13539/Canelo's has a sale on brake pads. Who wouldn't want new brake pads

Canelo's has a sale on brake pads. Who wouldn't want new brake pads
Date of Scene:	09 December 2022
Location:	Canelo's Auto and Body
Synopsis:	Phoebe shows up at the shop, and she and Robbie grab a hot chocolate and talk. It doesn't go well.
Cast of Characters:	Robbie Reyes, Phoebe Beacon

---

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's late, and business at Canelo's has slowed to a steady trickle. Canelo himself is just headed out for the night, bundled up in a coat and calls across the garage to remind Robbie to fix the air compressor and drain the oil-- despite the fact that he closes up every night, and knows all of this by rote at this point.

The younger man rolls his eyes and continues his work without looking up. Nearly unrecognisable in a set of dark grey coveralls and backwards baseball cap, he's up to his elbows in the guts of a late model Chevy truck while Christmas music plays from a radio nearby.

One of the bay doors is open, as is the front door of the shop proper. Also noticeable is the sleek black '69 Charger parked out back. Not a whole lot of those in these parts.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Christmas Music is one of the banes of Phoebe's life. It has a complicated relationship with her. Mostly in that Bad Things tend to happen around the holiday.

    In steps the well-dressed Phoebe. Gone are all the piercings, her make-up is minimal and classic, her hair in two low braided buns near the nape of her neck. She wears a well-fitted wool jacket, designer jeans and comfortable, well-made boots. A look at the Charger confirmed that Robbie was in.

    So in she steps into the shop, carrying a beat-up leather backpack and a smile.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's not just Christmas music, it's Mistletoe by Justin Bieber. In other words, 'music' is a generous way of describing it.

It's also loud enough to just *barely* mask the sound of Phoebe's arriving footsteps. And combine that with how fixated Robbie is on removing this rusted pile of junk that calls itself a camshaft.. he doesn't yet notice the attractive girl dressed far too nicely for a shop like this, walk in.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    ... very generous. At least Phoeb can figure that Robbie didn't pick this one.

    Unless Eli really likes to torture people...

    Phoebe watches with amusement. Mechanics weren't her strong point -- that was always left to the more mechanically inclined, but she knows it can be dangerous. So she waits patiently, making like she's grabbing up a magazine that has...

    ... oh, it's Bruce on the cover. He's been photoshopped, he never looks that chipper.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's a solid few minutes before Robbie manages to extricate the corroded steel rod, and turn away to toss it atop the workbench. It's as he's turning back, that he notices the dark-skinned girl casually standing there with a magazine featuring Batman on the cover.

He hesitates a moment, a little like a deer in headlights. Then glances off in the direction his boss left, and back to Phoebe. His eyebrows furrow, creating a puzzled little stitch in between them. "Hey." He reaches for a rag, and starts cleaning the grease off his hands. Gives him something to do. "You, uh, need something? Didn't see your bike on my list for today."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That would be because I took my bike today, and it's running fine since you fixed it." Phoebe gives a smile, and then she firmly keeps her hands in front of her, and then tucks them into her jacket pocket.

    "I... I'm sorry to bother you at work. Happened to be in the area on another errand." she explains with a small smile. "Wanted to know if you were still interested in me doing the research for a peace-of-mind tattoo."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Better be," Reyes answers with a flicker of sharp amusement in his bright, sloe-lidded eyes. "I got a reputation to maintain, you know?"

He's meticulous with the rag, attacking every spot of grease between his fingers and under the nails before shoving it into the back pocket of his coveralls. "A peace of-- oh." His gaze shifts away, and after a pause he prowls off to rifle through his toolbox for a pair of pliers. "I mean, it ain't up to me. Not really. Why d'you want to help me with something like this, anyway?"

Giving the pliers a light toss so he can catch them by the handle, he angles back toward the engine he'd been working on.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Well, yeah, because someone who knew what they were doing got it. I was my last mechanic." Phoebe replies good naturedly to Robbie as she watches him thoroughly clean his hands, dark eyes watching with interest before she catches herself.

    "It... really bothered me when you said you didn't know who you are anymore." she admits, and she draws her hands out from her pockets, one now containing an eight inch, silicone... slug. It's rainbow colors. She fidgets with it, manhandling the item as she speaks.

    "That's something I struggle with after a lot of sudden change. And if there's a way to help, maybe I'd find a little bit of who I was too."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The slug admittedly gets a double-take. And maybe his freckles-and-coffee-with-lots-of-cream complexion starts to look a little more tomato-like instead. He drags his gaze away, braces one hand against the engine cowling, and tries to caaaaarefully pry something loose with the other while Phoebe talks.

"Well, I ain't--" He grunts as it does indeed loosen, and he's able to toss the rusted bolt aside as well. Then work on the next. "--your pet project. Don't even know if it's a good idea. If I'd know how to.. be without him, after six years bein' like this." He lifts his hand, showing Phoebe two fingers crossed tightly together.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You're not a pet project. You're someone I care about." Phoebe replies, perhaps a little tersely. The slug gets shoved back in the jacket pocket, but now Robbie knows of the slug's existence. "But you're probably right. There's not really anyone I could talk to and ask questions to. So you're right. Probably safer to not mess around with things and try to fix what's not broken." she states, forcing a level of measured neutrality in her voice.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Something's grumbled under his breath. Probably in Spanish. Also probably with a few dirty words sprinkled in. He doesn't elucidate.

"Look, what do you want from me?" He pushes off the car, a sliver of irritation entering his voice as he flings the second rusted bolt into a large bin containing -- presumably -- broken car parts. "I said I'd think about it. I ain't stopping you from doin' your research, I just--" He tugs off the cap, and rifles his fingers through slightly sweaty curls. "Don't understand you." And is avoiding looking at her, at this very moment.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I just..." Phoebe begins, and then her shoulders come up, and she curls her fingers, then slips her hands into her pockets again. "Nevermind, I shouldn't have bothered you at work. I'm sorry, Robbie, I'll just go." she motions with her head, and she reaches up to pull the hood of her jacket up.

    "Be safe out there, yeah?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It, unfortunately, is fucking *cold* in here tonight. There's an ancient looking space heater set up for the boys working on cars to keep warm; but it looks to be on the fritz, and has been unplugged after shorting out and throwing a few sparks.

Robbie looks away for a few seconds and firms his jaw. Silent, while Phoebe does her sad turtle impression. Silent too when she tells him to 'be safe'.

Then he blows a long breath out his nose and steps in closer. "Hey, don't--" Starts to reach for her, remembers not to, and draws his arms awkwardly around himself. "Don't go." Now it's 'I want a hippopotamus for Christmas' playing on the radio.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Only a Hippopotamus will do. Don't want a doll, no rinky-dinky toys, I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy.

    Phoebe pauses, tensing a moment as she looks to Robbie's hand reaching out for her, and then she gives an awkward half-smile.

    "It's okay, really, I get it." she takes a deep breath and lets it out, turning to look back to Robbie with a small smile on her lips. "It's a big change. Six years is a long time. And here I am pestering you two weeks from Christmas, at your job, like I'm some kinda car warranty salesman."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The tension's noted, and with a wince he pulls away to give her space. Look, he can be clueless at times, but he isn't totally oblivious. His lean frame's holding some serious tension as well, mostly in his shoulders, as he goes to shut the truck's hood and start cleaning up with his back to Phoebe.

"Like I said," he murmurs. "I'll give it some thought." Then, for want of something else to talk about, "Had fun the other night. At the concert, I mean."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "We should go to another show sometime. Maybe someone will take us up on starting a fight and we can be /super/ punk and get kicked out of a punk show for fighting." she jokes, the tension eased. "I've got a social event to hit up on the seventeenth, think the next abandoned place show might be in Metropolis." she considers, rocking back on her heels. "Unless you had other ideas on where to hang out and watch me embarrass myself by eating hot fried foods."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He snorts in amusement, and looks up for a moment from his sorting of tools into drawers. Then back to his task. "I don't start fights, cuate, I end 'em." Another glance back to her, and a broad, dimpled grin. Probably he's just talking shit. Maybe.

Now he's pushing up the sleeves of his coveralls and fixing his cap on tightly, before going to drain the oil from the catch into a large drum. "Social event, huh? Some Bat family thing, or?" He's hedging, clearly, on answering the question about ideas for hanging out.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know, you end them pretty solidly from what I can recall. I think that's why I like having you along for the Big Scary Things." she gives a smile, leaning against a handy wall.

    Unfortunately no, I have to make an appearance at a Christmas Market in Gotham. Most Definitely not official vigilante business." Phoebe replies, and she simply glances around, and definitely does not lean over to check Robbie's work. Definitely not leaning over at all in curiosity.

    "One of those things where I have to wear a dress and smile for cameras and contend with smug rich assholes thinking they have permission to touch my shoulder or cheek but I tell you the minute one does Imma shout 'Stranger Danger' and whip the jerk to the ground so fast his gramma will get the vapors." she mutters the last part, clearly having Feelings about socialites in Gotham.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Mmhm," Robbie agrees in a low murmur. He's focused heavily on the task at hand: emptying oil into a large drum, presumably to be recycled or sold. No sense wasting it, anyway.

"Not official business?" Now he sounds curious. "Favour for someone, then? Or you got an ulterior motive for bein' there?" Once he's finished with the oil, he caps the hole at the top and hefts the thing up in his arms like it weighs nothing, depositing it back against the wall. Canelo doesn't ask how he manages all this on his own, and he doesn't enlighten him. Might be better that way.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's business, but not official business. Not, y'know..." Phoebe holds her fingers up to the sides of her head in imitation of Batman's cowl.

    "I'm there putting on appearances, and I support the Children's Works of Gotham, you know? They're trying to make it safer so that minnimum-security Black Gate prisoners can see their kids in a better environment. The hope is that it'll encourage rehabilitation. They got this huge Wayne grant to work with, psychological surveys to back it up, pretty solid. So I'll go to this thing, smile, wave, and walk around in high heels for a couple of hours and then I'm outta there." she states. "And sometimes I find some potted greenery so I can hide from everyone."

    She shrugs her shoulders up. "Crowds still give me issues sometimes."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
With the heavy lifting done, all that's left is to sweep and lock up. Robbie snags a broom while Phoebe explains what's going on with this gala, or whatever the hell it is, and gets to work. "I gotcha." He's quiet then for a minute or two, but for the *whooshk, whooshk* of the broom on the shop floor.

Then, "Could've been me, you know? My *mama* figured I was gonna be locked up by the time I was eighteen. Almost managed it too, if they hadn't died." He glances up at her when she mentions heels, then quickly away again.

"Can't handle crowds either. It's a good thing you're doing, though. You're a good person."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Heh, my mom was scared of me going 'Ghetto'. One of the reasons she made me straighten my hair was so I wouldn't be 'too black'." she muses quietly. "... didn't stop me from getting a criminal trespass charge when I was fourteen, but hey." she pauses a moment, watching him work, and she draws her hands up a moment. "Is... there another broom? I could help and get you outta here quicker." she asks, and then gives an awkward smile. She won't argue that she's a good person. She knows the truth there.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Ghetto, huh? You don't look too ghetto to me. But for what it's worth, I like your hair the way it is." He keeps his eyes on his work, and shakes his head at the offer of help. "Only be a minute. Unless you got somewhere else to be?"

The broom's stowed in short order, and he tugs off his cap, and rakes his fingers through slightly sweaty curls. "Just gotta cash out and change, but if you need a ride somewhere.."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No, nowhere else to be tonight. Lucky night off." Phoebe gives a small smile, and looks down "as much as a night off can be, anyway." she gives a small grin over to Robbie. "That's one of the reasons why I stopped over after I ran my errand." she states, and she watches him rake his fingers through his curls, and she shrugs her shoulders.

    "I got my helmet and my riding jacket on my bike. Just... wanted to see you."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He loiters there for a few seconds, six feet and some one hundred eighty pounds of awkward, fiddling with the baseball cap that says LA DODGERS on it in looping, faded script. Looks like an heirloom of some kind, maybe his dad's. Maybe just his, but well-loved. What does she mean by 'wanted to see you', anyway?

He considers making some jab about her bike to ease the tension, but opts instead for a nod, and a step backwards toward the stairs. "Lemme lock up. I'll meet you out front, we can go grab a hot chocolate." He pauses. "You like hot chocolate, right?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Love hot chocolate. WHo doesn't like hot chocolate? Just not natural." Phoebe replies, having both caught herself staring and the incredible awkwardness of her own statement, and she breathes out, and just gives a small laugh.

    "I mean, rainbow marshmallows in it, am I right?" she piles on the awkward, and then she bites her lower lip, and then smiles.

    "I'm sorry, I am... so extra tonight. I'll meet you out front." she smiles, and she steps out the front door, pulling the hood of her jacket forward a bit against the cold.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Rainbow marshmallows all the way." Maybe not the sort of thing she might have expected from a tattooed, leather-wearing punk with a tongue piercing and a nasty little murder habit. But there it is.

And then he's turning and scaling the stairs two at a time, disappearing into the shop proper before she can call him out on it.

True to his word, he isn't long closing up. And when he wanders back out to lock the open bay door, he's dressed in tight black jeans, boots and a faded grey hoodie, and looks to have scrubbed most of the grease off his face and hands. "It's about a five minute walk from here," he explains. "If you can handle the neighbourhood." It's.. not the best.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "My Brother in Weirdness I live in Gotham." Phoebe gives Robbie a side-eye, and she gives him a wry little smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I take out like, five muggers a night." she jokes, and Phoebe smiles from beneath her hood, and motions for him to lead the way before she slips her hands into her pockets. The Slug is still there.

    "So... you live in the area too?" she questions.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Oh, he hasn't forgotten about the Slug. Every so often, his mind wanders back to it. With Questions. Many, many Questions. None of which are articulated at this moment, because they're going to get hot chocolate. And hot chocolate is nice and wholesome.

"I, uh. I used to. Live around here." He jams his hands into his hoodie pockets, for want of something else to do with them, and starts walking. Careful of course not to outpace the more diminutive girl accompanying him. "Apartment burned down, though. Long story. So I'm actually living in Gotham these days."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You and your brother?" Phoebe inquires, and she gives a small sound that might be amusement. Gallows humor.

    "I've been through that. My house burned down two years ago. That sucks." she agrees, and she looks up at the wintery sky. "Gotham's not so bad. She's a tough city to love, but she's got her good points." she gives a small smile. "What part of Gotham if you don't mind me asking?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie lets out a little huff of amusement that briefly clouds the chill air; not quite a chuckle, though she might spot the brief appearance of dimples. "Yeah. Me and Gabe. Introduce you to him maybe, one of these days. If you ain't already met him."

The comisseration about house fires makes him look up and over, brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Remember you telling me that. 'bout your house." Then his expression smoothes out, and he makes a small moue with his mouth. "Chinatown. One of those rowhouses on fourty-first." It's low income housing, is what it is. But at least they aren't out on the street.

"Rien wanted me to move in, after the fire, but I--" He makes an unidentifiable noise in his throat. "Well, I couldn't. I guess you know how that went."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah." Phoebe replies quietly, walking with Robbie, her shorter strides keeping up with his. She was already trying to think if that was a Wayne Foundation owned block. She gives a breath out her nose.

    "I hate this time of year for that reason. Always seems to make me switch houses." she adds quietly, and she taps herself down, before she remembers she *promised* she'd quit smoking. Bleh.

    She gives the slug a squish in her pocket.

    "I used to live with Chas above a bar. That was the closest thing to 'home' I had since the fire. 's all gone, now."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Spotting the telltale motion of a smoker seeking their fix, Robbie's tempted to offer one of his cloves, but seems to decide that if she wants one, she'll ask.

"You got someone to spend it with? Christmas, Hanukkah, whatever you, uh. If you celebrate any of it, I mean."

He thinks a little on the last thing she's said, then asks, "Your apartment under the shop. That ain't home?" The door to the little cafe is held open for her; inside, the place is small but cozy and there's an orange tabby sleeping on the windowsill. Also a few tired-looking decorations up, and a handful of equally tired-looking people huddled in cheap seating clutching hot drinks-- and looking cautious about those entering.

Yep, it's that kind of neighbourhood.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There was a little huff of momentary anger, but she didn't ask for one of his. He holds the door open, and as habbit she makes a sweep of the shop. Tired people who just want their hot drinks in peace. The orange tabby on the windowsill. She tired decorations Her kind of neighborhood. She missed Hell's Kitchen sometimes.

    Bristol was way too bougie.

    "I... usually take night duty on holidays. Keeps my mind off things. Or I work soup kitchens with my bestie and his boyfriend." she explains, and she gives a small smile.

    "No... that's... that's not home. I have a bed, but not a home. And that's pretty much said for every place I have a bed." she looks up, squinting her eyes for some sort of menu.

    She's slightly near-sighted.

    "The minute some place feels like home, it burns."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
To Robbie Reyes, this coffee shop, this neighbourhood, these people, that cat, and even the sad Santa losing his beard on the back wall, they're his. He fits here like he'd never fit in with those high society types Phoebe sometimes runs with.

"Two hot chocolates, you got any rainbow marshmallows?" He digs his wallet out and tosses a crumpled twenty on the counter with a sidelong glance to Phoebe, in case she wants something else.

And then catches the last few words she says. But he's got nothing to tell her in return. What's he going to do, argue with her? He looks away instead, and murmurs, "Desgracia compartida, menos sentida, huh?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe doesn't comment. The tired people. The working people. She fits here more than she does in high society. No time for politicking and licking shoes, just work, tired, and she turns her dark eyes turn to look up at Robbie, and her lips press together tighter, and she breathes out.

    "I'm sorry." she whispers. "Something... something about sentiments?" she asks, sticking her hands in her pockets.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
...right. She doesn't speak Spanish. He reddens slightly, just a tinge of colour on a face most people would describe as brown, but not *too* brown. The greying woman behind the counter regretfully informs him that they don't have rainbow marshmallows, honey, but she'll give them extra. She smiles at him like she knows him pretty well, probably sees him around here a lot.

"Means misery loves company." Robbie looks over to meet Phoebe's darker gaze, and holds it a beat longer than he should before turning away again to wait for their drinks.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She didn't speak Spanish. He could say whatever he wanted to her, and it would take a while to sort out the Latin roots, but he could say almost anything, minus na order at Taco Bell, and she wouldn't get it.

    This is what she gets for failing French in middle school.

    The young lady gives a small smile. "Extra marshmallows are just as good." she smiles, her hand sstuffed in her pockets. Her cheeks and ears darken a bit, and she's clearly embarrassed about something now.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The hot drinks are delivered -- with extra marshmallows -- and Robbie leaves a generous tip. "See ya later, Bella," he murmurs with a quick smile that reaches his eyes.

And to Phoebe, after a big, slurpy sip, "You want to sit down or keep walking?" It's clear something's on her mind, but he has just enough tact not to ask her about it here and now.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Thank you!" Phoebe thanks the lady, and accepts her cup with extra marshmallows. And she looks over at Robbie, and she gives a small smile.

    "Keep walking and who knows where we'll end up." she states with a small smile. "Your legs tired from working all day?" she asks, leaving the judgement call to him.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Is that a no? A yes? A polite equivocation?

Robbie seems to decide it's the former. Maybe ending up somewhere is not what she wants, so finding a table it is. "Huh?" Busy trying to figure her out, he wasn't actually listening to the rest of what she said, so it takes him a moment to catch up. "Oh, uh." He nods toward a spot by the window: two chairs, a tiny, wobbly table. But at least it's clean. "Nah. Takes a lot to wear me out."

Which.. comes out all wrong.

"Fuck, I didn't mean it like that." Bella looks amused, and he thumps over and hooks one of the chairs with his foot so he can make some space to sit.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a smile, and goes to sit down. The table is commandeered by the two young people who are definitely not on a date, and Phoebe just gives as innocent a smile as she can muster as she takes off her hood, and leans back in the chair, waiting for the cocoa to cool a little. Don't need a repeat performance of the churros.

    "I have no idea what you could possibly mean. Me being a good Catholic girl." she offers in jest as she looks down to the melting marshmallows.

    "You must come here often."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Nope, not a date at all. Just a hot drink between friends on a cold ass day. Besides, Phoebe's totally out of his league; she hangs out with Wayne kids, and Robbie sometimes uses the change between the couch cushions to buy milk.

He watches the window while she speaks, and looks amused when she calls herself a good Catholic girl. Amused and a little bit dubious. "Yeah, I come here sometimes on my lunch break, or after work. In case Bella needs a hand with anything."

His voice is that low, drawly baritone with just a touch of scratchiness from all the smoking he does; and at this proximity, it's obvious he hasn't shaved in a few days. "Hope it ain't too ghetto for you."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Robbie," Phoebe begins, her voice low as she leans in, "I lived above a bar in Hell's Kitchen for six months, and before that I was essentially living out of my friend's basement. Working people are my people." she states quietly, and she holds her cup up. Of course she's not a good Catholic girl. Cavorting with magicians and demons. And she just quietly breathes a breath out.

    "She seems nice. Kinda the neighborhood mom?" she questions.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, this is why he doesn't date. Because he's terrible with girls.

Well, and the whole possessed by a demon thing doesn't tend to do wonders for his love life.

"Right. Sorry." It's mumbled into his drink, before he takes a big slurp of it-- which consists mostly of gooey half-melted marshmallow. Not that he's complaining.

"Who, Bella?" He sends her a glance, but she's gone into the back to finish doing inventory. "Dunno about that. She's just tryin' to get by like everyone else. Husband's in jail for armed robbery, and her kid ran out on her so I try to--" The muscle in his jaw twitches, and he looks back to the window. "I guess I just try to keep an eye out."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe turns her gaze back to the window, looking out to the street. She sips her cocoa. She draws her shoulders up a little bit, and she purses her lips.

    "You look out for people. I can get behind that." she smiles at Robbie's reflection in the window.

    "Are you more of a cocoa person, or coffee? Or tea?" she asks, her nose scrunching up a little bit, turning to look to Robbie, side long.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Don't go readin' into it any," Robbie mumbles, running his thumb along the edge of his cup's plastic lid. He sneaks a glance at Phoebe while her attention's focused on the window, then down again.

"Coffee, I guess." He pauses a beat. "You seem--" A few words come to mind, but none of them quite fit. "I mean, I--" He ducks his head and scrapes his fingers through his hair. "Fuck, I'm not good at this."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Is it easier when I'm not looking?" she asks quietly, dropping her gaze to the table. She closes her eyes, and she purses her lips slightly.

    "I'm trying to figure out where I'm comfortable going with this. And it's hard. And it seems like I'm just frustrating you which is the opposite of what I want to do."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He looks up, blinks. "No. No, no, you don't--" She can hear him sigh quietly. "You don't have to close your eyes. Or look somewhere else. I just.. don't know what's okay and what's not okay with you. Don't know what you want, if maybe I should.."

Running out of words, he slumps a little in his chair. "You need me to give you some space? So you can figure it out?" A couple of people enter, sending a cold blast of air through the cafe, and making Robbie huddle a little more into his slightly insufficient hoodie. In hindsight, he should've grabbed his jacket from his car.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe opens her mouth, and then she closes it. Her fingers grip around the hot cup of cocoa, and she turns her gaze to Robbie, shivering in the cold, and she takes a deep breath.

T"That is actually the opposite of what I want." Phoebe replies with honesty. "I want to get to know you better, even if nothing... nothing romantic grows out of it, closer friends that I don't have to make up explainations if I get called away or have to cancel on something because of business." she fiddles with the plastic lid of her cup a moment.

    "You're interesting. You work with your hands. You have a Goodness in you, you've come to my rescue and even fixed up my old grandpa bike." she gives a smile, and shrugs her shoulders.

    "If I didn't stop you, on the roof, what would have happened?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
This climate really does not agree with him. He's born and raised in Southern California, even if he has no plans to go back. Too many ghosts haunting that place for his liking.

"Phoebe," he murmurs softly, mustering up the courage to look her in the eyes while he speaks. There's that touch of something in his voice again: "If you want to be friends. We can-- we can be friends. I promise you don't have to.. to let me down easy or anything. Just don't fuckin' string me along, okay? I like you a lot, and--"

He has to pause there; she can see his jaw harden like it does when he's trying to make sense of some kind of emotion. The way his eyes become bright and muddled, and his lean frame limned in something entirely inhuman. Power; raw, destructive power, enough to raze city blocks to the ground.

"Huh?" The question, again, pulls him out of his thoughts. "What do you mean, when I tried to kiss you?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There's a pause, Phoebe is watching as Robbie tenses.

    And there is a debate on if she can suffer another demon. After the false Constantine. After the one that robbed her of her voice.

    She waits for the moment to pass, her battered and calloused fingers coming out of her pocket, her right hand reaching and nearly touching the knuckles of his left hand, sliding against the unstable tabletop, her dark eyes still on Robbie's face as his eyes grow bright, and she stops just short when he pulls back, out of his thoughts.

    "On the roof.. across from the hospital..." she trails off a moment, and then she lowers her head. She seizes her lower lip between her teeth a moment, feeling her ears and eyes grow hot with embarrassment. Stinging. She could make it back to her bike in two minutes if she ran. "I get it. Fine. You need me for anything you know how to look me up."

    She goes to stand up, leaving her cocoa behind and dropping a few crumpled twenties on the table to back-pay for the cocoa and churros.