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The pebbles along the pavement scraped under her heel. Murmurs of afternoon chatter lingered, venders restocked their inventory. Children shoved by, the thunk of basketballs dribbling down the street.
Men and women of all ages were talking louder than usual into their phones.
Pigeons observed with their vacant stares.
The smell of hotdog permeated the air.
…Normal.
And to think, just a few weeks ago…
The frown on her lips tugged further.
What a royal disaster that was. How close had she been to kissing all of this goodbye?
Sure, the city could smell less pungent and the streets could have less trash, but…this was her home. Home of her people.
Well…people, anyway.
How easily had she been convinced that serving The Foot would better her in any way?
The fact that she had chosen them over every other option.
With her skillset, she could've really been something.
All she had wanted was to prove herself. To show how much they needed her, and not the other way around.
She had assembled the armor. She had woken the Shredder.
…She had nearly destroyed the world.
Her bag shifted along her shoulder.
Things always sounded so much cooler in theory.
Face to face…they were terrifying. And…not who she was.
Why was it that it had taken the near end of the world and a rat man for her to realize that?
The battle had been won, but the suffering had only begun. She had disappeared almost as quickly as the dust had settled. The shame had been too great.
But at the very least…Lou Jitsu and his sons would live to see another day, and…she'd never bother them again. They could take comfort in that.
The Foot was more or less done with —and she was done with them.
Her free time had opened up to more creative outlets, though fighting and hockey would always be her first loves (and rather hard habits to break). But with the extra time, she had found herself…restless.
Like it or not, life had been rather adrenaline filled under the Foot Clan, and it had only left a big empty hole where her purpose had been. And without them calling the shots…Cassandra Jones had begun to call her own.
In the shadows, underground, of course.
Concealed and unrestrained.
Alone.
But it felt different when she pulled her mask down and took on this…other persona. The Foot had only brought struggles and frustration.
This outlet…
It felt good.
She didn't need anyone to tell her what her mission was. Not anymore.
There were people out there who needed her skill.
And she was done playing the bully.
Her shoulder hit a hard turn, ducking away between the buildings. Civilians were none the wiser. No one had come through here yet it seemed. Nothing had been moved. Nothing had been touched.
Good.
That would've been annoying.
Especially after all her hard work.
Ruffling through her bag, she pulled on her mask and collected a can or two, shaking them about as she skimmed the semi finished mural, speculating what needed touching up, what needed to be left alone. The images had been heavily influenced by her past…a work of fiction most would say.
Let them say so.
They'd be wrong, but they were safer for thinking so.
The can splattered out, hushing along the dirty bricks with a much brighter hue.
"You know, if you're caught, the cops are not gunna like this as much as I do."
Her eyes widened as she spun on her heel, a single fist loaded in defense, but she found her visitor in no particular mood to fight. Casually resting along the afternoon shadows was the chatterly sword wielder of the mutant turtles, arms tucked along his chest as he admired her work.
"Is that me?" he grinned, eying one of the figures —rather blue and familiar to his liking.
He seemed to be in a good mood.
She lifted the can back to the wall.
He didn't stop her.
"…Inspired by."
Her voice was rather low for what he remembered, but she ignored him, continuing the piece.
"I gotta bring Mikey out here. He'd love this. Family artist and all. Although I gotta say, I might not be entirely art savvy, but I know flattery when I see it."
She swapped cans, listening to the click echo as she shook it.
He was enjoying himself.
Weirdo.
"Just something to do."
She figured his presence fell in the same boat. Nothing interesting happened until the sun set, anyway.
"You've been busy, though. Your calling card is kinda…unique."
Her hand paused.
Had…they been following her?
Her brows lowered.
"…That a problem?"
She could feel the smile through his words as she stared at the bricks,
"We could really use someone like you on the team."
…Someone like her?
Was he…serious? Or just…stupid?
They had fought against one another for months —and sure, she had stood her ground up until the end, but there had just been something different about Lou Jitsu…something promising and appealing and wholesome and good…
She fought the knot in her throat, splattering another blob.
"…Last time I got roped into a team, it didn't work out so well."
Truer words had never been spoken.
She could hear the creature shuffle behind her, careful to keep out of the setting sun's eye,
"I mean, sure you unleashed a demon onto the city —but who hasn't?" he easily waved off, "You also helped destroy it before it could destroy my Dad."
There seemed to be a genuine gratefulness when he spoke.
Almost like he meant it.
Her eyes lifted to the fuzzy resemblance in her mural.
"He's a good guy." she murmured quietly, "He didn't deserve that."
"You're a good guy, too."
Her brow lifted as he seemed to stumble on his delivery.
"—Uh, good girl."
His face cramped uncomfortably. That sounded oddly condescending.
"Good, good hearted —you're a good person. All of this wouldn't bother you so much if you weren't."
Her brows furrowed as she glanced over her shoulder.
"We're clearly still on the mind," he noted as he thumbed at the mural, his gaze softly careening to her own, "just as much as you're on ours."
Quietly, she wiped her can clean, pretending to ignore his comment.
The sun had finally dipped between the rooftops, providing a cooler environment for him to stretch his legs, and calmly, he approached, admiring the piece, side by side.
Not too bad.
Not too bad at all.
His curiously bright gaze fell upon her, and though she did her best to remain indifferent, the poke along her arm claimed her attention,
"Think about it. No rush."
It was the edge of the paper that had prodded her, sharp and crumpled.
"Give me a call when you're ready. The worst thing that could happen? I actually answer. Believe me when I say I don't give out my number to just any girl on the street."
There was a note of humor in his tone as she inspected the paper, lifting her mask with a frown.
"I won't hold it against you if you toss it or anything." the mutant uttered softly,
"But since we're kinda fighting for the same stuff, it'd be nice to have you on our side. We could use someone with your…enthusiasm."
She remained quiet.
Ironic.
"Anyway, I'll let you get back to things."
His arm stretched behind him as he swiveled out his sword, carving a doorway out of matter. With a promising grin, he flicked a lazy salute, "Hope I can show you around sometime, Cassandra Jones."
Her green gaze clicked to his.
…He…remembered her name?
The portal seemed to flash from existence, the image of his playful wink burned into her mind.
Her brows flattened as her retinas adjusted.
What was he even suggesting?
It wasn't like they were fri—
The olive greens darted curiously, calm, yet cautious.
The alley had grown dark. The soundscape had changed. And now she was alone.
The paper crunched in her grip.
Time to get ready.
Zipping her bag, she lowered her mask, peering at the art piece before her.
A family of good souls mastered by the greatest.
And a chatty, overly confident—
She sighed.
…They weren't so bad.
And it wasn't like she had anything else to do.
Her gaze roamed the wall before thumbing out the wrinkles.
Maybe she'd consider it.
No promises, though.
"…Leonardo…"