12967/Aw, You're My Dumpling

Aw, You're My Dumpling
Date of Scene:	04 October 2022
Location:	Hot Dumpling Restaurant
Synopsis:	Bruce speaks about his birthday plans while Selina plots to give him a present of worth.
Cast of Characters:	Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne

---

Selina Kyle has posed:
Gotham branding would have the unsuspecting believe that the "Legendary Dumpling House" is the place for a meal before a show, but truly it isn't. When it comes to Shanghai-style soup dumplings or Taiwanese guo tie, the Hot Dumpling Restaurant supposedly takes the crown from Dumpling King, Dumpling Dynasty, and Dumpling House. That four such restaurants jockey for power attests to overall popularity of fried, boiled, steamed, or soup-doused options.

Selina strips the leather, elbow-length gloves fit for a proper night on the town. Her wool cape undoubtedly keeps her warm, but it will cause her to melt down in here. "I want to see what the fuss is about," she asides to the taller man acting as her escort. Perfect red lipstick gives her a perfectly amused smile, hardly there but understating the facts. "That mistake for a mousse wouldn't keep a mouse full for an hour. I do not care they used lasers to prepared whipped confit. I want real food."

She offers her arm, fully unbothered by the fact anyone in their vicinity knows she's on Bruce's. Because that's how she rolls.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce has dressed up for the evening as well, though there's the faintest air of disquiet about him - this is not his chosen costume for a night out on the town. But sacrifices must be made, and he accepts this one albeit uncomfortably.

A bespoke suit of Saville Row, he's not the kind of customer this place would see. He knows it well, of course. His soldiers eat here quite often, and he's seen it show up on the GPS register more than once. He loops his arm around Selina's, stepping inside with her.

"The kids come here all the time."

Selina Kyle has posed:
Disquiet doesn't extend fully to Selina. Her usual discomfort moving through different echelons of society isn't anything new. Being with Bruce alleviates some of the tension knotting under her ribs for certain parts of town, expecting trouble where it might not exist. High-waisted trousers and a bustier are not totally out of place for modern style, but the cape stops any disapproving looks from more conservative guests and owners. She adjusts a button at her collar but keeps the rest there.

"Then they can handle the famished and those with a normal appetite." Dark lips lighten the load by smiling. The line of her body exudes confidence. She leans a little into him, making a show of balancing on delicate, heeled ankle boots. <<May we have a table for two near the wall?>> she asks in proper Cantonese, getting what amounts to a double-take from the hostess. The actual menu for locals will be sent on ahead of them with the customary teapot in a slag-hot kettle. "I look forward to seeing what all the fuss is about. Which reminds me," her fingers brush over Bruce's arm. "To ask about coordinating for your natal day celebrations coming up." A fancy way of calling it a birthday.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce keeps up the pleasantly bemused smile of a man who has no idea what Selina is saying, even if beneath the surface he's keeping track of several conversations at once. He follows the hostess towards the table, pulling out a seat for the Cat before seating himself on the opposite side. He clasps his hands together, putting together the seamless act of a rich man outside his comfort zone but managing to hide it behind a manicured vaneer. When he speaks, though, it's more akin to his usual, unmodified tones.

"I'm trying not to think about it," he explains, though it's clearly not for fear of getting older, "I don't know why it couldn't be somewhere else. We had a party there last year. I've spend the last three weeks re-calibrating security."

He looks at the menu, casually turning to the pages in Cantonese before flipping back to English and comparing the two in his head.

"Sheng Jian Bao," he says half to himself, "And the Beef Chow Fun."

Selina Kyle has posed:
That a philanthropist knows probably one of two dominant languages of trade in Gotham shouldn't be too surprising, is it? Bruce of course is another matter altogether. The seats ahead are deep and comfortable enough to swallow up Selina even if she weren't wearing a designer dress - or close enough to designer to pass. She slides right into the seat in a buttery shift. Her gloves land beside her to the left, just shy of low-sodium soy sauce in a green-capped beaker.

"I'm not the one making those preparations. Were it up to me, you and I would get a fast car out to somewhere scenic. A bottle of something palatable," she ticks it off for him, letting Bruce fill in the blanks himself. A quick scan reveals what she's after from the list of options. "Xiaolongbao, medium spicy." A fingertip taps the line.

"Good music. After getting your heart rate up, the only obligation being unwrapping a gift." A grin hides behind the mirror facade, the tip of her head to send her sharply angled hair brushing up against her cheekbone. "You've set off a small arms race of people trying to decide what to get you."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"It's ridiculous," Bruce admits, pressing two fingers against his temple and his thumb against his jaw before resting on his elbow, "There's nothing I need. If I'm honest, Alfred's the only reason I celebrate it at all."

There's a pause, an old and dusty thought crossing the transom. He decides to voice it. They've been together for over a year at this point. He ought to start sharing more.

"When I first came back to Gotham," he begins, "I wasn't going to come back officially. I was going to let Bruce Wayne stay dead. I even went as far as moving into a brownstone in the Narrows. He convinced me that I had a responsibility to that side of me. I'm not sure I've ever agreed."

Selina Kyle has posed:
Smoothly, Selina reaches for the tea. Pouring into the two small cups chased in a floral and geometric pattern comes naturally. Earthy steam accompanies the dark amber liquid. "I'm going to refute that point lightly. You must want something," she teases a fraction. He might be prone to bouts of playboy arrogance and brooding silence. Bruce's moods are rather akin to her cats'. Watch long enough, be patient, and they come to her.

The waiter comes by to fetch the menus, offering a suggestion for appetizers, and place an order. The agog look marks the familiarity with someone of severe celebrity and someone of much smaller heights. A smaller pause for conversation to resume, and she takes the lead on that. "As much as that route would have been easy, burying that path might not have been satisfying. Letting something go has its costs. You're probably not wrong. Annoyingly, he's probably not either."

Long fingers tap his wrist, sliding up to his palm. A public gesture, someone call the paparazzi. Not that Chinatown stews really with paps, the blinding flashbulbs. "I'm sure he said something about balance. Let's circle back a step. What do you want? I know a few tricks to make things happen."

Simple words, like an unsigned note slid under the door. But they mean so much more.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"That's usually the case in my experience," Bruce admits, "And it ends up being about which hill to die on. And I will say, I've crunched the numbers. I wouldn't be able to afford the operation like it is without it."

He offers a polite smile to the waiter when he sees that look. He doesn't immediately engage, not wanting to distract them at work, and instead turns back to Selina.

"You could sort the kids out," he suggests, glancing off towards the window thoughtfully, "Seems like Dick and Stephanie are the only ones who are happy these days."

Selina Kyle has posed:
Soups and plates of steaming dumplings soon make a conga line from the kitchens. They produce in volume, the fresh wrappers fried or doused in a lightly oiled finish. Bowls festooned in clipped onions or floating chilis add their savory impact. Selina goes for that cup of tea, hand around it.

Selina still touches his palm, Bruce's pulse point under her hand, unless he pulls back. Small, brief connections have their purpose. Sometimes she doubts what they could be. Not reassurance. But now, maybe that impression is off.

"I can talk to them. Not sure how comfortable they will be around me, but I've never been afraid of that," she replies. The city gleams, dark and neon bright through the warped glass. "I always thought Tim would be. He's well-adjusted." A shrug of her shoulders, and she asides from the corner of her mouth, "I'm happy with you. I've crunched that from every angle."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"That would've taken a lot for you to admit," Bruce says more as a statement than a question, giving her a slight tilt of his head and a look that cuts through his usual playboy mask to show something more deeply genuine, "I feel the same."

At the mention of speaking to the children, however, he shakes his head slightly.

"I wouldn't envy you. They may well see right through you."

Selina Kyle has posed:
"This from the man saying he needs neither birthday celebrations or gala presents," Selina huffs, tilting her chin higher for that arch expression she wears so well. The blunt sheen of her hair helps carry it, the feline cast of her eyes simmering in speculation. Laughter, too. A kind of mask heightened by cosmetics still uses honesty as its marble, a speckling of wit. "I never have been the sort to make a stage production. None of those Jumbotron engagements or awful parties with fireworks that set whole fields aflame."

To Bruce, she sneaks in a smirk again. "I'm not approaching them simply for you."

The teacup goes to her lips. A sip sustains the pause. "If that were the cause, it would be transparent and I'd deserve whatever they threw my way. I'm not..." A statement that remains incomplete, and not on account of dumplings.

"They're in our lives. Why ignore them?"