Prologue: Birthmark
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans or Tim Burton.
Slade's fingers tightened in a death grip around Raven's arms. Her face contorted with horror as she stared out into the dead, black world and into the blank eyes of the concrete statues that her friends would become. Everything was empty, hot, and silent, as if Slade and Raven were the only two people in the world. Though both knew their roles and were secretly resigned to them, each fought against the other for control. Raven strained at Slade's grip even as he tightened it further, cruelly digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of her upper arms.
"This is the future," Slade whispered, leaning closer, his breath hot against her neck, "You're going to…you're going to…"
"You're going to destroy the world, Raven!" The pale girl screeched, rolling her eyes and trying to wrench free of the older man's grasp, "I swear to God, if you screw up this line one more time"—
"Alright, CUT!"
With this statement from off-set the illusion was abruptly ended. Studio lights came back on with a snap, causing the two actors still frozen in their position to flinch and squint off into the distance at the fuzzy figures that made up the cast's support team. At the forefront of the mess of wires, people, and sound equipment was a director's chair that contained an extremely pissed-off Tim Burton. The director of the Teen Titans series wrenched off his headset and slammed it on the ground in exasperation. The actors portraying Raven and Slade took their eyes off of the green screen and turned to face Burton while he dug his hands into his hair with a drawn-out sigh.
"Twenty-minute break!" He screeched, stamping onto the set, which consisted of nothing more than a green screen and a large metal disk that Raven and Slade were currently positioned on. The rest of the crew murmured amongst themselves, gingerly setting down lights, mics, and various other equipment before clearing out and heading to the snack bar. Meanwhile, Tim Burton stared at his two main characters with the intensity of a laser beam. Rebecca St. James looked down and elbowed Ethan McCormick in the ribs, prompting him to release his grip and stop using her as a human shield. She folded her arms and stood beside him, shooting him a hateful glare. He barely had time to return it before Tim began his rant.
"I don't know why the hell you two hate each other so much," their director began, his voice a low growl, "But you'd better work it out. This scene is four minutes long, and we've been here for an hour and a half. So get your shit together."
With that uplifting statement Tim turned on one heel of his Birkenstocks and stomped off of the set, kicking over his director's chair in the process. Ethan yanked off his Slade mask, revealing two blue eyes and sweaty blond hair that was plastered to his forehead. Rebecca managed to bite back her harsh words for a brief moment as she grabbed a towel off of her chair. She gingerly started dabbing at the sweat on her arms so as not to smear the red paint covering her body. It smeared anyway, and she internally cursed before turning to deliver a harsh word or two to the man playing Slade.
"Nice going, Ethan," Rebecca snapped in frustration.
"I would have had that line, you stupid girl!"
"Yeah sure you woulda," she sneered, "That's why we've been here all day."
"Well maybe if you would stop complaining about the lighting and start working on your facial expressions, Rebecca, we wouldn't have had to reshoot the other five scenes!"
The two huffed off the set, walking farther and farther away from each other as they exchanged heated insults. It didn't matter; no one was around to see them bicker in the dim studio.
"I'm not the one who threw a Christian Bale fit about the non-imported water, princess!" Rebecca screamed back, getting the final insult in as she yanked open a side door to the studio and walked out, slamming it with a large bang.