(no subject)

[mnt_raph]

*Long.
That's the only way to describe the last few days.
Okay, maybe tiring would work too, but for the moment, Raph is sort of stuck in monosyllable land. His stomach is still not one hundred percent, but it's improving. Of course, he left that bit out when making his escape from the tearful reunion down stairs.

Home.
Bed.
Sleep.
That's all he wants.

And if he manages to get himself out of the vomit coverd clothing he happens to be sporting, all the better.*

Comments

[the-damsel.livejournal.com]

"Then stop acting like one, you stubborn bastard."

She peeled the shirt off and tossed it aside into the sink, her eyes passing over him in a quick appraisal. She couldn't see anything obvious, but still, "Are you injured?"

[mnt_raph]

*Raph leaned back to lean against the sink.*

No, I tol' you, I'm fine. Just squidgy.

...

What the heck are you wearin'?

[the-damsel.livejournal.com]

April pushed his hair back from his face, as if trying to determine whether he was lying. After a moment she pulled her hand back, satisfied, and then blinked down at herself.

"Oh. I wasn't exactly expecting to be here, you know." She bent down to get a shoulder under one of his arms. "Up, up, up," she instructed, because while she was strong, she wasn't that strong, and he outweighed her by a good fifty or sixty pounds at least.

[mnt_raph]

*Again he grumbled.*

what? 'm comfy. April...chill. I'm fine. Really. Jus'...jus' lemme be.

[the-damsel.livejournal.com]

April paused, issuing a frustrated sigh. "Gee, lemme think... soft bed or hard floor? Which seems better? C'mon, let's go... Unless you have to hurl again." She arched a brow.

[mnt_raph]

I will if you keep tuggin' on me.

*He responds defiantly. Just a touch slower than usual, he gestures towards the tub.*

Sit.

[the-damsel.livejournal.com]

Sighing, April relented, but plopped down cross-legged on the floor beside him rather than on the edge of the bathtub.

"Honey, what did you do?" she asked, reaching to touch his cheek without hesitation.

[mnt_raph]

*He pulls back.*

Had a job to do, an' I did it. Same day, different damsel.

[the-damsel.livejournal.com]

April stared back at him for a space of a few seconds before her mouth turned down into an angry pout.

"Oh, fuck it," she spat, and pushed herself from the floor. She hurriedly rinsed her hands in the sink just to make sure she didn't have anything on them and then wiped them dry against her t-shirt. "The door can bite me. Take care of your own damned self."

Had he taken the time to notice, he might have recognized the pinched look about her face, or the dark circles under her eyes. She didn't expect him to, though. She just knew she couldn't handle that sort of reciprocation, not just then, not with the state she had been pulled in there in.

[mnt_raph]

*It's true. Had he not been hounded and handled...he might have. But there's only so much one can see in the bottom of one's own toilet.

He's seen this behavior before. The snapping. Normally it's followed by Casey saying something really insensitive, and then comes the door slamming.

And when Raph notices something is insensitive...it's really got to be offensive gold.

He slams his head into the sinkstand a bit harder than he was expecting.*

Okay. I get it. You're upset.
I'd ask what this was about, but I know the answer's gonna be somethin' I don't wanna deal with without a couple hours o' sleep, an' a bottle of Pepto under my belt.

[the-damsel.livejournal.com]

Upset was really not the best description. Royally pissed probably would have come closer to the truth. So it was that she flipped him not one but two birds, and would have seemed almost gleeful about it had you not known the circumstances.

"Get it yourself, asshole," she replied. "I'm going home to leave you to your new, improved life. Again. Next time that fucking door tries to pull me in here, I'm going out the bathroom window if I have to."

And with that, she strode out, uncerimoniously slamming the door behind her.

[mnt_raph]

yeah...good luck with that.

*Raph stumbles to his feet, clambers his way to his bed, and collapses.

He lays there, lights still on, for some time before fishing a throwing knife out of his pocket, and tossing it towards the light switch.*