Garfield rarely won anything. Video games, fist fights, and Pictionary were some of the things Garfield had been especially bad at winning. But after countless games being rubbed into his face, that small muscle in his heart that craved victory diminished, retiring from all that exhilaration.

But he could feel, in his tampered heart, a warming static buzz that vibrated through his chest, making him want to cry and laugh. It could've been from that hot, black coffee Garfield shot down his throat after accidentally eating a cob of corn that had been drizzled with bacon fat—a monstrosity. Although, Garfield preferred to think that this delight came from the sight of Rachel reading a magazine from the coffee table in the common room.

All for the sake of attracting minimal attention, she had woken up awfully early to bus to the library across the Titans Tower and had gotten dizzy from being flown for the first time via superhero. She would never say, but Garfield could tell how shaky she had been after she missed the elevator button the first two times.

But Rachel was finally here. It was a muddy Saturday, she could barely stare at him, and he was as green as the artificial grass in the nearby art academy's football field. No one could stop him from inviting her over as soon as she left the tower the previous night. After all, they weren't able to go through her art history notes thanks to the girls clamoring all over her like she was some new eye candy.

"Say, what did you do with the girls after I left?" He leapt up onto the back of the sofa, toddling back and forth between her and the floor behind him.

Rachel didn't turn around, instead continuing to run her finger along a specific page about paper flower making. That finger dragged along the pale petal of an origami daffodil, gradually missing its target as it soon fell off the page. "You would know. I saw you talking to Richard in the ledge above."

"So did you like hanging out with them?"

"The girls? They're fine. I removed the nail polish when they fell asleep though." She turned around and rested her arms on the back of the sofa, kneeling herself closer to him. "But I think you're less annoying."

"Impossible. I'm a literal animal."

"Animals don't talk. Aliens and super humans do."

"Well, we're talking right now."

"Exactly. We're talking. Yesterday, I sat quietly through two renditions of Twelfth Night." Groaning, the girl palmed her forehead. "They made Viola into a viola that fell in love with a trumpet."

"Did she disguise herself as a trumpet as well?"

"Worse. A trombone."

"Then what was the second rendition about?"

"Mermaids."

"Ouch." He grinned as he fell onto the floor as a cobra, hissing his way up Rachel's leg and onto her lap. "But you can alwayssssss call me if you are ever in need of my fine assssssssitance."

Her eyes widened as she pushed his head higher to her eyes. "You can speak?"

"Obviousssssssly."

"As a snake? Any animal?"

"Of coursssssssse."

"I'm going to assume that the hissing is your personal touch."

"Precisssssely." He slid his way around her neck, adorning her with a scaly green boa. "You up for sssssssssome sssssssssscrabble?"

Robin had lost the scrabble board last summer. The only card game they both knew was Crazy Eights.

And just because Garfield knew how to play Crazy Eights didn't mean he was particularly good. Every time he got an eight, he couldn't resist putting it down; Rachel would annoyingly save all hers until she had one card left. It was infuriating watching her put down an eight and pluck up her next batch of cards, not even smiling at the fact that he was three levels behind her.

Maybe he shouldn't have suggested to play Crazy Eight countdown after he managed to get three jacks, four fives and an ace in his first hand. But seeing her stare blankly at his smug face made him feel horrible. Now her 'smug' face was glaring back at him—he couldn't really see a smile but she knew under that skin that she had been gleaming with delight—and he still sat with his eleven cards, all mismatched numbers in the hearts and clubs suit.

He regretted putting those queens down. And after she put down the mighty queen of spades, Garfield painstakingly picked up five cards, horrified at his unfortunate outcome.

As he groaned every time his turn was skipped or whenever she put down a two on top of his, she stared at his face. He assumed she didn't know he knew about her staring, but something about the way her fingers twitched when she picked up four cards, then three, two and finally, one. On Garfield's next turn, he found out what card that was—a seven of spades.

He pouted immaturely, hoping to gain her attention, but Rachel instead asked to use the restroom and said that Kori had shown her where it was yesterday.

He skittered under the heavy door, wondering what happened to Robin's plan on vacuum sealing them.

His beetle eyes made him dizzy as he stared at the kaleidoscopic image of a cold, grey hallway. Barely twitching a muscle, he checked his behind and his front to see that no one sane was awake and wandering these halls. It was just him, the potted tree Heidi and Bruce Li encased in a tacky picture frame.

He hid himself comfortably behind the leg of the display table, chattering his legs as Garfield stood alone. He counted the few doors to the rooms his tiny eyes could barely see clearly: the warm grey bathroom that was a rave when the lights dimmed, the emergency stairway all the way down to the laundry room that only Richard used when the elevator broke down, a trashed guest room that had been coated in the thick blanket of feathers before the herd of girls left and a bedroom. Someone lonely used to sleep there, but he'd rather not think about it too hard.

Garfield wondered if that was why Raven left. There was no one here for her, no one that appreciated the same books she did, enjoyed staring at the window in silence or had an affinity for that pony show she used to love so much.

He could totally related. He didn't think there was anyone else like him. There were many Robins, other Tamaranians and thousands of people with prosthetic limbs. There weren't any people that had survived Sakutia, turned green, and became the entire animal kingdom. It wasn't very fun being all special and unique when you had no one to share that with.

He wasn't sure that there were any other half demons from Azarath, but he was pretty sure there weren't any others on earth. He knew a bit about the Justice League, and wondered what would've happened if he had told Raven that she was alright to him. Garfield was more than okay with the old books, the dusty old relics, and the stench of incense. Actually, he hated that smell, but never bothered her about it because it seemed to calm her down.

It was right after she'd strike her first match and gently light the sticks that bothered him the most. The little puffs of smoke that pillowed from the pot of ashes she kept close to her bedside stunk of hot coals and burnt beef on that hot summer day Victor decided it was a good time to barbecue some patties in front of Garfield's face. But the more he thought about it, the older the incense smelt. It wasn't as robust as before. It smelt a bit more old and chalky, like someone had attempted to set fire to tinfoil.

He honestly had no idea if it was possible to set tinfoil on fire. But if he had to put an identity to the smell, that was what he would describe it as. It was steely, dusty, and coming from under that door.

She looked awfully guilty. Her lips were pursed in an O, and her eyes were gaped open wider. "I was just curious."

He didn't have anything to say. Garfield crosses his arms firmly across his chest, against the skin that covered the thick ribs that shields his thumping heart. He could still hear it clearly thumping though, taking over the heat of his mind. He tried saying something witty to lighten the mood, but nothing came out but a hot breath.

"Garfield, I apologize." She played with the spine of the book like a piano, pressing against each twine thread. It irritated him as she unconsciously scraped off some of the dust with her nails, carving tiny imprints that would probably not last for more than thirty seconds. It still irritated him. "I accidentally wandered off and couldn't resist looking at this book."

"You shouldn't touch things that don't belong to you."

Her teeth clenched. "I understand. I just didn't know any better."

"I don't think I believe you." His eyes trailed along the fingerprints on the blanket of dust. They were like tiny footprints in fresh winter snow, or the blood dripping down from the queen's fingers before she gave birth to Snow White. Some of the prints were light taps, while there was a specifically long one that dragged along the vanity mirror.

The vanity. There used to be a thin linen sheet that covered the mirror. Now, it pooled onto the ground, rippling like a Roman sculpture's toga. Garfield stared into the matted reflection, catching a repulsive look at the culprit's hands reaching for the handheld mirror behind her.

His hands clasped tightly on her wrist, staring down into the palms coated in grime. "Do you know what this room was?"

"I think so." Rachel didn't sound convinced with herself.

"Do you know who's room this was?"

"Yes."

There was a triangle of yellow that began scoping into his vision, cutting the image of her hand in threes. The toxic yellow fog began cloaking his sight, hovering over a light mist that made his eyes water.

Garfield wanted to ask her to leave politely, because that was the right thing to do. He had manners and wanted to use them, but Rachel had already fled the scene, leaving the room in disarray.

I finally stopped being lazy and decided that today was the day I'd get rid of that awful introduction in Episode 0. No wonder more than half the readers from that episode don't make it to the next.

I put a lot of thought into this chapter. I tried thinking of nice and subtle reference I could add that would feel tasteful. One of my biggest pet peeves in writing is obvious foreshadowing and awful dialogue structure. I also attempted to use the Oxford comma, because I should probably get used to using it.

After rereading my plot notes for a few times, I got stumped with what I wanted Rachel's motives to be. I considered killing her off at the end or adding some giant battle sequence, but action really isn't my style. I'll have to spend some time thinking about it. But I'll make sure that she definitely will not die at the end.

-Catisa~Orsilla