Time for a quick TMNT fanfic. More 80s cartoon wackiness just like last time, and it's another turtle/human pairing, so be prepared.
Sockhop Shellshock
A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fanfic by Myst Knight
Disclaimer: TMNT is owned by Mirage and various other groups. I write this without consent, and am making no money off of it.
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Four beats into the song, slow was the word. Eight beats into the song, the men were getting their groove on. Twelve beats into the song, girls' skirts flew like birds. Sixteen beats, and the party was going strong.
The lobby of the Channel 6 building was alive with a nostalgic, '50s style sockhop. Doo-wap hits of the era, like "Rock Around the Clock," dominated the twilight bash, although a few '80s rock hits were snuck in by the DJ. Vintage fashion was abound, the greaser jackets and poodle skirts making perhaps the biggest statements among the crowd. But none of these eccentric dressers could compare with the occupants that were about to arrive at this little shindig.
Through the revolving doors walked a couple that caught a sizable share of stares, a share that was more than fair. For although the young brunette was nicely dressed in a stiff collared, full skirted dress poofed out with petticoats, the boy was a bit Quasimoto in his appearance. The blue letter jacket he wore was bulging out at the back, and there was a distinct green color on his roundish face. Most of the dancers on the floor, however, just chalked that up to the low lighting and the beamers hanging from the ceiling.
Maroons.
"It's great that you guys are here to take care of things," April was saying to her reptilian companion, gripping onto his brawny arm as they maneuvered together through the crowd. "I knew the Channel 6 security guards couldn't handle something this big."
"It's all in the job of a Ninja Turtle, April," Leonardo replied offhandedly, with a touch of benevolent leadership behind his voice. "But are you sure that the Shredder is going to attack tonight?"
"Well, I have been covering the Foot in at least one newscast a week for the past month," the woman reasoned, motioning theatrically with her hand. "If I know them, I bet they would pick our company party as the perfect time to attack. Call it a hunch!"
Leonardo's normally pleasant expression turned somewhat grim. "We'll have to work extra hard to stop Shredder this time," he rumbled, clenching a three-fingered fist. "There're so many innocent people around!"
"Yeah," April said, a certain dismissal in her tone as she put her other hand of Leonardo's bicep. "But as long as you're here, why not have some fun on the side. Let's make a night out of it!"
Leonardo grinned at her, his big, exaggerated features adding to its appeal. Soon, though, his attention went back towards the door, upon hearing two familiar characters talking loudly as they entered. "Looks like the fun's beginning already," he commented, directing April to look in that direction with a subtle jerk of his arm.
April stifled a laugh at the sight. "Definintly!" she chuckled huskily, her eyes brightening up.
The second duo, however, was getting off to a much rougher start. "I can't believe I agreed to this!" Irma complained, loud enough to draw attention to the two of them. "On a Saturday night!"
"Ah, it's not that bad, Irma!" Donatello consoled her lightly, his cheery disposition remaining undampened by his date's tirade. "At least it's better to be out and about, instead of being stuck at home."
"Not when you're waiting for that hunk Brett Stevens to phone you!" she shot back, her tirade not halted in the slightest. "I should be answering the most important call of my life, instead of doing more...ninja stuff!"
"Irma..." the turtle teen began, trying to get her back on track.
"And these clothes! Yuck!" Here, Irma paused her wailing to fidget with her costume; a baby blue blouse with a purple 'poodle skirt' bearing a turtle in place of the poodle. "What am I, 'Barbie meets Elvis?'"
"Um...I think you look nice," he tried hesitantly, fingering the collar of his purple letter jacket.
"Really?" Irma instantly brightened up. "'Cause I always thought I looked good in felt."
Donatello looked at Irma gawkeyed for a moment, thrown by the immediate success of his comment. Then, he chuckled goodnaturedly, and continued to lead her through the throngs of people.
The crowd composed of Channel Six employees was spread throughout the dance floor. Though many were foxtrotting in center stage, there was also a sizable amount resting up at the tables or simply standing by the punch bowl. This is where two wall flowers were currently positioned, one outfitted with a greaser jacket and the other with a Hawaiian shirt. Dateless, and not quite happy about it.
"This is sooooo bogus," Michelangelo groaned, as if trying to compete with Irma for Party's Biggest Whino. "There's no moonwalking or breakdancing here!"
"Calm down Michelangelo, it's not so bad," Raphael chided, not bothering to look in the other's direction. "And work on your lingo a bit. Remember, it's Boss, not Gnarly. Sensational, not Tubular."
"Yeah, it's definitely not any of those things," the orange-clad turtle shot back, with uncharacteristic cynicism. "Man, I don't even have a date! Staggin's getting real old."
"What, trouble finding a girl who likes little green men?" Raphael quipped, a smirk etched on his lips.
"Nah, Kala wouldn't pick up the phone until 8:00," he clarified, scooping a cupful of punch. "Did you know it was 6:35 in Dimension X when I called?"
"Those long distance, interdimensional relationships are a real killer," Raphael drolled, putting his hands behind his head causally.
Meanwhile, Leonardo and April were just settling down to have a small appetizer while waiting for trouble to happen. Leonardo had delighted April by pulling her chair out for her, which she gladly accepted, smoothing her skirt under her rear and settling down into her seat. "Most women these days hate that kind of chivalry, but I think it's really charming," she commented with a smile, picking up a small menu printed up on the company xerox machine.
"Master Splinter always taught us to give the upmost respect to a lady," Leonardo explained in the sagely tone that always emerged when talking about his teachings. His next remark took a turn for the causal, however. "Plus, he really likes the Jane Austen books."
"Hmm," April averted her eyes from the menu for a moment. "Maybe I should borrow some from him..." Her face remained distracted for a moment more before she realized a presence hanging over her. "Oh, is it time to order already?" she said, swinging back to look at Leonardo, rather than the waiter. "Let's just get the two person crab-cake special."
"Mmm, and I thought you were trying to preserve that girlish figure of yours, April," the waiter droned with a snobbery that was sheer overkill. "The health club won't like this at all."
"Vernon!?" April practically gasped, taking her first good look at the man currently attending to them. "I didn't even think you were going to come! You know, how you said you can't dance?"
"The boss just made attendance mandatory, to boost Channel 6's reputation among the interns as a 'fun' place to work," the rather fopish man explained with a flourish of his hand. "Didn't you get the memo?"
"I was out of the office all day covering the oil spill on the expressway," she explained, a touch on indignant. "It was on about three rival networks!"
"Mmm, I'm sure," Vernon drawled, not interested in activity relating to someone else's job.
April shook her head to rid herself of the building frustration. "Look, just forget about the crab-cakes, we'll have muffins instead," she said quickly, her reporter job having adequately prepared her to change conversations quickly. "I think Leon...Leonard is going vegetarian anyway. Right, 'Leonard?'"
She turned to her green-skinned escort to note, with some disappointment, that he was busy scanning the crowd like a hawk searching for mice. It took a shout to bring him back up to speed, and then with only minimal results. "Oh, um right, just get me a milk," was all he offered them, substituting a hand wave in place of eye-to-eye contact. Then, his attention was back on any potential Foot soldiers that would reveal themselves.
Vernon guffawed. "Looks like your boyfriend is a bit slow on the uptake," he scoffed, an obnoxious smile twisting his angular features. "Perhaps he's looking for a tastier dish on the dance floor." Thinking this quite hilarious, he sauntered off with a laugh that sounded like a gerbil hiccuping, leaving April quite perturbed. She slumped down on one hand, and glared at Leonardo with a frusterated look on her face.
"Ooh, Leonardo...!" she muttered, in a tone usually reserved for Vernon himself.
On the right side of the room, the other mutant/human couple was also having their share of comic situations. Donatello was busy trying to blind Irma with science, pulling out his latest handheld gizmo made out of broken Radio Shack products and guitar strings. "You see, this allows you to plan your entire day out with the push of a button!" Donatello explained enthusiastically, pointing out his device as if he were selling it. "You can schedule work-time, dinner dates, and get notified on them immediately!"
"Wonderful," Irma moaned, adopting the same pose April was currently in three tables over. She jumbled her meal around with a fork, like it was a sliding puzzle. Why does it always have to be pizza?
"C'mon, Irma, this is great stuff!" he insisted. "It's a totally new thing that I'm trying to get patented. I mean, it has music playback capability, access to up-to-the-minute stock options, games like Space Invaders..."
"Gosh, Donatello, I already said it was...did you say Space Invaders?" the woman's face suddenly shone with life as she brought her head up to face him.
"Well, yeah," Donatello answered, a bit shaken by her sudden change in attitiude. "And Minesweeper, Pong, a Ms. Pac-clone..."
His diatribe was interrupted a bit as Irma grabbed the device with a 'gimme that.' She immediately set about bringing up her favorite game to play in her computer training course, and was soon hitting aliens and even U.F.O.s.. Donatello looked at her with wide-eyed at the secretary expertly operated his latest invention, then settled into a sort of pleasant surprise. "And it's accesable to the general public," he said to himself, smiling slightly.
While the two traded interests amicably, April was busy trying to get Leonardo interested, period. "C'mon, Leonardo, let's get dancing!" she persisted, grabbing onto his arm as if to yank him to his feet.
"April, this table has the best vantage point on this whole floor," Leonardo tried explaining, his head still in the Foot filled clouds. A ninja must always position himself where he can strike and not be seen."
"I'm not talking about ninja business," April said, getting exasperated. "I'm just talking about a little dance. Among friends!"
"Hold a second, I'm contacting the others," Leonardo said, cutting her off. He pulled the Turtle-com up to bear, and flipped it open. "Guys, anything on our potential party crashers?" he asked Michelangelo and Raphael on the other end, while April folded her arms and harumphed petulantly.
"No luck, dude," Michelangelo told him, the video feed displaying his distracted look to Leonardo. "If Tin Head and his goons are in here partyin', they got some mondo good disguises. Wait, hang on." Leonardo watched as the image of Michelangelo pulled a second communicator into view. "I told you, Kala, I'm gonna call you as soon as I get to the lair," he addressed the other person. "...no, I am not checking out the other girls! You're the only girl for me, babe!"
The view on Leonardo's communicator jostled and turned, like a porthole on a rocking ship. When it was over, Raphael's image had replaced Michelangelo's on the screen. "Look, we'll contact you if anything's amiss," Raphael said. "Everything's going fine now, so don't jump the gun." The video feed cut off, and Leonardo was left with silence, as well as the unsettling glares of his lady in waiting.
Back at the punchbowl, Michelangelo stared goggle-eyed at his communicator while Raphael put away his. "She hung up!" Michelangelo exclaimed, and then slammed his Turtle-com shut. "Aw, maaan!"
"Women," Raphael waxed knowingly, shaking his head in disdain. "Trouble with hips and legs."
"No luck for you either, huh," Michelangelo said, eager to switch the subject to someone else's love life. "Did you, like, spill a plate of pizza on her jacket or something?"
"I can't even get that far," Raphael sighed, the embarrassment of failure coming to the forefront. "Mona said she doesn't think a 'high-school boy' has enough maturity for her. Do I look like a high-school boy?" Here, his shame was quickly replaced by anger, practically getting up in Michelangelo's face to give the orange-clad turtle a good look.
Michelangelo just laughed. "H'yeah, if you were in, like, special ed or something!" he chirped, showing off his large, gleaming teeth.
Raphael just sighed, and went back to watching over the crowd. Something caught his eye, and a sly smirk emerged on his large mouth. "Hey, looks like home boy's having enough luck to take all of our shells off the black list," he crowed, putting his hands on his hips.
"Donnie and Irma?" Michelangelo said, craning his neck to look through the dancers. "That's totally fabumundo!"
"And then, the bozo puts his hand on my breast and says: 'I can show you a much better time, toots,'" Irma was saying to Donatello, leaning almost completely over the table. "So I said 'let me show you this instead', and kicked him hard in the jewels!"
The turtle breathed heavily, wincing a bit form the imagined impact. "Irma, you've got to stop falling for these lowlife guys," he lectured her kindly. "That one probably didn't even have a steady job, or any sort of responsibility."
"Well, he did have three gold teeth," Irma pointed out in her defense, putting a hand to her dimple. "I thought that meant he could be a provider-type husband."
Donatello just looked at her blankly.
Irma sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say," she said resignedly. "April yells at me all the time for it. I guess that's why I came with you fellas. I mean, turtles may be green and slippery, but at least they're not slime."
"Thanks...I think," Donatello smiled, the backhanded compliment striking him as odd, but well-intentioned.
Irma gave a quirky little grin back in spite of herself, folding her arms on the table-top. They shared their understanding together for a moment more, after which a new song started playing over the speakers. "Hey, it's 'Heart of Rock 'n' Roll!'" she said, and a dreamy look overtook her face. "Ooh, Huey Lewis is such a stud!"
Donatello smiled. "Hey, you wanna dance to this?" he suggested, pointing his thumb towards the dance floor. "We haven't been on the floor all night."
"Donatello, I don't know," Irma got pensive, twiddling her thumbs like a child admitting his or her silly fears. "My last partner didn't exactly think I was Paula Abdul..."
"Ah, his bones healed up just fine, and he didn't even press charges!" he reassured her, trying to forget how bad that little incident was, and how they needed a stretcher and about three doctors. "Besides, I'm ninja, and ninja know how to keep their footing.
Irma's fists were now clenched, as her face scrunched up like a ginuea pig. "...ohhhh, alright!" she relented, standing up and taking the turtle's hand. "Come on." Together, the couple headed out onto the floor, trying to find a wide enough spot for them to do their thing. "But no butt-grabbing, buster!" she warned him a second later, pointing her finger at where his nose would be, had he been human. "I only do that stuff on a third date!"
While one woman was going where the action was, another woman was headed straight out. April was just about to about to put her hand on the revolving door when she turned to Leonardo with a final berating. "Leonardo, this had been the worse date ever!" she barked out, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward to look the short turtle in the face. "I should've guessed this is what happens when you do anything with a teenager! I'm so glad I'm out of college!"
"April, I don't understand why you're so upset," Leonardo said, completely blindsided by this turn of events. "I'm just doing what you wanted me to do, what the Ninja Code demands I do."
The young woman reared back as if shot. "I can't believe how clueless you are!" she exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "Don't you think of anything other than the Code? I mean, even Donatello knows how to have a good time!"
She pointed out the purple turtle on the dance floor, and Leonardo leaned forward to catch him and his dance partner in action. Compensating for Irma's lack of coordination, Donatello did much of the work for her, swinging her around in a manner comparable to a pair of nunchaku. With her skirt and petticoats flying, Irma hung onto the teen with a bright smile, letting him lead her into all sorts of dance steps that a lesser partner could never manage with someone like her. She looked great; they looked great, like Danny Zukko and Sandy Olson brought back for another round of greasing up the dance floor.
"If you can't show me a time like that, then I guess we're through!" April huffed with a certainty born only of stubborn confidence. Her skirts flaring out, she whirled back towards the door and prepared to push herself out into the cold, New York night.
But before she could again lay hand on the door, it suddenly started spinning wildly seemingly on its own accord. Like a tornado, it created a series of strong, twisting gusts, forcing the woman to hold her skirts down. (Leonardo blushed, as he got an eyeful of April's thighs) Putting a hand to her flapping bangs, she attempted to sift through them in order to see what had caused this happenstance. As it turned out, it was less of a happenstance, and more of a hell-on-hoverboards kind of thing.
Hoverboards, that's what it was, and also three masked and armored figures perched upon them. They look like they came out of a sci-fi B-movie, or an A-movie from the 1960s, with unnecessarily loud trim hanging off their visored helmets and colored jump suits. There was a clear modern '80s flair to their apparel, though, something along the lines of a 'Michael Jackson in Space' theme. And to make their attentions clear, all of them carried some sort of exotic blaster weapon, with flashing lights, humming sounds, the works, really.
"Hey, is this how you squares throw a party?" The leader in red called out, looking at the astonished party goers, then back at his posse. "Lets show 'em some real hard rockin', gang!"
"Yeah!" the other two cheered, brandishing their weapons like the Young Guns. "Let's kick it!"
And WOOOSH! they were zooming around the dance floor, firing their weapons wildly. Laser blasts filled the air, destroying amomg other things light fixtures, employee-of-the-month picture frames, and a stone statue of Roy Orbison a generous benefactor had brought in. All the dancer went screaming in every direction, some running out the door, others huddling under tables, and Vernon climbing on the rafters calling for his mother. This trio just laughed at their hysterics, as they shot at their feet, hoping to get them to do the jitterbug in an entirely new way.
"It's the Foot!" Leonardo called out, standing protectively in front of April.
"They've sent in cyborgs!" Michelangelo gaped, not standing by the side of his blue-clad leader.
"N-no way!" April croaked, kneeling on the ground and holding her head. "The foot really is attacking tonight..?!"
Leonardo turned his head around upon hearing her curious words, raising a non-existent eyebrow.
"That's it!" Irma shouted vehemently, detaching herself from Donatello. "This is the same thing that happened when I went dutch with Sonny Rogers at Baskin and Robbins, on Two-Scoop Sunday to boot! I'm sick of something going wrong every time I get a date with a decent guy!"
"'Decent guy?'" Donatello muttered to himself, starring transfixed at the irate little woman.
"Well I've had enough of freak-a-zoids like you ruining a girl's good time!" she continued, reaching into her handbag for an unknown object. "This secretary's going to sort you out!" And with a flamboyant yank, she pulled out the strangest weapon the Ninja Turtles had ever seen. It was two rectangular telephone receivers, like the ones you might find at any clerical worker's desk, connected by a spiraling cord to create makeshift nunchaku. And by the way she brandished this unorthodox weapon, it was clear she had every intention of cancelling all calls from creepos for the day.
"Hey, chill out, sistah!" the bandit in blue reasoned, waving his hands in surrender. "We were just havin' a rad time!"
"HAIIIYAH!" Irma hollered, bearing down on the interlopers like a soccer mom on a neglectful referee. With a furious, hooking swing, she used her 'nunchaku' to knock a rider clear off his hoverboard, sending him spiraling off in a motion straight out of a Hong Kong action import. The other three had just trained their weapons on her, but it was too late, as the rageful receptionist was already on them and knocking the weapons out of their hands. She launched a furious Bruce Lee-style nunchaku combo on one of the two remaining riders; under arm, over arm, and back again. And with a final guttural cry, she hurled the 'nunchaku' like a spinning bola straight at the last rider, knocking him for a loop that carried him straight onto the flimsy snack table, knocking it over.
The party goers watched as the punch spread across the floor like blood from a slasher film. And Irma just stood there, with her 'nunchaku' by her side, looking quite satisfied with a job well done.
"Cowabunga..." Michelangelo said from the sidelines, whistling.
"So, were you the one who let Irma borrow those martial arts flicks?" Raphael asked, turning to the other.
"It was me," Donatello clarified, coming up from behind. "She told me she thought Bruce Lee was cute."
The riders, all splayed out on the floor, were just starting to regain their senses. They stiffened when they saw Irma descending upon them once again. "Wait wait, you don't get us!" they fretted, looking at her like she was crazy. "We're like, totally pacifists! We thought you kats were having a party! You know, like one of the good Dimension X ones where there's flasho guns, explosions, and something always gets broken!" He took off his helmet, and the rest followed suit, revealing vaguely human faces with crazy, new-wave hairstyles and pointed ears.
"Egad!" Leonardo exclaimed. "The Neutrinos!?"
"Kala?" Michelangelo said, going up to the lone female in the group.
"Hi, Mikey," the sherbet-haired girl squeaked, smiling apologetically up at the turtle. "I got crazy bored, yknow."
The rest of the Channel 6 employees and their dates stared at the scene as if it were a highway wreck. Then, one particularly bright young man took a closer look at one of the green teens, and pointed his finger. "Hey, I bet those are the Ninja Turtles!" he said, as if he had just discovered a cure for the common cold. The crowd gasped, equally astonished by this revelation.
"Gee, what was your first clue?" Raphael snapped sarcastically, glaring at him. "The lack of facial hair?"
"April, Irma!!!" A loud, poor-tempered voice roared, and the girls turned to find Burne Thompson waving a pudgy digit in their general direction. "This is coming straight out of your paychecks!"
"Yes, sir," they answered, simultaneously hanging their heads in shame.
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Stay tuned for the conclusion!
Sockhop Shellshock
A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fanfic by Myst Knight
Disclaimer: TMNT is owned by Mirage and various other groups. I write this without consent, and am making no money off of it.
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Four beats into the song, slow was the word. Eight beats into the song, the men were getting their groove on. Twelve beats into the song, girls' skirts flew like birds. Sixteen beats, and the party was going strong.
The lobby of the Channel 6 building was alive with a nostalgic, '50s style sockhop. Doo-wap hits of the era, like "Rock Around the Clock," dominated the twilight bash, although a few '80s rock hits were snuck in by the DJ. Vintage fashion was abound, the greaser jackets and poodle skirts making perhaps the biggest statements among the crowd. But none of these eccentric dressers could compare with the occupants that were about to arrive at this little shindig.
Through the revolving doors walked a couple that caught a sizable share of stares, a share that was more than fair. For although the young brunette was nicely dressed in a stiff collared, full skirted dress poofed out with petticoats, the boy was a bit Quasimoto in his appearance. The blue letter jacket he wore was bulging out at the back, and there was a distinct green color on his roundish face. Most of the dancers on the floor, however, just chalked that up to the low lighting and the beamers hanging from the ceiling.
Maroons.
"It's great that you guys are here to take care of things," April was saying to her reptilian companion, gripping onto his brawny arm as they maneuvered together through the crowd. "I knew the Channel 6 security guards couldn't handle something this big."
"It's all in the job of a Ninja Turtle, April," Leonardo replied offhandedly, with a touch of benevolent leadership behind his voice. "But are you sure that the Shredder is going to attack tonight?"
"Well, I have been covering the Foot in at least one newscast a week for the past month," the woman reasoned, motioning theatrically with her hand. "If I know them, I bet they would pick our company party as the perfect time to attack. Call it a hunch!"
Leonardo's normally pleasant expression turned somewhat grim. "We'll have to work extra hard to stop Shredder this time," he rumbled, clenching a three-fingered fist. "There're so many innocent people around!"
"Yeah," April said, a certain dismissal in her tone as she put her other hand of Leonardo's bicep. "But as long as you're here, why not have some fun on the side. Let's make a night out of it!"
Leonardo grinned at her, his big, exaggerated features adding to its appeal. Soon, though, his attention went back towards the door, upon hearing two familiar characters talking loudly as they entered. "Looks like the fun's beginning already," he commented, directing April to look in that direction with a subtle jerk of his arm.
April stifled a laugh at the sight. "Definintly!" she chuckled huskily, her eyes brightening up.
The second duo, however, was getting off to a much rougher start. "I can't believe I agreed to this!" Irma complained, loud enough to draw attention to the two of them. "On a Saturday night!"
"Ah, it's not that bad, Irma!" Donatello consoled her lightly, his cheery disposition remaining undampened by his date's tirade. "At least it's better to be out and about, instead of being stuck at home."
"Not when you're waiting for that hunk Brett Stevens to phone you!" she shot back, her tirade not halted in the slightest. "I should be answering the most important call of my life, instead of doing more...ninja stuff!"
"Irma..." the turtle teen began, trying to get her back on track.
"And these clothes! Yuck!" Here, Irma paused her wailing to fidget with her costume; a baby blue blouse with a purple 'poodle skirt' bearing a turtle in place of the poodle. "What am I, 'Barbie meets Elvis?'"
"Um...I think you look nice," he tried hesitantly, fingering the collar of his purple letter jacket.
"Really?" Irma instantly brightened up. "'Cause I always thought I looked good in felt."
Donatello looked at Irma gawkeyed for a moment, thrown by the immediate success of his comment. Then, he chuckled goodnaturedly, and continued to lead her through the throngs of people.
The crowd composed of Channel Six employees was spread throughout the dance floor. Though many were foxtrotting in center stage, there was also a sizable amount resting up at the tables or simply standing by the punch bowl. This is where two wall flowers were currently positioned, one outfitted with a greaser jacket and the other with a Hawaiian shirt. Dateless, and not quite happy about it.
"This is sooooo bogus," Michelangelo groaned, as if trying to compete with Irma for Party's Biggest Whino. "There's no moonwalking or breakdancing here!"
"Calm down Michelangelo, it's not so bad," Raphael chided, not bothering to look in the other's direction. "And work on your lingo a bit. Remember, it's Boss, not Gnarly. Sensational, not Tubular."
"Yeah, it's definitely not any of those things," the orange-clad turtle shot back, with uncharacteristic cynicism. "Man, I don't even have a date! Staggin's getting real old."
"What, trouble finding a girl who likes little green men?" Raphael quipped, a smirk etched on his lips.
"Nah, Kala wouldn't pick up the phone until 8:00," he clarified, scooping a cupful of punch. "Did you know it was 6:35 in Dimension X when I called?"
"Those long distance, interdimensional relationships are a real killer," Raphael drolled, putting his hands behind his head causally.
Meanwhile, Leonardo and April were just settling down to have a small appetizer while waiting for trouble to happen. Leonardo had delighted April by pulling her chair out for her, which she gladly accepted, smoothing her skirt under her rear and settling down into her seat. "Most women these days hate that kind of chivalry, but I think it's really charming," she commented with a smile, picking up a small menu printed up on the company xerox machine.
"Master Splinter always taught us to give the upmost respect to a lady," Leonardo explained in the sagely tone that always emerged when talking about his teachings. His next remark took a turn for the causal, however. "Plus, he really likes the Jane Austen books."
"Hmm," April averted her eyes from the menu for a moment. "Maybe I should borrow some from him..." Her face remained distracted for a moment more before she realized a presence hanging over her. "Oh, is it time to order already?" she said, swinging back to look at Leonardo, rather than the waiter. "Let's just get the two person crab-cake special."
"Mmm, and I thought you were trying to preserve that girlish figure of yours, April," the waiter droned with a snobbery that was sheer overkill. "The health club won't like this at all."
"Vernon!?" April practically gasped, taking her first good look at the man currently attending to them. "I didn't even think you were going to come! You know, how you said you can't dance?"
"The boss just made attendance mandatory, to boost Channel 6's reputation among the interns as a 'fun' place to work," the rather fopish man explained with a flourish of his hand. "Didn't you get the memo?"
"I was out of the office all day covering the oil spill on the expressway," she explained, a touch on indignant. "It was on about three rival networks!"
"Mmm, I'm sure," Vernon drawled, not interested in activity relating to someone else's job.
April shook her head to rid herself of the building frustration. "Look, just forget about the crab-cakes, we'll have muffins instead," she said quickly, her reporter job having adequately prepared her to change conversations quickly. "I think Leon...Leonard is going vegetarian anyway. Right, 'Leonard?'"
She turned to her green-skinned escort to note, with some disappointment, that he was busy scanning the crowd like a hawk searching for mice. It took a shout to bring him back up to speed, and then with only minimal results. "Oh, um right, just get me a milk," was all he offered them, substituting a hand wave in place of eye-to-eye contact. Then, his attention was back on any potential Foot soldiers that would reveal themselves.
Vernon guffawed. "Looks like your boyfriend is a bit slow on the uptake," he scoffed, an obnoxious smile twisting his angular features. "Perhaps he's looking for a tastier dish on the dance floor." Thinking this quite hilarious, he sauntered off with a laugh that sounded like a gerbil hiccuping, leaving April quite perturbed. She slumped down on one hand, and glared at Leonardo with a frusterated look on her face.
"Ooh, Leonardo...!" she muttered, in a tone usually reserved for Vernon himself.
On the right side of the room, the other mutant/human couple was also having their share of comic situations. Donatello was busy trying to blind Irma with science, pulling out his latest handheld gizmo made out of broken Radio Shack products and guitar strings. "You see, this allows you to plan your entire day out with the push of a button!" Donatello explained enthusiastically, pointing out his device as if he were selling it. "You can schedule work-time, dinner dates, and get notified on them immediately!"
"Wonderful," Irma moaned, adopting the same pose April was currently in three tables over. She jumbled her meal around with a fork, like it was a sliding puzzle. Why does it always have to be pizza?
"C'mon, Irma, this is great stuff!" he insisted. "It's a totally new thing that I'm trying to get patented. I mean, it has music playback capability, access to up-to-the-minute stock options, games like Space Invaders..."
"Gosh, Donatello, I already said it was...did you say Space Invaders?" the woman's face suddenly shone with life as she brought her head up to face him.
"Well, yeah," Donatello answered, a bit shaken by her sudden change in attitiude. "And Minesweeper, Pong, a Ms. Pac-clone..."
His diatribe was interrupted a bit as Irma grabbed the device with a 'gimme that.' She immediately set about bringing up her favorite game to play in her computer training course, and was soon hitting aliens and even U.F.O.s.. Donatello looked at her with wide-eyed at the secretary expertly operated his latest invention, then settled into a sort of pleasant surprise. "And it's accesable to the general public," he said to himself, smiling slightly.
While the two traded interests amicably, April was busy trying to get Leonardo interested, period. "C'mon, Leonardo, let's get dancing!" she persisted, grabbing onto his arm as if to yank him to his feet.
"April, this table has the best vantage point on this whole floor," Leonardo tried explaining, his head still in the Foot filled clouds. A ninja must always position himself where he can strike and not be seen."
"I'm not talking about ninja business," April said, getting exasperated. "I'm just talking about a little dance. Among friends!"
"Hold a second, I'm contacting the others," Leonardo said, cutting her off. He pulled the Turtle-com up to bear, and flipped it open. "Guys, anything on our potential party crashers?" he asked Michelangelo and Raphael on the other end, while April folded her arms and harumphed petulantly.
"No luck, dude," Michelangelo told him, the video feed displaying his distracted look to Leonardo. "If Tin Head and his goons are in here partyin', they got some mondo good disguises. Wait, hang on." Leonardo watched as the image of Michelangelo pulled a second communicator into view. "I told you, Kala, I'm gonna call you as soon as I get to the lair," he addressed the other person. "...no, I am not checking out the other girls! You're the only girl for me, babe!"
The view on Leonardo's communicator jostled and turned, like a porthole on a rocking ship. When it was over, Raphael's image had replaced Michelangelo's on the screen. "Look, we'll contact you if anything's amiss," Raphael said. "Everything's going fine now, so don't jump the gun." The video feed cut off, and Leonardo was left with silence, as well as the unsettling glares of his lady in waiting.
Back at the punchbowl, Michelangelo stared goggle-eyed at his communicator while Raphael put away his. "She hung up!" Michelangelo exclaimed, and then slammed his Turtle-com shut. "Aw, maaan!"
"Women," Raphael waxed knowingly, shaking his head in disdain. "Trouble with hips and legs."
"No luck for you either, huh," Michelangelo said, eager to switch the subject to someone else's love life. "Did you, like, spill a plate of pizza on her jacket or something?"
"I can't even get that far," Raphael sighed, the embarrassment of failure coming to the forefront. "Mona said she doesn't think a 'high-school boy' has enough maturity for her. Do I look like a high-school boy?" Here, his shame was quickly replaced by anger, practically getting up in Michelangelo's face to give the orange-clad turtle a good look.
Michelangelo just laughed. "H'yeah, if you were in, like, special ed or something!" he chirped, showing off his large, gleaming teeth.
Raphael just sighed, and went back to watching over the crowd. Something caught his eye, and a sly smirk emerged on his large mouth. "Hey, looks like home boy's having enough luck to take all of our shells off the black list," he crowed, putting his hands on his hips.
"Donnie and Irma?" Michelangelo said, craning his neck to look through the dancers. "That's totally fabumundo!"
"And then, the bozo puts his hand on my breast and says: 'I can show you a much better time, toots,'" Irma was saying to Donatello, leaning almost completely over the table. "So I said 'let me show you this instead', and kicked him hard in the jewels!"
The turtle breathed heavily, wincing a bit form the imagined impact. "Irma, you've got to stop falling for these lowlife guys," he lectured her kindly. "That one probably didn't even have a steady job, or any sort of responsibility."
"Well, he did have three gold teeth," Irma pointed out in her defense, putting a hand to her dimple. "I thought that meant he could be a provider-type husband."
Donatello just looked at her blankly.
Irma sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say," she said resignedly. "April yells at me all the time for it. I guess that's why I came with you fellas. I mean, turtles may be green and slippery, but at least they're not slime."
"Thanks...I think," Donatello smiled, the backhanded compliment striking him as odd, but well-intentioned.
Irma gave a quirky little grin back in spite of herself, folding her arms on the table-top. They shared their understanding together for a moment more, after which a new song started playing over the speakers. "Hey, it's 'Heart of Rock 'n' Roll!'" she said, and a dreamy look overtook her face. "Ooh, Huey Lewis is such a stud!"
Donatello smiled. "Hey, you wanna dance to this?" he suggested, pointing his thumb towards the dance floor. "We haven't been on the floor all night."
"Donatello, I don't know," Irma got pensive, twiddling her thumbs like a child admitting his or her silly fears. "My last partner didn't exactly think I was Paula Abdul..."
"Ah, his bones healed up just fine, and he didn't even press charges!" he reassured her, trying to forget how bad that little incident was, and how they needed a stretcher and about three doctors. "Besides, I'm ninja, and ninja know how to keep their footing.
Irma's fists were now clenched, as her face scrunched up like a ginuea pig. "...ohhhh, alright!" she relented, standing up and taking the turtle's hand. "Come on." Together, the couple headed out onto the floor, trying to find a wide enough spot for them to do their thing. "But no butt-grabbing, buster!" she warned him a second later, pointing her finger at where his nose would be, had he been human. "I only do that stuff on a third date!"
While one woman was going where the action was, another woman was headed straight out. April was just about to about to put her hand on the revolving door when she turned to Leonardo with a final berating. "Leonardo, this had been the worse date ever!" she barked out, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward to look the short turtle in the face. "I should've guessed this is what happens when you do anything with a teenager! I'm so glad I'm out of college!"
"April, I don't understand why you're so upset," Leonardo said, completely blindsided by this turn of events. "I'm just doing what you wanted me to do, what the Ninja Code demands I do."
The young woman reared back as if shot. "I can't believe how clueless you are!" she exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "Don't you think of anything other than the Code? I mean, even Donatello knows how to have a good time!"
She pointed out the purple turtle on the dance floor, and Leonardo leaned forward to catch him and his dance partner in action. Compensating for Irma's lack of coordination, Donatello did much of the work for her, swinging her around in a manner comparable to a pair of nunchaku. With her skirt and petticoats flying, Irma hung onto the teen with a bright smile, letting him lead her into all sorts of dance steps that a lesser partner could never manage with someone like her. She looked great; they looked great, like Danny Zukko and Sandy Olson brought back for another round of greasing up the dance floor.
"If you can't show me a time like that, then I guess we're through!" April huffed with a certainty born only of stubborn confidence. Her skirts flaring out, she whirled back towards the door and prepared to push herself out into the cold, New York night.
But before she could again lay hand on the door, it suddenly started spinning wildly seemingly on its own accord. Like a tornado, it created a series of strong, twisting gusts, forcing the woman to hold her skirts down. (Leonardo blushed, as he got an eyeful of April's thighs) Putting a hand to her flapping bangs, she attempted to sift through them in order to see what had caused this happenstance. As it turned out, it was less of a happenstance, and more of a hell-on-hoverboards kind of thing.
Hoverboards, that's what it was, and also three masked and armored figures perched upon them. They look like they came out of a sci-fi B-movie, or an A-movie from the 1960s, with unnecessarily loud trim hanging off their visored helmets and colored jump suits. There was a clear modern '80s flair to their apparel, though, something along the lines of a 'Michael Jackson in Space' theme. And to make their attentions clear, all of them carried some sort of exotic blaster weapon, with flashing lights, humming sounds, the works, really.
"Hey, is this how you squares throw a party?" The leader in red called out, looking at the astonished party goers, then back at his posse. "Lets show 'em some real hard rockin', gang!"
"Yeah!" the other two cheered, brandishing their weapons like the Young Guns. "Let's kick it!"
And WOOOSH! they were zooming around the dance floor, firing their weapons wildly. Laser blasts filled the air, destroying amomg other things light fixtures, employee-of-the-month picture frames, and a stone statue of Roy Orbison a generous benefactor had brought in. All the dancer went screaming in every direction, some running out the door, others huddling under tables, and Vernon climbing on the rafters calling for his mother. This trio just laughed at their hysterics, as they shot at their feet, hoping to get them to do the jitterbug in an entirely new way.
"It's the Foot!" Leonardo called out, standing protectively in front of April.
"They've sent in cyborgs!" Michelangelo gaped, not standing by the side of his blue-clad leader.
"N-no way!" April croaked, kneeling on the ground and holding her head. "The foot really is attacking tonight..?!"
Leonardo turned his head around upon hearing her curious words, raising a non-existent eyebrow.
"That's it!" Irma shouted vehemently, detaching herself from Donatello. "This is the same thing that happened when I went dutch with Sonny Rogers at Baskin and Robbins, on Two-Scoop Sunday to boot! I'm sick of something going wrong every time I get a date with a decent guy!"
"'Decent guy?'" Donatello muttered to himself, starring transfixed at the irate little woman.
"Well I've had enough of freak-a-zoids like you ruining a girl's good time!" she continued, reaching into her handbag for an unknown object. "This secretary's going to sort you out!" And with a flamboyant yank, she pulled out the strangest weapon the Ninja Turtles had ever seen. It was two rectangular telephone receivers, like the ones you might find at any clerical worker's desk, connected by a spiraling cord to create makeshift nunchaku. And by the way she brandished this unorthodox weapon, it was clear she had every intention of cancelling all calls from creepos for the day.
"Hey, chill out, sistah!" the bandit in blue reasoned, waving his hands in surrender. "We were just havin' a rad time!"
"HAIIIYAH!" Irma hollered, bearing down on the interlopers like a soccer mom on a neglectful referee. With a furious, hooking swing, she used her 'nunchaku' to knock a rider clear off his hoverboard, sending him spiraling off in a motion straight out of a Hong Kong action import. The other three had just trained their weapons on her, but it was too late, as the rageful receptionist was already on them and knocking the weapons out of their hands. She launched a furious Bruce Lee-style nunchaku combo on one of the two remaining riders; under arm, over arm, and back again. And with a final guttural cry, she hurled the 'nunchaku' like a spinning bola straight at the last rider, knocking him for a loop that carried him straight onto the flimsy snack table, knocking it over.
The party goers watched as the punch spread across the floor like blood from a slasher film. And Irma just stood there, with her 'nunchaku' by her side, looking quite satisfied with a job well done.
"Cowabunga..." Michelangelo said from the sidelines, whistling.
"So, were you the one who let Irma borrow those martial arts flicks?" Raphael asked, turning to the other.
"It was me," Donatello clarified, coming up from behind. "She told me she thought Bruce Lee was cute."
The riders, all splayed out on the floor, were just starting to regain their senses. They stiffened when they saw Irma descending upon them once again. "Wait wait, you don't get us!" they fretted, looking at her like she was crazy. "We're like, totally pacifists! We thought you kats were having a party! You know, like one of the good Dimension X ones where there's flasho guns, explosions, and something always gets broken!" He took off his helmet, and the rest followed suit, revealing vaguely human faces with crazy, new-wave hairstyles and pointed ears.
"Egad!" Leonardo exclaimed. "The Neutrinos!?"
"Kala?" Michelangelo said, going up to the lone female in the group.
"Hi, Mikey," the sherbet-haired girl squeaked, smiling apologetically up at the turtle. "I got crazy bored, yknow."
The rest of the Channel 6 employees and their dates stared at the scene as if it were a highway wreck. Then, one particularly bright young man took a closer look at one of the green teens, and pointed his finger. "Hey, I bet those are the Ninja Turtles!" he said, as if he had just discovered a cure for the common cold. The crowd gasped, equally astonished by this revelation.
"Gee, what was your first clue?" Raphael snapped sarcastically, glaring at him. "The lack of facial hair?"
"April, Irma!!!" A loud, poor-tempered voice roared, and the girls turned to find Burne Thompson waving a pudgy digit in their general direction. "This is coming straight out of your paychecks!"
"Yes, sir," they answered, simultaneously hanging their heads in shame.
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Stay tuned for the conclusion!