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five phones on the table

DCU, Titans Rating: Gen 1,077 words AO3 A look at the fab five by looking at their phones. Sometimes you want to try something weird with your writing style so you get an idea and call it a character study. This is what comes of that.

The long table with its numerous chairs was, by proximity to the kitchen, a dining table but due to the nature of the building it occupied doubled as a meeting and strategy table. The small net, paddles, and light plastic balls stored in an innocuous box in the kitchen meant it tripled as a ping pong table.

Currently, its occupants were not any number of the young heroes who were welcome in the halls. No one sat eating breakfast, though a ring of coffee and stray bit of egg would need to be cleaned off, or tinkering with anything from weaponry or gadgets to video game controllers or motorcycle parts. No drops of blood from emergency triage covered the top or powdery strings from aerosol cans thanks to prank wars.

Instead, five cell phones lay abandoned in the otherwise empty rooms. As useful as they can be, even just to stave off boredom on a stakeout, their owners weren’t in the habit of grabbing them when danger called and they rushed to face it. While their owners had grown in time with the rapid developments of cellular phones — and regularly used and fought the cutting edge of technology — these were not like the phones they started off with. They were much more fragile. Their first cell phones had survived punches, drops, outer space, and arguably a bullet from Deathstroke the Terminator. Even the ones built by WayneTech now had a tendency to shatter when slipping off the kitchen counter.

The first of the phones was indeed a WayneTech phone, one that technically speaking was still in the design phases of development and wouldn’t even have a prototype for another two years. Yet, on the table it sat in a sturdy black case that was nicked and worn. A once bright red and blue S in a shield sticker was on the back, though it had faded and begun to fray with age. The screen flickered to life every few seconds with a notification coming in. The small rectangles showed only the app the messages came from and the name of the sender, nothing more. Small bat: Little Bro. Small bat: Little Bro. Yellow ghost: Babs. Green speech bubble: Amy. Green speech bubble: Alfred. Small bat: Boss Man. The picture that was barely visible through the notifications was of an elephant dressed in finery, a big top circus tent blurry in the background.

The next phone was older and more beat up than the first. It was made by a company that used a fruit for its name and image. The owner had been given it and it had been gotten for free, part of a family cellular plan years ago. The red case it called home was just as worn as the phone itself with its cracked screen. Though it was slim and light with a chipped yellow lightning bolt painted on the back. The spiderwebbing lightning bolt in the glass showed a young woman’s sly grin as she stared down the camera with her arms crossed. “Linda Calling” framed her. When no one answered, the image changed to a picture of three people with their arms loose on each other’s shoulders. A man with bright, tangled red hair and sparks of freckles, the same dark haired young woman with almost perfect teeth, and another man with long, pale orange hair and a wry, almost annoyed expression. Their faces were covered quickly by the “Missed Call: Linda” notification.

The third was newer than the last and though made by the same manufacturer as the first it was older than that one. In a hopeful optimism of its owner, there was no case. Which was odd as the camera was one of the best found in a mobile phone and many with the same model took great pains to protect it. Which isn’t to say that the owner wasn’t careful and didn’t go through great pains to care for it. The layers of metallic colored stars that stuck to the back helped to prove this as one fell into wear, another bright shine took its place. The photo on the screen of the other side had been taken using that excellent camera by the owner. A large group of people, all carefully posed yet laughing and antsy at the experience, at a picnic or a party. The people all called this building home and the people who moved through it family. A single text message came through from a “Diana” that began with “Dear Sister,” and then was cut off.

The fourth phone was bulkier, chunkier, than the others. It was carefully custom made to withstand the pressure and depths of the deepest seas. One of just a few in the world. It lived in an airtight waterproof case and was kept charged due to what some could only describe as magic. Despite the practicality of the case, it still managed to impart some individuality. A deep, almost royal blue, it was covered in a swirling pattern that some might think of as waves, and others flowers. Its screen stayed dark, though there was a message from much earlier. A small note of encouragement from a “Dolphin” overlaid on a serene image of crystal blue water shining in a lake surrounded by verdant trees.

The fifth and final phone was in as bad of shape as the second. An almost out of date model by Queen Industries, a company that no longer existed or at least not in that capacity. Though the owner would regularly take the small device apart, tinkering and updating the small wires and computer chips within. A thick, almost violently pink case had taken the actual brunt of the wear. Most of the back was covered by a sticker that was the image of a tweet with the immortal phrase “Help me obi Juan whoever the fuck you are.... You're my only ho.” The image on the screen was a young girl in a princess dress and a yellow Robin Hood hat grinning and waving at the camera. It was easy to assume her name was Lian as the text from an “Oliver” could be read saying “Daddy it’s Lian. Love you. Stay safe.”

It might be a few hours and a few battery percentages later, but eventually the owners would come and collect them. Would respond to the notifications. Maybe clean up the bit of egg and the coffee ring on the table.

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