Owner	Pose
Dick Grayson	Some time after the investigation had come to a standstill, Dick and Brooke had agreed to do that lunch thing. Regardless of any diets, willing or otherwise, it was quickly agreed upon that a vegan lunch sounded like a grand idea. The sickly sweet smell of slow cooked meat would be sending Dick's stomach flipping for quite some time to come after the discoveries made, and the knowledge that The Chef is still at large. Grayson knew that he'd have to see to it that this Chef was locked away, deep, deep, deep in the heart of Arkham before he'd be able to trust a roast.     And so, the pair of vigilante crime fighters had parted ways, briefly, because two masked crimefighters walking in to a vegan cafe together for lunch was not the sort of attention that Dick would want. No one on earth would bat an eyelash at Dick and Brooke, though.     And it also gives him an excuse to actually see the face under the mask. And with that, gather a bit more information about this mysterious Chi-sensing crimefighter who had shown up in Gotham. So, for him, it's not entirely all pleasure.     Now, Dick waits at a small round table in this terribly hip cafe, taking a look over the menu and considering the choice between a vegan bahn mi or falafel. He had a brief flirtation with the idea of black bean burgers, but that... no. Right now, he's dressed in casual attire. Blue jeans. Black boots. A vintage, faded Mt. Dew t-shirt on underneath a black leather racing jacket. He's too handsome to be exactly unassuming, with his sharp features and strikingly vibrant blue eyes, but... he's dressed enough like an everyman that he doesn't stand out too much.
Brooke Harris	Brooke slips in quietly. Black skin and short hair, brown eyes, forest green basic dress and a basic gold necklace. Light flats, almost slippers, in black leather with black stockings that disappear under the dress. That same floating, effortless quality to her movement is obvious here. She looks around the room, finds the table she is looking for, and moves that way, setting her purse in a seat and slipping into the seat next to it. She smiles. "I hope the menu isn't too pretentious. I could go for some vegetarian pho, if they have it." The Chinese accenting is gone, replaced with a default upper-middle class accent with Canadian roots and just a little bit of the usual ethnic twang. She opens the meno for a moment, glances at it briefly, nods, and lets it flop closed again, steepling her fingers and looking up at you.
Dick Grayson	"Oh, it's horribly pretentious," Dick says, as he looks up. And pauses. You'd figure that some day, he'd get used to the fact that almost all women who get into crimefighting seem to be lookers. And yet, it always strikes him by surprise. He cannot help the momentary up and down he gives her, his eyes drawn to the green of the dress in contrast to the mocha of her skin and the darkness of her stockings. When he finally reaches her eyes again, he blinks dark lashes a few times, lifting his strong, dimpled chin up ever so slightly. "But you're in luck. I was looking at that myself, but I think the Bahn Mi is calling my name. Simple. Safe. No possible meat substitutes."     He sets the menu down and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and folding his hands over one another before him. His head cants to one side, and for a long moment, his sharp blue gaze is fixated on her chocolate eyed stare. After a moment, his lips start to curl upward at one corner, dimpling his cheek.     "So."
Brooke Harris	"Yes, so." She smiles patiently, as you examine her with your eyes, as men tend to do. Women do the same of course, but their eyes land on different places. Very relaxed. Brooke does consider you with her eyes, but you know that a lot of her observation she could do blindfolded. "I hear you are teaching my tu di, now. I am glad for that, you should know." She pours herself a bit of water, lightly smells it, then sips. "How it came to be exactly, I didn't hear, even if I might never know the whole story. For that matter, I'm not sure what put you here."
Dick Grayson	"Carrie," Dick says, offering up a small smile and giving the most faint nod of his head. "She's good. She's got passion and fire. She's got a bit of a mouth, but that's not something I'm not used to. I have little brothers. Three of them. Two of which have mouths on them. The other is a saint."     That's a little joke, considering that Tim had been considering something similar as a new moniker for himself.     "Well, I guess this..." he getures around them, indicating their surroundings, and by extension, the situation that they're currently finding themselves in. "It's all about the removal of our masks, right? Peeling back the layers of disguise and deceit that we use to shield ourselves, and presenting ourelves to one another as we are, bare faced and vulnerable. If you want to know something... ask. Question for question. We can make a game of it."
Brooke Harris	Brooke nods, "She does. Very firey and forward. I taught her xingyichuan, since it fits her better than me. I can understand removing masks. I mainly wear one because of my parents, and because it helps keep up appearances. It puts forward the idea, not the face." She considers a moment. "At the risk of being stereotypical in my focus on lineage, do tell me about your relationship with your teachers? And oh, what shall I call you? This is a very differentsort of situation than when we met last."
Dick Grayson	"Yeah. The idea is what matters. That's why I have a bright blue symbol on my chest. It becomes the focus. It presents the idea. I'm not so good with full face masks or cowls. I need the wind in my hair and the freedom of movement and vision. Capes... also weigh me down," Dick replies with a bit of a chuckle that rises from somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. He reaches over, taking up the chilled glass pitcher of water, and pouring himself a glass. From a small saucer filled with lemon slices, he does slip two in there, before stirring it with a straw.     "My relationship with my teachers... I have a great many people who have taught me a great many things... So that may take a bit," he remarks, his brows knitting together into a scowl of thought as his gaze drifts to the table between them. "My main teacher is like a father to me. He took me under his wing when I was young, angry, and confused. He helped me take that fear and anger and channel it into something positive and constructive. While I've... had growing pains, and I've moved out from under his wing, and thus out of his shadow... We maintain a close relationship. That is the Batman, just for the record."     Not everyone knows that there is any connection at all between Nightwing and The Batman. Far fewer still are those who realize that Nightwing was ever Robin, the Boy Wonder, and the first of his kind.     "Another of my teachers is Sifu Dragon. While he may not be as close to me as my other, he is like a beloved uncle. I still go to him when I feel that I need to regain my inner balance. He helped me take the lessons of my father and internalize them into my own Way. His wisdom still helps me when I feel I need some guidance to get me pointed in the right direction. He'll be participating in my mentorship of our dear Carrie, as well."     Sitting back, Dick takes a drink of his water, before settling the glass on the table, still with his fingers lightly wrapped around it. The big question, of course. What to call him. The trouble with secret identities. Does he give her the truth, rendering himself more vulnerable, or does he give her an alias, offering a means to identify him and communicate with him outside of costumes and codenames, but still maintaining secrecy?     Considering that he has a pair of contact lenses in to scan her face against several facial recognition databases in his eyes right now, he decides to surrender instead, and work from a place of mutual trust.     "It's Dick. Dick Grayson."
Brooke Harris	Brooke nods. "It's good to meet you, Dick. Brooke Harris." She offers a hand, into which she palmed one of her business cards for her studio in Starling. She smiles, having watched the internal conflict play out in your face and the feel of your life force. She might not have access to police databases, but she has tools and skills most people don't. "I've met both in passing. Laoshi Dragon visited my kwoon once. As have certain others. I have some very good tea, for honored guests." The word 'certain' seemed weighted a bit more strongly than the usual conversation, but she doesn't elaborate. "Some of my sifus have passed by now. I buried my first sifu years ago, after I learned everything he was able to teach about medicine. After that, I still learned, but there was a lot of sampling from different masters to find pieces of ideas here and there. Self-study. It is easier to absorb information about medicine and anatomy after you know how to examine your own for comparison very carefully, and there is a lot of medical training that is very good for breaking people."
Dick Grayson	"Pleasure is mine, Brooke," he responds, tilting his head to one side slightly, studying her features with keen, but warm eyes, despite their arctic coloring. He does reach out, taking her hand within his own. His grip is firm and strong, but not overpowering. He's neither trying to patronize her with a light, weak grasp, nor is he attempting some dominance game by squeezing too hard. And, in the process, he palms the card, his fingertips gliding across her wrist and palm as he retreats to examine the acquisition.     "Certain others?" He asks, as he examines the card in his hands carefully, as if he might be memorizing every detail of the card, from the information contained on its contents, as well as the very grain of the cardstock it was printed on itself. "Just gonna put that out there and vaguebook me, Brooke?"     He does slide the card into the breast pocket of his jacket, over his heart, before leaning forward and training his eyes back on her as she speaks of sifus and her self-training. A nod is given in quiet agreement as she speaks of using medicine to harm.     "I was given a pretty advanced, and rigid education, with a lot of focus on medicine and anatomy, and ways that can be used to disable a person as quickly as possible. I can relate."
Brooke Harris	Brooke nods. "The man who mentioned the title of one of my guests to me was found dead the day after she sampled my tea selection. Probably a mercy, considering the cancer he no longer wished to fight. Laoshi Dragon is one of my less secretive guests." She takes another sip of water. "If that doesn't answer the question, you wouldn't understand the answer." She pauses and smiles to the server as they set your bahn mi and her pho in front of us, bowing her head softly to them and watching them trail away. "Dare I ask what you have already looked up about me so far? I'm sure a student of the Bat would have done some checking by now, if you aren't already looking at a dossier at this very moment." She looks into your eyes briefly, considering. "I haven't got nearly that much connections, myself."
Dick Grayson	Dick's smile falters at the morbid and pointed talk. His face becomes grim, and those eyes turn from bright, cloudless summer skies to the steely gray of an overcast, winter noon. He raps a knuckle on the table, timed with the singular bobbing of his head before he straightens up his posture. He opens his mouth to speak, but the server arrives with their orders, and Dick is left silent, only offering a smile and nod of acknowledgement to the server. Dishes dispensed, the server retreats to offer them their privacy, and Dick turns his full attention back on to the dark skinned beauty before him once more.     As she inquires about how much information he has dug up on her already, Dick stiffles a laugh by instead taking up his sandwich and taking a healthy, large bite of it. The bread is fresh and perfect with a crisp crust and soft inside. The crunch of fresh vegetables, and the snap of the pickled carrots and cucumbers is a relief. The tangy taste combined with the mayo and jalapenos hits just the right notes to downplay the bitterness of cilantro. It's nearly perfect, even without the meat he'd customarily order.     After taking a few moments to chew, Dick swallows while wiping his mouth with a napkin. Afterwards, he says, "I'm not a typical student. Not of him, at least. I prefer to be less intrusive and more trusting. It would be a violation of that trust to be researching you through those means when you couldn't do the same about me. What kind of real relationship could we have if it was started off on that kind of footing?"     A pause.     "The Bat might teach us to take every advantage and to treat most interactions as a battlefield to be won or lost. Social interactions become chess matches, and your goal is to gain the most while giving the least. I just... I don't happen to agree with that. If there's something you want me to know, you will tell me. If there is something I am curious about, I'll ask. You'll either tell me, or you won't. In telling me, you'll either be truthful, or you won't. But I choose to take you at your word."
Brooke Harris	Brooke nods. "I appreciate that. I imagine having that much information must get to be addictive. Like being a spider at the center of a web. That's the thing with information. You always want more." She puts the mint into the pho, lightly stirring it and taking a small sip to consider the flavor. "And what kind of relationships are you looking to build lately? I'm sure you have some interesting ones. Personally, I haven't been dealing with much beyond certain tedious professional ones, recently." She gets some noodles and takes a bite, sipping some of the broth with it. "And how does our mutual student fit into the mix? I do want to make sure she is doing well, and I don't make it into her neighborhood as often as I might."
Dick Grayson	"It's nice when you're investigating a suspect. It leave a bad taste in my mouth when it relates to those I'd consider a friend," is all that Dick says about the addictive nature of information, and having all the information that one can have at their fingertips, courtesy of the Batcomputer uplink. Of course she has the right of it. There is something thrilling, being able to look at your server and tell you where they went to school, what art school they dropped out of, where they were last week when they got a speeding ticket, and who they're friends with on Facebook. It's powerful.     "I'm not looking to cultivate any particular types of relationships. I just go with the flow," he says, considering, before taking another, albeit much smaller, bite of his sandwich. He does chuckle as he chews, and nods his head. "All of my relationships are people in masks and tights, or they're psychopaths who are on the revolving door program at Arkham. Could any of my relationships really be anything short of interesting?"     He eyes her for a moment, his gaze upturned while his face remains lowered. He seems to be thinking, the wheels turning behind those pretty blue eyes almost visibly. One shoulder rises and falls with a shrug that has the soft sound of rustling leather stretching over his broad physique. "Carrie fits in just as expected. She is a student. A good one. One that I look forward to someday calling a friend and partner. She's good. And she is doing well. I think I can really benefit her in my role. Help her learn how to do the job, without getting lost in its shadows."     Here, though, he actually sets his sandwich down, and slides the plate aside for a moment. "I'm sorry, by the way. About the tedious professional ones. All work and no play, after all."     Slowly, a small, lopsided smile starts to flitter at the corners of his lips, lifting one side more than the other into a impish grin that reflects in his eyes in such a way that his entire expression is one that could melt steel beams. "I'm hoping that our relationship doesn't prove to be either tedious or too professional, though."
Brooke Harris	Brooke smiles, raising her eyebrows a bit. "There's always a flow. I'm all in favor of flow. Right now, flow looks like a delicious bowl of soup and some very good company. Who looks like he may have put the slightest bit of strain on his shoulder, and could use a hot shower, I'm sure. And I suppose I am similar in that. I add a few sick people and high school students, myself." She lifts another sip of pho to her mouth, savoring it. "It's nothing that can be helped. We had a bit of bureaucracy lately that left a bad taste in people's mouth, and of course I was called in for it. Dissapointing when you're sure things are ending badly, but nobody can see anything that can be done for it. I'd much rather have a good meal with a friend, or whatever he might turn out to be." She stretches her shoulders a bit. "I never can tell which way such things are going to go."
Dick Grayson	Leaning back in his seat, Dick affects a casual sort of slouched position, stretching his legs out under the table. Her mention of his shoulder does have him rolling it just a bit, the slightest hint of a wince narrowing his eyes, but the smile on his lips only grows more broad, revealing a hint of the white teeth hidden behind. "Well, you're certainly right there. Nothing that a hot shower and a compress won't help. Worst case scenario, I'll have to get it worked out with a massage."     Lowering his gaze, his smile softens and he says, "It's good, you know. That you help people in both lives. I try to do that, too. It's why I became a cop. Well, one of the reasons. Career overlap also made both jobs easier. But primarily, it was because my driving motivation is to help people and try to put as much good into the world as I can. We can punch all the crime in the face, but it'll never really go away unless we try to make a difference on the real level, too. So, in that regard, maybe I should have gone somewhere else with my day job. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll have the dedication to commit myself to going back to school. Doing something where I might have more of an impact on the world."     Looking back up, Dick's wistful expression washes away, and he asks, "So what's this bureaucracy business about then? If there's anything that I can do to help, maybe. Appropriate of everything, to quote Doctor Lecter, quid pro quo. You help me with a cannibal Chef. I help you with something, right? And trust me, Brooke, whatever the friend for a good meal might turn out to be is entirely in your hands. So it will go whichever way you want it to go. He goes with the flow."
Brooke Harris	Brooke nods. "Well." She lowers her voice, leaning in. "We picked up a Svartalfr in stasis in a destroyed and wrecked vessel. She'd been in stasis for millenia. Not involved in current politics at all, and her own people had shot at her ship. We couldn't see any reason whatsoever to not put her through the usual naturalization channels." She frowns. "Then King Thor got fussy, for reasons I can't blame him for. I served as a medic on the refugee ship. I'm very good at healing Muspel flame weapons. That triggered a whole diplomatic paranoid... thing. So instead, we ended up releasing her to LexCorp. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and I couldn't figure out why. I can't even figure out how it happenned. Everybody has been a bit annoyed over it. I don't know if anything is wrong there, I just feel like we were used somehow. And I don't even know how I would check." She hmms. "And if it comes to a worst case scenario, my massages are *legendary*. Carrie can vouch for that. Just let me know." She smiles at you, half-closing her eyes.
Dick Grayson	As Brooke leans in, Dick follows suit, so that they almost meet halfway across the tiny square table that they share. The moment she mentions the dark elves, one thin, dark brow lifts upwards. He remains quiet as she speaks, listening to her intently. His lips become a thin, blanched line and the corners of his jaw tense, but he remains silent. At least until she's done speaking.     "That's... That does seem shady. Funny thing, though. I dealt with a Svartalfar myself not too long ago. Some assassin, with a mythical weapon of some sort. She summoned these swarm shapes that would devour people. I ran interference and protection, letting other people take her down. But... maybe there is something more going on with them. Seems weird, right? Two of them just suddenly showing up so close to one another? It'd be one thing if we were talking Tamaranians or Kree or something. Rare, but not unheard of. Dark elves, though? How often?"     Something to think about, at least. It seems, as he sits back, he's at least partially absorbed in that thought, as well, as he rubs his chin. However, the offer made has him pushing that aside, and offering up a smile that reflects as a sparkling gleam in those brilliant blue eyes of his. "Legendary, huh? I think I might feel a worst case scenario coming on."
Brooke Harris	Brooke grins. "I thought you might. I'm going to need to take care of a thing or two in town in the meanwhile.. I heard a rumor of someone buying ingredients for certain exotic paints, again." She sighs. "The last time that happened, me and the Spoiler had to fight our way through close to a dozen paint men to smuggle an old master out of the city. Everyone loves disposable fighters for their dirty work." "I'll be close by, though. Would you like to meet again sometime soon?"
Dick Grayson	Dick just gives her a strange look at that. Paints? What's next? Will he team up with her to fight off a bunch of miscellaneous putty-men controlled by some witch on the moon? But he does smile, nod, and say, "Well, go check it out. If you need any help with it..."     He pulls out a small brushed metal case that he flips open and pulls out a business card. It has his police information, but it does have a mobile number listed on it. This, he holds out to her between two fingers.     "Now, you know who to call. I'll get our lunch so don't worry about that. And if you want to meet up anytime, just shoot me a text. Me and my wounded shoulder will be waiting for you."
Brooke Harris	Brooke smiles. "Of course. The meeting time is in an hour. Hopefully, that will go well, otherwise, I might need to get help later. Painted men are more annoying than anything. Flimsy suicide fighter drones. I'll let you know how it went. And see if you still need that massage, or if you want to save it for later." She takes the card gently, then takes your hand with her other hand gently, giving it a light squeeze. "Time to go to work."