Sorry again for this taking so long. It seems I can't be consistant until I get out of school. But never fear, that times almost here! I don't own Teen Titans.
"Commander! The Executive from Unit 12 is here to speak with you!" Ronald informed his boss.
Growing up with the proud gecko-alien heritage that Ronald had everyone expected him to make something of himself. When he came home with the news that he had taken the job as secretary for one of the galaxies richest and most influential people no one was surprised. His family held a socially acceptable party in celebration where his mother introduced him to his acceptable wife whom he got married to an acceptable time of a year and a half later. They had three acceptable children, all average students in school who listened to their mother. Every summer they took an acceptable trip to their grandparent's house where they got spoiled and loved an acceptable amount, then back to their house and school the next year. All the kids went through their acceptable 'rebellious stage' but eventually grew out of it to find an acceptable job for an acceptable wage and start an acceptable family, just as their parent's had. But every day rain, shine, snow, or sleet, Ronald showed up to his job and stayed on his boss's good side.
The Commander looked up from his desk and waved his hand. "Send him in," he ordered, then went back to his computer.
Ronald walked briskly out of the office and to the lobby. Smoothing his suit with his bright red hand he licked his left eye to keep it moist. "The boss will see you now," he said, motioning where to go with his hand. The scared young man stood up and walked slowly down the short hallway, repeating what he had to say under his breath. The poor boy's gills were quivering, his blue-green skin starting to goose bump. Those peixes aliens,Ronald thought to himself, all of them cowards. He quickened his bouncing pace so as to arrive at the door first, and open it for the youth. They both walked into the office and Ronald motioned for the Peixes to sit in one of the plush chairs facing the boss's desk. Standing behind the chairs Ronald took out his note-taker, pressed the record button, and cleared his throat softly.
"Sir, Executive Cavan Peggory here to see you," he informed the Commander. "Head of Unit 12, the experimental gene research department. He's here about the green boy's case."
The Commander nodded and looked at his employee. "I'm expecting good news!"
"Well sir," Peggory cleared his throat nervously and continued. "We can't seem to make any head-way with either of the genes we've been given. . ." he sputtered out at the dark look coming over the Commander's face.
After a beat of silence the Boss lost his patience. "Well! Why not?" he hissed at the Peixes.
Peggory cleared his throat again and continued. "Well, the genes from Metamorphic Protean seem stable enough—"
"The what?" the Boss seemed to be getting more angry.
Again, he cleared his throat, "The, um, the green boy, Sir." He coughed slightly but continued when the Commander sat back, slightly pacified.
"Well, his genes seem perfectly stable when you first look at them, but when we try to re-create their structure into anything bigger than a couple cells it collapses. He's a scientific wonder! Every time, no matter the environment or stabilizer we put our creations in, they fall apart after a few hours of growth," he had started to rant but stopped suddenly after catching the cold glint that started to fill his employer's eyes. Changing the subject he switched to the young woman.
"As for the empath, -err, the dark girl," again he cleared his throat. "We've found a way to nullify her magic and create a clone, but when we try to give the clone power. . . Well, they don't last long, that for sure. We've lost four lab technicians just in the explosions they set off! If we try to continue down this line of creation we won't have a lab to work with anymore."
The Boss stood up from his chair and walked over to the liquor cabinet, making himself a glass of scotch. He held it up to the light and started talking. "Did you know that this scotch, single malt, made in the Speyside region, wonderfully peated and aged, it was made on one of the most primitive planets in our universe?" He gave to glass to the Peixes and continued. "A little mottled blue-green speck of earth, and they can make something so beautifully timeless. . . You know, when I bought it from the maker I asked them, I said, 'how do you do it? How do you make the flavor so heavenly?' Do you want to know his answer?" He paused and waited for Mr. Peggory's vigorous head-nod. "'Love,' he said. 'Care for it, love it, watch it mature, and it will become what it's meant to be.'" He turned toward the window and looked out at the view. "I'm cutting the project for this pair. You can focus on other things Mr. Peggory. Now go back to your lab and leave me be."
The Peixes quickly scrabbled out of his office, just about tripping over himself in his haste. When the door shut behind him I turned to look at the Commander. He had grabbed the un-touched glass of scotch and was tasting it. He was still facing the window, looking at the great expanse of his collection. After a minute he said, "Send in Ms. Fantoccini, I have a job for her." He turned his back on the zoo behind him he sat back down in his chair. "And get me the files on the earthling mechanic's security system. If she's to steal my pets for me she must have the blueprints."
Sending you all love!