7887/Dinner with the Florist

Dinner with the Florist
Date of Scene:	19 September 2021
Location:	John's condo in Manhatten
Synopsis:	John has a proper dinner date with Dinah, with pleasant conversation even.
Cast of Characters:	John Stewart, Dinah Lance

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John Stewart has posed:
During their initial meeting, John had seen what passed for food with Dinah... and with an obvious but subtle interest, offered a homemade dinner later in the week at his condo in Manhatten.

It had the feel of being asked on a date, despite not putting a label on it. John was at least more subtle about it, and seemed actually interested in getting to know her. Marines did not have a reputation for being subtle. Special Forces?

Nonetheless, the address and condo number had been given. It was one of the bigger towers in New York, with John near the top. Easier to fly off that way.

Condo 2002.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Sure thing," was Dinah's response to the invitation. No pause to think it over. No coy 'will she or won't she' act. Just invitation-to-acceptance in less time than it takes most people to even register the question.

Indecisiveness is not one of her shortcomings.

Then the weirder question.

"In costume or not?"

She lets that stand a moment before something dawns on her face. "I mean, if I'm in NYC I'm usually doing the family business, not delivering flowers. So I just need to know if it's OK if I show up in the outfit or if I should throw an outfit in the saddlebags."

John Stewart has posed:
"Show up however you like. I'm not ashamed to admit I like your outfit." John had told her throughout the takeout dinner.

Indeed, she can even smell the goodness once she's up the elevator to his floor. It saturates the hallway.

Dinah Lance has posed:
What do you call a pint-sized heartbreaker in fishnets and leather astride a hand-made, custom motorcycle.

Eye magnet.

That appears, at any rate, to be what you'd call the Black Canary as she rides her bike up to the condo John lives in, side-slipping to a halt in the only small place it would fit while still being in sight of the doorman.

"Hi there," she chirps, waving to the doorman in passing. "I'm here to visit ..."

"...2200, yes, I know," the doorman finishes for her. I mean where else would she be visiting. "Uh, Ms. Canary, would you mind..."

"A selfie?" she finishes for him, hating smart phones with a passion, but not living under a rock. "Sure, no problem."

Thus it was that @SoulLover found his account hitting stratospheric hits for a few days as a half-dozen pics of him in his doorman outfit next to the Black Canary herself (including one where she's on the tip of her left foot, right leg kicked out behind her, so she can (barely) reach his cheek with a quick peck). By the time she hit the elevator, the pictures were on Instagram. By the time she reached the penthouse, the views had already started to ring in.

Of course, unaware of Instagram and being unable to distinguish between it and a Friendbook or whatever, she rapped on the door without a care in the world.

John Stewart has posed:
The knock is accompanied by a sudden green light through the door of the condo sweeping over here, followed by the condo door swinging open, and a quickly retreating constructed hand pulling back towards the kitchen, around the corner just ahead.

"I'm just finishing up your portion. I'll be right there." Comes the voice of John. Indeed, the full blast of whatever he is cooking is easy to notice. He's a good cook, so far.

"Make yourself at home, meanwhile."

The main foyer is a large living room. To the left is an open door into an obvious study and... blueprints? Lots of blueprints and various electronics in there. That's probably the Architect room. To the right is a coat and other assorteds station. The mostly white and brown wood condo aesthetics all blending throughout.

Dinah can hear and smell the cooking from around the corner to the right.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Beware songbirds bearing gifts!" Dinah calls as she steps into the room, taking off the domino mask and hanging it on a nearby hook before shucking the jacket and hanging that there as well. She roots around in the pocket and pulls out a flask-sized bottle of something strong (probably bourbon again) setting it down on any reasonably located table. "Can't go visiting empty-handed, after all. You'd wonder at my upbringing or something!"

She makes herself at home on the couch after a quick peek in the direction of the kitchen to assuage curiosity, lounging against one of the arms and stretching her legs out before her, crossed at the ankle of her kerb-stomping boots.

"Whatever you're making smells delicious," she adds. "For me to get stuff that smells that good I have to cater."

John Stewart has posed:
"I know. I did tell you I'm a good cook." John informs her, a bit of cockiness in that confident voice to boot.

When she moves to sit, the kitchen area actually has it's own walls... and the balcony of the living room seems to stretch that way as well.

"Roast chicken and spagetti with meatballs. I have other seasonings as well, if you have a preference." He continues. "I'm almost done here, so now's the time."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"I'll trust the chef," Dinah says with a laugh. "I mean I could be cruel and say 'saffron' but it would be cheaper for you to sprinkle gold flakes over everything."

A deep breath follows followed by an enthusiastic, "No, whatever you're doing now smells fine! My stomach's growling here and that's not because I'm hungry, so it's got to be whatever you did."

Pause.

"Bring a couple of whisky tumblers too, would you?" she adds. "I'm driving today, so it's only a small bottle, but I got a flask of Five Roses with me."

John Stewart has posed:
"Do you drink practically all the time? It sounds like it." John tells Dinah from the kitchen... then, she can heard everything being shut off and plates clinking. Within moments, John is deftly bringing a plate in each hand with food... and two whiskey tumbles besides.

The man has great balance, at least.

Placing the plates on the dining table just inside the living room, John pulls a chair out before he moves around and grabs his own. "have a seat." John gestures to the other chair.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"I wouldn't say I drink all the time, no. Not when I'm working. Not much when I'm going to drive. A shot with a meal is always nice, though. Helps warm up the belly to deal with the grease and stuff."

Dinah grabs the flask and slides it to the middle of the table when she gets to it, sitting down in the chair facing John.

"Just a habit I picked up from Uncle ... Wildcat. ... Ah, you probably don't know who that is. Never mind. Justice Society from way back. Real Hell of a crime fighter himself in his youth, then turned to training crime fighters. Including me. Taught me boxing. Hell, rumour has it he taught BATS boxing!"

If there was any doubt where her roots lie, the way she picks up the fork and knife betray it: fist clenched around the handle rather than the genteel use of the guiding index finger and such.

"Uncle W was the first person who believed in me. Thought I'd be a good crime fighter, even before the scream broke free. I was ready to hit the streets and dispense with justice while I was still a teen. Nobody would let me, of course, but I was ready. And Wildcat? He told me I'd be great."

John Stewart has posed:
"I don't know him. I was off-world for most of the last five years... and until I got back, Batman was more of an urban legend I heard about in the service." John notes as he starts to dig into his plate with his own utensils. "My mother disapproved of me going military too." John points out, "though I got into it as a stepping stone, it did turn out I had a talent for the work."

Bringing up his right hand, he mimics firing a pistol, "It's not often I get to use actual firearms these days, but I do keep up with it on the range."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Yeah, most people today never heard of Wildcat. He's an old-timer who isn't active anymore. Runs a gym, which is where I go to lift and box, actually. A few more of us in the scene go there. The ones that aren't independently monied."

Dinah pauses to take a few bites, making appreciative noises. "Wow. You really can cook," she comments once her mouth is empty (mercifully). "It's rare for the big strong types to take an interest in it."

She gestures vaguely at John's ring hand. "Can't you just make it shape like a gun and use it that way? Hal always made stupid cars and stuff, especially the toy kind. And other weird crap like pincers and hammers." Dinah snickers. "Mom did NOT approve of Hal..."

Then the rueful shrug.

"Mom disapproved of all my choices, really. Especially the lifestyle. She said it changed for the worse from when she was out fighting crime and she blamed the costumed folk for it. Which is funny since she was one of them. But the only thing I ever did she approved of was talking over the flower shop."

John Stewart has posed:
Taking another bite and chewing it, John finally shakes his head, "The ring is a tool, not everything I am." He brings up said hand and shows Dinah the ring in a fist. "This is very useful... but if I lose it, I'll lose my skillsets from being lazy if I didn't keep up with physical conditioning." His left hand reaches over and takes off the ring, show it to her in his left hand. "No ring. I'm just a normal human with all that implies."

He raises a brow, "What if I were to lose all power? Or deal with an enemy that could negate ring energy?" He puts the ring back on, "I like to be prepared for situations that are unlikely. Though I'm not as insane about it as Batman is, I hear."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"I know that feeling all too well," Dinah says. She points at her throat. "This is fickle. When everything's in tune and humming along, I can stand alongside the big guns and pull my weight. But ..."

Shrug.

"Give me a cold. Strain my voice. Hell, if someone gets in a lucky neck shot. Suddenly the Cry is stilled and I'm just a five-five-one-twenty-five girl in way over her head. It's why I don't rely on the Cry. I rely on fists and feet and knees and elbow and forehead. The Cry is just gravy."

She snorts.

"Really TASTY gravy, mind, but not the centre of my being. I was going to be the Canary even before my Cry broke out."

John Stewart has posed:
"Right. Only so much you can do, but in those scenarios you at least have fallback stuff." John finishes a bit of his plate, before he continues, "I didn't realize you were the sort who liked double entendre jokes." John teases, pointing his fork at her casually. "Anyone who looks at you would see a tasty treat. It's a wonder you were single when I met you."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Double entendre?" Dinah seems genuinely confused.

Shrugging unconcernedly, she continues with the actual question. "I've had ... bad luck, call it ... with men. I meet someone, I hit it off, we get serious, then something happens." She looks up from the food and waves with her fork. "Not trying to drive you off, just making sure you know the whole story."

She continues the narrative. "They wind up being bad dudes. They wind up being control freaks who want me to give up the mask. One even wanted me to give up Sherwood Florist--I'm the third generation of that shop!--because 'no woman of mine is going to work for a living'. Things go from hot and heavy to bad to worse to someone lying on the floor bleeding out while I debate calling an ambulance for him."

Beat.

"I always do. But sometimes it takes some persuasion."

Another mouthful to space out and punctuate the story.

"I've dated in the scene too. That sometimes goes better, but ... big one for me is how protective they get. Doing stupid things that result in them getting hurt to 'protect' me. I'm one of them! I'm one of the protectors! I'm a big girl and I've been hurt before and will get hurt again. It's part of the trade!"

Another shrug. Another mouthful.

"So there you have it. My long string of bad choices and the flaming wreckage that is my romantic history. At least I haven't dated an actual villain yet. Came close, but ... dodged that bullet."

John Stewart has posed:
"If you wanted to be a housewife, you wouldn't be a member of the League." John states matter of factly. "You might one day want to settle down, but I'm certainly not going to try that with you until I can be sure we both want that. Besides, there will definitely be times I'm off-world for a while doing work for the Corps. I wouldn't expect you to tell me to not go off into space as much as you'd resent being told to settle down immediately." John continues, taking another bite for a pause.

"I do plan to retire eventually, and I would love to find a good woman for that... but that's not what I'm expecting here yet." John frowns a bit, "that being said, I'm a leader. Control is part of my life, especially with this ring. I need to control my emotions as a basic requirement for wielding it's power."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Well, there's tactical control, sure. When we hit the baddies in the field as a team, it's gotta be a team. That means someone has to make sure we're in place so we don't screw each other over."

Dinah won't be getting into the times she was out of place...

"You just can't take that into daily life outside the scene. I think that's where most of mine fell apart: Trying to tell someone who can and does deal with things bigger than they are for breakfast how to run her life." She waves the fork again after another bite. "I mean I get it. Relationships are two-way streets. It's not all Dinah's way or the highway. But there's gotta be some give with that take, you know what I mean?"

She pauses then and looks down at the food.

"Wow. I finished already. That usually only happens with pizza."

Apparently this is intended as a compliment.

"Anyway, I work hard at the shop. I fight hard in the alleys and streets and stuff. When I blow off steam, I play hard. Bare-knuckles brawling. Drinking. Riding my bike in competitive events. I mean after my umpteenth fight against, oh, I don't know, Black Alice? ... I'm not really going to be terrified of the consequences of a bike accident! But ... people keep trying to treat me like I'm one of my flowers. Fragile."

A raw nerve is being exposed.

But Dinah deflates then. "Sorry. It's just a topic near and dear to me, and honestly, you're hot, I haven't had anything non-battery powered in months, and it seems I'm trying to self-sabotage."

John Stewart has posed:
As she speaks, he just... listens.. There's no interruptions, no attempt at reassurance. Just a man listening to a woman rant over dinner.

"Insecurity is part of the human condition. I'd argue it's part of life in general, I've seen all kinds in my time with the Corps." His arms cross as he observes her empty plate, "You like to fight hard and play hard. Nothing wrong with that. I'm a little less extreme, but I get the lifestyle. I was forced into that in the marines, especially in special forces. I'm not going to begrudge you for liking it hardcore." John informs her as he finishes his own plate.

Then, he stands up, starting to take his plate, then her own. "Sounds like you're angling for a nice condo bed tonight already." John teases as he takes her and moves to the kitchen. "You can rant and vent with me all you like. I take care of my woman." He notes as he moves away.

Dinah Lance has posed:
There's no interruption in the return thing either. Instead Dinah, picking up some of the stuff from the table to be a good guest, follows John's speech carefully.

Of course there's the nosiness of a) a first-time visitor to a person's home, b) a person double-checking if her intended evening is likely to pan out, and c) a skilled, albeit amateur, investigator's default 'I gotta know' snooping.

"Whose insecurity?" she finally asks at the end. "Mine or theirs?" She snorts a moment with a disarming grin on her face. "But yes, fight hard, play hard. That's it in a nutshell. Live large or go home. I was doomed to that lifestyle from the moment I was born, I think. Mom was a crime-fighter. Dad was a detective. All my 'aunts' and 'uncles' were in the scene. And we lived in lower middle class Gotham where you either simper behind someone for protection or you do two-fisted justice yourself."

Beat.

"I don't simper." That added with a wink.

"So how'd you pick up cooking this good while learning to kill then being a starcop?" That's ... a pretty irreverant way to talk about the Lantern Corps, isn't it? "Or is your ring telling you how? I understood from Hal that it tells him things, but I'm never sure with him if he's joking or being serious. You sound serious. You'll either tell me the truth or tell me it's none of my business."

John Stewart has posed:
"I am very serious compared to my partner." John tells her from in the kitchen, placing the dishes before he comes back out to the table and sits down, "Our rings have access to a universal scale database. We just have to ask the right questions." John fists his right hand, brings it up, and tilts it just so for Dinah to see it at an angle. "I usually keep it private so it tells me things mentally, but I can certainly make it talk publicly."

He raises a curious brow at her then, "I can demonstrate, if you like. As for insecurity... I mean in general. Everyone is insecure somehow in my experience, some just don't accept it well."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Sure. I'd like to see what a universal database has on, say... me. What can it tell you about me?" Dina looks curiously, craning her neck to see what John's offering. "And yeah, everybody has their insecurity. Mine's being treated like a princess when I'm a cowherd."

She doesn't seem to be aiming for sarcasm.

"And, you know, street. If you're not in everybody's face, they're in yours. Makes me a bit prone to wanting to be the centre of attention. I hide it well, though."

That's probably ironic. Probably.

John Stewart has posed:
"Likely everything about your biology and a bit of current events." John tells her offhandedly as he sits there. "I haven't asked. I respect privacy too much to press the issue unless me knowing is a matter of my job. You sure you want to know?"

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Go ahead. I don't have secrets. I mean aside from identity, but you already know that part. I'm always interested in what the Corps knows about things." She pauses a moment before laughing. "Or, you know, you could have it tell me about Discord so I can put him back where he belongs. Or Bo Maeve. Hell, all my enemies. It'd be fun to clean them all up in a week."

Dinah parks herself leaning hip against table to watch.

"This is going to be fun. I like learning about other powers."

John Stewart has posed:
He shrugs, then brings up the ring, "Ring, give me timeline and general information on Black Canary from the Justice League." John requests of the greem glowing ring.

Dinah Lance has posed:
The ring starts to drone the information it gleaned from Hal's interactions with Black Canary, from its observations of the Watchtower's computer displays, and from Internet-sourced news stories, inferences, fan pages, etc. Assembling a coherent timeline from this, the known history is provided, along with reasoned inferences (marked as such). It then proceeds to the psychological profile highlighting her strengths (confidence, determination, bravery) and her weaknesses (emotionality, impulsiveness, stubbornness). The analysis of her power's capabilities and limitations has her eyebrow raising, and its assessment of her skills raises the other one.

She pipes up. "It missed..."

"...her list of romantic partners, all of whom proved incompatible for reasons found in her psychological profile, include..."

"Never mind. I think we can stop now."

John Stewart has posed:
As it continues, John just enjoys he show, a faint amused smirk coming to his lips as he listens... then, when it starts getting into romantic involvements, he mentally commands the ring to stop, as he leans back in his chair. "The AI in the rings is just literal enough, and infers the rest from reading intent in my personality."

Then, he stands and starts moving to the living room, "besides, I prefer to discuss the here and now, not past partners." He notes as he moves to sit on the black leather couch, relaxing into the side of it. "Alexa, turn the main tv on."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"Who the Hell is Alexa?" Dinah looks around the room sharply as if looking for some live-in maid or such and is visibly startled when the TV comes on. "Oh! I get it. You call the ring Alexa."

Joining John on his side of the couch, she stretches her legs before her and looks with interest at the TV. "Bigger than mine," she comments. "Fancier too." The first is approval. The second is not. "So your ring controls things like that too? Sounds complicated."

John Stewart has posed:
The television turns on to netflix, and John looks to Dinah with a raised brow. "Alexa is the name of the simple AI that Amazon.com developed. I connected most of my devices to it, and I have a microphone network setup in each room. It's firewalled so it's private."

Then he nods to the wall mounted television, "Got anything you'd like to watch from netflix?"

Dinah Lance has posed:
"You ... have an AI from Amazon. That you call Alexa. When you've got that ring."

Dinah shakes her head in straight-up incomprehension. Not at the ideas. At why. Also to clear the entire line of thought from her head.

"Got any MMA stuff? I like watching them and critiquing style. And occasionally getting ideas. If not ... uh ... Missionary Man? I always have a soft spot for Dolph. He's an idiot, but he's fun."

John Stewart has posed:
"Redundancy. This system is specific to this condo and I won't have to rely on the ring for it, if the ring is ever misplaced." John informs her with a hint of amusement to his tone. "I know all too well the dangers of relying on all your eggs in one basket." John continues as one arm starts to move around her shoulders. It's not possessive, but it's certainly taking liberties with infering connection.

Then, his other hand reaches out and grabs a remote control and inputs the search... and lo a behold, an MMA tourny comes up. "Your wish is my command." John teases.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"You mean like how I have a flower shop in case I stop making money from beating up bad guys?" Dinah asks laughing, settling in against John as his arm wraps around her shoulders. Whatever the (numerous) flaws his ring can come up with in describing her, apparently laughing at her own ridiculous lifestyle isn't one of them.

Then the MMA tourney comes on and she's off. Pointing and laughing. Shouting in outrage at bad referee calls or cheats. Cheering on good calls and good movies. Even pointing out good moves, at one point getting John to pause and go through a complicated manoeuvre frame by frame as she bites her lower lip and nods, trying to follow along.

Where the evening's entertainment proceeds from there is faded to black.