19302/Smoaking on the Veranda

Smoaking on the Veranda
Date of Scene:	16 October 2024
Location:	Gotham Royal Hotel
Synopsis:	During Bruce Wayne's party, Felicity Smoak escapes to the veranda to get some air and runs into Dick Grayson.
Cast of Characters:	Felicity Smoak, Dick Grayson

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Felicity Smoak has posed:
The soft glow of the ballroom fades behind her as Felicity steps through the heavy glass doors onto the hotel's veranda. The contrast between the lively, bustling party inside and the quiet, crisp October night outside is stark, and as the cold air hits her bare shoulders, she pulls her arms around herself, trying to stave off a shiver. The cool breeze bites through the thin fabric of her long, ruby red gown, but for now, the solitude feels worth the chill.

She pauses, taking a slow breath as she moves toward the edge of the veranda. Her eyes flit over the skyline of Gotham, the towering buildings casting long shadows in the night, their windows glowing like distant stars. Out here, away from the music, the chatter, the endless introductions, Felicity feels like she can breathe again. The weight of expectations -- the fancy dress, the bold lipstick, the elaborate chignon that took her nearly an hour to perfect -- lifts just a little. She looks the part of a billionaire's girlfriend, maybe even wife someday, but in moments like this, it all feels a little surreal. This world of high society, luxury, and grandeur isn't really hers, not deep down.

It had been hours since she and Oliver arrived at Bruce Wayne's extravagant birthday fundraiser. She'd been introduced to Gotham's finest, met Bruce himself, who had been charming in that effortless, enigmatic way. Bruce had even invited them to dinner sometime, which seemed more like a business meeting disguised as a social engagement. She had danced with Oliver twice -- his hand warm on her back, guiding her across the floor with ease -- but parties like this have a way of draining her energy, slowly but surely. The polite smiles, the small talk, the constant feeling of being "on" for the crowd, for the world.

Oliver had been swept into a conversation with some business associates, and while Felicity had smiled and nodded along at first, she eventually excused herself, citing a quick trip to the powder room. Instead, she'd ended up out here, letting the crisp air clear her head. She doesn't mind being Oliver's partner in these situations, but sometimes, the crowd becomes too much.

She glances over her shoulder toward the ballroom, the soft light spilling out from the open doors. The faint hum of conversation and the tinkling of glasses still reaches her, but out here, it's all background noise.

Felicity leans against the veranda's railing, her arms still wrapped around herself, letting her gaze drift across the horizon again. For a moment, she closes her eyes and focuses on the cool wind against her skin, the quiet. It's peaceful, a small escape from the glittering world inside.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Gotham City.

No one is ever likely to mistake it for a garden spot, as a must visit sort of place. In many ways the various things that made the city great belong to a bygone era. That last fading glimmers of the industrial age when factories and shipyards dominated commerce still. Before everything was driven by computers, by information. Before the city was eclipsed by others - Metropolis and New York to name just two, relatively close choices.

But for all that the city still has it's moments wheen it can shine. And rarely moreso then on quiet, cool autumn evenings like this one, where the last fading vestiges of summer mingle freely with the faint chill of a distant winter still to arrive. When the city skyline is lit up all around one. And if the buildings aren't quite so high or numerous as in those other cities there is something about the neo-gothic architecture that makes Gotham so uniquely Gotham.

The other area where Gotham can still match, maybe even exceed it's local rivals would have to be in the social scene, the gatherings of the rich and powerful. While the city might have some of the worst neighborhoods around in the Narrows or the Bowery, it still has a truly excessive number of the rich. Many with nothing better to do then gather at events like these to see and be seen. And certainly not many would willingly miss the birthday party of Gotham's First Son. Not if they can help it at any rate.

The veranda certainly offers something of a respite. From the heat of so many people gathered in a confined space. From the music and constant buzz of chatter that seems to fill the ball room inside. And just from other people and all the innane chatter they can produce. So it probably shouldn't come as any great shock that Felicity isn't the only person that might be inclined to slip out for a bit.

Though it is entirely possible that Dick Grayson has other motives as well.

Dark of hair and eye, standing just under six feet in height with the trim build of an athlete, a gymnast or something similar, like so many others Dick is clad in a tux - which would seem to be standard issue for the party.

Any possibility that his arrival only moments after her arrival is mere coincidence is rather quickly dispelled when he immediately walks over towards her after a quick glance around the terrace.

"Miss Smoak I presume. Bruce told me that you and Mr. Queen would be spending a few days in our city so he sent me looking for you," he offers up, extending a hand with a smile. "Dick Grayson."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Felicity is lost in her thoughts when she hears a voice behind her, startling her just enough to make her blink a few times before turning to see who it is. She hadn't expected anyone willing to miss the party to bother talking to _her_. In the grand scheme of things, she was Oliver Queen's plus-one, which was just fine with her. The fact that Emma Frost and Bruce Wayne had _both_ recognized her was... well... weird. As her eyes settle on Dick Grayson, she quickly gathers herself, flashing a polite smile in return. She recognizes the name, of course -- anyone even tangentially connected to Gotham society would.

"That's me. Well, and Oliver," she says, pulling her arms away from where they're crossed over her chest and gesturing vaguely back toward the ballroom, as if that explains everything, her tone soft but with a hint of her usual awkward charm. "Please, just.. Felicity. I've been 'Miss Smoak' all night, and it's starting to go to my head." She smiles as she takes his hand for a brief shake. "It's nice to meet you."

Her blue eyes briefly flicker back to the skyline before returning to Dick. His presence is much less intimidating than some of the others she's met tonight, but there's something about being found outside when she's been trying to hide in plain sight that makes her self-conscious.

"Bruce sent you looking for me?" she asks, her head tilting slightly in curiosity. "I didn't think I'd wandered that far off." She lets out a soft laugh, trying to ease the sudden shift from her peaceful solitude to conversation mode. "I... just needed some air. Not really my scene in there..."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
With her arms once more crossed over her tummy, Felicity shifts her weight slightly. The breeze tugs gently at a few loose strands of her hair. Her gaze drops for a moment, adjusting to the unexpected company before meeting his eyes again.

"I've read up on you. I mean, not 'read up on you' like some creepy stalker. But I've seen articles... online. Like a billion other completely normal people with a healthy level of interest." Pause. "Not _interest_. Not that you're not interesting. I mean, I'm sure you're very interesting..." Deep breath. "I've never been to Gotham before so I kinda wanted to know what we were walking into, and if you look up Bruce Wayne, your name isn't very far down on the list. But then, I wasn't even really expecting to actually _meet_ Bruce.. er.. Mr. Wayne.. much less his..."

There's just one small, vague gesture with her hand, like she doesn't want to say the word for fear of offending him.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Being found a little less intimidating to talk to then Bruce Wayne doesn't exactly seem to bother Dick. It seems to be something that he expects, maybe even prefers in the grab scheme of things.

Certainly it makes sense. He gives up a few inches and a good forty pounds or so to his much more famous father figure and while most people who have looked into Bruce Wayne at all will find his name in close proximity, being hte man's first ward, first child raised by him, he hasn't otherwise followed his more famous mentor into the limelight. While chances are Mr. Grayson is worth a healthy dollar sum all on his own, instead of being a corporate overlord or wealthy philanthorpist, he has instead taken the route of public serivce, serving first as a police officer in the crime infested city of Bludhaven up the coast from Gotham - and you know that a city has problems if it's considered crime-infested in relation to Gotham - and now as an officer in the Gotham City Police Department itself.

Maybe he would be a little more intimidating in his dress blues, pulling her over for a traffic stop, but otherwise, he totally gets it.

Even when the tux goes away, what the police uniform goes away and his other costume comes out he doesn't often carry around the whole dark and broody vibe.

Nightwing, like Batman before him, may have been born in tragedy. He just hasn't let it come to define his entire life. There is more to him then one moment, a decade and a half ago. It is important. It helped shape him. But it is not the only thing that has. Though in fairness Bruce might merit a little of the credit for that. For recognizing that he needed an outlet for his grief, for his own desire for vengeance. And seeing that it was effectively channelled.

Making him the much better adjusted person that he is today.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Felicity then," he agrees with a smile, that easy matter radiating from him. "We certainly wouldn't want you to go losing your head," he agrees, just a hint of mischief coloring his words as he joins her near the rail, before the rather impressive view of the lit up, noctural city around them. This is Gotham of course. And the dark holds all sorts of terrors. But one would not know it, standing here.

As she hastens to insure him that she has read up on him - and resulting comedy gold that insues as a result of her efforts to clarify things a little more finely - DIck just grins, entirely unphased. "I understand what you meant. It's always nice to have some idea of what you're walking into, especially with plenty of people you don't know. And I imagine your prep work has come in handy with a few of the guests here tonight," he admits with a wry smile.

Hands leaning against the rail in front of him, Dick glances her way once more. "I'm also not here to check up on you either. Bruce just mentioned that you and Oliver might be spending a few days here in the city and suggested that I might have a few ideas for things you might want to see or do," he explains.

"There is obviously the Gotham City Museum of Art, if you're into museums. It is fairly outstanding, in my oh so humble opinion," he says, that smile taking on a sly caste once more. "And you might want to make a trip to Gotham Tower. Really take in the full sweep of the city from up on the observation deck. Or if you want something a little more outdoorsy, Robinson Park is particularly lovely this time of year with the leaves starting to change.

"There's other's of course, depending on your tastes. Bruce used to drag me to the Gotham Opera House, which I did not appreciate when I was a teen admittedly. But it is a beautiful building with amazing accoustics if that is your thing. If you want something a little different, there are a number of underground tours that poke about some of the forgotten foundations and catacombs beneath the city. So long as both of you enjoy history. And poking around in the darj," he offers up before that smile turns slight sly. "Or you could make a dent in Mr. Queen's fiances by visiting the Diamond District and some of the high end shops found there," he adds lightly.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Prep work... "Some more than others."

"A museum sounds nice..." Except for that one time the Met got robbed while she and Oliver were there. But what are the chances that would happen again?

The Tower. The park. She's making mental notes. The Opera House... maybe not so much, if her facial expression is any indication. But the catacombs? That gets a smirk.

It's the mention of denting Oliver's finances that gets a more genuine, if still awkward, throaty laugh. "Me? No. Don't get me wrong, I like a pretty dress as much as the next girl, but this?" She sweeps a finger up and down at herself, chest-height. "This is all Oliver's sister. Including the jewelry -- from the Queen Family Collection. I'm actually taking years off of my life right now just thinking about losing an earring, so let's maybe not dwell on that."

But her smile is easier. She doesn't seem to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dick wasn't sent out her to fetch her back into the party, which seemed to be one of her first concerns. She wasn't quite ready to delve head-first back into the chaos yet. And so she once again leans on that railing, herself.

Would the catacombs be a fun diversion? Or would it be too much like 'work' for Oliver?

Well, there was one way to find out... she'd just have to ask him. And as if intentionally telegraphing that whole thought process, she turns to glance over her shoulder towards the party with the expression of a lost pup looking for her owner. It wasn't hard to see that, especially in this situation, the choice to be separated from him wasn't an easy one. She felt guilty for not standing there. She worried he was looking for her...

"So are you always tasked with helping the noobs find their way around Gotham?"

Yeah. She said n00bs.

"Or is this like a Queen specific thing?"

She's looking back at Dick, then, and there's something extra in her eyes. Is it... challenge? For as much of a wallflower as she obvious wants to be at a party like this, the woman has a way of being _incredibly_ direct. Whether or not she intended it to be a straight-up accusation that Bruce was courting Queen Consolidated and pimping out his ward to do it was anyone's guess. But Felicity rarely strikes anyone as a complete airhead after the first few sentences are exchanged. Awkward? Sure. But not dumb.

At least the accusation is tempered by the buddy-like grin that tugs one corner of her lips, like she sort of 'gets it.' Rich people doing rich people things. She doesn't begrudge him the attempt to get into Oliver's good graces through her, though she equally doesn't seem to believe it's worth the effort.

Even after a year of living with the man, it's still pretty obvious by her whole demeanor that she makes NO claims of being able to speak on his behalf or change his mind... about anything.