Gargoyles X TMNT: Shadows of New York

Melancholy

Night in New York City was always beautiful to Goliath. Beautiful, but filled with a sort of tragedy too. He tilted his chin up, feeling the soft breeze fill his gullet. Wind. He could feel the wind again. After what happened at Castle Wyvern, all those years ago, he never thought that he would feel the kiss of the breeze at night again.

This was not the wind he knew once. It was colder. Its smell was tainted by the odor of some distant smoke, not of the sort that came by burning wood for the castle fires. He let his enormous, batlike wings weigh and press against the wind, the nerves in the thin membranes taking in its speed and direction. His figure was, to say the least, statuesque even for a gargoyle. The surface of his wing membranes tingled, smooth and tiny scales of deepest taupe, mauve, and lavender lifting slightly to entrap heated air closer to his under-skin, his thick black hair fluttering like a banner in the air. He crossed his arms over his chest, his tail extended.

He took in that breath again. The lights of the city below were so disorienting, dizzying. Stars in the sky were now stars on the ground, and each light was just as distant to him as any far off sun in the depths of space, for all the distance the world drove between them. His home was not his home, and yet it was still his home. It was owned by a strange king in a world with no kings. He was a monster in a world that held no monsters.

"Are ye still worried, lad?"

Goliath turned. "Old Mentor." He folded his wings, clasping them into a relaxed cloak. "I had thought you were studying the... telebhiseann?"

"'Television' is what our host calls it." The old gargoyle replied. "The new cant of this brave new world be strange, but much stays the same. I'm told the tongue of our original home is known now as 'Old English'."

"'Old English'." Goliath shook his head sadly. "Even our speech is obsolete and foreign to this world now..."

"Such is the way of the Circle, lad." The Mentor placed his clawed hand on Goliath's shoulder with a comforting squeeze. "Neither beginning nor ending, but moving onward with the rise and fall of the moon and sun. From dust we came, to dust we'll return."

"I am surprised the moon and sun still rise and fall in this world. If Xanatos can lift the very stone of our home from underneath us, can he not stop the moon and sun from rising and setting?"

"A king is not a god, even in our age we knew this." His mentor gently chastised him. He continued. "Our beast seems content in our new world. He certainly doesn't seem to mind the food. Neither does our young friend with the large appetite."

"My younger brother, with blue scales?" Goliath smiled. "I hope this century does not look upon him too kindly. He still needs to fly."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that lad. His appetite reflects his strength, and I wager he could still give you yourself a fair challenge in melee."

"And the cunning one?"

The mentor nodded again. "He seems most enthralled with the magic of this century, most especially com– com..." He shook his head. "The light box, written with Roman letters. He seems to enjoy pressing upon the small... plank with buttons, tied to it with a string. He has taken up the new language most swiftly, and he finds himself reading voraciously, moreso than he once did."

"And the eldest of the three?"

The mentor spread his arms wide. "He has seemed quite taken with the idea of leaving the castle and exploring the air below. I'd say he's gained the words and understanding to... observe these humans more closely, but I know his temperament. Rash, choleric. Unbalanced humors, I say."

"Curse of youth, I'd wager." Goliath reasoned.

"Aye, that too. But choleric! I tell you, that lad is choleric!" The mentor wagged a claw at the ceiling.

Goliath stifled a sonorous chuckle. "No more choleric than you or I once were."

"You've more the melancholy about ye, lad. You've always been prone to brood."

"Do I detect a note of accusation, mentor?"

"Aye, you do." He crossed his arms over his worn leather belt, his wings like old leather wrapping him in a thick cape of his own hide. "If I may take a word or two from the telly, I believe the kids of this era have a saying for you; to 'lighten up, dude'."

"'Lighten up, dude'?" Goliath repeated, puzzled. "Strange. They ask me to immolate myself if I am in melancholy spirits? What a strange way to suggest cheer."

"Or to rest and unburden yourself of the great weight you carry." The elder suggested. "Oft did we not have sayings of our own that took as much to explain?"

"You are right." Goliath agreed. "Where do our three wards find themselves now?"

"Far as I know, they've planted themselves in front of the television and have made themselves some popped corn. Delicious treat. Care to try some?"

"No, thank you. I must speak with Xanatos. Our wings ache for flight, and we cannot stay and patrol only this castle for long. The young grow restless, as you said."