Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans or Luigi from the Mario Bros. franchise
This Chapter's Cast of Characters:
Robin: Richard Grayson
Raven: Rachel Roth
Takashi Genrou: the manager/owner of The Desert Rose Club
The portrait described in the Pit is an actual painting I saw at the Acme Art Gallery in Los Angeles. (Yes, that's its real name)
The poem Taka recites was written by Guiraut de Boneilh
Chapter 4
The Desert Rose was really a club for the 16-24 year old set. On weekends, it was filled with people and the noise and the bar was always hopping. On weekdays, though, that was a different story. Those were the days that the college crowd would wander in for coffee, happy hour, or an after class drink with friends. The Desert Rose was divided into three spaces: the Bar, the Floor, and the Pit.
The Bar was what a person would expect it to be—a long black piece of wood where one could get beverages and (if you were really brave) a bowl of slightly stale pretzels. Right in front of the Bar was the Floor. Slightly raised above the bar floor, the Floor was a dance floor large enough to hold the weekend crowd and a small stage for the rare occasions when the club had a live band.
The Pit was in the back of the club and separated from the front by a long hallway where the restrooms were located. Far enough away from the front—and with the help of a few soundproofing guys the owner knew—the music from the dance floor didn't disturb the atmosphere of the Pit whatsoever. The Pit was a sunken oval of comfy, cushy couches, low slung, artsy coffee tables, and a small stage in the center. Artwork hung on the walls—both abstract and traditional, with a lot of video game character portraits. (The one of an elongated version of a depressed Luigi from Mario Bros. especially intrigued Rachel.) All of the paintings had dark tones to them, with a splash of color here and there, but those added to rather than distracting from the atmosphere.
The Pit also featured a deceptively small coffee bar in the very back that served everything from coffee to fruit salad to wheat germ. All in all, it was the perfect venue for a poetry reading.
"You're so lucky your birthday was on a Thursday this year, Rach. Otherwise we'd have to battle through a bunch of teenagers to get here," Richard commented as they entered the Pit. Motioning to a dark blue velvet couch near the stage, Richard waited until Rachel sat down before placing his jacket on the arm of the chair. "Do you want anything to drink?"
Nodding, Rachel answered, "Some Green Tea—Japanese Cherry if they have it."
"One Japanese Cherry Green Tea, coming up." And with that, he left toward the coffee bar.
Looking around, Rachel noticed that the crowd was made up of mostly college kids and older high schoolers. "Why doesn't the owner put an entrance in the back then?" she wondered. "Right next to the coffee bar would look good, maybe. It's far enough from the main parking lot that most of the people who wanted to party would ignore it."
"I'll take that under advisement," a voice answered.
Twisting her head toward the new voice, she saw an eighteen or nineteen year old man standing beside the couch. He had straight dark red hair that was striped with black that hung to his shoulders. Golden cat-like eyes peered at her with interest glowing in them. A white silk long sleeved shirt covered his toned chest and black leather pants covered his long legs.
"Why don't you sit down?" Rachel asked, in a good enough mood to be friendly. "Staring at you is kinda hurting my neck."
Letting loose a husky laugh, the stranger sat next to her and held out his hand. "Takashi Genrou," he said. "The owner of this fine establishment. But my friends call me Taka."
Taking his hand, Rachel felt the jolt of electricity through their joined fingers. Of course, the surprise didn't show on her face—her widening eyes, though, told another story. "Are you my friend Mr. Genrou?"
That laugh again. "I would hope that you would deem me worthy of such an honor, my lady," Taka responded. "But it's Mr. Takashi. I'm Japanese, so I usually say my last name first. By the way, I didn't seem to get yours."
Not noticing—or caring—that her hand was still in this virtual stranger's hand, Rachel answered. "I'm Rachel Roth."
"What a beautiful name," Taka murmured. "Would you mind if I—"
"Here's your tea, Rachel." A mug and tea kettle settled noisily onto the coffee table in front of them. Richard then sat on her other side and stared at the stranger. "And you are? I don't remember seeing you around here before."
"Richard…" Rachel whispered threateningly. "Behave yourself."
If Taka heard that little part, he gave no sign. "Takashi Genrou," he said smoothly. "I'd heard that Richard Grayson was a regular in my club, but I didn't dare to believe it. How is Bruce?"
Whipping her head to face Richard, Rachel looked at him with shocked eyes.
Grayson! She thought, shocked. Robin's secret identity is Richard Grayson?
"Bruce is fine," Richard answered coolly. "I didn't realize that you owned the Desert Rose. I thought that your father hired managers for your clubs."
Shrugging his shoulders, Taka said, "Own, manage…same difference. I must admit that I'm not in this one very often. Though I might make it a habit to drop by more frequently if women of Rachel's caliber are in attendance."
"Not likely, Takashi," Richard growled. "Tonight's a special occasion."
"Oh?" Taka asked, raising his eyebrows. "Celebrating an anniversary perhaps?"
"No," Rachel said, speaking up. "It's my birthday."
"Well then, Happy Birthday, Rachel," Taka said, kissing the back of her hand—which he still held. "Drinks are on the house."
"She's only sixteen, Taka," Richard bit out.
"Not all drinks are alcoholic, Dick," Taka drawled. "I'll make sure you get a refund for that pot of tea. Japanese Cherry isn't it?" Without waiting for an affirmative, Taka stood up. "I must go check on the poet—it's already 7:15. Enjoy the show, dear Rachel."
After he left, an awkward silence descended upon Rachel and Richard.
"You two seemed a bit cozy when I got here," Richard said, coolly.
"You two seemed a bit macho when you interrupted our conversation," Rachel responded in her usual monotone.
"What do you expect, Rach?" Richard said, running his hand through his hair. "He was hitting on my date!"
Since she was pouring her tea into her mug at the time, Rachel's right hand jerked and spilled some tea on her left hand. "Oh!"
Sighing, Richard pulled out a white handkerchief—cotton, not silk—and dabbed at the redness on her hand.
"My hero with his very own white hanky," she joked. Staring at their hands, Rachel sighed also. "I thought we went over this, Richard. We're friends. Only friends. We can't be anything more."
"I know that." Richard said. Lifting his head to look into her eyes, he brushed her hair away from her face. "I know that and that's all I'm offering. It's just left over testosterone from Takashi. We knew each other in prep school," he answered her silent question. "We've never gotten along well."
Both remained silent for a while, knowing that Richard's reaction went beyond that of an old prep school rivalry.
"Hmmm…" Rachel left it at that and sat back to listen to the man now on the stage.
It was Taka.
"The poet for tonight wishes for a few opening acts—as it were—so here I am. This is one of my favorite poems," Taka said into the microphone. His voice was the voice of a poet—all honey smooth and whiskey deep. "It's written by Guiraut de Boneilh." Taka then looked straight at Rachel and smiled. "Happy Birthday, Rachel."
So through the eyes of love attains the heart;
For the eyes are the scouts of the heart,
And the eyes go reconnoitering
For what it would please the heart to possess.
And when they are in full accord
And firm, all three, in the one resolve,
At that time, perfect love is born
From what the eyes have made welcome to the heart.
Not otherwise can love either be born or have commencement
Than by this birth and commencement moved by inclination.
By the grace and by command
Of these three, and from their pleasure,
Love is born, who its fair hope
Goes comforting her friends.
For as all true lovers
Know, love is perfect kindness,
Which is born—there is no doubt—from the heart and eyes.
The eyes make it blossom; the heart matures it:
Love, which is the fruit of their very seed.
Rachel sat in shock. Taka just recited one of her favorite poems word perfect. Taka just dedicated that poem to her for her birthday. Taka just met her that night! Interesting bastard, Rachel grudgingly thought, impressed beyond all belief.
Richard sat in a rage. Taka just succeeded in winning the attention of every woman in the Pit. Taka just won Rachel's—his date's—attention. Taka just met her that night! Smug bastard! Richard angrily thought, annoyed beyond all belief.
Neither noticed the fact that the featured poet came onstage at that point. Neither did they notice the glowing golden eyes that watched their every move for the rest of the night. From Rachel's first sip of tea to the sight of her clutching Richard's waist as his motorcycle peeled out of the parking lot, golden eyes watched.
And planned.