He wasn't much to look at, a loner with a death glare. Most likely a dropout, working the cash register at a fast food joint every day. A "legal" dropout. When a policeman had cornered him about truancy, he had flashed an ID that said he was over 15. Most likely a forgery, judging by his height. Essentially, one of those slightly out-of-the-ordinary people that formed a backdrop for American normalcy.

He had been slightly nonplussed at his first sight of the Titans, but not for long. Had taken their orders with a nod and the obligatory "Thank you for coming" when he handed them their pizza. Had watched with short, sideways glances through the glass as they sat on the balcony beneath a fading umbrella. Had refilled their drinks – a coke, two sprites, a ginger ale, and a mug of hot herbal tea. Had taken their tip after they left. Had done the same thing every time they came that June.

Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy had played their usual game of "people watching" with him, coming up with ideas as they laughed at each other over pizza. The only things they could agree on were his name, Ed, and that he was left-handed. So they dragged him into conversation, asking a few pointed questions. Now they knew his name was Ed, he was left handed, 15 years old and, judging by his accent, from some place in Europe.

He always wore the same thing, covering his red hoodie and black jeans with the required apron, and pulling his blond ponytail through the hole in the back of the employee baseball hat. Occasionally, he would tighten the rawhide loop around his hair with white-gloved hands. The gloves sparked conversation amongst the superheroes. His eyes also drew interested comments. Angular and gold, they always watched, checking for danger or escape, Robin said.

For a month they tossed random ideas around, from Beast Boy's "He's an alien! On the run from the government!" to Raven's, "He's a normal kid who would fall over laughing if he found out that the superhero protectors of the city were talking about him."

Then he was gone. Most likely working someplace else with better pay. And then they didn't think about him any more. Why should they? He was just another one of those slightly out-of-the-ordinary people that formed a backdrop for American normalcy.


So yeah. I sat down to work on my 10 themes challege for DC/MK, and this fell out of my brain.

I don't own anything except my zebra finches and the stuffed bunny I got when I was six months old.