They'd had to call his name twice before Mikey was able to break away from Pandora's last-minute lessons and guidance. He hadn't even got to watch any of the other hopefuls.
Stepping up to the starting line, Mikey bent down, ass-over-head like he'd seen on the Olympics--that's how you were supposed to run a track, right?--and immediately regretted it. His sword slid from it's sheath, the hilt thwacking him in the back of the head, and dislodging his helmet. Straightening up quickly, the sword righted itself, and slid back into its sheath. Scrambling to grab his helmet before it rolled too far down the track, Miguel rubbed the back of his head (that was gonna leave a knot), and made his way back to the starting point.
Somewhat embarrassed but none-deterred, Miguel bent at the knees, one leg slightly behind the other, and readied himself for the--Wait, how was he supposed to know when to go again?
Mikey gave a start at the noise before realizing he should be running. The first quarter of the track was pretty easy: jump over this, duck under that, don't get hit. He did note he'd have to give up smoking, though. Track and Newports just didn't mix
( ... )
Trained? Miguel hadn't really thought about that. He guessed the lectures from Pandora sorta-counted as training, and that first mission with Vul...Erich was technically training.
"A few months," he guessed, though it had been a less-than-formal system.
Nightwing had returned to the auditorium by now, in time to watch the latest tryout. Kid certainly had potential, in his opinion - his reflexes were sound, and his ability to think fast and on his feet was an asset, but training would be paramount if he'd only been at this for a few months. He approaches the young man now, and offers him his gauntleted hand in greeting. "Nightwing. Good to meet you. Did you put that gauntlet together yourself?"
"I know," Mikey said before he could stop himself.
"Uh, I mean, nice to meet you," he sheepishly corrected himself. Glancing down at the gauntlet, he smirked, "No. It was a gift." The word seethed with irony.
His forehead creases as eyebrows lift. "Really?" Gifted technology in his experience usually means ulterior motives on the part of the giver. Usually. Not always. Especially when the recipient is young and inexperienced. "Do you maintain it, or does whoever gifted it to you take care of that?" He's merely curious; and a little cautious. An unknown third party could possibly represent a security issue.
"Nah, he kinda disintegrated," Mikey clarified, speaking matter-of-factly, "and I'm lucky if I can remember which buttons to push, half the time. But we haven't really had any problems yet--well, since Praetor went crazy, set the Forge to self-destruct, and switched Pandora off, anyway."
Nodding in the android's direction, Mikey continued, "Pan usually makes sure everything's working okay, but considering she's a piece of technology too, that probably shouldn't be that comforting."
Realizing this all probably seemed very confusing to someone who hadn't been through it, Mikey commented, "Yeah, it was a whole ... thing."
"That... does sound like a hell of a story," he replies, not bothering to hide his bemusement at the explanation, but appreciating his straightforwardness. Cyborg would probably kill to get a look at the tech. "What's drawn you to potentially joining the Titans?"
Mikey scratched the back of his head, pondering Nightwing's question.
"Well," he shrugged, "the old-ways of Vulcan didn't work out too well for Erich--the guy who disintegrated--and it'd be a lot easier to figure all this out if it weren't just me and Pan.
"Plus, I'd really like to use my abilities for something other than delivering pizza in 30 minutes or less," he added. There were of course other reasons (five other reasons, to be specific). But they could wait 'til later.
He lifts a hand to try and cover his lower face to stifle the smirk that follows, but he's not entirely successful. "So, um," he continues, still fighting that grin, "How are your swordfighting skills?"
Stepping up to the starting line, Mikey bent down, ass-over-head like he'd seen on the Olympics--that's how you were supposed to run a track, right?--and immediately regretted it. His sword slid from it's sheath, the hilt thwacking him in the back of the head, and dislodging his helmet. Straightening up quickly, the sword righted itself, and slid back into its sheath. Scrambling to grab his helmet before it rolled too far down the track, Miguel rubbed the back of his head (that was gonna leave a knot), and made his way back to the starting point.
Somewhat embarrassed but none-deterred, Miguel bent at the knees, one leg slightly behind the other, and readied himself for the--Wait, how was he supposed to know when to go again?
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Bart's attention is poorly focused.
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Starfire calls down to Vulcan, "How long have you trained?"
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"A few months," he guessed, though it had been a less-than-formal system.
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"Uh, I mean, nice to meet you," he sheepishly corrected himself. Glancing down at the gauntlet, he smirked, "No. It was a gift." The word seethed with irony.
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Nodding in the android's direction, Mikey continued, "Pan usually makes sure everything's working okay, but considering she's a piece of technology too, that probably shouldn't be that comforting."
Realizing this all probably seemed very confusing to someone who hadn't been through it, Mikey commented, "Yeah, it was a whole ... thing."
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"Well," he shrugged, "the old-ways of Vulcan didn't work out too well for Erich--the guy who disintegrated--and it'd be a lot easier to figure all this out if it weren't just me and Pan.
"Plus, I'd really like to use my abilities for something other than delivering pizza in 30 minutes or less," he added. There were of course other reasons (five other reasons, to be specific). But they could wait 'til later.
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From anyone else, it would be sarcasm. From Starfire, it is clearly curiosity.
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