2937/Checking In

Checking In
Date of Scene:	23 October 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Bluebird, Huntress

---

Bluebird has posed:
    It's a busy time to be Harper Row. It'd be hard enough just juggling schoolwork on top of supporting both herself and her brother financially, which means a -lot- of extra work -- but now she's been fortunate enough (really!!) to be able to add 'almost getting herself killed on a nightly basis' onto the list.

    Really, she couldn't be more thrilled about that.

    Suffice to say, though, it's been leaving the poor young girl running on fumes for the better part of the week, of late, and today really is no different. 'Off-hours' for her means the girl is just about getting off the late shift of her work with Gotham's primary electrical company and about to head home for another rousing round of classwork before she finds the nearest available bed-like surface to faceplant on mid-snore; she's getting ready for the first phase of this as we speak, on her way home navigating through the dangerous streets and alleys of the Narrows.

    Currently dressed down in her red flannel shirt, white tank top, shredded jeans and combat boots, Harper pools her jacket a bit more tightly against herself with the nip of autumn's increasingly chilly winds as she makes her way home. It's a risk, taking the paths she does. But frankly? She did this even before she had a mask. If nothing else, Harper Row has always been a bold one.

    "Ugh... I think I'm literally freezing my ass off. Literally. How's it already so cold...? My poor ass...!" Even if her internal monologue needs some work.

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress waited as long as she possibly could, which meant a whole three days, before calling the young vigilante. Truth be told, Helena's teacher instincts are kicking in big-time about now. Perhaps she sees a younger version of herself in Bluebird, or maybe she's just concerned that the kid is going to get herself killed.

    In either case with a phone number, the right tech, and knowing the right sort of people it's possible to locate someone within a small, general area. So she's been 'following' Bluebird around without actually having to be there in person. A bit of a privacy invasion, to be sure, but one that she intends to correct very soon.

    Harper is probably surprised when the phone rings, with an unknown number showing up on the display. The voice on the other end of the line is familiar, even over the connection. "Hello there. This is your purple guardian angle from the other night." Yeah, the Huntress. "I've got an offer for you, but you're going to have to give me a little trust. You okay with that, kid?"

Bluebird has posed:
    *ring*

    The first ring? That's not surprising. Harper initially just suspects it's her brother calling to make sure she's getting home okay, a thing that's become something of an overly-worried ritual at this point. It's mostly the expectation not meeting the reality that truly throws her off her game when she produces that tragically cheap-looking phone from her battered pocket, staring at the screen with an uncomprehending blink.

    "... Unknown...?" she murmurs to herself, and that? That puts her a bit more on a suspicious edge. Just enough, enough to show that she's experienced enough in her life, vigilante or not, to have a healthy dose of wariness in situations like these; it could just be a solicitor. Or...

    Hello there, says that woman's voice on the other end. Familiar. Distinctly so, considering how fresh the memories of that day still are in her mind. "Hey, uh -- wait, Huntress?" Her purple guardian angel left quite the impression, after all. Eyes flutter in a blink, pierced lips screwing in perplexed thought. Despite herself, she glances one way, and then the other, scanning the skylines as if expecting being followed. But she knows -- with the resources the vigilantes in Gotham have, it'd be a whole lot easier to track her than to just follow her around.

    Eventually, eyes squeeze shut, and Harper heaves a little sigh, white vapors spilling from her lips as she speaks again. "I'm... yeah, okay. You've got a little trust." And though she puts it like that, there's really not much hesitation in her voice -- it looks like Huntress has already earned that, at least. "What's the offer...?"

Huntress has posed:
    Huntress gives the suspicious teen a few moments to collect her thoughts, perhaps to mull over the risks. Then she puts the offer on the table. "A hot meal. A place to rest. Somewhere safe. And out of the weather." Another pause to let the offer sink in.

    "All you have to do is get into the car." What car is that? Right on cue a car pulls up at the end of the alley that Harper was cutting through. Purple, of course. Lamborghini Aventador. With a soft hiss the passenger side door swing upward, exposing a buttery-soft leather interior and a woman with black hair in a neat business suit. No mask, she's holding a phone to her ear and then speaks into it. "Trust goes both ways, Harper. Now I've shown you mine."

Bluebird has posed:
    The offer, even when she's settled in and prepared for something similar, isn't -quote- what Harper was expecting. Stopped in her tracks, her mouth hangs open just a -bit- before she forces herself to snap it shut. Her gaze instantly darts forward, and just like that...

    ... she sees it. That Lamborghini waiting for her, right on cue. "Holy crap," Harper mumbles, dumbfoundedly, into that phone, even if it's not exactly necessary anymore. "I..." She could say so many things. So very many. So, of course, the first that springs to mind is:

    "... You have a Lamborghini?!"

    ... followed up by a more direct show of faith as she takes one, tentative step forward... and then makes her way towards that car, intent on opening the door to get inside. "Wow. Okay. Lamborghini. Stay cool, Harper, don't gush..."

Huntress has posed:
    Helena chuckles, thumbing the 'off' button on her smartphone. Tilting her head, the dark-haired professional woman is wearing purple lipstick. To match the Lamborghini, of course. "Just the one, I'm afraid." she replies, managing to sound almost as if the whole subject is just -artfully- dull.

    There's a whine from the exhaust pumps as she races the engine, the mechanical beast sounding remarkably quiet. The door is hinged up vertically, open and waiting for her.

    "It wasn't that long ago that another one of our community reached out to me and invited me to join her for coffee. We spend too much time meeting in secret and hiding, even from each other. So this is me extending that same olive branch to you, Harper. Call me Helena."

    "And no, you can't drive."

Bluebird has posed:
    To her credit, Harper Row does an astoundingly good job of playing it cool for a girl who just got cornered in an alleyway by a purple Lamborghini. Internally, however?

    Internally, the girl's mind is mainly going an excitable mile a minute figuring out exactly the kind of high-powered engine purring inside that car from sound alone as she - very calmly, very carefully - opens that door and slips inside. Dark hair. Purple lipstick. No mask. And yet, sounding so casual about the whole thing. She can't help herself.

    "Wow," she murmurs, like a girl starstruck, her smile one like an awestruck fan as she stares at Helena. "You are, like... cool as ice." She might be gushing. Just a bit.

    Eventually, the young vigilante reminds herself acutely that she's staring at the other woman; she coughs sharply, settles into her seat, and focuses her gaze straightforward as she settles -- just a bit stiffly -- into the car. "Helena. Okay. I'm -- well, you already know that, huh? I guess it says something for style that I'm not nearly as pissed about that as I ought to be," she half-jokes, with the offering of a lopsided grin. Either way -- "But I'm Harper. I'd, uh -- I'd love to get some coffee, or... whatever." A second passes. "Can I--" And no, you can't drive.

    "Damn."

Huntress has posed:
    Helena chuckles at the 'cool as ice' remark, and for the moment she just accepts the stare. "Relax, Harper. I promise I won't bite." She touches a button on the dash and the door swoops down silently, locking into place. "I should apologize for this invasion of your privacy as well. Your identity is your most precious thing."

    Clutch in, she puts the car into gear, and -accelerates- out into the street. She's merged into traffic and changing lanes before she shifts gears into second. The car doesn't lurch, but rather seems to sink -down- as it accelerates. "What time do you need to be home?" she asks, watching the street.

    "And I should tell you, I don't usually break out the pasta-rocket for just anyone. Especially not in the cold like this. You warm enough, by the way? The heated seat controls are on your left, there."

Bluebird has posed:
    Relax, Helena instructs. And Harper tries. Which, really, just makes her all the more stiff. Not out of caution, at least not mostly. No -- this is more out of anticipation. She -should- be mad at someone prying into her personal life, and she is, a bit. But right now? More than anything, she's feeling... giddy.

    At the very least, it's a testament to her self-control that she doesn't let most of it bubble to the surface, save for all that blatant staring. One can see the wheels moving in her head figuring everything out internally, even as Helena speaks. "That's a load off," she says, with that mild sarcasm of hers, at Helena's first reassurance. As they just -peel- off, she sucks down a gasp, her right hand clenching onto the armrest, the left grasping her thigh with an instinctive grip. "--Yeah," she manages, after a moment, with a thick exhale, "I'm kinda annoyed by that, I won't lie, but..." She looks around her, as the world becomes a smudge of speeding colors.

    "... this is going a long way towards making up for it."

    A smile settling across pierced lips, Harper finally manages to relax in her seat, just a bit, when Helena asks that question. "Eh? Oh, uh... whenever. I just have to check in with my brother, or he'll have a panic attack worrying about me and where I ended up." And she won't be able to stop worrying about -him-, either, goes unsaid, but writ upon her features. Still, when Helena follows up with that little observation, Harper blinks -- and then, of all things, manages a rare, abashed sort of smile.

    "Well, damn," she begins, rubbing the back of her head. "Now I feel kinda special." She looks down, though, at those controls, dark brows furrowing inward in thought. "Wow. Heated seats." She's not even -that- cold. She -still- starts fiddling with them. "This -seat- is like... a hundred times more expensive than any vehicle I've ever been in. It almost feels like I'm doing something bad just sitting in it," she jokes. Which doesn't stop her from fiddling with it, with the idle flick of long, deft fingers along those controls. "So, like... what do you do? Some kind of Gotham old money, or something?"

Huntress has posed:
    Helena figured that the ride in the exotic sports car would at least partially offset the privacy invasion, of course. She lets the young vigilante work through the process, getting eventually comfortable in the car. "Might want to call your brother, then." she offers. "You're not really dressed to go out, so we'll order take-out."

    "Old money? Something like that, yeah. I sure as hell can't afford this on a teacher's salary. During the day I'm Miss Bertinelli, English Lit teacher at Gotham Heights. I usually break out the purple car when I'm tired of all the testosterone talk in the teacher's lounge."

    They drive for a while, accelerating further as the car gets out onto the interstate to open up a little. "You can look up the name Bertinelli later on, Harper, but you'll find that the story I told you the other night on the rooftop is true. Not a lot of people know that there's still a living descendant of Franco and Maria Bertinelli. It's better if it stays that way."

    "You like Chinese?"

Bluebird has posed:
    "I'm never really dressed to go out," is Harper's first, dry response, one brow hitching upward as she grows more comfortable with these entirely strange, entirely unexpected, but also entirely welcome circumstances. "This?" She gestures at her clothes. "This is, like... Narrows Nice." Well, no. She could look nicer. She just doesn't want to.

    Still, her joking aside, Harper does, eventually, make that call to her brother. It's kept relatively short -- but she also doesn't hide anything from him, either, telling him exactly where she is and where she'll be. No secrets between those two, it seems. It's as she's hanging up that cheap phone of hers that her eyebrows knit together, pierced nose scrunching up just a bit as she snorts in amusement. "I'd love to see the look on their faces the first time they saw it. ... Probably looked as dumb as mine." She smiles faintly, a wistful thing as she leans herself into the door beside her, watching the world blaze by her. "I wish I had you at my school, though. You're the most kickass teacher I've ever met." She might just be crushing, a little. Probably on the car. Just a bit.

    Still, as Helena mentions her past again, those lips tug into a thoughtful frown. "... I believe you. I -- um. Thanks. For telling me. I mean, you kinda pried into my life before you did, but -- I mean it. Thanks for trusting me, with your story." A second passes. "I would have told you who I was, too. You put a lot of faith in me, and that's..." she searches for the words, a faint smile touching on her lips. "... nice. Really nice."

    A second passes. And then she adds, "Oh my god, I would -kill- for some Chinese food. Yes. All the yes. Let's do that."