I was up at the butt crack of dawn, which was no odd occurrence. I don't know why always I got up this early, but it provided me a little breather. Leonardo wouldn't be up for another hour, at which point he'd likely force me into the dojo and insist I perform mind-boggling stunts with the greatest of ease. Pacing laboriously in front of the kitchen cabinet, I spent the better part of twenty minutes debating my breakfast and finally settled on a little concoction I like to call suicide flakes.
One part Captain Crunch, one part Raisin Bran, covered in chocolate milk, with just a sprinkle of Lucky Charms, or suitable marshmallow-laden substitute. Stir until coated, serve immediately. Feeds approximately one five-foot mutant turtle. Contains enough sugar to send a lesser being into a wild glucose-based frenzy.
The breakfast of motherfuckin' champions.
As carefully as I could, I sat the bowl on the kitchen counter. My efforts were thwarted as a sizable wave of chocolate milk spilled over the bowl, taking a few blue diamonds and purple horseshoes with it. Making sure to cast a sidelong glance over my shoulder to assure I was alone, I hid the mess under yesterday’s abandoned newspaper and promptly dug into my cereal.
I shook the contents of the milk container. Damn, not enough for another bowl. I glanced at the expiration date on the side. I was actually kind of shocked it lived this long. Donatello was so neurotic about his milk; it scared me sometimes. If it was the 1st, and the milk expired on the 4th, he'd toss it. Or if he weren't sure, he'd drag one of us down and force him to taste it, mumbling about how it tasted peculiar to him. Someday, I swear, he's gonna figure out some sort of formula, to determine what day, minute and second milk goes bad.
Frankly, I figured I could milk the... milk for at least two days past the date. And the chocolate, it probably added some time to the shelf life. You know, all the extra processing had to do something to it.
As if on cue, Donatello, wrapped in a well-worn bathrobe shuffled into the kitchen, his trusty Mug o' Steel in hand. He didn't even bother to glance at me as he quickly made his way to the coffee maker.
As I tossed the bowl in the sink, I turned to check the clock on the wall. The spoon dropped into the sink with a clatter as my jaw nearly hit the floor. I rubbed my eyes to assure myself they weren’t deceiving me.
Raphael. Awake. On a Saturday. Before noon.
He was standing, well... hunched over in the doorway, pressing his forehead to the doorframe. The way he moved, or rather, didn't move made it look like he was in pain. He gave a barely audible groan as he raised his hand in a quick wave. "Hey Mikey."
I snapped my jaw shut, and took a pensive, hesitant step closer. Raph was not a morning person, err, turtle, so one had to tread lightly around him at this hour. "Y-you okay, Raph?"
"Just groovy." He hissed, pushing away from the doorframe and in front of the fridge.
"You feelin' alright?" I coaxed, washing the sticky residue from my cereal bowl. "Short of fire and brimstone raining down from the sky and the dawning of the apocalypse, nothing stops you from sleeping in on the weekends.”
With a noncommittal shrug and a matching grunt, he yanked the fridge door open, a few bottle rattling together and he shoved his head in. "Hey, can't a guy eat breakfast in peace?"
"Dude, sorry." I shrugged as Donny pushed past me to grab today’s newspaper, nearly stepping on my toes. It took about a pot and a half of coffee to wake Don up in the mornings. By the time his body processed all the caffeine, he was always well into what he called his asylum of creative genius. We just labeled it the Donny Zone. Doo-doo-doo-doo!
I sat down across from him, in the familiar lulling silence as I attempted to read the comics on the back of his newspaper. Every time he flipped the page, he’d wiggle the paper, I'd lose my spot and usually end up right back at that damnable Cathy strip.
I honestly don't get the deal with that one. She's always bitching about not being able to fit in a pair of pants, but lo and behold, in the next scene, she's cramming her face with low-cal cookies. Were I a woman, I'd be pretty offended by that stuff. But alas, I'm a giant crime-fighting turtle, living in the sewers of Manhattan. Like anyone would make a comic about something that fucked up... ha!
The familiar indescribable hissing noise of a beer bottle woke me from my comic-induced reverie. I turned around and witnessed Raph wash down a handful of cereal with half a damn Corona.
"Drinking before noon?" I chuckled, shaking my head at him. "Tsk, tsk! You know what they say about that. Sure sign of alcoholism."
"Hey, it's part of my complete breakfast." He couldn't hold back a smile as he closed the box of cereal on the counter, shoving it back into the cabinet. "Plus, it's not like we've got anything else to drink. Donny tossed all the milk, again." Raph motioned towards the table with the neck of his bottle.
I spun in my seat. The carton of chocolate milk I had placed on the table only minutes ago was gone. I hadn't even noticed he took it. Man, that milk had at least another good 48 hours left on it.
"How the hell?" I coughed, reaching up to scratch my head in total confusion. Donatello was nursing his mug of pitch-black coffee, politely ignoring the conversation as he leafed through his paper.
"He is a ninja, remember?" Raph reminded me as he finished off his beer in one quick gulp. "Strike hard, and fade away. Silent warriors of the night. Ya know, all that shit Leo keeps regurgitating."
"It's not s-… crap."
We all turned our attention to the door. Even Donatello put his newspaper down for a brief fleeting moment. Leonardo, our fearless leader was standing just outside the room, tying his signature blue bandana into a knot at the back of his head. "Simply because I take pride in my occupation, does not mean-"
Raphael raised a hand, cutting him off. "Occupation? It's not quite a nine to five job, now is it, Leo? No paid vacations, no 401k plans, no biannual ‘Thanks for Saving Our Asses!’ plaques, no-"
"It's our duty." Leonardo's gaze narrowed on Raph, and then quickly darted to the empty bottle in his hand. "And one you seem to take very lightly. What the hell do you think you're doing drinking at six in the morning?"
"Best known cure for a hangover!" Raphael gave a sardonic snort, wiggling the bottle in front of Leo before pitching it in the trashcan unceremoniously.
I saw Leo leap to the trash, fishing out the bottle as he launched into an eco-fueled rant. By that time, I'd already started to drown them out. Over the years, I'd become quite practiced at tuning my squabbling brothers out.
But ah, nothing like a good old fashioned Raph/Leo fight in the mornin’. I tipped back in my chair, gave Donny a lazy half-smile and just waited for the inevitable sugar rush.
