Disclaimer: Teen Titans belongs to Warner Brothers, until it doesn't anymore.
A/N: I wish there was a layman's guide to how the comics actually work.
Raven hadn't thought she would pass the interview, which mainly consisted of her repeating "I don't feel comfortable disclosing that information" and Robin shaking his thoroughly slicked head of hair.
"Before we start, I want to assure you that this is just a formality the League insisted on," he said gravelly.
"I hate conversations that begin with that sentence," she said, and he wrote something in his notepad which might have been wisecracker while in his own stack of notes Beast Boy – how did he become co-interviewer instead of someone sensible like- never mind – wrote something suspiciously like angry porcupine.
Just as well, she managed to negotiate a few terms into her contract, including designated personal space and freedom of speech: who are allowed to talk back to me.
"How did you do?" Starfire bounced after they finished in what she might have believed to be a greeting, and what Raven usually called an ambush, "do you think three superpowers are enough? Does flying count? I thought there would be a question about background but there weren't a whole lot."
"How dare you!" came Cyborg's enraged voice from behind the door, "Of course I am waterproof!"
"I think the interview is customized," Raven said, "the League's been doing this for years."
What she is getting to, of course, is that every time she looks at Starfire, every time the manic pixie dream girl opens her mouth or orchestrates a campaign or whatever, she shudders and thinks, thank God I'm not that person. She doesn't fill in awkward silences with shop talk or, God forbids, weather talk, utterly unnecessary and obvious. She revels in silence. That's her thing.
When Beast Boy and Cyborg turn the conversation into Nintendo gadgets and Robin adds a few asides about combos though, even Starfire can expound on the practicality of the moves while Raven withdraws, automatically, seamlessly, almost haughtily now. She tells herself, this isn't the conversation I want to have, and bats away the follow-up, what kind of conversations can I have?
Not for lack of effort. They tried, she tried, but it ain't happening.
Now, whenever Beast Boy shows up with something unspeakable on his arm, she redirects him to clause five of her contract. It's just that she has been interrupted for the umpteen time reading this new book, so her answers have been more clipped than usual.
She tries a new approach, "No," she says very slowly, and repeats after a confused silence ensues, "No."
"What are you doing," he asks, "that's kinda creepy, by the way."
She shuts the door in his face, mildly unsatisfying with a sliding door, but what do you do with a persistent brain-addled sidekick?
I agree, says a deep voice, idiots like that should be put down for their own good.
"Father," she picks up the book, "can it be my birthday present?"
Actually, it's me, temporizes the book. She drops it and maybe takes a little step backward.
