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Feb. 10th, 2005 12:38 pm[oom: directly after this.]
*Raph doesn't just drop into sleep as he has been for the last few weeks, instead he drifts off. The sensations of the world around him slowly melt into an inky background. Gone is the pleasent pressure of a sleeping Death, the buzzing of life around the garden, the gentle breeze, even the slow sway of the hammock itself. Fresh air is replaced by the salty smell of popcorn. A body content is now one stiff from having sat still for far too long. Raph opens his eyes, not to a garden, but to an emptying movie theater.
Instinctivly he pulls the brim of his fedora down lower on his head. He doesn't even register the now unfamiliar green hand before his eyes. When the theater is all but empty, he moves from his shadowed corner to the fire exits at the front of the theater. They always open these for the last show of the night, keeps people from mucking about in the lobby.
Outside it's raining. Of course it's raining. It's always raining in Raph's dreams. Donatello tried to tell him that this had some deep Freudian meaning, but Raph shrugged that off. It's just an' excuse for me to wear my coat, was always his reply. It's for the best really, the rain that is. New York smells better in the rain.
Raphael considers taking the long way home. The roof way home, but decides against it. he doesn't trust his boots. They're getting old, he'll have to hit Casey up for a new pair at some point. Nah, it's best to keep to streetside tonight.
As he walks he dares the shadows to come out to play, but they seldom do anymore. City must be losing its edge. Raph bristles at the thought of that. Sights. Sounds. Feeling of cold rain on his skin...it's all there in 3D Surround Sense-o-Vision. Main drags lead to side streets which in turn lead to public alleys with no cameras. After prying up the man hole cover, Raphael decends.
This is the part he hates the most. The tunnels that bridge the topside world with the home he's known for years. Low ceilings. Dripping walls. The stench of the worst of New York. It's all he can do to remain stoic, so he thinks about the movie, and not about his surroundings. The same late night Kung Fu fare. He'll watch the same movie night after night, if it means he can just get out for a while. The others disapprove, but really what does Raph care.
He kicks off his boots as he nears the door. They're not nearly as quiet as bare feet. A push of a hidden trigger behind a false brick, and the door quietly slides open. not silently, that'd be a death threat for them all, but just enough to not be obtrusive. Raph expects total darkness. That his brothers and father have long been asleep, the low candle light tells him he's wrong.
Sitting cross legged in his favorite chair is Splinter.
"Raphael. Come sit by me."
His shoulders slump as he slides the door shut.
Couldn't this wait 'til morning?
"Now."
Defiance apparent in his every action, Raphael does as he is told. Kneeling by the left side of his master. His preferred place.
"You are late"
No more than usual.
Splinter looks to his son. The expression clearly tells Raphael that he is not to speak until requested to do so. Ever the rebel, Raph looks away.
My master Yoshis first rule was posess the right thinking, only then can one recieve the gifts of strength, knowlege and peace. I have tried ot channel your anger Raphael, but more remains, anger clouds the mind. Turned inward it is an unconquerable enemy. You are unique among your brothers, for you choose ot face this enemy alone, but as you face it do not forget them and do no not forget me.
The change in tone is what grabs Raph's attention. This...this isn't just some run of the mill lecture. He looks back to Splinter, and sees the hurt and lonliness in the old rat's eyes. His mouth does not move, and yet the words are heard as clearly as if they were spoken aloud.
"Come home Raphael."
The room fades, and Raphael is left alone.
In the waking world, Raph's embrace of Death tightens ever so slightly.*
*Raph doesn't just drop into sleep as he has been for the last few weeks, instead he drifts off. The sensations of the world around him slowly melt into an inky background. Gone is the pleasent pressure of a sleeping Death, the buzzing of life around the garden, the gentle breeze, even the slow sway of the hammock itself. Fresh air is replaced by the salty smell of popcorn. A body content is now one stiff from having sat still for far too long. Raph opens his eyes, not to a garden, but to an emptying movie theater.
Instinctivly he pulls the brim of his fedora down lower on his head. He doesn't even register the now unfamiliar green hand before his eyes. When the theater is all but empty, he moves from his shadowed corner to the fire exits at the front of the theater. They always open these for the last show of the night, keeps people from mucking about in the lobby.
Outside it's raining. Of course it's raining. It's always raining in Raph's dreams. Donatello tried to tell him that this had some deep Freudian meaning, but Raph shrugged that off. It's just an' excuse for me to wear my coat, was always his reply. It's for the best really, the rain that is. New York smells better in the rain.
Raphael considers taking the long way home. The roof way home, but decides against it. he doesn't trust his boots. They're getting old, he'll have to hit Casey up for a new pair at some point. Nah, it's best to keep to streetside tonight.
As he walks he dares the shadows to come out to play, but they seldom do anymore. City must be losing its edge. Raph bristles at the thought of that. Sights. Sounds. Feeling of cold rain on his skin...it's all there in 3D Surround Sense-o-Vision. Main drags lead to side streets which in turn lead to public alleys with no cameras. After prying up the man hole cover, Raphael decends.
This is the part he hates the most. The tunnels that bridge the topside world with the home he's known for years. Low ceilings. Dripping walls. The stench of the worst of New York. It's all he can do to remain stoic, so he thinks about the movie, and not about his surroundings. The same late night Kung Fu fare. He'll watch the same movie night after night, if it means he can just get out for a while. The others disapprove, but really what does Raph care.
He kicks off his boots as he nears the door. They're not nearly as quiet as bare feet. A push of a hidden trigger behind a false brick, and the door quietly slides open. not silently, that'd be a death threat for them all, but just enough to not be obtrusive. Raph expects total darkness. That his brothers and father have long been asleep, the low candle light tells him he's wrong.
Sitting cross legged in his favorite chair is Splinter.
"Raphael. Come sit by me."
His shoulders slump as he slides the door shut.
Couldn't this wait 'til morning?
"Now."
Defiance apparent in his every action, Raphael does as he is told. Kneeling by the left side of his master. His preferred place.
"You are late"
No more than usual.
Splinter looks to his son. The expression clearly tells Raphael that he is not to speak until requested to do so. Ever the rebel, Raph looks away.
My master Yoshis first rule was posess the right thinking, only then can one recieve the gifts of strength, knowlege and peace. I have tried ot channel your anger Raphael, but more remains, anger clouds the mind. Turned inward it is an unconquerable enemy. You are unique among your brothers, for you choose ot face this enemy alone, but as you face it do not forget them and do no not forget me.
The change in tone is what grabs Raph's attention. This...this isn't just some run of the mill lecture. He looks back to Splinter, and sees the hurt and lonliness in the old rat's eyes. His mouth does not move, and yet the words are heard as clearly as if they were spoken aloud.
"Come home Raphael."
The room fades, and Raphael is left alone.
In the waking world, Raph's embrace of Death tightens ever so slightly.*
