playinginsand | (no subject)

(no subject)

The first thing about patrolling in the 'new' Gotham is the skyline, Tim has found. The earthquake and subsequent abandonment mean that not only is the skyline utterly changed, the strength of any given wall is no longer reliable. More than once tonight he's had to stop himself becoming strawberry jam by a last-minute grapple, when the roofs he'd hooked gave way.

The second is, of course, the city below him. It's quiet -- eerily quiet. The sound of a car engine is a magnet for trouble, and who has fuel to spare anyway? Winter is approaching and with no heating and no lights, it's going to be a hard one.

Of course, that also means that voices seem louder, noises echo longer. The scrape of a hook on gravel, the rapid footsteps of a running woman, the scream of a --

Wait. Scream?

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"Sounds like the place I'm thinking of moved," he explains, apparently quite happy to give her information.

Well, about this, anyway.

"Used to work out of the basement of the Kane building, but that's gettin' close to the edge of Blue Boys territory -- they've been thinking of moving for a while. That's what I'd guess happened. B.G. there doesn't talk much.

"... at all."

The girl frowns but shrugs, as if it doesn't much matter - the information, his attitude, the Asian girl's name.

But her arms cross over her chest, putting a hand close to the holster beneath her jacket.

"We still eatin'?"

"Only if you wanna."

Nobody glances twice when they make their way down a winding flight of stairs to a place that has --

-- honest-to-God electric light.

The generator's running noisily in a corner, and the room is full of people, but surprisingly little security for somewhere running electricity. It's underground, and wasn't even visible from the street; maybe that explains it.

Of more interest is the bain-marie full of pies, chips and scallops. Nothing fresh, of course, but it's hot.

And for a moment, the girl behind him is a statue, completely frozen to her spot, staring with enormous eyes and a dropped jaw.

He can practically hear her salivating.

"Mi Dios," she gasps and pushes by him immediately to reach for a plate and the biggest scoop of chips she can manage.

Tim grins, slouching over to a nearby table and dropping into a seat.

"Another stray, Al?" asks the woman at the table behind him. "You got a new one every night, don'cha?" She sounds tolerant, cheerful -- unusual in the world of everyone-for-themselves.

"Ah, they just keep falling int'a my lap, Leslie." Tim shrugs, grinning. "I can't let them go."

"You're a sucker for a pretty face," the woman accuses, smirking.

The pretty face in question drops into the seat across from him - not out of gratitude or camaraderie, but because the rest of the tables are utterly filled.

Besides, she's not paying much attention to Tim or Leslie. Not when there's food, hot food, to focus on.

"I'm a sucker for hungry people," Tim retorts, with a fond smirk at the old woman. "Food's way too important. 'Sides, she had a bunch of Loboyz chasing her."

"Oh. Ew," Leslie says, looking distressed. Tim leans over backwards to pat her hand reassuringly.

"There wasn't any fighting, L. Nobody even got hurt. This stray--" with a gesture at Maria and a smirk -- "turned out to be pretty good in a standoff."

The Stray arches a brow at him, obviously unimpressed with the nickname - though she doesn't stop eating in order to chastise him.

Though once she's swallowed, she's pointing at him with her fork.

"Don' listen t'im," she warns Leslie, frowning. "I saved 'is ass back there."

Tim slides her a glance that may or may not suggest she be quiet about what's in her coat -- even in this company.

"She did," he tells the slightly incredulous old woman. Well ... she thought she did, and at considerable risk to herself. She would have, if Tim had been anyone but who he is.

"Earned her way here."

Leslie shakes her head in fond amusement. "You kids."

She gives him a look at that glance. This one suggests something, too.

It might not be exactly clear what she wants Tim to shove, but the where is fairly obvious.

"Whatever," she informs Leslie with a roll of her eyes - and a full mouth. "Do it again f'it gets me food like this."

"You know where we are now," Leslie says, smiling at her. "My name's Leslie, by the way, and this is --"

"Al," Tim puts in, with a smirk that says he's perfectly aware that Maria's probably perfectly aware that it isn't his real name. "Ask for Al if you need me."

"Al, right," Leslie agrees patiently. "Do you have any friends you'll want to bring?"

Maria smirks when he gives her what is obviously a fake name, and nods amiably enough to Leslie. "M' Ria," she says.

And half-laughs at the question.

"Looks like you're full enough as it is, don' need anyone bringin' in the crowds," she points out, smirking.

"Definitely no crowds," Tim agrees, grinning at her for the lack of protests about the fake name. "But if you've got a husband or a boyfriend or something, or any kids, we're not gonna ask you to keep it from them."

This may or may not be a roundabout way of asking if she's attached to anyone.

Considering that she snorts and then looks at him with a perfectly arched brow, it wasn't overly roundabout.

"I'm from th'Alley. That don't mean I hook or pop out kids," she points out, smirking at him. She's very obviously Tim's age, perhaps sixteen, and apparently defensive about her reputation.

"I didn't mean to imply you did," Tim says, wrinkling his nose apologetically. "Just that you've probably got family, and we're not going to ask you to keep this place secret from people're important to you."

Maria answers all of that with a soft sound, committing to nothing as she returns her attention to her food.

Leslie just smirks.

And that slight knock to Tim's shoulder was utterly accidental.

...as much as it was mocking.

Oh, well, if it was an accident.

The meal is soon over -- too soon, really, but not even Leslie's Bat-augmented supplies are limitless. 'Al' leans back in his chair comfortably -- and for the first time, his hat tilts far enough back that his face isn't utterly in shadow. (THIS IS POSSIBLE IN COMIC BOOK WORLD, HUSH.)

He's wearing a domino mask.

Leslie has disappeared quietly, either in anticipation of this or simply having better things to do. Tim is preoccupied with watching the newly-acquired Stray eat and checking up on everything around them to notice that he's losing an element of concealment.

The Stray has finished her meal and is nursing a very warm, very dark cup of coffee right now, looking around the place as much curious as she is content at the moment. At his movement, she glances over before returning to her inspection.

...and then blinking and looking right back at him.

With an incredulous smirk.

"Oh, you have got t'be kiddin' me."

"Uh?" Tim is smothering a yawn, and glances back at her sleepily. "What?"

Totally innocnet.

"You're one'a those grande idiotas," she accuses, half-laughing, half-irritable. "Heroes, chasin' after the Bat and tryin' t'hump his boots, s'that why you went after me? Tryin' t'get all your merit badges or some shit?"

Tim looks at her blankly for a moment, and then realises what she's talking about -- and laughs, wholly amused.

"Something like that, yeah. What, you seriously thought some random stranger woulda helped you out've that?"

Maria's brows lift, her coffee set aside so she can lean back in her chair, arms crossed and smirking. "You think you're th'first guy that's tried t'save poor l'il helpless me from a group'a vatos like the ones tonight? Why you think I was willin' to waste my bullets on you, honey? Gangs do not like heroes."

"I am, actually, aware of that." He shrugs, slightly embarrassed, gaze back on the table. "It wouldn't have been a problem."

Gangs tend to avoid the kind of heroes who show that they can actually fight.

Of course, neither the gang nor the Stray have yet to see him fight.

Maria just rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah, whatever," is muttered as she reaches for her coffee.

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