13615/Robbie and Phoebe do Metal. Pink Metal.

Robbie and Phoebe do Metal. Pink Metal.
Date of Scene:	22 December 2022
Location:	Pink Metal Cocktail Bar
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Robbie Reyes, Phoebe Beacon

---

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Pink Metal Cocktail Bar is not the sort of place one might generally expect to find Robbie Reyes. It is, as its name suggests, pink first and foremost.

Very, very pink.

The neon lighting is pink; the walls are pink; the menus and carpeting and plush seating are pink. There are even clusters of floral fronds trailing from the ceiling that are -- you guessed it -- pink.

More importantly perhaps, the bar is *loud*. Some flavour of industrial metal with a heavily synthesised sound makes the walls and floor fairly vibrate. And according to the sign out front, it's fetish figure drawing night (tomorrow is drag bingo).

The place is bustling tonight with people -- many of them in Pride gear -- in various states of inebriation, and two naked, entwined people on the stage whose genders are difficult to determine. They may appear at first glance to be statues, until one realises they're breathing and blinking.

The lean, dark-haired kid at the end of the bar doesn't look like he's interested in partaking so much as.. well, losing himself to it, maybe. He's easy enough to recognise by the battered leather jacket, a faded tee shirt with INFINITUM OBSCURE lettered across the front in the gothiest of gothy scripts, and snug black jeans with the knees torn away, tucked into half-laced boots. He's off in his own damn world and babysitting what looks like some kind of cocktail with an umbrella perched on the rim.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It is, indeed, very pink. It's not exactly Phoebe's style either, but she was being dragged about by some girls from Gotham U who wanted to take her to see where a line can be crossed. Drag Bingo seemed like just the ticket for poor little rich girl Sheltered Phoebe.

    Unfortunately, much like their luck with the class guides, they misread the information on the website and one girl gives a very loud squeal as she covers her mouth.

    "OHMIGOD THIS IS EVEN BETTER!" a bright blonde-haired girl adds on to her squeal. The quartet were dressed for a night on the town, navel-baring shirts that might be a bit too tight to wear to school functions. Short skirts or tight jeans with artfully (and purposefully) added rips in them to show skin, glittering costume jewelry and two of the four have spray tans. One has a very real tan, and the other?

    Well, Phoebe was wearing a knee-length black skirt with dark gray leggings, a red tank top that was well fitted to her, and a pink denim jacket that probably didn't work too well for the cold. Her hair is braided tightly and close to her head, and she gingerly steps in a pair of pink high heeled booties so that a waitress can pass.

    "We GOTTA stay here!" the blonde whines, "I've always wanted to see live drawing!"

    "Janet, you're in the art program, you'd come across it like, two weeks ago if you showed up to *class*." the other bottle-tanned girl states, a little less impressed than her cohort.

    "IT IS ART KEIGHLEY!" Janet snaps back.

    Phoebe and the other girl look at one another in a moment's amusement as she looks up to the stage, her ears turning a couple shades darker as she opens her mouth to say something... before she spots the familiar jacket.

    ... for as much as she states Fate hates her, it *certainly* seems like it wants to tempt her.

    Janet pauses, and follows Phoebe's line of sight and then gives a little huff of breath out.

    "C'mon Phoeb, there's enough dark guys in Gothaaaam we're here to have a good tiiiiime." she whines. Loudly.

    "Go ahead and find a table. I gotta use the ladies room." Phoeb replies, and as the Gotham Girl Trio steers Janet towards a table (with warnings to not be a Karen), Phoebe comes up to the bar, and places a black and gold card on it with a smile.

    "Hi, I'd like to open a tab, please."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Uh oh, college girls at two o'clock.

For once, it isn't Eli and his constantly running mouth that alerts Robbie to the new arrivals; but then, they pretty much announce themselves in those midriff baring tops and tiny skirts that-- oh, hello, there's a pair of legs. None of them *look* underage, but Robbie isn't taking any chances. He sips his drink, and finds his eyes wandering back to the curvy girl in the pink denim jacket and heels, right as she glances over at him.

And nearly chokes on said drink when he realises who it is.

Clearing his throat, he steadfastly watches the wall behind the bar with its glittering, colourful arrangement of bottles placed cheek by jowl in neat rows. "Gimme another one, please," he informs the tender. She takes one look at Phoebe's card and tells her "Sure, honey. Whatcha like?" while turning away briefly to pull a bottle of drambuie and sherry off the shelf for his Anna Banana.

Up close, maybe Phoebe can spot the gauges he has in today: neon pink. The left one has a couple of unadorned silver hoops looped through it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Pitcher of seltzer water with some grenadine and lemon to the table over there," Phoebe gives a smile, pulling out a New Jersey non-driver's ID that shows her to be 22 and living in Bludhaven. "I'll have a Din after Dark." she states, and with as much grace as she can summon she sits nearby Robbie, giving him a seat's worth of space as she side-eyes him with her lips curling up in a smile. She's got pink metallic eyeshadow on today. Everyone's thematic!

    She opens her mouth to say something to Robbie, then closes it again, folding her hands a moment against her lap.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The ID's slid along the counter, turned over, and compared with the girl standing on the other side for a tense few seconds. Maybe the bartender knows full well she isn't 22; maybe she's feeling generous tonight. Or maybe the black and gold card set nearby is enough to tip her toward letting it go.

"You got it, sweetheart." Bright pink lipstick and a rose gold buzzcut, she fits right in with the rest of the staff here. A wink's sent to Phoebe, and a flirtatious smile for Robbie as she adds a squeeze of lemon to his drink and sets it in front of him. He's barely aware of either one -- drink or smile -- heavily distracted as he is by the other girl's presence.

He turns his glass absently in its own ring of condensation, clears his throat again. Raises his voice to be heard: "Hey." A glance finds her watching him, and he returns her gaze steadily while the pounding bass all but drowns out all hope of conversation. Outside of close quarters, anyway.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Money talks. Phoebe tries not to use the latest last name too much, but it's useful. Phoebe's ears turn a little bit darker at the wink from the bartender, but it was the guy int he leather jacket that was keeping her attention. She hears the throat clear, just barely because she was purposefully listening, and he turns to her. She gives a small smile, and he could probably see her cheeks darken.

    "So, come here often?" she asks, using the tired opening line of casual flirting, accepting her glass of very pink and sweet smelling nonsense. It has a lemon swizzle!

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Does he? Come here often? "Nah, not really." Robbie's suddenly feeling ridiculous about the umbrella in his drink. And small talk is *so* not his forte.

"You look, uh." Smoking hot? No, that might not go over well. "Red. Your top, I mean." Yes, Robbie, it's red. Great detective skills there. Damn, Batman's got some competition. "I like your eyeshadow." Bonus: it's almost impossible to spot the blush staining his own cheeks, in a place like this.

"Those friends of yours? They don't look like it." Aaaaand there's the first gaffe of the night. Because he can only manage so long without putting his foot in his mouth and saying something inappropriate.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Normal kinda-friends. From college. Had a discussion in Ethics and they felt bad for me. They're trying to scare me because I was so sheltered." she explains, letting Robbie in on the joke. "And yeah, yeah, the top's red. An' the eyeshadow's *great*." She smiles, biting her lower lip a moment. "They're okay, don't know about my night life though." she explains, leaning over a little so her voice doesn't have to carry so far.

    "How's your night going?" she asks, her eyes looking him up and down a moment in a not quite flirtatious, but definitely more than cursery look.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It takes him a minute, maybe, to clue in to the fact that Phoebe's joking about being sheltered. He dimples a grin, flustered and more than a little bit awkward. "Your night life? Is that what we're callin' it now?" He fiddles with his glass a bit more, turning it a few degrees, pausing when the girl leans in a bit closer to be heard.

Rose and citrus and pepper; this time he allows himself to breathe it in.

"Night's goin' fine." He sips his drink, swallows slowly. "Quiet."

Which is not the word most people would use to describe this place, but then Phoebe knows something they don't.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe smiles, leather and Hellfire and the scent of banana alcohol as she cleans in, her fingers curling around her glass as her nose wrinkles slightly. "Yeah. Y'know. Quiet, shut-in night-life. All work and no play makes Phoebe a dull girl." she replies, her grin spreading a bit, her hand coming close enough to almost brush her fingers against the back of his. "Glad you're having a quiet night. If anyone deserves a break--" she begins, and she brushes her fingertips to the back of the hand toying with his glass.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He stills completely at the faltering touch to his hand. Like a stone in a swift-flowing stream, staunch and unyielding. She can likely *sense* the presence of the demon; he isn't gone, merely suppressed and dormant for the time being, rather than entwined through Robbie like the root system of a particularly tenacious tree.

There are a few of what look like gang symbols tattooed into the backs of his fingers and knuckles, as well as some looping script worked into the back of his hand that reads: Es tan corto el amor y es tan largo el olvido.

"Wouldn't call you a dull girl," he offers after a few seconds have passed, mismatched eyes flicking toward her and then down to her fingertips on his skin.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Her ears are dark, right up to the ridges, and her cheeks darken. She can feel Eli there, under the feeling of Robbie's skin. A tingle against the back of her head. Her fingers curl lightly against the back of his hand, over the script and symbols. She feels her heart racing, and she gives a little sideways bit of a smile to Robbie.

    "Well, that'd be very confusing if you did, since you know I'm called Phoebe." she offers as a lame joke, though her dark eyes draw up to Robbie's. Her lips are just slightly parted, her eyes lidded as she looks to the mechanic enmeshed with the demon, her other hand holding against her bright pink drink.

    "WHat would you call me, then?" she asks, her eyebrowqs rising up, the back of her hand pressing gently to his.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
For the longest moment, he simply sits in silence, awash with the noise and voices and music and gaudy Christmas-themed queer gear on parade.

And for once, he isn't overcome by that predatory instinct that drives the demon inside him; that unquenchable thirst for pain and suffering and death. It's a whisper in the back of his mind instead of a scream filling his head.

His gaze drags down to her lips, lingers there a beat. Then slight shift of his bigger frame as he leans in without breaking the contact of her hand on his. Enough to bring his mouth close to her ear without *quite* touching. "Hermosa." Maybe she can hear the grin. "Misteriosa."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    He might be able to feel the warmth of her cheeks as he leans in, feeling his breath as she holds hers, her shoulders stiffening just a moment. There's a heartbeat's tease, a brief tingle as a little bit of her own powers, so driven by emotion, their skin touching, the backs of their hands on the bar as she drops her gaze to their hands, and then draws her dark eyes up to the alcohol lined up against hte bar, letting out a little breath, hearing the grin on his lips.

    To the back of them, the three girls who were sent a pitcher of Shirley Temple with Lemons (very fancy for the under-21 sect) spy their cohort getting cozy.

    "I know one of those words!" Phoebe gives an excited grin, "I kinda like it when you whisper in my ear."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie does not have eyes for her friends, though he'd probably acknowledge that the tall one might be pretty under the makeup and false lashes. Mostly they look like the types of girls he knew back in California: the type who drove through his neighbourhood with their rich boyfriends, and looked at him like people look at lions on a safari.

He turns his hand slightly, indicating his intent to touch hers, but waiting for some sign that it's permitted. "It's only 'cause it's so fuckin' loud in here," he tells her. She can feel his unnatural heat against her skin. After a pause, "Can I tell you something?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    They weren't that bad. They were Gotham girls (except Janet, who was from Metropolis), they were used to looking back. They're just giddy the Wayne girl brought her credit card. They weren't as giddy realizing there was no alcohol in the punch.

    Phoebe catches the turn of Robbie's hand, and she bites at the inside of her cheek a moment, her eyes narrowing a moment in playful, mock suspicion, but she breathes out, and then slides the side of her hand under his. Invitation, her head near enough to Robbie that they didn't quite need to shout everything, and she gives a visible nod, raising her eyebrows a moment, her lips pursing.

    "Yeah, Robbie -- anything."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
They're still sitting two stools apart from one another, which makes this a little more awkward than it might otherwise be. But Robbie seems unwilling to intrude upon the space she's sketched around herself, for the time being.

The touch that lands on her knuckles is cool, and leaves a trail of dampness down, down the back of her hand and wrist and then back up again lazily. He'd been holding his cold drink a moment ago, after all.

"I was just thinking," he leans in again to tell her, "'bout kissing you again." He doesn't, of course.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's shoulders square a moment, and then she purses her lips, and using the boot bar and bracing herself against her stool, she shifts over, and then takes up the seat next to Robbie. She takes her drink with her, taking up some space with Robbie as he trails his cool fingertips down the back of her hand. She's got an old, faded burn scar on a knuckle. No tattoos, no other eldritch markings on her hands.

    "Is that so?" she questions, dark eyes looking up to his mismatched set, her fingers curling a little bit against the bar.

    The trio in the corner are whispering excitedly to themselves as they watch. They have now drained the pitcher.

    They are not allowed an actual drink, because none of them are 21.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, they wanted to corrupt her. And now she's been ensnared by a pierced and tattooed older guy who probably chains people up in his dungeon for fun.

Okay, wrong on the dungeon, but those bladed chains *are* pretty dark.

"Yeah." Gently, he tries to turn her hand over and run his calloused thumb along her palm. "Thought about it a few times since then. Don't want to scare you, though." He meets her gaze, thoroughly ignoring her friends in the corner. "You need me to stop?" Touching her hand, probably.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe draws her gaze down, watching the fingers that might have touched her face with the rain falling down around them, ice clinging to the Charger, her hand turning over, palm up now as his thumb draws against her palm, the paler skin here showing the callouses on her own hands from years of training -- Aikido, Judo, with assassins and Bats and all manner of other fighters. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

    Her eyes draw back up to Robbie, and her lips part a moment, and then she shakes her head.

    "No... don't stop." she gives a small smile, and then, slowly, she leans her shoulder against his, pink denim against leather.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
She's no innocent waif or helpless child at the mercy of this cruel world. That much, Robbie's certain of. But it doesn't erase the fact that there's a wounded quality to her. One he wants to protect as much as Eli wants to exploit.

His hand comes to rest atop hers then, fingers weaving between her own. Slightly tense, like he wants to pin her against it-- but restrains himself.

"Glad I could see you tonight." An androgynous figure in a pink headdress floats past, but Robbie's watching the girl's mouth again. Then her painted eyes. He hesitates a long moment, looking like he might simply pull away and leave. But he opts instead to brush a kiss to her cheek if she permits it. Chaste enough, but there's the promise of anything but in the way it lingers before being broken.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Her hand quivers beneath his, her cheeks and ears feel like they're burning, her nose crunches up a little bit as she smiles, looking down to their entwined hands, her thumb curling against his palm lightly, nail scraping against the meat of his palm as she draws her gaze up. She breathes out, and for a brief moment everything seems to still and go silent for her except the pounding of her heart in her rib cage as she realizes he kissed her cheek. Her fingers curl into his hand, holding his a little tighter before she's registered he said something, and all the sound rushes back to her as she gasps in a breath, looking to Robbie before she actually begins to glow, just a touch, about the veins visible above and below her choker. It could even just be the light playing on her skin.

    "I'm glad to see you too." she whispers, her hand checked under his.

    "Oooh no I know that face."

    "What face, Janet?"

    "His. She drew him in one of the figure study classes, in the book where she draws all those circles, y'know?" One of the spray-tan blondes leans on her fist.

    "Should we winggirl this?"

    "Nah. Looks like she's doing juuuuuust fine."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
You'd think he'd never pecked a girl on the cheek before, the way Robbie's watching her. Exhilarated, like he gets while racing. The feel of the steering wheel under his hand, the other guy in his rear view mirror and nothing but empty streets ahead of him.

She can feel his mouth graze her ear, and a low murmur, "Think your friends are gettin' restless. So's Eli. I should get going." Before he does something he shouldn't, maybe. Before his darkness consumes her light.

Reluctantly, he turns away from her and releases her hand in order to toss back the last of his drink.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe can feel that same exhilaration. Her first fire spell that didn't blow up in her face. The first time swinging from the grapple lines in the city instead of in a training area, feeling your stomach fall to your knees as the cord catches and you swing out over traffic.

    And the way his breath hits against her ear makes her shiver, even as he draws away and throws back the rest of his drink, her dark eyes on him, wrestling with herself before she breathes out a 'yeah, and gives a nod, the rest of her own very pink drink disappearing before she plucks the umbrella from her drink, and tucks it into his jacket like a boutineer.

    "Now you're all fancy." she smiles, and she brushes her fingers against the inside of his elbow and goes to stand to allow him to leave. Her friends can handle a little restlessness... Eli's a little trickier.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's never swung from a grapple line, but he'd probably agree.

Tearing his gaze from those dark, dark eyes, he drops one booted foot to the floor so he can dig in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. Then toss a crumpled bill on the counter; he doesn't have the luxury of a Wayne credit line. "Keep the change," he tells the 'tender, who blows him a kiss and collects the money before bustling off to pour someone else a drink.

"Well, you know me," he tells Phoebe with a dimpled grin. He adjusts the little umbrella, watches her face another minute like he wants to sear it into his retinas, then peels away without another word. His lean, dark frame cuts through the crowd like a hunter losing itself amongst lesser prey.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She would have covered his tab. She was going to offer. She just got distracted. Or lost in his eyes would be the more romantic reasoning, but really it was her ears and cheeks burning that kept her distracted enough for her to stumble over a couple of words, and then just... raise her hand, wriggling her fingers in a shy farewell.

    "Be safe." she whispers at his retreating back, and then looks to her classmates, smiling as she makes her way back to the table.

    "HEY, HEY! YOU CANNOT JUST COME BACK TO US MA'AM! Go and get hiiiiim I wanna meet him!" Janet complains, and then gives an uuuugh.

    "You lost me ten bucks. We had a bet you were gonna leave with him."