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randomwriteronline · 1 month

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"Pohatu - fancy seeing you here."

Nokama smiles a little more when the Toa turns to her. He sits slightly hunched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, powerful legs swinging idly in the emptiness that divides the rocky wall from a plummet into the ocean, completely unafraid; the unusual shape of his Kakama Nuva greets her wordlessly.

"I hope I did not bother you," she continues gently: "You seem so caught up in your thoughts, these days..."

A comfortable silence follows the pause she allows to hang.

For a moment a sense of dread creeps along her spine, around her arms, ensnaring her neck: Pohatu, whose voice rattles the mountains, stares at her eerily quiet with a terrifyingly blank gaze and a lack of emotion in his expression.

But he blinks, and his eyes widen, and he says: "What?" as he leans his head forward. "I'm sorry Turaga, I was not listening."

She exhales, amused, as the broken tension allows her shoulders to sag a little: "I only mentioned that you seem very distracted as of late - even during Vakama's tales."

"Ah," he replies with a slightly embarrassed laugh: "I guess my head likes to be in Lewa's domain far more than my feet do in Onua's."

Nokama laughs with him: "May I?" she asks.

He gestures to his side amiably, inviting her to sit with him: "Of course, of course."

It's surprising how little he's worried. Even her head starts to spin from vertigo when she dares to look down at the swirling waters, and she is the furthest thing from the infamous Po-Matoran hydrophobia; yet he sits there without the barest hint of concern despite knowing very well he would sink to the depths of the ocean horribly easily.

Pohatu looks again to the horizon.

He's unusually unreadable.

"I've spoken with the Mahi of Po-Koro, on one of my visits," she tells him - her Rau's abilities have already been unmasked by now, so it's less strange than it could be - "They've told me you quite love to pamper them, more than the Hapaka."

His laugh vibrates out of him, but she notices he does not smile as wide as the sound would imply when he simply shrugs: "I like horns."

They've told her that, too.

"What troubles you, Toa of Stone?"

He glances back at her: "Nothing."

"Yet your mind is so often elsewhere, and you almost don't look like yourself. I've come to know you, Pohatu - I wish to help, if I can."

Nokama's gentle worry makes him sigh deeply: "You're as good a teacher as Toa Lhikan thought, Turaga," he replies with a heavy tone. "Very attentive."

She looks to her feet: "Vhisola was proof otherwise," she mutters.

Pohatu tilts his head: "Then it just means you've gotten better."

The Turaga smiles: "You're always too kind."

He does not reply to that.

His fingers sink into the stone of the precipice to rip a chunk out of the cliff like it's nothing; he tosses the rock from palm to palm absentmindedly, neck craned back to look at the sky.

"I'm just thinking of Po-Metru."

Curiosity, then. "It's only natural," she soothes him: "Your siblings wonder about Metru Nui too. Gali has asked me about Ga-Metru and the Great Temple quite a lot in the past few days. I'm certain Onewa will not be too shy to answer your questions."

She watches him pull one knee up to lean his chin on it: "I don't have many, to be honest - not about the city."

"Really?"

A shrug: "Turaga Vakama is very good at descriptions."

"Ah... Yes, he is, isn't he."

The Toa does not smile back at her; he keeps looking further away into the endless sky, as if to pull on the rest of the ocean with his mind until the other side of the island appears on the horizon.

"What is it, then?" Nokama nudges him. "What doubts take hold of your focus?"

He does not answer immediately.

The rock falls back in his hand perfectly each time he juggles it.

He does so halfheartedly, distractedly - in the same way he sits at the Amaja circle and looks at her brother speak as though he could see right past him, through him.

"The Matoran come from there," he finally says.

She nods.

At last, his strange nearly impersonal gaze returns upon her mask.

"Do you know where we come from?"

It takes her a moment to understand who he speaks of: "You come from the canisters," she answers, because that is nothing if the truth. "You come from the sea."

"The sea bears life - the sea bore us," he says under his breath at that, as though he is repeating a memory. It sounds a lot like Gali.

She nods: "That is as much as we Turaga know."

"And nothing else?" he insists. His words don't hold any desperation, but there is something in them she can't explain with any other term. "Did we have anything before that?"

"No, nothing. Nothing that we know of."

"You were Matoran. You became Toa. Do you not remember us?"

"No - you were never in Metru Nui. We never could have met you there, not even as Matoran."

"It remains we must have been Matoran. Isn't that right?"

His tone is... It strikes her enough to make her stagger before she can offer a response.

He sounds like...

He sounds like them, in a way.

He sounds like he is testing her - to see if he can trigger a specific reaction from her.

His tone is somewhat methodical, scientific, like a researcher interrogating a subject to observe the effects of whatever he's administered them; it is that of calculated questions that one already knows the answer to. His mask is unreadable, incomprehensible - not for a blank anonimity but instead an overwhelming amount of minuscule tells and signs that muddle the waters of his emotions, obscuring them within their own cacophonic confusion.

If only she too knew the answer.

If only (she assumes) he had not forgotten it.

"I imagine as much," Nokama finally replies. "But you six are special, Pohatu."

"You were chosen by Mata Nui himself," he interrupts her. The kindness in his voice is nearly an afterthought, but he masks that fact well. "I would say you too are not necessarily as ordinary a bunch as any Gukko flock might be in Le-Wahi."

She chuckles despite the strange atmosphere: "Oh," and then she laughs, and she laughs some more, bent over herself to try and stifle the giggles that bubble in her chest, "Oh, be careful not to say that in front of Tamaru or Kongu, lest you want a very angry lecture on how the Gukko force is so very different from their wild siblings."

Pohatu's smile is lukewarm.

The Turaga recomposes herself quickly when she takes in his lack of amusement: "But you are different," she insists. "You are something more than what we were or could have hoped to be."

"That sort of thing doesn't spring out of the ocean from nowhere."

"That sort of thing is what legends and prophecies are made of. Your arrival was foretold in stars that cannot be rewritten; you came to aid us, delivered upon our shores by the elements themselves; you battled against the Great Spirit's most insidious, terrible enemies, and defeated them. You are special. And perhaps you had no need of a Toa Stone to become who you are."

The reply she gets is a silent stare.

The rock creaks from within the Toa's grip.

If she were looking at it she'd notice the liquid manner it behaves.

"It's a sad idea," he finally says, "To be born only to fight."

The Toa protect, for that is their duty; the Matoran create, for that is their destiny.

Her hand lays on his arm with a kind, humid pressure.

"I may very well be wrong," Nokama reassures him now. "I've told you, not even we Turaga know much."

"You know prophecies."

"Those can only get us so far. And they can't see the past."

"I wish they could," Pohatu says with a focused gaze.

His eyes are locked onto her own.

"I will pray the Great Spirit to bring you answers soon, Toa of Stone," she promises - because what else can she do? How else can she reply to the perfectly still stare that seems to pass through her, carving holes within her head with the precision of a sculptor? "So that you and your siblings will never have to feel as you do now again."

He does not move.

Then, at last, his head tilts with a tired, relieved smile.

"Thank you, Turaga," he tells her earnestly. "I hope so too."

Nokama grins back at him, so gentle, so sweet - so glad that the disquieting spell is over and the Toa is once again fully himself.

She raises herself from her seat with a bit of a struggle, helped upright by his powerful arm. Another burst of vertigo makes her sway for a moment as she catches sight of the long fall into the waters, head feeling light before she imperiously shakes the sensation out of it: there is nothing to fear, the cliff won't fall. Even Pohatu has gone back to swinging his legs in the nothingness with the carefree movements of a Matoran dangling from a jungle vine, and if he is not afraid then she has no reason to be either.

He does not move to follow her.

"I shall return to Ga-Koro now," she tells him: "Soon enough we'll have to carry the boats to Kini Nui, and I ought to make sure they're nearing completion."

"Call Taipu when you need to move them, if my brother is too busy listening to stories - I'm sure he'll be happy to help," he suggests.

Her smile confirms that his poison is mistaken for a lighthearted jab: "A good idea. I will ask Whenua to send him to us, if he is not busy enough already and wishes to lend us a hand. You should be off too, listening to stories like your siblings, should you not?"

Head thrown back and legs stiffened, the Toa whines like an annoyed child: "But Turaga," he exaggerates his whimpering drawl to kick a laugh out of her shoulders, "I don't wanna!"

"Neither do I want to go fetch Nixie out of her observatory for the eleventh time today, but duty call us all the same."

He huffs and pouts dejectedly as his body slumps on himself in a comical manner; his furrowed brow clears into a simple smile as Nokama hiccups chuckle after chuckle at his stellar performance.

"There's still a little while," he bargains with her.

"And will you be at Kini Nui on time?"

"Am I ever late?"

No, she can't argue with that. Her eyes shine with affection as she lays them on him again.

"Alright," she pretends to concede with a sigh, as though she were doing him a big favor. His grin amuses her to no end. "But make sure to be there."

He places a hand on his heartlight: "I will be."

"And try to focus, as best as you can."

"I will try my hardest. I just need to clear my head a little more, and then I'll be the most captive audience Turaga Vakama has ever had."

"I'm certain you will. I hope the sea brings you solace, Pohatu."

"Thank you, Turaga. Goodbye."

She does not see his cheerfulness drop in an instant as soon as her back tells him she will not turn to look at him again, smile flattening, eyelids drooping, eyes hardening. He watches her until she disappears from view with a face devoid of love and a sizzling in his heartlight that almost makes him feel sick; the stone in his hand squeezes through his fingers like putty, slithers between them, takes a slug-like shape as it coils around his digits squirming like a worm emerging from a fresh tomb into a summer downpour, before he lets it collects itself in his palm once more.

He crushes it gently and looks down only when he opens his palm again. It looks like a Kane-Ra bull. He tries again: this one is a Makika. A Fikou. A Dikapi. A Tunnel Stalker. A Husi. A Fusa.

A Turaga with their mask shattered.

Without a word he presses the rock with both hands to somewhat shape it back into a proper sphere, carefully, taking his time.

He kicks it as far into the ocean as he can. His eyes follow its trajectory until the distance turns it far too small for him to distinguish it against the flickering gleams of the waves in which it no doubt sinks. He continues to look at the calm waters, legs swinging idly much like branches in a light breeze.

The sea bears life, Gali said; the sea bore us.

Pohatu looks into the cradle of his siblings' rebirth thoughtlessly, quietly, hating it as much as he hates them for not swallowing them whole.

#bionicle #nokama #pohatu #random writing #orpiment au #(kisses head of orpiment pohatu) my beautiful boy who is so full of hatred and has decided to let it stew so he can make it explode harder #idk if this reads the way i want it to? but then again idk how i want it to read #i guess nokama interprets his strangeness as melancholy and/or ghosts of memories from his amnesia #whereas in reality pohatu has a completely different motive #i.e. 'i wish the prophecies could look into the past' - nokama interprets this as him wishing he could know his past #while what he means (and tries to convey by staring) is that they wouldnt ail the mata as heroes if they knew ''the truth''#or ofc what he thinks is the truth (that they left the av matoran to die bc they were cowards). which is completely off the mark #audience pls tell me your interpretation of whats behind the convos and actions. thats your homework for the day. im jokin but itd be nice

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kozzax · 1 year

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When they were young, Leo always claimed he and Donnie were twins.

Donnie brushed him off every time.

"Go away Leo. We aren't twins," he'd say, affectionately annoyed, before returning to his books and his projects. A deterrent of sorts, a statement meant to send his brother away so that he could continue with his projects alone.

And for years, this is how it went.

And then, when they were around ten or eleven, as Leo was pestering Donnie in his lab, the mechanism that Donnie had been working on broke. Leo tried to pull the twin card, to convince Donnie to step away for a bit and hang out with his beloved brothers, and-- and Donnie had already been having a bad day. His nerves were fried. His senses were blaring at him. His shell was too thin and soft to play their games, anyways. So he did as he always did, on these days. He sent his brother away.

"We aren't twins, Leo! We aren't even the same species of turtle!! We CAN'T be real twins! Leave me ALONE!"

And for once, Leo left without an obnoxious quip. For once, Leo was silent. And Donnie turned back to his project.

When Raph barged into his room half an hour later, he was startled by the intrusion. He was even more startled by the anger.

"Donnie. What did you say to Leo."

"Go away, Raph, I'm busy!"

"Donatello. What did you say to Leo. Raph's serious."

"I don't quite understand the upset. I just told him we aren't twins, and we're different species, and to leave me alone. Nothing more than usual. Why are you mad?"

"Donnie!"

"What!!"

At this point, Donnie turned in his chair to face the doorway, giving Raph an unimpressed glare.

"Why would you say that?"

"I merely spoke with him the same way I always do! This is how we work, Raph, you know that! Now leave me alone so I can fix this piece of junk," He turned back to his work, pulling his goggles down to look closer at the wiring.

"No. Dee, you really upset him this time."

"He's fine, Raph. He's just annoyed that I'm too busy to play frivolous games with him at the moment."

"Dee, he's crying."

"Raph, you know I struggle to identify when you're lying, I would appreciate it if you didn't-"

"Raph's not lying. Mikey's with him right now. He's crying."

There was a beat of silence, as this sank in. Donnie froze in place, unmoving until Raph turned his chair around to face him once more.

"...oh. I- oh, no."

"Fix it."

He pushed his goggles away from his eyes, holding onto his arms and avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Raph, I- I'm not good with... feelings. I don't know how to fix this one."

"You broke his heart. You fix it. Apologize."

"He won't believe an apology, not if it's really that bad-"

"Fix it."

"I- okay! Okay. I'll fix it. I'll figure it out."

"Good. I'm going to do damage control. Don't follow. Leo doesn't want to talk to you right now."

For once, the lab felt too quiet.

The aftermath of their fight was hard for everybody in the lair. Leo refused to even look at Donnie for longer than necessary, and Donnie retreated into his lab for far more hours every day than he had ever done before.

Attempts to get the two to reconcile continually went poorly.

Splinter paired them up in a training exercise, and was met with one of their worst performances since they were barely old enough to walk.

Raph put together a Jupiter Jim marathon that neither accepted the invite to, each citing the other's presence as their reason not to come.

Mikey did his best to drag either of them to sit down with the other, putting on the Dr. Delicate Touch persona and doing everything he could.

Even April, when she came over to see the rest of the family, would only ever be met with three turtles at a time.

None of it worked.

There was something broken between the two of them, now. Something that, to the rest of their family, seemed unfixable.

A day passed, and then two, and then a week, and a month, and-- nothing.

And then their birthday came around. A month and a week after the fight.

Donnie snuck into Leo's room long before the rest of their family could awake, an oddly-shaped present in his arms.

"'Nardo, wake up. I need to talk to you."

It took a moment for Leo to wake up enough to register who's voice was there, but when he did, he rolled over and pulled a pillow over the side of his head once more.

"Go away Donatello. I don't want to talk to you."

"But-- it's important. Really important."

"What, like the fact that I don't want to see your stupid face? Go away."

"Leonardo, please."

His brother turned over once more, opening his eyes and giving Donnie a glare.

"What. What could possibly be this important."

"It's our birthday."

Donnie's words were quiet and stilted, practiced several times over until they were just right. Before his brother could turn back around, he gestured towards the large item next to him.

"I made us a gift. Happy birthday us."

"We don't have to share a birthday anymore, since we're not twins--"

"Happy birthday us."

And when Donnie unwrapped his gift-- nothing really made much more sense, despite his wishes. It was an oddly-shaped piece of tech, rounded and almost as big as he was, with straps connecting to the edges.

"What is that. How is that worth waking me up, when I don't even want to see you right now?"

It wasn't until Donnie turned it over that the gift began to make more sense. It was a faint blue-ish green, with three lighter circles running down its back in somewhat shaky paint. A mirror of Leo's shell.

Confusion spread across Leo's face as Donnie secured the shell on his own back, before looking up at Leo again.

"Now we're the same. We're real twins, 'cause we have the same shell, see? We're-- we're real twins, Leo."

There was a beat of silence, as the two stared at each other in the dark of night, before Leo reached over and pulled his brother into a hug. For once, Donnie didn't't deny it.

"This doesn't fix anything. You owe me like, big time."

"I know."

"In that case-- I missed you, Donnie."

"I missed you too Nardo."

It took time for them to heal again. For the awkward energy that filled the lair to dissipate and return to it's usual air. But eventually, eventually, Leo and Donnie grew back into their usual banter. Sometimes, it seemed as though the experience had brought them even closer than before.

The shell he'd made to mimic his twin's would become Donnie's first ever battle shell. Every iteration afterwards, as he grew out of them over time, would grow further from its original purpose. By the time they were solidly in their teens there was little hint that it was ever meant to be an imitation of Leo's.

That first shell is kept in Leo's room, though. Sat atop a shelf, and gifted to him when Donnie grew out of it, as a reminder that the change in shells didn't mean that they weren't still twins. Real twins. No matter what science had to say about it.

#my writing #rottmnt #donnie rottmnt #leo rottmnt #disaster twins rottmnt #ok so i don't post fanfic a whole ton but uhhhh. here you go.#i also haven't posted about rottmnt in a HOT second #but again. here you go.#tldr i've had this thought for a long time and the beginning of this was sitting in drafts for a Long time because .#i think donnie's first battle shell was an imitation leo shell #and then i rolled with it #look there's just something really important to me #about the ability to say we're real twins fuck science #b/c of my queerplatonic twin who. we Decided we're twins #we watched rottmnt together as Twins #this is dedicated to chao #lonely my beloved #but like. i just. i think it's really easy to fuck that up if you've been that your whole life #and i think donnie's battle shell being originally a form of apology #for someone who struggles with apologies #makes. a lot of sense #they're twins your honor #idk what to tell you

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