01 Summoning ...he is starting to have the terribly sinking feeling that this is not a mere nightmare after all. The unsettled sensation that's sat in his chest ever since he'd woken up on a cold, strange floor surrounded by suspicious (creepy) markings has only since shifted into an uncomfortable tightness between his shoulder blades, building like ice down his spine.
"Clearly there's some sort of explanation for all of this," Donnie mutters to himself, trying to convince himself as much as distract. With all the broken equipment he finds around, at the very least it's something he can direct his attention to. Something to this place has been interfering with his goggle readings, or maybe there's just too much oversaturating it, but staring too long through them to try and adjust configurations only threatens migraines.
There's still a lot he's trying to digest as he looks around, studying the sparking electronics like they're pieces to a puzzle he's not sure how to work towards finishing. The paper flittering along for the ride of the overhanging fan catches his attention long enough that he snatches one between his fingers, and not without a hiss as he's rewarded with a shock. For a moment he cradles his arm, both still tender from experiences he'd previously ranked up as pretty high on his Never Again list. And once he has a look at the paper he almost instantly regrets having grabbed it in the first place, gross and disturbing as it is. The writing (?) could just as well be gibberish but...something tells him it's not. Absently he stuffs it into his belt pouch as he takes another look around, muttering to himself.
"Keep it together Donatello..."
02 Start Stepping outside is even more disorienting than waking up in somewhere other than a sewer tunnel. The lack of the towering buildings that he foolishly expected to see just stirs a different feeling in his gut.
The caravan of vehicles is weird. The line of cars that seem to be awaiting someone, even more so. Even when New York had been stolen of its people, or in the aftermath of an alien invasion, never had he seen cars just lined up like that, and these are definitely not the sort awaiting to be compacted at a junkyard.
Well, maybe that's being generous. As Donnie drifts closer he can see that there's some need for repair. His hand trails over the dark metal of a hood at least undented. For the most part the damages he can see are superficial, simple fixes. He'd designed and built the Turtle Tank up from a movie prop vehicle, all on his own. Certainly he can handle flat tires and busted door locks!
...or at least it would have been easy if his body would cooperate. While the turtle's managed to get the needed tools, and with a bit more effort, a couple of tires, trying to operate the carjack is proving more difficult than it should be, and any excessive pressure he tries to apply by hands and arms just makes his nerves feel all spiky with the reminder that he hasn't quite healed up. He sighs frustratedly, sitting down to glare at the jack like it's the thing being the problem. Maybe he should just use his mystic-tech...
03/04 Weathering the Storm Working on a car is so maddeningly mundane for all that he still has so many questions unanswered. The winds start to pick up, drawing his attention to the skies that had otherwise been pointedly refusing to look at for the constant reminder that this was nowhere near home. They refuse to be ignored now, especially with what seems to be bearing towards the Convoy.
These are things he's only seen in movies. As it is, he is no way prepared to deal with a tornado, much less the things that seem to be attached to it. Of course his first instinct is to run for cover. Buildings are sturdier, have foundations- does the garage have a basement? How common are tornados in this place? His overthink's in full swing but it cuts off abruptly as things start bursting around him.
With a yelp he ducks down, throwing his hands over his head, the wind tearing at the tails of his bandanna, the water coming in from any gaping holes it finds in the edifice. Everything's so loud and it's too much and he can't think must think what do I do Idon'tknowwhattodo!!
Donnie | Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles | New
...he is starting to have the terribly sinking feeling that this is not a mere nightmare after all. The unsettled sensation that's sat in his chest ever since he'd woken up on a cold, strange floor surrounded by suspicious (creepy) markings has only since shifted into an uncomfortable tightness between his shoulder blades, building like ice down his spine.
"Clearly there's some sort of explanation for all of this," Donnie mutters to himself, trying to convince himself as much as distract. With all the broken equipment he finds around, at the very least it's something he can direct his attention to. Something to this place has been interfering with his goggle readings, or maybe there's just too much oversaturating it, but staring too long through them to try and adjust configurations only threatens migraines.
There's still a lot he's trying to digest as he looks around, studying the sparking electronics like they're pieces to a puzzle he's not sure how to work towards finishing. The paper flittering along for the ride of the overhanging fan catches his attention long enough that he snatches one between his fingers, and not without a hiss as he's rewarded with a shock. For a moment he cradles his arm, both still tender from experiences he'd previously ranked up as pretty high on his Never Again list. And once he has a look at the paper he almost instantly regrets having grabbed it in the first place, gross and disturbing as it is. The writing (?) could just as well be gibberish but...something tells him it's not. Absently he stuffs it into his belt pouch as he takes another look around, muttering to himself.
"Keep it together Donatello..."
02 Start
Stepping outside is even more disorienting than waking up in somewhere other than a sewer tunnel. The lack of the towering buildings that he foolishly expected to see just stirs a different feeling in his gut.
The caravan of vehicles is weird. The line of cars that seem to be awaiting someone, even more so. Even when New York had been stolen of its people, or in the aftermath of an alien invasion, never had he seen cars just lined up like that, and these are definitely not the sort awaiting to be compacted at a junkyard.
Well, maybe that's being generous. As Donnie drifts closer he can see that there's some need for repair. His hand trails over the dark metal of a hood at least undented. For the most part the damages he can see are superficial, simple fixes. He'd designed and built the Turtle Tank up from a movie prop vehicle, all on his own. Certainly he can handle flat tires and busted door locks!
...or at least it would have been easy if his body would cooperate. While the turtle's managed to get the needed tools, and with a bit more effort, a couple of tires, trying to operate the carjack is proving more difficult than it should be, and any excessive pressure he tries to apply by hands and arms just makes his nerves feel all spiky with the reminder that he hasn't quite healed up. He sighs frustratedly, sitting down to glare at the jack like it's the thing being the problem. Maybe he should just use his mystic-tech...
03/04 Weathering the Storm
Working on a car is so maddeningly mundane for all that he still has so many questions unanswered. The winds start to pick up, drawing his attention to the skies that had otherwise been pointedly refusing to look at for the constant reminder that this was nowhere near home. They refuse to be ignored now, especially with what seems to be bearing towards the Convoy.
These are things he's only seen in movies. As it is, he is no way prepared to deal with a tornado, much less the things that seem to be attached to it. Of course his first instinct is to run for cover. Buildings are sturdier, have foundations- does the garage have a basement? How common are tornados in this place? His overthink's in full swing but it cuts off abruptly as things start bursting around him.
With a yelp he ducks down, throwing his hands over his head, the wind tearing at the tails of his bandanna, the water coming in from any gaping holes it finds in the edifice. Everything's so loud and it's too much and he can't think must think what do I do Idon'tknowwhattodo!!
((OOC: Will match format preference!))