Clipped

It just so happens that I don't own Teen Titans and am in no way affiliated with DC or Cartoon Network. Why, no! I'm not at all... bitter...
Oh, and by the way, if you don't happen to be of age to view adult material as determined by your local legislature, stop here. Good children don't read these things.

Of course... I was never a good child myself, and I don't really have any way of stopping you... And I don't put no stock in no guv'mint no how as far as the internet's concerned... Hey, look! A penny! I'll just look the other way in order to better perceive said shiny object.


* * *

"Pawn To Queen's Bish-Op Three."

Massive, thick, hairy, the paw descended with all articulate care to gingerly reposition the selected piece.

The flat, electronic drone. Halting. Staccato. All for effect. For all its complexities, it would have taken very little to replicate a human voice. It served no more purpose than the light that strobed at every syllable.

"It Is Your Turn, Ti-Tan."

Or rather, it served the same purpose. That dome didn't need to be transparent, either. This was nothing but a single, mutatedly large organ, doing all it could to make others aware of the fact. To accentuate that it was as naked as any organism had ever been. To... highlight... it.

Robin gave no indication of the pun his train of thought had delivered him. Remaining statue-still, precisely as he'd been dropped in the chair, he did not so much as clench his jaw while he weathered the mental image he'd created. He would not smile. He would not laugh. He was not giving in, he was not cracking up, no matter what they tried.

"Mon-Siur Mal-Lah."

Not losing a second to hesitation, the body responded obediantly to The Brain's command, lashing out with a single arm. Striking with the back a gigantic, crinkled hand. Sending Robin's head rolling on his shoulders, lifting him from his seat and setting him tumbling.
He imagined the force rocking him as a wave and it became easier to just go with it, unresisting. He ignored the pain. They were not getting to him.

His vision was a gauzy haze, his ears rang dully. His body, wrapped tightly in a dense, unidentifiable ribbon, sailed face-first to a thick wall... But... There was no way. The chess-board sat at the center of a room so large, so stark and otherwise empty, that it could only be a theater to the game played. There was no way he'd been hit hard enough to span that distance. The force necessary and the point of impact would've decapitated him.

The ape bent to retrieve the crumpled, costumed heap and Robin sagged, ragdoll-listless, in the harsh grasp. Detachedly, he noted that he'd actually landed against the floor. It made sense, he supposed. It was alot closer.

He was deposited in the chair, again and just as roughly. The gorilla took his post at the side of the board, again, silently waiting to enact a specific set of commands. Robin's head was tilted, again, to face the stylized skull marking the front of the life-supporting cylinder.

"Make Your Move, Ti-Tan."

The insinuation of the situation was not lost on Robin. He was restrained, almost totally immobile, save for his neck and jaw. The Brain intended to engage him in this game, a purely cerebral arena. He was to speak his moves aloud, precisely as his opponent did, and Mallah would move the pieces.

This was how The Brain gloated.

"Do You See, Boy Hos-Tage? On A Lev-El Play-Ing Field, In My El-E-Ment, You Have No Chance."

"Mon-Siur Mal-Lah."

Thirty seconds to the warning, thirty more to the penalty shot. Robin wished he hadn't noticed. It was every thing he could do to not brace himself, to keep his legs from intercepting the oncoming ground. He thought of crash-dummies. Collision data. He'd ruin the reading if he didn't stay limp.

They'd get nothing from him.

This, too, was how The Brain took his answers. How he posed questions. It was the only explanation Robin could conceive for why he hadn't been encased already... Put on display...

"I Know That You Are Fam-I-Li-Ar With This Game. I Am A-Ware That You Know The Rules."

Hotspot... Wildebeest... And Robin couldn't guess how many others. How many more taken as trophies. And he'd handed it to them.

The Brain intended to analyze his game, to interpret it and guess at what he'd taught his team, what contingencies they had in place for this situation. That was Robin's value now that he'd been removed from play.

And that meant the Brotherhood hadn't won. Wasn't going to win. They'd only gotten this far by capitalizing on one stupid, little mistake. The Brain assumed too much. He'd never drilled his team in anything of the sort. He wasn't an example to any of them. None of them would even attempt to play it like him.

But... There was no telling what he could end up betraying to The Brain. God only knew how crossing his legs and moving a knight to defend his queen would be interpreted.

Twenty-seven... Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine.

Time to end it. Robin was sitting bolt-upright, jolting into activity as if just now entering the room. His smirk said watch this to the ape before he rounded on the backlit jar in front of him.

"I'm not buying it," he stabbed, holding his voice as firm as he was able. It wouldn't do to sound broken now, to affect any manner of bruised quality. He needed to sound convincingly scathing. "Mento derives his host of psionic abilities from his helmet. Robotman exists in your exact condition. Either example could be adapted readily for your use and I don't believe for an instant that it hasn't occurred to you, as if you were any sort of transcendental intellect and couldn't be bothered. You can't possibly expect anyone to accept that you're just too vain to wear glasses."

Robin peered across the board and into bare, sculpted gelatin, sure that it stared back but did not penetrate his mask, could not travel down his eye-sockets to confront him fully.

Big finish.

"Whatever happened to your pithed frog of a body, anyway?"

The great, bellowing roar was almost right in his ear. Mallah struck, not waiting for the order this time and just a bit harder than before. The haze had turned purple, a muted explosion projected upon Robin's eyes from behind. Consciousness was a thing recoiling, pulling back from his field of vision, drawing a curtain in front of the screen, and it was good. It was all good. He could hit the wall for all he cared, and he wished his friends all the luck they were due.

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So... Yeah, no citrus here. Next chapter, I promise. I swear this to you on a stack of whatever reading material you hold most precious. Just wanted to get something up. Specifically, before I saw the next episode and decided to start over again. 'S all 'bout inventing commitments for myself, so let's just call this a teaser. Depending on how things turn out, expect an AU label.