What? She's our great, great- too many great grandma, Shredder our great, great even more too many greats grandpa. [The fourteen year old is decidedly unaware of the differences therein. He's actually quiet as Donnie speaks.

Donnie seeming to lose himself to the memory is enough for Leo to step closer, the younger teenager more readily making contact. His touch is light, steady. The usual amount of touch he offers his twin. Easy enough to shake off.]

I kind of figured we'd wing it. Plans aren't my thing. Not too much you can do here about leaving. I already scoped both the schools of thought for gods. Neither really have much of an answer beyond 'you're stuck here!'.