#boundforgreatness

it  doesn't  take  very  long  before  they  have  company.

❝  well,  well,  well!  what  do  we  have  here?  ❞  the  sky  warps.  the  clouds  twist,  contorting  themselves  into  one  massive  eye  leering  down  at  the  duo.  (  maestro  tightens  his  grip.  )  ❝  ooh,  talk  about  a  twist!  maestro,  you  wretched  little  parasite  you,  SOMEOOONE  is  going  OFF  SCRIPT!  ❞  the  eye  blinks;  its  pupil  vanishes  —  and  khaos  suddenly  appears  before  them,  scattering  massive  clouds  of  grayish  dust  in  his  wake.  he  leans  forward,  face  splitting  in  a  grin,  gaze  glittering  with  a  light  both  feverish  and  hungry.  ❝  and  you  even  brought  silly  vanilly  with  you!  ❞  he  spares  pure  vanilla  a  glance.  somehow,  the  beast's  smile  grows  impossibly  wider.  ❝  how  cute.  did  you  come  to  surrender?  beg  for  mercy?  hand  over  the  soul  jams  on  a  silverrr  platterrr?  ❞   he  clicks  his  tongue.  ❝  oh,  but  if  i  do  recall,  you  already  tried  begging  —  didn't  ya?  and  i  don't  DO  encores.  ❞

❝  BZZT.  WROOONG.  ❞  he  shifts  subtly,  trying  to  position  himself  between  pure  vanilla  and  khaos.  it's  showtime,  fountie.  now  or  never.  do  or  die.  ❝  on  two  accounts,  no  less!  no,  no,  no.  we  aren't  here  to  surrender.  ❞

❝  oh?  ❞  the  beast  turned  god  tilts  his  head.  ❝  a  desperate last  stand.  boring,  yet  predictable.  ❞   he  tilts  his  head  the  opposite  direction.   ❝  ...  and  the  second?  ❞

maestro  tosses  him  a  card.  khaos  catches  it,  unimpressed.  ❝  the  second,  ❞   he  says,  flashing  a  nasty  smile  of  his  own,  ❝  is  assuming  we  have  just  arrived  on  your  dull  little  set...  and  that  we  weren't  PATIENTLY  WAITING  for  you  to  realize  you  had  company.  ❞

khaos  exhales  a  sigh.  he  spares  the  card  a  glance.  then,  freezes  at  the  sight  that  greets  him.

a  centipede.

@boundforgreatness cue the boss music.

Apollo hums in his content, leaning against Hermes and throwing an arm over his shoulder. There are very few that Apollo trusts like he does Hermes. Artemis, Leto...that's really it, isn't it? He can often be too much for others, as he's heard it not so gently worded. Well, that's fine. It's not like he really needs anyone else anyways.

Hermes has always been there. Always. For as long as Apollo can remember. A constant that he is rather grateful for. If there was no one else he could turn to, there would always be Hermes.

VERY RARELY DID one of the turtle brothers sneak out without the others -- at least, that's what they all had thought since going to the surface. And Raph had been more than content allowing them to think that, so long as it meant no one would catch onto his secret. As long as he was able to keep slipping out when no one else was awake, he was willing to let them believe anything.

TONIGHT WAS ONE of the nights where he'd planned on heading out in the cover of the shadows, when his brothers and Splinter were long since asleep -- or so he'd thought. Raph had tucked his what items he wanted to bring with in his holsters on his belt before slipping out of his room, peeking around every corner and out every door until he got to the living room. It was dark, quiet, as it usually was when they didn't have anything to do at this time, almost...tranquil. Calming. Raph normally would've relaxed and enjoyed the peace and quiet, had he not been on a mission.

HE MADE HIS way to the front entrance, hand on the turnstiles, but a sound from behind made him hesitate. He froze, turning around and making eye contact with his brother.

" WH- LEO ?

the  hole  in  the  sky  seals  itself  up  promptly  —  seamless  and  silent,  easily  written  off  as  a  trick  of  the  light.  the  cookie's  body  is  limp  and  lifeless;  eyes  closed,  head  lolling,  tendrils  trailing  behind  him  like  streamers.  (  a  doll,  discarded  by  its  fickle  master  to  the  bottom  of  some  dusty  toybox.  )  he  slows,  only  a  fraction  of  a  second  before  he  touches  the  ground.  a  field  of  milkcrowns  blooms  where  there  was  once  only  grass  —  lush  and  thick  and  carrying  a  faint,  sweet  scent.  it  cushions  his  fall.  perhaps  not  well,  but  enough  that  the  cookie's  body  isn't  immediately  shattered  upon  impact.

through  the  cloud  of  petals,  there  is  a  flicker  of  blue-tinted  light.  and  then,  a  maiden.  the  lady  in  azure  —  or  is  it?  her  form  seems  blurry  around  the  edges;  less  solid  than  she  appears  when  it  is  a  certain  beast  who  dons  her  face.  the  very  same  beast  who  currently  lays  in  the  field  of  milkcrowns  with  a  hole  punched  through  his  chest,  staining  white  petals  with  his  jam.  ❝  hmph!  well,  so  much  for  the  finest  playwright,  poet,  director,  actor  and  clown.  ❞   she  crosses  her  arms,  leaning  over  him  with  a  sneer.  his  dough  looks  stale  and  lifeless;  he  isn't  breathing.  ❝  yanno,  maybe  if  you  actually  listened  to  your  good  old  pal,  THEEE  light  of  deceit,  you  wouldn't  be  in  this  sorry  state!  but  nooo  —  the  only  one  allowed  to  control  the  narrative  is  YOU,  riiight?  well,  wouldja  look  at  how  THAT  turned  out!  ❞  she  throws  up  her  hands.  predictably,  shadow  milk  doesn't  respond.  the  soul  jam  pinches  the  bridge  of  her  nose  with  a  groan.   ❝  ...  and  now,  you've  gotten  ME  dragged  into  this  mess,  too.  ❞   she  drags  her  hand  down  her  face,  peering  at  the  body  over  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  then,  exhales  a  sigh.

❝  such  an  ungrateful  little  pest...  ❞  she  reaches  out,  palm  hovering  over  his  chest.  ❝  if  you  make  me  regret  throwing  my  lot  in  with  you,  i'll  never  forgive  you  for  it...  so  you  better  use  whatever's  left  of  that  clever  brain  to  work  a  miracle,  oh  maestro  of  deceit  —  because  a  miracle  is  what  it's  going  to  take  to  fix  this.  ❞

her  body  dissolves  into  threads  of  azure  light.  they  fly  to  the  cookie's  collar,  solidifying  into  a  familiar  gemstone.

shadow  milk  starts  to  breathe  again.

@boundforgreatness woe plotted starter be upon ye.

oh,  he  just  can't  help  playing  with  his  food.

❝  it's  okay,  sunny.  ❞  shadow  milk's  tone  is  soft  as  a  cloud  and  sweeter  than  sugar,  so  cloying  it  becomes  grotesque.  blue  spills  from  a  still-knitting  gash  on  his  temple  as  they  spin,  dripping  on  pure  vanilla's  face  and  rolling  down  his  cheeks.  (  he  thrills  at  the  thought  of  seeing  him  shed  real  tears.  )  ❝  you  don't  have  to  be  lonely.  I'M  RIGHT  HERE,  REMEMBER?  ❞   he  jerks  forward  as  he  speaks,  slamming  their  foreheads  together  hard  enough  that  black  spots  dance  across  the  eyes  in  his  face.  shadow  milk  barely  feels  the  pain;  his  grin  never  wavers.  he's  excited,  oh  so  excited.  this  tedious  production  has  finally  reached  its  climax  and  he  is  going  to  savor  every  last  MOMENT  of  long-awaited  catharsis.

❝  i  warned  you,  didn't  i?  ❞   the  cut  on  his  temple  seals  neatly  closed,  a  sort  of  metaphor  for  futility  a  certain  one  of  his  companions  probably  appreciate.  ❝  you  WILL  live  to  regret  your  words...  but come to think of it,  i  never  DID  promise  anything  about  living  much  longer  than  that.  ❞

@boundforgreatness the fumbling world championship

❝  i'm  sure  you  didn't  come  for  the  tea  and  company...  flattered  as  i  would  be,  were  that  the  case.  alas,  no  one  ever  does.  ❞  with  a  wistful  little  sigh,  the  sage  raises  the  cup  to  his  lips.  he  doesn't  drink,  instead  peering  at  pure  vanilla  over  the  rim  as  wisps  of  steam  curl  around  his  face.  he's  still  smiling;  it  doesn't  actually  bother  him.  he's  found  his  own  purpose.

❝  what  did  you  want  to  ask  me?  ❞

@boundforgreatness he's a part time couples therapist

he's seated at his piano — back straight, hands resting on the keys. why, he's even taken the liberty of lighting some scented candles to set the mood. ( smells like... rain! or is it water? ) ❝ good evening my looovely audience! ❞ the beast croons. ❝ i want to dedicate this VERY SPECIAL song to that popsicle chomping fella... and the orange one. ❞

what song? oh, you know.

maestro  isn't  sure  how  long  he's  out.  could  be  hours.  could  be  days.  everything  still  hurts  by  the  time  he  wakes  up  again  —  but  knowing  his  luck,  he  would  be  more  surprised  if  it  didn't.

❝  ...  ❞  his  eyes  open  slowly.  it's  dark  here,  which  he  appreciates.  (  as  does  his  budding  migraine.  )  it  takes  a  moment  for  the  beast  to  fully  recognize  his  surroundings  —  the  other  realm.  head  swivels  to  and  fro;  he  doesn't  remember  how  he  got  there.  witches,  he  barely  remembers  much  at  all  after  khaos  tried  to  crumble  (  or  assimilate  or  destroy  or  WHAT  HAVE  YOU  )  them  both.  a  quick  glance  at  his  hands  does  tell  him  he's  back  to  his  usual  attire  —  although,  maestro  is  somewhat  relieved  to  see  his  missing  arm  has  made  a  convenient  recovery.  the  beast's  tentacles  twitch.  his  head  snaps  up  as  he  suddenly  remembers  that  he  isn't  alone.

❝  pure  vanilla?  ❞  the  beast  winces  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  —  hoarse,  scratchy,  TERRIBLY  unflattering.  ❝  what...  what  happened?  how  long...  ❞  words  trail  off;  the  thought  left  half-finished.  witches,  he's  exhausted.

@boundforgreatness let's take ibuprofen together