3318/titleing later

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titleing later
Date of Scene: 10 September 2020
Location: Master Bedroom - Tim Drake's Home - Chelsea
Synopsis: Discussion of the previous days spa mission, leadership and other things.
Cast of Characters: Tim Drake, Rose Wilson




Tim Drake has posed:
Last night was a no-sleep night for Tim Drake. Or rather, a no-sleep morning. He had gotten news from Cassie and Hope of a successful mission, the GCPD had been notified, then he had patrolling (the west side of Bleake, which isn't the worst) until near dawn, when he had come home, showered, got dressed, finished some homework, had breakfast, made it to his 8am class (those are the worst when you AREN'T an overnight vigilante), then his 9am, then 10am, and now it's lunchtime for normal folks and he's made his way back into the theater in Chelsea, carrying a to-go bag with a couple of subs and a quart of soup from the deli on the way back from campus.

A pair of garment bags had been delivered by courier the day before, and are still hanging off the back of one of the doors in the living room, not even having made it up to the bedroom. It's been busy lately. But their presence is a stark reminder that it's only a couple of days until the gala, as well. Tim groans slightly. There's never time anymore to do anything. He drops the bag of lunch on the kitchen table and goes to rifle in the fridge for something to drink.

Rose Wilson has posed:
After the spa-event Rose didn't come home. She veered off from the group, and went off to do her own thing. Which might loosely be called patroling for those that are feeling in a generous mood.

For others...well.

By the time Tim makes it home for lunch she's gotten back to the Roost, her bike is parked inside and the cooling tick-tick-tick of the engine might give some with excellent hearing a good idea that she //just// got back. For hungry, sleep-deprived Battypes, they might not realize that she's only just arrived.

Stealth is something she's good at, not as good as some, but in a house full of trigger happy sorts she makes certain that her steps are audible as she heads for the kitchen.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim doesn't actually hear Rose's approach until she's practically on top of him, which should be a fairly clear indication of how little he's slept-- none. He's pulled a bottle of some fancy chilled black tea out of the fridge, but after the moment of being startled at seeing Rose, he gives her a grin, hands her the bottle, and opens the fridge to pull out a second one. "Grabbed lunch, didn't think I'd feel like making anything," he points out, gesturing with the bottle towards the bag on the table. He grabs a pair of bowls and spoons for the soup, too, kissing Rose's forehead before sinking into one of the chairs at the table.

"I won't be about tonight. Checking out one of the other buildings with questionable schematics with Jay and Carrie and the brat this evening. It's a little more extensive looking so we're going as a group, not pairs." He has a look that's half-wince, half-smirk. "I'm kind of hoping we find this is the nest of them, and its done. But something tells me that's unlikely." He pushes out the chair next to him with his foot. "Enjoy the spa yesterday?"

Rose Wilson has posed:
There's a slightly upwards twitch of a brow, but Rose remains silent through the entire thing. The bottle is taken, and she follows him towards the table to take the chair before she sets the bottle down.

Even for Rose her expression seems bland, unreadable not out of any skill at deception. But out of conflicting ideas and thoughts that have unjumbled themselves to make it out in words.

Until he asks about the spa. Then her expression hardens as she latches onto one thought, "No. Do you not trust me, Tim?"

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim uncaps his bottle and takes a sip, studying Rose after she asks that question with the expression he usually wears while in costume. Then he places the drink down on the table. "Yes, I trust you. I sleep next to you most nights. There's nothing you can ask of me, short of killing someone, I wouldn't be willing to at least consider." His nose twitches a bit. "Ah. You discerned that in part yesterday's mission was to also get you willing to have some sort of spa treatment before this weekend. Not untrue. Also in hopes for some team-building. I suspect that didn't happen as much as I wanted it to. Could have just sent you or Laura alone, I think, but why not kill three or four birds with one stone?"

He sighs. He keeps track of the jobs that come up for the mercenaries and assassins of the world as best he can, and he can't lie, it's not entirely just to figure out when and where to thwart them when they can. "Or is this something else? I never want you to feel like I don't trust you or I don't want you happy, because seriously, Rose, that's the furthest from my mind."

Rose Wilson has posed:
When he brings up his duplicity regarding the reasons for the spa mission she frowns, clear indication that no, no she hadn't figured that part out. But now she has. "There wasn't any team building. I sat there and got my hair done by a very nice lady, while Cassie acted like..." Like what? Rose actually physically closes her mouth and bites her tongue to keep those thoughts on the inside.

One of the sandwiches is reached for, and she pulls it over without regards to what it is, or if it was hers or his. "Why'd you not trust me with your card then? I wouldn't have bought thousands of dollars of clothes with it."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim frowns, pulling up his phone and logging in to look at the account. "Huh." He blinks a bit. It was still a lot lower than the max he had put on the card for the day, so he hadn't even noticed. "I gave it to her because she was in charge of the mission," he mutters absently. He looks up at Rose. "It's not a big deal, but it wasn't anything to do with not trusting you. If you ever wanted or needed it, just say so." He rolls his eyes as he skims through the charges. They aren't detailed beyond the amount and the location, of course, but... "She was pissy with me yesterday before everyone went out for this. Some of the Titans are lost in space, and she was having a snit." He shakes his head, putting his phone down and grabbing his sandwich out of the bag, then sliding Rose hers-- they'd eaten there before, and he remembered what she had gotten last time. He dumps the soup into the bowls, and then takes a bite of his sandwich, looking more annoyed than angry.

"But honestly, she probably thinks that was somehow going to sting... and in truth, not that I do it often, but I've spent more than what she dropped on these boutiques on dinner in New York."

Rose Wilson has posed:
That frown never seems to leave her face, however, even more so when he points out Cassie was in a snit and that he spends more than that on dinner sometimes. "I don't need your money, Tim. I make plenty of money on my own to support my habits." Which include weapons, armor, booze and cigarettes. She's a girl of simple tastes and needs. "And it is a big deal. If she was in charge of this mission, then she shouldn't be throwing a fit like a child that had it's lollipop taken away, breaking your trust and spending money outside the focus of the mission."

The bottle is picked up, and she twists the top off it, tossing it onto the table, "That's not how a good leader leads, and she nearly blew the entire thing by walking in acting like some white privilaged brat." It isn't like Rose to be offended by much, but that is potentially the nearest thing that could be said of her tone and expression.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim's tastes aren't too complex, either. Caffeine, new technology, books, state-of-the-art weapons, high-tech gadgets, very fast highly armored cars, motorcycles and... okay, actually, yes, his habits are fairly pricey. (Especially the boxes of Warhammer minis he'll never get around to painting. Do you know how much Games Workshop gets out of him for the armies he'll never build? Don't look in the guest room closet. It's stacked high with unopened boxes.) "I don't disagree with you. I'll talk to her." He looks sour at that. "And I know you don't need it, Rose." Though he wouldn't even flinch if she stopped taking the sorts of jobs she has in the past, well-paying or not. "Just saying if you did."

The privileged brat comment gets an eyebrow raise. "Seriously? It's not like I sent you guys to one of the really ritzy places." It was a decent salon and spa, but not like some place with Roman mud baths and $2k bottles of champagne. He knew of a couple of places in New York like that, but to his knowledge nothing like that had even even been considered in Gotham. Not really the place for it. Or the clients to support it. Gotham's elite were a very small number in a very steep pyramid. He sighs, rubbing his temples. "I don't know what's gotten into her lately. It's like everything is a battle or a screaming match." He looks tired.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Seriously. She was acting like she owned the place, and that her ability to fling money around meant she could be rude to people..." Rose shakes her head, taking a bite from her sandwich while she lets Tim mull that over. Plus it gives her time to eat.

"If the salon stays open, I'll probably go back. They didn't deserve the treatment they got for doing their job...and the drugs?" She shakes her head faintly at him, taking another bite from her sandwich, "Probably just some local tong that decided they could use the space and the women there probably didn't have any way to fight back."

Maybe. Maybe not. But will they ever know now?

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim frowns, withdrawing a little bit into himself as he finishes his sandwich silently. He nods absently to Rose saying she'd go back. "Yeah. Information I got was that the owner was dirty, but I didn't think it was likely any of the workers were. Usually aren't in that situation. They either have no choice or they just don't know." He shakes his head, pulling the bowl towards him and looking pensive. "I don't act like that, I don't think," he says finally.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"I doubt the girls knew." Rose has no real way to be sure, honestly. But she's going off a gut feeling that the girls didn't know, whether or not she's right isn't much the point. Not to her. When he says that he doesn't act that way she stops with the sandwich to frown at him, "Like Cassie at the spa? No. I've never seen you act like that."

The rest of her sandwich is pushed away before she scoots herself closer to him, "How about I talk to her?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Maybe she'll talk to you without yelling," Tim responds, sighing a bit. He forces a grin, looking to Rose. "I mean, you've known her almost as long as I have, so." He snags his drink and takes a swig.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Rose Wilson snorts faintly, "If she yells at me, I'll shoot her." But probably not with real bullets, right? She's an Amazon sort, she could probably just deflect the bullets even if she did try.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim laughs. Mostly because Cassie is effectively bulletproof. He leans over to kiss Rose's cheek, looking a little less annoyed and broody. "Well, it at least ended well." He rolls his shoulders, leaning back a bit in his chair and looking at the ceiling. "Weighing if napping is even worth it." He gives her a grin. "Or at least going to bed for a bit."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"You haven't slept yet?" Not that she has, either. But she doesn't seem to be nearly as tired as someone that has been up all night should be, so he might miss that she's not been asleep. Then she gets to her feet, pushing the soup bowl away from her before she reaches a hand down towards him.

Tim Drake has posed:
"Mm, no. Patrol, then class." He lets her take his hand and pulls himself up to his feet, stealing a kiss from her. "I don't know what's worse, 8am classes, or that its Abstract Algebra," he wrinkles his nose a bit. Rose is interesting in that he can't always catch when she hasn't slept without specific tells. Damn super soldiers and their enhanced stamina. "I take it, bed is in order?"

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Bed." Rose agrees with a nod, avoiding conversations about abstract algebra as though it might explode in her face. Academics are not exactly something that she bothers focusing on, for various reasons.

Which means that she can just distract him from the entire thing by pulling him towards her for a harder kiss. See, distractions from terrible things like algebra and 8am classes.

Tim Drake has posed:
A grin definitely comes to his lips then, and he returns the kiss just as hard, arms sliding around her. This is an extremely welcome distraction, and once the kiss breaks, he sighs contently. "Well then, who am I to argue?"