Day 56: Tasty Burger (Early Afternoon)
Speaking with Aigis had been enlightening in a number of ways, but when they had run out of things to discuss, Castiel had managed to dismiss himself. He didn't know if it had been "smooth," as Dean would have called it, but they had exchanged the words that they needed to and that had seemed reason enough to end the conversation
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He watched out his window on the bus in silence, watching the snow and the trees go past as they traveled to Doyleton. Mike toyed with the idea of attempting escape, and he was pretty sure he could manage it, but something stayed him from taking that course. There were others here, others that had families and loved ones they were separated from. Maybe from the outside, he might be able to do good, but... He had no one concrete. He didn't even know if any version his family existed here, or maybe they were human like him ( ... )
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Finally remembering to breathe, Mike let out the quietest of sighs. This wasn't a dream. There was a cheeseburger sitting in front of him. Time began again, and Mike started the almost forgotten ritual of Remaking His Burger.
Then, when everything was right, Mike picked up the hamburger and took a bite, chewing slowly, making a small sound of contentment. Even as horrible as Landel's food had become, one could still find hope.
[Sorry about the late! Hope you don't mind backthreading? And holy crap this is a long reply, SORRY.]
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Crap! Not that pain-in-the-ass Wally! Sechs' feeding came to a grinding halt as his eyes latched onto his semi-ally/enemy. If that pest wanted to drag Sechs into another one of his silly, humiliating dares, he was going to get an ice cream cone to the face ( ... )
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And so that's why the nearby stranger with eating habits worse than Raph's called out to him. Mike frowned, at first, but memories of arguing with Raph while they ate dinner or talking trash nibbled at his thoughts. His frown smoothed over, but he didn't smile.
"Yeah," Mike called back around a bite. "But this isn't a real burger."
The only real burgers came from New York City.
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With his hunger pangs smothered by the Big Tasty Burger combo, Sechs slowed down enough to put most of his focus on the stranger. The other man sounded pretty gruff, and even though his frown had softened somewhat and that he sat a short distance away, Sechs could sense that he had seen his fair share of hardships in life -- but were they of the variety that hardened warriors faced? This possibility (as usual) perked up Sechs' interest, and he met the stranger's glum face with an appraising glint in his wolfish eyes.
Reaching out for his drink with his messy hand, Sechs considered the stranger's response with a tilt of his head. "Whaddya mean it's not a real burger?" Sechs asked, unsure whether to be offended or concerned over what he had just consumed. After taking a loud slurp of his drink, he said, "If that's the case, what is it that makes a real burger ( ... )
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The guy was appraising him, trying to figure him out. He was sizing Mike up, and Mike knew it. Which meant Sechs had at least seen some battle, but Mike didn't know how much. Knowing this place, it was more than likely he had. And if he hadn't seen it before he came here, he likely had now. (He wasn't a newbie like that guy from last night, either way.)
"Three things," Mike answered, putting down his burger.
"One: the best ingredients." Index finger.
"Two: the cook's skill." Middle finger.
"Three: the cook's love of his craft." Ring finger and pinky.
Mike looked, just for a moment, ever so slightly surprised that two fingers had come up on that last one when he had only meant to raise one. ... Huh. Mike guessed he needed more practice ( ... )
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Food was a luxury back in his version of Earth. The processed, tasteless energy and nutrition bars had become the staple of everyone's diet. Only the elite guard got food grown in the greenhouses. One of the many perks of being one of Shredder's dogs.
But Mike wasn't really thinking about that--he was focused on the fact that Sechs had noticed his errant finger (how could he not?). Shit. He wasn't comfortable explaining it, so he'd just have to try and lie about it.
Which he sucked horribly at.
"Uh, yeah, I did," Mike stuttered for a moment. "... ... ... The fourth step is to have someone to appreciate it! To have someone to cook for. You can be the best chef in the world, but if you don't have people to eat your food, there's no art to it."
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When the stranger stammered for a moment, Sechs' eyes narrowed, his smirk opening up slightly to show teeth as he eagerly waited for the answer to his challenge. The other man was silent for a moment, leaving Sechs to wonder if the guy was just full of it. And then--
When the answer came, it was Sechs' turn to fall silent and visibly ponder over the stranger's words.
Why did it matter if there was someone around to cook for? Sechs wondered for a moment, until his brain recalled a meaningful memory. Not too long ago, Zazie had told him something similar! "To become a true warrior is to have a master. Someone or something to fight for, a cause worthy of your very life..." Of course ( ... )
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"Michelangelo," the former turtle replied, biting into his hamburger; he continued speaking around the bite as he chewed. "Just call me Mike."
Sechs, huh? That was a different name. ... not a that he could really talk about it himself.
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In an attempt to drown his disappointing memory, Sechs took another big gulp of his drink. "Good to meet ya Mike!" Sechs answered before letting out a belch.
Ignoring whatever manners were required when it came to burping at the table, Sechs placed his nearly empty drink back on the table and kept an appraising gaze towards Mike. "So... Know anything else other than what makes a great hamburger?" he asked.
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Huh. Mike noticed immediately that his name pinged Sechs. Was the guy secretly an art aficionado, or had he known someone else with that name? Now he was getting curious.
"Not really," Mike stated, passing at the question, although he was appreciative of a good belch. "You know someone else named Michelangelo?"
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"Uh huh..." Sechs pouted slightly, the tone in his voice betraying his skepticism. He turned his head to the side, one yellow eye still on the other man, scrutinizing him before relenting to his question. "Yeah, I had a roommate named Michelangelo..." Sechs said, "Shoulder-length black hair, extra friendly and said he was a fisherman..."
Sechs grabbed for the last part of his meal, his ice cream. "He disappeared a few days ago though... Before the military took over," he explained between a mouthful of dessert, "The nurses told me he was 'released'..."
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