Author's note/Mea Culpa: I know it's literally been years and years since I've updated anything. I feel like a time traveller from the distant past. Please consider this as a small peace offering. It has been sitting on my hard drive, almost totally finished, for about three years. Thought it was time I actually got around to publishing it.

This story is inspired by the Christmas night when my brother and I tried to teach my Mum how to play Mario Kart, while we were all rather drunk. True story.

New Tricks

From the sheer volume of the noise coming from outside the kitchen, Splinter had assumed that Michelangelo was speaking to one of his brothers. Of course, it wasn't unknown for Michelangelo to be caught speaking to himself, Klunk, or inanimate objects, but he usually reserved his most vociferous displays for when he had a true audience – willing or unwilling. Splinter was therefore surprised when he rounded the doorway, fresh cup of tea in hand, to see his youngest son sitting alone in the centre of the sagging couch. He was leaning forward, with the light from the television screen playing across his face, and his voice was rapidly escalating to an alarming number of decibels.

"Now they're coming into the final lap and what a race this has been, with Team Yoshi still clearly in the lead, followed closely by the former champion Mario, then it's Bowser, Peach, Luigi – with Toad right on his tail – Oh! It's a Leaderseeker!"

Splinter winced as the volume increased even more. He cleared his throat. "Michelangelo."

"There is goes, coming up from behind, can the leader of the race avoid it?"

Something on the television screen exploded.

"OH, NO HE CAN'T! And that has got to hurt! And now it's Mario, it's Yoshi, coming up to the finish, THEY'RE NECK AND NECK, THIS WILL BE A CLOSE ONE – "

"Michelangelo!"

"AND IT'S YOSHI! Team Yoshi take the championship for the five millionth year running! WHAT A VICTORY!"

He punched a fist into the air in celebration, and looked set to continue on in a similar vein until Splinter finally managed to make his presence known with a firm rap of his walking stick on the floor. "Michelangelo!"

The torrent of noise paused.

"Oh, hey Sensei." Michelangelo's tone of faked excitement had dropped away along with the volume, and he was abruptly a bored teenager again. "Sorry, that was getting kinda loud, wasn't it?"

"I had thought you were mustering an army rather than shouting at the television screen." Splinter set his tea down on the small table beside his armchair. "Did it do something to upset you?" he asked mildly.

"Nah." Michelangelo stretched, the controller for the game device still clutched in one hand. "It's just that, well, I beat this game like a decade ago, so I thought that maybe keeping up a running commentary would make it a bit more interesting again. Didn't really work, though. But Don just got a new book, so he's dead to the world, Leo and Raph are still out, and I'm bored, Sensei! Mario Kart is way better with multiple players." He sank down onto the couch, his bottom lip forming into a pout. His fingers restlessly tapped against the plastic of the controller.

After a moment of hesitation to make sure the noise wasn't going to start up again, Splinter sat down in his own armchair. He was somewhat cautious – a bored Michelangelo could be a formidable adversary – but after taking a sip of tea, he offered, "Perhaps I could set you some extra exercises to occupy your mind and use up the energy in your body."

For a few seconds the pouting, the leg-jiggling and the tapping all stopped, as Michelangelo sat absolutely still in trepidation. Splinter often used this ploy on their days off. He never intended to actually carry through with it, but he hoped that the suggestion of extra practice made his sons appreciate their free time all the more.

"Um, no thanks, Sensei. I am most definitely in Gaming Mode right now. Just wish I had someone around to play against."

Splinter's instincts warned him an instant too late, and he froze like an animal of prey, hoping that if he was simply still enough then he would be overlooked. Michelangelo's eyes slid sideways towards him, and then, inevitably, they widened as the idea struck him.

"Hey! I could teach you to play!"

"I do not think that is a good idea, my son."

Understatement. Splinter was never more aware of the generational gap than when it came to the Lair's many entertainment systems. He could more or less understand the basic functioning of the cell phone that Donatello had constructed for him – though what his sons called 'texting' was still beyond him. Sometimes he even pretended to be slightly more incompetent than he really was, because he wanted his sons to know that he was not all-powerful. (He also found a secret sort of amusement in their exasperation with him). But the strangely-shaped plastic contraptions with the brightly coloured buttons and their attendant tangle of wires seemed to fill him with a deep, primal fear.

Michelangelo was kneeling on the couch now and leaning over towards Splinter's armchair, an unholy gleam of excitement in his eyes. "It's a fantastic idea! I can't believe I've never thought of this before!" He popped up from the couch and rushed over to the low cupboard where all of the game controllers were stored. He rummaged through it, bits and pieces clacking against each other as Splinter sank further down in his chair, wondering if he could disappear into the cushions. He was already beginning to regret his decision to emerge from the kitchen this evening.

"Aha! Here it is!"

"I think you are being overly optimistic about an old rat's abilities, my son." Understatement again. "I cannot use that thing."

"Well, that's 'cause you've never tried," Michelangelo said very reasonably, as he untangled a cord and then plugged one end into the black, box-like contraption. "You always told us that we could do anything if we really set our minds to it. I'm pretty sure you even had some ancient Japanese proverb about it." He stood up and deposited the game controller in Splinter's lap. "Just hold on to that for a second while I get the game set up, okay? I'll start you on something easy, don't worry. Maybe Luigi's Raceway…" He continued muttering to himself as he scooped up his own controller, his hands fitting around it and his fingers dancing over the buttons as if it were an extension of himself.

Splinter stared suspiciously at the grey thing in his lap. It looked (he thought darkly) very much like an upside-down Foot symbol, with a small joystick in the centre and buttons on each side prong. He poked at it with one claw, making sure that the thing wasn't about to electrocute him. Why it would do such a thing, Splinter didn't know, but he did tend to have bad luck when it came to electronic equipment. (And he didn't want to hear any more 'burnt rat' jokes from his youngest son, thank you very much).

"Michelangelo," he said, trying to keep the hint of desperation out of his voice. "I am sorry, but I am not going to play. Perhaps you should wait for your brothers to return home."

"But Sensei, this is the original Mario Kart! It's, like, the Holy Grail of Nintendo!" Seeing the blank look on Splinter's face, he quickly changed tactics. "Please, Master Splinter? I'm really, really bored. It will be awesome fun, I promise!"

Splinter glanced down at the thing in his lap again, feeling his resolve crumbling. Failing at 'Nintendo' was not exactly what he had planned for his evening, but it was clear that Michelangelo wanted the company more than anything else, and the game was a useful pretext for him. When he looked up again he came face to face with his son's wide, pleading eyes, and he knew that he had lost.

"Alright. I will play. But only for a short time!" he tacked on quickly, knowing his son's tendency to remain glued to the television screen for the entire night.

"Yesss!" Michelangelo bounced with excitement. "You're the coolest Sensei ever!" He flopped down to sit in the middle of the couch again, and pressed some more buttons on his controller. The text and images on the screen flashed and changed. "Okay, I've set it to 50cc – that's the slowest one, so now you need to select your character. Mario Kart is a racing game, so whoever you choose will be your player on the screen."

Splinter squinted at the television screen dubiously. Colourful, cartoonish faces stared back at him.

"How about you start off with Mario?" Michelangelo suggested. "He's a good, upstanding sort of guy. Your cursor already has him selected, so all you have to do is press the A button on your controller. That's the blue one on your right. Uh, your other right. Hang on," he said apologetically, "it's upside-down." He leaned over the arm of the couch and re-adjusted the controller in Splinter's grip, gently guiding his fingers into the right position. "So your left thumb stays on the joystick, and – feel back here?" He pressed down on the finger that was supporting the back of the controller, and Splinter felt the button give. "That's the Z button. You use that to fire your weapons, but we'll get to those in a bit. Now, your right thumb controls the A button, here." He pointed at the correct finger. Seeing the expression on Splinter's face, he added, "Don't panic, we'll take it slow and I'll show you how each one works."

"I shall do my best," Splinter said dryly. On the inside, he was already silently wondering why he had allowed himself to be talked into this masochistic exercise. He gripped his controller tightly, afraid to lose the correct positioning of his fingers. The plastic felt hard and alien under his hands.

"Okay, what I'll do is I'll start a race, but you don't need to press any buttons yet. This'll be a practice run. So just let the countdown go, and then we'll practice driving around."

Michelangelo pressed something, and then the screen began to display a flyover sequence of what appeared to be a racetrack. He pressed something again, and like magic, the screen split itself into two boxes, with one car in the centre of each box. "This is the countdown you get at the start of every race. Two red lights and a green."

Splinter nodded. This wasn't so bad, really. If all he had to do was press some coloured buttons, it was rather like learning to use Donatello's cell phone.

"I'm player one, so my character is in the top half of the screen, and you're in the bottom half. You only have to worry about your half – you can ignore my screen. Now, see what happens when you press A."

Splinter looked down at his controller, locating the A button once more. Then he looked back at the screen, narrowed his eyes, and pressed the button, a short tap. On the screen, the engines of the little red car glowed briefly, and the vehicle moved forward on the cartoon 'track' a very short distance. Feeling pleasantly surprised, Splinter let himself indulge in a small thrill of victory. This was easy. What had he been so worried about? And how could Michelangelo find this game so entertaining that he could play it for countless hours on end?

"Okay! Now try pressing A and holding the button down."

After one false start, Splinter did as he was told. On the screen, the little man in the red hat and his car began zooming forwards. At the first corner of the racetrack, the car continued straight on over the grass until it collided with a tree, which it bounced off and bashed into repeatedly. Splinter winced.

"Woah, okay, let go of the A button now."

Splinter quickly released it, and was relieved when the figure on the screen ceased its mindless head-butting.

Perhaps this would be even more difficult than he had thought.

As the timer clock on the screen merrily counted up the passing minutes, Michelangelo talked him through steering, breaking and acceleration, setting him simple tasks for the little man in the red hat to perform on screen, and cheering when he was eventually successful with each manoeuvre.

Splinter was concentrating fiercely, but as his son was explaining to him the spinning rainbow boxes that apparently contained some sort of weapons, his focus momentarily shifted. He had just realised, with some surprise, that Michelangelo was an excellent teacher. He was supportive and gentle, but also motivational, patient, and clear in his instructions. He never became frustrated, no matter how many times Splinter's little car went sailing off the track. And whenever he spoke, Splinter could see how his eyes lit up and his face became animated. He obviously enjoyed teaching this subject matter very much. And no matter what his personal opinion of video games happened to be, Splinter knew that a teacher who loved what he was teaching was the best kind there was. It was the same sort of excitement and passion that he had tried to foster in his sons for the study of ninjitsu, with varying degrees of success.

"Hey Sensei, are you playing attention?"

Feeling every bit the guilty, day-dreaming student – and not unaware of the irony in his situation – Splinter snapped his focus back to the present. "I am sorry, Michelangelo. I became distracted for a moment. Please, explain to me again how to use these rainbow boxes." He peered at the screen, determined not to disappoint his teacher. His son drew a breath and launched into his explanation again.

The moment of truth came a short time later when Michelangelo was satisfied that he understood the basic principles of the game (although Splinter still was not certain what the ultimate point of it was).

"So your aim is…?" Michelangelo drilled him.

"To finish the race in first place," Splinter recited dutifully.

"And how do you achieve this aim?"

"By driving fast, avoiding obstacles and using weapons." He didn't exactly understand how a star or a red mushroom could be a weapon, although the green turtle shells made a lot more sense to him.

"Alright!" Michelangelo seemed satisfied by Splinter's answers. He leaned back on the couch, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at him thoughtfully. Splinter began to feel nervous again.

"Sensei, this is it. I think you're ready."

"Ready?" He released the controller for the first time in twenty minutes, flexing his fingers to try and chase the stiffness out of them. He had been clutching it too tightly in his intense concentration.

"For your first real race! Now, remember everything you've learned. Just try to stick to the track as much as possible and you'll be okay. I believe in you!"

"I am flattered by your faith in me, my son. No matter how misplaced it may be."

"You'll do fine." Mikey flapped one hand at him in reassurance, the other busy twiddling his controller to navigate quickly through a series of menu screens on the television. "Are you ready?"

Splinter edged right to the front of his chair, carefully picking up his controller again and replacing all of his fingers on the correct buttons one by one, as he had been taught. He took a deep breath. "I believe so."

"Okay, here we go!" Michelangelo tapped a button, and the flyover sequence of the race track played again. After a few moments the 'camera' settled on the racers lined up at the starting line.

Ding. The first red light flashed. Splinter frowned, sensing something inside of him tightening in anticipation.

Ding. Second red light. What was that strange feeling? It was not entirely comfortable.

Ding! The final light went green. Ah, Splinter realised as his hovering finger smashed down on the A button, I seem to be incredibly nervous.

The race had begun.

There was a full cup of tea resting on the side table next to him, cold and untouched.

Splinter wasn't sure how much time had passed. They had just completed their second tournament. He was certainly not winning yet, but at least this time he had not finished last. That was an improvement over the first tournament, and improvement was all a student could hope for. He felt quite satisfied with himself.

Still, it was obvious he had much to learn. Now that he better understood the components of the game, Michelangelo's skill seemed all the more impressive.

The controller felt as if it had fused to his hands. He dropped it into his lap and flexed his fingers, purposefully releasing the tension in them. Young joints would certainly be an advantage in a game like this.

Michelangelo opened his mouth, probably to suggest another round, when the door to the Lair rumbled open. Splinter froze in trepidation for the second time that evening. For some reason he felt as if he'd been caught doing something that he shouldn't. He exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Michelangelo, but before he could move to extricate himself from the situation, the footsteps of his two eldest sons approached.

They had been talking, but their voices broke off as they came further into the Lair. Splinter braced himself.

"Sensei, are you…? Leonardo couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Raphael's mouth was hanging open.

Michelangelo was all too happy to fill in the blanks for them. "You're seeing right, bros! Master Splinter has been kicking ass at Mario Kart all evening!"

Splinter was aware that he sometimes misinterpreted his sons' modern lingo, but he was fairly certain that 'kicking ass' was not a particularly accurate summary of his performance this evening. He found himself wishing for a ninja smoke bomb.

Feeling the stiffness in his muscles, he levered himself up off the couch with as much aplomb as he could muster. "I am glad to see you home safely, my sons," he said, with perhaps more gravity than was necessary. "Now, it has been a long evening and it is time for us all to get some rest."

Picking up his walking stick, he swept from the room with regal dignity, leaving what seemed to be an awed silence behind him.

As soon as he had left the room, he allowed a small, self-satisfied grin to break out across his face.

Perhaps this old rat could still learn a few new tricks after all.