[voice; action]

[seriouslytwisted]

[voice]

[Exploring and ninja-ing around is turning up a whole lot of dead ends and questions with no answers, so now Raphael is going to try his last resort.

Conversing with strangers.

Making sure he has his voice only function on (pretending that little SNAFU with it in his earlier conversation didn't happen) he reluctantly addresses his fellow...strand-ees.]


Okay, seriously. How many of you people actually buy that "you are in the in-between" story?

[the mystic new-age voice for the quote helps set the atmosphere, yes it is necessary]

---

[action]

[Before this post, Raphael will be swimming around in the Water Sector, trying to keep as hidden as possible but needing to surface to breathe and also sneak back up onto the docks occasionally when he can't cross sections in water. He's a stealthy little bugger, so the average Joe might miss him, but anybody with serious training or extra-sharp senses might find him.

...or you might catch him when he's losing his temper and angrily kicking over a barrel after talking to yet another tree-hugging native yokel, whatever.]

Comments

/o/

[duelkatana]

Raph, let him go.

[Leo is hanging back, his arms still crossed, eyes tracing the barely-visible shadow a moment before it slips into the darkness of the alleys. That would be a 'no', he's guessing - which means he's here all alone. No brothers, no sensei. And then two guys claiming to be him and his brother show up...]

[...it's something new to worry about. But if Leonardo has learned anything about Raphael throughout the years, it's that sometimes he just needs his space. Chasing him down now isn't liable to make them better friends.]

[meanandgreen]

[Raph stops, smoke billowing around him, stolen away by the wind. It teases his bandana tails and smells faintly like the ocean. Gone. He glares out over the canal, his hands wound into fists. Every muscle is wound like a chord.

He has no idea what he's doing. If he goes after him, what's that gonna accomplish? They can beat the shit out of each other again. Good as it feels it doesn't do a friggin' thing. And talking gets them nowhere.

All he knows is there's another one of him out there... a clone, a spy, a copy from another dimension, whatever. He just hates it. He hates it so freaking much.

He turns and stalks back toward the street, anger brewing like an electrical storm in his veins.

Someone's half-finished wooden sailboat sitting up on sawhorses by the water's edge is the first thing that gets in his way. He flips the whole thing over with a monstrous snarl, wood and building supplies clattering everywhere.]