ROTTMNT Stuff (And Some 2k12)

Tone Deaf

(continuation of CFTHH)

"Yo kid, wanna go do somethin'? I'm bored and don't wanna deal with the annoyin' asses out the—" He cut himself off, glancing into the room in confusion. "Uh- Kid?"
There was no reply.
"Okay—" He blinked, turning and going towards the living room.

"Yo, where's uranium enthusiast?" He questioned, pausing in the doorway and widening his eyes. He watched the others playing some sort of dodge ball game in the lounge, all breakables surprisingly set aside so they arent—well- broken.

A dodge ball game with. . Beach Balls. . . . Fucking. Beach Balls.
"Oi dumbasses! You know lil man hates—" He paused as he heard the loud clatter of metal on concrete behind him. Shit.
There stood the small softshell, eyes wide and practically pinpricks as he stood frozen in place.
"Hey- uh— Let's just go—" He began, turning to him and crouching to pick up whatever had dropped on the ground before stopping as the little terrapin ran off. The soft pitter-patter of his feet growing fainter as he disappeared into the long tunnels of the sewers.
"Goddamnit guys! Now look what ya did?!" He barked, snatching up the metal—now recognized as his new sais—and glaring at them.
"Sorry dude- we forgot!" Michelangelo raised his hands in defense, a small Leo on his back looking worried.
"Bullshit! You just didn't listen like always!" He snapped, turning and running after the small genius.
"C'mon guys, let's just clean up and do something else." Leonardo ordered, beginning to pick up the stray beach balls from the floor.
"Awwww!" The little ones—and Michelangelo, whined.
The blue-clad glared at them, flicking his wrist and hitting Michelangelo in the head with a beach ball.
"Hey! Not cool man!" He frowned, adjusting so Leo was secure on his back.

——————

The softshell ran through the sewers, to no place in particular. He just ran, hoping his self-proclaimed twin doesn't track him down and start pelting him with beach balls. He turned another sharp corner, nearly running into a wall as he did so. He eventually slowed to a walking pace, panting and feeling tired. Running is not his strong suit with these tiny legs. . .

He slowly began hearing faint voices, at first assuming they were of the others, but soon realizing it was coming from somewhere in front of him. He did begin hearing the loud calls of Raphael from behind him soon after, though. He turned towards Raphael's voice, thankfully hearing no one else's anymore. . . Wait—
Suddenly three unknown figures appeared behind the small turtle, casting shadows over his figure and causing him to tense up in fear. The one on the right snatched him up by the hood of his favorite pi hoodie, grimacing as the child let out a scared chirp.
"Donnie?!" The faint-ish call of Raphael was heard, loud footsteps following the voice.
"Think this kids parents are comin', do we leave it?"
"No, I think The Shredder will like this one." The middle one grinned, snapping their fingers. "Throw it in the bag, don't want it escaping." They ordered, turning and beginning to leave.
The other two just shrugged, opening a medium burlap sack the left most one had and throwing the softshell in.
He chirped in terror, immediately followed by a yelp of pain as he hit the ground within the bag flat on his shell.
The Red-clad ran down the hall, seeing everything. He screamed for the child as he was thrown into the bag, something falling from his face and seemingly breaking on the ground beside it. His anger flared up, legs kicking harder to hopefully make it in time before they began leaving.

A small, pained chirp coming from the bag didn't make it better.

The child squirmed within the bag a bit, before feeling too tired to even move anymore. Maybe a nap will make the pain stop. . . He thought, feeling the bag moving and hearing the footsteps of the people start up. His eyes began drifting shut, one last small whine escaping him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
The figures disappeared as soon as the older slider arrived, leaving nothing but what is now recognized as a broken pair of glasses on the floor, one of the lenses shattered completely with glass everywhere around it.
The Red-clad slowed to a stop in front of the glasses, falling to his knees as his eyes went to pinpricks. His mouth hung agape and his eyes began trembling, tearing up and looking down at the discarded frames. He picked said glasses up, shaky hands clutching the metal lense frames gently as he stared at them. Suddenly his head started shaking lightly, as if in denial about the entire thing. . Or to try and convince himself it's not real. He held the frames close, clutching them like a lifeline.