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Characters: Donatello (

i_speak_softly) and OPEN
Date: throughout the month of July
Location: mostly around the Metal and Water sectors
Situation: various
Warnings/Rating: none yet; subject to change

((The story so far: Donatello was having a reasonably nice life, then he was forced to move again and was given the "gift" of telepathy. For the past few weeks, he's been getting settled with these changes. Now things have quieted down to a new normal, so Don is out and about, taking care of lingering business and looking for new adventures, though preferably of the not-too-adventurous variety. PM me for plotting, or just tag in!))

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"Well yeah," he says before he even realizes that Don didn't even open his mouth to say that. But around the edges of Mike's mind, his day begins to play like a sit-com clip show during sweeps. So many kids, all of them come in with varying levels of shock and fear, all of which melt away during the course of the class.

He was on a roll, and though he'd share some of that with his cousins...the ones he hasn't bonded with as strongly as he has Raph.

Don looks at Mike another minute, then decides to take this at face-value.

"Works for me."

So, you want to talk about something? The lanterns, life with Raph, how not-vegetarian Donatello is?

That whole time Don was appraising Mike, all the other turtle did was smile as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Great! So the dumplings were okay? I couldn't really tell if there was a whole lot of chewing going on, what with the inhaling."

"I'm an overworked engineeer, not a food critic." But he smiles. "They taste like home."

"Trust me, everyone is a food critic," he says with a smirk. "But I'm glad I can help. The trick is to get just the right balance of algae and worms."

Then he waits expectantly to see how Don reacts.

"The right -"

Don's eyes tick to the empty basket, then back to Mike.

"What?"

Mike has BARELY enough time to cover his mouth with his hand before he erupts into a peal of riotous laughter. So much so that it threatens to knock him over the back of the couch.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're lucky I'm kidding, but I'm totally kidding. The little guys, from the other world? They seriously ate stuff made from worms and algae. No lie, Mikey told me all about it...in detail. A lot of detail..."

Don covers his mouth too, though for somewhat different reasons.

"I think I'm going to be sick anyway..." he says faintly.

Someone scratches the needle across the record playing in the back of Mike's mind. He was going for gross-out, not prompt an actual involuntary protein spill.

"...seriously?! Uh...hold on."

With that Mike flips backwards off the back of the couch and makes for the kitchen as quickly as his feet will take him. Cabinet doors are flung open, water is set to run...

... Oops. Well, at least it's an opportunity to practice his semi-long-distance telepathy.

Not that seriously, Mike. Come back.

There's a very undignified yelp from the kitchen. That voice Mike just heard sounded close, too close for it to be coming from Don in the living room. So clearly the only explanation was that Don had snuck up on him.

But when Mike spins around to confront where he thinks his cousin would be standing, he finds he's alone in the kitchen.

But...he...was just...he sounded so close.

Mike gives the room a quick once over.
Nooooope. Not in the kitchen.
So he very quietly works his way over towards the kitchen door and peers through looking for Donatello.

Don is sitting in his chair, looking bemusedly back at Mike. Did Mike hear that, or did the message get lost somewhere in the ether?

He asks the question with nothing but his expression:

Everything okay?

"...i will never get used to that..." he mutters quietly while scowling in Don's direction.

Edited 2014-07-14 03:28 (UTC)

Don looks utterly crestfallen at this response.

"You too, Mike?"

His heart breaks a little bit at that.

"It's not..." he stands up fully, and leans against the doorframe, rather than skulking around its margins. "Did you miss the part where I screamed like a little girl?"

"I didn't," Don says, but he's not sure what the significance of the screaming is.

"Well...it's embarrassing. And it happened because I thought you were standing behind me, which, let's be honest: Not out of the realm of possibility given the family line of work. It's fine. You're fine. Really."

Please don't feel bad, Donnie. Please. Quick, Mike. Think of something happy. Something to distract him with.

"I mean, you didn't get me anywhere near as bad as the kids at the dojo did today."

Don's brows levitate slowly, because he is really not following Mike's train of thought. But keep talking; he'll catch on eventually.

"Okay, so like...I've been showing some of the older kids some lockpicking," he starts, already raising his hands in defensive placation should the need arise.

It's not exactly ethical, but then...neither is ninjitsu, when you get right down to it. While Raph might get a kick out of Mike teaching the kiddos B&E 101, Mike has no real idea how Don or Leo will take it. But for the sake of Don's mood, he'll take the chance.

"So you know how in the dojo there's that secure area where we keep the extra supplies and stuff, right? Well, the whole class is supposed to be about dodging and getting out of dodge, because their parents are like...paying me to teach the kids to be safe."

Don has no problem with this. In fact, he's entirely in favor of people knowing how to pick locks, as long as they're not learning how to beat his own high-tech security systems. He just makes a vague "go on" gesture.

"Well the kids have been giving me grief over it, especially after the bombings. They want to fight, or well some of them do. So I thought lock stuff and some slight of hand might help them take their minds off it, you know? Distract them a bit.

Yeah...so there I am, actually running the obstacle course with them this time, because they asked me to. That should have been my fist clue," he says rolling his eyes ruefully, but still...there's a smile on his face. He's actually pretty proud of them, if he's being honest.

"I don't even notice that some of the kids aren't in the course, I'm just doing my best to get from A to B in as few movements as possible. And when I round the corner towards the next flat open spot...there they are. All of them. And they're all armed with stuff we keep behind the locked door. Every kid has a kendo stick or a dodgeball.

Get this: They give me until the count of three to surrender, and at two Li, one of my best students, orders them to, and I quote, 'Unleash hell.'"

The scene plays out in his mind, and it's all Mike can do to keep from doubling over laughing. Oh he fought off a few of them, but there were too many.

... A dodgeball. It's not exactly a fearsome weapon, but in this case, it's the strategy that counts.

(On second thought, he remembers how much hell he and his brothers once unleashed with some cleaning supplies and a pair of spoons.)

When they're both done laughing, Don gets up to pat Mike on the shoulder.

"My Sensei would be very proud," he says, not only serious but heartfelt. "And I think yours would be too."

"Yeah? You really think so?" he asks, but it's more rhetorical than anything, as evidenced by that fact that he's all but literally beaming with pride.

"Sure," Don says, answering the question anyway with a soft smile. "You not only taught them lockpicking, you taught them strategy, teamwork, stealth, resourcefulness, the art of negotiation, and how not to be too honorable."

Who wouldn't be proud of an educational outcome like that?

"Yeah...I really kind of did, didn't I?" It would be impossible for his smile to be any wider.

"So...any ideas what I could do with this army I've apparently assembled?
...
That aren't gluing Raph to the ceiling."

He's got that one covered.

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