ROTTMNT, How They Met Pt 2
The Aristide estate is the opposite of the market—it’s cold, quiet, and dripping with useless, glittering jewels. MONA LISA walks through the front door, her spiked tail dragging slightly on the marble floor.
[INT. ARISTIDE MANOR - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS]
Six lizard Yokai, all dripping in gold chains and silk, look up from their velvet divans. As the youngest of the seven, Mona is the favorite target for the family’s refined cruelty. Her oldest sister, CELESTE, sits front and center, buffing a gemstone the size of a pigeon egg.
"Back from the gutters, Mona? You smell like a junkyard and ozone. It’s offensive to the family nostrils. Honestly, you're a smudge on our reputation."
DORIAN (The second oldest) sneers at the grease on her overalls.
"And look! Her credit pinged at that dusty curiosity shop. Don't tell me you wasted our Obols on more... scrap metal."
(Gripping her utility belt)
"I didn't buy scrap. I covered a tab for a guy who actually knows what a day’s work looks like. Something you lot wouldn't understand unless it involved polishing a sapphire."
BEATRIX and BARTLEBY (The twins) giggle in unison.
"Oh, how noble! The 'Little Lizard' is playing hero for the peasants again!"
VALENTINE and SILAS don’t even look up from their mirrors.
"It’s embarrassing, really," Silas mutters. "Why do you insist on playing with iron and hammers like a common laborer? You are an Aristide! We own the gems; we don't forge the cages!"
Mona’s jaw tightens. Her tail gives a sharp, frustrated crack against the marble floor.
"Maybe I’m tired of looking at things that just sit there and sparkle! At least metal has a purpose. At least it's strong."
(Standing up, her silk robes hissing)
"It’s ugly, Mona. Just like those soot-stained goggles. You’re the youngest—you should be learning to carry the family name, not a welding torch. You’re an embarrassment to the bloodline."
Mona doesn't argue. She knows from experience that trying to explain the beauty of a well-balanced blade to them is like teaching a rock to whistle.
"Whatever. Stay pretty. I’ve got work to do."
[INT. MONA’S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER]
Mona slams her heavy bedroom door and slides the iron bolt home—a lock she forged herself. The room is a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There are no jewels here; instead, the walls are lined with blueprints, gears, and half-finished metal sculptures.
She throws her goggles onto her workbench and sighs, leaning her forehead against the cool surface of a makeshift anvil.
"Reliable muscle... Yeah. At least the Big Red guy didn't care about the grease."
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small, spare gear she’d been fiddling with. She thinks of Raph’s massive, scarred hands—hands built for breaking things, but held with such careful restraint.
Outside her door, she can hear her siblings’ muffled laughter and the clinking of their jewelry. Mona ignores them. She picks up a soldering iron, the blue spark reflecting in her eyes, and gets back to the only thing in this house that makes sense to her.
In a house full of diamonds, Mona Lisa Aristide chose to be steel. And miles away in a sewer lair, a certain turtle was wondering if steel ever felt as lonely as a shell.
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