15579/Think, Think, Think.

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Think, Think, Think.
Date of Scene: 09 September 2023
Location: Gotham
Synopsis: In which Poison Ivy and Batwoman demonstrate the degree to which they may be relied upon to make good decisions.
Cast of Characters: Poison Ivy, Batwoman

Poison Ivy has posed:
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, but the regular crowd is not shuffling in. The regular crowd has made itself scarce, and you would too if you saw there was a mass murderer drinking herself into a hole at the corner booth. Poison Ivy is getting proper smashed, and maybe it's just the dive's dingy lighting that makes the place look like it's lit by approximately three candles all on the verge of going out forever, but there's an almost visible storm cloud rumbling over her head. It's hard to tell if she's pissed off, depressed, or both, but the number of empty shot glasses on the table--left there by a wait staff that ain't gettin' paid half enough to make conversation with a serial poisoner, let alone touch the glasses she's had her mouth all over--implies she's been at this for just the hottest of seconds.
Batwoman has posed:
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, but nobody's here.


It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, but Ivy's not alone anymore.

The chime of the bar door opening is a soft thing, easily missed if someone's as deep into their cups as one of Gotham's most infamous is. It heralds the arrival of another redhead, her short scarlet hair done in an undercut and dressed to impress in a black, slim cut blazer, white scoop-necked shirt, red pants and finished off with a simple black choker and a pair of boots; she's a semi-regular patron here, which means she's treated to the same sight that inspired the rest to be a less-than-regular patron today: brows furrowed, the pale woman looks at the green-skinned sight of Poison Ivy, surrounded by a decoration of empty glasses. Dark lips purse. This would be the moment that anyone else made the smart decision, turned around, and walked out...

... but then, Kate Kane and 'smart' decisions have never really been the best of friends.

So it is that the bar earns its second customer for the evening as that door shuts behind the entering Kane heiress; dark lips pursing faintly, drawing the strap of her guitar a little more securely over her shoulder, Kate makes her way to the bar counter and orders herself her usual. Turning around, she leans against the bar counter as she waits for her drink, green eyes calmly falling on Ivy as she considers. She knows that look before. She's been that look before. It evokes a pang of sympathy in her. The question is --

Just how foolish is she feeling, tonight?
Poison Ivy has posed:
Ivy doesn't notice Kate's entrance. Ivy looks like she wouldn't notice if all fifteen members of the Bat-family, including Lego Alfred, showed up to arrest her. Her gaze is so fixed on the table her chin almost touches her chest, and one could think she's passed out sitting upright if not for the occasional distraught rubbing of her face with the palm not holding a shot glass.

The staff is rather more attentive than Ivy, or at least more alert. When Kate enters, one of them, a waiter who looks like he has no greater goal in life than to not die at twenty-four, greets her with an approximation of cheer so wooden it might come from a marionette, "Good evening, miss! Take a seat anywhere!" His eyes are wild and glassy, though, and he whispers at her without moving his lips, "Get out!" The bartender, as miserable as any hostage ever looked, keeps looking at Kate and then looking at Ivy as if he thinks Kate hasn't seen her and needs the explanation.
Batwoman has posed:
Yep. She definitely knows that look.

Kate -also- knows the look the waiter is giving her as they come back with her drink - a shallow glass of whiskey - but that look she recognizes more from second-hand experience. The redhead stares at the man for a few seconds as he offers that warning and the -very subtle- indication towards Ivy, wedged into her corner; pale features soften in sympathy, and a smile you could find small solace in touches dark lips. She plucks that glass up.

"Alright," she says, "I think I will."

And mouthing 'it's okay' to the bartender, Kate does exactly the opposite of what he warned her and takes a slow but certain stride towards the comfortable corner booth kingdom of Poison Ivy.

Given how off in her own world she is, Ivy might or might not notice Kate's approach; either way, though, the Kane family's proverbial black sheep makes her presence known with the gentlest rap of alabaster knuckles on the surface of Ivy's table. Once, twice. And then, she lifts her glass, and offers a little, lopsided smile.

"People tell me once you start drinking alone you're an alcoholic," she informs Ivy, head tilting. "I'm really trying to avoid that. Mind some company?"
Poison Ivy has posed:
Oh, yeah. Ivy is sloshed. Her eyes are droopy and her gaze uncomprehending while her mind tries to process the information she'd just been given. She blinks owlishly and eventually decides, "Kay. Siddown. I'm Ivy." Her voice isn't slurring very badly, at least not as badly as the smell of bourbon would suggest, but maybe that's not how Ivy gets when she's drunk.

A bleary but appraising look casts over Kate, and Ivy announces, "You're pretty. Gonna hit on me? Seems like every woman in Gotham is gay for me this week." It's hard to tell if her facial expression is petulant or defensive.
Batwoman has posed:
The sluggishness is there, if not the slurring; Kate can relate, more than she'd like. It's why she patiently waits for Ivy's brain to catch up with the stimulus it's being fed before she takes her seat across from the other redhead, leaning back and slinging one hand over the top of the booth with a simple "thanks, you're a mensch" fired off in response. And it's why she waits, nursing her liquor with a tiny sip, for Ivy to address her. If she wants to sit in silence, Kate accommodates. If she wants to talk, though...

'Gonna hit on me?' Ivy asks, and the straightforward declarations earn the brief sputter of a laugh from Kate.

"Straightforward, huh?" she asks, as if she -wasn't- sitting across from one of the world's deadliest poisoners. And it's that casual confidence she brings to the table as she answers Ivy's petulant - or defensive - question: "Afraid not. I've got a personal policy not to hit on a woman if the odds are high she's not going to remember the -amazing- first impression I leave."

It's a light, wry tone she adopts, as she speaks to the other woman. It's only partly joking; after all, she's been in Ivy's shoes. So she takes a single drink from her glass, and waits in comfortable silence for a while before she offers, off-handedly, "Is that why you're commandeering the bar today? Women trouble?"
Poison Ivy has posed:
"Me trouble," Ivy says morosely, her entire face quivering as if she's about to break down into tears. She mashes her palm into her nose and wipes upward, fingers running through her hair in distress. "My girlfriend wants to go back to the Joker. The Joker! The guy who just about poisoned her to death! Literally toxic!" She gesticulates so wildly the last of her shot spills out of the glass in her hand and goes over the back of the booth. She can't seem to make herself look Kate in the eye as she continues, "But then I thought, -I'm- as toxic as he is! Is that why she was with me this whole time? I thought I was supporting her becoming independent and-and-and-and the person she could really be, like, the best version of herself or whatever, but was I always just a knock-off Joker to her? A runner-up who's good enough at being toxic until the real thing comes back?" Her face is a mask of despair, her shoulders are hunched in misery. She groans and knocks back the shot in her hand without seeming to notice there's nothing in it.
Batwoman has posed:
Katherine Rebecca Kane has an excellent poker face; this includes how green eyes flutter out a blink and how she mouths 'Joker? THE Joker?' in muted surprise as Ivy starts detailing her woes.

But this doesn't stop her from inwardly grimacing the moment the rogues gallery talk begins, because it's -exactly- why she knew this was a bad idea, moreso than any danger to herself. Casually talking relationship woes with a murderous eco-terrorist that involves namedropping people like Known Mass Murderer the Joker is a road that just leads to more trouble than its worth. This is where common sense tells her it's time to start putting together a smooth exit strategy.

... But there's something about the spirit of what Ivy has to say. Kate hesitates as the other redhead describes herself as toxic; it resonates with her in a way she's reluctant to admit, beyond just the obvious wordplay. She watches Ivy, as she tries to knockback an empty shotglass, and for a few seconds, her interior world is a warzone of conflicting impulses...

... until she finally settles on leaning forward across the booth with slow deliberation, to try to take that green hand in her alabaster pair and guide it down with one as the other seeks to relinquish it of its imaginary burden of alcohol.

"... Hey," Kate begins, slowly, even as she internally recites that this is a bad idea. "First of all... no one deserves to be compared to the Joker. No one. If you even tried to be good to her, then you've got entire leagues over someone like that. Got it? Second..." Her head cocks, a lopsided smile decorating dark lips as she looks to draw that empty shot glass away. "... as someone who's pretty sure she's been the problem in more than her fair share of bad relationships... at least you're in good company right now. Right?"
Poison Ivy has posed:
Ivy blinks unevenly at the stranger in her booth, her brain working slowly, down to a crawl because the fog in her mind has made road conditions unsafe for full highway speed. After a long, gormless moment of staring, a revelation crosses her face like lightning (apparently the weather fronts in her mind are turbulent) and her self-pity melts into mortified apology. "Wha...? Hey, I din't mean to make you feel bad!" She reaches convulsively for Kate's hand and grabs the other redhead's wrist, which is probably more indicative of her luck than her ability to aim while drunk. There's never been a face more open, more earnest, and more vulnerable than Ivy's as she invites, "Wanna talk about it? I wanna listen if you wanna talk. You've been so nice to me. You're a good person."
Batwoman has posed:
With that empty glass in hand, Kate looks to pull away back to her side of the booth -- but she finds herself caught before she can by a lucky, drunk swipe. Alabaster wrist caught in a vice of greener fingers, Kate blinks rapidly; the momentary tension that lines her shoulders is an instinctual thing, something that very slowly smooths out as she gets a good look at that ever-so-slightly plastered but extremely guileless and painfully vulnerable look Ivy sports. The redhead lingers, dark lips parted. And eventually... a sigh spills out from between them. Wanna talk about it?

"Not really," she says with blunt honesty. "... And I'm not that good. Look -- I was just in a bad place once, like you. I wasn't good for anyone. And I did my fair share of sabotaging relationships because I couldn't handle it, because it hurt just being around people for too long, and... one of them, she was good for me. ... Way too good for me." Kate's wrist turns, just a little, in Ivy's hand. A grimace paints her pale features. "Now -I- want a drink."
Poison Ivy has posed:
"Hey! Hey, hey." Crooning; almost motherly. Ivy's hand leaves Kate's wrist and finds her shoulder, squeezing it too loosely and shaking it too roughly. "You don' need a drink to feel you feelings. I'm--I'm here for you."

A hypocritical drunk, it seems, but one looking at Kate with real support and real openness. "You don' have to talk about anything you don't want. Okay? You're the boss." Shake, shake. "And you can even drink if you want! But you don't--shit. Forgot what I was gon' say." Ivy laughs like a crazy person (which, according to her criminal record, she is), a sound that does not soothe the remaining bar staff.
Batwoman has posed:
Kate knows all about hypocritical drunks, at least. Not that she'd ever admit it.

She also knows all about drunks in general, so she knows the score right now; at the very least it means she can take the fact that Ivy shoulder-shakes her like she was having a panic attack in relatively good stride. Jostling around, her short scarlet hair is left in a perfect mess, red locks spilling over one green eye as she reaches out to take Ivy's hand and halt that very -- supportive? -- shakedown with a firm grip.

"Not that I don't enjoy the mirror turning around on me," Kate begins slowly, wryly, "but my point is more... just try to remember it's not the end. Okay? And don't do something you'll regret because of it." She's got plenty of those, too. But maybe they're both hypocrites. "I can tell. You're... not a bad person."

No matter how justifiably mortified the bar staff is getting because, let's face it, that laugh is an easy red flag. She takes it in as much stride as she can, looking to gently pry Ivy's hand from her shoulder. "But right now... I think we oughta get you home. Do you have a place?"

She's gratefully sober enough to stop herself from saying 'you're not on the run, right?' and potentially lighting a powder keg.
Poison Ivy has posed:
Ivy recoils with suspicion at the suggestion, arms crossing over her torso without actually folding over it, vaguely looking like a still of Dracula facing a cross. Her elbow bumps the table hard enough to leave a bruise she won't remember getting as she asks, "You tryna get me into bed? Cuz I swear to god, I can't handle one more girl gay for me this week."
Batwoman has posed:
Ivy arm crosses without arm folding. Despite the situation, it looks adorable. Kate can't suppress her snort -or- her grin, pearly white teeth flashing past dark red lips before she lifts a hand to cover the lower half of her face in a vain effort to suppress that amusement and avoid potentially getting herself vined.

"-snrt- ... not that I can deny the girl gay bit," she admits, and slowly scoots towards the edge of her booth. "But like I said... it's a rule of mine not to hit on a woman if she's not going to even remember it."

Her tone of her voice is easy; light. She takes it easy as she slides out of the booth, shoulders her guitar -- and then offers Ivy a hand. To help her up, if she wants to accept it.

"... And I don't want to be a morning-after regret if I can help it, either." For either of them. "I just want to make sure you get home okay."
Poison Ivy has posed:
Ivy regards Kate's hand with a squint that might be suspicion or might be bleariness. Eventually, though, her face melts back into that beatific, saintly generosity, and she takes Kate's hand (first try, too!) while breathing, "You are such a good person. Hey! Don' interrupt. You're a GOOD. PERSON. And anyone who says different, Imma smack. Including you. Whoops!" She slips on a nonexistent puddle trying to rise from the booth, and whispers much too loudly, "Shh. I need to concentrate on walking, so don't distract me. I think I might be drunk."