Play part 8

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part 8

Master Splinter came to understand that his son Donatello was not simply a gifted and intelligent child; he was in fact, a genius.

Not simply a genius by mutant turtle standards, but by those measurements set by humans as well. That fact was a matter of great pride to his Father, but for Master Splinter it was also a two-sided coin.

The boy's intellect provided the family with many of the requirements for a decent life. His tinkering with items recovered from dumpsters and the local junkyard gave them clean, filtered water for both bathing and consumption, generator powered lights and electronics, a small working refrigerator and a beat up but serviceable deep freezer.

However, it became abundantly clear that Master Splinter would be unable to continue as Donatello's teacher in anything other than parenting and ninjitsu; two things that could not be gleaned from books.

When his children were in their eleventh year, Master Splinter was forced by necessity to separate them into different classrooms and the kitchen table became the learning center for Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo.

An area of their small lair was set aside for Donatello. It contained a battered desk, several bookcases fashioned from old boards, a card table and two chairs; one of which actually had all of its wheels. This became Donatello's 'lab', so christened by his second oldest son.

During the time of day designated for lessons, Master Splinter would set a task before his three kitchen-bound sons and monitor their progress. For Donatello, Master Splinter would choose a book from the turtles growing collection and require the boy read a section and then explain in writing what he had learned.

This exercise was mostly to ensure that Donatello understood that he was still in 'school' just like his siblings were, and that his restless hands were required to show the discipline of not tinkering during school hours.

Master Splinter always made a great show of reviewing the work that Donatello had done, but truth be told, he grasped none of it. He was astute enough however, to be able to ask at least one or two questions from the printed text and Donatello's scribbling's to keep the boy on his toes.

Having determined that his sons were proficient enough in their martial arts training at the age of ten to begin weapons training, Master Splinter naturally began to teach them to use the bo staff first.

While the boys each had their share of bumps and bruises as they learned to use the staff, Master Splinter found, much to his surprise, that Donatello wore the fewest such souvenirs of their practice bouts. The child most easily subdued by the others in hand-to-hand sparring, Donatello excelled with a bo to the point where only Leonardo and Master Splinter could provide him with a challenge.

He was not so adept at the other weapons that Master Splinter required they begin to learn once they had each mastered the bo. Acquiring the raw materials to create those weapons was a feat of both skill and artifice; some items found on the junk heap, others purchased with found money and a quick set of ninja hands to make the trade.

Master Splinter worked hard to match his children with the weapon most appropriate to their skill and temperament. For Leonardo the katana was a logical choice; his oldest child was himself as precise and perfect as a finely honed blade.

Raphael sais, while primarily defensive weapons, were as versatile as he was. They were also the only weapons truly designed to be thrown, a skill at which Raphael excelled.

The nunchakus could have fit no one better than Michelangelo. The whirling, spinning, non-stop motion of the twin clubs held together by a length of chain were the quintessential Michelangelo.

For Donatello, his most brilliant of sons, no better weapon than the bo staff could be found. Perhaps it was the fact that while his mind reveled in complexities, his soul required simplicity. And while Master Splinter required they all learn the fundamentals of other weapons, he did not push Donatello to relinquish his beloved bo.

During the years between Michelangelo's revelation about his place in Raphael's life, and the acquiring of weapons, the youngest brother remained essentially the same. He performed required duties as necessary, developed a taste for practical jokes, and enjoyed playing games whenever he was allocated any free time.

The games themselves grew more sophisticated and the imagination he put into them more complex, the challenge they promised drawing his older siblings in whether they admitted a willingness to play or not. Michelangelo's games were like honey to a bee.

It was a bee named Raphael who was most often drawn to the honey, Michelangelo's insight into his character allowing the orange banded turtle the ability to design games that were most likely to pique the hot tempered child's curiosity.

But Michelangelo was more than insightful, he was also clever. His imagination might churn out an immense and never ending string of ideas, but he did not have the skill set to actually create what his mind could envision.

This is when Michelangelo discovered something incredibly unique about his genius brother, Donatello. While Donatello could spend hours in seclusion working on both practical and esoteric things, bemoaning the smallest interruption, he was also, to Michelangelo's great delight, unable to turn away anyone's request for anything.

Donatello had been born with an innate need to please, and an insatiable desire to make his family happy, no matter what it might cost him. And Michelangelo was certainly not adverse to taking advantage of that fact.

"Don~ny," Michelangelo trilled, his voice resonant and melodious, a sure sign that he was about to make another request of his purple banded brother.

Bending over the dismantled pieces of an electric grill, Don was not happy to hear that voice. Blinking down at the inner workings through a set of reading glass that were fastened to his head by an elastic band, he attempted to pretend that the voice wasn't coming any nearer.

In was a futile attempt, when just a moment later, the voice was right next to his head.

"I've got an idea," Michelangelo announced triumphantly.

"That's a major breakthrough," Don said, his voice calm and uninviting.

The sarcasm was lost in the fog of Mikey's enthusiasm. "Yep. Look what I found at the junkyard!"

Don knew that if he turned his head, all hope of repairing the grill would be gone for the evening. Visions of gooey grilled cheese, tasty crisp bacon, hot buttery pancakes and a lot of other delectable delights made within minutes were fading as the sound of Mikey's voice grew.

"Mikey, I kind of have my hands full at the moment," Don tried, knowing that he should voice that in a much stronger way, something like, "Go away Mikey". He was just unable to say something like that to his kid brother.

His newest treasure clutched in one hand, Mikey ignored the subtleties of Don's statement as easily as he'd ignored the sarcasm. He knew a lot about Donatello; ever since he'd become determined to get past the esoteric language that his brother spoke he had become strangely fascinated by the genius.

The first thing he came to understand was that his brother was special, not a Raph kind of special, but very uncommon. Normal humans didn't have the smarts that floated around in Don's head, and neither did some of the more intelligent ones. That coupled with the fact that Don was all Mikey's made the youngest turtle very smug.

And he was all Mikey's, because the orange banded turtle knew how to push Donatello's buttons.

Shoving his find under the magnified lenses riding his brother's face, Mikey yelped excitedly, "It's an electric train!"

Don had to pull his head back to avoid having the dirty toy collide with his beak. Doing so forced him to meet Mikey's eyes, and his heart sank. Those big, blue eyes staring back at him with so much trust was his undoing, the thing that made him remove his glasses with a long, drawn out sigh.

"Yes, Mikey, I can see that," Don said gently. "This is the find of the century for what reason?"

"'Cause you're going to fix it," Mikey told him as though that were the most obvious thing in the world.

"No I'm not," Don said, then added quickly, "At least not right now. I've got something I really need to finish."

Mikey looked at the grill and huffed. "The stove works dude, we don't need that grill right now."

"What we don't need right now is another of your toys," Don attempted to explain, although he knew that the priorities of the rest of the family were rarely the same as Michelangelo's.

Mikey shook his head, making sure to keep the toy in Don's line of sight. "It isn't a toy, Don, it's totally a new training tool."

"I have no idea what that means," Don said, although positive that such an admittance would garner further explanation.

He was correct. "You gotta make this thing work with one of those remote control gizmos," Mikey said. "Then I can drive it all over the lair with a big cardboard bulls eye on top and Raph can do target practice on a moving target."

"And why does Raph need more target practice?" Don asked, trying to reach around his brother's shell for the screw driver. "Raph is already better at hitting things with either a shuriken or his sai than any of us."

"Moving target," Mikey stressed, doing his best to provide an example of that very thing by bobbing in front of Don's face. "Come on, admit it, it's an awesome idea."

Don contemplated the toy for one long fateful moment, and Mikey moved in for the kill.

"I'm pretty sure I've never seen a remote controlled electric train in any magazine," Mikey said, doing his best impression of a street hawker. "Just imagine the challenge of it; I'll bet some of the guts have to come out so there'll be room for the control gizmo and then you gotta make the remote strong enough to move the train. Shell," he said, employing their new favorite expletive, "it's gotta be able to move really fast to make the targets a challenge for Raph."

"For Raph, huh?" Don asked, his mind already trying and discarding ideas.

It was a challenge all right. The idea of making both Mikey and Raph happy with a single modified toy began to appeal to him. It would get Mikey out of his shell for a while, and Raph . . . Raph might even compliment him. Don blushed a little at the thought.

Staring at the train, Don brought his hand up to his chin, stroking it absentmindedly and it was all Mikey could do not to shout in triumph. Donny would figure out a way to modify the little electric toy and in a short while, Mikey would have another way to draw his Raphael's attention away from Leonardo.

In the last couple of years Michelangelo had found himself competing against his perfect sibling for Raph's time, albeit without Leo's knowledge. Why Raph wanted to spend so much time with Leonardo when all the blue masked leader did was train, Mikey would never understand.

Mikey had begun to put an extra bit of effort into his training as well, putting his natural athleticism to good use in an effort to impress Raph. He had in fact surprised everyone in his family with his agility, including himself. When he was paying attention and not distracted, he could even kick Raph's shell.

Putting his Raph down on the dojo floor and pinning him gave Mikey a great deal of satisfaction. It also tended to infuriate Raphael to the point where the hot head would go out of his way to return the favor.

For young Michelangelo, having his Raphael straddling his plastron and holding him down on the floor was not at all an unpleasant experience.

TBC………