13494/The Concert in the Carpark

The Concert in the Carpark
Date of Scene:	03 December 2022
Location:	Abandoned Parking Garage, New York City
Synopsis:	Phoebe and Robbie Reyes head out to a punk show at a carpark. Robbie encounters the idea that Phoebe has french fries with peanutbutter, and the two hang out.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Robbie Reyes

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The five story parking garage has fallen into dissuse, disrepair, and general disarray. Advertised at a couple of college campuses and a few coffee houses, there was a rough stage set up on the top floor, lights consisting of Party City rejects (which also was the name of one of the bands) were set up so that crazy multi-color glow was going everywhere. Parking was at a premium, most people rode in on bikes or light motorcycles. There's a number of mopeds and the punk hipsters who were riding them before there was an issue with gasoline prices.

    Phoebe was waiting on the second floor, which was where a bunch of food trucks had set up. She was leaning against a concrete barrier that separated a roughshod skateboard and roller skating area, her hair done into bantu knots with safety pins struck through them. She had a black leather jacket on, with a safety pin with a red ribbon on the lapel, and was wearing a black T-shirt with a pair of skeletal hands, open and caging colorful, sparkling butterflies. The black-and-white plaid skirt she was wearing had a little purse with the Batman symbol on it (but was not official merch), and she was wearing gray leggings with black combat boots.

    This was also one of the few times she's had all her piercings in. She's got a small silver ring in her nose, a stud on the left nostril, and small rings, two on each ear. There's a stud with a glass ball that picks up the light around her and transmits little prismatic color changes. She has black cherry lipstick, matte on, and matching dark red eyeshadow.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The Charger's difficult to miss, even in that sea of black and chrome. Eight cylinders in that beast, all of them throttled down to idle, though they don't seem happy about it. It's like a hunter; bated but restrained.

Several of the hipsters on bikes pause their conversations to watch the muscle car's sleek profile roll up and the LEDs wash off as the ignition's killed. "Ni siquiera lo pienses," Robbie warns, slamming the door and digging in his pockets for the pack of cloves he knows he stowed there. One of the guys grins at him, but obligingly does not touch his car.

After he's lit up and cast about for a little while to get the lay of the land, his gaze snags on the girl standing on the second floor. She's hard to miss, in all honesty, and he finds himself staring for a good half a minute before pushing off toward the stairwell.

"Phoebe!" She might spot him striding toward her through the crowd toward her, alongside the makeshift skate park. He's dressed in his usual leather jacket pulled over top of a black hoodie, tight black jeans and silver buckled shit-kicking boots. He might have actually combed his hair or something, because it looks a little less scruffy than usual. Half inch silver gauges, the left one augmented with a dangling cross, and what looks like a touch of eyeliner to bring out his jarringly bright eyes.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had been looking at her phone, her lips pursed as she cycles through a couple of feeds on her phone, and then at the sound of Robbie's voice, she gives a bright smile over at h im, looking him up and down as well, and she gives a small smile, brushing her leather jacket off a little bit.

    "Here I was thinking I maybe overdid it." she jokes as she looks up to Robbie. The band above is wailing through a very punked out cover, with lots of echoes and wail pedals, of Pink Floydd's 'Welcome to the Machine'. The foodtrucks all smell amazing. Someone is capitalizing on the recent Disney hit with Arepas (some con queso, some just corn, at least three dessert varieties).

    "Did you find the place OK?" she asks over the din of people, cooking, food and music.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Overdo it? What, in this crowd?" Robbie looks briefly off to one side, where a girl in a full mohawk is gyrating to the music with her girlfriend in a pink buzzcut. "Naw." He flashes a grin full of dimples, and takes a drag off his clove before refocusing on Phoebe.

"You, uh. You look great. I love the.." He gestures to his nose, then lips, then changes his mind and just circumscribes his face. "Everything, really. I mean, you look *really* great. Whaddya call your hair when it's like that?" He has to lean in a little to be heard over the general noise in here, though he's careful not to touch her.

Then his mind backtracks to the question she asked him. "Oh, yeah, ain't a problem. I've been here before. You wanna grab a bite to eat and go watch the band, or?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "IT's been a while since I was out as a guest. Usually I was kinda... working when bands played at the bar." Phoebe gives a smile to Robbie as she watches the girl in the mohawk for a moment before embarrassedly turning away, her eyes going wide.

    "We can grab a bite to eat. THey have some gnarly tacos that they can make with veg-friendly ingredients, or there's a fry truck that can put peanutbutter on the fries instead of gravy." she states, and then she rubs the back of her neck a moment. "I mean, for me. You can eat what you want, /I/ am the one with the restriction." she jokes.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Catching the awkward glance at the other girl, who tosses Phoebe a wink as she unabashedly dances, Robbie pauses a moment to consider. "Or I can go grab food while you introduce yourself." He touches his tonguetip to a canine cheekily, and ashes out his clove before digging in his jeans pocket for his wallet.

"You vegetarian or vegan?" he wants to know. "I know how to make a pretty good vegan gravy. Maybe they do, too. Unless you really want fries with peanut butter." Which he looks dubious about.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a laugh. Yep. She was caught looking, and she bashfully drops her gaze, her lips curling a moment as she breathes out.

    "Pretty sure I don't wanna interrupt. I don't know the steps to that dance." she jokes to Robbie, and she reaches into her little purse.

    "Vegetarian. Mostly. On occasion after a hard night I have the real hankering for a bacon egg and cheese sandwich." she admits quietly. "Or this one time, when I woke up after..." she pauses a moment, "... it was a really bad night. I told my bestie that I really *really* wanted a hamburger." she replies in admission to Robbie. "And hey, fries with melted peanutbutter? Salty and sweet? It's like a pretzel, but hot and crispy instead of soft!"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Mmm, I don't think it's about knowin' the steps," Robbie confides, looking mohawk girl up and down briefly. "Just bein' enthusiastic enough." She smiles at him, but it's clear he's not her type. Which, to be fair, he's a little.. distracted at the moment, anyway.

"I mean, that's weird as fuck. But not the weirdest thing I ever heard." Fries with peanut butter it is. He digs out his wallet and leads the way toward the food trucks, pausing occasionally to make sure he's not getting too far ahead of the smaller girl. "So how long you been a vegetarian?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Oh trust me, there's steps to that dance that I know in theory and -- y'know I've already embarrassed myself enough." Phoebe pops up from behind Robbie, and to the other side.

    "My adopted mom convinced us after No Man's Land to go vegetarian, since meat was hard to come by that year. So... since I was in kindergarten? I don't really have a lot of memories of eating meat 'cause of it." Phoebe takes out cash of her own. "C'mon, you've never dipped pretzels in peanutbutter? THe salty and then the sweet?" she asks and she gives a soft 'huh' sound.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, he's clearly *very* curious. But the questions are going to have to wait-- at least, until they've got food in hand. Maybe beer. Is Phoebe old enough to drink beer? Robbie gives her a sidelong look like he's trying to figure it out.

"Pretzels? Sure. But if you're asking whether I ever been tempted to dip fries in them, I'm gonna have to say no." A stand selling handmade jewelry briefly catches his attention; particularly the silver skull ring sitting in a dish of assorted pieces.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She is not. She's old enough to vote, not old enough to drink in the US. That would require a portal to a warehouse in the UK.

    Or, y'know, a drive to Canada. Much closer, less effort.

    She has her fries with peanutbutter.

    She is dippy salty, crispy fries into peanutbutter.

    "I mean, it's not far from what vegan cheese is. Vegan cheese is basically cashew butter. Peanutbutter's cheaper." she states, carefully nomming before she looks at where his eyes are going, and she gives a little grin.

    And then, quiet enough to only be heard by him, Phoebe lets her geek flag fly.

    "My... *precious...."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He doesn't even have the chance to offer to pay for her fries; and there's no guarantee she'd let him. But Robbie was raised to be a good Mexican kid, so the instinct is pretty much hardwired into him. At least this one took, unlike all the soap he had his mouth washed out with.

"Okay, but vegan cheese? Kind of sounds like an oxy.. octam-- octomoron? Ah, fuck, I just mean it don't make sense." Look, he didn't finish high school. And words are not his forte.

The whisper makes him look over quickly though, and stick his tongue out at Phoebe. Two silver barbells are visible, and maybe a glimpse of the single web piercing underneath. "What do you think?" He slides the ring onto his thumb, and holds it up to her.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She wouldn't let him. She would try to pay for his. She's the one with Wayne on her credit card now.

    "Yeah, it's an oxymoron." she gets where he was going with the phrase, and she bites the corner of her lower lip a moment, her ears darkening slightly as she shrugs. "And yeah, kinda is. But I mean, people use 'cheese' to describe other stuff."

    She pauses, a fry halfway to her mouth as her eyes narrow "Not stuff to talk about while eating though." she admits, and then she looks over to the ring.

    "Little on the nose isn't it?" she asks playfully, her eyebrows rising up.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's admiring the ring while Phoebe talks and eats her fries. He straightens his fingers, checking out how the design contrasts with the ink scrawled along his fingers and wrist. The comment about 'other stuff' gains a confused look from him. What other stuff?

"Yeah, it's kind of tacky," he agrees eventually. The ring's slid back off and set in the bowl, and he thanks the guy manning the booth before moving away. "Lemme try one?" Of her fries, he means. He beckons with two fingers not occupied with his cigarette.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Fungal infections." Phoebe replies, and she holds out her fries and peanutbutter to Robbie with a bright smile.

    "Remember. I manned Medical for a looong time." she jokes, "and I'm studying medicine in college."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He pauses at 'fungal infections', expression going a little pinched like he's just eaten something expired. A glance goes to Phoebe's fries, then back up to her face. "Y'know. I think I'll pass. Ain't hungry after all."

Finishing off his smoke, he stubs it out in one of the designated ashtrays and dusts his hand off on the thigh of his jeans, before jamming it in a pocket of his jacket. "For real?" His gaze detours to her mouth, then back to her eyes. "I mean, that tracks. With your.." He hitches his chin toward the girl, probably indicating her magic. Pretty much the polar opposite of his own. "You want to be a doctor or a surgeon or what?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I... before the whole business, I wanted to be a children's doctor and work with Dr. Thompkins. She mains a clinic that serves the underserviced in Gotham." she gives an amused expression, which then softens.

    "The ring would have been fine, but I think maybe a matte black finish. In titanium, so that if you were working on an engine it wouldn't get bent or break on you."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie gives a little one-shouldered shrug about the ring, still watching her steadily as her expression softens a little. "Ain't engines I'm worried about." Might be a twinge of something in his eyes there, disturbing the calm surface only for a moment before submerging again. He doesn't spell it out, but he's clearly talking about Eli and his penchant for setting the young man ablaze.

"I think you'd make a good doctor for kids. There's a name for those, but I--" He scrapes fingers through his curls, awkward. "Anyway, couldn't you? Still?"

A group of skinheads in biker leathers approaches them, and he inches closer to Phoebe.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Pediatricians, that was the goal when I was fifteen." she gives a small smile, walking a bit with her fries. "I could. Maybe. But it gets hard to keep lives separate. Adopted daughter of a businessman versus vigilante magic girl and healer." she jokes quietly, keeping her voice low.

    She sees him inch closer, and she, with a practiced eye, looks over the skinheads. She breathes out.

    And he might see her hands curl into loose fists. The slight narrow of her eyes as she presses just a little to him, as if daring the skinheads to start trouble.

    Sure as Hell they'd find exactly what they're looking for.

    "Freaking skinheads. They're not welcome here."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"I dunno, mild-mannered doctor by day, vigilante witch by night, it kind of has a good ring to it." Then he does reach over to snag one of her fries, unless she bats him away. "But I don't blame you for changing your mind."

He chews, makes a face that suggests he's not entirely sure about her choice in food combinations, and swallows carefully.

To the heavyset guy with a scar bisecting his face who's eyeing Phoebe like she's an exotic cut at a meat market, "Keep fuckin' walking, pendejo." His lean frame is oddly relaxed, though the subtle shift in his movement, his voice, suggests Eli's already eager and ready to go.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Might have a ring to it, but I've gotta question the ethics of trying to choose who to heal and who to let go. I don't think I'm ready for that." Phoebe had replied, not batting his hand away from the peanutbutter french fries. They are salty and sweet and peanutbuttery and potato-y.

    Phoebe, luckily, can hold her own in a fight against most people. She looks at the guy with the scar bisecting his face, and the hair on the back of her neck stands up. She stretches her fingers, as if getting ready to throw a punch herself, feeling Eli raise his head.

    "Let's not start a fight, it wouldn't be fair." she reminds Robbie quietly.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
She's got a point there. Robbie, if he wasn't currently in a wrestling match with his literal inner demon, might have to concede it, too. Not that the skinheads are any sort of a threat to them; Phoebe's right. It wouldn't be fair.

More importantly, they're on Batman's turf, and he's promised he'd try to adhere to the big guy's rules. Robbie licks some peanut butter off his thumb while keeping eyes on the ringleader, who's watching him in return like he's trying to decide how many pieces to break the punk into.

"Parece que es tu dia de suerte." Robbie's lifted his hands in surrender, all of his lean six feet made to appear relaxed and non-threatening. The guy considers him a moment more, then gives Phoebe a long, pointed look before moseying off with his entourage.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Keep looking Thimble-Dick. Maybe something will jump out." Phoebe comments dryly at Scarface, holding her peanutbutter (now mostly sans french fries and very melty) in the carboard boat up. Maybe it was feeling Eli grate on her that keyed up her aggression, or Robbie's own surrender to relax tensions. But Phoebe had a special hated of skinheads at punk shows.

    And she had turned to walk off and leave her insult hanging in the air between her and that entourage, content that if someone was going to start shit, it wasn't going to be Robbie and Phoebe.

    She keeps her attention though, listening for a footfall behind her and the creak of leather and denim that would telegraph a hit.

    "So, would it be rude of me to ask if you wanted churros?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Maybe he didn't catch the insult to his penis size, or maybe.. maybe Scarface has a few brain cells rattling around in there, and wisely decided that fucking with these two might not actually be worth the effort. Either way, after a momentary pause in his steps, the guy and his entourage are gone. Dispersed into the crowd.

Robbie's looking a little pale, and has to force his breathing to even out with a couple of visible gulps of air. It isn't fear that Phoebe can see in him; it's simply the effort of keeping Eli contained.

"Uh.. sorry, what'd you say?" He tears his gaze away from the big guy's retreating back, and looks down to the cherry lipstick'd girl with him.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Hey, take a breather." Phoebe gently replies, and although she doesn't touch him, she brings her hand up to grab against the lapel of his jacket, holding him steady.

    She felt it. She knew. "I asked if it'd be weird if I wanted churros," she states, steering Robbie to another concrete barrier to sit on. "If he doesn't settle his butt down we'll go someplace else. I don't want... I don't want to put you in harm's way."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Take a breather. "That's a real good idea." It's murmured softly, and he manages a fleeting smile when she grabs his jacket, and steers him to sit somewhere out of the way. He sinks down with a slow, unsteady exhale, pushing both hands into his hair. Elbows on his spread knees, inked fingers gripping his dark curls like he's trying to work some sensation back into them.

"Why'd it be weird?" he mumbles, looking up at her. His green eye's still muddled with orange, like his body's still trying to turn despite his best efforts. He drops his gaze again. "Harm's way?" He snorts. "He ain't no threat to me. And before you say it.. yeah, I know you could kill me. But you'd have to really want to. I don't die easy, carino."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I dunno. I've only ever been on one date with a guy, and he was a self-absorbed Hudson Valley trust-fund baby and didn't care what I thought about anything. And my only ever hang-out with anyone recently kinda resulted in a lead ballerina being kidnapped and we had to rescue her." she admits quietly, and then she turns, and leans against the divider, playing look-out. HEr eyes sweep the crowd for other threats that might take advantage of Robbie's state.

    "I could kill you if I wanted to. But I don't want to hurt you." she states softly, and she drops down one hand, placing it just very lightly on his shoulder, just her fingertips.

    "You know, I speak six languages, but Spanish? Only know food items. Carino... what's that one mean again?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Mmm. Can't really imagine you going out with a trust fund guy, you know?" Or maybe it's just that he can't imagine what she'd see in him, if she's into people rolling in money. Robbie, after all, is scraping by. But only barely.

After some moments of quiet contemplation, and the unexpected -- but far from unpleasant -- sensation of her fingertips on his shoulder, he ventures, "So this is a date, huh?" And a moment or two later, "Let me pay for your churros?"

The question sounds absurd, and it makes him chuckle.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It was a surprise date. And he sucked. And my friend is not allowed to set me up with anyone ever again... 'cause... I can't imagine being with someone who doesn't know all sides of me." she states quietly. And she looks down from where she was leaning, to Robbie, and she gives a smile, and then rubs the back of her head -- not her neck -- "Well, I mean, yeah you can pay for my churros. Date... well... let's call it a 'formal hang-out session'. Just in case someone gets kidnapped."

    And she pokes his shoulder.

    "You didn't answer my question."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Ouch. Maybe she'll spot the flicker of disappointment when she confirms it's not a date, or maybe she won't. Robbie tries to plaster on a smile to cover it up, to.. not much success. "Mmhm," he manages distractedly, focusing now on taking another measured breath, two, in order to fully ground himself in his own body.

"What question?" he asks with some confusion, pushing to his feet with renewed steadiness. He digs for his wallet while he waits for the answer, clearly planning on following through on his offer.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... only because inevitably something bad happens when something's called a 'date'. For a magician, I'm weirdly superstitious." she gives a small smile, shrugging ehr shoulders, her fingers still on his shoulder. Keeping him steady, trying not to mother hen him before she purses her lips, and then lifts her fingers to cross her arms.

    "You called me 'carino'. I mean, I could try to break it down to its Latin roots, but I'm a little distracted for linguistics at the moment."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
There's something he wants to say, and it's on the tip of his tongue before it's not. The latent strength of her magic leaves a slight, warm ache where she touches his shoulder. Nothing severe; just enough to let him know it's there.

"Uh." Now he's blushing, and his freckles look even more ridiculous. "You know, like.. sweetheart. Honey. I wasn't.. well, I didn't mean anything by it. C'mon." He holds up a folded ten dollar bill from his wallet, between two fingers, and prowls off for the Mexican food stand.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Robbie. I already know you think I'm cute." Phoebe points out, and she gives a laugh, her cheeks and ears darkening. There's not as much indication that she's blushing, but she shoves her hands in her pockets.

    "... and even if nothing comes out of it than us knowing one another better... I'm glad you decided to come. It's definitely more fun to go to a show with someone else. Someone who isn't embarrassed to buy churros from..." she squints her eyes a moment.

    "Probably a not cursed food truck."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The money's slid over, and a brief -- and rapid -- exchange in Spanish follows with the balding Mexican fellow who owns the truck. It's cold enough for him to have a little portable heat lamp going, and Robbie steps in close to it, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

While the pastry's fried up and coated in cinnamon sugar, Robbie digs for another cigarette. "I don't.. I haven't dated anyone, really. Not since Rien. Not before her, either. Been with plenty of people, but.." He flicks his lighter once, twice, until it takes. Easier to do it himself, but he's clearly not going to whip out hellfire in a place like this. "Eli ain't real compatible with a relationship. So it's cool, I promise. Whatever the reason is you'd rather be friends. Just hope I didn't do anything that, uh." He glances away. "That hurt you."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Ah yes, the Gotham Winters strike again. The magician brings her hands up too, warming them next to the heatlamp. She actually dug into her jacket and offered Robbie her own bic lighter with a Pharaoh on it. And she talked about things being on the nose!

    "I dated a girl for a while. I don't know if we even both thought the same thing... she's... a tough nut to crack, but a good friend still. Had plenty of crushes. But one of them literally ghosted me and went back to Romania. The other one has a very nice boyfriend who gets them." she gives a small smile... and then a frown, and then she side-eyes Robbie a moment.

    "... dating's complicated. Even friendships are complicated when you like us." she breathes out through her nose.

    "Eli's not the one I'd want the relationship with beyond 'professional'." she remarks casually.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The offer of Phoebe's lighter is accepted, and he stows his own before turning hers over in his hand. The Pharaoh's a nice touch.

Once he's got that first shot of nicotine to steady his nerves, he hands the lighter back. Held out in the palm of the same hand with the clove burning away steadily between two fingers. "Sounds like you've had about as much luck with girls as I have," he remarks bemusedly, watching her during that side-eye.

"Wish I knew what you were thinking," is murmured much softer as he studies her profile, almost lost to the pounding bass of whatever the band's currently playing.

Then the churros are set down, and there's another rapid-fire exchange in Spanish before those too are held out to Phoebe in silent offer.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Girls are complicated creatures. So mysterious. Guys? Guys are also complicated but for entirely different reasons. And then somewhere to the extreme side of everything else, there's us." she comments to Robbie with a smile as she shoves her bic back into her bag. She hasn't smoked in months. She kinda wanted to.

    She smiles, turning around, watching more of the people around them, making sure that the skinheads aren't coming back, and that Robbie is safe. Once the churros are set down with their cinnamon sugar goodness, Phoebe gives a grin, and with an awful Gotham accent she says, "Gracias! Lo siento, mi espanol es mal. Muy mal." Phoebe gives a comment, accepting the churros but she makes an adorable little 'eeee' sound, might even a little happy bounce. She has a sweet tooth.

    She doesn't often get to imbibe in.

    "Six languages, and none of 'em Spanish." She remarks quietly, and she crunches into one of the fresh-out-of-the-oil churros.

    Before she realizes that they are indeed fresh from the oil and she opens her mouth and starts breathing out in a squeak of alarm.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"I think you *like* bein' mysterious," Robbie opines on the subject, taking a long drag off his clove. "Watchin' me writhe like a fish on the line, not knowin' where I stand with you. Or what you want." The smoke's exhaled in a steady stream from his nose and slightly parted lips, politely away from her. He doesn't sound angry, so much as profoundly confused.

But the sight -- and sound -- of Phoebe trying to speak Spanish nearly makes him choke with laughter. It's so terrible. The guy behind the stall smiles politely, but with a touch of dumbfoundment.

"Maybe I can teach you-- hey, careful. You okay?" The instinct to touch her is thwarted by the reminder in his head that she doesn't like it, but he holds his hand out for the bag of hot, fried pastry instead. In case that helps.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ha ha ha tho ha!" <Hot hot hot so hot!> Phoebe fans at her mouth, and she actually has tears in her eyes, turning over the hot fried pastry before things calm down, and she nearly chokes. Incredibly awkward.

    She swallows and then just tilts her head back, and wipes at her eyes with her palms.

    "Robbie. I am *not* mysterious!" she protests, giving a laugh, "you just watched me shove a three hundred twenty-five degree churro in my mouth, I cavort with demons and have issues with staying in one place. I'm not mysterious, I'm a Gotham City back-alley dumpster fire. ANd you're just about the nicest guy I've ever met."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Agua, por favor," Robbie demands of the guy manning the food cart, then practically pushes it at Phoebe so she can douse her mouth with it.

"I would've maybe waited a minute on the churro if I were you, but that ain't nothing to do with mystery." The laugh makes him relax slightly. But he's still watching her with some residual concern.

"And are you seriously trying to tell me I'm too nice? I gave my soul to a fuckin' demon--" He realises he's talking too loudly, and lowers his voice to an agitated whisper. "--and I kill people in ways I don't think you'd wanna know about. You can call me whatever else you want, but you don't get to call me *nice*."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No that was everything to do with being a dumbass." Phoebe freely admits regarding the churro in question, and she lifts the bottle of water in gratitude before she drains it.

    And she motions her head a little off to the side with Robbie.

    And she crosses one arm over her chest.

    "You were in crisis." she states quietly. "People do stupid things when they're in crisis. Make deals with the Fae. Cut contracts with Demons. Sell their soul for a little more time on Earth just to get hit by a bus because sometimes, when it's your time to go, Death can't care." she gently states, just under the beat of the music above them.

    "I have seen people torn apart from the inside out by soldier demons. I have seen giant whipspiders errupt from chest cavities. The man I called 'Dad' ended up being a demon-possessed necromantic meat puppet, and the other guy I called 'Dad' not only threatened to execute me if I did anything to risk his biological daughter, called my powers demonic piecemeal and told me all I had to do to get over the immense amount of trauma having a necromancer try to execute me for my biological mother's powers is stop being a child." she states.

    "And then he fucked off with your ex to parts unknown in the Astral."

    She holds up her right hand, and she holds up her finger.

    "I get to call you nice and kind because you, Robbie Reyes, are nice and kind, and when you saw that I wasn't ready to be kissed, you backed off."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's silence suggests he doesn't entirely agree with Phoebe's conclusion of dumbass. But the little moue he makes with his mouth suggests he doesn't entirely *disagree* with it either. He, for once, is diplomatic enough to keep his mouth shut, though.

"I didn't take the deal for myself," he points out midway through her expose. "Took it because I knew I couldn't leave Gabe alone. If it was just me.." There's the residue of an old, old pain in his eyes. One he keeps firmly shuttered and hidden. "Hell, I was ready to go right there."

He quiets though for the rest of what she has to say. Drags off his clove, and walks if she'd like to walk. Or stops beneath one of the sparsely placed heat lamps, if she'd like to linger. "He didn't have the right to call himself your father. Neither of them did. It wasn't right, and I'm-- I'm sorry." He watches her face, and his own looks so much older suddenly than his twenty-two years.

"But you got no idea what Eli wants me to do to you. He gets inside my head, and he-- he twists every thought I have. Every thing I want. I barely know who I am anymore, Phoebe."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... I wanted it. I wanted an adult I could look up to. Everyone I knew in my group had someone who was like them. And I didn't. I didn't have anybody. And because of them... I made new friends. Lydia. You. I was able to find more and help people. For five months, I felt safe." she quietly states, and they stop, lingering under one of the heat lamps. She extends her fingers to the warmth of the heat lamp.

    And she looks over to Robbie quietly. She looks every one of her own eighteen years. Barely in college. Clear skin, perfectly done hair. No bruises or burn from the hot oil, just the smear of where it struck her lipstick.

    "I can guess." she replies in response to what Eli wants to do with her.

    She finally chances another churro, and bites it, raising her eyebrows.

    "Do you want to find out who you are without Eli?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Can't pretend to know what you went through," Robbie murmurs, huddling closer under the convective heat of the lamp. The crowds have thinned out slightly, but not by much; the concertgoers are, however, decidedly more inebriated now.

"But I do know what it's like. To need a parent you don't have." His mouth twitches with some sort of repressed emotion, and he scratches at some couple's initials engraved in the lamppost with a tattooed thumb. "It ain't right. But I guess we're just orphans for life, you and me." He looks back up to her and her perfect features. Drinks them in without saying a word for the longest time.

Then, "You're gonna have to tell me what you mean by that. If you're thinkin' of exercising him--" That's *exorcising*, Reyes. "It ain't gonna work. Already been tried."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The girl across from him gets a wet cat expression. "No. I'm a serial adoptee. Harvey Dent told me the next name change I get a free coffee at the cafe in the County Building." she states with no mirth, though it's clearly meant as as joke.

    Phoeb shakes her head. She holds up her left hand, where a pale circle encompasses her wrist.

    "This is a binding seal. It stops me from literally broadcasting my magic power to everyone in the city. Stops me from involuntarily healing people. If this wasn't active, I would probably be really uncomfortable to be around. I'm not talking about an exorcism... that..." she gets a worried expression "would take days, and my luck with handling demons stronger than midling is fifty-fifty." she states, considering.

    "I could create a binding tattoo. To give you maybe a few hours at a time without him in your head. I'd have to do a lot of research on it." she considers.

    "Although right now if he's whispering in your ear he's probably not willing to time-share."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, the free coffee thing makes him smile, anyway. Though it could be the look she gives him, which he admits to with a dimpled smile and a murmured, "You're cute when you're annoyed with me, you know?"

His gaze travels to her wrist, and his eyes fix on the mark unerringly. He doesn't need to understand it to simply *know* it and what it means; the reaction from Eli is sharp and visceral, making a muscle in his jaw twitch in response. "I, uh." She can see him swallow, making his adam's apple more prominent for a moment. "I mean, I'll have to think about it." It isn't a *no*. "I don't--" He huddles a little more into his jacket, being the SoCal boy he is. "Like I said, I don't know who I am without him anymore."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... it won't get rid of Eli. He'll still be there, like pain after taking morphine. You'll know he's there, and you can unleash him if you need to, but for a couple of hours, maybe, you'll be able to just be you without having to wrestle control all the time. You won't be able to utilize any of his powers while it's active. Mine requires a vocal component to activate and de-activate, a bit like having -- oh what's that thing -- The Clapper! Except--" she purses her lips, "no clapping, although that would be a hilarious audio component." she remarks quietly, and she looks very thoughtful.

    And then she looks up at Robbie, as if catching what he's said, and she blinks, thought process faulting a moment as she purses her lips.

    "... I'm cute all the time. Get over it." she scolds, and she reaches up, and just very gently fist-daps Robbie's shoulder.

    "You know who you are without him." she whispers, "You just need a reminder."