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Chapter 2: 20 Questions

Speaking of hands, I think there's one waving in front of me.

I guess I should look up. But I think I already know who it is.

And I think I'm going to have to answer some questions.

Some questions…

…that I don't want to answer.

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The walk down the hall was awkward, not that awkward is very uncommon. Awkward is simply awkward. But then again, so is the moment after Starfire asks you to try one of her oh so "delectable" Tameranean specialties.

And am I the only one to notice that they always happen to be puddings? Are they even supposed to be puddings, or some weirdo concoction gone wrong?

Anyway, back to this awkward scene. Is it just me, or are these lights a little dimmer…a little…creepier. But of course, creepy is a part of me, so I shouldn't be talking…or thinking, I guess.

My string of awkward thoughts faded away to tiny mumbling among my emotions, and I focused on the swaying cloth of the caped crusader in front of me. I sped up to match his pace only to find him speed his up to keep the distance the same. Is he always one step in front of everyone?

I let my eyes slide down his form from the (very high) tip of his spiky, black hair, down past his rugged shoulders, swirling ebony cape, down to the metallic ivory of his steel-rimmed shoes.

Sheesh, I bet military buffs didn't even wear shoes like those. The guy's got some taste.

I mean, who'd want to prance around bashing bad guys in metal clogs? No wonder his kicks hurt. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of those silver death inducers. Although I am exposed to that uniform every day of my existence. No wonder I don't drive. I've been exposed to obviously harmful toxin waves from his traffic colors. How…unique…

The sharp clicking of his soles ceased and drew my attention back up from my bizarre reverie.

I looked up to realize I had been led to my very own room. Confused, I stared at the teenager standing before me. I'm sure a look of puzzlement was evident on my clean-cut face. Nothing to hide behind. I was positive I would have been led to some closed, confined place where no one would bother us as we "talked"—and by talked I mean Robin asking me questions and me trying to find answers. Of course they were all lies, but honesty doesn't get you very far.

I mean, "Honest Abe"? What happened to him? Some lunatic with a grudge decided to plant a bullet in his skull and the guy died painfully, if not near instantly.

And besides, you don't think politicians win elections with…truth, right? It's just all fake promises to get a cool job and pay back all your debts by giving lousy people important jobs. And then, the entire city falls apart.

But once again, I shouldn't talk, because I could accidentally blow up this entire planet just because someone gets me angry. That's not very promising. So I'm like the politician that doesn't give a about politics.

Oh, and blanks, they're meant to be filled in, with imagination.

Robin clears his throat bringing my eyes back up to him; the thoughtful glaze leaving my irises. He nods his head towards my gray door and for once, the black letters spelling my name seem menacing. I stare at the writing until the colors seem to mix and contort with spots, and then walk to the door. It slides open and I walk into the vaguely lit area near my bed. He waits until I sit down and stares long enough for the door to close, irritated at waiting for the young hero to proceed. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven seconds of staring at the straight steel and it slides again, the tiny plastic sphere at the bottom wheeling to the right and then back to the left until the door whirs shut once more.

I simply watch him as he approaches my bed. He stops a foot short and I watch his mask, knowing he is waiting for the pupils behind to dilate. I can almost see it when they finish adjusting and scan my face for any evidence of emotion.

I foresee this, and reflect an image void of emotion while his eyes regulate to the lighting.

At first I'm not sure if he knows I'm hiding my emotions or not, because his own face is annulled of emotions, as well, but then I realize that his emotionless mask is a give away.

So is his skin.

He radiates heat and my demonic senses analyze it to be pure anger. His anger is almost…

…primal.

And it scares me, puts ice to my bones; freezes my blood, even the…impure part. How can so much heat feel so…

…cold?

Shouldn't it…

…burn?

Robin…

Something of the icy-purest kind is troubling him.

I knew he was going to ask me questions when he interrupted my train of thought from this morning; causing my butt to land on the couch pillow below me. But I didn't think it would be this unusual.

I'm not getting impatient—it's worry that's clouding my thoughts. And not even worry for myself, but for Robin.

His voice breaks through the barrier of quiet, and almost startles me.

"Raven, I'm going to have to—"

I'm so evile. Muahahaha…yeeahhh……I'm not gonna force u to review, I'm just gonna say that they boost my confidence.

:)Spunksterdawg