Author's Note: This is my very first fanfic on this site, and I hope you like it. I've always been intrigued by the pasts of each Teen Titan, but especially Starfire's, probably because it's so underplayed in the TV series. So this is my attempt to breathe a little life into her history, a little bit of magic, a little bit of my own voice and twists.
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. If I did, then it would have about, oh, five hundred seasons, and at least thirty movies. And give us more Tara information, that last episode just killed me. But anyway…
Entropy
Life gets rough; we know that. We can all agree on the misery of living. Our hearts have gotten smashed, our legs have gotten broken, and worst of all… we just keep on losing.
In physics, entropy is the amount of disorder, the measure of chaos, the ruler of terrible, and it increases with mixture. Put two things together, and they will erupt into shambles. It's a rule, it's a science, and it is poetry. So it's only natural that we stay alone. It's advisable and wise and smart to be on our own, to avoid mixture, to keep our entropy to ourselves.
But you believe differently. Young princess, bright eyes, hopeful glimmers, you don't believe it at all. You defy the facts, and you will continue to deny it. You live in a bubble, and you know it won't pop. You don't even know, can't know, what's coming next.
It's a dark night, and everything is beautiful. The stars are out, and they are four years away, and you close your eyes. Four years ago… you were eleven. How refreshing the memory feels; confusion and hormones and pimples. Your worst subject was Literature, but you excelled in Science, and you reigned in History, and you were victorious in your battle with Math. You were invincible, weren't you? And now you are fifteen, you are halfway done with the first year of high school, and you are finally getting used to being a teenager.
You can't possible sense the pit ahead of you, dangling beneath the tip of your toes… waiting for your move, the wrong move, the move that you will undoubtedly make. Because you are Kori Anders. You are, in the end, sweet, naïve, innocent, pure, and above all, predictable.
The walk home is long, but beautiful. The clouds resemble birds, and you want to climb a tree and try, just once, to imagine flying. Just once. But you don't, because you know your friends would look at you strangely; they accept you, they like you, but they have outgrown your antics long ago. You are, it seems, stuck in the past you cannot relive again. You are still giggly, still dreaming, and still… still childish. And sometimes, they tire of it. But they will never tire of you, you know that.
Your house is farthest away from Jump City High. So you are, therefore, the official goodbye girl. You are the one who is always there, always the last to leave, always the last to stop caring. You don't mind, because it suits you: you, loyal and darling, always with her friends, always there to comfort. You have perfected the art of friendship long ago.
"Goodbye, Victor," you say to the large sophomore. He is a grade older than you, a grade older than all of the others, but his house is on the way, and he has the capacity to be friends with everyone. He says goodbye loudly and boisterously, bounding up the stairs. He is a large black young man, his muscles bulging from all of the sports he plays. He is the best in all of them, you know; you've heard the Jump City High legends. He began with football, but he grew restless after the season was over and started tackling every sport. And he beat everyone in all of them, without even trying.
You are lucky to be friends with such a star.
Garfield is next. He transferred to Jump City High a few months ago, and he was walking home alone on his first day when Rachel noticed him. She quietly pointed him out to you, almost to herself, wondering who the new boy was. You remembered your own lonely beginning, and beckoned for him to join you. He bounded over joyfully and made himself a part of the gang effortlessly, as if he had always been there. As if you and your friends had been waiting for someone like him to come along, eventually. You hug him tightly before he leaves, waving enthusiastically and shouting goodbyes.
You have become fond of him, his caretaker, and you are deeply protective of him.
Rachel is third. The quiet girl is sensitive and intuitive, and you do not know much about her. But you like her eyes, and although you don't understand her, you appreciate her insight. She is the one to speak up when everyone has lost their heads, the permanent reminder of what is right, what is truth, and what is worth it. She is smarter than you could ever be. She is the girl with all the answers. She is the girl who can control herself, is cool, calm, and collected, and above all, mature. You wave cutely at her, beaming at her until you cannot see through your happy eyes any longer. "Goodbye, Rachel!" you call out, but she is already gone.
You are, admittedly, a little jealous of her, and for this reason, you pull her closer to you; you don't want such guilt-inducing feelings towards your friend, and only girlhood intimacy will cure the green monster.
And then, Richard. He was the one who asked you to sit with them at lunch in fourth grade, when he noticed you sitting alone after a week of solitude. Most days, you chatter on cheerfully as he listens, smiling sympathetically at you at the right time, chuckling when you amuse him. He makes a few comments here and there, but for the most part, you keep it going, mostly because you want to thank him for giving you the opportunity of belonging, and because you think he is amazing and reliable and silent and strong. Some days, the two of you are completely silent, save for a few thoughtful comments here and there. It's a warm silence, a silence you could get used to, this quiet that reminds you of trees and oceans and cherry blossoms. When you arrive to his house, you wave at him and smile, and he does the same. He doesn't look back once, and doesn't see you waiting for him to be in, safe and sound.
You feel, for some reason, connected to this boy. A deep sort of kinship that makes you feel at home.
You continue walking, and you stop when you reach your destination. You notice how different your home looks from your friends' apartments, townhouses, and houses. You live in luxury. Your parents are King and Queen of the mustard business, and the Tamaran kingdom is as strong as royalty.
"I am home, Mother, Father, Kim, Ryan!" you call out. It is a ritual, for each Anders family member to announce their arrival. It started out as a reassurance, because you always got scared when you heard the front door open, always afraid of whom it might be. Thus, the tradition began. Mother and Father did it lightheartedly, Ryan joyfully, Kim dryly, and you always did it lovingly.
"Daughter!" Mother races down the Cinderella-esque stairs to greet you. She is rushing, much more earnest than usual, and she is waving an envelope in her hands. Perhaps a letter from Grandmother has arrived. You smile warmly at her as you take the first steps towards her, waiting for the usual embrace. But nothing about the hug is usual; it is much too tight, much too jumpy on Mother's part. So you pull back and search for an explanation in her eyes.
"What's going on, Mother?"
"Do you remember the gymnast school you applied to?"
"No, I don't." You raise your eyebrows at her, because you know you didn't apply for anything. You are a talented gymnast for your age group, but you are certainly not qualified for such a prestigious honor. There are a few of those schools spread throughout Europe and other far-off foreign lands, but all of them are rigorous, in both academics and the practice. More importantly, all of them are boarding schools. Even if you had applied, and somehow been accepted, you wouldn't leave.
"I do." The voice startles you, but you recognize it immediately; you look up to your older sister immensely. Kim is beautiful, fun, grown up: everything you are not. She saunters down the stairs with that slow, sensual sway of her hips. She is always calm, and she is always in control. Her eyes never stray from yours, and you raise your eyebrows questioningly.
"Kim," Mother says, "what do you have to do with this?" Her voice is weary and she takes a step towards her first daughter, as if Kim has something up her sleeve. But your older sister doesn't answer, not until she is directly in front of you; your mother is ignored. And you are about to ask the same question Mother asked, but the warmth in Kim's eyes silence you. Your older sister rarely shows emotion; right now, you only want to bask in the affection you see.
"I applied for her," Kim says, "because I knew she would make it in." She doesn't smile, doesn't even look at you, but the tenderness in her voice makes you want to weep. She believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself. This is her gift to you, and this is worth giving up Jump City for. You've been here for a full semester, but what is a semester compared to a lifetime of sisterly love? No, you want to go. You are suddenly hungry for this chance to leave. You forget the daily walk home, the rituals, the routine you've come to love.
The room is silent, as both Anders girls wait for their mother's response to the bold move. The air quivers in anticipation, and you shiver in your wait.
Eventually, Mother turns to you, and kisses your forehead. She murmurs, "Congratulations, daughter," without pulling her lips away. You close your eyes and smile humbly. When cool air replaces the heat of Mother's mouth, you look up and see Mother motioning for Kim to follow her into the kitchen.
Is she going to scold Kim for acting in such confidence on her part? Alarmed at the very idea of it, you speak up. "Mother," you say desperately, "I am grateful for this. I want to go. So please… let me." You see Mother's surprise and Kim's blank face, but you know that Kim may get in serious trouble for her actions and her secrecy, so you continue, despite the nervous tremors in your gut. "I… I told Kim I wanted to apply, but I was scared and changed my mind, so… so she did it for me."
The lie comes unbidden and unwanted, but it stumbles from your lips like a curse word, and once it's out, you can't take it back. You see Kim's eyes widen, but Mother doesn't; she only sees you, and she is examining your features, the face you inherited. She is convinced, by your pleading eyes and Kim's silence, and nods compliantly. "Begin packing, Kori. You leave tomorrow morning, according to the letter."
That gets your attention. "Tomorrow?!" you exclaim, "but the letter arrived today!"
"It was a postal error," Mother says, orderly, logical, and calm. Everyone in the Anders family cools in the face of crisis – except for you. You are forever enthusiastic, your words and face and actions an open book for the entire world to read and analyze and mock. You show too much, and you cannot hide anything; it is a Kori Anders quality that most find overdone, and it is constant, and most of the time, you are okay with it.
Right now, though, you just want to be like everyone else so you can react normally in this situation.
"Oh… alright," you say miserably. Your feet drag as you slink to your bedroom. The weight is heavy and gravity is pulling you down, but you keep your posture straight. You are leaving tomorrow morning.
And you can't even say goodbye.
"Don't forget to call every day, daughter."
"That's my girl; of course they wouldn't deny an Anders! Make me proud, honey."
"Go Kori! Wahoo!"
"See you later."
Kisses on the forehead, kisses on the cheek, excited clamors, enough hugs to last a lifetime… and silence, from the sister who handed you this experience. You are leaving, and at the moment, you are staring into the faces of your family. You will miss them.
You will also miss the friends who are not present, who will assume you are absent due to sickness, or a dentist appointment.
You look back once more before you get in line to get your ID checked at the airport. Your family is beaming at you – save for one. Your sister stands still, arms crossed, a small, comforting smile on her lips. Her eyes do not shine with pride and excitement like the others; merely a knowing. She knows that you are going to succeed. It is her way of saying good luck.
You step off the plane. You have arrived. You are in Madagascar, and you are waiting for the designated driver to take you to this gymnast school, this boarding school, this Guardian Academy. And there he is: a large man, unattractive and stoic, holding up a sign with your name on it: Kori Anders. You step up, smile nervously, hand him your bags, and follow him. For once, you have nothing to say.
You step in the taxi. You take a few deep breaths, and you are prepared to strike a conversation with this intimidating man. "Hello, my name is-"
Everything goes black.
I'm a little hesitant to continue on with this tense, so please give me your feedback, it would be greatly appreciated! Keep in mind that this is only a prologue; the actual story has not happened. This is a blast to the past. The story will not continue where this leaves off, but the events will unfold throughout the chapters. I'm sure most of you can guess what happens next, but if you don't… then you'll just have to wait, love.
Please review! Your feedback makes everything better, gives me an extra boost to keep this going, and helps me make this even better for you!
