Owner	Pose
April O'Neil	Twenty-four hours. It took only twenty-four hours for April's (relatively) comfortable routine to fall apart. Following up on a lead on Foot Clan activity, she'd been abducted and then rescued by Casey Jones. The next day, Casey had gone to retrieve the package she'd asked him to get from the locker at Penn Station -- the package that her informant claimed would be watched, and she would be recognized if she went. April had explained that it was evidence in an ongoing investigation into police corruption. She explained all that to Casey, but even knowing the risks going into it, /he/ got jumped for his trouble. Luckily, Casey was more equipped to handle four guys trying to beat him down than April would have been, even though it didn't make April feel any better about sending him. The worst thing about it was the loss of the package and a few bruises. So, they were back to square one. Later that night, the only reason April survived the break in at her apartment was because Donny and Mikey were over late eating pizza. Leo and Raf were... well... in their own separate corners, somewhere else. The Turtles managed to run-off the would-be attackers, and when notes were compared later in the lair, they sounded a LOT like the guy that jumped Casey earlier. Apparently, whatever April was digging into, it had made her a target. Master Splinter suggested that April spend some time away from the city while they looked into it, and though she protested, his calm logic eventually won out. Casey, he suggested, should go with her. And though he claimed to have something in his eye, April was pretty sure Splinter had actually /winked/ when he made the suggestion. Rat. And that's how April found herself in the passenger seat while Casey drove her to Northampton, MA. The dust kicked up by the tires of the old pickup hung in the air, signaling their arrival long before the vehicle itself was visible. Rows of untamed grass waved gently in the breeze on either side of the cracked concrete driveway that led up to the old O'Neil farmhouse. Its white paint was chipped, and the once-red barn door now bore more semblance to rust. But the old homestead stood, proud and solid, amidst a landscape of forgotten memories. April, staring out of the passenger window, clenched and unclenched her fists. The scenery brought back so many memories -- some beautiful, some painful. She remembered the summer afternoons she spent here with her father, playing in the fields.
Casey Jones	Casey Jones hadn't abducted April O'Neil, in any sense of the word, even if it was quite possible that her viewers might have thought that he had been part of the group that did, a lone man going over the scene of the crime, doing clean up. He had, however, rescued her after her abduction by other interested parties. He had dutifully went to Penn Station. As a native New Yorker, he knew it well, though this time, he went sans disguise. Okay, he went in something of a disguise. He wore a nice grey suit for it, as if he were some kind of businessman picking up the contents of a locker. She had warned him of the danger, and he had the good sense to carry some brass knuckles in his pockets. Somebody was going to have some very expensive dental work. But his suit jacket, where the sleeve met the body, had been torn slightly. It'd need the help of a tailor, or at least someone who was good with a sewing needle. He probably wouldn't have let her know that he had been assaulted, if not for the evidence when he returned. And the fact that although he had given more than he got, there were too many of them, and he had lost the package. He had looked so sheepish when he let her know that he had failed her, let her down when she needed him. He was taking it pretty hard, for a tough guy. Splinter had seen the potential of Casey and April a mile away. He always did. He knew when Leonardo had come home with an extra bounce in his step. He knew when Michelangelo had met someone. He wasn't just a badass sensei, but a loving father as well, and he knew his sons. The trip to the farm in Northampton was a three hour drive, but Casey had seemingly thought ahead. There was a cooler in his truck, with bottles of water. There was a white plastic bag, with bags of potato chips, candy bars, a packet of face wipes, and a few other odds and ends that might make a long car ride a bit better. As he pulled into the drive way of the old farm house, he shot out of his seat, probably making April wonder what was the rush. But he quickly made his way around the truck, to her door, which stuck, and needed a bit of force to open. He opened it for her, like a gentleman, explaining, "I've been meaning ta get this door fixed, just kind o' out of sight, out of mind. I don't get too many passengers."
April O'Neil	A three-hour ride leaves a long time to think, and spending it with Casey naturally led April's mind into some areas of their relationship that she'd intentionally been trying not to think about. As they chatted and bantered, shared some snacks -- with April opening up the waters and offering the open packages of food him so he could focus on driving (and even at one point trying to toss something into his open mouth.. and missing, which led to a round of laughter) -- it all felt so... domestic. Easy. It wasn't a life that April chose on any other day, even though she obviously could. In New York, she kept Casey Jones at arm's length and... she didn't really know why. Maybe because he made things /too/ easy. Why hadn't she just invited him along when she went to that warehouse? Her gaze flitted to Casey as he concentrated on navigating the rugged path leading to the farmhouse. She'd known him as the brash, fearless guy, always ready for a fight. Yet, today, amidst her own vulnerability and the shared threat they faced, it was hard not to feel a connection that went beyond all that... to see a man that actively put himself in danger /for her/, even though she was giving him almost nothing in return. April leaned back when the truck stopped, watching him and slightly taken aback by the sudden chivalry. Despite the circumstances, there was a touch of the old world about Casey Jones -- a mix of street roughness and genuine, protective care. "Thanks," she murmured with a little smile, slipping out of the truck and looking up at the old farmhouse. A rush of emotions hit her. The last time she was here was with her father, years ago, before the city, before the turtles, before Casey. "Welcome to Chez O'Neil. If you think your door is bad off, wait until you you see the list of things that need to be fixed, here. It... needs some love."
Casey Jones	Casey found it incredibly easy to spend time with April. She was so much fun, even if she needed to work on her throw. That was his story and he was sticking to it. The fact that she missed his mouth had nothing to do with him moving at the last second. They had laughed so much at that one, even with her playfully hitting at his shoulder. Once she was out of the truck, and Casey closed the door behind her, giving it a forceful push, and when it didn't want to close, he used his open palm to bang it in. The sound was enough to startle some birds nearby to fly off from a nearby tree branch. Then he took in the old farmhouse, trying to be nice, "Hey, no reason we can't make this trip two-fer-one. While we're up here, I could do some repairs. I got most o' my tools in the back of my truck." She may have noticed that when he lifted her suitcase into the back. Speaking of, he would walk back, not as quickly as he was to open her door, and got the suitcases, hers was immaculate, new, a brand name. His was... well, it, like his truck, had seen better days. An old hockey bag that had been patched up a couple of times, some holes still not fixed. With the bag over one shoulder, and her suitcase in his opposite hand, he followed her up to the porch, waiting for her to unlock it, and then he would set them both down in the foyer of the farmhouse. "So, where do ya want these?"
April O'Neil	Casey reminded April of all of the things she didn't want to be reminded of, most days -- that there was a life outside of work, that it was possible to relax and laugh, that not everything in the world had to be life or death. Some things, for sure. But nothing everything. April was always looking ahead to the next thing -- always planning her next move or her next story, lining up her next source, thinking about what the next episode of her livestream would be about. She was driven by the never-ending quest for success, excellence, truth, 'the answers.' She didn't like to admit that there might be a thing or two that she could learn from Casey, for as frustratingly... ugh... /simple/.. as he could be. And not even simple as a euphemism for 'dumb,' but simple as in uncomplicated. With Casey, it sometimes seemed like the only thing he was thinking about was the thing he was doing right then and there, and that just wasn't a way of living that April could even get her mind around. She couldn't turn off all of the rest of those /things/ running in the back of her mind. What about the foot clan warehouse? What about the police corruption? Were they connected? Were they foot soldiers in disguise that jumped both Casey /and/ her? Did foot soldiers /wear/ disguises... weren't they ALREADY in disguises? Were they POLICE in disguises that had jumped them, trying to silence the whistleblower? Had they really expected her to show up at Penn Station? Did they not care, as long as they got the package? What had been in the package? "Huh?" April had taken a key out of her messenger bag on autopilot and opened the door. Before she really knew it, she was standing in the foyer, looking around at the dusty surfaces and all of the furniture covered in sheets. She blinks, her hand coming up to run her fingers through her hair. "Oh! Um.. I don't really know, yet. It's been... a long time. I guess we should figure out where we're sleeping." She meant 'we' as in the individual we and not the together we, right? "Maybe just there, for now?" She pauses, then, sliding her messenger bag onto the floor. One hand crosses over her tummy to hold the opposite arm as she stepped farther in. She almost looked... cold. "Thank you, Casey... for coming."
Casey Jones	In many ways, Casey Jones was April O'Neil's complete opposite. He lived in the moment. He enjoyed life. He rarely got too high, or too low. In such a chaotic world, he was an ocean of calmness. He wore his heart on the sleeve that he... didn't wear. "Works for me!" Casey said, cheerfully, as he set his own bag down besides hers. Looking around, he suggested, "perhaps we should keep our shoes on, until we get this place cleaned up, though, I want to wash mine in the sink. This place got running water or like, you use a well or something?" He was bare armed, and she had a t-shirt, unzipped hoodie, and jacket on. He did have a jacket in his bag that he could offer her, seeing how she looked, but he managed to pick up on this wasn't so much a heat thing, as a comfort thing. Moving towards her, into her personal space, casting a bit of a shadow over her as he happened to be standing in front of the window near the door, "April, everythin's gonna be all right. I ain't going anywhere until you ARE safe, an' more importantly, you FEEL safe. Okay?" And then he reached out, slowly, tentatively, to brush his hand against her long arm, his hand on her shoulder, just above her hand, so that she could feel the length and warmth of his pinky finger brushing against her thumb. If not for the layers of clothing, she'd feel his hand was warm, and surprisingly soft, for the life he lives. There are calluses, but not as many as one would expect.
April O'Neil	A shiver ran through April's spine. Was it from his touch? His words? It was hard to tell. "Casey..." she started but then trailed off. It was rare for her to be speechless, but this moment was an exception. She felt a warmth in her cheeks, her gaze dropping to his hand, which was still lingering on her arm. They'd been through so much together, seen and experienced things that most people couldn't even fathom. And now, here they were, alone in this vast farmhouse, miles away from the chaos of the city. Without allowing herself to dwell on the consequences or subtext, she shifted her weight ever so slightly and leaned against him. Taking a deep breath, April gently lifted her gaze to meet his. "It's not just that. It's being here again. The memories. I don't know if I've ever felt safe. Especially not since..." She waved a hand around vaguely -- to the complexities of her life and the dangerous journey that had brought them here. "But with you here... it feels closer to it." A small smile touches her lips, quiet and reserved, and ever so subtly, her fingers moved, brushing back against his. "There's a well, but it has a pump. I called the electric company before we left... we should have power, if we can find the main breaker."
Casey Jones	He could feel that shiver, the tremble, and he heard her say his name, as if to protest, to deflect, to once again politely withdraw. He thought about pulling his hand away when she dropped her gaze to linger on her arm. But then she shifted her weight, into him. He could feel the pressure, the way he was helping to support her. When she caught his gaze, he looked back, two strands of his long hair, the bangs, framing his face. He had such a feminine hair style, and yet, somehow, it suited him. "April," he began, still staring into her blue eyes, "I am here for you. You are safe." Simple words, from a somewhat simplistic man, but it carried oh so much weight. He only broke his eye contact when he felt her fingers moving to brush against the back of his palm. He began rubbing his thumb back and forth against her well covered arm. He softly said, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but do ya remember the last place you put it?" Joking that it would be tough to find the main breaker.
April O'Neil	That eye contact lingered until it was a nearly tangible thing, a connection that was harder and harder to break the longer the silence hung into the air between them. And when the movement of her fingers against the back of her hand finally broke that spell, April's eyes dipped, too, finally noticing how loud the sound of her own heart was in her ears. She was grateful for the moment of levity -- the opportunity to catch her breath and focus back on the house around her. There was still so much to do before they could rest for the night, and who knew how long they were going to be here? She'd traded in her smart phone for a a burner out of an abundance of caution... but that meant she didn't have access to the internet. She'd brought a few books, but how long would those last? Luckily, there was a store and a small library not far off. Leo said he would call if they found anything. Maybe a few days? "Ha-Ha," she groaned, rolling her eyes and gently slipping away from him, an amused little grin tossed back over her shoulder before she started making her way towards the kitchen. She's not quite there when she finds an door that she opens... a set of stairs leading down. She plucks a little penlight out of the inside pocket of her jacket (because of course she had a flashlight on her). "It's always in the creepiest part of the house, right? That's how it is in all the movies..."
Casey Jones	Casey was not exactly an avid reader, but he had his interests. He had brought the tablet that Donatello had modified for him. He had never used it to access the internet, just to watch the movies and TV shows that Donatello would put on it for him. Every once in a while, he went to Donatello in order to get some new ones. He hadn't told her about that, planning on surprising her. He was a little saddened when she pulled away from him, but he gave her the space, following her to the kitchen. His shoes made a notable noise as they pressed against the hardwood floors. "If ya want, I can do that." He held out his hand, silently asking for the flashlight, but he secretly suspected that she would take the lead. "There might be I dunno, spiders, or a raccoon down there. Can't have you flee the Foot Clan only to need a rabies shot or some o' that anti-venom." "Besides, it's way too early to start losing people. That can't happen until at least the middle o' the night, right?"
April O'Neil	There is a universe in which April does take the lead -- where she absolutely refuses to give up that stubborn hardheadedness no matter how many times the universe tries to teach her to just, for once, accept help when it's offered. There's even a moment in which it looks like it's going to be this one. But it's not. She purses her lips, trying to suppress the smile that threatens to ruin the frosty look she's failing to give him for even insinuating that she might not be capable of handling whatever it is herself (despite plenty of past evidence to the contrary). And then she sets the light in his hand. "Fine," she says. "But this is /not/ an admission of some weaker sex bullshit. If you want to be the one to walk into the cobwebs, go right ahead." Of course, the voracity of her words is slightly undermined by the way she bites her lip after she says them, the little smile that still lingers, and the gratefulness in her eyes.
Casey Jones	In his own way, he was trying to be chivalrous. Accepting the flashlight, his hand brushed against hers, and their hands linger, perhaps a little longer than was necessary. Of course, he lightened that mood, and finished off whatever was left of her firm resolve, that sternness she was trying to maintain, with what appeared to be a genuinely confused look. "Weaker sex? I don't know what yer talking about. Girls are way tougher than guys. They live longer, they can endure more pain than guys can, and they're smart enough to let the guy go into the dangerous situation and get mauled by the giant spider." And with that, he started on down the stairs, using the flashlight, and called back, "you gota machete for all these cobwebs?" Clearly jest in his voice. Some of his steps creaked against the stair boards, but none of them gave. When he heard that, he tested the one he was on, and was more careful with each step. Casey lacked higher education. He could be impulsive. But he wasn't dumb, he just had different interests. When he got to the bottom, he could see something moving. It made him jump back, "what was that?" He went after it, moving boxes, throwing caution to the wind, and he saw a rat. Once upon a time, he might have tried to kill it. But now, he knew a rat. "Yo April, can you get me like a pot and lid, or something? And put some of the cheese strings in it?"
April O'Neil	..........what? April is still standing there when he starts down the stairs, once more rendered speechless as heat creeps up into her cheeks. That was... not how that banter was supposed to go, and she'd prepared exactly zero defenses for being agreed with. She had /actually/ intended to go with him, but she was still reeling by the time he'd made it half-way down. By then, it was too late to go down into the darkness without asking him to come back for her with the light, so instead she lingered at the top with her hand resting on the doorframe. "No, but I can make a flamethrower out of what I have in my bag..." You just know she knew it because she'd done it, too. Then there was all that ruckus. "Casey?? Please be careful! I can't carry you up the stairs..." She winced at another sound of a box being moved quickly. "...A pot? What did--" She shakes her head, thinking better of even asking. "On it." And she was. She disappeared from that doorway for a little bit as she went and gathered the requested pieces, and when she reappeared, there was a little creak from the steps as she took the first step in the dark. "I've got it... any chance I can get some light?"
Casey Jones	It was a shame that Casey Jones missed the way her cheeks were turning red, or her mental rebooting at the fact that he had actually deigned to agree with her, rather than argue the point. He would have enjoyed the sight of each. But he was well on his way, giving her time to recover. When she said that line about the flamethrower, he looked up, and as he looked up, he aimed the flashlight over at her, giving her the opportunity to come down in something resembling light. "A flamethrower?" He called up, "a flamethrower," he whispered to himself, shaking his head. "Will do, remember, I have you to protect me!" He called out, "best backup in... what did you call this burg, North Hampton?" He was trying not to spook the rat anymore than it already was, knowing his plan was going to terrify the poor thing. So he very carefully aimed the light at the stairs, hoping she'd use it to come to him. Once she did, "trade ya?" he'd hand over the flashlight, and take the pot and lid, with the cheese string inside. Kneeling down, he set the pot on its side, and took out the cheese string, peeling it, so that there was some in the back of the pot, and made a careful line of cheese strings, extending out towards where he knew the rat was hiding. It wasn't visible right now, but every once in a while it could be heard squeaking. April was going to love this.
April O'Neil	"Not North Hampton. It's Northampton." April had even smiled a bit when she made that correction. It was just close enough to be infuriating for non-natives, and there might have been a small piece of her was amused by the thought of Casey lying awake at night wondering what the difference was. Ah, the little things. He deserved it, though. He wouldn't argue with her when she wanted him to. The big brute actually had the nerve to agree with her! He was literally the worst. Of course, if that was true, she didn't understand why she was so anxious to be next to him again. She got her chance, though, when she brought that pot, lid, and cheese down the stairs, handing them over. "Are you..." She's watching him with a little tilt of her head as she holds the light so that he can see what's going on without lasering him in the eyeballs with it. "...are you setting up a mousetrap?"
Casey Jones	Yes, Casey Jones was literally the worst, not figuratively, but literally. He mispronounced the town's name. And he agreed with April O'Neil. Fortunately, Massachusetts was not a state with the death penalty, for he surely would be facing that for such heinous crimes. Hearing her say that reminded him of a movie called GalaxyQuest, where Alan Rickman said 'Miners not minors'. He hadn't picked that one up on the first time watching, but he got it the second time. "Nope, no mice around here," he said, truthfully, "why don't you head back up to the kitchen, and uh, cover your eyes and ears though." He wanted to spare her in case this didn't go quite as planned. Of course, before she had a chance to head back up the stairs, the rat had found the food. Poor thing must have been starved half to death down here. It was actually kind of cute as it ventured out, hunger overcoming its caution, until it made its way nice and soundly into the pot. Casey then closed the lid on it, trapping it, and suddenly it squealed, and there was the sound of scratching. "'cuse me," he said, heading past April, on his way up the stairs, to the kitchen, and the back door. The little thing was screeching all the way, but he managed to get out towards the field, and he gently, after giving it such a rocking trip, let it out. And true to Casey's character, as it sat there, on the ground, looking up at him, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a candy bar. He undid the wrapper, and tossed it towards the little guy, "ah, don't give me that look. See, I gave you food. You just can't live with us, you understand, don't ya?" Yes, Casey was having a conversation with a rat. And not for the first time.
April O'Neil	So, yes. In the strictest definition of the word, April O'Neil was a girl. She even /looked/ like a girl, complete with long hair, makeup, and clothes that flattered her figure. What she didn't do was /act/ like a girl, most of the time. Not, at least, by the very stereotypical definition of the word. Sure, she had her moments, but she was not one that flinched away from the sight of a rat crawling out and heading into what was very obviously a trap designed to catch it. In fact, Casey was earning points pretty quickly with this act of both bravery and kindness. Yes, she completely agreed with what he was doing and didn't even freak out when the rat started squealing, but she's not sure she would have been able to do it herself, all things considered. So, she did have her limits. April follows him up those stairs, using the light to guide his path with his prize (only after having backed up a couple of steps to make sure he had room to maneuver without accidentally dumping the makeshift-rat-cage on her), and when they've finally made it back out into the grass, she smiles as she watches the remainder of that exchange. Quietly, she slips up to Casey's side, slipping her arm gently into his and leaning up to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "That was... /very/ sweet of you," she whispers.
Casey Jones	The biggest concern was that they had been there for a few minutes, and were already down one pot and lid, because after the rat scratched at it with its claws, would either one of them want to use it to cook anything? After letting the rat free, and giving it a bar of chocolate, which, technically, wasn't what you were supposed to do. Feeding a wild animal made it want to come back for more. Sometimes, showing kindness could hamper it. Still, it had been in the farm, for who knows how long, and soon, that would show signs of improvement, human occupancy, which might scare it off. Fingers crossed. Speaking of fingers, April came up to his side, slipping her arm into his, and leaned up to place a quick little kiss on his cheese. Curiously, he didn't seem to have much stubble. Maybe it took him a while to grow his hair, which made that dark mane of his all the more impressive. It showed commitment. Blushing after the kiss, he turned to her, "aww, thanks, April. I just hope it don't start relying on us fer food. Or get comfortable around humans. Can't be good fer it." "Come on, we got a breaker ta find, before it gets dark."