milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Mike doesn't bound down the stairs today. No, instead he sedately wanders down with a rather large covered basket under his arm. It looks something like a sewing basket. He takes a seat at an out of the way table, and begins to unpack various and sundry sewing supplies.

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"Raph still carry it on him? He's such a marshmallow."

She nods. "It's his way of proving that he is special after all."

"Special Ed. maybe. Nah, he carried it with him back when he was a turtle too. Not on missions, mind you, even he's not that stupid."

"Family's important," she says, soberly.

Looking serious for once, he nods.

"Yeah, I just wish I could convince him to do something about it, and not just think it. We're all we've got, and he's missing it."

"We all do skitzing things to the people we love," she replies, deep in thought, but shrugging with one shoulder.

"True enough."

He looks over at her from the corner of his eye and sees her decending into memory. Right then and there he decides it's too early to be so introspective.

"Well, let's get started. I know how badly you want to get into my pants."

"Right, how do I start?" she brightens up a little too quickly and forcibly.

He doesn't miss the quick downshift in emotion, he just doesn't make mention of it. Rummaging around in his basket, he pulls out a seam ripper.

"Now, I know this is small scale when comapred to your pig sticker there, but I'm sure you can figure out which end to hold."

"Lurks, ruttit," she corrects him, taking the ripper and handling it a little too much like she's going to do violence with it. And enjoy doing so.

"Right, Lurks."

Mike cringes a little as she works.

"It's just fabric, I don't think it wronged your ancestors or anything. Be gentle."

"And don't forget it," she retorts, but she does ease up a little on the fabric tearing.

"Don't know that I could if I wanted to."

He's holding a moment of silence for the fabric of his pants.

She finishes off quickly enough.

"Good enough for ya?"

"Close enough for government work."

He takes out a fabric measuring tape from the basket.

"Want to give me a hand here?"

"OK, what do we need to measure?"

No, she's never done anything remotely tailor-like before.

"Hold this."

He hands one end to her. Still holding the other end, he twirls so the tape wraps around him. He read s the number, and then writes it down on a scrap of paper.

He does this three times. One shoulder, one mid shell, and one at what would be his hips.

"Very balletic," Mel says drily.

"Worse ninja ever" comes a voice from the doors to the garage.
Logan is dressed in the usual jeans & boots, carrying a flight jacket in one hand and a pair of saddlebags in the other.
He plop the bags on the floor next to a stool, sits, and turns to Mike.
"You smell like your brother, yeh know that?"

"Which one?"

"Raphael. Tho he's more...peppery?"
Logan is straight-faced... was that a joke?

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mnt_mike - 2005-03-18 21:35 (UTC) - Expand

"What can I say, I'm a delicate flower."

"Well, onea you horn-dogs on the half-shell owes me some beer, and it might as well be you."
Logan fishes in the watch pocket of his jeans and produces a barreted brass Zippo. He sets it on the bar to better rummage thru the inside pockets of the flight jacket. In the glow of the bar, one could almost make out "FUCK COMMUNISM" etched into the tarnished face of the lighter.

"There are worse fates. Dos Equis three times?"