14202/Post-Party Plans

Post-Party Plans
Date of Scene:	20 February 2023
Location:	Rooftop above Rosmarino Trattoria
Synopsis:	Phoebe has to step out for fresh air, and Tim follows in order to surprise her with a definitely-not-a-birthday-gift -- since it's for all the Outsiders.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe did not like being the center of attention, she hadn't really given much thought to an open invitation and had ordered SO Much Food.

    So of course se was taking a moment, having climbed up the fire escape to the safety of the rooftop of the Trattoria and was leaning against the warmth of the wood-fired chimney stack, wearing a black sweatshirt to blend into the night, her head leaning forward, eyes closed, the cherry of a lit cigarette showing between two fingers, legs crossed for warmth. That dress isn't wool, and neither are her pantyhose that she's wearing!

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Nasty habit you've picked up somewhere," is how Tim decides to announce himself, once he's snuck his way up the fire escape to the edge of the roof. He's still in his rolled-up shirtsleeves and slacks, looking none-the-worse for wear despite the chill. Menswear is just built different, AKA made out of more than just a whisper of fabric.

    Also, how does he manage to be so quiet in dress shoes? Seriously.

    Gravel crunches under his heels as he makes his way across the roof, though he doesn't get quite close. The gift that he's been toting around all evening is still tucked under one arm, a constant presence that's been with him even as he's mingled and enjoyed all the fine food the trattoria has to offer on the occasion of Phoebe's birth.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe breathes out through her nose, in a plume of peacock blue with rose-gold glitter, and she gives an embarrassed look to Tim before she looks down at the lit coffin nail.

    "I know, I'm trying to quit." she replies to the best brother, dropping the ash to the gravel.

    "Weirdly became a comfort thing. Y'know, last year, pretty much everyone smoked. Down to 'just when really stressed'." she admits, and then she drops it down, and taps the cherry out with her foot. Luckily those are not the $5K heels.

    "So, good call on the food, huh?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    The warmth of the chimney isn't a necessary ward against the cold night air for Tim, but even a few paces away he thinks he can feel it on his bare forearms, a little bit. He crosses his arms over his chest and makes a soft "Mmhmm," only looking pleased when Phoebe puts the cigarette out. That's also, notably, when he decides to make the final approach.

    "I know you didn't want anything," is all he says before finally offering the shiny he's been toting around the entire night. It's a slim package, not much larger than a sheet of A4 paper, but thicker. Obviously, otherwise it'd be impossible to wrap in that high-quality, textured paper that all of Tim's (and probably Bruce's, too) gifts seem to be covered with. Rich people wrapping paper. It's a real thing.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, because some of the guests don't have a whole lot of cash to spare." Phoebe replies, giving a small smile, and she raises one hand, giving a little mutter of Latin, and a wind seems to rustle through her clothing and hair, leaving her smelling like roses, black pepper and the tang of citrus. That's how she avoided smelling like an ash tray most of the time.

    She breathes out, looking to Tim a moment, and then she holds out her hand for the thin gift.

    "Thanks for not giving Robbie the third degree either." she replies gently, "I wanted to tell you earlier, but we kinda were keeping things quiet."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I can interrogate with the best of them, which you know," Tim says as he passes the gift over to Phoebe. "But I also know when and where it's appropriate. So don't worry."

    Okay, Batman is definitely better at interrogation, especially when using methods like intimidation. When it's Tim's turn, he has to be a bit craftier to get the information he's looking for. But that's just how it is, as a Robin. There's a certain level of bright colors that limits your ability to be terrifying.

    Gift exchanged, Tim's feet shift so he can lean back against the chimney. Maybe he's feeling the cold too, now. He studiously looks anywhere but at Phoebe as she opens the gift.

    Once the wrapping paper is torn off, the inside of the box reveals itself to be... a manilla envelope. Being about the size of a piece of paper wasn't actually a coincidence, it appears. The envelope contains travel iteneraries for Phoebe, Tim, and several other Outsiders for an extended weekend trip to San Francisco in the near future, during a break in calendars that miraculously managed to occur at the same time.

    All booked on the finest private jet that Wayne Enterprises has to offer, of course.

    Several highly rated vegetarian restaurants have been identified on a map of the city, and there is already a booking for a trip to Yosemite and the Giant Sequioas with a camp-out the night after.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know. Still working on my interrogation skills." Phoebe gives a wry smile, and she begins to peel away the paper. "One of the reasons I decided on Gray for my outfit was definitely to not be the focus. 'Cause you know, girl birds are always more drab..." she states, and she pauses a moment, her brows knitting as she turns over the manilla envelope.

    "... than the boy birds..." she murmurs, and she opens the envelope, and looks at the itinerary.

    "... Tim..." she whispers, and she draws her eyes up to him. "You purchased a group vacation?!" she squeaks.

Tim Drake has posed:
    These are all bird facts that Tim knows, so he nods along with the salient points in understanding. It makes logistical sense, too. Play to strengths, and always have a plan; the Robins wear highly saturated colors so that they're eye-catching, which allows Batman even more opportunities to sneak up behind folks and hit X to execute silent takedowns.

    "Yup." That's all he says to the question. And does he look pleased as punch with himself for managing it, all the way down to the tiniest, most unimportant detail? Oh, you know it, by that sly smile.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... all right, but I'm gonna throw a monkey wrench in it," Phoebe states, and she leans her shoulder into Tim.

    "I wanna half-day just chillin' with the best brother in the whole wide world." she gives a slight grin. "Since he's making me get on a flight, *and* did the group purchase for my definitely-not-a-birthday." she gives a soft 'mm' of thought.

    "That sounds about right."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Chilling, huh," Tim says, and he taps his chin consideringly, eyes narrowing as he looks off towards the Gotham skyline rising up around them. He's silent like that for longer than is reasonable, just to stretch the moment out, before he bumps his shoulder companionably against Phoebe's. "Sure," he decides. "We can just chill at the rental one day. Order food in, watch some movies or something, it'll be fun."

    There's information on the rental in the manilla envelope. It's a penthouse apartment right in the heart of downtown with some killer views of the city. Yes, there are pictures. "We're definitely taking everyone to Cafe Gratitude and making them order things like "I am exquisite" or "I am glorious."" Which is calamari made of coconut and blackened tempeh in a caesar salad wrap, respectively.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Sounds good. Never been to the West Coast... was just considering making a trip out that-a-way for some other projects." Phoebe admits with a small smile as she looks over the penthouse.

    "You are *so* not going to get the deposit back on the rental if we all end up going... and... ohgod. The names. /Tim/." she grins, and turns to lightly tap Tim on the shoulder with the envelope.

Tim Drake has posed:
    That comment about the rental has Tim affecting a faraway look, and a brief flash of concern shows on his face. All it takes is imagining the trouble Conner and Bart would get up to, and...

    "Oh god, what have I done?" he asks, laughing, and then crosses his legs at the ankles.

    He cranes his neck up so that he can look at the sky above, but the light pollution of Gotham ensures only the brightest stars are visible, a soft twinkle against an immeasurably deep black. "We staying out here a bit longer, or are you ready to go back down and face your not-party-guests again?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I wouldn't mind staying out a little longer. It's not a bad night, and y'know, the company's pretty good." Phoebe comments back to Tim, and she takes a deep breath -- then just leans her head on his shoulder.

    "Don't tell Bruce about the cigarette; he'll be disappointed." she pleads a moment with him, turning her gaze skyward as well.

    "... next time Nacho's back in town, we should all head up to the farm for some Dark Sky stargazing."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim immediately says "Okay," as a promise, but then adds, "You know he knows though, right? There's no way he doesn't already know." His voice drops to nearly subvocal, just barely a whisper. "I think he might be Batman."

    This said after he cast a look around the rooftop, as if he was expecting the man himself to appear from nowhere.

    He doesn't move to get up, though. If Phoebe needs a little bit longer up here, then he'll stay a little bit longer, though his hands do tuck into his pockets to keep warm. "Sure, I'm down for that." The sky gets another curious peer from Tim, but this time it's not the stars he's looking at, but the clouds, checking for the elusive Batsignal.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gets a pensive look "Bruce is *Batman*? No way. No. Way." she states in just as quiet a voice, before she busts out in giggles, the type that shake shoulders and pull stomach muscles in as she wraps her arms around herself.

    "All right, let's get back in before we have to mysteriously disappear for the rest of the night to the call of the other beacon." she states, tapping Tim on the head with the manilla envelope.

    "Thank you. For everything."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Trying to keep a straight face after that is impossible, so soon enough Tim is laughing too, one hand over his mouth as he fights--and fails--to contain himself. "Yeah, that's crazy," he decides on saying, playing into the joke just one moment longer, before he nods.

    Stepping away from the heat of the chimney, Tim puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs both shoulders up, his head bowing to receive the tap from the envelope. "You're welcome," he says, and he means it.

    "Now let's head downstairs before they call Batman to find us."