We Are Living In A Material World...

[damage-granted.livejournal.com]

If Grant had any doubts about whether or not he would be accepted back into the Titans, they have long since passed. Donna's rescue mission to Newark, the flight home, the briefing with Kory and Vic, and a talk with a very happy nine-year-old almost made it seem like he'd never been gone. Almost. Certain things had changed significantly in the last few years: Lian was four years older, there was a new Tower in San Francisco Bay, and there's apparently a new Titans apprentice who makes a mean bowl of pasta. Two days ago, he'd been wondering whether he'd have to sleep on a park bench somewhere in New Jersey. Apparently, one really can go home again. Even Lian had known that he would come back.

Grant had slept, heavily, until rather late in the morning. There could be some early days around here, he remembers, particularly when Roy decided it was time for some pre-dawn outdoor training. And, somehow, Grant never got the briefing about such training sessions, so he always showed up with his hair in some rather extreme state of disorder, bleary-eyed and yawning. Those counted among the times when Grant really hated Roy. Today, however, he was allowed to wake up at his leisure, shower, change - somehow someone had found jeans and a t-shirt that fit him - and ice down his bruises.

Kory had caught him in the hallway, telling him that she was going to take him shopping and that there was no use arguing about it. Honestly, he'd only had the clothes he'd brought with him, and calling his quarters on the sixth level Spartan would be an understatement. There wouldn't be any complaining - just as long as he didn't have to shell out the cash for clothes and a new bedset.

The long-haired metahuman sits in the lobby, waiting for Kory, dressed in a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans - no belt - and the same ratty, dusty boots he'd arrived in. Seated on a bench in the massive room, Grant looks around at the giant portraits on the wall, each showing an active member of the team: Nightwing, Roy, Donna, Vic, Gar, Kory, and a few faces he doesn't, including a blonde girl, a dark-haired woman with distinctly alien-looking eyes, and some kid Grant thinks he's seen before. The youth makes a mental note to ask Kory about these new recruits.

We're just going shopping...what's the hold up? he wonders, glancing up at the entrance to the room.

Comments

[starfire-kory.livejournal.com]

"Very," nods Kory, obviously approving. "After we are finished here, we will buy you shoes and socks ... and then you should pick out more furnishings for your room."

[santana-slade.livejournal.com]

Santana nods. "Yeah. Downtime stuff. I mean, the Tower's got some wicked chillin' common areas, but your crib needs to be comfy too. I'm more than happy to help with that."

[damage-granted.livejournal.com]

Although he'd been hoping that this would be it, that after three stores, they would be finished for the day, somewhere, deep down, Grant knew that was a false hope. That all three of these women seem to have an affinity for shopping does not begin to describe this particular situation. Any measure of hope he may have held out that this would be quick and relatively painless, however, has just been shot down, plummeting to the ground with a long, smoky trail following it to a rather messy end.

The youth looks first at Bette, then to Kory, and finally to Santana, his eyes wide, mouth open. "But...but I thought..." His dark eyes shift to Kory, his eyebrows lifted in confusion. "I...alright," he says, turning around, heading for the changing room, blowing out a short breath.

This is going to be a long day...