Hey dudes and dudettes! Before you start reading, it's only fair to warn you that I wrote some of this story about two years ago, and I am too lazy to do a very thorough revision of said writings. So, that being said, read on with the knowledge that some sections are more crudely written than others. Also, those looking for a deep, dramatic storyline will be thoroughly disappointed here. This is a border-line drabble-style story, so expect little intensity or drama!

Chapter One: Meet the Band

Jump City is a bustling Metropolis, full of countless individuals who are constantly bustling their separate ways in the city's streets and sidewalks. Jump City has towering skyscrapers and countless uniform apartment buildings, and the rich lived side by side with the homeless, striding step for step through the same alleyways, and both seeming to always be in a hurry to some strict daily schedule.

Jump city was a concrete jungle packed with many young adults with successful early careers and money to burn, and a seemingly endless number of bars and nightclubs. Such an equation leads to innumerable gigging musicians, hoping to be found good enough at the pubs to advance to the next ring of the ladder in the music business. Our story leads us to one such band, who have now just rolled sluggishly into a parking place in front of a rather run-down bar where their first gig was to take place.

The first person to step out of the massive said truck was a young man with jet-black hair styled into spikes that curved towards the back of his head. He was of a slightly pale complexion and was about 5'7", with startlingly bright blue eyes that occasionally peeped over his dark sunglasses. He wore a bright red shirt with a black skull on the front with a black trench coat worn on top. His pants were faded dark-blue jeans with a large gash at one of the knees.

"Alright, guys, you know what to do. Let's get all of the equipment inside." the spiky-haired man said through the open car door.

"Sure thing, man." called the driver in a cheery tone and killed the engine before stepping out of the vehicle.

The driver was a wide-shouldered, large-muscled African-American who looked like he'd belong on a pro football team instead of a garage band. His head was completely shaved, and though his hulking 6'4" frame looked like it was capable of mangling a Grizzly bear, his good-natured grin was enough to rid all intimidation others might've felt around him. The huge man wore a Football jersey for the Jump City Ghouls and a baggy pair of light-blue jeans. His eyes were such a dark brown as to seem almost black.

The gigantic man strode to the back of the truck and threw open the back to reveal:

Parts to a drum kit (One snare, 3 toms, a bass drum, a hi-hat, 2 crash cymbals, a ride cymbal, and a cowbell); two electric guitars (One a battered green Gibson, and the other a shiny yet cheap red Squier), one acoustic guitar (that was a faded red and looked like it needed new strings), and one bass guitar (a Les Paul that was of a cheery but scraped yellow color with stickers plastered on it); a synthesizer (that was pitch-black and the keys had been colored blood red. It looked to be of a rather old model, and had a HIM heart pentagram sticker on the back); two microphones (both hanging limply off their stands by bedraggled cords); and 10 amps, as well as an antique-looking color-light projector.

The driver stared upon the huge pile of instruments with a touch of pride. For a gig-virgin band, they had one heck of an arsenal. Most starting bands had half as many amps and not nearly such complete drum sets. The large man's moment of contentment was rudely broken by a slight man squeezing around him to grab at the guitars.

"Dude, Victor, like what's got you all zombie-ish?" The thin man muffled through his armful of guitars. The man spoke in a kind of broken tone that gave the impression that his voice box was still deciding if he was a man yet or still a boy. The thin man had wild, slightly curled hair that was dyed an unusual dark green. He also had a rather thin soul patch that was also dyed a deep shade of green. His eyes were (surprise) green as well. His slight 5'7" body was clad in faded corduroy pants with a wallet chain. He also had a black jean jacket with a "Cancer Bats" band T-shirt underneath.

The large man (whom we can now refer to as Victor) shrugged in response to Garfield's (hence the thin man's name) question before grabbing the large bass drum, lifting it without the slightest effort.

Just then a tall redhead leaped out of the car, skipping to the back with a happy smile plastered to her face. She immediately plucked up the bass guitar and an amp with the ease that hinted at more arm muscle than one would expect from the slim, pretty girl. She smiled brightly at Victor and Garfield, nearly blinding them with its brilliance.

"Friends, I am most excited for our first gig of the music! This is most wonderful, yes?" the bubbly female exclaimed in a voice that did not seem entirely used to speaking in English. She was tan to point of appearing almost orange, and had long, lustrous red hair that cascaded down to the middle of her back. She had wide, shiny greenish-blue eyes and a tall 5'10" body. She seemed to be from a foreign country, by her odd mannerisms and way of talking. She wore a Yellow shirt with a large red flower design in the middle and a white hooded sweat shirt over it.

"Yeah, terrific." came a dry, mature monotone dripping with sarcasm. The response came from the last band member to be introduced. It came from a petite short woman who now walked to the back of the truck and slid the synthesizer into her arms. The expressionless woman had straight hair that fell just above the shoulders and was dyed violet to match her eyes, which were of the same color. She was wearing pitch-black cargo pants and a black hoodie with a blood red pentagram on the front. Underneath that she wore a grim-looking "Moonspell" band shirt and finger cut-off gloves. Her Gothic attire would have been absolute had it not been for the fact that she didn't wear black lipstick or eye-liner and her skin was a bizarre light grey instead of stark white. She was the shortest member of the band, standing not much above 5'5".

"Aw, c'mon. Lighten up, Rae!" suggested Garfield, hauling the three guitars (2 electric, 1 acoustic) towards the bar with Victor and Kori (the name of the foreign redhead girl) close behind.

"My name's Rachel. Two syllables, you twit." The Gothic girl muttered darkly, following the others into the bar with the keyboard.

Inside the bar the band found the man with the sunglasses and trench coat talking to the bar manager. Kori immediately bounded up to them, not encumbered in the least by the guitar and amp.

"Friend Richard! Where should we place our gear of the music?" questioned Kori to the sunglass-wearing man, still brimming with excitement.

"Uh, over by the stage, Kori." Richard replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. Richard then went back to talking business with the owner of the pub (but not before Kori responded to his slight smirk with a huge grin that lit up the room). While the rest of the band finished unloading equipment from the truck, Richard made all the arrangements from the owner before going to the entranceway of the estate and putting up a billboard that read:



Richard Grayson: Rhythm guitar and lead vocals

Victor Stone: Percussion

Garfield Logan: Lead/Acoustic guitar

Kori Anders: Bass guitar and backing vocals

Rachel Roth: Synthesizer


(A/N: I'm fully aware that a billboard cannot normally hold that many letters or complete words, but I felt it was necessary to list the band members in a way so you guys can immediately see who plays what. In case someone hasn't made the connection of teen titan to band member, here you are: Richard = Robin; Victor = Cyborg; Garfield = Beast Boy; Kori = Star fire; Rachel = Raven.)


"Dude! I can't believe he threw a beer at me!" groaned Garfield, holding an icepack to his head where a lump was rising. Near the end of the gig, his Gibson's amps had suddenly started playing a local pop radio station halfway through a fret-flaming solo that had already sounded messed up because of a string that was out of tune. One patriarch was less than pleased with the guitarist's performance and decided to express his opinion by lobbing an empty beer bottle at Garfield.

"How does it feel?" Rachel questioned Garfield, still sounding as concerned and interested as if she was talking to a test dummy.

"Aw, I didn't know you cared, Rae!" joked Garfield, doing a mock-swoon and laughing. His choice of words and actions earned him a scalding glance and a second bonk on the noggin from the irate Goth.

"Well, besides the radio frequency we picked up, and the..... Finale," said Richard, glancing at a grumbling Garfield now rubbing two lumps on his head, "the owner said he was impressed, and assured me it would've been great without the problems we encountered. He said he will put a good word in for us with some other pub owners he's pals with."

"Boo-yah!" whooped Victor excitedly, punching the air excitedly, startling a happy Kori standing beside him.

"Please, friends, what is the meaning of friend Victor's 'boo-yahing'?" asked a confused Kori.

"For a very first public gig, we got a pretty good response from the owner. That might help us land a few more gigs." Richard explained to Kori, who beamed and giggled at the good news.

"So how much cash did we reel in?" asked Garfield excitedly, quickly forgetting his head injuries and looking to Victor in anticipation. The gigantic man quickly rustled through the band's tiny cash box, tallying up their booty.

"Let's see.... $230. So, minus 140 for the establishment, we got ourselves a whoppin' $90!" Victor calculated, beaming.

"Uh.... That doesn't seem so good to me..." mumbled a deflated Garfield.

"Most first-time gigs barely break even, so this wasn't a bad haul at all." replied a still stoic Rachel.

"Yeah, man, baby steps!" said Victor, clapping Garfield on the back. Garfield slapped Victor in the back in return, except a little harder. Cyborg gave him a dark look for a second before clapping Garfield on the back again a bit harder. Before they knew it, the two band members were whacking each other in the back as hard as they could in a childish dispute. Rachel turned away from the two immature Titans, giving Richard and Kori an exasperated glance, which they responded to with a pair of resigned shrugs. It wasn't unusual to see Garfield and Victor locked in some silly competition with each other, often ending with Rachel ripping into them with some harsh criticism, cowing them into submission.

The Titans' tiny celebration was interrupted by a woman who approached them. She had startling cotton candy-pink dyed hair, a pale face that sported an almost feral grin, and the attire of a Punk who couldn't decide if she was an Emo instead.

"Hey, guys! I caught your performance. Well done, for newbies!" she said warmly, in a voice that sounded like its owner could be very mischievous and convincing if she chose to be.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name's Jennifer Hexston, but you can call me Jinx." continued the pink-haired girl, flashing the surprised band a cat-like smirk and shaking the bewildered Titans' hands (except for Rachel, who gave the extended hand a glance before raising an eyebrow at its unperturbed owner).

"Err hem. Well, --Jinx, was it? -- may I inquire as to the purpose of this meeting?" asked a slightly flustered Richard.

"I was wondering if you fellas had a band manager yet... I take it from that blank expression on your faces that's a no. Well, if you wanna survive in the harsh conditions of the gigging world, you're gonna need one. And seeing as you guys seem to be the most promising act I've seen here, I'd like to offer my services." elaborated Jinx, giving a mock bow. A disapproving Richard was about to reply when Jinx shot up a hand to silence him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You don't know me; I don't know you, bla bla bla. Look, I'll just give you guys my card, 'kay? Once you guys finally realized you're screwed without a manager, call my work number so we can work out a meeting and stuff." Pulling out a slightly crumpled business card from one of her pockets, she handed it to Richard, then she strolled out of the bar, humming a song the band recognized as one of their own.

".... That was what you would call 'unexpected', yes?" questioned Kori after a minute of stunned silence.


The Titans were now heading back to their apartment complex (they had purposefully rented cheap apartments all right next to each other) in the truck, having finally repacked all their gear and paid the bar owner. Victor was driving again (seeing as it was his truck, which he had jokingly christened the T-Car) with Richard riding shotgun. Garfield was in the back between Kori and Rachel. He was pestering Rachel, who was pointedly ignoring him with her nose buried in a brooding and dark novel. Kori was happily chattering away to no one in particular (and no one was really listening either) and Richard and Victor were discussing everything from the gig to mechanics to video games.

Rachel felt her left eyelid begin to twitch as Garfield's corny jokes and the others chatting started to wear away at her concentration. Quite abruptly, the dark girl slammed her book shut and turned to give Garfield an impassive, cold death glare.

"Shutting up now." Garfield chuckled uncertainly, scooting over towards Kori to give the dispassionate Goth a wider berth.

By this point Victor had pulled into the parking lot and the band began unloading their gear and hauling it towards a storage unit. The storage unit belonged to a greasy-haired muscle man who's body mass put Victor's own to shame, and whose name was Willard Sikes. The man rented an apartment in the same complex as the band and upon learning of the young adults' music equipment storage problems, offered to let them store it in his storage unit free of charge. The only other things inside the storage unit was 2 refrigerators completely crammed with food (Willard was legendary for his inhuman appetite, and anyone unfortunate enough to witness one of his feeding frenzies was often left traumatized).

Upon successfully loading their gear into the storage unit, the band tromped up to their meager rooms. Garfield and Victor shared a condo, as did Kori and Richard (much to Vic and Gar's snickering). To no one's surprise, Rachel insisted upon having a solitary apartment, located next to Victor and Gar's apartment (much to her annoyance).

Bidding one another a good night, the Titans retired for the night to their respective rooms.

Garfield and Victor's apartment was a wasteland to behold: mounds of dirty laundry, junk food wrappings, and CDs completely littered the floor. There was a widescreen TV in one corner of the apartment with a GameStation hooked up to it and a filthy, ragged couch in front of it. The walls were plastered with band posters, from bands like Slipknot, At the Gates, Korn, and In Flames. Victor also owned a well-established computer on a cluttered little desk, and spent hours of his free time on it, earning the joking nickname of 'Cyborg' from Garfield.

Richard and Kori's apartment had much less character. It was tidy, but not to an abnormal level, and the small kitchen cupboards sported exotic and unusual ingredients that Kori used for her foreign dishes. There were only two pictures on the walls. One was a Trapt band poster, and the other was a group photo of the band. The picture had been taken just a few days after the band had formed. In it, Garfield, Victor, and Kori wore huge grins while Richard sported a smirk with his arms crossed and Rachel was looking stoic as usual. Garfield was making bunny ears on Rachel and Victor brandished a pair of thick drumsticks in his burly hands, looking like he was pounding the living daylights out of imaginary toms.

Rachel's apartment was dark and gloomy, for Rachel had only used a couple of dim lamps for lights. She had an impressively vast bookshelf and numerous disturbing and dark artworks. She also had a large supply of tea, incense, and candles, as well as a meditation mat. The faded lighting and eerie decor gave the place a brooding feel but also seemed almost like a solemn sanctuary that demanded reverence from all who entered.

Tired by today's exertions, the five young adults soon drifted asleep.


Around 7:00 am, Robin and Kori were just waking up to a cloudy, winter morning. Kori let off a long yawn before bouncing out of bed, her long auburn hair forming a softly tasseled halo around her.

"Please, friend Richard, today is the day of the sun and we are to consume friend Victor's cakes of the pan, yes?"She inquired brightly to a drowsy Richard who had just stumbled out of his bed, his spiked hair somehow unchanged.

Richard gave a sleepy smile at Kori's unusual wording.

"Yeah, Star, today's Sunday and Victor is making pancakes for us today." he replied. He called Kori Starfire (Star for short), as did the rest of the team, because of her radiant personality.

The two of them engaged in leisurely chatter till around 8:30 before deciding to head over to Cyborg and Gar's apartment for pancakes.

Rachel had been up since 6:00 sharp, as she always did, and immediately went to her meditation mat, sitting on it in the lotus position and breathing in the fragrance of some burning incense. She remained motionless in this position, breathing slowly and deeply, for 2 straight hours. Then, at precisely 8:15, she stirred out of her deep meditative stupor and rose to her feet. She reached for a Gothic tome before remembering it was the Titan Pancake Day (as Garfield called it) and that she was supposed to be at Vic's place at around 8:30. Giving a slight groan of frustration, she placed the book back down and made herself a cup of herbal tea before striding out the door grumbling.

When Rachel reached Vic's door, she knocked and waited for the door to open. After several seconds and no response, Rachel finally grew impatient and just barged in.

Victor was laboring away in a tiny kitchen that made his hunched, hulking body look somewhat ridiculous. The kitchen's counters were strewn with bowls, syrup stains, and spilt pancake mix. Entirely oblivious to the mess he was making, Victor toiled over a gigantic frying pan that used both stove burners, bobbing his head to "Paper Cut" by Linkin Park that was blasting on a stereo while shoveling mountains of golden buttermilk pancakes onto a large platter.

'Well, that explains why no one answered the door.' thought Rachel, viewing the blaring stereo with a hint of disdain. Her violet eyes roamed to the living room, where Richard and Kori were intently playing a video game on the Game Station. On the TV screen two monkeys armed with flame throwers, bazookas, and machetes were fending off an army of zombies. Rachel couldn't help but roll her eyes disgustedly at the scene. Richard was winning by a long shot, but Starfire looked like she didn't mind. She was holding her controller upside down and pressing random buttons while chatting away to an oblivious, zombie-slaying focused Dick (Richard is not happy when he was called this out loud for... obvious reasons)

Rachel walked over to the battered couch, gingerly sitting on the very edge of it. Dick glanced at her in acknowledgement while Kori channeled her one-sided conversation Rachel's way. After a few minutes of making an effort to listen to Kori babble happily about recipes, fashions, and pop culture, Rachel felt she was going to be sick and pointedly ignored the redhead. Not seeming deflated by Rachel's rejection (they all were used to it) in the least, Kori switched targets back to Dick, who gave the occasional jerky nod and distracted glance often enough to keep her going.

Sipping on her tea, Rachel looked through the stack of video games next to her out of boredom. She gave a disdainful snort at the assorted titles, which either contained the word monkey (like Super Monkey Turbo Racers 5, Monkey Squad: Zombie Invasion, and Monkey Arena Soccer 3), or infamously violent shooter games (like Gears of War, Resident Evil, and Grand Theft Auto). The only game they seemed to own that caught her eye was The Witcher, an RPG mythological game. Rachel was about to read the booklet for The Witcher when the loud stereo abruptly quieted (a relative term, mind you) and Victor began shouting from the kitchen.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, pancakes are ready and pipin' hot! Hey, Rachel, could you fetch the local sleeping beauty?"

Rachel sighed and reluctantly headed to Garfield's bedroom. Garfield always slept in; no matter the occasions he has to attend to in the day.

Upon reaching Garfield's bedroom door, Rachel extended a clenched, pale fist and gave the door four clear, loud raps. The only response she received for her efforts was the faint sound of gurgling snores resonating from behind the door. After looking heavenward in exasperation and a loud mental sigh, the keyboardist steeled herself and opened the door. Inside was a rather small room completely strewn with mounds of old socks and boxers and half-empty cheese pizza boxes (Garfield was a vegetarian). And then there was Garfield. The young man was slumped halfway in the top bunk of a bunk bed, which was strewn with enough random trash to do any dumpster proud. Garfield had a comic book on top of his mane of green hair (which was incredibly messed up and tangled, for Garfield always got bad "bed hair") and was clad only in a purple and green striped boxer. Because of his weird angle, ridiculous appearance, and his snoring (which could be described as sounding sort of like a cage fight between a puma and a giant toad), most people would of burst out in hysterics at this sight. Not Rachel. True, her lips did twitch into a half smile for a split second and she gave a strangled snort that could almost be called a giggle, but that was it before Rachel was once again fully composed and striding towards the unwary, drooling guitarist. With a simple, short tug on one of Garfield's protruding arms, Rachel managed to topple him out of bed to perform a part-face plant. Within two seconds, Garfield had bolted to his feet and had struck a ridiculous-looking karate stance.

"Expect no mercy, milkman! I have you...... now? Oh hey, Rae. Pancakes, right?"

Rachel simply nodded in response.

"Okey-dokey! Let's go!"

Garfield then proceeded to lope out the bedroom door, humming, and still in his boxers. Rachel was close behind him, shaking her head and talking to herself about the insanity of her friend.

Upon reaching the apartment's small round table, the two found their friends already elbow deep in syrupy pancake frenzy. As was the common case in this weekly event, Garfield was in the midst of the other three in a flash, joining in the feeding mayhem while Rachel hung back to consume a portion of the aftermath.

After about twenty minutes, the four feast partakers had decimated the vast majority of the breakfast and Rachel was daintily picking at the remains. After about ten minute of friendly chat, Richard, Victor, and Garfield left to work while the girls cleaned up the pancake mess.

Victor worked at as a mechanic at an auto shop and was quite good at it.

Dick was a security guard for a Wayne Enterprises facility, and took his job seriously.

Garfield would take his faded red acoustic guitar and perform in a nearby park for money, and often didn't do too poorly.

Around 9:30, Rachel (much to her relief, after having to listen to Kori's optimistic chatter for half an hour) went to her job as a writer for a dark, mysterious magazine known as the 'Azarath'.

Kori left soon after her, to her job as a waitress at The Ice Palace, a local restaurant. She was well known and liked by the regular customers, because of her stunning smile and inhuman cheerfulness. Despite sometimes messing up her customer's orders because of her weak grasp of the English language, Kori often got generous tips and did her best to keep people happy.

Today, as Kori was helping an awkward teen busboy clear a booth near the restaurants' front door, she heard the said door swing open, letting in a rush of cold wind as someone stepped inside. Kori whirled around to dazzle the new customer with her trademarked smile and found herself grinning at a young man with an electric guitar and amplifier in his arms. The man gave a curt nod towards Kori before going to the restaurant's small stage reserved for musicians the owner sometimes hired.

As far as Kori could tell, the guitar was a seven-string Ibaniez, and based on the high-quality pick-ups, sleek design, and whammy bar, a very expensive, high-quality guitar. The amp was also of above-par quality, with enough knobs to interest an astronaut and a built-in pedal system. He also carried a plastic bag full of what appeared to be CDs.

The man himself was slim and with slouched shoulders, and had shoulder-length dark brown hair and solemn brown eyes. As he started setting up his guitar, positioning a microphone and stool, Kori noticed one of the other waitresses, Cyra Sage, watching the guitarist in interest as well. Kori liked Cyra. She was a fun-loving girl who stuck to her friends with a possessive loyalty and seemed to always be able to wear a beautiful smile in any situation, much like Kori.

The young, solo musician quickly had everything set up and began tuning his guitar. Kori could tell just by the way he effortlessly adjusted each string to the proper pitch without so much as glancing at his guitar that this guy had to be at least fairly good at guitar. Kori was curious if the young man would turn out to be as good as Garfield, who excelled at flaming-hot fast solos that buzzed through scale after scale.

Apparently satisfied with the tune of his instrument, the musician perched himself up upon the stool and coughed lightly into the microphone to get everyone's attention.

"The song I'm gonna play is called 'Shatter Heart' and is on my new, debut album 'Intercession'." the young man mumbled into the microphone in a deep, broken voice. He then immediately started playing, and Kori couldn't believe her ears.

The young man's fingers contorted into complex pattern after complex pattern upon the fret board, squeezing out notes that somehow seemed to harbor intense passions inside their melodies. After a minute or so of strumming out waves of complex chord melodies, the guitarist shifted seamlessly into a soaring solo, full of string bends that seemed to take the audience's hearts sailing with their beautiful intensity. The solo ended in a rush of descending scales that he blazed through with clarity, precision, and at a tempo that made his fingers a blur. Upon pulling off a few rather simplistic hammer-ons and power chords after the descending patterns, Kori was surprised to find that the guitarist was then able to seamlessly pass back into the complex chords he had played at the song's beginning. All this seemed to blend together in a passionate flow that didn't seem humanly possible.

Upon the end of the song, most people in the restaurant had stopped their conversations to openly gawk at the young man perched upon his onstage stool, seemingly unmoved by his own gorgeous masterpiece. There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then everyone applauded. The musician bobbed his head in thanks to his audience before playing another song, no less stunning. Soon Kori and Cyra were busying themselves once again over the restaurant's customers, who all seemed slightly intoxicated by the powerful music that permeated the air. Kori couldn't blame them. Every song seemed to have its own voice and style. Some seemed to possess a bluesy, spazz-jazz feel to them, while others sounded like classic rock meets industrial. Whatever style they were, the songs all seemed to cast a binding spell over its listeners, so that several patrons seemed reluctant to leave their booths upon finishing their meals.

Soon it was the end of Kori's shift, and as she said her good-byes to the other employees (a custom of hers), she saw the restaurant owner talking to the guitarist with a look of admiration on her face. Upon apparently receiving his paycheck, the musician packed up his gear and headed out the door. Kori hastily finished her farewells and hurried out the door after him.

With her long, hurried strides she quickly caught up to the man, who seemed to be heading to the same bus stop she took.

"Greetings, sir. I work at the Ice Palace and was most fond of your playing of the guitar." greeted Kori, upon reaching the guitarist. The man gave her a twitch of a smile, not seeming caught off guard by her sudden introduction in the least.

"Glad to hear it. Judging by the amount of albums I sold, you weren't the only one who enjoyed it."

"Will you be playing at the Ice Palace again sometime, then?" Kori asked, curious.

He shrugged. "We'll see. Seems like a nice enough place." He cast her a quick glance. "And you are....?"

Kori blushed, embarrassed at failing to introduce herself. "I am Kori Anders, a waitress of the Palace of Ice."

"And I'm Tyler Watson. Pleased to meet you."

The musicians walked in silence for a block or so before Kori decided to try to continue conversation with the guitarist, who seemed content to walk in silence and didn't seem particularly annoyed or overjoyed about Kori's presence.

"I am a player of music, as well. I am the player of the bass for the Nu Metal band of the Titans."

Tyler Watson glanced at her in vague interest. "How's the band doing?"

Kori shrugged. "We've done one of the 'gigs'. It went well according to our leader Richard."

Tyler grunted. "Nu Metal, huh? So you do music of the style of Korn, Mushroomhead, and Mudvayne..... Bands like that?"

"Yes. Well, in some ways. According to Richard, we are a mix of metals. Black Label Society lead guitar, Megadeth vocals, Judas Priest drums, Nightwish keyboard, and Korn bass." Kori replied, embarrassed. She realized her sentence structure must seem a bit confusing.

If Kori's sentence seemed confusing to Tyler, he didn't let it show. "Sounds like an interesting blend. I can see how those different styles can blend, and it sounds like a good blend to me. Perhaps I'll go see one of your guys' gigs."

Kori nodded happily.

By now, both of them were upon the bus. Until they reached Kori's stop, they talked about different bands (most of the bands Tyler mentioned were unheard of to Kori) and genres. Upon reaching her destination, Kori said goodbye to Tyler and said he should meet the band sometime. Tyler said he'd consider it, and after a moment of brief hesitation, gave Kori one of his CDs, thanking her for talking with him. Kori couldn't help but daze him with one of her trademark smiles before stepping off the bus and skipping all the way to her apartment, eager to tell her friends about Tyler.

Rewinding to the beginning of the same day that Kori met Tyler, Richard Grayson was arriving at his workplace at Wayne Enterprises as a security guard. Dick's usual attire of a red shirt and black overcoat was replaced with a sharp, professional-looking uniform. As usual, Richard was wearing his pair of shades, giving him a cop look.

"Hey, Richard!"

Richard's head whipped around to find a redheaded man in a security guard uniform waving cordially at him. This was Dick's friend, Roy Harper. They were childhood friends and had applied as security guards together a year back. Richard headed over to Roy, smiling. Roy greeted him with a knuckle bump; the usual method of greeting the two young adults did with each other.

"So, you hear about Bruce Wayne, Junior?" asked Roy, walking side-by-side with Richard as they patrolled the hallways.

"What about the guy?" Richard inquired, answering Roy's question with a question. Richard knew that Bruce Wayne Jr. was Bruce Wayne Sr.'s youngest son, and that he was set to take control of one of the industry's many powerhouse branches.

"He could've gotten a big old role as Executive of something, you know, but Bruce Jr. just went and shocked the business world last night. He's officially signed up to be a producer for Gotham Records."

Richard's eyes practically popped out of their sockets underneath his shades. He did not expect such an event occurring overnight. Roy Harper was way more of a people person, and probably swiped that tidbit off of some random employee.

"You should totally introduce yourself and the band to him, dude. Chances to hook up a recording deal like this don't come by on a daily basis, Dick." Roy continued, sounding excited. "If the rumors hold true, then Jr. should be visiting Jump City in two weeks time. Think about where this could land the Titans, Richard!"

Richard did think about it. He gulped visibly, feeling abuzz with hope. An opportunity like this could haul the Titans into the big leagues in a very short period of time. Richard's face suddenly cracked into an excited grin.

"Roy, I think you're onto something."

Roy and Richard spent the rest of their shift planning how to hook up a meeting between Richard and Bruce Wayne Jr., and when Richard headed home on his motorcycle (A/N: I know I didn't mention the motorcycle before, but I am now!), he felt the Titans might soon be catapulted into the forefront of the music world, if luck remained on their side and if he played his cards right.

Today was a slow day for Garfield Logan. Perched on a park bench in Jump City's Downtown Park, Gar absentmindedly strummed a simplistic melody on his faded acoustic guitar. For some reason, the park was pretty much empty today, and despite his best efforts, it looked like Garfield would barely have enough money to take the bus back home. Just as he was ending his simple song and was contemplating heading home now to get a few hours of video games in, he was startled by a creak registering from his bench as someone sat on the other side. Garfield turned to see that it was none other than Willard Sikes, the man who let the Titans use his storage unit. The man was a towering giant, at least as tall as Victor, with muscles to put Vic's to shame. He had hooded, dark eyes and long, greasy Red hair. Willard merely stared at Garfield, and Garfield in turn, caught off guard, stared right back. The awkward tension was suddenly broken when Willard gave a grunt before stuffing one of his meaty hands into one of his pants pockets, pulling out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and throwing it into Garfield's paper bag of money. Before Garfield was able to stutter out 'thanks', Willard reached behind his back, pulling out a cheap acoustic guitar whose condition made Garfield's look brand new in comparison.

"Teach me how to play that song you just did." Willard grumbled, placing his guitar in his lap.

Garfield nodded with a grin, slowly teaching the big man one chord at a time. Maybe today wouldn't be so boring after all.

Garfield was surprised by Willard's concentration, and over an hour of teaching Willard had noticeably improved. About one hour into the lesson, Willard suddenly stopped playing, packed up his guitar, and got up to leave. Just before walking off, however, he slowly turned around towards Garfield.

"Thanks." He muttered, before turning around and walking off, getting a total of eleven words out during the last hour (Gar didn't count unintelligible grunts as words).

"No problemo, dude." Garfield called after him, earning a brief glance over the shoulder from Willard Sikes. Gar grinned before getting up as well, heading towards the bus stop. Something told him that he hadn't seen the last of that grunting mammoth.


Well, R&R, plz!

Any suggestions? Complaints? Ideas? Death threats? Let me hear them! Constructive criticism is my god, so gimme some and I'll worship you! Flames just piss me off, so please don't flame me!!! Trust me; an angry Tyr Willows does many horrible things. This is my 3rd fanfic, technically, but it's the first one I began writing (if that makes any sense), so I'm still new to this thing! Veterans who wanna be my Beta Reader, please let me know!

Did anyone notice who owns the motel the titans live in? Yep, it's Slade. Expect random, drunken intrusions from their less-than formal landlord in later chapters! XD (obviously, I had way too much fun writing this)

Next Chapter: Find out how Raven and Cyborg's momentous day turns out!