8913/No Mis-steaking It

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No Mis-steaking It
Date of Scene: 02 December 2021
Location: Gotham Royal Hotel
Synopsis: At the Gotham Food Bank's annual charity gala, Natasha Cranston and Tim Drake encounter each other once again and discuss business. They definitely don't discuss their vigilantism. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
Cast of Characters: Tim Drake, Natasha Cranston




Tim Drake has posed:
    The Gotham City Food Bank is committed to the fight against food insecurity and partners with a wide variety of local businesses to reduce food waste, support healthy lifestyles, and distribute nutritious food to those in need across the city. The Wayne Foundation has long been one of its staunchest supporters, and with the company's recent forays into the world of sustainable foods led by the personal interest of one Tim Wayne, it's no surprise that he's the person who comes this evening as its representative at the annual holiday gala.

    It's really just a last push for donations before winter truly sets in and the purchases for the holiday meals begin, but it's also good optics for the rich folk who use the Food Bank for their tax deductions.

    Tim isn't one of those people. He's already talked the ear off of an older lady while waiting on the hotel mezzanine, chattering excitedly about the new start-up he's supporting that 3D prints meat. A true believer, this one.

    Most of the Bat kids have found their niche. Barbara is a huge proponent of green energy technology. Damian focuses on animal conservation. Apparently for Tim it's things like food scarcity and the environmental impact of big farming.

    The time for mingling is done, and everyone has made their way into the Peacock Ballroom. Its rich blues and greens are offset by dazzling sparkles of silver and frosted gold, the exact kind of overindulgence in luxury that attracts the wealthy to these sorts of events. In his slim-cut tux, Tim blends right in as he makes his way to the table at the front where the Food Bank's most gracious supporters have earned a seat.

    Of course, Tim already knows that he's seated next to Ms. Cranston. He was aware of the arrangement well in advance. There's nothing he can do about that, nor the empty seat for his plus-one that will occupy the space to his left. Oh well. The plate's been paid for. He only hopes that some of the workers in the back might get to enjoy the food rather than let it go to waste.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Natasha's inclusion on the list comes as no surprise; aside from generous donations, Cranston Shipping has for the past several years waived all shipping costs for food delivered to the food banks in the area - her head of PR smiled for a week straight when she first made the suggestion. Good press for CMS, food security for the less fortunate in Gotham; everyone wins.

If that means enduring the occasional gala with the absurdly wealthy and self-important, so be it.

    "Best make yourself comfortable, Benny," she tells her driver as she prepares to exit the car. "This will probably take longer than I'd like." Benny chuckles and nods. "Hey, I'm paid by the hour," he jokes, and Natasha is still chuckling as she crosses the carpet, then looks around once she's inside, looking over the seating arrangements while keeping a pleasant if slightly vapid looking smile on her face.

    Ah, good; it would seem that Donovan either wasn't invited this year or 'accidentally' received his invitation too late to RSVP. She'd bet on the latter - he has too much pull to safely snub, but after last year's little escapade it's no surprise they wouldn't want to see him back. Meanwhile, that young man that's earnestly speaking with Marilyn looks familiar.... Oh my.

    Natasha meanders up to the table, exchanging polite greetings with people along the way, then seats herself in her appointed place on Tim's other side. "Why, Mr. Drake, good evening," she greets the young man with a perfectly guileless smile, then tilts her head to look at the lady next to him. "Marilyn, how lovely to see you again. I trust your hip's doing better?" she asks.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's been a while since Natasha and Tim have run into each other. Not since Bruce Wayne's birthday party at the manor. His hair is longer, enough that he occasionally brushes it back behind one ear so it's not in his face, and he's... well, healthier. Less diminished, like he'd gone through a rough patch and is now well on the mend. Most obvious in his face, which has a blush of health that he frankly didn't really have before.

    All of which is mostly obvious in hindsight. He wasn't sickly before, but all the same he's healthier now.

    "Hello Ms. Cranston," he replies in the kind of public appearance voice that he's carefully cultivated for these sorts of events. The sort of polite interest that feels genuine without having much depth.

    He folds one leg over the other and subtly glances down into his lap, his wrist twisted so he can see the face of his smart watch.

    Then he takes a sip from the champagne flute he'd carried in with him. Don't worry, it's filled with sparkling apple juice. "I've heard several of the Food Bank staff talk about how much of a help Cranston Shipping has been. We can all offer monetary support but logistical help really can't be matched."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Natasha smiles. "Money makes the world go 'round, but it still needs someone to do the actual moving," she quips, taking a sip from her own glass. "I caught a bit of your presentation to Marilyn," she continues. "Printed meat? I admit, I wasn't aware the technology had finally caught up to that point. That should relieve a great deal of problems and suffering, depending on where the protein comes from."

    She leans back with a slight edge to her smile. "... Of course, it's going to be much more of a problem for ranchers than for me; whether it's cattle or printer feedstock, it'll still need to be transported."

    She takes another sip. "Negotiations for that are going to be interesting, I suspect..."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "It's not real meat. The start-up here in Gotham has done an incredible amount of testing to find the right combination of plant-based proteins, and the final product is indistinguishable from the real thing." There Tim pauses, possibly for dramatic impact. The Bats do love their theatrics, after all.

    Then he adds, "Literally. We've run blind taste tests. Aside for a couple of super tasters, no one has been able to tell the difference."

    He fiddles with the stem of his not-champagne flute, and reigns in his desire to go on another rambling lecture about the methods and technologies involved. Like any true nerd, he could talk at length about something he's passionate about. Marilyn is likely already cringing with the expectation of him starting back up on it again.

    His eyes narrow at what Natasha says, but he keeps his gaze focused downwards on his drink, which he sips from once again. "Their business won't be threatened until we've figured out how to streamline the process. The way to convince people to make the switch is to offer a comparable product at a similar price-point," he says, though then he tips his head slightly in an acknowledgment. "They should feel threatened, though. Based on projections we'll be able to bring something like that to market within three years."

    The way Tim's mouth twitches at Natasha's mention of negotiations is almost, *almost* menacing.

    "In the meantime, I'm glad we have the Food Bank to coordinate all of this." The gesture of his drink to the surrounding room is less about the gala and more about the previously mentioned logistics of getting food out to all the various soup kitchens and pick-up locations across the islands of Gotham.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    "Very promising," Natasha agrees. "Plant-based protein will be much easier to transport and store. Depending on how long the printing process itself takes, you might even be able to market it as made-to-order; that should drive up the appeal to the neophile crowd. The 'cruelty-free' aspect will attract the animal rights demographic, and the 'plant-based' part may appeal to vegans who find foregoing steak harder than expected..."

    She trails off, still musing. "Of course, you'll find your opposition firmly entrenched -- quite a few of them have been able to skirt regulations and lobby on the argument that without their practices there wouldn't be enough meat to feed everyone who wants it; you're poised to cut that entire argument out from under them, and they may not have another to fall back on..."

    She smiles again. "Still, I'll have to hint to Rodney that he might do well advising his people to focus on dry goods trailers rather than cattle trailers. He'll likely appreciate it; cleaning those out is no one's idea of a fun time..."

    She tilts her head suddenly, looking at the empty seat next to Tim's. "I hope your friend is well? Leonard, I believe his name was?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's a gleam in Tim's eye, now. Like recognizing like, in its way. He never had anything to do with the Drake family business--they were big in the pharmaceutical world, before Janet Drake, then the CEO's, untimely death coinciding with the crippling of Jack Drake, Tim's father--but Tim is a decidedly cunning businessman, as he himself is currently discovering.

    And he can tell Natasha is more than the airs she puts on, too.

    Like any true nerd, though, he's easily drawn into the conversation. "Maybe I'm being too optimistic, but I can see miniaturized printing machines in grocery stores behind the meat counter," he says. His fingers twitching and fiddling with his glass haven't stopped, and he doesn't look like he's particularly aware that he's doing it. "Shipping the printing materials in bulk rather than packaging and shipping the products. It makes sense to me--replicate the experience of going to your local butcher, being able to look at the steak before you buy it, right?"

    He shrugs. "People don't like change."

    The only reaction to the mention of opposition is a slow smile spreading across Tim's face. Oh, he's well aware of the way the meat industry lobbies. It almost seems like he's looking forward to whatever underhanded and potentially dangerous attempts they make to stop him.

    Tim takes a long sip of his sparkling juice, finishing the rest of it off, when Natasha asks after his 'friend'. "Lonnie," he corrects, after. Then a further correction: "My boyfriend."

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    Natasha nods, taking the correction with equanimity. "On the other hand, change is inevitable -- and I've found that people will accept the new normal quicker than some might think. The trick is to sneak in the new normal while they're focused on something else."

    Trickery. Sleight of hand. The natural tools of a street magician, a con artist -- or someone maintaining a secret identity in plain sight.

    Natasha smiles again, the curve of her lips partly hidden behind her glass as she takes another sip, and there's a knowing glint in those blue-green eyes that isn't usually there, but is somehow familiar -- but then you blink, and the moment's gone, and she's laughing at a joke the man to her right has cracked...

Tim Drake has posed:
    The subtextual thread below the upfront purpose of their conversation certainly isn't lost on Tim. "There are plenty of distracting things in the world right now," he agrees, then mumurs a quick "Thank you" to the waiter who replaces his empty glass with another. More juice. Tim's nose wrinkles faintly in suppressed amusement at that.

    Spend your nights running across the rooftops of Gotham fighting bad guys and your days sipping juice because no one thinks you're responsible enough for alcohol.

    The moment where Natasha shifts hir attention to the conversation happening elsewhere at the table gives Tim a chance to consider her slightly more openly. His fingers stop their fidgeting, and for that brief length of time all of his intensity is focused down to a singular point: the mystery of Natasha Cranston.

    But just like when the mask of ditzy rich girl that Natasha wears briefly dissipated, it's over before anyone has a chance to realize it was happening in the first place. Tim smiles, and looks towards the stage as the Director of the Food Bank begins to stride across it, the lights dimming as all eyes turn to her.