Terra #1 (of 5)

[arcalian]

Terra #1
Story by Jay McIntyre
Art by Steven Howard

[/i][/center]


“I was married once -- in San Francisco. I haven't seen her for many years. The great earthquake and fire in 1906 destroyed the marriage certificate. There's no legal proof. Which proves that earthquakes aren't all bad.”
 W. C. Fields

“An earthquake achieves what the law promises but does not in practice maintain - the equality of all men”
 Ignazio Silon


This story takes place after Teen Titans #59. Special thanks to Tamaranorbust for the help with the restaurant scene.

[arcalian]

-Prologue 1-

Markovia, Sixteen years and four months ago...

The scream of childbirth.

An unwanted bastard was born into the world.

"<We're losing the mother!>" a doctor shouted anxiously.

They scrambled to save her.  The Royal family had refused to allow the mistress of the King to have access to top medical facilities. She writhed in bed, sweating profusely, eyes open but seeing nothing. Screaming.

“<It's a girl,>” a harried voice said.

The mother gasped once more, then let out a blood-curdling scream.....then collapsed in a pool of sweat.

“<She's gone,>” the doctor sighed.

“<But the baby lives,>” the nurse said. “<What do we do with her now?>”

“<Inform the King,>” the doctor sighed.

“<The Queen will never-->” the nurse began.

“<Nevertheless, the King must be informed.>” The doctor's voice spoke with finality.

There were a couple of observers to the birth. Not as unusual as one would expect, given the royal connotation, however unwanted. One of the observers, a short man in a white linen suit, spoke up then with a Scottish accent. “<I can speak to the King, if you'd like,>” he said.

“<That would be appreciated,>” the doctor sighed.

[arcalian]

-Prologue 2-

“<Unacceptable!>” Queen Zenobia screamed in rage.

“<My dear, she has no family now,>” King Viktor said. “<We cannot simply leave her-->”

Zenobia slapped him hard across the face. Four times.

“<The brat child of your second mistress!>” she cawed so fiercely that her voice was fading, but she was far beyond caring. “<Second! Were it not for our legitimate boys, I would divorce you now!>”

“<And I would keep the boys,>” Viktor said darkly, “<And you would be the outcast, exiled and alone. Do not test me. I accept your rage at my infidelity; but I will not accept it towards the child. Is that clear?>”

Zenobia stared at him a long moment with cold eyes. Finally she said, “<The brat is your child, not mine. I will have no more to do with her than I have to.>”

“<That is probably best for all concerned,>” he agreed.

She stormed out.

Neither of them knew that both princes were wide awake and listening. They had heard the shouts, and while they could not make out the words, both of them were bright enough, and had heard enough whispers, to know what the were about.

Gregor, the older brother, crown prince at age 9, was moved to envy and fear of this new, unwanted child they had heard about.

Brion, the younger brother, at age 4, was moved to pity.

[arcalian]

-Prologue 3-

The girl was given the name Tara. As she grew older, he father was fond of her, and sometimes took her with the boys on hunting trips into the wilderness behind the castle. This gave her a tomboy streak that remained with her, which delighted him. But as she grew older and somewhat more girlish in her tastes, he became more distant from her, offering her money or whatever worldly goods she desired, but no real affection. The Queen, of course, despised her, and Gregor also hated her. Only Brion loved her truly, and treated her like a sister. The servants felt some sympathy for her, and she did spend some time with them, whispering in the hallways, especially at night.

As she grew older, she grew angrier and more violent, occasionally running away from the castle (her father or the palace guards bringing her back) but more often committing petty acts of vandalism around the castle, or helping the servants in their petty intrigues. They, in turn, often helped her escape attempts, and were punished for it.

Eventually, things came to a head...

[arcalian]

-1-

Markovia, Four years and seven months ago...

Princess Tara Illyichia Markov stormed out of royal chambers, with the strident cawing of the Queen and the more mocking call of her eldest half-brother echoing after her.

Prince Brion followed.

"<Tara, please-->" he began.

"<No, Brion.  Not this time.  Not even for you!>"  Tara's blue eyes were full of hate.  "<To hell with her!  To hell with them!  To hell with old daddy dearest!  To hell with this whole country!>"

"<You can't just run away,>" Brion pleaded.

At that she stopped, and turned to look at him, trying her best to control her anger.  To not lash out at the one person in the world who understood. 

She did her best to control her breathing.  "<Not just,>" she said finally.  "<And not run, not this time.  No, I'm cleverer than that, bro.  I've always been cleverer than that.>"

She turned away and began stalking down the corridor, more slowly.  With purpose.  With a plan.

"<Your cleverness was never the issue,>" Brion sighed.  "<Your temper is.  What are you planning now?>"

"<I won't tell you,>" she said.  "<But you gave me the idea.>"

"<Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better,>" Brion sighed.

"<It wasn't meant to,>" she said, and kept going.

She didn't look back.

[arcalian]

-2-

Titans Tower, New York City, Now...

The alarm went off.

Tara Markov groaned and reached out blindly to smack the snooze button.

But instead the noise continued unabated, and to it's shrill was added a weak "Ow" from Garfield Logan.

"Sorry," she said, opening her eyes and turning the alarm off properly.

"We should get up," he said, propping himself up on one shoulder.

"It's early yet," she protested.

"Not that early."

"Well," she said, smiling at him, "We may not go back to sleep, but surely we don't have to get out of bed yet."

Gar blushed.  After all this time, he was still sweet.  Maybe no longer innocent, but still sweet.  Sometimes that frustrated her, but most of the time it was endearing.  Like now.

And most of all, he knew what sort of girl she was...not just in purely sexual terms, but all her dark sordid history; what parts of her that, for all her attempts to reform, were dark, low, and mean spirited.  He knew all of that...and yet still loved her anyway.

This amazed her.

Ever since that day when she had rejected Deathstroke's offer and solidified her membership in the Titans, she had been continually amazed at how much all of them accepted her, and Gar most of all.

But at the moment she didn't want to think such thoughts.  Instead she smiled at him, a toothy bad girl grin, and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him upwards even as she rolled onto her back.

Gar was a quick study and knew this routine well; he went with the motion and was on top of her in seconds.  Her fingernails raked down his back, hard.

[arcalian]

-3-

Four years and six months ago....

In the basements--dungeons really--below the Markovian Royal Palace, Tara Markov lay on a metal-and-plastic table.  Above the table hovered an ominous device that looked part laser cannon and part giant syringe.

In the shadows, Doctor Helga Jace smiled grimly down at her.  "<I've refined the process a bit since I used it on Brion.  Your powers will be similar, but not identical.  Are you certain you want to go through with this?>"

"<More certain than of anything I've ever been in my life,>" she answered with equal measures of pride and anger.

Jace chuckled at her naive enthusiasm. “<Very well,>” she said.

She pressed three buttons and threw a switch. The power blazed on and an orange-golden line of energy lanced downwards from the cannon into Tara.

She screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

[arcalian]

-4-

Now...

"Good morning, lovebirds," Wally said to them as they came down to the communal lounge.

“Hey, speedo,” Tara returned.

“What's on the agenda today?” Gar asked.

“We'll be dividing the team in two,” Dick said. “Kory, Wally, Carrie, Donna; with me. Gar, Tara, Vic, Dagon, Rachel; you're the other team. We'll head northeast, you head southwest. Deal with anything that comes up as you find it, standard patrol. Any attack in New York taking priority, of course. Suit up.”

“Very businesslike today,” Tara said, coming over to him as the others ran to get their costumes. Dagon lagged behind a little, wearing the helmet that protected him but still having less than an ideal time dealing with daylight operations. “What's up, bossman? Suspect something?”

“Something, yes.” Dick did not smile, as was his wont. “Not sure what. That's the part I don't like. Now go suit up.”

She offered a sarcastic salute and went to go do that. Predictably, Gar was naked when she got back upstairs, and she wished they had time to play; but playtime was over, for the moment.

[arcalian]

-5-

Four years and five months ago.....

Doctor Jace had put her back in her room without incident. Recovery from the “illness” that was her trauma had taken three days. Not unexpected; Brion had suffered similarly. But the pain.....God, the pain....

She had shaken it off; it was more than worth it. Instead of Brion's games with lava manipulation, she could control the Earth itself. This excited her, and Jace too, realizing how much potential she had. It was Jace that facilitated her escape, this time.

Tara thought it would be some intrigue; in the dark of night or some such. But Jace was going to meet some people; officially it was supposed to be some kind of seminar on genetic manipulation; but in truth she was going to meet members of a secret organization called the Manhunters. Tara stowed away in her car, and by the time anyone even realized she was missing, she was in the more remove provinces near the northern border. Doctor Jace had suggested a disguise, but Tara hadn't given it any real thought until she was out there, alone. Using her powers to steal enough money to sustain herself was easy; keeping from being caught or identified was another. And as she was still in Markovia, it was only a matter of time. So she crossed the border and fled, eventually ending up in Lithuania.

She hadn't really started out planning to be a costumed super villain; it had mildly bemused her to realize that was what she was becoming.

So she had raided a costume shop in the Lithuanian town of Taurage, and came up with the original version of her costume. After some thought, she chose the name Terra for herself, based on the Latin name for Earth.

[arcalian]

-6-

Now....

Terra's team made it to the town of Port Jervis, on the border with Pennsylvania, before encountering trouble.

A bank was on fire. Terra frowned; that reminded her of....

A man came out the door, dressed in red, black and gold. In one hand was a flaming whip; the other held bags of money slung over his back. Four armed thugs in flame proof suits came with him.

Terra's guts turned to ice. “You,” she hissed.

He turned and looked at her, frowned; then smiled. “Why Terra. How long it's been. Heard you went soft.....” then he saw the other Titans forming up behind her. “....ah.”

“Give it up, Smolder,” she said in a furious voice none of them had ever heard her use before. “Don't make this any harder than it is.”

“You know better than that,” he sighed. To his minions, he shouted “Scatter!”

Cyborg blocked the bullets of the first one and then pounded him flat; Terra didn't see where the other ones went; she focused on Smolder.

He dropped the money and lashed twice at her with his whip; she blocked both shots easily with stones she summoned, He turned to run, pulling some kind of gun from his belt as he did so; a new weapon in his arsenal, obviously flame-based.

Terra gave him no time to use it; she clenched her fists and trapped him in a pillar of rock, only his face exposed.

“Well,” he wheezed painfully from inside his stone prison, “At least you haven't lost your edge.”

“Shut up!” she shrieked, and punched him in the face.

“Hey, easy.” Beast Boy landed on her shoulder in the form of a bird. “You know him?”

“He was part of my......of Geomancer's old gang.”

“Ah,” Beast Boy said softly.

[arcalian]

-7-

“I still don't know about this,” Tara muttered.

While Tara had hated the Royal Palace, had wanted nothing but to get away from Markovia at the earliest possible opportunity, it was also the only life she had ever known. She had seen American and Japanese cultural influences on television, of course, and while not an internet person in those earlier days, she had skimmed it and seen things that interested her. But by culture and understanding, she had been Markovian through and through, whatever her feelings about the country. Being a freelance villain had been a culture shock, not only in how other cultures went about their business, but especially in matters of cuisine.

So when Gar had found out that a Markovian ethnic restaurant had opened in New York, her feelings had been mixed. On the one hand, she would delight in eating the cuisine she had been raised on again. On the other, any reminder of her home was always disquieting, at best.

But Gar saw it as being like that visit to the quaint retro ice cream parlor in Philadelphia. When Tara got twitchy about it, he suggested they bring some of the other Titans with them. This irritated and placated her in equal measures; one the one hand she'd prefer a night alone with Gar, on the other the Titans had long since accepted her, and their support would be welcome.

That thought sometimes brought her up short; the Titans had long since accepted her.

It wasn't just that she was accepted—a still sometimes mind boggling thing to her—but that she was no longer even the new girl. That was Carrie, now. Tara was looked on as one of the trusted veterans of the team. She had never found that kind of acceptance anywhere. Not in Markovia, not in Geomancer's crew, not in the Suicide Squad. Well, except for Killer Frost....and Frost had issues of her own.

So they eventually decided that Dick, Kory, Rachel, Wally, and Carrie would go with her and Gar to the restaurant.

The place did not require reservations, at least not yet. Apparently they were trying to drum up business and did not yet want to risk turning anyone away (the Markovian immigrant population of New York was thriving, but small). But they did require formal dress. So Tara had slipped into a little black dress and matching silk gloves. Emeralds glittered around her neck. It suited her style in terms of how provocative it was, but not in terms of how rich and pretentious it was. Carrie actually appreciated the dress code; it enabled her to bind up her wings and hide them under the heavy velvet dress she had chosen. She rarely got to go out in public as anything but a costumed superhero.

They closed in on the doors of the place, amber light spilling out onto the street.

“Relax, it will be fine,” Gar assured her.

Tara hissed a sigh through her teeth.

“I'd thought you'd want to reconnect with your heritage,” Carrie said softly behind her.

Tara quelled her hanger and looked back over her shoulder. “I know why you feel that way, red. But my country isn't a place I ever want to go back to.”

“Perhaps you blame the country too much for what happened to you personally,” Rachel said.

Tara shrugged. “Maybe. I don't want anything bad to happen to the country; just don't want to go back there. Ever.”

“Um, maybe this ain't the best time to point this out,” Gar said, “But your natural accent slipped through a little when you said that.”

Tara stopped and stared at him. “It did?”

“You even dropped a personal pronoun,” Dick said.

Tara stomped her foot. And that hurt; she hardly ever wore heels. “Ugh! Come on, let's get this over with.” She stormed through the front door.

Inside, the lighting of the place was warm candle light, no electric light anywhere (save the kitchens); but the walls were cold stone like a mausoleum. Though the kitchen and dining areas were on the main floor, it nevertheless had the air and feeling of a cellar.

“Welcome to--” the maitre d began, then stopped, and stared.

At her.

“<Princess?>” He gasped in Markovian.

Tara buried her face in her hands. “<Oh no. Please, no....>”

But he was already turning and shouting back into the kitchen in Markovian. “<The princess! Princess Tara has come to us!>”

“<Please, stop,>” she begged him. “<I only came to sample the food of the old country-->”

“<Yes, but we must honor you properly!>”

“<There is nothing to honor! I am an unwanted bastard of the throne, you must know this!>”

The man sobered a little. “<Princess, the crown may not have appreciated you, but we did. The people do not turn away one who was, in so many ways, one of us. You are loved more than the other royals.>”

Tara stared at him. “<What? But....but I...I was never really one of you at all!>”

The man flinched; at first Tara thought he was offended, but then realized he was trying not to bow before her. “<You are not the first unwanted child of the Throne in our history, your Highness. The current dynasty was founded by such a one, did you know that?”

Tara blinked and swayed a little on her feet. “<No....no I didn't....>” And she felt a moment of stunned realization; that was the reason Zenobia truly hated her. Father's infidelity was secondary. Zenobia had always seen her as a threat to her boys. How much it must have galled her to acknowledge Tara's claim to the throne when Gregor died! For all that Tara did not want it.

“<It was Prince Brion who first told us where you had gone, and inspired us to come here.>”

“<Oh he did, did he.>” Tara ground her teeth. “<I shall have to speak to him next time I see him. Really, there was no need to pretend the people favor me.>”

“Uh, Tara?” Gar asked her, but she waved him into silence.

The maitre d looked sad. “<I assure you your majesty, I tell you true; the people do love you.>”

Tara sighed and quelled her rage. “<I am no royal, save by accident of birth. If the people value me, then I appreciate that; but I am royal in name only.>”

“<Nevertheless, you are seen by many as the people's princess. Please, let us honor you.>”

Tara sighed again, heavily. “<All right then. But no ostentatious feast, please. Let me and my companions choose from the menu. One of the reasons I consented to this at all was to show them the food of....of our lands.>”

“<Certainly, certainly!>” But as he led them into the restaurant proper, half the wait staff was bowing and scraping, and one of the cooks had come out to kneel.

Tara sighed. This was going to be a long night.

[arcalian]

-8-

In truth, the evening went much better than she expected. But she wound up having to explain Markovian cuisine to the others, especially poor Gar.

First of all, Markovia used onions much the same way other nations used potatoes. Not only that, but (in relatively small farms with correspondingly small yields of crop, of course) Markovia had more varieties and subspecies of onions than anywhere else in the world. Tara had personally updated several online databases about the various types of onion. The rest of the Titans had never even heard of half the onion subtypes Markovia used.

“Now I know why you use so much mouthwash,” Gar said. Tara hit him, but gently.

Secondly, Markovia liked to combine different kinds of meat in the same dish. Especially what Americans might consider game meat. (One of the many things that had confused Tara when she first came to the States was how many wild geese wandered around unmolested; why the poor did not kill these pests and eat them to supplement their own diets mystified her.) Duck with venison, lamb with goat, bear with boar; rabbit and badger; all of these were common on the Markovian dinner table, mixed interchangeably.

Thirdly, this was most definitely Markovian food, not in any way tempered for the American palate. White asparagus, giant white radishes, many different kinds of turnips. Thick dark breads, like pumpernickel but heavier and more chewy.

Dick was unsurprised by all of this, of course; the detective had done his homework, as usual, Tara guessed. But the others were all surprised by it, especially Gar. Kory was delighted; she tore into the food with enthusiasm. Wally ate the same way he always ate; too much, too fast. Though his metabolism probably gave him an edge in dealing with the large portions. Rachel handled it pretty well. Carrie was, for perhaps the first time, behaving like the birds her wings made her evoke; she pecked hat her food, sparingly and cautiously.

Gar was bemused by the tapestries on the walls, the buxom barmaid, the mustachioed waiters. “It's like I'm back on a Hollywood set,” he said, “Except for the fact that it's real, and a bit less flashy.”

“Hollywood often exaggerates essential truths,” Tara answered, before taking a mouthful of boar. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but....but....” Gar gestured helplessly around.

Tara smiled a little. “I know. Eat your finch.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good thing there are no vegetarians amongst us,” Rachel said, supping from a thick dumpling soup.

“Yeah, guaranteed to offend!” Tara agreed. She and Gar laughed together.

The restaurant was about half full. New Yorkers and tourists, mostly, though a few Markovian families in the back kept staring at her, and bowing every time they got up. Apparently her own people's love of her had not been overstated by the staff.

Her own people? She shook her head.

A waiter approached. “<Majesty, we know you wanted nothing formal but.....>”

Tara buried her face in one hand. “<Please, tell me you didn't do one of those ridiculous flaming deserts?>”

“<No, Majesty. One of the mainstays of the royal table; a single serving carved up into pieces to be shared out amongst your friends.>”

Tara looked around; only Rachel was obviously full. Gar was getting there, but was clearly willing to stay the course. Silly boy. “<That....doesn't sound too unreasonable,>” She said. “<What dish, specifically?>”

The waiter smiled. “<We chose 'Glory of the hunt'.>”

“Oh boy,” she said in English. “Hope you guys are ready for this...” She turned to the waiter. “<Proceed.>”

'Glory of the hunt' was Eurasian forest wolf, cooked medium rare. As promised, they served a slice to each of them. Tara knew the breed's survival had been ensured, both in Markovia and elsewhere. Not for ecological reasons so much as to ensure they would still be around to be eaten like this.

The rest of the dinner went relatively well, though all of them were full to bursting by the time it was done and Tara was able to flee the adulation of the staff.

[arcalian]

-9-

That night, as they lay on the bean bag chair, Tara said, “All right honey, you win.”

Gar turned in the semi dark and looked at her. “Win what, doll?”

“We'll go meet your pa-...the Doom Patrol.”

He hugged her and she sighed.

[arcalian]

-10-

Four years and four months ago....

Terra had found her way to Italy, stealing enough to survive, but not much more. She had finally pulled of a moderate sized job, in which she had secured an emerald and a diamond, but had no idea of where a criminal fence might be. She was filled with despair. Going back to Markovia never occurred to her, but she wasn't sure what else to do, either.

“Hello.”

She whirled, and saw two men standing not far from her. One wore a costume of red and dark blue, the other was dressed in red, black and gold. The man in red and dark blue radiated calm confidence.

She twitched her fingers. “Don't mess with me! I can bring this whole town down on your head!”

He held his hands up. “Relax, we're all on the same side here. I know about your powers. That's why I was looking for you.”

She frowned and did not relax. “Looking for me?”

“Like you, we're in this for money, not altruism. I'm Geomancer. My powers are not so different from yours. This is Smolder,” he indicated the other man, who grinned nastily.

“Oh, I get it. I'm muscling in on your action, huh?”

“Not at all,” Geomancer said. “We'd be glad to have you.” Smolder laughed, as though Geomancer had said something funny.

“Geomancer huh? I guess you've got earth powers too?”

“Exactly. What is your name?”

“You can call me Terra,” she said. “And what did you mean, glad to have me?”

Smolder laughed again.

“I mean,” Geomancer said, “That I have a business proposal for you....”

Continued...


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