"Remind me again why we're here?"
Cassie's comment did not go unnoticed by the others, who all nodded in agreement. Tim pulled open the door to the swanky retreat and remarked, "Because I am not going into that country club alone."
The Titans couldn't help but gaze in awe at the beautifully furnished lobby—the crystal chandeliers, the fine silk drapery, the velvet couches and chairs, the towering polished glass windows—while Tim stalked straight past it all like it wasn't even there and approached the front desk. He waved his teammates over, and they hurried back to his side. "Membership number?" the receptionist asked.
"1538 and seven guests," Tim told her dryly. She entered the number into the computer and nodded.
"Have a good time," she said jovially.
"Don't worry, I won't," Tim muttered through clenched teeth as they walked away.
Emerging from the back doors onto the massive veranda, the Titans could see that the entire place was populated by people dressed in their best, most expensive sporting wear. The wealthy patrons crawled over the golf course, the trails, the pool, the gardens, and the restaurants like brightly-colored and pastel insects, which might've actually been an accurate description, considering it was Gotham City. Tim sighed, slung his pack over his shoulder, and started to descend the curving marble stairway to the unnaturally green grass below. The other Titans followed closely behind. "I don't believe this," Bart was saying as he half-skipped down the steps. "Ivory Glen is the posh of the swanky, rich of the wealthy, cool of the awesome hangout in Gotham, and you don't like it here? What the hell, man? This is great!"
"The bushes have eyes," Tim called over his shoulder.
"What?" Bart took a second look and saw several oddly shiny spots in the bushes, peeking out and flashing every now and then when they were pointed at a particularly rich and/or famous person. There were also many clumps of strangely-colored flower petals attached to plants that looked pretty human, and one very recognizable red-haired plant flashing its eye at Tim about ten times a second. Bart blinked. "Oh."
"I guess this is, like, media circus hotspot central, huh?" Conner remarked. "No wonder you hate it."
"Oh, no, that's not why I don't like it."
Rose and Kiran exchanged a glance. "Then…what's the reason?" Kiran demanded.
Tim had successfully led them all the way to the first hole of the golf course without anybody noticing until he plunked his pack full of clubs down in front of himself. "The dinosaurs that put this place together couldn't make it possible to easily win this damn game."
Gar clapped a hand over his mouth to hide his snicker. "You're serious? You, Tim Drake-Wayne, strategist extraordinaire, victory personified, can't figure out how to beat a golf course?" He shook his head. "Admission of defeat was something I never thought I'd hear from you."
"Yeah, well, when it's through kicking my ass, I'll remind it to thoroughly kick yours. I brought you guys here because everything that I want to happen always happens when I'm around you. Today, I'm going to make a hole in one that will wipe Bruce's name off that plaque in there by the front desk, and you're going to witness it." He leaned down to place the tee in the ground and positioned the ball on top of it. His fingers fluttered on the handle of the club. "Let's just hope I've got it this time. Fore!"
With a hearty swing of the club, he smacked the ball hard enough to knock the tee out of the ground with it. The little white projectile soared across the green, arcing straight over the flag marking the first hole and disappearing into the distance. A crash could be heard from the other side of the course that made Conner flinch and Cassie fold her arms over her chest. Tim bit his lip. "How much do you suppose that costs?" he asked the area in general.
"Five hundred, at least," Raven predicted.
Tim sighed and started off across the green. A golf cart with the windshield smashed out drove up to meet him halfway, and a man climbed out to speak with him. Only Conner could hear what was being said, but the others were pretty sure it was something bad, judging by the angry hand gestures that were made on both sides of the argument. In the end, Tim pulled out his wallet and handed over a wad of cash before walking back over to the others. "I guess it's a good thing it was just a golf cart and not anything really valuable," he said somewhat-brightly. "It was just three-fifty to replace it."
Rose stared at him. "How did you even get let in here?" she inquired sarcastically.
He readied himself to hit the next ball. "Community smartass," he quipped. "Fore!"
Gar grabbed his club as he brought it up for another swing and ripped it out of his hands. "Oh, just—move over, you suck at this." Tim stepped back as Gar took his place in front of the ball and tee. "Let an expert teach you the right way to golf, okay, kid?"
"Let's hope you're not an expert in golf like you are in dating," Bart retorted, earning a sour look from the elder Titan.
Gar brushed it off quickly and made sure he had Tim's attention. "Now, here's what you're going to do. You have to stand with your feet directly across from each other and shoulder-width apart, and then you connect a—wait, no, that's boxing. Um…okay, so you hold your club with your right hand down low—no, your left—no, wait, dominant hand goes up top and the other hand goes down low. Yeah. So, then, you position yourself to the left of the tee, and then you have to get a feel for the—"
"Oh, for the love of—"
Conner broke off his own sentence by shoving Gar aside, picking up the ball, and flinging it with all his might down the golf course and screaming, "FORE!" People around the eighteenth hole started to cheer and jump up and down, shouting across the green that Tim was great. His jaw dropped, and he turned to Conner, who was standing with his fists clenched at his sides, breathing heavily.
"You got your frickin' hole in one," he snapped. "Now can we please get something to eat? I'm starving!"