20160/Experiri Iterum Tenta

Experiri Iterum Tenta
Date of Scene:	01 March 2025
Location:	Library - Wayne Manor
Synopsis:	Gwen Stacy is still in search of a book titled A Theory of Temporal Drift: Foundations and Anomalies in Quantum Causality in the Wayne Manor library, having abandoned the search before she found it the first time. Now, even with Dick and Barbara's help, the book seems to be curiously missing... but at least Gwen got to help Babs put up some replacement security cameras!
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson

---

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's the afternoon, because the bats -- Nightwing included -- are often busy at night and mornings are for sleeping.

Or... something like that. Really, Dick has to work a regular shift at GCPD, too, plus try to squeeze in time with Gwen between her classes at ESU, work at OsCorp, volunteer work at GIRL, modeling gigs, band rehearsal for Last Band on Earth, and patrols in both New York and Gotham.

Sleep?! Psh. Who needs sleep?!

Gwen. Gwen needs sleep. It's in evidence in the way she quickly brings her hand up to cover a yawn as she and Dick step into the Wayne Manor Library.

It's in one of the 'towers' and it's basically Hogwarts sans moving staircases. Three stories of books. THREE STORIES. It's stupid. But, the last time she was looking for it, she kinda bailed in rather spectacular fashion.

Which was more Tim's fault than Alfred's fault. Maybe Alfred should have stayed with her instead of leaving her alone, but it's BOOKS. Short of finding the Monster Book of Monsters, what could possibly happen to her in a room -- even a three story room -- full of books?!

Well, she could find Tim Drake and promptly be made to feel like she wasn't welcome.

So, she left, and she hadn't been back to the Manor since. Which was fine. She didn't really _need_ anything out of the manor. Except this one book, which she refused to make Alfred go get for her.

"It's called A Theory of Temporal Drift: Foundations and Anomalies in Quantum Causality by Dr. Elias Hawthorne," Gwen tells Dick after covering that yawn. "It was published in 1967."

But even as she says it, her blue eyes are tracking out over the library at large and she's hanging back against Dick's side... almost like she expects the Bogeyman to jump out and remind her that she's not a Wayne.

She's not _scared_. She just... doesn't really feel like she belongs in this house. Which isn't a new feeling for her. She also doesn't feel like she belongs in this dimension.

And the only thing that seems to make that feeling really go away is being close to Dick.

"Any thoughts on where it might be?"

Barbara Gordon has posed:
As it so happens, Barbara Gordon was already in the library today. Dressed casually in dark blue jeans, and a light powder blue hoodie, the red haired woman was standing at the base of one of the large windows on the northern wall. The ambient light from outside streamed in through the windows panes, washing over her in a way that illuminated her edges, making the autumnal locks of her hair shine with a golden crimson blaze. She cast a long shadow across the hardwood floor, as she might even surprise someone, should they just stride on in to the room. Her eyes were down upon a smart phone device, her left hand holding it, as her right clutched a security camera, that she had plucked from its resting place.

Babs' pink hued lips were quietly muttering something, as she was reading something on her phone's screen, while tapping against the glass with her thumb in repetitive strikes. She was reading a number off of the bottom of the small wireless camera, and entering the information in to her device.

She heard the sound of others coming, but it didn't pull her away from whatever the Hell it was that she was doing.

Instead, she just stood there in the sunlight coming through the glass, almost like the ghost of a Irish damsel, if it weren't for the modern clothing she was wearing. Ghosts never have on modern clothing, if you hadn't noticed.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is probably fortunate that Dick wasn't accompanying Gwen the last time she stopped by the Manor like this, seeking out the library. Tim might have ended up with a punch in the nose.

Clearly any notion that he is the 'smart Robin' is dramatically overstated.

While Alfred would no doubt have been more then happy to help them find whatever they're looking for since the organization of the library so often falls on his shoulders anyway, Dick Grayson doesn't really feel that's necessary.

Afterall, he grew up in these hallowed halls and while reading and research might not be his speciality, he's no slouch at it. More, he wrote many a high school paper in this room, the resources easily up there with any school library.

The dark haired man might not be fresh as a daisy after dealing with a late shift with the GCPD and then returning to still manage to squeeze in a couple of hours out in the city as Nightwing, but it would be hard to tell. Maybe those eyes are a little more pinched then they would otherwise be, but he doesn't yawn - even with Gwen trying to spread her sleepy infection to him - long since having grown accustomed to running on a bare minimum of sleep.

"That's more then enough to find it," he assures the blonde at his side with that ready grin, moving towards a particular computer proped up on a stand. "Alfred insists on keeping the original card cataloge as well, but everything was computerized years ago. It should be a fairly simply matter to find out what section of the sciences it is in," he promises her, idly flexing fingers.

"I mean, the sciences area is over there," he gestures vaguely across the room with a sort of sweeping motion with his hand. "But I can't say that I know where a book on Quantum Causality would be specifically," he admits.

Look, he's an expert on a lot of things but the Dewey Decimal system is not one of them.

Before he can start tapping at the computer keyboard, that flicker of motion from across the room finally draws his attention to the fact that they're not alone. Fortunately, it does not appear to be the Robin that's cruisin' for a bruisin', so Dick only arches a brow. "Babs," he calls out in quiet greeting.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"I thought that might be the catalog!"

It's not hard to hear her in the quiet space, even with the way she hisses the words -- like she's in an actual public library where they may be dozens of people sitting at tables quietly reading. It doesn't seem to matter that they are not, in fact, in a public library. Proper decorum in a book-centric environment seems to have been one of those things drilled into her.

"I didn't want to go fiddling with random computers, you know? The next thing you know, alarms start going off, an iron cage falls from the ceiling, suddenly I'm in the world's largest game of Mouse Trap..."

Gwen always changes before coming to the manor.

She doesn't make a big deal about it. There's never a mention of, 'Oh, if we're going over there, I need to put on my Sunday best.' But she does, in fact, dress differently than she does when she goes to New York or is just lounging around the Lake House.

She's in a white, cable-knit sweater that goes well with the blonde in her hair, though the hot pink tips and the thin black choker with the heart-shaped ring danging against her throat keep that punk-rock edge. There's an eyebrow piercing over one eye, but there's also a still-healing cut, like something had happened to it. Underneath the sweater, she has a pair of black slacks -- instead of her normal leggings -- and ankle boots. Her ears have a couple of small stud earrings and a couple of hoops. And today, she has a black headband keeping the hair out of her face.

Slung over one shoulder, she's got a teal backpack that doesn't look over-stuffed, but it's obviously got a few things in it. Books, maybe a laptop.

Honestly, she looks a little like that one girl from that one prep school who forgot to put her hair under a hat and take out her piercings before she came home from the concert.

Babs.

Gwen's eyes snap up in the direction Dick is looking, and her eyes go wide. Apparently, she'd gotten so distracted by the computer she hadn't noticed the ghostly apparition of a woman in front of the window, and she smiles warmly at her silhouette.

"Oh! Barrrr -- Miss Gorrrdon(?)!?"

Wow she's bad at this.

She was even at the New Years party! But she didn't like... actually _talk_ to Barbara! She was just there. With Dick. And like a billion other people were there. And she said thank you, though! But, that was really all.. and..

Gwen's blue eyes shoot over to Dick with a nervous smile and a lift of her blonde eybrows, wondering if she got.. well.. _any_ of that right?

Maybe she should have just asked Alfred to get the book.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
AS Babs stood in the window, freaking people out like the supposed Ghost featured in the 1980s classic comedy film, Three Men and a Little Baby, she was unshakeable in her action of doing 'something' with that small camera. Even to the point that both Dick and Gwen spoke up, before she lingered her eyes on her phone several more seconds... tapping something in to it. Maybe she wasn't there, maybe this was some kind of a worm hole thing, like in the classic Christopher Nolan film 'Interstel--'

"Hey, you two, how are you doing?" Babs asked, as she suddenly tore her eyes up from her smart phone, lowered the spherical camera down to her side, and turned to face them. She stepped out of the glow of the sunlight directly, and paused at a polished wooden table that sat beside a gathering of high backed leather chairs. "You two here for the romance novels?" She inquired, shaking her head. "Too late, I already cleared them all out." She dryly jest, as she set her stuff down on the table, and reached for a leather satchel slung over the chair.

Her green eyes looked up at them, taking both of their general appearances in, as she smiled in a warm fashion toward them. Her own features were unadorned by jewelry or accessories, save for the clip holding her hair back out of her face, keeping it flowing down her back in large waves.

"I'm kidding. There's every romance novel you could ever wish to find in here." She added, a half-smirk shown as she pulled a small box from her leather satchel, and snapped it open, the crinkling of plastic soon to follow, as she pulled a new camera out, and began to unpackage it.

"Whats up with you two fine folks this afternoon?" She asked, as she dropped plastic, little cardboard corners, an stickers that were meant to protect the lense back down in to the box that she'd pulled the camera from.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is hard sometimes not to be amused by her museum-like reverance for the Manor.

Not that there are not rooms in the place that would probably feel right at home in any reputable museum. Not that there are plenty of artifacts and works of art that any of those same reputable museums would kill to be able to display for a time. And, in fairness, more then a few of the Gotham museums have gotten that priviledge on a fairly regular basis.

So it's not as if Gwen's reverance has no real basis in reality.

It's just that it is hard for Dick to share too much of it.

For him, this is the house he grew up in. From the time he was eight to when he turned eighteen, this was his home. For all that he loved Haly's Circus and his substitute family there, in the end this is where he ended up spending the majority of his youth. This is still the place that he thinks of when he thinks about home.

Of course, if Master Grayson could be bothered to remember being welcomed at that big front door by Alfred that first night, being escorted around the cavernous halls of the Manor he might be a little more sympathetic to her plight. A little more able to recall what it was to feel somewhat intimidated by his surroundings, worried that he might break things just by looking about them in the wrong way. Just by thinking about them too hard.

Really, he probably can. But that doesn't mean that he isn't going to do what he can to try and make her feel like less formal. Trying to make it feel like her home too is probably a stretch, so he'll settle for the later.

To that end, Dick is only dressed in a dark blue t-shirt, only the collar of which shows beneath the green sweater he wears. Worn, comfortable jeans otherwise complete the ensemble. He's not a slob, but he's not dressed up for a night out either.

It's pretty much true. For all that Bruce might be a secret serious sort and prefer a library that reflects it, there is no shortage of works of fiction to go along with the more academic texts and even rarer manuscripts that populate the shelves. And while it's hard to imagine Batman casually leafing through a romance novel, it's a safe bet that just about everyone in the library has, in fact, been read by Alfred.

The question draws an amused smile from Dick and he glances slyly towards Gwen. "I don't know, you think we should pick up a couple? I can read them to you before bed time," he suggests archly. "I hear Alfred likes them steamy," he teases.

Then the dark haired man laughs and shakes his head. "Not this time, but something to keep in mind. No, Gwen's looking for a book for a project. A Theory of Temporal Drift: Foundations and Anomalies in Quantum Caausality," he rattles off.

See? He listens.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Fine."

The word is past Gwen's lips before she even has a chance to process whether it's accurate. Because that's what you say, right? You're fine. People don't ask you how you're doing because they want to _know_ how you're doing.

Besides, she is fine. Dick's here, this time. Everything is fine. And it's going to continue to be fine. Why are you looking at me like there's something wrong? I'm not nervous, you're nervous.

...Romance novels?!

A surprised sort of laughter catches Gwen off guard at Barbara's remark of having cleared them all out.

There's every romance novel you could ever wish to find...

"Really?! That's... I mean, I guess I wasn't sure _what_ most of the books were, but that would not have been my first guess."

See? Gwen can talk like a normal person!

Aaaaaaand, that's where everything goes off the rails. Because while Tim might have made her feel like an undesirable in this room, Dick takes it in the _complete_ other direction.

Her head snaps to Dick fast enough to move her hair around her shoulders. Her mouth drops open as heat floods her cheeks, and her blue eyes go _wide_.

"What?! No!! We don't -- I mean, _I_ -- "

Words have failed her, like the neural pathways have all simply shriveled up and all that's left is this look of mortified embarrassment.

So, she smacks him -- on the arm -- in that way that girlfriends do when they don't know what else to do with their frustration and punching their boyfriends in the face seems like a felony.

"I do _not_ need that image of Alfred. I'd like to sleep again at some point," she hisses, unable to get either the blush or the smile off of her lips, at this point, even as she looks sheepishly back to Barbara.

"Sorry," she obviously feels the need to apologize, clearing her throat. There _is_ a brief glance tossed back to Dick, though, when he rattles off the _entire title_ of the book she was looking for. Clearly impressed, despite her frustration.

"How are _you_ doing?"

Clearly, her own mission seems suddenly secondary to being polite, even if the other two seems to have _no_ problem bantering.

"Are you... replacing one of the security cameras?"

There's only a beat. The smallest half-step forward, and the next words come out as a compulsion she simply can't seem to help -- a hint of excitement she just can't conceal.

"Do you need any help?"

Barbara Gordon has posed:
The last few bits of the packaging were stuffed back in to the box, before Babs fiddled with the little cord that came with it. She tossed it carelessly down in to her satchel as well, though, clearly not needing it. With another look up to the two of them, she showed an expression of being impressed at the type of book that the two had come here for. "Can't say I know where that one is off hand.. But, I am an expert on Martha Wayne's Fabio novels, so just let me know if you do want to grab one for your bedtime stories." The redhead told them, flashing a lopsided grin before she turned around to move toward the windo again.

She walked through the columns of golden light, the shadows between each pain gliding over her form as she went back to where she had originally pulled the first camera from. "Yeah. Alfred called me today, to tell me that the feed in here was having some strange issues.. so I brought some replacements." She explained, as she pulled the little chair she had back to where she needed it, and began to scale it..

So carefully, so damn carefully, the redhead scaled the chair with her sneakers upon its cushioned surface, her wobbling nature giving the suggestion of just how precarious the nature of what she was doing was...

Dick? He'd know she was putting on a show. He'd know damn well sure that she was being 'Clumsey Barbara Gordon' right now, just for the sake of the girl on his arm (beating his arm?) But, however you chalked it up, it made her look like she definitely needed help if she were going to survive putting the camera back where it was.

But she didn't ask for it. "Nah... I'm goooOood!" She waved an arm, before catching herself, and stood triumphantly on the shakey old chair.

Her hands raised the camera up in to place, and slipped it in to the interior of the raised-up gargoyle skull that was attached to the wall beside the window sill. Once she had it in place, she afixed it to some connection limbs, before she activated it, causing a light to come on.

"There, two more in here... and then I go put the rest in the bathrooms."

She waited a beat, before she smirked down at them. "I'm kidding..."

Dick Grayson has posed:
To put it mildly, Dick does not look particularly abashed at all, even after she punches his arm.

Indeed, the look her shoots her, the grin on his face suggests that Gwen is very much in danger of getting far, far worse then she has thus far as the dark haired man eyes her speculatively.

But given that part of this visit is not just to find the book that she's used to, but to try and start her along the path to stop regarding this place as some sort of museum, some sort of sacred place, that seems to be enough to make Dick behave himself. For the time being.

The glint in his eyes however suggests that there is no firm guarantee that this uneasy truce that they have established will last however. There are, afterall, entire spheres of book related humor that they haven't even begun to crack open yet.

For his part, Dick does not offer to help with the camera replacement. Oh, he has a built in excuse for being good at it. He's a freaking acrobat afterall. Even if he wasn't already absolved from hiding any sort of secret identity from the others in this room - or in the Manor as a whole in point of fact.

But if Barbara wants to put on a show he can appreciate that and so the dark haired man masks his smile as he instead turns back towards that computer, making himself useful while his girlfriend offers to help play handywoman.

In a few quick keystrokes, the computer gives a little beep and an entry comes up with all the revelevant details about the book in question, completely with a detailed map in miniature of the roo with a flashing red dot indicating where the book should be, even beyond the list of shelf number, row number and book number.

Not too shabby of a little private operation, right? And Alfred would rather open up one of those tiny, long drawers and thumb through a stack of index cards..

Not that Dick is likely to tell him that he's wrong of course. He enjoys his regular supply of cookies a little too much to risk that and offering up any sort of contrary opinion on how the Manor should be run is a good way to get a proper English sniff and at best, two weeks of oatmeal raisin cookies only.

Truly a fate worse then death.

"Don't fall," Dick offers up casually, seemingly unconcerned about Barbara's precarious position, a faint smirk sliding across his expression as she teases the other woman.
"Of so she would have you believe. You might want to think twice about using any of the bathrooms in the Manor. Don't worry. Learning to control your bladder builds character," Dick asserts with a straight face.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Dating a superhero isn't easy.

For one, the hours of time spent balancing life and heroing are hard. For B, secrets. Lots and lots of secrets.

As Ghost-Spider tried to explain to Robin -- Red Robin -- the fact that Nightwing hadn't just brain-dumped all of his secrets about Batman and the rest of the family wasn't about a lack of trust. The _trust_ was in both of them knowing in their souls that Gwen would never ask Dick to betray the secrets of anyone he cared about unless it was life or death.

Even if Dick didn't tell Bruce about Gwen being Ghost-Spider -- which he definitely did -- it would not have been hard at all for Oracle to figure out that costumed woman suddenly showing up on the back of Nightwing's bike was the same one sleeping in his bed.

Gwen has no such insight. So when Barbara starts to wobble? She takes another step forward and then another, hands lifted just slightly like she wanted to either reach out and steady the woman or catch her.

She didn't need to do either, but there was no hesitation. No effort being put into helping to keep up the facade of identities. She was genuinely concerned Barbara was going to fall -- and it was easier to 'look ready' than it was to rely on her Spider Sense and have to explain how she got there so fast. So maybe there was _some_ effort being put into keeping up identities, even if just her own.

"Oohh.. I wish you would let me help! I'm sort of a chair-climbing exert. Short girls unite, you know?"

Nervous laughter spills out.

So, maybe she's not all _that_ short? But when you spend all your time around Dick or basically freaking Amazons, five-five starts to feel pretty short.

Dick's suggestion -- Don't fall -- gets met with an over-the-shoulder glare.

"Not helpful!" she chirps.

Her eyes are back on Barbara when Dick is adding his commentary about the bathrooms, and she rolls her eyes briefly to the ceiling.

"Greeeeaaat. Even _more_ rooms I'll actively avoid," she groans. "You know, I've never actually been in any of the bathrooms in the manor. I picture them all having solid gold toilets, so I tend to just... wait."

Why is she sharing her bathroom habits with Barbara standing right there?! God damnit, Dick.

"Oh my god. I'm sorry. Let me do the other two. Please? You're going to end up in a wheelchair!"

In her defense, she had no idea.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Had it all been a ruse to get the new girl to do some work around here? Had it all just been a big ploy to get out of having to swap the cameras out herself? No matter what, when the offer was given, Babs simply turned and dropped off of the chair beside Gwen, nary a wobble or a teeter to be seen suddenly, as she showed a big smile, and motioned toward her satchel. "Let me show you where they are." She said, moving toward her bag to grab a couple more boxes.

"I think one of them is actually near the book you're looking for." As Barbara actually knew where every book in the library was, without needing the computer to tell her. With her time in Wayne Manor having been heavily spent in here, and in any room that had a computer setup in it. Between intense training in the Bat Cave down below the house, Babs was up here, learning with her mind.

She escorted Gwen toward the next camera spot, which was nestled at the base of a candelabraa. "I think your book is just there." She said, pointing to a tome on a not at all dusty shelf, as she set one of the camera boxes down, while proceeding to unpack the other.

"Bruce's bathroom has a pool in it." She randomly announced, before looking over to Dick. "Have you not gotten your lovely new friend here perfectly at home within the Manor?" She asked the back of his head, since he was still at the computer station. "For shame, Richard..."

When Gwen was ready, Babs offered her the freshly unpacked camera, as she raised her phone up to get it paired in to the security system.

To Gwen, she showed a soft smirk. "You two are in the lake house, right? Let me guess... You're too intimidated by this place to come in on your own? If so, don't be... Ace won't eat you alive, I don't think anyway..."

Dick Grayson has posed:
It would seem that Gwen is in danger of forgetting just what it is that brought them over here in the first place and while it would seem that Dick has no issue in creating problems despite his resolve to make her feel 'at ease', he is keeping the eye on the prize.

Well, there might be a couple of different prizes in this case, given that he does keep sneaking peeks over her way, watching as the blonde fushes over Barbara's efforts, the show of near falls that the other woman is putting on.

Yes, he has respected 'the family's' secrets, has no devulged just who is who and either because she refuses to think about it, or simply isn't willing to leap to some not entirely huge bridges of logic, Gwen hasn't really put many of the pieces together either.

He did not, in point of fact, share the fact that Gwen was Ghost Spider. But then he didn't really need to. The Batcave has always boasted extensive files on both friends and enemies - the cynic might say enemies and temporary allies who might become threats. At least that is probably how Bruce would justify it.

So while his blonde girlfriend might be operating at something of a disadvantage, at least he isn't the one who deliberately put her at it. It's a small salve to his conscience at least.

'gold toliets? So ostentatious. Alfred wouldn't here of such a thing. The finest of imported porceline sure. Maybe a few of them are trimmed in silver, gold and gems. But entirely made out of precious metals? Totally impractical," Dick asserts with a firm nod of his head, already haded over towards the shelf in question, crossing the comfortably warm, bright hall what with the sunlight pouring through those windows.

That Barbara knows exactly where the book in question can be found isn't really a surprise though again, the dark haired man suppresses that smirk and he gives a small shrug as if to dismiss any culpability for Gwen not yet being familiar enough with the place he grew up to know when they're making up hideously exaggerated lies.

"She really is," he agrees, though he does glance over his shoulder and flash a grin Gwen's way even as he confirms Barbara's supposition. "Like this place is a museum full of priceless artifacts," he says wryly.

Then he turns abruptly, walking backwards just as readily, smoothly navigating between chairs and little end tables without looking. "Would it make you feel better to know that everything in here is a fake? A cheap reproduction? Bruce sold everything of actual value years ago to finance his hookers and blow habit," he asserts with a straight face.

He might be in trouble when they get back to said Lakehouse later.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Thank you."

Gwen blows out an audible sigh when Barbara is once more on solid ground and, much to her delight, willing to let her help!

"That's convenient."

And maybe there was one closer that could have been used, but Gwen simply grabs the chair Barbara was standing on and proceeds to carry it around with them. Not _exactly_ in a way that makes it look like a strenuous activity.

Dick, luckily, seemed to be going with them as well -- always with his 'eyes on the prize.' And yet every time she looked over at him -- which was fairly frequently -- he was looking back at her.

Suspicious -- and flattering -- if her narrowed eyes and smile were any indication.

Bruce's bathroom has a pool in it.

"That... does not surprise me."

For shame, Richard...

"For shame, Richard," Gwen parrots in a much more sing-song tone than was necessary, smiling sweetly at him as -- while he's walking backwards without looking -- she's walking in front of him, jabbing the chair playfully towards him like a lion tamer driving back a wild beast.

Ace won't eat you alive, I don't think anyway.

"Is... Ace the cow? Or is there like a three-headed dog sitting a trap door somewhere?"

She _really_ thinks this place is Hogwarts.

Dick's initial comments, though, earn a grooaaan.

"I do not!" she protests. Even though she does. And she knows she does.

Then comes the comment about the hookers and blow, and while laughter spills past her lips, the heat glows on her cheeks, suddenly renewed.

"Stop!" she laughs, rolling her eyes. "He's _going_ to overhear you, and you're _going_ to get me kicked out of here for good. We're putting up security cameras, for god's sake! All of this is being recorded!"

And for all the playfulness, all the sincere fun, there's still a slight... edge. A bitter truth under it all -- that she knows she could be removed from all of this with the ease of a bug being swatted away. And then what?

She places the chair she carried all the way over -- because she's still being awkward -- and hops right up on top of the chair. Her ankle boots have small, blocky heels, so she balances on the balls of her feet, keeping her heels off of the cushion.

She lifts the camera into place, turning it to look at all sides of it -- just to make sure she understands exactly what she's doing -- before connecting the wires and making sure it's placed securely. She may not be a mechanical engineering genius, but she can pretty easily find her way around some pretty techy stuff. If she can build her own web shooters, she's pretty sure she can plug in a couple of wires!

...Maybe.

Even what she has it up there, she seems to second guess herself. Because, well, why wouldn't she make an absolute fool of herself and plug it in backwards or something?

"Is it working?"

Barbara Gordon has posed:
"Hey, it is just good for us to do this, so Alfred is not up on these chairs." Babs chimed in, as she had her phone readied and her eyes planted on its screen once more. she showed a small smirk at what she heard the two of them saying, while Gwen was securing the camera in place, and getting the wires plugged in to their proper places.

Her right hand swiped a finger over the screen, tapped one of the view displays, and soon had a live shot of the library from the vantage point that Gwen had just established. "Got it. Good job, new girl." She cheered on the blonde's efforts, casting her a grin. "I like the pink hair tips too." She commented, for the sake of sharing a complimentary comment. Nothing helps people feel welcome, quite like a good compliment!

"The cow?" She asked, raising her left eyebrow up in a curious fahsion, before she regarded Dick. "Is there cows on the property? Maybe I don't come over as much as I used to..."

She drew in a light breaeth, and was off again, with the last box left.

the last box was unpacked on her way to the suit of shining armor that sat on a niche alcove between two bookshelves. "Last one is right here." She said, pointing up at the helmet atop the Knight's armored shoulders. "Just tip the visor thing up, and it should be right behind it... We made a platform for it to rest on, should be easier to hook in than the last one, really."

She had the third one unboxed quicker than the other two, and offered it over. "So what are you guys doing with that fancy book of deep learning? Are you in college? Or doing a Youtube video about books that make people fall asleep fast?" She asked, smirking toward Gwen. "I'm kidding, of course. I do that, a lot... Honestly, let me know how you feel about it when you're done. Maybe I'll flip through it myself."

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Totally the three-headed dog. But don't worry, if you throw him a couple of cats to snack on her will be your friend for life," Dick hastens to assure her.

That whole plan to try and make her comfortable? Yeah, that seems to have been abandonned, or at least fallen by the wayside."

In fairness, no matter what he has tried seems to have worked on that front so maybe taking a different tact - one that is completely irreverent - is a worthwhile effort.

But it is still probably going to get him punched in the arm again before everything is said and done. Ahh well.

He does finally leave them to it, instead starting to search out that book, peering intently on the little plaques on those wooden shelves, golden in color though presumably not real gold - not if Gwen isn't going to squeak and run out of the room at least - and Dick begins to narrow down the hunt, pulling over a ladded and climb up towards one of the higher shelves, out of reach of him.

Out of reach of everyone actually. He's not short, but the library is definitely excessive in some respects.

Once he reaches the top of that later, he begins perusing those books, slowly making his way over and over along the stacks, carefully studying the title of each book. When he reaches the end, he starts his way back again before pursing his lips and making his way back towards towards the floor.

But he is most definitely lacking the book in question.

In the meantime Gwen and Barbara seem to be making good progress on the camera installation front at least and as he pads back over towards them, at the mention of the cow, Dick rolls his eyes.

"Damian," he says. That's all he says. As if that single word, that single name should be all the explanation that any of them need to explain how there is a Bat-Cow living on the grounds. In fairness, he very well might be right on that particular score.

As Gwen gets back to the floor, the dark haired man pauses in front of her, reaching out to idly fondle the the little heart at her neck, still holding it as he leans in to steal a quick kiss. "See? Right there. Good job, new girl. You've got your seal of approval," he says lightly, those dark eyes dancing with mischief. "So lighten up. It's just a house. A house with it's own Zipcode, but still just a house," he asserts lightly, finally dropping his hand.

"Unfortunately we have something of a mystery. No book," he says, gesturing towards the top of the nearby darkly wooden shelves. "I mean, I'll go check the book return but I find it hard to believe anyone borrowed it for some light reading and the computer didn't say anything about it being checked out," he says with a small shrug.

Yes, they have to check books in and out of the library. Alfred does like things just so sometimes and he can be a worse tyrant then Batman. In his own way.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Barbara's right. Nothing helps quite like a good compliment, and at both the praise and the mention of the pink tips, Gwen's glow doubles.

"Thanks," she answers sincerely, a measure of relief already coming into her voice.

She knows Dick can feel the tension coming off of her in _waves_. She's nothing like she is at home. There's barely a resemblance to the absolutely irreverent Gwen that will tease him at home or quip endlessly on patrol. Those versions of her are either comfortable or so dismissive of whatever anxiety she feels that humor is the very best medicine.

But to this version of her? She's trying to make a good impression, and what Barbara thinks obviously matters -- even if that means she comes across as a little up tight.

The cow?

Barabara's question makes Gwen's eyes suddenly go wide as she whips her head around to look at Dick.

"Oh shit. Was the cow a secret?!"

The words -- curse and all - just _tumble_ out without having given them any real thought at all. But then Dick is answering. Damian. Okay. Not a secret. Thank god.

Suddenly, Dick is in front of her. She'd been keeping an eye on him, climbing the ladder, scouring the shelves, looking for her book while she was 'helping' with the cameras. But now he's here, and a shiver of excitement runs through her as she smiles up at him.

It takes seconds for her to forget where she is -- forget that they're in the manor, forget that Barbara is standing there, forget that she's supposed to be nervous. His finger hooks into the heart of her choker, and her entire world narrows to the man in front of her.

Time stands still. Her breathing stops. Her heart stops. And she stretches up through her toes to meet that kiss, quick as it might be.

You've got your seal of approval.

Her eyes roll to the side in exasperation, but she can't help the way she smiles -- broadly, like he'd hit the nail squarely on the head.

"Yes, sir," she sighs, that smile lingering when she meets his eyes again, like it was some gigantic effort for her to give up on treating the entire house like it was made of porcelain and -- literally -- that thinking about anything in it too hard might break it.

When Dick's hand slips away, though, she reaches out to touch his arm gently -- just a brief brush of gratitude -- before grabbing her chair and hurrying after Barbara.

"There's a book return?!" she calls back to Dick, even as she's setting the chair down and hopping right back atop it. She takes the camera, lifts the visor, and shudders.

"This _feels_ like I'm reaching inside his head," Gwen complains while she's hooking wires up. "Plus, I'm waiting for it to reach out and grab me. I think I've seen too many episodes of Scooby Doo.."

Camera placed. Visor lowered. Gwen dusts her hands together.

"I'm a doctorate student in Genetic Engineering," she says.

"And I'm working on a project right now that's investigating how quantum effects influence genetic expression and cellular aging -- temporal drift in biological systems experiencing time differently or existing in multiple quantum states."

She smiles warmly.

"I will!"

Once more, she steps backwards off of the chair, picking it up as she looks between Barbara and Dick.

"Do you need help with anything else?"

Barbara Gordon has posed:
Babs was on her way back over to gather up the broken, aged-out cameras, and stuff them in to her satchel. She overheard Dick expressing that the book in-question was missing, which had her looking over toward him, then toward the shelves where it was supposed to be. "Should I get a magnifier? Maybe it is really small." Quantum jokes are the best.

With a smirk at their kissing, Babs huffs out a sigh, as she raises the strap of her satchel up over her shoulder. She joins Gwen at the suit of armor, and observes her working with it, and the new replacement camera. She grins softly. "Sir Cobweb appreciates you fixing his eyes." She tells the blonde, before she raises her eyebrows up at the description of what Gwen was studying. "Interesting. I've been reading a lot about anti-aging, and cellular repair the past year or so, but in relation to the field of Epigenetics... I'm still looking for ways to cure a spinal injury I sustained a number of years ago," She laid it out there, just smirking softly. "Don't worry, I didn't fall off a chair. But I did end up in one."

Is she kidding? Is she implying she did catch the wheel chair joke earlier? Oh, Gwen gets to chew on that one for awhile!

"I think we are all set here. Let me know if you find that book, Dick. If not, I'll help look for it. It's gotta be around here somewhere. maybe it is in one of the bathrooms, beside a golden toilet."

With a grin on her soft features, Babs turned to head for the door. "And I never go out to the stables... We redheads avoid the sun at all costs, don't ya know!" She added a little Irish accent to the flavor of her words there, before she waved. "I'll see you guys in the kitchen, if you head that way."

Out in the hallway, Babs called out, in a thick Irish accent. "Oh, Alfred, ya lovely, lovely man. Where have ya gone an' gotten off to?"