cRaZyMaN676 Reportin' 4 duty!
Just completely disregard the first attempt we made at this...
Just so you know, not everything is going to be like the movie, and not everything is going to be like the Teen Titans. Trust me, we have no idea what we're doing here.
Disclaimer: Honestly, now, I'm only saying it this once: I only own how I use these people and anyone you don't recognize or have never heard of.
Chapter 1:And Down goes me Ship
The young captain cursed his luck. He seemed to be doing that a lot for the last, er, how many days? Lately, things weren't going so well for the strange metahuman. The same could be said for just about any day in the pirate's life, but all things considered, today topped the list... for now.
No, it wasn't enough that his current crew consisted of just himself, the most previous of which having left him stranded on a desert island. The same desert island. Twice. But, really, if they were going to be stupid enough to do the same thing the near exact same way, the least they could do was give him another way to kill himself, right?
Of course not. They had no originality.
It also wasn't enough that his current 'ship' was not even sea-worthy, having sprung yet another leak on it's course to blasted dry land, the latter of which he could almost curse with no worries. Couldn't have the only land mass within miles turn out to be a mirage, could we?
Of course not. Rotten fish didn't smell this bad if there wasn't a port nearby.
It just couldn't be enough that he'd seen the inside of the jail of his current choice of port enough to last him a lifetime, or that he'd dearly hoped never to go anywhere near this place for the remainder of his life. Never mind the stench, how long it took to explain exactly how he kept getting out was simply criminal! But noooo. Would they care to remember and get a better lock for their cells? Would they care even that much to detain a upstanding pirate such as himself? Did these questions even matter anymore, seeing as they'll all have the same answer?
Of course not. That would just be stupid.
But never in all of his days had this happened. Well, maybe once or twice, but even those times he hadn't been about to have such a bad day as this one. The fact that he had already gone for days without any other kind of sustenance was really grinding his last nerve. Still, was even that enough?
No. Of course not. Duh.
He just had to be running low on the stupid drink, too!
"Aw, crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap."
He peered at the dregs at the bottom of the bottle even as water sloshed around his bare feet.
"That's definitely not gonna last me the rest of the day..."
Seeming to finally take notice that his ship -- little more than a fishing boat, really-- was yet again taking on water, the green teen frowned as he stood, automatically unbalancing the boat.
"Bottoms up," He sighed as he finished off what was left of the brownish liquid until something caught his eye. The current was, at the moment, carrying the pirate under what seemed to be a bridge, from which the skeletons of former pirates hung.
Bowing low, he placed one foot on the creaking seat and took off his hat in respect, revealing a blood-stained bandana underneath. As he came up, he also took notice of the sign that also hung there. Fear did not strike into the heart of the young, green-tan pirate for this was almost becoming a ritual for him as he quoted the message of the sign.
" 'Dead men tell no tales', eh dudes? How's it hangin' ?"
Swearing profusely under his breath, the teen weaved his way through the rapidly shifting crowd, almost scowling as his stomach growled at him. Having very recently disembarked his, well, sunken ship and swum the rest of the way to the thing that was known as land, of course there had been one of those annoying record-keeper-type guys badgering him about tying his boat up at the docks. What was the guy, blind? couldn't he see that he had no boat to tie up at the docks? Couldn't he see that he was soaking wet, and obviously had to get onto the planks by other means?
Apparently not. Which cost him, oh, wait, nothing, seeing as that was all he had on him at the time. So far, though, he seemed to have lost the persistent guy in the crowded square. Points for backed-up social traffic, folks!
"You ran out of tofu days ago and just finished the your last bottle of the best drink to hit the seas... Add that to your lovely death-trap, which, by the way, sunk before it even reached decent footing, and the fact that your mutinous crew kicked you off on a deserted island a few weeks ago seems... Well, it still is pretty damn bad. Was I truly meant to suffer like this, or...?" Stopping coincidentally in one of the few vacant spots in the square, still dripping wet, he raised his hands and looked to the sky, as if expecting an answer.
Not that he did expect an answer, mind you; whether it be because he'd learned by now that his life was just like that or because stranger things had been known to happen before that ever would. Regardless, he got one, whether he wanted to or not.
"Hello, Logan. Long time no see." If he had known the definition of the phrase "heart attack", he would have had one if he hadn't expected something like this to happen. Instead, he shut his eyes and let his arms fall at his side in defeat. Still, even now he had something to say.
"Satan, why must you torment me? Is it because of what I said to your pet fish? I didn't mean it, honest!" The girl behind him smirked coyly, eyebrow cocked.
"Not exactly who you were expecting, obviously. It's not nice to tempt the heathen gods, you know..." He rolled his eyes as he began moving again. Dying of hunger or otherwise (his current condition, perhaps), he'd recognize that slow, deliberate voice anywhere.
"With the luck I've got, the heathen gods can go screw themselves for all I care. What do you want... or need from me this time, mystic?" He knew her good and she knew that. Probably why the smirk dropped so fast that he could hear it. But... no, it couldn't be... was she trying the Face?!
"Is that all I am to you now? Mystic?" No. Logan had long ago learned his lesson when dealing with women. By now, at least. The games they played always hid subtle death threats between the lines, but her's were a little more... Literal. Her attempt at the Face was doing nothing to hide the malicious intent, no doubt sparked by his immediate... what was it called... evasion of her... uhh... attempt at discretion.
... Right? Or was it tedious small-talk, he could never remember...
"I can't call you by the name I want to but you won't tell me your real name," He paused, not-so-neatly side-stepping a wayward fruit wagon. "Your birds, whatever his/her/it's/their names be," he stopped again to glance at the black crow perched on his friend's shoulder. "Don't seem to particularly like the nickname I used to have for you, and the local people where you live don't seem to know you exist, so no name option there. That, plus I don't think you'd appreciate the names the guys in my crew had for you. So, 'mystic' it is. Savvy?"
They had moved over closer to the buildings on the other side of the square by then. Taking a deep breath before yawning, he thought he smelled onion soup brewing just around the corner... If he acted fast, maybe he could swipe a bowl before the napping chef noticed, but of course, the many ringed hand the caught his shoulder stopped him for the time being.
"Oh, what now?" He forced as much annoyance into his voice as possible - not a hard thing to do by now - as he pined over a lost opportunity.
"You owe me, remember?" Head still turned to the side, his eyes widened imperceptibly. Ah... right.
"I owe you... for what, exactly?" He carefully studied the overhead sign of the pub they'd obviously stopped next to as his arm stretched around the corner. If he could just reach...
"Logan, I want my payment." Rule number 1 when dealing with mystics; whatever you do, feign ignorance.
"Payment for what?" Gotcha!... Hey, is that a spider or smoke stain? He squinted hard at the sign. ... Nah...
"You know what. All those fortunes, predictions, protection spells? Or had you forgotten just who you have been running from for the past few years?" He looked down now, discreetly passing something behind his back from one hand to the next before going back for another.
"Right, right, those... just so you know, I resent that... Kind of." Careful, careful... "And of course, you'll be needing your weird kind of payment thing, aren't you?" He wasn't kidding; when he said weird, he meant it. She didn't ask for money or, well, stuff like that for her services; her price always seemed to be something that wasn't expected, and coincidentally, never seen again afterward. Or so he thought.
"Exactly." Bulls-eye. "But from the way you're acting, I take it that you don't have any kind of payment, especially not my kind?" Swing and a miss.
"... What's your point?" Timing is everything, execution style is adaptable. Behind his back, Logan carefully hid his movements behind his attitude and his words.
"Of course. Now, one of two things is liable to happen." Of course, a choice. "Option one, I follow you around for the next couple of weeks or so until you get my payment ready for me--" Here he jumped in.
"Alright then! Although I don't mean anything by it, let's go with that idea! From the way you're talking, you've already got your things packed, so..." A crooked grin now came across his face. Maybe he wouldn't need that back-up plan after all...
"... But since it is likely that I will kill you before you obtain sufficient credit, I could just take your soul instead." He looked up, wide-eyed. From the way she was smiling, he could only foolishly hope that she was joking. Then he remembered who he was dealing with.
Creepy hermit of a mystic equals definite cynicism. Mystic plus smile equals probable danger and confusion. Mystic plus twisted sense of humor? Slim chances on that. Even then, mystic plus joke involving death? Does not not compute.
Although all his sense told him to run like the hounds of Hades were after him, he didn't. It may have been stupidity. It may have been a sense of inevitability. It may have just been a stroke of genius, but that's doubtful. He didn't drop the grin.
"Now who's tempting the heathen gods? You know there's hundreds of beings out there that are out for my soul; what makes you think you'll be the one to get it?" Had to admire him, at least a little; most would have been running and screaming by now.
"I'm the one that will have caught you first, aren't I?" The grin widened and she frowned. What was he thinking?
"Funny thing about that... you've got to catch me first, right?" Before she could answer, nay, in the blink of an eye, a blur of movement, a flash of black, and suddenly the mystic and several of the surrounding bystanders were blinded and choking on a cloud of coal-dust.
Logan grinned and rubbed his dirtied hands together as he rounded another corner, a footnote popping into his head.
"Coal. Dirty, underhanded, and cheap, but when used right, totally effective." Well, he would have to shorten that a little, but that could be done later. Right now he needed to evade his current pursuer and her bird, the latter of which he had just named unknowingly and was following him through the alleys of Steele.
Richard Greyson, one of the only two blacksmiths in Steele, entered the forge that day in a hurry. Ripping off the monkey suit he was in absently, he wished for the ability to curse his luck. It was bad enough that he'd been daydreaming on his way to the Anders' Mansion, now he was late for work as well! Taking a bit of his own advice for days like these, he took a deep, calming breath and realized that he had been trying to cut his way out of the suit with one of his more recently-made knives.
That wouldn't have ended well.
What was he so worked up about, anyway? It wasn't like he was actually required to do his job these days, least of all on a schedule. He thought back to earlier on that day as he changed into his work clothes in a more calm manner.
"Mister Greyson?" He looked up in surprise, half annoyed and half embarrassed. Having been a little more focused on his thoughts, he hadn't even heard the waiter approaching him until now, and from the slight look of disdain on the waiter's face, he'd been calling him for a few minutes now.
"Yes?" Where was Kori? Didn't she say she lived here? Wait, she wasn't why he was there, the sword he was supposed to deliver was. On that thought, where was the governor? Didn't he say to be there by this time at least?
"Governor Galfore is a little busy at the moment, and says that, if you wish, you could leave the weapon here for him to pick up later?"
"No, I'm supposed to deliver this in person." That, and I want to see Kori. "Wouldn't want this to get misplaced, would I? I can wait."
And wait he had. For the next hour and a half, most of which was spent causing numerous small cases of accidental property damage, despite the 'watchful' eye of the doorman. Even then, though, it seemed that he had just missed the object of his attention on his way there and had spent a good, what, two hours doing pretty much nothing.
Ah, right, that was why he had been so worked up. That, and because it had supposedly been required for Kori to attend the promotion of... what was his name, Gary? Gar... Garth? It started with a 'g', he knew that much. And from the gossip of the town, which he couldn't have avoided if he tried, a lot better looking that some of the other guys in the Royal Navy.
Either way, whatever the reason, he still got a bad feeling about where the day was headed...
Richard shrugged, pondering on these thoughts as he began the day's work. If it didn't directly involve him (or Kori, for that matter), he was good.
But of course, that wasn't how it was to be.
In Steele, more commonly known as Steel City, one of the most commonly known and enforced rumors used to be that metahumans were the scourge of the world and sea. Any human that sided with a metahuman in any case or conflict was considered a despicable degenerate, branded a criminal, hunted and imprisoned by the law. However, things had changed since twenty years ago, during the Metahuman Wars, and these days metahumans walked the streets un-persecuted, considered innocent until proven guilty.
One of the biggest changes was that these days, metahumans were apparently just as human as any other, for some were in positions of power in this city, at least. Governor Galfore and a close acquaintance of his, Garth Ladd, were living proof of this fact.
So when a teenage-looking green man ducked into the first open door he saw, one would have to understand that he couldn't have known that he definitely shouldn't have done it. It had been a desperate act on his part, to escape the one of the only beings he'd actually run like hell to get away from, so once this was understood, everything should have become clear.
However, he was not in the mood to explain anything to his pursuer, so just had to grin and bear the glares he received from the building's current inhabitants as he passed through. Who happened to be changing clothes. And happened to be female.
"Owowowoowoowow! Excuse me-- Ow! If you'll just-- ow! Dangit, stop hittin' me!" He mentally sighed, not stopping his progress through the small crowd as he shape-shifted into a bull. He pawed the ground and snorted, but even that didn't stop the enraged shrieking women from trying to beat him to death. Still he was capable of hearing the racing footsteps approaching the door. Any other time he would've been glad to be a fly on the wall in this place.
Not now, though.
"Oh, well, I tried to warn them..." He did not know this, but years upon years later, he would've aptly coined the phrase, 'Raging bull in a china shop.' Although this was far from a china shop, this is actually what the idea had been based off of. Besides, the public would've made no sense of the saying had it been 'Determined animorph in a women's dressing room.'
"Stop doing that already."
Kori glanced over at her sister, next to her, who gave no sign whatsoever of having just, er, whispered to her. Shrugging slightly, she continued her efforts to loosen the tight-fitting bodice she wore.
"I'm just as uncomfortable as you are, so deal with it." She glanced back to her sister, who still wore that same fixed smile plastered onto her face, seeming to pay attention to the ceremony going on before them. Kori finally gave up and sighed, slightly; she had been making no progress whatsoever, anyway. Nodding imperceptibly, she also fixed a somewhat strained smile onto her face and settled for fanning herself for more breathing access.
"Sister, could you please oblige me with when this cursed process will end?" She wasn't sure, but hoped she had copied what Komi had been doing for the last half-hour. In other words, whispering so only she could hear even in the crowded gathering of citizens, an art known to the more subtle of people as 'hissing'. Why it was referred to as that when it didn't involve snakes, Kori didn't know, but she did know that it was a little hard to do.
"How should I know?" Annoyance filtered it's way into the statement, making it almost poisonous to normal ears. But Kori's ears were, of course, not exactly normal.
"Excuse me, but was it not you who wished so dearly to attend, sister?" This was true; while Kori would have much more content doing, well, anything else, Komi had been most insistent on attending the promotion of her most current boyfriend, who had recently broken the record on the number of days spent still-together with Komi than any other had.
A silent glare sent her way quieted her for the time being, and, not having enough breath to spare for a sigh, Kori instead opted to think about what other things she could have been doing with her day. Talking to Richard, perhaps, if he wasn't too busy in the forge? But he was always busy at work, wasn't he? Ah, but there was always a chance... maybe later that week they could... What, go out to dinner? Friends did that kind of thing, right? Go for a walk? Maybe, but since when had they ever walked anywhere together? There was always time for new things, wasn't there? Perhaps the could partake of the sparring, or sword-fighting Richard was always so focused on? Kori had always been interested in those things, but... He never had the time...
In such a quieted state as Kori was in, was it any wonder that she happened to hear a small commotion outside? It sounded pretty far outside of the castle walls, where the promotion ceremony was taking place, but...
Glancing first to the left, then the right, Kori incited an art that she had perfected long ago for long, boring occasions such as these; disappearing into the shadows inexplicably. Quickly donning more inconspicuous clothes than the tight bodice and frilly dress that had been here costume previously, she got rid of the evidence in one of the most obvious ways she knew how, and slipped into the streets without a hitch to her objective.
Frankly, I don't care if I never see that death-trap again. Let them assume, that will throw them off. She hid a smile as she nonchalantly sprinted down the street, towards the commotion that had caught her attention. Just like a few other citizens that had noticed it. Oh, I'm going to fit in just fine for now...
Former captain Logan peeked out cautiously from behind a conveniently placed statue as a green lizard. By then a now-rabid, half-dressed crowd of women had flocked by, followed closely by that blasted crow, and right behind that an unbelievably fast crowd of on-lookers. A person would be surprised at how many could be attracted to such a display of, well, craziness. Fortunately, Logan was not one of those people, and hopefully, the mystic had been among the crowd that had just dashed by.
Making sure that every last part of the procession had passed by, he smiled to himself as he shifted back to his human form, promptly falling off the statue's porcelain hat. The he took notice of what, or should it be said, who's statue he'd been hiding on.
"Dude... I totally look nothing like that!" Of course, what but a black shadow would choose this time to slither up the street behind him? And of course, out of the black shadow emerged the aforementioned mystic.
"Looks like the game is over before it even begun, hmm?"
This time, Logan did scream as he ran away. Although chances are, he didn't expect for it to be the last time he would do either action for a while, so he did not really appreciate the luxury of doing so.
"Pirate in distress! Cutthroat, scum-of-the-earth metahuman pirate in distress!"
Or, you know, maybe he did.