Embarassment. [open]

Music played loudly inside the music store, and the employees sang along, though rather poorly, with the hard-voiced, deep-throated singers on the CD. They moshed in the circular hole in the middle of the store where the rounded couches all lay about as the idiotic teens chuckled and laughed and banged each others heads into the other. Locks of black and pink and brunette and blonde all seemed to intertwine in that circle. It was both hilarious and rather stupid. Yet it seemed an almost daily ritual for these stupid wanna-be punks to do, almost to become something they only wished to be.

Such comedy it was almost sad.

Hands swung in the air, sleeves flowing over arm and hiding their hands. Converses and boots stomped upon the aluminum flooring. The rank smell of sweat and musk of men filtered through the air. It was ghastly, yet the people who practically lived in the store hardly, if ever, seemed too noticed.

Few wooden tables were scattered inside, while thousands of metal stools and chairs were thrown about, tossed carelessly by the employees before they would go into the casual tussle of the store. The counter was long, piled with monitors and CDs. The more, emotionless employees, lined perfectly behind the bar, took orders from the men and women who ventured inside to get their CDs they have ordered via phone or e-mail.

JazzAnn was one of those who ventured into the store to spend away her worries. Of course, she knew when to stop. At times. The store was almost like her home, and since the man of her dreams worked there, she visited the place quite often, and spent almost all her life savings on just about anything her pale little hands can touch.

She had stepped inside rather willingly when she saw the flash of spiked black hair. She hadn’t realized, however, her feet were shuffling rather quickly. Her face grew reddened from embarrassment and smiled as she neared the counter. He was in his usual garb of black shirt and red tie, with his hair in spikes and his gages a perfect lime-green. She moved closer, leaning forward slightly as she folded her arms across the counter and battered her lashes.

He looked up and smiled sheepishly at first.

“Hey, Brent.”

He wasn't one for the whole teen-rebel scene. Alright, so he had been known to raise a bit of a scene. Sure, he had a smart mouth and a heavy dose of attitude, but he didn't expose himself to too much hair dye or push massive objects into his ears. Not that he really needed to. No, when you could change your appearance at will, there wasn't very much of a purpose to doing anything permanent. He preferred to keep a natural facade, however, there were moments where his immaturity got the best of him and he found himself wearing a mask to be, well, a pain.

This time was no different.

He'd heard stories about the girl. Nothing large, his old allies didn't trust him with that much information. Alas, he had managed to hear juicy tidbits about the newest grouping of Titans. Some girl who was horrible at fighting. Some girl who could talk to dead people and wasn't an official Titan. Some girl who had gotten hurt on her first mission. It was the last out of those three that was his particular victim of the day.

Not that he had really meant to. No, poor Brent was often the subject to teenage hormones being directed at him. So when Griffin had walked into the store a few weeks ago and discovered a personal friend worked at the store, he agreed to help him out with this slight problem. The assistant manager had shrugged it off at first, but the holiday season was nearing, and he had decided perhaps he ought to take a few days off. He trusted the former-Titan, as odd as it seemed, and had left his position in the care of a skilled employee. Nonetheless, he had allowed the brunette to poke and probe his way through the bowels of the commercialized pop-culture mega-store, and it was there in which Griffin had been struck by the idea.

Spikes weren't his usual hair style, but he knew that Brent often wore them. It hadn't been difficult to duplicate his friend's usual clothing style. In fact, it was a lot easier than Griffin had hoped to become his friend. He had smirked to himself when he had first walked onto the sales floor, amazed at how easily others had mistaken him for the assistant manager.

Just as easily as the girl in front of him did.

Not that he realized that this was, in fact, the new Titan he'd gotten word of.

"Ah, look who we have here. Can I get you anything, doll?"

ooc;; I told you I would. So now Jazzy gets to meet Mister Griffin in his natural environment.

JazzAnn had at first smiled. Quite frankly, widely, as she saw Brent. He was adorable in a way only she could understand. From Jazz’s point-of-view, at least. However, it wasn’t until his shape had changed into some other guy did she let out a squeal. With that tiny, high-pitched squeak, her lips parted in almost gasping way, her hand rolling into a tight ball, eyes widened with slight surprise, and she let her fist fly. It seemed like a slight blur at first, its speed gaining until it reached the bridge of his nose, between his brows. She assumed it would've hurt. She hoped it did hurt. And she hoped, most of all, the hit she had made was tremendous in pain.

Very, horribly tremendous in pain.

After all, this... Man had deserved it.

No one had ever done such a thing to the young blonde before. Turning into someone she had had a thing for (or what she had considered a "thing") and so, he had gotten his so-called "just deserts." She growled afterwards, returned her hands back to her sides before her hands balled upon her mouth, trembling slightly. She was more scared for her then for his safety. Her blue eyes shrunk down to normality as she wobbled a finger in his face, hands on her hip. She let out a snort, sniffing lightly, before her lips had parted, and it seemed a whole waterfall of words poured from her mouth. Most of which were too immature to speak of again.

She leaned forward, scowling with pursed lips. "That's exactly what jerks like you deserve!" She barked. "You do it again, I'll make sure to make that nose of yours bleed!"

She was certain it already was. Not that she had cared.

At least, not a lot.

Yet, she was surprised. A Super? Here? In the music store only wanna-be goths and punks ever dared to enter? Perhaps that made her a wanna-be... Nevertheless, she was surprised. Very much so. She began feeling some remorse for nearly beating him up. Yet, not really. It was a complicated thing for her. Jazz didn't mind nevertheless. She shifted uncomfortably for a moment, stuffing her hands in her jean pockets as she had pulled back a piece of blonde and black hair from her face. She felt hot; her cheeks almost a bright shade of crimson. Embarrassment, surely.

What should she say?

Brent hadn't warned him that female teenagers would attack.

He hadn't thought anybody had seen the shifting, though, his hair was probably still changing as he had walked out from behind the scenes. And here this girl was, yelling and calling his bluff. Not to mention getting punched by her felt like getting whacked in the face with a freakin' frying pan. He stumbled backwards, allowing the guise to fall into his normal appearance. Luckily, none of the oblivious employees, and he found himself shaking his head to clear his muddled mind.

It was then that the pain came like aftershocks.

He held a hand to his nose, smelling something that reminded him of metal. "Oh, God," he whispered to himself as he held up a hand. Blood. Blood. His harmless joke had gotten some girl to make him freakin' bleed. He couldn't remember being hit so hard, not unless being smacked by a gadget-wielding Super a few years back counted. Sure, he deserved it for being so immature, but did she really have to punch him? He'd have to tell Brent that he was never going into his store. Ever again.

"Holy crap, I was just messing around."

She was a Super, she had to be. No normal teenager hit with that much force. Was this one of the new Titans? Or was she one of the villains? He'd heard about some blonde chick who ran around with her brother, but he'd also heard that the blondie wasn't able to walk. Still, he wasn't as up-to-date as he used to be, and there was a large margin of error for him to work with. He didn't keep tabs on everybody anymore. He didn't listen in on police radio frequencies.

He scowled slightly as he snatched up a tissue that sat behind the counter, holding it to his face to apply pressure. Griffin hoped his nose wasn't broken or anything crazy like that. He may have been able to change his appearance at will, but it was never anything permanent. A crooked nose didn't sound very pleasant.

Oh no.

She did break his nose.

With all honesty, Jazz had never thought she had punched him that hard. No, hot at all. Yet being a Super wasn’t at all too easy when superstrength was in the picture. And still trying not to be so rough was difficult. Especially when someone like this... Man... Ends up teasing her like such a boy. An immature boy who, to put it bluntly, hadn’t quite hit puberty. She chortled at that thought for a moment, letting out a slight snort as she smirked. Soon enough, that smell of blood wafted towards her. She had no idea the blood had been that bad. It was almost horrible in her eyes.

She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. What to say. He probably didn’t want her near him. Still, she moved softly, her hands gentle, as she moved towards him, standing upon tiptoes and leaned forward. She reached up, gently taking hold of his hand and examining the bloody Kleenex. “Here... let me help you.” She murmured. She applied more pressure to it, her voice soft; cooing slightly. She felt sorry, and her motherly instincts began to kick in. Oh, for the love of God, why was she suddenly being gentle? Would he think her as a freak?

Hopefully not.

“I’m very sorry.” She said softly again, gazing into his eyes for a moment. They were sparkling, almost like a bunch of sapphire stars. She was smiling a little, the corners of her lips pulled into a small, solemn smile before looking back at his nose. Her eyes had slid down towards his hands. They were massive compared to hers – and quite frankly, not as soft. They seemed almost rough, like a blacksmith. But perhaps it was that her hands were delicate in the ways of touch. She pulled her hand away, taking hold of the box and handing him another clean Kleenex. She knew he hated the fact she nearly pummeled him into a bloody pulp, which she had figured she’d done to her nose, yet this man should have some sort of sympathy for her.

After all, he did frighten her.

“Feeling better?” She asked softly.

Oh wow, Jazzamatazz. You really are a dumb blonde. You nearly broke his face – what makes you think he’s too happy with you know? She bit her lip and pulled away.

Oy, this day was changing at a rapid rate.

"I guess I deserved that," he muttered, sighing as he leaned against the side of the counter. Go figure. It seemed the entire universe liked to weigh him down around this week, whether or not he was prepared. Was it really so difficult for him to try one little thing after retiring and have it not explode in his face? He shrugged a bit, taking another tissue and looking around to survey the store and its collection of people. Nobody else still seemed to be phased, which he assumed was a good thing. The last thing he needed was to have some employee be terrified of blood and pass out because of it. "It's not so bad. It doesn't seem too swollen yet, just... disturbed."

Griffin paused for a moment. "Next time someone freaks you out, you better try to hold it back." He laughed softly before smirking. He knew the feeling of accidentally screwing something up with powers, though having strength didn't compare at all to changing form. Although, learning to harness your powers and almost having your skin slide off was one memory he'd rather not have. Every hero and heroine eventually got a hold of it, they had to. After all, the alternative was never very pretty. No matter which alternative Supers took, or were forced into.

"Brent's on vacation, by the way. He went to go see his family for a bit before December rolls around." Griffin smirked again and shoved one hand in his pocket, the other still at his nose. It probably wasn't a good idea to bring it up, but he felt that she ought to know after he had scared her. He jerked his head in the direction of a dry-erase board on the wall. "He won't be back until after the whole black Friday shopping day. Mina is taking over his job until he gets back." He gestured toward a petite young adult with long, dyed dark hair and way too much eyeliner to go along with it.

Jazz nodded looking towards the girl he had mentioned. Mina. What a stupid name. She mentally laughed at herself. She thought she was hilarious, if not almost ready for a true test in the Arts of Comedy and Beloved Drama. Or maybe not. Jazz slid a hand through her hair, maneuvering to pull her bangs from her face. She snorted lightly and shrugged, folding her arms across her chest and looked back up at him. “Okay.” She knew she sounded stupid. She usually did. Still, it never seemed to be much a bother to her. After all, she was a girl. What guy would care if she sounded a little... Blonde? She was a blonde, after all. And she was damn proud of that. Well, at least, to a certain degree.

Brent left?

For that long?

Jazz frowned, before shivering lightly. Just the word December was almost chilling to the bone. It seemed to almost seep into the skin it was terrible. Winter. Frost bites. Asthma. How great. It was almost around the corner after all, and news of snow was coming made her nearly scream and leap out of her skin. She shivered again, smoothing back her hair again and smiled, slightly, at his remark. “I’m sure if you were in my shoes, you’d probably do the same thing, doll.” She chuckled lightly.

It was quite a strange sequence happening in the music store. First, “Brent” gets beaten by her fist in public, nearly making a scene (a small scene, but a scene nonetheless.) and then, of course, the apologies and the false “it’s all good’s.” Jazz did need to control her temper. He was almost like her mother with those words.

"You don't believe me that he's on vacation until December." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, as if he knew what he was saying. He tossed the tissues to a nearby bin and crossed his arms. His eyebrows raised and he smirked slightly, forgetting the punch for a moment. Here was this teenage girl, this teenage Super, who had walked in confident and now seemed confused. He assumed he didn't help the situation much, after all, he had gone around pretending to be somebody that he wasn't. He chuckled a bit, before shaking his head.

"It's, like, less than a week, sugar. And then he will probably be back to his usual work schedule. For buying into the scene, he's such a work-a-holic," Griffin added. He waved a hand in the air, as if dismissing the statement. He pushed the hair from his face and smirked again. "So are you one of his fan club members? The ones who peek over the shelves and always come in just to coo over him?" He probably deserved another punch in the face, but he had hoped it wouldn't come to that. After all, he enjoyed being able to safely use his sarcasm in public.

He shrugged. "Not that you really care to know right now, but I'm Griffin." He nodded a bit as he leaned once more against the counter, resting his elbows on the edge of it. He crossed his ankles, tilting his head slightly to the side. A smirk once again slipped onto his face, like he was in on some joke that nobody else was. Despite being just over a bloody nose, he still seemed to have some sort of arrogant ego going on.

ooc;; He adores affectionate terms. Just sayin'.
And eww. I dunno what to say. =/

Jazz doubting someone? That would be the first for her.

“No. I do believe you.” She titled her head for a moment, pursing her lips into a smirking pucker. “You don’t believe that I believe that he’s gone, hmm?” She tapped a finger in the air for a moment, pausing. Was he toying with her again? Boys will be boys, even when they have reached their supposed “adulthood.” She giggled for a moment. “You better hope he does; kiddo.” She winked playfully for a moment, pausing and sniffing slightly.

She was getting cold.

Very cold. Why? It was quite warm in the store. She shrugged at the thought and shifted herself into a lean against the counter, lying her chin in her palm. She wasn’t quite sure as to what to say to that. Yet she screwed up her face in a confused sort of way. She wasn’t sure she heard him right... “Fanclub?” She giggled again. “Wow. The guy must be pretty popular.” She rubbed the back of her neck and shifted again. She managed to push herself upon the counter, crossing her legs at the ankles and looked at the wall behind Griffin. Boredom had apparently struck her face.

“Griffin, huh?” She nodded. “Nice. They call me JazzAnn. Or Jazzamatazz. Or just Jazz. Whatever floats that Sarcastic Boat of yours.” She waved her hand in the air and smirked.

Griffin laughed softly at the prospect of Brent never coming back. It wasn't exactly the thought of his friend never appearing again, it was more of what might happen if he didn't. Would Jazz beat Griffin up? Would he be able to mess with people even more, by sneaking around as his friend? He was certain that he would be upset if his friend just vanished, and a little suspicious, but it was the comedic outlook he was taking. He smirked a bit, chuckling faintly. "Well, I can see you're just as thrilled with the idea of Mina taking over his job for the next week or so."

The smirk continued to light up his face, but he seemed almost disappointed in his tone. "Hm, then, you may not be. You could just be a regular at the store." Griffin paused to think it out. "The population of girls from the age of thirteen to twenty-three that stop by for pretty much the only reason of seeing him. Normally it's the young teenage ones who put on way too much eyeliner and make sure they look all emo-chic before trying to barge in." He gestured across the room to some tiny thirteen year old, her hair dyed all sorts of combinations, wearing bright pink skinny jeans and a low-cut shirt. "Take Exhibit A. She walked up to the counter when the manager was out. He told her Brent was gone, and she's been drifting toward the door ever since. She's in the style because it's closer to his style, probably."

"Jazz," he repeated. Under normal circumstances, he probably would've made some sort of remark about how unusual of a name it was. However, seeing as his given name was Griffin Donovan, he didn't think he was quite in a position to point that out. Unless he ever met anybody named Griffin, then he figured he had more of a right. That, and the fact that she could easily knock the snot out of him. He raised his eyebrows and the usual crooked smile crossed his face again. "Well, nice to meet you. Despite the quite strange first impression."