Zach let out a yawn as he got to the starting mark. A few gestures, and he teleported halfway through the lap, then attempted to teleport to the finish. He could have made it in one shot, but that would just have been in the same spot as he started anyway.
Pressure of being observed by senior Titans... riiiiight.
Zach started gesturing for his second teleport, wondering why he even needed to bother with the tryout. Unless it came to someone on Superman's level, how were costumed vigilantes or metahumans supposed to measure up to magic?
The Briefing Roomgreatest_zataraNovember 26 2008, 05:31:39 UTC
Zachary, cleansed and changed from his run on the training course, waited outside the briefing room. He'd been told to report there to speak with someone. He knocked firmly at the door.
Re: The Briefing Room_nightwing_November 26 2008, 19:14:40 UTC
"It's open," comes the response, slightly muffled though the door is slightly ajar. When he pushes it open, he'll see that Nightwing is there, alone, seated at the head of the long briefing table, apparently absorbed in paperwork.
Re: The Briefing Room_nightwing_November 26 2008, 23:58:09 UTC
He'll take his time before he gives the kid his attention; perhaps as a subtle note that not everything about this operation or this event is about him. After a few moments, he sets the papers and his PDA aside, apparently satisfied for the time being, and clasps his gauntleted hands in front of him on the table before looking expectantly at him.
Virgil was next up, hovering a few feet over the ground thanks to his magnetically-charged board.
He flew down the track, by passing the need to dodge the motion-sensing paintball guns by using his power to redirect the weapons, and swerved with ease around walls that popped up out of the floor. Suddenly, "Ah, crap!" Static was sprayed with water, completely shorting out his powers, causing him to fall to ground.
He picked himself up quickly, barely getting out of the way of a volley of paintballs, and dashed down the rest of the track, ducking, dodging, and weaving where necessary, finishing the track paint-free.
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
( ... )
Comments 114
Pressure of being observed by senior Titans... riiiiight.
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Bart offers helpfully.
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He sat down in front of the table, sitting upright rather than any kind of slouch, waiting to find out what he was there for.
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He flew down the track, by passing the need to dodge the motion-sensing paintball guns by using his power to redirect the weapons, and swerved with ease around walls that popped up out of the floor. Suddenly, "Ah, crap!" Static was sprayed with water, completely shorting out his powers, causing him to fall to ground.
He picked himself up quickly, barely getting out of the way of a volley of paintballs, and dashed down the rest of the track, ducking, dodging, and weaving where necessary, finishing the track paint-free.
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"It's good that you don't totally rely on your powers - how long does water short you out?"
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Bart rubs his chin, considering the potential applications of having such a power on the Titans roster..
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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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