a brick going through a window, just the way he likes it.

"Pff," he snorts. "Wouldn't be a Jones if ya got anything to do with delicate."

And a Jones this kid is. Even if he doesn't look exactly like the Casey he's used to, he's definitely a Jones.

"So you ah... got a hockey mask lyin' around somewhere?"

It's a loaded question. He's testing the waters, feeling out the similarities. And at the same time, he would so love to hit the streets. Have a partner in crime to bust some skulls around here. He hasn't done much vigilanteism around here since he found the fight ring, but that could change.

"Hey, who do you think you're talkin' to?" He's pretty sure that any Casey Jones without a hockey mask to his name is a huge weenie with whom he doesn't want to be associated. The delicate thing, well. It's actually really accurate, except for maybe his dad's ego. Casey shrugs. "Had to do a little scroungin' for a substitute out here, but either way, I put those babies to good use."

The satisfaction of beating up criminals never completely dies, but he's come to learn in the past few months that it's a lot more fun with a buddy. What good is a scathing verbal burn if there's only a semi-conscious asshole to appreciate it?

"Good," he says, cracking a crooked, almost vicious-looking smile. "You know, I'm stuck here cleanin' up for the next couple hours. But if ya need any help takin' out the garbage..."

Popping his knuckles paints a better picture than anything he could put into words. "I'm your turtle."

[Open]

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