[About an hour after Robert and Raph's conversation, Raph's spent some quality time blowing off steam attacking his punching bag. When he's found his Zen place again, he tries getting a hold of his brother. He can't decide if this's a good idea or not, but he guesses there's only one way to find out.]
[Written] | Dated to March 5th, sometime after the chat with Raphaelsemper_cogitansMarch 6 2011, 03:36:09 UTC
[Robert needed to talk to Donatello - or rather, needed to talk at Donatello, whether he responded or not; just to clear his mind, to get all those feelings out somehow in a medium that made sense. Writing made sense. Less sense than typing, to be sure, but it was strangely relaxing in a way, getting those emotions into some tangible form.
He did hope Donatello would respond. But Robert mostly writes this long note to try to crystallize his own thoughts into something coherent.]Donatello... I realize the past week or so has probably been difficult for both of us. I also realize that there may be things you had trouble sharing with me, which I understand - I am much like that, in that sharing certain aspects can be quite difficult to do at times. I am afraid that this mutual lack of communication has led to some... problems in terms of us relating, because right now I have no real concept of whatever is troubling you; all I can fathom is that you are upset enough to go to the mountains for awhile, to think as your brother told me,
( ... )
[Mike had taken to flipping through his journal, listening in on people's conversations and getting a feel for this strange place he'd found himself in. He's doing this now.
Then he sees something: a big block of text written to Donnie. From Robert. He scans the first few words, and then sits up where he's been reclining on the futon in the room he shares with Raph and reads the whole thing intently. Then he laughs. Then he turns to Raph.]
[Action] || House 55meanandgreenMarch 6 2011, 18:15:28 UTC
[After Don cuts off the feed, Raph pretty much just wants to crawl into a hole and die. He chucks his journal at the wall and crashes face-first into bed, slamming his fist into his pillow.
[It's Monday by the time Derek picks up the scent while he's out hunting. Already having had a few run ins with New Feathers, he grits his teeth at first. He'd thought he'd gotten far enough away; was he going to have to move?
And then he registers who the scent belongs to...and frowns.
He'll follow the track silently, eventually finding whatever camp Don has made, and stop right at the edge of whatever light Don has going.]
[Anyone else would have an awfully difficult time spotting a turtle in the jumble of boulders, but Don knows about Derek's night-vision, and so isn't surprised that the man picks him out so easily.]
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Don.
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[It's late. Don doesn't know if he'll sleep tonight. His mind is still too unsettled. He can't have distractions. But...]
You have five minutes.
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[Okay, maybe he hasn't blown off all the steam.]
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He did hope Donatello would respond. But Robert mostly writes this long note to try to crystallize his own thoughts into something coherent.]Donatello... I realize the past week or so has probably been difficult for both of us. I also realize that there may be things you had trouble sharing with me, which I understand - I am much like that, in that sharing certain aspects can be quite difficult to do at times. I am afraid that this mutual lack of communication has led to some... problems in terms of us relating, because right now I have no real concept of whatever is troubling you; all I can fathom is that you are upset enough to go to the mountains for awhile, to think as your brother told me, ( ... )
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[It takes all of his discipline to not open it again.]
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Then he sees something: a big block of text written to Donnie. From Robert. He scans the first few words, and then sits up where he's been reclining on the futon in the room he shares with Raph and reads the whole thing intently. Then he laughs. Then he turns to Raph.]
Dude, get a load of this!
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What is it?
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He's never wanted a beer so bad in his life.]
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He didn't even want to say hi.
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And then he registers who the scent belongs to...and frowns.
He'll follow the track silently, eventually finding whatever camp Don has made, and stop right at the edge of whatever light Don has going.]
...What are you doing out here, Donnie?
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Over here.
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You all right?
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[Philosophically:] I'm getting better.
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