A deeply disturbing suspicion begins to form in the back of Abigail's mind. Gritting her teeth, she takes her own katana and stalks after Raph. When he's leaned over poking at a shrub, she helpfully pokes him in the rear, right in the middle of a red heart.

She'll never understand his 'boxers.' They are ostentatious, and nowhere near as sensible as a good loincloth!

"There's no wind to carry it far and it's not here," she insists. "Where are your breeches?"

Someone is a bit grumpy about the direction their afternoon has taken.