13650/Post Yuletide sneaky treats

Post Yuletide sneaky treats
Date of Scene:	27 December 2022
Location:	<text>
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Robbie Reyes, Phoebe Beacon

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Robbie Reyes has posed:
What's red, white and black and is trying to jimmy the lock on the Curio right this very moment? It's Robbie in a santa hat! Oh, and juggling a brown paper bag full of god knows what in his left arm.

The thing is, Robbie's pretty good with jimmying locks -- comes from growing up in the barrio and consorting with drug dealers and criminals -- but breaking magical seals? Not so much.

He's currently scowling in frustration, and hoping Phoebe really is out on patrol like she said she'd be.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    THat's the thing about magical locks. And magic houses. Sometimes they have a sense of humor. Sometimes they have a sense of comedic timing.

    And sometimes the damn thing is warded and doesn't wanna give it up and keeps on changing tumblers even after you think you got it settled. This should have been a simple five minute job, but no. The Curio protects its doors.

    The nameplate that was on the door that once held a variety of last-names had been scorched away and shows the scorchmarks still.

    And as Robbie scowls in frustration, the door gives a soft 'click' from the bolt turning, and opens about two inches.

    "... Robbie?" Phoebe's voice wavers a moment, looking to mechanic and hothead with surprise.

    What are you doing here. What are you doing. Why are you trying to pick a lock on the Curio...

    "... aren't you cold? Come inside 'fore you freeze your face off."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Anyone watching this go down from the street has probably figured the young mechanic for a hooligan by now, and is thinking about calling the cops.

That is, until his stymied attempts at getting the door open result in a very familiar voice on the other side, causing him to stop cold like he's been caught red-handed.

Which, in a manner of speaking, he has.

There's a long pause wherein he seriously considers booking it. Then, "Uh. Phoebe. Heeeey." From what little she can see of him, he does indeed look cold. His nose matches the ridiculous hat smushed on top of his head. "What? Oh, sure." His breath fogs the air as he shivers some more. "You're, uh. Gonna have to open the door."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's Gotham City. They're not surprised by someone trying to pick the lock to get into the weird building.

    Phoebe looks down a moment, and then she opens the door, giving a puff of air out as she shrugs her shoulders.

    She is wearing blue pajama pants with llamas wearing Santa hats among snowflakes, and a T-shirt promoting the Gotham Rogues baseball team's Nacho Night.

    She steps out of the way, ready to lead poor RObbie up to Apartment 3A, where he can sit and get warm.

    "You should have texted me; I would have come down to meet you --" she states, and then she purses her lips.

    "Except I was supposed to be patrolling tonight, but I got told to take the night off."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He's distracted enough by the pajama pants to spend the better part of ten seconds simply staring at them, before realising Phoebe's talking to him. Which brings his attention to the 'nacho night' shirt, and he's distracted all over again.

"Yeah, uh." He glances off down the street to where he's parked, the slow haze of his warmer breath hitting the chill air. "I mean, I didn't wanna bother you." So he'd planned his visit for when she'd be out.

But the door's held open, and after an awkward pause, he slips past the smaller girl. No touching. The mysterious brown paper bag is balanced in his left arm, and he tugs off the santa hat with a mumble of, "Forgot I was wearin' this," while dusting the shop's floor with melting snow.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe chose not to comment on the Santa hat. She figured it was either something from Work, or he was spending time with Gabe. She smiles a moment, closing and resetting the lock behind them as she twists the bolt in place and gives the thick door a soft pat.

    "You're never a bother, Robbie." Phoebe smiles, looking up to him, and she leads the way up to Apartment 3A.

    Apartment 3A is kind of set up for Christmas. The circle that had been burned into the floor is covered with the blue braided rag rug so no one steps on anything important. There's a garland of pine over the two windows that face the street. There is a tree -- one of those two-foot-tall numbers that plugs in. It's lit in rainbow fairy lights, and has little silver ornaments with names on them. 'Tim', 'Bruce', 'Conner', 'Idu' and 'Atrun-Rai' are some of the strange names, 'Ace' and 'Austin'. Robbie's name is on one of the silver balls in red paint if he wanted to take a closer look. There are a couple of gifts, carefully wrapped in blue-and-silver wrapping paper.

    Robbie could see his name on one of those too, if he looked. Gabe also has one with a 'from' listed as 'Santa'. Because that's less awkward.

    "Go ahead and put your shoes on the boot tray -- I've got some cider if you want some?" Phoebe offers, reaching to move the amber-colored acoustic guitar from a seat on the overstuffed couch.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Ducking his head as he crests the top of the stairs and steps into the apartment proper, Robbie pauses a moment to take in what she's done with the place. He remembers the burn mark; him bringing her food while she sat for hours (days?) in that ritual with the not-dead guy. He remembers coming here to chew her out for siccing her boys on him, too. But it's been a little while since he's stopped by here; he still looks as out of place as ever.

"You make those?" he wants to know, hitching his chin toward the ornaments. He hasn't spotted the one with his name on it yet. "I mean, I brought something to drink. But cider sounds good, too."

What the hell is a boot tray? He looks around for it surreptitiously, worried she'll think he's some sort of savage.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    THere is a plastic tray near the door. There are a pair of mildly damp sneakers and some puddling on it, containing the water from being tracked through the rest of the apartment.

    A tray... for wet boots! Brilliant.

    "The ornaments?" Phoebe questions, lifting the lid on the small crock pot on the counter, and then standing on her tip-toes to grab a mug from an overhead cupboard; it's just a plain dark blue mug that goes with the rest of the blue and gray hues in the apartment.

    The cider smells sweet; notes of lemon and orange. Allspice and clove and cinnamon and the sharp sweetness of anise. She ladles some of the hot mulled cider into the cup, and then turns, her eyebrows rising up as she offers him the cup.

    "Yeah, I just kinda, took a paint pen and wrote down the names of people who're important to me. Sort of a reminder."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
By the time he's worked his boots off, set his secret package down on the kitchen counter, and come over to help Phoebe with the mug on the shelf she can barely reach.. well, she's already figured it out. He finishes shedding his damp leather jacket and equally damp hoodie, leaving him in a rumpled grey tee shirt; she remembers, surely, the ornate barbed arrow inked into his forearm, and the script articulated directly below it in Spanish: lo que no me mata me hace mas fuerte.

"I gotcha." His voice is low and a little bit hoarse, like he's been smoking too much again. Or maybe just talking more than he's accustomed to.

The cup's accepted with a murmur of thanks, and he takes a sniff and then a sip. It's *hot*, but since when does that pose a problem for him?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe knows the person who put the mugs up there. It was someone taller than her, but she manages, and her eyes draw over Robbie's arms a moment, dark eyes searching out of habit for injuries before she raises her eyes, and gives a smile to him.

    "Of course. It's cold. Easier to warm from the inside out." she smiles a moment, and gives a small smile. "I was... actually about to get dressed and make my way to your place. Just to drop off a couple things... I figured you'd be out." She feels her eyebrows rise up, and she turns back around to reach for another cup, her fingers brushing against it and pushing it a bit further back.

    "... what was so important, if I can ask, that you were trying to break into the Curio for it?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
No injuries. They don't tend to stick with him, because there isn't very much out there that's capable of harming him beyond a temporary inconvenience.

"I was." He watches her over the rim of the cup, expression turning curious as she starts to reach for another cup.. then nudges it away. "..out.. tonight.. you need a hand with that?"

He's already going to set his drink down, and *totally* not checking out her ass in those cute pajamas while her back's turned.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The girl with the short, chubby braids gives a little jump to try and get the cup again as she answers "No--" and then she gives a huff, and turns back to Robbie.

    "... actually, if you could grab a cup, that'd be great. This kitchen wasn't meant for me." she bemoans cruel fate at her terminal shortness.

    She shrugs, and steps out of the way so Robbie can grab her a mug.

    Phoebe's visual exams were a force of habit, but she gives him another once over, trying not to be obvious about it.

    "Ah." she replies, crossing her arms over the Nacho Night imagery on her tee, and she gives a small smile.

    "I covered Christmas Eve, so I have tonight off. Usually I have class Monday mornings, but I'm on Christmas Break."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's not *entirely* sure what's going on here, but he seems willing to play along. For now. The pigtailed girl is given a quizzical look, and then he steps past her to smoothly collect the cup. No hopping required.

"Here you go." He offers it to her, handle looped over a tattooed finger and a hint of dimples. "Ain't working tonight, either. I was out, uh." He scrapes his free hand through his mussed hair. "Doing some stuff. And you were what's important. Making sure I got this to you." He glances toward the package on the counter. "So you knew someone was thinking of you tonight."

He's not blushing, it's just his face thawing out.

Quickly, he thinks to add: "I wasn't going to steal nothing."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    And Phoebe definitely isn't blushing. Especially not in the dim kitchen. That is definitely not a thing she's doing as she straightens up a little bit, accepting the cup that she was about to put cider into, and she looks down into it for a moment, dark eyes dropped, and then back up to Robbie.

    "... that explains the Santa hat..." she replies quietly, and she smiles, that small smile where her nose scrunches and her eyes crinkle at the corners, her shoulders drawing up a moment as her lips part, and then she sets her (still empty) mug on the counter.

    "Well, I know you're not going to steal anything, 'cause the Curio definitely wouldn't have let you in." she replies quietly, and she rubs the back of her head a moment, giving a little breath of air out through her nose, and she goes to the bag of gifts that are all wrapped in pretty silver and blue paper, and she brings back a trio of packages. Two are about the same size, about ten inches by eight inches (including the one marked 'To Gabe From Santa', and the other two marked 'Robbie'.

    "It would feel weird giving you something and not your brother, so I mean, I just... I got him a scarf. It's cold."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"The santa hat. Yeah." Robbie looks, too, toward the empty cup. Then back to Phoebe. Even more confused. Is she waiting for something? Is the cup broken? Demonically possessed?

He leans over to peer at it while her back's turned to fetch the gifts, but stops abruptly once she returns. "It's, uh. It is cold, yeah." And their heat's on the fritz, which he very much is not going to mention in case she decides to treat them like a charity case.

"Thanks, Phoebe. That's real nice of you." He means it, too. Even if accepting a gift from her to his brother means another step toward needing to introduce them. It's getting harder and harder to write this off as a simple physical attraction.

But then he can't help himself any longer: "What's up with the fuckin' cup?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I haven't put anything in it because my train of thought had to switch tracks!" Phoebe replies, and then her shoulders come up, and she just.. she giggles. THat's all it could be, just that nervous sort of giggle. She picks up the cup, and then precisely only to make it not empty, she puts some cider in it, and then sets it back down.

    "Better?" she asks, motioning that the cup was no longer empty, and then she hands over the larger of the two gifts with Robbie's name on it.

    "You can open it now, or when you get home if you want," she states, then leans over to flip the switch on for the kitchen light, making the kitchen brighter which incidentally also lets him see the warm darker skin on her ears and cheeks.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"I mean, you moved it--" Oh, why even bother. "You're fuckin' ridiculous," he comments drily on the token splash of cider in the cup.

The lights coming on make his slightly disheveled curls more apparent, as well as the strangeness of his bright amber eye; the colour's inhuman. Unlike Phoebe's blush, which is *very* human and also very distracting.

"Sure, I'll open it now. But I'm warning you, if it's a box fulla snakes, I'm gonna get you back." Someone must have played this prank on him recently. But he goes to tear it open curiously.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You know the life I live is full of weirdness adn sometimes I get distracted because this is really unusual, having a boy in my apartment. ANy minute any one of my male parental figures could show up and start yelling." she states, and she pauses, and then leans backwards over the counter to check the windows to make sure none of them have. Two of them would be awarded a piece of her mind, one would probably shock her, and then there's Batman.

    "A little ridiculous is good for the soul." she replies, drawing her dark eyes to his mismatched amber and green, and she cracks a little bit of a smile.

    "Oh no, if I'm giving you a box full of snakes, that's pretty much a marriage proposal in my home village." she dryly states. "And that is a joke, by the way."

    Inside the wrapping paper? There is a box! A plain brown box.

    Inside the box there is a warm watchcap and a black scarf. The scarf is thin, but made from a very soft and warm fiber. There are matte fibers, which form most of the scarf, and then subtle shiny fibers in the shape of flames. Very subtle.

    And no snakes.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The dimples reappear when she mentions her penchant for weird. Not quite a smile, but it sure wants to be. Hands paused mid-unwrapping, he looks a little uncertain at talk of one of her dads making an appearance. This is completely new territory for him; the only two women he's had more than a one night fling with, after all, were both quite a bit older than him. By decades, in one case.

"I guess I shouldn't shove you up against the sink and see how much redder I can make your ears go, then, huh?" The words are out before he can bite his tongue.

But at least there's a box to finish unwrapping, and a scarf to admire (and distract from his inability to keep his thoughts to himself). He runs the knit over his calloused fingers, averting his gaze now. "It's real pretty. You didn't have to. But thanks, Phoebe."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "ROBBIE!" Phoebe squeaks out, and she brings her hands up to her mouth, covering her expression partially to try and look properly scandalized by the comment, although her eyes get wide and she just tries to hide her whole face, nose scrunched. "Ohmigod I'm going to die." she whispers to herself, looking up at the ceiling as she can't look at Robbie for a good minute or two without either bursting into giggles or actually seeing if she can turn colors.

    "I didn't have to, but I wanted to. 'Cause... y'know, you deserve to know you're cared about too." she replies, calming down enough to look at him with just a smile, and she reaches for her cider.

    "So, what's in the bag?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Look, if she doesn't think that these sorts of random thoughts aren't regularly traipsing through his head.. then she doesn't have a lot of experience with healthy twenty-something young men. Normally he's just better at keeping them to himself. But the face she makes? It's worth that alone.

The scarf's been draped loosely around his neck by this point, and he returns her smile with an awkward one and a glance away.

And conveniently, Phoebe mentions the package he brought, which he's more than willing to unpack for her. A rather large thermos is set on the counter, followed by a tupperware container filled with, "Polvorones de canele. They're, uh, cinnamon sugar cookies. And that's just hot chocolate. I guess you call it Mexican hot chocolate."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe works with a large contingent of young superheroes. She is fully aware that their thoughts are not all Truth and Justice. Totally healthy twenty-something year old man.

Herhoebe does light up when she sees the cookies and thermos. "Polvorones de canale--" she tries to imitate Robbie's inflection of the words and accent. It's much better than her apology to the Churro booth owner, and she raises her eyebrows, and looks to the cookies, and then looks to Robbie.

    "Did you bake these?" she questions, looking up at him with her eyebrows rising up, and she moves the smaller box over to Robbie. It's marked with his name, and is about two inches by two inches. Just a little box.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The box is glanced at, then his gaze roves back to the girl in front of him. He hasn't yet ventured to open it. "Close," he remarks on her pronunciation. He doesn't bother correcting her on it; she *was* close.

Also, Truth and Justice and Heroism don't really fit on him. He likes to call himself the Worst Avenger; mostly because he is.

"'course I baked them. You think my mama didn't raise me right?" He's only playing at being insulted; there's mirth still lurking at the corners of his mouth.

Finally, hesitantly, he reaches for the box. Then starts to open it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... this is amazing. I can't remember the last time someone baked me cookies. Usually I'm doing all the baking..." Phoebe whispers -- and she opens the tupeware container to take out a cinnamon cookie, and then she hops to sit on the counter while Robbie opens his other gift, watching this one with interest.

    It's a little, wooden, hinged box that has been wrapped.

    Inside? Very close to the silver ring he had been eyeballing at the punk show, sized for his thumb, with the skull on it. This is matte black, though, with little onyx chips in the eyes.

    "I felt really bad about my commentary at the show. So... I tracked down the artist and commissioned one." she explains, her voice is soft, embarrassed really.

    "It's Titanium, instead of silver. 'Cause I was a bit concenred that if it got hit off something hard that it'd warp. And it's carbon powder-coated, so the finish won't come off, but don't wear it when working with power equipment 'cause it'll take your thumb /right/ off if it gets caught in a drill press... an' I dunno if that's something you can heal from? BUt I also kinda don't wanna find *out*." she stammers a moment, trying not to tear at the second cookie that she takes out of the plastic container. "So just... uh... wear it in good health. Unless you're working with power equipment, in which case there's also a chain under there so you can wear it like a necklace. I'm bad at this. I'm not used to giving fancy gifts!" she whispers, her voice getting softer and higher in pitch until she shoves the whole cookie in her mouth to make herself quiet.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Giving the scarf a little tug to settle it more comfortably around his neck, Robbie rests his hip against the counter right next to where Phoebe's hopped up. Within a hair's breadth of touching her-- but the liberty's still not taken without permission being given.

Carefully, almost reverently, he pries open the lid on the box.. and tenses when he sees what's inside. Like a wildcat caught in a trap, visibly -- and unaccountably -- panicked, which lessens only slightly once he realises exactly what he's seeing, paired with Phoebe's explanation.

"You--" His face is a moue of confusion as he drags his gaze back up to meet hers; now roughly level with his own, with the boost in height. "Fuck, Phoebe, I--" Then he looks back down at the ring, pools the chain against his fingers. "--this is a lot. I can't pay you back.."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's... it's a gift. I don't expect to /be/ paid back." Phoebe whispers, her dark coffee eyes settling on his mismatched set.

    "You deserve to feel like you're cared about -- because you are. You're worthy of being cared for." Phoebe states, and she shifts her weight slightly, and her leg presses against his hip and upper leg.

    "You give me your time, you give me your patience. You... you friggin' made cookies and Mexican Hot Chocolate for me," she motions to the thermos and container of cookies, "you fixed my bike and refused payment." Phoebe brings her hands down, the cookie gone, and she nervously wrings her fingers a little.

    "I overdid it... but you're worth it. To me. You're worth it."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He's still got some of that residual deer in headlights look going on, when she meets his eyes. And because Phoebe's attuned to such things, she knows precisely the shift in energy in the room, when the demon briefly stirs. Roused, as he often is, by surges of emotion.

Not tonight; the flare of moribund power flickers and then fades once more as Robbie exerts his willpower over it.

"I-- uh." He doesn't know what to say, clearly. He's aware that he's staring at her far longer than he ought to be. And that her leg is touching him, and her pajamas are ridiculously cute. And that he can't make words come out.

This is where he usually leaves. Abruptly. But instead he asks in a low rumble, "Think I could kiss you?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe feels the hair on the back of her neck rise up when the demon stirs, and she prepares for Robbie making an exit. HEr shoulders stiffen a moment, her eyes going from nervous, wide, to more subdued, her lips pressing together as if she were resigned to it --

    But Robbie keeps staring at her, and the demon's influence fades.

    She hitches a breath, one hand rising up, the calloused skin of her fingers from long, long combat training hours presses very lightly against his forearm, and she gives a nervous little swallow, and then gives a nod, her eyes not leaving his as he asks permission to kiss her.

    And she grants it.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's no grand sweeping gesture that will go down on her list of top ten best kisses. Just a big hand splayed against her thigh, and slid up until it reaches the crest of her hip. And the weight of his bigger frame against hers, putting her between himself and the counter with nowhere practical to go.

And then the kiss he'd meant to give her on that rooftop however long ago it's been. Warm and slow and lingering, with an edge of aggression held carefully in check. No tongue, not unless Phoebe tries to deepen the affection.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It doesn't have to be a grand gesture. His hand on her, tracing the line of her pajamas with those happy llamas with Santa hats. HIs weight against her. Her hands draw up, slowly trailing up his forearms, past the field of tattoos to his shoulders, unsure.

    Her fingers curl against his gray teeshirt, her breath laced with cinnamon and sugar sweetness with her normal black pepper and roses about her. Her heartbeat rises in cadence, her cheeks and ears warm.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He probably looks lankier, more pared down than some of the guys Phoebe hangs around with in the Roost. But he's all lean, sleekly defined muscle under her hands. Built for speed rather than strength; clean lines and deceptive power like the car he drives.

The kiss is broken after a few long seconds, and he lingers a moment with his nose still touching hers. Breathes in her scent, and dares one last peck to her lips before withdrawing.

"By the way," he notes cheekily, like nothing at all just happened, "Got my hand chopped off by some fuckin' angel once. Grew back just fine." The box is tucked carefully into his jacket pocket.

"I should-- yeah, I should go." Before he tries asking for more than a kiss.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe, meanwhile, is muscle. Aikido, Judo, Ninjutsu, Capoeira, all muscle beneath her skin. She's balanced, but you don't undergo bat training and not get the muscle.

    The tip of her nose brushes against his, her eyes drawing slowly open, and for a moment her fingers curl a little tighter against his shoulder, almost a plea, but she draws her hands down, sucking in a breath she didn't know she was holding.

    "Okay." she breathes out, and she licks her bottom lip for a brief moment, and then gives a laugh.

    "YEah, we would be the ones talking casually about dismemberment after cookies." she whispers, drawing her hands meekly back to her lap as she looks up at him.

    "Shoot me a text when you get home?" she asks, and then she leans over to grab up Gabe's gift.

    "It's a scarf and hat too, but this one's red. And archetectural lines instead of flames. 'S fancy."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"Don't see why not," Robbie counters, when she mentions dismemberment and cookies. "We're just talkin' shop, right?" His gaze tracks to the tip of her tongue grazing her lip. Then he forces it back up again, and flashes a quick grin, dimples and all.

"You got it. Soon as I get home." He hesitates a moment longer on some stubborn thought or another. Then collects the rest of the gifts, bids her a low-voiced, "Night." And thumps back down the stairs.

The poor santa hat is plum forgotten.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Just talking shop." Phoebe repeats, and she follows him to her door, leaning against the doorframe a moment as she watches him thump down the stairs.

    And she turns and closes her door, locking it. A smile on her lips as she goes to collect the cookies, and crack open the thermos of Mexican hot chocolate (which is entirely different than the usual Swiss Miss she gets), and she looks to the side, where he's left the Santa hat.

    This, she picks up, and holds it in her hands a moment before she looks over to the tree, and she walks over to it.

    Jason, Damian, Laura and Gabby, Asariel and Sandalphon both have ornaments with their names on it. Alfred and Lydia, Zatanna (spelled out annataZ) and Dorito the cat. Chas and Geraldine, and one marked John with a grumpy looking cactus on it, Terry and Ben, and her trio of Nick, JayJay and Nacho, and she slips the santa hat over the top of the tree, and pokes her finger lightly against the round bulb marked Robbie.

    "You better drive safe." she whispers quietly, and then, grabbing a fuzzy blanket off the back of the couch, Phoebe hops over the couch to bounce on the cushions, brushin her fingers briefly to her lips, before she curls into the cushions and looks to the tree.

    "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.