DONATELLO 1
My name is Donatello, not that anyone in my family would forget. Sometimes, like tonight, I wish they would forget. There I was, minding my own business. My nightblade, Donato, had recently earned tenth level in my Arena computer game, when Leo stuck his head in the door and yelled that it was my turn to go for Pizza.
Halfway there, I realized it was Raph's turn, not mine. I went last time. I mean, that they were watching The Crow for the hundredth time and could not be disturbed was not my problem. Leo handed me money and told me Little Caesar's. Just because Casey had to have the spaghetti, I had to travel six blocks past Mama LiRosa' s Pizza and leave poor Donato hanging in an unknown city with the evil wizard hot on his trail.
Not fair at all.
Little Caesar's turned out to be full of the usual Friday night hang-out crowd. You know, the ones with no life of their own that they have to gather around with others of their kind just so they don't have to be pathetic by themselves.
"Yeah? "
Great vocabulary. A high school diploma was obviously not in the job requirements for this place.
"Order for Turtle, " I told him.
The kid looked at the spread behind him and produced four pizzas, a large bucket of spaghetti, a bag I guessed had to carry some sort of sandwich for April, and an order of Crazy Bread for Master Splinter. Great. Who ordered all this, and then thought I could carry it?
"Turtel," the kid said, reading.
"Turtle, " I corrected him. Great vocabulary, and now he can not even read.
He looked back at his sheet, "Turtel."
"Turtle."
"Uh, you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, I guess this ain't your order then. It says Turtel right here."
That's it! No more Mr.-Nice-Turtle. I grabbed him by his t-shirt and yanked him down over the counter. "Look, kid, I'm usually not the nasty one. If Raph were here, he would have knocked your head clean off. All I want to do is get the damn pizza, get home and return to my game. Now, the name is Turtle. I can not help it if your education level is so lacking that you can not even spell such a simple name. Do we understand each other?"
He nodded.
I let go and straightened out his shirt where I had grabbed him. "Now, my order?"
He totaled out my order. I handed him the money Leo had given me, and left the place with as much grace as I could muster. Pizza balanced across my arms, the spaghetti in my left hand and the sandwich and bread in my right. A walking pizza store with a trench coat and hat. I hope nobody I know is out tonight.
If I were to sell off my extra stuff, journey to the nearest dungeon, I could probably make eleventh level before midnight. That would get me my next level of spells and I could last longer against those frost hounds. I might even woof.
I stopped. Woof? Where had that come from? There it was again, more like an arf than a woof, but a woof none the less. I held the pizza out and looked down at my feet.
A pair of dark eyes glittered back up at me. A little pink tongue hung out between a row of tiny little teeth. Fuzzy hair stood out like a mane, glittering in the street light with snow.
"Hey there, little guy, what are you doing out here? You'd better go home, it's not a good night for little guys like you."
I carefully stepped over the puppy and continued on. Now, if I were to use my invisibility spell and dance around those frost hounds while I hacked at them, they would not have a chance. I stopped at the next traffic light for a walk signal and felt something bump in to my left leg. So much for invisibility.
"ggrr."
The puppy looked up at me, its little tail wagging at the attention.
"Go on, go home," I tried again.
The puppy cocked its head, "Arr?"
An empty bus terminal beckoned to me from across the street. The sandwich was slipping so I decided to stop and shift my load. It would also be a good chance to check out my new little friend. I crossed the street, puppy at my heels. The terminal offered some protection against the light snow so I put the food down and flexed my fingers.
"Come here, little fella," I said, picking the puppy up, then noticed my error. "Oops, sorry, little girl."
The puppy paid the comment no mind as it tried for the bag of crazy bread.
"That's for Master Splinter," I scolded the puppy, then said, "You really are hungry, aren't you? I don't think Master Splinter would mind sharing a piece with you."
I pulled out a small piece of bread and offered it to the puppy. It hungrily attacked the piece.
"No collar, no one around, not very wet, so you must not have wandered very far. Hey, slow down, that stuff is not very good for puppies your age."
"Groof."
I looked at the puppy in my lap, "Excuse me?"
"Groof?"
I looked down to see another puppy. This one had short tan hair, but had the same lost puppy eyes.
"Don't tell me, you're lost, too?"
The puppy's little tail wagged and I sighed, "Master Splinter is not going to be very happy if I keep feeding you guys his bread."
I sacrificed another section of bread. The puppy attacked the bread, its rear end sticking up as it dived forward. The first puppy hopped down, and wrestled with the second for the bread. They pulled at it like a pull toy until it broke and the two went sprawling.
"Well guys, it's been fun, but if I know my bro's, they're as hungry as you and as funny to watch."
I picked up my load and continued on when I noticed two puppies playing in the snow before me. I glanced behind at my two companions, one still dragging a small piece of bread. Four lost puppies, all different breeds, and all in the same area. This sounded like some kind of movie with puppies breaking out of pet shop jail.
Pet shop.
That had to be it. There was one a block or two away. I passed it on the way here. There were lights on. Must have been a cleaning crew or something. Well, I'd just have to stop and get these fuzzy little guys and gals back to them.
The two newcomers got the idea of the parade quickly. I was not sure if it was my charming self, or the bread they tussled over.
The pet shop was half-lit, the door propped open. I knocked on it with my foot, which set the puppies to barking. A young man, in his mid-twenties, answered the door. He looked me over, and I wondered just what he was seeing.
"I believe these might belong to you," I told him, motioning toward the puppies at my feet.
"Uh, yeah, thanks," he muttered.
I turned away as he bent to herd the puppies, back into the store.
I took several steps before I got the feeling that something was wrong.
I turned back around.
The man was about average height, dark brown hair, jeans and nice jacket. Jacket. Why would someone be wearing a jacket if they were cleaning a pet store, and a nice one like that? And why would someone prop a door open, this late at night?
I ducked in to the next doorway to watch. It did not take long for him to reappear. He opened the door, looked around and walked out with a cage of kittens.
"Excuse me," I said, walking back towards him. "As much as pet shops give me bad dreams about plastic palm trees and glass bowls, I really don't think that --"
That's my problem. Maybe I think too much. Leo would say something like act, than think. Raph would say just act. Mikey would say something stupid, like duck, and protect the pizza at all costs. From anyone's point of view, I should have listened.
The cage of kittens came straight at me.
I went down, bending at the knees, the pizza boxes going straight up to block. I lost hold on the pizza, barking on all sides of me.
The cage came back; a back swing.
I rolled, my left hand raising up to deflect the blow.
Something hit, exploded and I felt wet, hot liquid hit my face, run down my arm.
Fur below me, the squeal of a puppy in pain. I rolled back, holding the hurt puppy to me.
The curb, snow. I slipped, crashed into the street, landing on one foot and a knee. Blinding lights were coming right at me. I prayed the guy had good brakes. I felt the pain as the guy hit me and I spun around. The street came towards me at an alarming rate. I barely remembered the puppy I was holding before my memories went as black as the street I fell on.
Wet.
Cold.
That was how my memories returned. I felt something licking me. I sat up, painfully. I looked around to see several puppies, all licking me.
Red. Blood.
No something else. I examined it. Some kind of white string-like substance. It must have been what was left of the spell some mage had cast at me. That's what had happened.
The evil wizard had sent some of his men after me. We fought, and somehow I escaped. But where was I? A strange city, in an alley, with only my puppy companions.
They must have robbed me, dragged me here, and left me to die.
I would show them. I would search this foul city, find adventure enough to hone my skills to their peak.
I would find the Holy Symbol of the Khajiit, as I had promised the high lord of Grayire if I had to search every pawn shop and dungeon to do so.
But most of all, I would seek the evil one's men out and destroy them. The evil lord was getting way too cocky if he thought that I would back down, now. Idle threats would not deter me from my final quest of his destruction.
By the Elder Scrolls do I so swear. Or my name is not Donato, semi-honorable nightblade of the Arena.
PUPPIES 1
It is now time, my pups, to venture out into the world. Before you go, however, I feel it necessary to warn you about humans. Most of them try to be nice, but they just don't give credit where credit is due!
Look at your Grandfather. He alone kept two intruders at bay when his humans were away for eight hours. His reward was being scolded for having an indiscretion on the carpet. Eight hours is a long time! How was he to know that his humans had asked the intruders to come to the house and let him out. No one told him! AND, they didn't scold the one intruder for having an indiscretion in his own pants (your grandfather can be quite intimidating when angry).
My story is a little different. Life was good at first. A clean cage to sleep in and plenty of food to eat. There were four of us that hung together. The human that cared for us (none of us considered him OUR human) was nice. He let us explore the room and visit with the other animals. We even got to play with humans that came in and decide if we wanted to go home with them. None suited us though, because we considered ourselves a package deal.
This day started out the same: wake up, food, explore, visit, food, humans, food, visit, bed. Kind of. Bedtime came, but the human didn't lock us in our cages. Instead, he was talking to some other humans and taking money from them. We understood what this meant. Humans gave him money then took one of our friends. We didn't know where they went, but we never saw them again. I didn't like the humans handing out the money (it was a LOT) and I didn't like the way they kept stacking up cages of our meow friends.
The door was open and your mother kept edging closer to it (yes, your mother and I were puphood sweethearts and yes, your mother was adventurous even then). The three of us were undecided about what our mother was obviously proposing until the humans exchanged loud words and looked at us.
That was it!
Running into and over each other we caught up with your mother's tail and escaped into the night. Being the last out the door (your mother would say "as usual"), I did hear one human say "Let 'em go. Who cares?" This did make our escape less challenging, but it was still exciting. Your mother took the lead. I stayed back as rear guard just in case the humans changed their minds.
Noises and smells assaulted my senses. Cars. I'd watched them through the window and thought they were interesting, but their whizzing motion, loud roaring and awful smell made me nervous.
A quick check of a red cylindrical object sticking up out of the walk-way gave me hope. Others of our kind had traveled this same path! I looked up to share this discovery with the others and froze in horror. I was alone! No Pudge, no Stretch, and (gasp) no Tina! Calmly deciding that I couldn't be too far behind, I launched myself across the walk-way. I didn't see them up ahead, but I did see a turn. Not wanting to cross the street, the turn was my only option. Without letting up, my little nails screeching on the concrete, puppy pads smoking, I made the turn and quickly caught up with my friends.
Please note that this rather fool-hardy, head-long rush was motivated by my concern for the others. My own safety was never a factor. I guess that's what made the end result of this selfless act so humiliating. I won't go into too many details (actually, I can't, since we were all momentarily stunned by the collision and the stories vary widely depending upon your point of view). But I will say the walk was littered with three furry bodies attached to twelve little legs and paws pointing in all directions.
After my eyes uncrossed and I managed to remember my name, I slowly climbed to my paws and checked myself over. There was no apparent damage, so I shook out my coat and, avoiding some small puddles (no I didn't count them), padded over to my friends. Pudge seemed to be okay but was having trouble righting his rotund form. Stretch, who I must have run into first, was up and glaring at me. Ignoring his twitching upper lip, I leapt to the offensive.
"Why don't you guys watch where you're going?" I asked sternly. A choked snarl started out of Stretch's mouth and I really thought his eyeballs were going to pop completely out of his head. Luckily, Pudge stood up then and said matter-of-factly: "And I don't know what she's doing with him". Stretch forgot his anger and stared at Pudge. I , on the other hand, was worried. Pudge was still a little wobbly and his eyes weren't quite in focus. He was always a bit slow and painfully naive, but he wasn't gerbil-brained. I carefully asked "How ya feelin' Pudge?" He looked at me a moment and his eyes cleared. You could almost hear the gears re-meshing while he glanced over at Stretch and then back at me. "Okay," he said. "Now."
As is on cue, the three of us plopped our butts down and pieced together what had happened. Stretch had noticed I was missing shortly after they had rounded the corner. He had told Pudge to keep an eye on Tina and turned back to locate me.
Pudge had listened dutifully to Stretch's instructions, then turned around just in time to see Tina crossing the street with a human. He had watched them stop at a small shed, then pivoted to relay the information to Stretch, who was dashing for the corner. Poor Pudge had only taken a couple of steps towards Stretch's rear end when Stretch seemed to be shot from a cannon back at Pudge. Stretch, by then hopelessly entangle with me, had impacted directly between our friend's eyes. This explained Pudge's cryptic declaration. The importance of my information about possible other travelers paled in comparison to Pudge's news concerning Tina's whereabouts.
Staying together this time, we moved down the street to a point opposite Tina and the strange human. She didn't seem to be in any trouble. In fact, she seemed to be getting quite canis familiaris with him! Trying not to let my irritation show, I told Stretch and Pudge to wait where they were and I would try to find out what Tina was up to.
I eyed the street suspiciously. Once, before the humans had come to take me to the store, my father had introduced me to a friend of his named Roscoe. Roscoe was a real dog's dog. He lived outside the fence, all on his own. Once, Roscoe had told us, he had crossed a street carelessly and a car had caught him. It was painful to watch him walk.
So it was with some trepidation that I sped across the street. I cautiously approached, then stopped dead in my tracks. Two things caught my attention. First, the strange human was feeding Tina. That reminded me that I hadn't had anything to eat for over an hour. The second thing was puzzling. This strange human wasn't human at all! Creeping closer, I found that he looked and smelled like our little glass-cage friends back at the store, only he was bigger. They didn't do anything but lie around on rocks and never spoke to us. This one, however, was talking away and being quite friendly. In a flash of brilliance, I figured he had also escaped and somehow obtained this substance that made him grow. To test my theory, I barked out a friendly greeting and was rewarded with a bit of food. Tina now noticed my arrival and hopped down to greet me. After playfully squabbling over the tasty food, we noticed that our benefactor was on the move. Pudge and Stretch had ignored me and had joined us. Anxious to test my theory further, (we were still the same size), we followed along. To my amazement, he retraced our path directly back to the store. He was selling us out! The bad human shoved our butts into the store and the giant turtle left. After getting us in, the human ignored us and went for a cage filled with little meow-friends.
As he went out the door we all made our second break-out of the night. Tina, Stretch, and Pudge scattered. I made a hard left turn, barely avoiding a pair of legs and stopped to see what was going on. Looking up, I recognized the giant. my bark of greeting turned into a woof of warning and then a yip of pain as he fell shell-first on top of me.
SPLINTER 1
Meditation is at the core of all the great philosophies. To center yourself is to bring your world into focus, to make it clearer.
Tea helps the centering. It is a steaming constant in these new surroundings. A constant against the strange tunnels, the changes.
...in all the universe, change is the only constant....
The Turtles have their own comforts, already crowding the silt chambers they have claimed. No one would ever blame my sons for being overly neat. But much of this is my own fault, for they never unlearned my less desirable habits of scavenging, nesting, hoarding.
It is possible for things to get out of hand, however. Perhaps it is time to speak to them about responsibility. Meditation should not be postponed for last minute teacup searches - especially when the only clean one to be found is lodged behind some frozen hamburger in the freezer.
Still, it is not the pervasive rise of piles of clutter that concerns me most about my sons. They have grown immensely since the fall of my enemy, the Shredder; especially through our new human friends. Seeing themselves reflected in others' eyes has been a powerful experience for the Turtles. Raphael has learned how to better control his emotional drives. Michaelangelo, too, is achieving focus, even as Leonardo gradually loosens his stricter self guidelines. But not all of their changes have been for the better. And Donatello is leaving our experiences with less intact than any of us.
April's generosity has opened worlds for him as he challenges himself with her surplus computer equipment. I am often left as baffled as Michaelangelo when he tries to share his new knowledge. Thus, a barrier has been created between Donatello and his brothers. They are confused by his aloofness and frustration with our limitations, and seek to draw him back into the circle they discovered a few weeks past. (Lately, Donatello has been sent on far more pizza errands than he deserves.) But I wonder if this only heightens the attractions of the isolated world he has created for himself.
Somehow, he will have to be reminded that electronic fighting skills will never equal the martial power of a team.
I left the new meditation chamber early, stepping down to a tunnel floor that is still not quite familiar. The Turtles were in the living room, watching a movie as they relaxed from their workout. I could hear them laughing as Michaelangelo imitated a character from The Crow. Remembering my thoughts of the past hour, I thought how good it has been to hear Raphael's laughter, pure of the darker edges it had taken on in recent years.
Donatello wasn't in the living room when I arrived.
"Oh, we asked him to pick up tonight's order, Master," Michaelangelo told me. "Did you need him for anything?"
I shook my head, one eye on Brandon Lee's catlike grace. Raphael shares his style, I reflected, joining him and Leonardo on the couch. Michaelangelo turned back to the television - one of Casey's older models - and mouthed along with the screen for several minutes.
It was interesting to observe the rising tension in Raphael's body. "Hey Mikey, you wanta cut that out?" he finally complained. "You're distracting me."
April once marveled at the size of the Turtles' tongues. Michaelangelo offered us a beautiful view of his before continuing his soundless monologue.
Leonardo shifted closer to me as the scuffle began.
"I've been reading some of the training manuals Casey brought down, Master," he told me. "They've got some good ideas we could use in warm-ups. I had Donnie type 'em up on the system, so if you wanted to take a look..."
I thanked him, Michaelangelo's shell narrowly missing our heads as his brother tossed him over the couch. "I believe I'll go now," I said.
Donatello has chosen for his room a minor silt chamber leading into a broad, but short, tunnel. The chamber itself is an eight foot cube, which appeals to his sense of aesthetics. It is crowded with computer tables, bookshelves, and a cabinet that holds much of his equipment. The tunnel pipe is just as full: books line one side of his mattress, his martial art supplies the other.
The access pipe to his silt chamber was lit by an eerie green glow, which reminded me of the colored flame candles Leonardo once brought home. I headed toward the light, which I guessed came from Donatello's monitor - strange that he had left it on. He must have been working on something too important to be left off.
Bending slightly so that my ears would not brush the pipe's low ceiling, I stepped down to the stone floor. The computer rested before me, mutely displaying several boxes of information. One of Donatello's games, I thought. How would I ever find Leonardo's file now? I had no idea how the keys would affect Donatello's game.
The ninja is a master of himself and his environment, I reminded myself, easing into the chair facing the screen. It creaked dangerously, but held. Perhaps there was an operating manual nearby. What was this game's title? I scanned the bright boxes on the screen, caught by the colored lines. But even after reading the strange lists, I didn't know what my son had been playing.
It appeared complicated.
Maybe one of the others would recognize it and be able to get me to Leonardo's file. Fortunately, I could hear one of them coming now.
"Hi sensei," Michaelangelo greeted from the tunnel. He didn't seem surprised to find me there. "Raph just went out to meet Donnie and make sure those pizzas are coming." He dropped easily to the floor and came to stand behind me. "I mean jeez, the movie's over already, and Casey didn't tell us what time he and April would be showing up. Don can be a real jerk when he wants to, y'know? I can't believe he's taking so long! Anyhoo, I just figured I'd mess around on Arena until they got back, but it looks like you beat me to it."
"Then this is Arena?"
"Otherwise known as Donatello's latest and greatest obsession, yeah!" My son grinned. Michaelangelo loves being able to explain things to me without one of his brothers around to beat him to it. I believe it has something to do with "teaching the teacher.
He leaned past me to point at the lists I had been puzzling over. "See, this is the character box. It's got all your vital statistics. Like here's the name - Donato. And his class, Nightblade, and down here are his stats."
I stopped him. "What is a 'nightblade'?"
"Oh, that's a type of mage, y'know, a dude with magical powers. Nightblades are sort of hard to classify, cause they're more thieves and spies than sorcerer types. They can fight good too." Michaelangelo smirked. "I guess you could call 'em super-ninjas."
I chose to ignore the comment. "Go on."
"Well, here are the stats. Attributes, hit points, powers and strength--huh? wait a second!" My son moved around the chair to crouch before the computer, keeping his finger to the screen. I followed his pointing. Under the letters HP were rapidly flickering numbers. They were falling quickly, and from Michaelangelo's expression, this was not good.
"Is this supposed to be happening, my son?"
"No way. As far as I know, games don't have time elapsation penalties when they're paused. Donnie's gonna freak. Donato's stats shouldn't change at all...."
The numbers slowed, then stopped.
"Perhaps we should shut off the game for him somehow?" I offered.
"No---no, I don't think we need to do that." Michaelangelo's eyes were focused entirely on the silent screen. "I can take care of it from here, master. Don't worry."
I gave the seat up to him, sensing my son's intensity. The workout plans could wait. "Good luck, Michaelangelo," I said, climbing into the the tunnel. He must not have heard me, for he did not answer. He was already bent feverishly over the keyboard as I turned away.
MICHAELANGELO 1
My name is Michaelangelo, and I'm a turtle. Not just any turtle--I'm a TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLE, to be exact. Right now I'm a very hungry mutant ninja turtle. Where is Donnie with that pizza anyway? He still hasn't come back from Little Caesar's. I'm starving! Wonder what's taking him so long? I hope he's okay....
You know, now that I think about it, he's not okay. He's been really spooky lately, more so than usual. It didn't really happen until he started playing "that game," er, what's it called? Oh yeah, ARENA. It must be a lot of fun, Donnie spends hours playing. He calls himself a NIGHTBLADE. (Yeah, right. Blade my green butt -- Leo he's not!) He gets into the game, I mean really gets into it. Several different times I've walked in on him while he was playing. His whole personality changes and everything. He takes on a really English accent and talks like he's in a play from Shakespeare-- "Alas, poor Horatio! I knew him well!" Er, anyway, I guess he thinks he's this nightblade person or something. He keeps talking about some quest, whatever that is. He looks like he's having a great time, but he sometimes forgets who I am. It like takes him a moment to remember me. "Yo Donnie, it's me, Mikey, your bro, your buddy, your amigo." Not just me, but everyone else too. Master Splinter says it's nothing, but I can tell that he's worried. He says that until something serious happens there's no reason Donnie should stop playing.
I don't know, I think it is kinda serious. Other times I've walked in on Don and he's just staring at the screen, not even playing the game. It's like totally Zen or something. "Hello, Don. Earth to Donnie, come in Donnie. HEL-LO!" It's like I said, real spooky.
Well, being that Don's not back with the 'za yet, I might as well find something to do. I think I'm gonna check into this ARENA. Geez, I might even play it if it looks good. Why should DONATO have all the fun? I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I just took a peek real quick. He might even like that idea-- the great knights Donatello and Michaelangelo on the quest for the HOLY GRAIL! "What's your favorite color? BLUE? NO, GREEN! AAARRGH!"