Donatello smiles so hard he almost squints. "No, your brother can't be the best, because mine are." Actually they drive him nuts about 50% of the time, but he's obligated to talk them up, probably. He sighs. "Mine aren't here with me, though."

"Wow, so they really do sing? Do they talk, too? Or maybe they can communicate complex concepts to you with their song?!" Here comes the smile again. The universe never ceases to amaze.

"Well, if you want to get stronger, you're going to need a lot of practice. So, with that in mind . . ." The turtle picks up his staff, whirls it one-handed over his head (in such a way as to not hit Diarmuid, of course) and plunks one end back into the ground. "Up for a spar?"