3782/Dumpling Time, Part Two

Dumpling Time, Part Two
Date of Scene:	12 October 2020
Location:	Hot Dumpling Restaurant
Synopsis:	Making up for all those interruptions.
Cast of Characters:	Meggan Puceanu, Dick Grayson

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Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Look, a dumpling restaurant. On a pittance of an income, it's rare for Meg to eat out two times in the same week but the money she can scrape together may allow for dumplings twice over. She might worry about the power bill for a lighthouse and a good number of other things, but a big bowl of wonton soup or dumplings steamed, fried or baked will keep well. Besides, the alternative is actually /fishing/ for her own food as some kind of dolphin and the high mercury count just isn't worth it.

Still, this said, she loiters just outside the restaurant. The windows are steamed up, making people resemble nothing so much as ghosts against the bright interior lighting. Pretty though it is, she might just be holding off on going inside for a good reason. He's kind of about six feet tall, and much better at kicking things than she is.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick arrives soon after, parking his bike in one of the street parking spots, though this time he is quick to check and see if his new "friends" were around. Fortunately, he does not see them, and tucks his helmet under his arm as he approaches and gives Meggan his usual, sincere, grin. "Hey, Meggan! Glad you could come!" He walks towards her and gives a wave. "Hopefully things have been going all right since we last spoke?" There is concern present, but the fact she is here and not in a brace of any sort gives him relief.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
No criminals today! Or they're on the roofs and waiting for Dick to leave the bike before jacking it, as sometimes happens. The reality is that this corner of the city has enough gangs and criminals to make trouble a possibility. The river slinking by in its dark, grim shimmer goes unnoticed for the most part by Meggan except the pull of liquid on her awareness, an elemental's gift unignored. But a faint smile tilts up when someone familiar appears from the darkness, her eyes widening and bright, alight in laughter. "'ey, mate." British? Yes. "Fancy a cuppa and a chat over some decent nosh? I've nowhere to be unless it's a class tomorrow at... early enough to make the night into day as it needs." No signs of scratches or bruises on her, but then, taking down the activist isn't exactly easy.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Do I ever?" Dick responds in equal enthusiasm, "Proper tea, of course," giving a wink back. He strides over, his confidence clear in his posture as he approaches. The eldest Bat Brat is fully aware that Meggan is far more lethal than she appears, but he is happy that it isn't aimed at him. "Gotta love those morning classes, I certainly don't miss them, but not a ton better than a three hour evening seminar." A chuckle, he actually prefers the latter, but they get in the way of work, so they are worse for him overall.

Dick holds the door for Megga as he approaches it, "Best we get inside before we are too soaked, also those dumplings aren't gonna eat themselves!" He gives a nod to the familiar faces, and a few quick greetings in Mandarin to them.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Best of teas. Nothing without caffeine, but only the best pusang or black, whatever they have." Raising her golden brows, Meg gestures at the doorway and slips inside with a nudge of her hip unless he insists on going first somehow. That could make for a dance and a song, but she grins with a proper "Thank you" to make up for ducking under his arm to get in. "A three hour seminar? Perish that thought and bury in on the green, I want nothing to do with that. Waking up early enough these days is difficult, given the sun scarce gets over the horizon til late. And here we are at a latitude with /Spain!/" The shock seems to drill into her thoughts. "Maybe southern France. The Gulfstream does wonders for warming the climate, but Gotham feels like it lives under a black raincloud. Britain ought to sue."

She sways a finger and waits to be seated. Mandarin isn't her gift without touch or theft of another kind, but when Dick starts speaking it, she looks back sharply at him. Then smiles. "I had no idea! You can read the real menu here then?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
"What, you Brits want royalties? We kind of fought a war over that," Dick quips with a chuckle. "But you are right, we could have all the money in the world and we could not buy good weather out here." He nods to Meggan when she realizes he speaks Mandarin, "Yeah, growing up we had an extensive education on languages. I can read the regular menu, but I almost always know what I want already."

Dick nods over at a corner table, past the perpetual game of mahjong, the players getting a nod themselves. "Got any idea what you want? I would give a recommendation, but there are no wrong choices, in my opinion. What'd you have last time?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Of course. With interest! Isn't that what a plutocrat-to-be should say? Late stage capitalism, benefiting no one but me." A wiggle of those fingers is swallowed up when Meggan sheds her coat, not that she exactly needed it to stay warm. Only dry, which matters most. She waits up for a seat to open up, since squishing herself in wherever simply won't do. Dick to lead the way on that she forfeits happily, sauntering along. "Really? That's something to be proud of. Welsh was hard enough for me, and that uses the same letters as English. Mandarin is a whole other kettle of fish, not a letter to be found."

Settling in comes easy, especially given her native ability to settle down. "Recommendations are fine. I had sixteen, twenty-four, and a bowl of broth. It was just too good to avoid!"

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick raises a finger, "Well-played," and heartily laughs. "Heck, I'd trust you with the money more than most." He grins and takesa seat, "Had a good teacher and got lucky, I just try to do the best I can to use it to benefit others." The man is walking on cloud nine tonight.

Once they are seated, Dick looks over to Meggan and nods as she lists her previous order, "Always a good call. I like the three and the seven, but I could throw a dart at this menu and would gladly take whatever it landed on. I have never been disappointed!" He relaxes in his seat and lazily looks around the room, "I'm just happy we didn't have guests joining us, tonight."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Shaking her head, the golden strands flowing around her shoulders, Meggan stifles a laugh. Not very well; she vibrates with it, the sound almost on her tongue, as if someone could pick it out by sight and touch and less sound. "You make me sound like Scrooge. Hardly that, I look much more like a pauper or the Little Match Girl. Did you ever hear that story? Dreadful. My parents read it to me and I cried for days at the injustice. All that wealth in Victorian London and a girl froze to death." Her shudder reinforces that possibility.

But, dumplings. Letting Dick actually get the pronunciations right so she looks less the fool, her vibrant gaze travels up to the server whom earns a smile for doing their job. Hey, it's a good one! "No guests? Are you frequently bothered by friends squeezing in? We keep meeting without a crowd around you. Could it be me scaring them off?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick chuckles at the Scrooge comment. "You are anything but a Scrooge. You put others before yourself, and are admirable for doing so." There's that soft grin again, though it fades when the mention fo the Little Match Girl is brought up, "Admittedly I am not familiar with that, but you are right, unfettered wealth that only drives its owner to further acquisition only causes harm." He hangs his head only for a brief moment and only at a slight angle.

This changes when the topic shifts to the earlier guests. "Oh, our good friends that decided to hassle us." Dick grins, "I seldom get bothered when I am here, but if they paid attention, they'd not mess with either of us again." Dick rests his elbows on the table as he takes a sip of his water.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Put a billion quid in front of me, see if I say the same. Chances may be I turn bad and hoard it all like a great dragon. Or buy buildings to tear them down and return them to nature. Rehabilitating places like they do islands in the Pacific that were held by the Navy in the war?" She chuckles, not up to cackling. No cackling. Instead, the beaten teapot will be tilted and the tea poured into two cups without handles marked by a band of pink and gold used basically everywhere in America for Chinese tea sets. It's a common enough look that she tilts the cup around and swirls the leaves at the bottom. "You know these can tell fortunes? I haven't got the eye for it, much to the shame of my Traveller kin. Should be able to make something up, but it would never pass muster." Peering into Dick's cup, she says, "Look, a swirl. That means you will be confused or caught in a whirlwind of leaves. Listen to me, I sound like one part Poison Ivy to two parts nutter on the corner."

She's no John Constantine on that.

Rather the chance to sip that tea and watch him is far more interesting. "Ah, there's the rub. Bad guys ought to know not to kick someone who can manage a motorcycle. Racing bike? One of these days you need to tell me what I need to do to earn a ride on the back of that. It looks like speed incarnate and no reason not to fly like the wind. That what you find attractive about it, or just easier to park on the kerb?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
"I'll take the bet to the contrary," Dick says warmly. "Mold the world back to how it should be in some cases," he smiles and looks at the tea leaves, "Back in the circus we had someone doing that, or a few, I just never had a chance to visit." He carefully looks and listens to the prophecy, "Well, confusion is fine, as is a whirlwind of leaves." Dick thinks for a few moments, "Eh, you are not a nutter, or Poison Ivy!" He may as well be an expert on the former and has tangled with the latter enough to know the difference.

When the topic shifts to his bike, Dick says, "Yeah, but you can't assume that they should know better, or they were desperate enough." Dick shakes his head, "But nah, it isn't a racing bike, just a well-tuned and built motorcycle. I enjoy the freedom and the speed, though also the easier parking helps a /lot/ especially around Gotham." He does flash another grin at her question, "Well, if you took the train here, I could just drop you off instead of taking public transit back?" He asks genuinely.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Running her tongue over her lower lip washes away the taste of the tea after an initial sip. Still scalding hot, but her skin has already reacted to defend swallowing something short of lava, treating it like it's good as any. Rather maddening, that way. "Places need to be in balance. Here as much as anywhere. The poisons pumped out into the ocean from open sewer lines and industries kill off fish, so no fishery. There isn't enough for people to eat, and parts of the land suffer. I could go on, but you know well as I things are at their breaking point. Jumped past it, like as not. Where do we go from here? How do you strip back the years of reliance on fossil fuels and petrol, on having everything at your fingertips when you go to the shop?" She shakes her head again, ruminating for a bit. Meg isn't bound to stare too deep into that abyss, but she swirls her finger around in the space above Dick's mug. Bit of an intrusion, maybe a test to see if it's a problem.

"I took the easy route." The slight curve of a smile shows, telling everything. It wasn't just a walk. "Public transit stops around here aren't terribly good and I wanted to be like those old detectives and 'case the joint.'" In her case, it has verbal quotation marks. "Found a raccoon, very frightening, and a couple making out on a fire escape."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick listens and nods, though blinks as the hot tea is consumed with apparent ease. He nods and responds when Meggan speaks, "You are right about that. Anything gets too far off, then everything falls apart." He is certainly aware of that. Dick then thinks for a little bit, "Well, the first thing is we retrofit what we can, and what we build new we build the best we can to claw back whatever we can. If we need a gap-filler, we go for it, be it hydroelectric, or something similar. I want the world to have it better than we have it now. I want them to have the benefit of technology and the joy of nature. They should not always be at odds." He shrugs, though he does look down at her finger and then back up and grins, widely.

When the topic shifts to transporation, he nods, "Well, the offer still stands. I can get you where you need to go, and if not tonight, just let me know and I'll gladly take you out for a ride before it gets too cold out!" Yup, he's pretty happy at this point. Meggan's list of what she saw gets a few nods, "That all sounds about right for Gotham."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Convincing them to take down the Three Gorges or all those hydro dams in the west? I can't see it." Meggan shakes her head. "Stop drilling for oil in national parks and seismically active regions sounds easy. Then you have whole countries' economies based only on oil, like the Saudis, the Gulf States, Iran. What right have I to say 'You hurt the earth and poison it' but not offering a replacement? Can you make an industrial replacement feasible for those populations? Else losing their economic base leads to war, displacement, and radical problems. This is the crux of the issue, and one that I just don't have the answers for, not the way I wish I had." A frown balances on her lips, the dark curvature tilted in shadow while thoughts incandesce, spark, old things re-examined in case of a missing treasure or a solution overlooked. "The entire economy at a global level, with a few exceptions, rides on plastics and oil. Pull it out, we have not only disruption but a shambles coming and one person like me finds it awfully hard to convince one country to take the next step. Tonga, Tuvalu, a Pacific nation might from sheer necessity but that's not Switzerland or South Africa or the Philippines. Long way to go."

A tilt of her head downward keeps the weight of her hair off her shoulders and no sign at all of those pointed ears; the human vestiges are more familiar, here, where it counts to stay low on the radar. The rest of her senses can't be stilled, nor dulled, but she walks her fingertips up Dick's arm as far as she can manage without literally sitting on the table. "I felt rather bad for the raccoon, he was hungry and all I had was a granola bar. Hardly fair. Maybe we should go find him with a plate of dumplings."

Dick Grayson has posed:
"True, there are other options, but maybe some day, maybe someone will find the answer," Dick says, a little bit of hope in his tone, "But for now, we must at least do the best we can. Even if it's small things. Hopefully the new developments here in Gotham will be green." He gestures to the city, even if it is beyond the walls of the most excellent dumpling shop. He tries to smile, but he fully understands the grim nature of that part of their conversation.

Fortunately, the grimness dissipates when he feels Meggan's fingertips stroll up his arm. He watches them go up and then turns back to Meggan and says, "Well, certainly. Little guy deserves something after being in this rain." Dick is a bit more relaxed, now, "I would have no problem going back over that way and making sure he gets some dumplings. Besides, everyone deserves to try these!" He gesture down at the dumplings before them, "Though if we want to order a plate to go, we can." Without thinking, he reaches out and gently holds Meggan's free hand and grins. "I almost forgot to say, thank you coming, tonight."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan offers that rueful grin. "That's just it. 'Someone.' Who is someone? Maybe? Can't it be you or someone else smart like you who does it, and gets their heads together with the scientists and politicians and the rest? I can shout all day long and people, they listen. It's not for lack of platform. But I am not anyone famous or heralded as the second coming of pick your favourite." A wiggle of her fingers would be possible except they're stuck in fabric, sort of, and she then has the challenge before her. Retract her hand from Dick's arm or just accept she isn't eating either? Hmm.

Left-handed chopsticks or ladle might be tricky but she can manage. "You needn't thank me. If anything I owe you for not letting them put a bullet in me. Nasty things, guns. We barely see them at all back home. Just in nasty spots and those tend not to come around at lunch time." The dumplings prove to be far too enticing to resist, at least for a few nibbles. Though she drops one wiggly, slippery dumpling a good four times.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Well, if I can, I will," Dick says with confidence, "I was given a chance to win the proverbial lottery, so I had best make the most of it," he nods, "Perhaps Wayne Enterprises will move in that direction. Someone has to be first, why not us?" He asks. "We have the resources, the will, and the technology to at least make a darn good attempt."

"Yeah, we got a lot of guns around here. Never been the biggest fan, but at least it went about as well as it could have for us, still got the bruise on my back." He then gives a smile, "Well, still, I am glad you are here." Dick then realizes that he might have done goofed in taking her free hand when he sees her drop a dumpling, and also noticing he had done so. The usually collected man is a little flustered for a brief moment, as a little pink for a nanosecond appears on his face as he lets go. "I'm sorry," he says, a tad embarrassed.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"First up, terraforming?" Meggan's tone teases around that hunt for the damn dumpling, her ladle pinning it down as it tries to leap off the little curved plate. Darn things are worse than fish. At least she can convince a trout to hop up. "I wager you've the means better than most to make your vision happen. At least take those brave first steps when your bottom line exceeds the GDP of a moderately sized nation?" The crackle of mischief is there, and an encouraging nudge, even if the point of her toe tapping Dick's foot is not accidental at all either. Be brave when confronted by the unknown, go out past that thin ice and take a dive. Nature doesn't deal with static and stasis well, so finding the point where a boundary exists falls to her to consciously or instinctively flesh out.

Flustered registers, and her cheeks pink but a little. A shrug of her shoulders matches a pulse around his fingers, squeezing the digits gently into a firmer linking of at least nine points. The tenth, her thumb, traces the side of his wrist. "Stop that, it's slathered in oil and wants to be free. Do you have a sock? Let's name it Dubby." A serious note vanishes into the ether the moment it showed up. "Dubby is a /free/ dumpling!" she declares.

Not letting his hand go, unless he pulls away, either.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Good a start as any," Dick says as Meggan goes dumpling-hunting. He then nods, "Yeah, I probably can't call teh shot myself, but I can at least try. Get the word out there. I have some money of my own that was managed for me, so I can at least make /some/ moves unilaterally, but I am sure Bruce could be convinced to make a go at it." Dick smiles. Then he catches her tap of her toe and the pink cheeks and raises a brow and gives a mischievous grin of his own in response. He may not be an empath, but even a mere mortal as himself can pick up on this. He lets her hand link up with his, watching her thumb draw circles. "Dubby is a good a name as any, though I am sure a sock can be procured to liberate poor Dubby the Dumpling." His previous concern at crossing a line is not there anymore, and is replaced with smitten bliss.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Wielding a pair of chopsticks might be easier. Meggan finally uses the point of one to stab a second dumpling as nature intended again, and then pops it in her mouth. Dubby-Dumpling gets to be free! She'd know. Elf needs food and all. A few swift bites satisfyingly demolishes whatever joys of chopped pork filling remain, the better to dismiss necessities and return to more active matters. "Try to spare yourself the discomfort of finding out that you took business advice from someone like me. I've no respectable standing to make an educated guess. Just the kind to set servants free. Anarchist, practically, in some quarters. Bleeding hippie, others say, never mind I'm a slight bit older than both those movements. No Sid Vicious and his leather trousers here."

A wiggle of her foot makes that clear, just jeans. "No socks here, so we might have to fish one up if anywhere is open. Our dumpling will be escorted to freedom and we can bring some friends for the raccoon? That sounds a bit dodgy. Time to rework the plan of what I feed the poor thing." A low laugh passes her lips; unconventional stabbings of dumplings aside, they're both trapped by the fingers together.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick watches as Meggan goes to spear fishing, to total success. He gives a nod of approval and then a gentle squeeze of his entrapped hand. "You are giving advice on right and wrong, and that is something I will always take your counsel on. I do not question your motives, as I know you not out for yourself, but for others." His tone is warm, and he chuckles at the shake of her foot.

"Well, then we will have to do so. But we can certainly find something for the poor raccoon, maybe a chip shop is open that we can serve it something based, probably loosely, on your homeland's cuisine. I think it would welcome that just as happily." Dick leans forward and just grins, joining in the laugh, just a little stuck at the moment in the warmth, tapping his own foot back at Meggan's.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Spear fishing a round dumping isn't hard. The half-moon ones are finicky and capable of great evasion. Meggan looks at the lonely chopstick on the table and laughs, picking it up instead. "Always question the motives. Sometimes I think of high ideals but not how to get there, and sound like a bossy saucepot. You can tell me when to back down a few rungs, and that's plenty fair." Pursing her lips, she attempts -- and fails -- to look fairly concerned. Right serious is hard in a feedback loop that buoys her up like a hot air balloon until carried off on the wind, and training on the frequencies projected at her knowingly or not... well.

There, she's damn well grinning at him again. "A chip shop? You mean the kind with a hamburger, not a packet of crisps? Believe me, a raccoon would probably eat any such things if offered nicely. Poor fellow was getting by on scraps. Though bit of battered cod wrapped in newspaper is a stretch. I only share those with someone I like."

Dick Grayson has posed:
"I can at least consider it, I may not always agree, but I do want to hear what you think," Dick says kindly. He notices the effort to appear serious, and just grins back. Dick Grayson, stunned for a moment. Who would have guessed it? He certainly does not feel bad about it, or regret it, though.

The shift to the raccoon and cuisine, shifts his mind back for a few moments, though he does nod, "Something proper that you would approve of. I know they aren't picky, but they deserve a good day every now and then." Her comment on sharing then gives Dick an opportunity, and well, better take the chances you get, "Well, on those terms, would you share with me? I know I'd share with you." His stupid, smitten grin has yet to leave his face.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Dick Grayson, stunned? Perish the thought. Where'd that come from? Surely someone on the Bat comms going on and on about psycho something or other? Meggan can only parse the flow of emotional well-being with the instincts gifted by unknown parentage, and thus, uses a moment to drink her tea. This she can manage without spilling while left-handed, sinister ambitions to finish that up. "I suppose that very well justifies sharing a round of fish and chips. Though you get the big piece. The little one's enough for me, especially if they batter it in oil. How do you feel about vinegar?"

Oooh, the telling question, the one that revolves whole courses of future action around. Wars of vinegar, especially malt, matter! "Doubt they do newspapers round here, but just a nice bit of folding paper will do. Expect to get your fingers slippery in the thick of it, but it's well-worth the meal."

Dick Grayson has posed:
"I'll admit," Dick says, a bit sheepishly, "That I am not an expert on fish and chips. Though I will defer to your expertise on the matter of vinegar. I know it's fairly common across the pond, but if it is normally served that way, bring it on. And if you look in the right places, I would not be surprised if there is a shop around here that does it on newspaper, though most probably don't, probably local regs." The talk of hands cause him to look down as his trapped one.

Dick then thinks for a nanosecond and then looks back up at Meggan and nods, "I can stomach having slippery fingers, especially if you're there." He follows it with a squ May as well be bold. No sense sitting on the sidelines, and well, you miss all the shots you don't take.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Not past laughing, the blonde Englishwoman gives a flickering grin afterward. "Vinegar. Trust that it's the right way, even if Americans do their things their own way. None of those ketchup excuses. Or worse, gravy. On a fish!" As if this is somehow inconceivable, which for her, truly it is.

All the same, she spreads her fingers wide under his, the tips tracing the lines of his wrist down to his palm. Mostly. "I wouldn't know the first thing of newspaper laws here, save where slander and such are involved. A bop back to the Pond would take me from late lunch to early supper, if it really mattered that much." Kidding? Maybe, maybe not. Her widening eyes spark with his courage and her own piqued wonder. "Come, let's go fetch up the cod and something for the raccoon. Off for a ride, maybe I can give you a privileged perspective you've not already got on your city." A wink means something; name it, flight, however Dick wants. She's an aerobatics champion, if nothing else.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick grins back, "Very well, then vinegar it shall be. Too many people put ketchup on everything, ruins most food." He nods and then makes a face at gravy on fish, "Yeah, no."

"Oh, more sanitation, but eh, if we need to get our own newspapers, we can." He chuckles and ponders, "I mean it's on the bucket list when I go over there. So doesn't sound too bad at all." He nods back to Meggan, trying to figure out the flight schedule for that, but forgoes that when he looks back at Meggan and her suggestion, "Yeah, let's do that. He rises from his seat and leaves enough cash on the table for the bill and a 100% tip.

Dick looks to Meggan and says warmly in regards to the perspective, "Sounds like fun! Lead the way," with that he takes her hand and goes wherever she leads in that regard.