[identity profile] krypton-or-bust.livejournal.com
It's a sunny day on the Bay and Titans's tower gleams in the light as it watches over the city across the water.
Resembling Frank Loyd Wright's 'Falling Water' masterpiece, the Tower is also a state of the art fortress of technology and a fortified bulwark against those who would seek to contest it's protective vigil.

But that's not really on anyone's mind right now.

Inside, the Titans have assembled, not in response to a dire emergency or immanent threat, but for Pizza!

Superhoy's not the tech head of the team, but he makes for a fun tour guide. Leading their new guest through the many levels of the building (above and bellow ground), he provides an entertaining (if not the most technically accurate) stream of commentary on each of the rooms.

"So yeah, we had to spend a week getting the stains off the walls. I mean I'm glad Raven blew him up, but trying to pick bits of Chemo out of the carpet sucks."

He looks over to Scarab and cocks his head.
"Am I rambling?"

Walking into the main lounge, they are met with an impressive display of Pizza excellence. Bart knows his 'zza.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_bird_of_flame_/
Flamebird sits at the table, waiting for everyone else to show up. Drumming her fingers on the top of the table, she's not entirely sure why /she's/ at this meeting. Sure, she helps when Vic is caught up in one of this projects and makes sure that things are running smoothly when he's away. And she does monitor duty on the West Coast and the East Coast as needed but she's not a leader or anything.

It isn't like she's going to be giving either of these teams orders in the field any time soon, or possibly ever as far as she's concerned.

Still, she's here because while she reminded Vic, she's not entirely certain how deep into what he's doing Vic is right now and someone needs to show up.
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com

"Hey, there have been some strange deaths at this local high school!"

"We should investigate gang!"

"Golly, could the school psychiatrist be doing something to the kids?"

"Oh no, Raven doesn't know that the school shrink is Spellbinder! And she's at a therapy session!"


"Excuse me!" Beast Boy shouts, hopping over a shocked student, flipping between a kangaroo, a cheetah, and his human form to blur through the school as fast as he can. He slams against the school psychologist's office door, goes, "OW! Ooooowwwwwwww." Beast Boy hisses, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. "Stupid fancy new doors."

Beast Boy tugs on the handle a little, pushes, and finally realizes its one of those doors you pull. One opening later, he bursts in on the sinister session! "Hold it right there!" Beast Boy exclaims, pointing a finger at, well, whoever's right in front of him. This is about when Garfield notices a familiar red glow. "Oh. Huh." Beast Boy pales a little, "...tthhiiisss isn't gonna end well..."
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com
"Ow." Beast Boy murmurs, rubbing the inside of his cheek. Sharp fangs and a vegetarian diet makes for an easily abused set of gums. "So much for popcorn..." Garfield mutters, sighing as he sets the bowl of stuff on the coffee table. He had been debating giving Dick a call, but ultimately decided that the best thing he could do for his old friend is to give the guy a little space. The last time Gar tried to be mature and thoughtful when addressing something tragic, he ended up framed for murder by his very own costumed nemesis. So, instead, Beast Boy's locked himself away...uh, kicked back for some time by himself. Yeah. That's it. "What's on, anyway..."

Click. "Seen it." Click. "Seen it." Click. "Didn't get a call back for it..." Click.

Garfield's eyes widen at the sight; a prawn-looking alien creature was being ripped apart by grim looking physicians in pale white scrubs, clinically dissecting living, thinking beings in front of a terrified person who had the misfortune to be accidentally exposed to the alien DNA. Seen this, Beast Boy thinks, as the memories come flooding back. King Tawaba's corpse, the flight from the Nigerian mobsters...

"I didn't know..." The Afrikaner insists to another crustacean. "Liar." Beast Boy mutters, remembering a young boy who had helped the impoverished mutant, giving food and offering shelter. Garfield slipping inside of the building, not hearing the metal doors slamming shut until it was too late, seeing the bag of money shoved into his 'friend's hand as he's dragged off by large men in thick, pale medical scrubs. "...your father's making it all up..." the victim insists to his wife, and Garfield remembers years later when he learned who the mysterious man in the wheelchair he caught out of the corner of his eye was.

Beast Boy's transfixed, trapped by the film even as he recalls four expressions of revulsion and disgust on four feminine faces, as the 'hero' is absolutely rejected by his wife, "Really, idiot?" Terra sneered, kicking Beast Boy in the ribs and putting her cigarette out on his face for good measure while the Terminator looked on with incestuous paternal pride. "Why do you think I never let you touch me? It just amazes me, how much of my crap you took, cause sweet, innocent, buck-toothed Tara'd never deceive her special someone..." It was all flirtation, the whole thing a show for Deathstroke's sake, he could smell her arousal as she came closer, and closer, and bit Garfield's nose, digging in until he started to bleed.

"I love the look on their faces when they die." The sadistic soldier whispered, jabbing the alien in the rubs with a pistol and Beast Boy finally manages to hit the remote, clicking the television off and looking at his shaking hands...the left holding a hunk of wood that he'd been chewing.

Like a hamster.

Sinking his face into his knees, Beast Boy refuses the instinct to shift forms, digging his claws into his palms and praying to himself that he keeps quiet. He doesn't think he can take putting on a smile right now.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_bird_of_flame_/
Bette Kane has never been one to attach a lot of sentiment to the holiday season. While she likes presents and likes friends an family, she's had a lot of the first and not so much of the later until the past few years. Ever since she's become a Titan, this sort of stuff has started to mean more.

And this year, specifically, she's trying to shake herself out of a funk. Ever since the end of the whole situation with Jesse and Wally, she's been mopey, beyond mopey. That just is not going to stand - or at least she's going to do her best to get rid of that little black rain cloud that's settled over her head.

At the Titans West tower, there is a trail of gingerbread cookies leading to the teleporter. One of them is standing over the controls, watching them. No one needs to change them at all, they just need to get on the platform and follow the trails of the gingerbread to...

..... the Titans East base.

Someone's been busy with the decorating and the cooking and... well... the catering but she did cook some. A little bit.

This is the party. Presents can't be too far behind.
[identity profile] man-of-stee-ll.livejournal.com
"All units on the ready. Hold your positioning until further notice. And to all of you, I send my deepest appreciations. We're doing work of the Gods now, and as I promised before, you'll be legendary..."

Luthor sends his communique through Calculator, and relays through his three location captains. With that, he's back to his windows, and watching the remnants of the blown universe filter through. Soon, it will be enough.
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com
"Why don't you tell me about your day, Simone? See what we can find...between the lines."

The little green chihuahua skirted across the otherwise immaculate tile floors of St. Perez's Preparatory School. Garcia bobbed and weaved, avoiding the heavy, stylized shoes of the young people who thought they were the upper crust of society. Really, they were more like the weird, floury part that doesn't get cooked properly, but no one was going to tell them that out loud, especially not a little dog who could get his head crushed open by a pair of cleats. Being a pet in a school that technically didn't allow pets was something of a balancing act anyway, and at least Garcia wasn't as obvious about it as Hernando the pot bellied pig, that ham.

"Well, Doctor, I, um, came to school pretty normally. I tried my best to pay attention in my morning classes, but..."

"...but you've been having your problems again?"

Garcia ignored the cry of alarm as he ran out from underneath the janitor's legs, twisting to the side just in time to avoid being crushed by a deadly basketball. Ignoring the churlish laughs of the jock crowd(girls could be so cruel!), Garcia ran for the bleachers, crawling under the main wooden bench and licking his teeth as though wishing his little doggie lungs could call out 'Wolverines!' or some similar rallying cry. Instead, he carefully made his way forward, knowing that salvation was within his grasp...!

"...I know it's a waste of my parents's money, Doctor, and I know it's wrong, I mean...look! I've even tried holding needles in my hands, s-so the pain'll wake me up..."

"Shh. Shh. This isn't a place for shame, Simone. It's alright. I know you feel sorry. But you're still making the mistake of relying on yourself. I can't help you...if you don't let me help you."


"...tell me, Simone, do you want to waste more of your parents hard earned money? Do you think a confused girl who cuts herself to stay awake can handle that kind of information? Do you need that kind of responsibility?"

Keeping his eyes on the prize, so to speak, Garcia put on an expression of great, grim concentration. There! He shot out of the bleachers like lightning, throwing skirts in the air and causing cries of, 'Ohmigawd!' and 'That little rat-dog!' and 'Ooh, that's a nice breeze...' as he plowed through the cheerleaders, making his way around to the other end of the gymnasium. Finally coming upon a heavy pair of socks that looked, he had to admit, adorable on the normally ultra-dignified young woman with her nose in a book, he lightly batted her ankle and gave a rakish grin that looked entirely inappropriate on a dog.

"...no, Doctor Moffit. I need...I need, you...please...please take the numbers, take the cards...!"

"...well, alright. But to be there for you, Simone..."

"...you need to be there for everyone else. I promise. I'll get the other girls on the team to come to one of your one on one sessions. I swear! Please!"

"I'm sure they'll thank you, in the end." Faye Moffit adjusted her glasses, smiling as she drank in the power she had over this spellbound mind. "Trust me..."
[identity profile] bewaresinestro.livejournal.com
Why could Sinestro master the elemental force of fear? Compared to the true horrors of the fifty two layered universes, what exactly is frightening about a pink fascist in yellow tights?

It came all at once, a horrible static burst cutting through Earth's delicate web of satellite powered communications. "People of Earth." A flicker of light and energy, as the sneering, mustached face comes into view. "This is...Sinestro, leader and founder of the Sinestro Corps. For too long, Earth has suffered under the yoke of nationalism. It is clear to me that for all of their virtues, the human race is simply incapable of governing itself in a reasonable, orderly fashion. We have come to help you. We have come because, when given the chance to help yourselves, you jockeyed for position and struggled for dominance instead of acknowledging the need to unify. We have come to save the world. The planet Earth, a source of great fear for the civilized universe, has been annexed as a protectorate of the Sinestro Corps. Do not resist, and the transition shall be accomplished with minimal strife."

In the skies, the first, best line of defense against alien invasion has failed. The Watchtower was somehow fooled into believing that the rush of negative energy was the dimensional equivalent of a sunspot. Amon Sur, Parallax, leads the space contingent of this army of psychotics, shimmering beams of the yellow spectrum of light making themselves known as the Sinestro Corps secures the fortress-space station.

"The only colony on the Earth that has declared open alliance to the Green Lantern Corps is the settlement of Coast City. Even here, Sinestro shows his limitless mercy. People of Coast City, you have one hour. Then, I shall descend upon the home of my great enemy, and I shall leave nothing standing. Leave. Quickly. The remainder of the United States of America shall be secured by Sinestro Corps agents within that hour timeframe."

Eyes glowing the harsh yellow-red of a bleeding sun, Mongol leads his war party tasked with seizing America's heartland into a sweeping formation around what is arguably the soul of the United States; Mount Rushmore. Mongol grins, envisioning his twisted visage carved over the great leaders of this rebellious nation.

"Terms of surrender for the rest of the world shall be broadcasted from the United Nations building. I do not expect the proud human race to accept their fate until they are taught how to fear. Their weaponer-guardian will be tasked with spreading the fear that must be established to bring order to this wounded, rabid world. Rejoice, earthlings. You are delivered."

Enkafos's eyes open, his three hundred and sixty fifth awakening since the end of his natural life. The mummified agent of Sinestro stands in the middle of the UN Plaza, and silently basks in the greatest city on the planet's terror, its anticipation. "Prepare." He orders his subordinates. "The throne must be ready to accept antimatter within the quarter hour."

The frightening thing about Sinestro, you see, is when this almost foolish figure talks about bringing order to the galaxy, living nightmares listen. They cheer. They unite. They work together. Sinestro can take a disorganized band of egomaniacs and psychotics and bring them together as firmly as any crack unit of soldiers. His eyes gleam with the cancerous yellow of a dieing star as he hovers over Coast City, his ring helping him keep track of the work of those that bare his name below. And Sinestro couldn't keep the smile off of his face.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_bird_of_flame_/
Bette Kane is notoriously quiet about her birthday. She makes a very loud, very big deal about herself pretty much every other day of the year, so usually on her birthday, or as close to it as she can get, she spends the day doing good works. Instead of promoting herself, she goes quiet and tries to do good for the rest of the world. To some extent Flamebird is the greatest extent of her being loud and flashy, so the costume also gets a rest, even if very few people know it is her. She donates her time to a soup kitchen or a week to building Houses for Humanity.

That's what she did this year - house building for a few days. She's tired, a long day of working with power tools and wood and drywall. After a day like that, she's come back to the Tower to sleep. She isn't patrolling tonight, nor is she on monitor duty. Right now, all she is thinking is that she needs a /long/ bath with all of the fizzy girly products she can get her hands on to smell as bubblegum and floral as possible.

An excellent end to a good day.
[identity profile] aflyinggrayson.livejournal.com
Although it's tempting.

Nightwing has the Justice League teleport him from Bludhaven to Titans Tower, because he likes abusing his power with the JLA like that, and after his stomach stops its post-port loop-de-loops, he heads to the kitchen to drop off his gift and get himself a soda.

His gift? Four dozen Philly cheesesteaks, neatly wrapped and bundled in a box. He figures Bart alone will eat half.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
"Ladies and gentleman, if you cooperate quietly, you may get out of this with all your digits and limbs intact. Empty your pockets into the sacks held by my fellow high-rollers and get down on the floor. And to any aspiring heroes among you.." Double Down ripped a piece of his cheek off, revealing a Jack of Clubs, which he hurled into the shoulder of an already disabled security guard. "You should get the point."

He turned to the tellers, slicing open the plexiglass window before hopping through with an armful of sacks, tossing them at the panicked workers. "Fill 'em up!"

He kept a handful of cards ready at each side as the haul was gathered. Not a bad day so far. Cashed in a few IOU's with some tech-saavy fellow Rogues and gotten a teleporter good for a few charges. Two banks already hit and stashed fast enough that the police were busy elsewhere in town, and three charges left. Clear this bank, back to the safe-house, then off to a nice sunny spot in the Caymans. Dr. Alchemy in tow to run interference, and a couple mooks off the street to help with extra lifting.

All in all, Jeremy Tell was looking at his big score.
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com
"It's Guy Love, that's all it is! Guy love! He's mine, I'm his! There's nothing gay about it, in our eyes..." Beast Boy sings, thinking he is alone in the sinister TITANS LEADERSHIP MEETING ROOM, by which we mean Cyborg's secret no kids allowed clubhouse. It's a big room with a plain metal table-all of the cool stuff is hidden in the walls or the table, because Cyborg's crazy like that. Groaning a little, Beast Boy takes off one of his boots, wincing at his clawed, mildly ape-like feet. Not full on gorilla toes, mind, but if he wasn't so bashful about it, Beast Boy could probably leap from rooftop to rooftop using those honkers. Letting a little sigh out, Garfield rubs his foot, which is throbbing a little from being in 'proper' boots all night. "...while I'm proud to call you chocolate bear, the crowd will always stop and stare~"

Needless to say, Garfield Logan's major mistake this evening is forgetting that his fellow senior Titans are, in fact, supposed to have an important post-mission meeting here in a minute or two.
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com
Somehow, the club just isn't as fun when one of your friends is flying there under eerie posthypnotic suggestion.

God, Gar, you're such a fuck up, he thinks to himself, looking down at his boots for a moment. There's a quick, fleshy sound, and a green mouse weaves between the stomping boots and snapping heels of the dancing wasted youth. Thump thump thump thump thump...verminous ears pick up a change in the beat that human ears would not, as Beast Boy scratches against one of the back walls of the fun house like building, pressing his claw to the mouse-size Titan transmitter to let his teammates know that he's found where the drop off point for whoever's making money off of these unwilling criminals is...
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_darkknight_/
Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.

But whoever is on monitor duty might think he or she saw a ghost, or the shadow of a ghost, or the suggestion of a shadow of a ghost, on the security monitors. Funny, all the motion detectors and entrance records indicate the only people home are Titans.

Maybe it IS a ghost?
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com
Ah, the common room. A place for the do gooders of San Francisco to relax, take a breath, and become a little closer as teammates and friends.

"-oman you are capital c r a y z!" Beast Boy exclaims as he gets his diva on by bursting through the door, huffing at the air, and turning around to open the door again. "CRAZY!" He then lets it close again, crossing his arms and honest to goodness pouting. "I did NOT do it!"

Because the sentence before Our Hero's entrance was obviously a filthy lie.

Going West

Apr. 27th, 2009 02:16 am
[identity profile] -nightwing-.livejournal.com
Even though there's not much travel time involved in going from Philadelphia to San Francisco these days, Nightwing's still got plenty of opportunity to consider the situation on the west coast. Terra - the first one - wrought untold havoc on the team, most notably on Gar, but her alliance with Deathstroke was a kick to the head none of them could have seen coming. With this new Terra's appearance, and a 'coincidental' appearance of a new teenager wearing Deathstroke's colors, saying he's feeling skeptical of good intentions would be something of an understatement. But that's why they're heading out there, after all - to figure out what the hell's going on.

The three East Coast Titans resolve into being inside the Tower's teleport room.

Free Time

Apr. 27th, 2009 12:17 am
[identity profile] vic-stone.livejournal.com
Vic was in his "garage", his private work space in Titans Tower where he could build and engineer as he as pleased. He was looking over some schematics, and idly bobbing his head to the music playing in the background. This in itself wasn't unusual.

What was unusual was that, for once, the door was open. Normally he kept it locked, since he didn't like being disturbed when he really into a project. Plus he didn't want the "kids" to just barge in and wreck his stuff.

But he figured he could stand to be a touch more sociable. Plus most of the important projects had been completed, and he was mostly tinkering with a few designs to keep him busy.
[identity profile] beastlyboy.livejournal.com
Outrageously Hawaiian shirt? Check. Sporty jean shorts? Check. Fancy leather flip flops? Check. Aviator sunglasses, corn cob pipe, and genuine Pattonesque army helmet? Check.

"Time to go to work." Beast Boy states, snapping his hands behind his back and stepping out to the Tower's lounge. "Alright, listen up troops!"

A pause. Beast Boy sighs, pulls a triangle out of somewhere, and rings it a little. "I said LISTEN U-p. Aheh. Thank you. Now! Ahem. Today we see a step forward in the endless trek of justice! Some of you wonderful guys may not make it home, but all of you will be able to say, "I was there, and I was a MAN.". Except the ladies. They can say, "I was a LADY.", if they'd prefer. Their call, no judgments here." Beast Boy coughs again. "One of the most important aspects of superheroing is the secret identity. And tonight, we're going to be putting the protection of that identity to the test. Teen Titans, tonight..."

Beast Boy slaps the poster behind him, showing the 'Fun Haus', a hip new Gotham nightspot that's made a few of the society papers. "...we are going clubbing! Clubbing, for DANGER. If we can survive a night out with our secret identities intact, we know we can handle those tricky infiltration missions that pop up every once in a while." You know, when the uniforms get boring. "Any questions, troops?"
[identity profile] azarath-raven.livejournal.com
Raven doesn't always meditate in her room. Normally, it is ideal for her, with its soundproof walls and blackout shades. But, after her recent adventures, she's not really up to sitting in an enclosed space for a period of time.

The top of Titans Tower is an ideal location for one to sit and think anyway. It's calm. Peaceful. Relaxing. Raven isn't the only one who comes up here to think, to find some tranquility.

On an evening like this, its even more soothing. It's more quite, as the 'weekend' Titans are all home, doing whatever it is that they do when they're not at the Tower. It's warm, the city in the distance is calm, not at its usual noise level for this time in the evening, and the breeze is blowing soft and warm.

She's finished her normal meditations, but she'll stay up here for a little while longer, lowering her hood so the last rays of sunlight grace her face.
[identity profile] bewaresinestro.livejournal.com
"Jump City? They're really thinking of naming the whole projected 'super city' area Jump City?" Simon Estavez shakes his head, crumpling the newspaper and depositing it in the proper recycling bin. He lowers his sunglasses, allowing eerie yellow eyes to pulse lightly as a ring made of sheer terror reaches out, scanning the immediate area. "Philistines do not deserve this piece of history-and those who do not take the proper measures to secure what is theirs soon find themselves lacking anything at all."

The fascist's rigid posture remains as solid and unyielding as ever, as he delicately places his hand into a strange machine; the trash can shaped object pulses, almost organically, taking a scan of the data being fed to it...and yellow light fills the object, pumping as though it were a living heart.

Allowing his human disguise to fade away, Sinestro smiles at the effect. "Soon, the Nightmare Engine will be fully primed, feeding off of the repressed anxieties of this sick, weakening city...and then, not even the Teen Titans will be able to stop us from stealing the Golden Gate Bridge!"


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