13074/Bruce Wayne's Birthday: Rooftop Intermezzo

Bruce Wayne's Birthday: Rooftop Intermezzo
Date of Scene:	15 October 2022
Location:	Rooftop, Wayne Manor
Synopsis:	At Bruce Wayne's birthday, Phoebe Beacon makes an innocent gaffe and Janet van Dyne takes it badly. When Phoebe flees, the fashionista heads out of the crowd to find the errant Wayne girl and square things up again.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Janet van Dyne

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Roof of the venerable Wayne Manor has become The Place for Phoebe to hang out while she was in the house. Somewhat because she can overlook the yard and the woods attached to the Wayne Estate, somewhat because most of the time no one bothers her up here. She had exited out a side door to the garden from the ballroom, and had simply disappeared into the foliage, orange and dark skin letting her move against the fiery leaves of ivy that had clung to the side without too much notice until she had gracefully swung herself up, three stories without breaking a nail, and she sat on the roof, arms around herself as she looked up to the nighttime sky, looking to the moon for a moment before she gave a muttered 'stop laughing'.

    To whom, though, it would be a question.

    She gathers herself up in a Phoeball, arms drawing around her legs so that she can rest her forehead against her knees in the dark. Away from the faux-pas and dancing and laughter of rich people with nothing better to do with their time than to celebrate Bruce Wayne's birthday at a party *he* didn't even want to be at.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
This late in the year most of the insects are usually preparing for the winter. The salty, cold Atlantic wind is a deterrent to summertime gnats and pests. It's unusual to hear one so late, especially so high up above ground. It sounds like a grasshopper or dragonfly, that distinct *buzzing* of powerful wing movement.

Then there's a *whuft* of displaced air and Janet van Dyne pops out of nowhere about two long strides from where Phoebe's hiding. She's got her dress all hiked up in her left hand and clenched into a ball near her hip, and once she lands on her platform heels she immediately shakes it loose to keep the wrinkles from setting in.

"You're going to get your dress dirty," Janet bids Phoebe, and stands with a casual ease with a fist on her hip. "I get the need to mope, I guess, but don't make your wardrobe suffer too."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Weird. Weird the sound of wings, small and bug-gy, and then --

    Luckily, Phoebe appears to have been used to sudden arrivals, but that doesn't stop the intake of air as *Janet* appears, and the dark-eyed teen turns to level as mild a look that can convey 'annoyed teenager' and she lets out a breath.

    "Luckily I know how to remove a variety of stains from clothing with minimal effort. On account that I do my own laundry." she points out, and then just sets her head back down.

    "And I'm not moping. It's a tactical retreat."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Right, good luck with that. It's an Oscar, high thread count, organic cotton and made from his design shop," Janet says. "And with a proprietary dye. What, fifty, sixty grand?" The price doesn't seem to phase her. "You stain it up and there isn't a dry cleaner in the world who will fix it for you."

She looks completely unphased by Phobe's attempt at sullen adolescence, and examines her nails critically. "So this 'tactical retreat', this looks a lot like running and hiding," she informs Phoebe. "I don't know what your whole--" she gestures vaguely at the building under them. "Dynamic is with Bruce's little circus of adoptees, but I can say pretty confidently I've never seen one of those boys back down from any kind of a fight. Why did you?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Luckily, I do my own laundry." Phoebe replies from her head-on-knees position. She's quiet a moment.

    "If it was a fight, it wasn't one worth the effort. Who was I supposed to impress? You?" she questions, and she raises her head to look over at Janet.

    "I'm not like them. And as far as I know, Dick's the only one with any circus experience."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"You saying I'm not worth your time?" There's frost in Janet's voice-- but she lifts a brow a beat later, and curls the edge of her lip up in a smile to show her ire is vastly insincere. "Listen hon, the Waynes and van Dynes, we've got history in New England. And I've draped every one of Bruce's boys for the last five years, at one point or another, so I've gotten to know them, too." She purses her lips, thinking.

"I know Tim came from money, but Dick didn't. Damian, I don't know what he's got going on, but he's got that same edge as the others. Confidence. Tim wouldn't tell me much, but he told me how close you are to the boys. I'm not up here for my health. I'm up here because you're part of his family, and-- because boys are idiots-- no one bothered to teach you how to win a New England knife fight." There's a beat. "I've.. got a daughter, too. Adopted. I had to show her the ropes also. If Bruce expects you to just ... absorb this by osmosis-- or that it's not important enough to teach you-- he's doing you dirty."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm saying that if I was going to impress you, it wasn't going to be on playing at being the blue-collar girl out of her league." Phoebe replies as she looks up to Janet, "because we both know that's not true. I've been through Galas and mutely watched everyone get flustered when I use ASL I've watched how people use tongues like sparring foils for fencing in a figurative manner. That's not who I am, that's not what I want to be." Phoebe replies, and she shrugs her shoulders. "We're all still trying to figure things out. That's all. I'll just go back to playing mute. Worked for a while, while in recovery."

    Phoeb gives a sniff, and a shrug. "Until I'm satisfactory Upper Class trained by Alfred, anyway."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet steps over so she's in front of Phoebe and leans down a bit, hands resting on her upper thighs. "Honey, /no one/ impresses me," she says, earnestly. "I'm Janet van Dyne. I'm the queen bitch of New England society. I've got the pedigree, the money, *and* the prestige. You know what works against me the most? Being an Avenger," she says, straightening. "The fact I fly around and punch people with my hands is like... *so* proletarian," she sighs.

Janet glances around, then heaves a sigh of resignation and bundles her skirts up again, squatting with an effortless balance in those platform heels and draping the fabric over her lap. "And Alfred's sweet, Phoebe, but he's a servant. Yeah, yeah," she says, heading off a sidebar-- "I know how important he is to Bruce, father figure, all that. But he's not part of that social group. He's especially not a woman in this group. And if you're going to be a woman mingling with these other catty bitches, you've got to know how to stay afloat out there. It's a battlefield just like any others, and the Wayne family fights just like mine. Tim says you're family to him. Are you gonna turn your nose up at learning some self-defense?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, so if no one impresses you, so what's the point of trying?" Phoebe points out to Janet with a shrug, "I'm the adopted kid of a firefighter and a history teacher. Both gone. I was picked up in a liquor store when I was two years old and have commemerative plates with my chubby little face on it that a Gotham for-profit T-shirt shop made when I was twelve. I have zero pedigree. No one down there cares, because to them I'm either a gold digger after Tim's money because they think we're secretly dating, or I'm a curiosity because I'm a poor blue-collar black girl who's just so far out of her league that everyone wants to try and manipulate me." Phoebe turns her dark eyes to Janet.

    "So is this to save face on Bruce's behalf, save face on Tim's behalf, or because I called you old?"

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's face starts to settle into a very plastic sort of mask. There's a flash of something in her eyes, something colder than anger; a little glimpse of the sociopath inside the multitalented fashionista. "The point of trying is to show me you're playing the game, Phobe," she says, in a dead serious voice. "That you take me seriously-- and that you take yourself seriously. I could be downstairs getting hit on by some of Gotham's hottest socialites. Instead I'm up here because you need help and apparently, I'm the only one who can be bothered to see it. You're drowning in the water and I'm offering to pull you out of it. That's why I'm choosing to overlook the fact you called me 'old', and take it as an honest mistake."

She stands up and flicks her gown out again, making it settle into place perfectly with just a few adjustments. "Someone's gonna come after Tim, or Bruce, or someone else. They're gonna do it sideways and they'll put your whole family under a microscope. The last thing you want to do is be the weak link there because you don't know how to flash your fangs with a smile. So you want my help? Or do I just go back to hors d'ourves, and you can..." she looks around the roof and wrinkles her nose. "Watch the stars, I guess."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "So it is about the Waynes and saving face." Phoebe stands. She's perfectly at home wearing those expensive heels as she raises up. "At least be honest and upfront even if I'm so far beneath you that you had to /deign/ to dip out and offer your help." Phoebe points out, and she keeps her gaze Very Directly on Janet, and even though she tries to keep a neutral face, she's very clearly unhappy. "I'd hate to waste your precious flirting time getting hit on by my family, apparently, because the Waynes are always the top three hottest. You think I'd start groveling for someone who feels like being an Avenger is the *worst* part of her life? Brilliantly intelegent fashion designer, business mogul, superhero, and that--" she motions down to the party "That's what gets you going?" she asks with notes of incredulousity in her voice.

    "If that's what gets someone taken seriously then why would I want any part of that superficial bollocks?" Phoebe spreads her arms out a moment as if in a 'come at me bruh' movement.

    "I speak six languages fluently, tested out of half my biology courses, and I am the friggin' personification of the idea of Hope spitting out teeth when she gets knocked on her ass and gets back up. If you -- and your little socialite friends who you're missing out with laughing at people like me down there -- want to denegrate me because a bunch of rich fucks made up stupid rules about salad forks and wearing white after labor day specifically to keep people like me out, that's your business. But don't you come up to me and pretend like you're doing me a favor, especially if you talk down about a member of *our* family."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet sighs in relief, looking ... well, completely unintimidated, but at least impressed by Phoebe's sudden outburst. "Finally. Jesus Christ, I thought I'd be up here all night rattling your cage," she tells Phoebe, and smiles brilliantly in undisguised approval, and waits for Phoebe's ire to simmer down a little after her outburst. When she looks less outraged, Janet lifts her hand, gesturing with her palm up.

"Look-- you never see Bruce embarassed. Right? He makes gaffes. He screws up. So do the others. You take your hit, you shrug it off, and move on. Embarassment is worse, though. Embarassment is weakness, and weakness is leverage. Yeah-- I don't love being called 'madam'. But now I know you didn't do it to piss me off. And since I ran you off, you could say..." One shoulder rise and falls, sending a ripple through her own evening gown. "I guess you could say, I felt like I owed you a way back down to the party, at a minimum." She lifts both hands and offers them to Phoebe, fingers curling in invitation. "C'mon, we'll walk in like we're besties and everyone will be talking about your dress. Which I /love/ on you, by the way, even if it's Oscar's," she admits, nose wrinkling.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe pauses, and she takes a deep breath, and exhales, letting all the anger out of her body.

    "That's because Bruce is Bruce and he's in total control of how people perceive him. And I should push you off the building... except you'd probably shrink down and punch me into the next county." Phoebe replies, and she brushes her dress off a little bit, and then gives a muttered phrase and a minor discoloration due to dampness on the roof is also brushed away.

    "Well... Oscar de la Renta was my adopted mom's favorite. And he tends to work with brighter colors." Phoebe gives a small smile to Janet.

    "But I love the work you did on Tim's tonight. All right, so, rattled you because I accidentallied polited in the wrong direction, you got me to start yelling curse words that Alfred's going to use The Good Soap on when everyone leaves tonight. Sounds fair." she breathes out.

    "Maybe not Besties. I've already got Tim for that." she jokes.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Look, how about this," Janet says, and nudges them both into moving towards the stairs off the roof. One arm links with Phoebe's and with the other she carefully manages the hem of her gown. "You tell Tim that I'm not *that* much of a bitch, and I'll tell Alfred I was the one cussing up on the roof," she promises Phoebe, and flashes another one of those megawatt grins at the girl. "I swear like a sailor anyway. I started doing it in junior school just to be a pain in the ass and the habit stuck with me," she says, chatting away with a blithe glibness. She seems to have completely left the incident behind her.

"To be honest, I'm a /terrible/ role model." And she does not seem the least bit apologetic about that fact!

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe very nimbly doesn't take the arm, giving an apologetic look to Janet.

    "You honestly can't possibly be worse than my last role model." she points out, and rubs the back of her neck a moment before she breathes out, and follows a quarter-step behind Janet. Luckily, cocktail length means Phoeb's able to move around without needing to pick up hems!

    "And you didn't even get me that mad. I didn't break out any Japanese or Arabic curse-words or insults." Phoebe just gives a laugh.

    "We'd better get down there quick though, I bet you Sophie Powers has Tim cornered again by the ladies' lounge and no way for the poor guy to escape!"