Hawke, taken unawares by the explosion, flew into a cupboard full of flour, sugar, and other dry wares, causing a white cloud to envelop him. He groaned at the pain as he used a moment to recover, but gathered his wits eventually and drew his batons. His eyes glowed a subtle purple as he called out to the rest.<br/>"Gather your wits, titans. That sounded like Deathstroke."<br/>He scanned the room and did a quick head count. He hovers over to Storm, and essentially drags him up.<br/>"Charlotte and the brawlers are unaccounted for."<br/>He turned to Alina.<br/>"Can you track their locations by scent? We must not allow Deathstroke to take hostages."<br/>One goon stormed in the door, by far more eager (and careless) than his colleagues. The unthoughtful advance rewarded him with a still-posessed, still-very-much-hot waffle iron full in the face. Hawke peered out the kitchen door to see five more coming from either side.<br/>"Oh, wonderful. They're here already."<br/>He turned to his fellow titans.<br/>"Seem like normal goons. Who wants to do a bit of pummeling?"<br/>He gives an ever so faint smile. The prospect of combat obviously didn't worry him.