Hello! Welcome to the fic! Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: This story was inspired by JadeRabbyt's "The Fan Zone", in the Danny Phantom section. Ya. Teen Titans and all its related characters are not mine. Any other given similarities are coincidental only. The names of my moods are also not mine. They're just cool. This disclaimer will not be repeated again unless I say so.
JadeRabbyt owns this whole thing as far as I'm concerned.
And as a side note; if you like my story and would like to be in the audience, please, just say so.
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The set looks rather nice today as I exit my dressing room and go onto the stage. My 5 cameramen, and women, are setting up their big, high tech something-thousand dollar cameras in various locations. I straighten the green prom dress that I found in my mother's closet.
Thank the lord she didn't give me her red one. I shudder.
The back-stage people put various fluffy things, like couches, all over the set, which is a replica of the Teen Titan's living room.
I turn to Bob, my main set artist. "Where did you get this furniture? It's so authentic!" I run my hand along the upholstery of a chair that they set up behind my desk.
Bob, a middle-aged man who was ex-Mafia, grinned and said in his overly Italian voice, "Hey, don' worry about it, eh? We got the stuff you ordered. Now you just sit down in this nice chair and relax. Rilassare. Esso soltanto IL toom i miei accoliti tre ore di rubare questo Dai Titan's vivendo la stanza."
"What?"
"Uh, you look great in that dress, boss! Good luck!" He skidded away. I turned to my secretary.
"Carrie, I think Bob was hitting on me. Call my lawyer."
A few hours later…
The camera's roll and my studio audience cheers with glee as I walk onto the set, which is set on a stage in Hollywood. The theme song to Teen Titans plays in the background. I wave like I'm Oprah.
"Hello fellow Teen Titans addicts!" I call out when the shrieking dies down. "How are you all doing?" This prompts another series of screams and screeches. I sit down at my desk and pull a lever that sends a huge sign saying, "SHUT UP!" on it, and also featuring the little white aliens from Stranded. Those things were hilarious.
Everybody shuts up...
So I turn off the screen and motion to the crew to turn off the music. The camera's focus on my face.
"Today, we are going to have a very special guest on the pilot of our show. And I mean besides JadeRabbyt's lackeys that are in the back. Give them a hand folks!" The lights and camera's focus on the several men-(and women)-in-squirrel-suits who are in communication with their boss, watching me and seeing how many references I take from her show. They all gasp and scatter in various directions, doing a sort of squirrelly-hop.
The audience tentatively claps. A few people make coughing sounds and some smart-aleck decides to let some wild crickets roam the ground floor.
"Ladies and gentleman, that special guest is the oh-so-cute leader of the one team we truly know and love. He enjoys knitting, the sound of kittens, and glorp."
"HEY!" Shouts a voice from the crowd. "GET YOUR CHARACTERS RIGHT, YOU SICKO!"
"AND TALK ABOUT THE SHOW!"
"AND THE ROBIN/SLADE PAIRING!"
The audience hushes and stares at the one who said this line. No need for the sign here. Nope.
The Squirrels dial JadeRabbyt and start chatting with her.
This is gonna get ugly, really, really fast.
I look down at my notes. Yep. I have the cards mixed up. "Sorry folks! My bad!" I say into the mike. "Anyway, you know him; you love him ("AND SLADE!" "AND STARFIRE, SCUMBAG!"), please welcome…ROBIN!"
Cheers and dancing erupt throughout the room. My henchmen drag in a sugar sack (No burlap here!) and pull out a rather white looking teen hero.
"AH! GHOST!" I shout, kidding around. My audience, half of whom are also Danny Phantom addicts, squeals. Robin stands up and wipes the sugar off of him.
"I hope you didn't eat any of that." I say, smiling with my scary hostess smile. He jumps and screeches like a fangirl, only with more terror and less, um, fangirl-ness. "Never mind."
"Who are you people? Why do you look so familiar?" He looked round the set. "And why is my couch in here?" He whips out his bo-staff, and the crazy audience squeals again.
Well then. I guess they think that bo-staves make a teen smexy. Note to self—buy a bo-staff. And pie. I've been wanting pie all day. Anyway, back to the show!
Robin jumps up onto my desk and looks very intently at my face. A look of dawning recognition comes over his face. "I know you! You're that crazy Watergirl person that made us go to a Sushi bar!" He hops off my desk and jumps into a fighting pose.
The sugar has obviously gone to his head. "It was a karaoke bar." I say quietly. The fangirls screech again. "SING A SONG FOR US, ROBBIE-POO!" Some blond chick yells out. Robin glares at the girl, and I send two of my Mafia guys out to restrain him.
Surprisingly, my men are stronger than the teen hero. Weird.
Robin mentally shoots daggers at me. I smile. "Why is my couch in here?" He asks again.
I blink. "Excuse me?" I put my hands on the desk, very much confuzled. I mean confused. Rar.
He points at the fine example of upholstery. "Couch. Mine." He speaks to me like I'm a friggin toddler. It's my turn to glare.
"Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean you can get snooty with me." I say, waggling a finger in his face. For insult, I add: "Young man." to the end of my remark. The audience sniggers.
The Squirrels decide this is a good time to walk backstage. Ah well. I don't care. Tormenting Titans is fuuun.
"And that couch is a replica. REPLICA. Get it through your head. I can even get Bob in here and prove it." I turn to Carrie and tell her to get Bob, the oh-so-nasty hits-on-teenagers guy. I just try to think about how low his paycheck is and forget it.
But I can't. Ick. Carrie walks away to get said sicko, and I smile sweetly at Robin.
"So, Robin, are you wondering why you're here?" I ask innocently. He sits down on "his" couch and shakes his head.
"Nope. Nope nope nope. I have a basic idea." He stands. "You want to do humiliating things to me in front of the crazy people against my will," I'm sure he means my adoring fans. ", and then watch as I squirm, all for the sake of entertainment."
"That's Hollywood, love."
He rolls his eyes. "Let's just get this over with. I'm sure that my friends are wondering where I am." Robin crosses his arms in a very feminine way and fumes.
The audience picks up their nice interactive notepad things. The guy who sold them to me said they work perfectly, "Allowing the audience to interact directly with you. Only $29.99 a pound!"
He'd better not have been lying. Those things were heavy, if you get my drift. Anyway, I try not to think about it, and I also try not to think about the Squirrel that's breathing down my neck and scribbling something on a piece of paper.
What kind of money does JadeRabbyt get off of her show? She's got to have some money to get 7 guys in stuffy squirrel suits just to breathe down my neck. That's a compliment by the way. Just so you know.
Anyway, the fangirls and guys begin to type questions and requests and stuff. The projector pulls one up and puts it onto the back wall.
"Robin." I say, looking at the screen. "Gigglygr1734 asks: How much hair gel do you use everyday?" I look at him. "The timeless question. Well, Robbie-Poo? Gonna answer?"
"This is stupid." He complains. If he keeps it up I'm going to introduce him to Bob. Then he won't hit on me anymore.
Have I said ick yet?
"Come on, Robbie-Wobbie, it's just one itsy-bitsy question. Can't you answer it?" I employ my baby talk and he blushes. "Or are you..." Dare I say it? I feel that 642 rotten tomatoes are going to fly at me after I say this..."Scared, Robin?" I duck under my desk. Hmm. No tomatoes. But I find a paper clip. Paper clips are niiiiice. I pocket the clip and sit back up.
Six security guards are holding Robin back from launching himself at me. Since he obviously cannot budge, I smile and continue to look at him. The audience seems rather angry.
"Fine! I use half a bottle every day! There! Are you happy?" He screeches. The audience giggles audibly. I push a button on my desk, chuckling. The projector shows another question.
"Robin, this shouldn't be hard to answer, tikila444 wonders your age." Mr. Boy Wonder visibly relaxes.
"I'm 16. I'll be 17 in September." Me security guards let him go, and he sits down in a random bean-bag.
"Wonderful, Robin. I was wondering that myself. Thanks tikila." The question fades off the screen, and before long another is replaced. Before I can ask Robin this almost absolutely intriguing question, Carrie returns to the stage, Bob in tow.
I turn on my glare. "Bob. This stunningly handsome young man" Robin goes red. "Tells me that this couch is his. Do you have an explanation?"
Bob strokes his beard. "Bene, sporgenza, Vi ho detto che la I rubasse la cosa. Non stavate ascoltando? Significo acceso, voi poco twit, non avete pensato appena che questa fosse una replica? Vi ho detto che fosse genuino. Ho significato che era lo strato reale."
"Pardon?" I ask, but my victim--I mean, special guest--gets up and grabs Bob by the neck.
"Whaddaya mean you stole my couch!" Robin easily lifts Bob up off the floor, an amazing feat, considering Bob has got to weigh at least ten thousand pounds. "Voi piccolo delcon artist!"
Ok...this is just weird. I turn to my baffled audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, fangirls and fanboys, if there is any single person out there that has any idea what's going on, please tell me. I am lost. Otherwise, feel free to pelt Bob with rotten vegetables." Bob gapes, and Robin lets him go and dives behind a chair.
The hundreds of pairs of eyes in the audience gleam with malice, and one of my loyal lackeys pass out rotten fruit. Bob runs off stage a few moments later, covered in tomato goop.
"Let's get back to the questions, shall we?" Robin glares, sitting down on what is now his couch and pulling out a bird-a-rang. He toyed with it, and I got the sneaking suspicion that he wanted to throw it at me.
"Robin. There is one question we all want to know, one that has plagued the minds of all fangirls everywhere. There are whole websites dedicated to this question, and yet it remains unanswered."
"Get on with it all ready!" He screeches, fiddling the bird-a-rang again and obviously putting all of his self-control into not chucking it.
"Hold your horses, bucko, I'm getting to it." I pulled up an internet browser and began showing various sites on-screen.
"Forbidden Love, Birds of a Feather, shrines of all sorts, they all deal with this question." I look at him with as much seriousness as I could muster. "Robin, the world wants--no, needs to know."
I stand and walk over too him.
"Robin, what are the relations between your teammates?"
OK, I expect him to punch me. Or shoot something at me. But he does something totally different.
He laughs. It's the sugar, I say. It's gotten to his head.
"You've got to...be kidding me...right?" Boy Wonder gasps when he can breathe. "Relations...that's just hilarious! You...you seriously...think that...HAHAHAHAHA!" He rolls off the couch, clutching his sides. I jump back, not wanting him to drool on my shoes.
"Nope." I state simply. He sobers up considerably and clambers back onto the couch. "And don't play coy with me. We've all seen the way you look at Starfire." I smirk. He turns red. Red. That's a good sign for us R/S shippers. Mentally, I go "Yes!"
He stutters incoherently for about three seconds. Then he sits up straight and tries to compose himself. Tries being the key word. Beads of sweat are still running down his neck. I can see them. "Starfire and I have a completely professional relationship. There are no romantic relations what-so-ever."
I'm tempted to bang my head against my desk. "Ah. Denial. Jimmy! Roll tape nine!" Man, these squirrels need breath mints. All seven of them are standing behind me watching the tape.
I hope Jade doesn't try to kill me.
The tape rolls and there is Robin and Starfire in a cave. Can you guess which cave?
Starfire begins to speak. "How am I to know what you think about me?" Robin goes pale as the recording of him starts to speak.
"OK! OK! I'll talk!" The recording turns off and everyone looks at him expectantly. "So...maybe...I like her...a little..." The audience breaks out in cheers. Loud cheers. He turns red again and melts into the couch.
I take a look at my watch. "And now we have to cut to a commercial break." I wave towards the camera. "We'll be right back!"
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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T KILL ME JADE! PLLLLLEEEEAAAASSSEEEEE SPARE MY PATHETIC LIFE! DON'T SIC THE SQUIRELLS ON ME!