Titans: Rise of Talon

Waking Up

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8:45 SST
The Island, somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean
December 2nd
....

    Richard buried his head into the warm pillow as wakefulness tried to pull him from the sweet embrace of his bed. He hadn't slept this well in so long; he didn't want it to end. The blankets were hot and heavy, wrapping him almost in a cocoon of comfort. He couldn't remember feeling this good, not since he had run away from home and founded the Titans. Not since—

   The teen jerked awake and sat up, forcing the foreign comforts off of him. He had been sick. He was supposed to leave the Tower, because people were coming for him. But Slade came and then...nothing. Only fractions of memory were there to explain what had happened next, and there weren't enough pieces to put it together.

A helicopter.
An operating table.
Slade was there. He was always there.
He wanted to sleep, but that was bad.
Slade freed him from the table.
Someone was coming up behind him.
He had to protect Slade.

   "That can't be right," he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. Protect his worst enemy? Yeah, the mercenary didn't really need help in that department.

The stranger was Slade's friend.
He was okay.
The mask was gone.
He could see his face.
Slade knew.
He was trapped.

    Trapped. In some unknown location. With his arch-nemesis. Well, wasn't that just peachy. He was half tempted to just lie back down and pretend it was all some twisted fever dream, but the urge to explore his unfamiliar surroundings overruled that idea. If he was stuck here, he needed to know the ins and outs of his new quarters, until he could find a way of escape.

   Taking off the blankets brought on a sudden chill, and Richard shivered subconsciously. That bed was still singing siren to him, but he couldn't rest anymore, not with Slade potentially just beyond the bedroom door.

       The teen wonder stood slowly, making sure to find his balance before attempting to walk too quickly. It would be best not to collapse and have Slade walk in at the same time. He'd probably die of embarrassment. Once he had gained his footing, and could walk certainly without leaning on anything, he let his gaze roam and take in the room.

The bed stood on the left wall, if he stood with his back to the main door, with another door near it, presumably leading to a bathroom. There were no windows, but there was a tiny vent in the ceiling letting in hot air.

On the opposite wall stood two large bookshelves with plenty of room for new additions or trinkets he would inevitably find. Hung on the wall right beside the shelves was a collection of various martial arts weapons, ranging from his preferred bo staff and escrima sticks to the more lethal katanas and sais.

   Along the right wall stood a simple dresser and pair of closet doors, as well as a lamp and decently sized mirror. For the prison cell of someone just kidnapped, it was a pretty homey setup. Too comfortable, now that he thought about it.

  This room had been planned for him. The bed was just the right size. The gray color scheme was simple and versatile. He could bet that the clothes in the dresser and closet were probably his size. His apprentice uniform had fit quite nicely...