A Cat's Tale

By: Catty Engles Reporter for the Daily Gazette

Edition Second: The Turning Point

CRASH.

I jump, startled. Oh damn, the mini-recorder! I switch it on, thankful I didn't forget. Slick is just a coronary ready to happen and my slip up could cause him hypertension and possibly weeks in traction. Ah yes, when Santa Clause pulled that extra present out of his sack he left the price tag on it. I wouldn't be completing this job alone. I was just Recon. The serious writers would get the credit. And maybe if I was lucky I'd be able to get a paycheck that could ship me out of "community bathroom."

Beastboy didn't notice the subtle switch-on motion, and with good reason, the source of the crash is barreling towards us.

He's huge and half-machine. The kind of guy girls don't feel safe around without their pepper spray. I fingered mine lovingly through the threadbare vinyl of my purse.

"Someone's totaled the PS2, and it has scratch marks on it." Cue chase music, metal-head looks fit to burst. He blows a gasket, literally. "What?" The hulking hunk of hardware glances at his arm as a thin stream of steam emits from under the casing. And in pure manly fix-it situations begins enthusiastically pounding his arm. My eyes widen as the pounding grows louder.

"Cyborg!" A girl. She's flying. "You're scaring the pretty lady!" Lady? I bristle behind my plastered smile. I'm an intern. I'm not much older than she is, maybe even younger! Wait, did she call me pretty? "Oh come in please! I have just commenced the steaming of Exterian Slort Worms, you must sample some...?" She looks at me expectantly.

"Catty Engles." I supply. "I'm here to ask you a little bit about your life." Cyborg extends a hand, all his anger towards BB and his arm forgotten and a big smile on his face. The flying girl, Starfire I assume, is squirming- with joy. Are these people insane?! Do they realize how many mega-buck hotshots that I've interviewed were fingering their lawyer's speed-dial button by now? The name Daily Gazette strikes fear into the hardiest of scandal concealers.

My hand disappears inside Cyborg's, and even though it's metal, I feel a sort of gentleness as he leads me by the kitchen to the sitting area. He doesn't seem too concerned with the arm incident. "We shall congregate on the couch." Starfire chirps.

"Robin, Raven, we have a guest!" She practically sings.

Ah, this is what I've been waiting for. As we round the corner, I catch my first glimpse of the epitome of raw sex appeal- according to the average teenybopper of Jump City. He's lying sprawled on the couch snarfing curly fries.

I can't recall how many Teengirl magazine issues have had a Robin cover article, Robin star-sign match-up, Robin pro/con analysis, and Robin in-depth biography. Somehow I believe all have failed to mention curly fries.

From what I've read of him, Robin is an intense little boy, the only one of the team lacking superpowers, but also the prominent leader. He's got a drive the size of Slick's wallet and "hands-off" attitude to match. His collected and cool but his aloof temperance is what always makes the already swooning populace gush ten-fold. Gallantly, he wipes his hand before offering it to me.

"Robin." He says with the tone of someone who's been swooned at too many times, and wishes it wouldn't happen again but is too polite to be completely stand-offish.

"Catty." I say in the same tone, a barely perceptible smile tugging at my lips, I've used that voice many times before as well.

Before Robin's little jolt of recognition fully registers on his face, a new face pops- well I shouldn't say pops, it was more like looms- through the door.

"Who's this." The Webster Grammatical Dictionary would tell us this statement should be a question. This girl, who by process of elimination I'm assuming is Raven, obviously hasn't read it. Her stare, as well as her question, is like ice and has the emotion to match it. But I get that everyday from the janitor.

"I'm Catty, reporter from the Daily Gazette." I drop my last name. It's weird to have one when the team seems to scorn the use of them.

As the Titans assemble on the couch I realize how much I've already let slip. My professional detached attitude is crumbling by the barrage of their friendliness. These kids really are teenagers, but different in a way. They move with the sinewy ease of practiced fighters, even Beastboy the least in stature but biggest in mouth has a sort of capable holding of his body contrary to the long-limbed awkwardness synonymous with adolescents.

They're completely complimentary to each other. Even in the mundane congregating on the couch they each seem to unconsciously recognize each other's needs and act on it. Raven's preference for the corner seat. Starfire's need for companionship, placing her between Robin and Beastboy. Robin farther from me and Beastboy closer- a nod to his want for attention.

Cyborg settles where he can survey everyone, next to Raven. It occurs to me that Cyborg is the ultimate big brother opposed to my first impressions of him. Big and brawny, he's center material for the next super-human football team. His easy laugh and easier smile endear him in a way that not just any hunk of crushing metal and rippling pectorals could hope to be endeared.

Well, they're settled, time to get things started. Five minutes ago I would be groaning at the thought of talking to them and now- me, the street- hardened Catty- is ... endeared.

What is this world coming to?

I adjust my hair and open my mouth to speak.

The high-tech monitor that is worth more than my life's pay flicks on in a corner of the room. The already dim interior flickers with static shadows crackling across our faces. And with my eyes wide and my mouth still open I stare as the static fades and is replaced with angry red metal and a single eye peering from unfathomable depths.

Robin is at the monitor's side in seconds, straining with all his being to listen. Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy were close behind but Cyborg looks at me as if he had seen a ghost.

The static completely fades and a monotone voice with the barest infliction of smugness reverberates around the room as the metal monster began to speak.

"Good evening, Titans."

Ah ha, we have established a plot.