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(no subject)

Who:

semper_cogitans, though with replies coming from

herpderpetile, and

i_speak_softly. I pity anybody else who might join in advance :|;;
What: Probably the most awkward, hormone-spiked bath ever
When: March 31st, during the Unofficial Derpturtle Sleepover
Where: House 55
Summary: Robert has just the luck to be turned into a mutant red-eared slider in the middle of spring mating season, which, needless to say, is making everything a little awkward. Especially when he's been in the same house as his boyfriend (and his family) for a few days. And then, of course, he's neglecting to keep himself hydrated, so clearly Don has to get him into a bath. ~~This won't turn awkward or fail miserably at all.~~
Rating: F for Fail. No, really, it's probably going to get into NC-17 territory, though knowing how much Robert and Don suck at emotional stuff, anything along those lines will likely be awkward and abortive.

So how uncomfortable is it to be in your partner's house in the middle of a mating season while simultaneously being aware of how much the rest of his family dislikes you?

Very uncomfortable, that's how uncomfortable. And that is why Robert has completely immersed himself in work on his nanocomputer, both to ignore the subtle anxiety of the various Hamatos not named Donatello looking at him disapprovingly and to try to suppress the increasingly-urgent desire to do more than just cuddle with Donatello. It was decidedly unprofessional to feel like that... and, truth be told, Robert was more than a little nervous about the idea. Eight years of self-imposed cloistered distance from people meant that sexuality was something he hadn't really ever gotten a chance to envision as anything more than furtive, broken fantasies. Never mind that his emotional abilities were skewed enough and most of his fantasies ended up depressing him somewhat because they were about Benjamin... though, the subject of them had, admittedly, changed somewhat in three months.

Okay, changed a lot.

Clearly this mental topic deserved to be crushed down in favour of typing even more fiercely at the ergonomically-designed miniature keyboard of his nanocomputer. Never mind that only having two fingers was kind of throwing him off his typing stride. Never mind the strange lethargy and general illness he felt. I have to distract my mind from this...

Somebody more knowledgeable of turtles - for example, an actual turtle - might realize Robert's more than a little dehydrated right now. That's what happens when you isolate yourself in a house where people tend to congregate around the kitchen and steadfastly refuse to do anything but work in a desperate attempt to push the hormone-induced thoughts out of your head. (And it's funny, because Robert normally wouldn't deny thoughts like this. But there isn't anywhere private enough to indulge them...)

Anybody feel like wresting him from his engrossed state at the nanocomputer?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not talking about it is a go, yes. Not thinking about it - well, that isn't possible right now, at least not for Robert. But he can ignore the thoughts. Or at least reduce them to something similar to background noise, as he settles into the familiar-but-unfamiliar routine of washing himself as a turtle.

Even though he's had the greater part of a week to get used to this, it's still odd feeling scales instead of smooth skin. Or the entire lack of body hair, even Robert's relatively fine, downy variety. He notes, mentally, the fact that it's never been odd on Don - now that it's on him though, it feels mildly foreign. But... not bad. Never really bad.

The Malnosso would really have to do worse than this to his body to make him completely irritated with it. (Though this libido was on the annoying side of the scale, but at least it'd done something constructive now. As far as Robert could tell, anyway.)

"Hey Robert?" Don says, when he comes back up. "Can I ask you something kind of strange?"

Does he actually even need to ask at this point?

"Please feel free to. I doubt I would find anything you asked strange, to be honest." Robert smiles easily and looks up from where he was attempting to wash his plastron. (Those big dark markings on it make it hard to find actual dirt.)

Don will be very surprised if Robert doesn't find this to be strange.

"Do you mind if I peel off one of your scutes?" he asks, then hurriedly explains: "It doesn't hurt, and on the off chance that it doesn't disappear when you change back, I'd like to keep it..."

... Oh, that's an interesting request. But Robert is more fascinated than weirded out.

"I don't mind... it's not as if I have any particular attachment to any of them. In fact, were I to have more time, I'd like to take samples of all my biological properties right now, for later study..." Robert looks thoughtful a moment. "But I certainly don't mind if you want to do that. How do I facilitate the process?

... And why exactly would you want to keep a scute?" It seems kind of like how keeping cut locks of someone's hair might be... a purely sentimental gesture, perhaps. Even if Robert's questioning it, his expression makes it seem like he thinks it's almost a romantic or sweet gesture.

Odd, but sweet. It's not like Robert doesn't do strange things himself.

Don beams and grabs a washcloth from a hook under the showerhead. "Turn around." By way of answering Robert's other question, he adds: "Well, Master Splinter keeps all of ours."

And he means all almost literally - Splinter's collection of shed scutes is way more extensive than would seem necessary.

Robert does so, putting his shell within easy reach of Don's grasp, as well as anything else that would be generally more accessible from behind, such as the scutes in question. Possibly.

"Ah, is that so? Do they serve as an indication of your age, or health, or does he simply keep them in the same manner a parent might keep an article of clothing or something from a child's early life?" Robert's parents had occasionally done things like that. Not often... but Robert could remember them keeping his first pair of glasses, at least. Mostly at his own behest.

... Though it seemed more logical to recycle them...

Don studiously does not notice anything other than Robert's carapace, which is at any rate quite diverting in its own right. The pattern is different from Don's and his brothers', as tends to be the case with turtle shells, and he wants to look at it, memorize it, while he can.

"They're an interesting record of our growth," Don says, as he sets about scrubbing the accumulated dirt from between the ridges of Robert's shell. "And I guess there isn't a whole lot else of ours that he could save." He pauses thoughtfully. "On the other hand, it could just be rat habits."

Robert knows the feeling of wanting to memorize every detail of something. Even if this form is only temporary, ideally he'd want to spend time detailing every last square centimetre of it. He's been using his nanocomputer to record holovideo of himself as a turtle, so at least he has that much... and he has a few readings on his temperature and the like as well. Nothing like what he would have wanted to do, but there simply wasn't enough time to do all of that, not with everything that had happened. Well, that and the supreme lack of technology to accomplish the feat with...

The scrubbing is soothing, and gentle, and honestly Robert has trouble reaching his own shell to clean it anyway, so he's definitely enjoying this. He sighs a little from the pleasant sensations of it and arches back into Don's caring hands. "That would make sense... It would be fascinating to look back at them, I suppose. See how your patterns have changed over time, or whether or not your brothers' scutes are significantly different..."

He smiles over his shoulder at Don. "The Malnosso seem to have enjoyed making me emulate your subspecies, at the least. And, to be honest, outside of the... awkward parts, this isn't particularly problematic. I could ostensibly get used to this...

I suspect you were less comfortable with being a human, though."

There, good as new. (Better than new, in a sense - Robert's shell is free of scars, and its thickness and healthy condition reflect a lifetime of easy access to sunlight, good food, and clean water for its owner. Don has never seen a shell like it. It seems almost a shame to remove a piece, but then again, it will all be gone in a few days anyway.)

Don wets the washcloth again, runs it lightly over the freshly-cleaned carapace, and begins hunting for a loose edge of scute.

"The patterns don't change, they just get bigger. I can tell right away which piece belongs to who." He responds to Robert's last statement briefly and bluntly. "I hated it."

Robert's shell betrays something about his life that his human body didn't, necessarily - that he had an easy life of it, and that he pretty much had access to anything he's ever needed or even wanted. It's a beautiful shell. Even Robert would think of it that way.

He squirms slightly at the search for the loose scute, probably subconsciously expecting pain - but also liking the pressure there.

"I apologize that being a human was so uncomfortable for you," Robert says, genuinely.

Don shakes his head, even though Robert can't see him. "Nothing against humans. I'm sure it's fine if you really are one." Ah, there. A tiny scrape from where Robert crashed against the side of the bathtub while trying to get in. "Also, I was a woman at the time, so it wasn't really a fair trial."

"Ah, so the Malnosso made you transgendered as well?" Robert hasn't yet connected the statement from earlier about Donatello being his friend with this, and even then he wouldn't see this as 'being a woman', merely 'being female-bodied'. One of the many discrepancies in thinking that arise from their different worlds and perspectives... "They apparently also did so to Helios, from what I understand about what Mr. Chopin told me. Or... perhaps temporarily cisgendered? That would have been awkward, attempting to address Helios with the proper pronouns for her situation, but..." Robert pauses a moment.

"But I can certainly understand why that must be... odd. And uncomfortable. That would be odd even if you were already used to being a human."

"Um, no." To whatever that word means. "I switched bodies with a friend. She didn't enjoy being me, either." The part about Helios he takes as Robert talking to himself, because Don certainly doesn't understand it.

"You wouldn't have been a woman then," Robert says, like this concept is something everybody should be familiar with - though he isn't exactly condescending about it, either. "Just female-bodied. You were still... yourself, correct?

... Though certainly that must have been uncomfortable for both you and her, but... It could have been far worse. Personally I would rather the Malnosso meddle with my body than my mind."

Robert makes a little questioning sound. "Are trans people not a familiar concept to you, then? I... suppose some worlds might not be aware of them..."

Don sighs, most of his attention on trying to pry up the thin edge of scute from the layers underneath. "I don't know, Rob, you're losing me again."

A minute, pained look flickers across Robert's face at that name, accompanied with a very slight flinch. He can't help but hear Benjamin's voice saying it.

I'm sure that Don doesn't mean any harm using that name for me. And until I explain why it hurts, I can't very well expect him not to use it.

But Robert's still... afraid to explain. He's afraid about the calvacade of issues that would come up if he had to explain it.

So he quietly avoids the topic, even if that name makes his stomach clench.

"A-Ah, well. To explain it from the perspective of Terran psychology and biology... gender and sex are separate, but often related, identities. Most fetuses have a gender identity that is more or less in line with their physical body, but occasionally hormones might manifest in an unpredictable or unique way, and thus one's gender identity becomes different from one's physical sex. Generally the Wolffrian glands develop one way whilst the brain develops in another fashion, but not all cases of trans people can be easily summed up by that statement... However, in the case you describe it would be accurate enough.

Of course, that was experiment-induced, so it is not quite the same thing."

Robert absentmindedly wrings his hands as he feels Don prying up that stubborn scute. He can feel it yielding, slowly dislodging and tearing away... it doesn't hurt, no, but it's the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like something should hurt, like being awake for a surgery under localized anaesthetic.

Don thinks about this while he continues gently peeling off the scute. "You mean sometimes people think of themselves as male or female, even though they aren't?" Almost got it now. "A kind of delusion." A steadying hand on Robert's shoulder, a slow twist, and the last strand of keratin snaps. "There."

"Not exactly." Hearing the word 'delusional' applied to trans people is... uncomfortable. Robert tries to tell himself that Don just hasn't gotten the chance to learn otherwise... he hopes. "They see themselves as who they are. It has been categorically proven, with the use of MRI and PET-variety brain scanning, that the structural components of trans people's brains strongly resemble those of their cisgendered counterparts. In other words, the brain of a trans woman is physically closer to the brain of a cis woman than the brain of a cis man, even if her body is closer to a cis man's.

It would be more delusional, in that case, to not accept themselves for who they are, and instead continue to live as something they are not."

Robert hopes that the idea of mind being independent from body is understandable to Don. Considering the fact that his entire family is in bodies that other people often don't understand, he would think that the idea of that would strike a resonant chord for Don...

And that scute removal was... decidedly odd. Like having a big chunk of his skin removed, but painlessly. Robert fidgets a bit.

"Was that... a successful endeavour?"

Don passes the tissue-paper-thin scute over Robert's shoulder, then folds his arms on the top of Robert's shell and leans there, thinking.

"Is it like a mutation? Part of them is different from how it's supposed to be?"

Robert nods. The comparison is indeed getting through.

"Essentially, yes. It is... a fluctuation in hormones that results in a state outside of what would be considered 'typical'. The thing with biology is that it is rarely ever completely effective at reproducing conditions accurately all the time. There is always some fuzziness; some experimental error, if you will. And occasionally it yields results that can be considered different from whatever "standard" happens to be. Like my own orientation, which is a complex blend of interaction from the environment, my genetics and hormones, and the amount of education I had access to."

Robert smiles.

"But there is nothing inherently wrong about being different. Were we to consciously eliminate our differences, we would be removing much of what makes humanity fascinating and complex."

Ironic words coming from somebody whose culture is practically homogenized.

"Hm." Don absorbs this and sets it aside for later consideration. "What do you mean, 'orientation'?" he asks, though in the tone of an idle question, since he's taking it to mean something like "interests and hobbies". He's never heard that word for the concept before, though.

"'Orientation' is a term that is used to refer to how one relates romantically and erotically to others," Robert says, nearly offhandedly. "I am told that 'gay' is used more commonly here, but I tend to use 'androphile' - that is, an attraction to those who identify themselves masculinely - instead, because 'gay' has traditionally had a history of excluding those who do not fit typical categories of masculinity.

It's more common for those who identify as men to be gynephilic - that is, attracted to those who identify themselves femininely - but that hardly means that there's anything wrong with where I am. Or with where other people are, because there are many other orientations apart from those."

"Oh." That kind of interest. Don stretches out his legs alongside Robert's and idly wiggles his toes to make little splashes in the water.

Yes, that kind of interest. The same interest Robert has been blatantly displaying in Don since the beginning of this awkward debacle.

It's probably obvious that Robert is staring at Don's thigh. Even if the biologist part of his brain knows where Don's actual genitals are, the stilted awkward emotional part of his brain still wants to stroke that muscular striped thigh. The turtle part of his brain is more or less in agreement - though it wants to stroke Don's face, too. Which Robert can get behind the idea of.

"... I have been curious about how kissing you like this would feel..." Robert sort of averts his eyes to his own plastron. "W-Would... would it be alright, to you, if... if I did so?" Those green fingers twine together in writhing discomfort once more.

Robert is officially the worst example of suave, ever.