30Kisses Theme Ficlets
Robin/Raven
By Kysra
Theme #7 (superstar): Face
On the rare occasions they would go out for groceries or a mundane little evening at the park, they were swarmed by fans as if they were superstars being hunted by the paparazzi.
And even though it was annoying as all hell, he couldn't - for the life of him - figure out why they seemed to pay less attenton to Raven than the rest of them. It wasn't so much that he was concerned she'd feel left out. As it was, he would be more than happy to give her the entirety of his share. No, it was more that she deserved the free affection more than any of them. That, and, wasn't the dark and mysterious type supposed to be more interesting?
She would stand and watch or sit and read, alone. Always, always alone when the rest of them were bombarded. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. Just calm acceptance and - dare he think it - quiet gratitude that she wasn't in the middle of the storm of camera-flash and autograph books. He didn't begrudge her solitude. After all, next to her, he was the one who guarded her alone time most steadfastly. Rather, he was concerned at the ignorance of the people who so thirsted for their smiles, portraits, and signatures.
Raven was absolutely essential to the team. She was the calm voice in the middle of a crisis, the last line of defense in a bad situation steadily getting worse. Never prying, always listening, she was the one to go to if you simply wanted to air things out without being bothered with unwanted advice. In a way, she was the very center of their collective sanity.
But no one knew that here, in this crowd of screaming fans, young and old. Certainly, there was a solid appreciation for her physical shape on the part of most of the hormone-driven males within the population; but that was where their appreciation ended.
Personally, if one was so simple as to look only at appearances, Robin - though not immune to the petite stature and lush curves, himself - found that he noticed her face more than the roundness of her breasts and the subtle turn of her hip. She rarely showed emotion, her mouth always that straight line of apathy, her eyes flat and cold despite the vibrant hue of the iris; but when she did, he wanted to be sure not to miss a moment for in those all-to-few instances, he was able to catch bare glimpses of what lay just beyond his grasp.
He thought of every smile as a gift, every frown a sign of trust, and every glare a warning born of care. He loved seeing the rose-kissed blushes that would bloom upon her cheeks when she was pleased or mortified and absolutely hated when her eyes would widen in panic as they did when Slade returned on her birthday.
And she was beautiful through it all, understated - almost . . . timid - in her sphere, tightly controlled and compressed. Perhaps that was why she shied away from the cameras and fluttering, pulling hands and loud screams. Perhaps that was why they shied away from her.
Her value was visible only in her face . . . kept hidden beneath a shadowed cowl.