|raisedbymoogles (raisedbymoogles) wrote,|
@ 2008-02-07 00:18:00
|Current music:||Save Me - Jem|
Chinese New Year fic: Kings of New York
TMNT/Beast Wars/Fruits Basket (yes, really, and no, I don't have an explanation), short genthing just to see what would happen. Have a happy and prosperous Year of the Rat, y'all. ^_^ (Before you ask, yes, I'm a Rat too.)
And the funny thing was, a rat his size in the New York underground wasn't really all that out of place. There were plenty of places Rattrap could go in beast form and if he got a second look, it was only to toss something at him before going back to work - for a pack of excitable monkeys, humans had a talent for taking the weird in stride. Rats, cats, and most dogs, of course, gave him his space. He was King of the Hill here in the turn-of-the-millenium Big Apple. Or King of the Trash Heaps, in any case.
The sun was peeking between the buildings on its morning rounds, though, and Rattrap didn't feel like pushing his luck. Fuel tanks comfortably full and going about the business of metabolizing what he'd eaten into a fuel his robotic components could use, he squirmed through a broken grating and trotted back to his temporary lodgings.
He'd meant to slip in before his roommates woke up, but Yuki was already awake, performing a kata that put him uncomfortably in mind of Dinobot - although their movements were nothing alike, really, the human boy supple and graceful where Dinobot had been - well, Dinobot. Rattrap moved around the side of the room, intending to leave the human to his practice, but Yuki halted and offered him a smile from mid-pose. "Good morning, Rattrap-san."
"Hey, kid." Rattrap flipped him a wave. "You the only one awake?"
"As far as I know." Yuki moved into another stance, smooth as water. "How was your evening?"
"Er." Questions like that always took Rattrap off guard, even more so because with Yuki it wasn't a politeness thing. If he wasn't interested in the answer, he didn't ask. "Eh, y'know. It went," he shrugged after a moment. "No evil ninjas or anything."
Yuki's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Yes, it's been quiet." He was about to say more, but the unholy racket of some unearthly beast being strangled to death at half-past-eleven volume level made speech a moot point.
"Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango!" the voice wailed. Rattrap transformed to save his poor rodentine ears, always more sensitive in beast mode, and unholstered his pistol, ready to slay whatever beastie had invaded the den this time.
A buck-naked mutant turtle - on the cusp of teenage and teetering into his twenties, and definitely stretching the definition of 'ninja' with all the un-stealthy racket he was making - skidded into the common room. "Thunderbolt and lightning," he announced, "very very frightening EEK!" Michelangelo was summarily tackled by his three brothers, all determined to throttle him in the name of truth, justice, and getting some goddamn sleep - as Raph put it before Mikey's elbow was introduced roughly to his jaw.
Over the din, Rattrap heard Yuki say, "Um - good morning, Splinter-sensei."
Holstering his weapon, Rattrap watched as his elderly host returned Yuki's bow, bleary-eyed and with his fur sticking out in clumps. The old rat glared balefully at his four charges, then sighed deeply and shook his head. "Kids."
"You said it." Rattrap was familiar with the type - though admittedly he'd never had charge of four Cheetors, knock on titanium. "I'll get the hose," he offered.
"I'll fetch you some painkillers," Yuki added.
Splinter seemed to shake himself; his spine straightened. "And I will remain here. With the stick." He eyed his sons, their vendetta against Mikey having long since devolved into a brotherly feud. Yuki covered an amused grin; Rattrap didn't bother to stifle his laugh.
It was definitely good to be a rat in New York.