Owner	Pose
Oliver Queen	Oliver sent a car to pick Hella up from her apartment at an arranged time. It's perhaps a little later than she might have expected and certainly later than the establishment at hand is normally open. She's dropped off in front of an extremely fashionable boutique, arrayed with the latest fashions from designers with studios within a few blocks of the place. It's one of the vanguards of the garment world and a place to get a first gawk at creations both avante garde and highly in season. Oliver's wearing a suit this time, coming to the door of the car to offer Hella a hand. He'd said to dress nicely, but not to worry too much about it and he meant it. He just didn't want her to feel comfortable or out of place. "This isn't me bribing you," he says. "I'm entirely here for selfish purposes, I promise. I've asked them to stay open a bit late for us. Well, asked in the sense that I bribed them utterly," he says, taking her hand and tugging her along behind him.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella's dressed nicely. She's got on a crisp white button-up blouse with loose bishop sleeves (http://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51nfgU8ztGL._AC_UL1001_.jpg), which accommodate her muscular arms easily, and extended cuffs that cover a decent portion of her hands, leaving only her unadorned, simply manicured fingers free. Her blouse is artfully tucked into a very flatteringly-fitted pair of matching white high-waisted trousers (http://i.pinimg.com/originals/3f/a9/29/3fa9292631fc6ec2575e50f6f4f080c0.jpg) with slightly wide legs, and the cuff is low enough to cover the tops of her feet, which sport a pair of rounded-toe white satin flats (http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1288/6227/products/cassie_white_6_1800x1800.jpg). Her hair is swept up in an elegant-looking french twist. She isn't wearing makeup, except for a bit of lip gloss and a touch of blush.     She steps out of the car, accepting Oliver's hand with a smile, rising to meet the cool night air of the Garment District. "/Little/ bribery is okay, now and then," she says with a dimpled grin, leaning close as she steps away from the car. "I'm certain they don't mind your bribery, either," she laughs softly, following along behind with relative ease. "What, exactly, am I here for, again?" she asks with a wondering tone, looking at the very high-price boutiques that populate the area. "Let me guess; you want to hire me to be personal shopper?" she tries, grinning with her eyebrows raised. "I know my taste is good, but is so sudden~"
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen smiles, "I knew your taste was good," he says. "But it's not entirely something I know. And I need to know it," he says. "How can I give you gifts, when the time comes to give you gifts, if I don't have a sense of what you like? We'll probably do this with food sometime, too, when I have time to get a chef to prepare a variety of styles and dishes," he says. He gestures around the wide array of the boutique, lit up and staffed with a variety of crisp salespersons. "Clothes, shoes, fragrances. Lingerie we may discuss another time," he says with a soft smile. "I want you to show me what you like. What tempts you, what makes your heart flutter. I can tell you care about this sort of thing - you take too much care in your appearance for it to be otherwise. I don't care about labels or names. I care about what you like. Period. I want you to show me. Look. Browse. Try things on. Everyone here is, for the next two hours, at least, at your disposal."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella's smile is blended with a look of surprise as Ollie lays out the purpose of tonight's date. "All this for me?" she says with a soft laugh. "I feel very spoiled," she intimates to him as she walks beside him, taking in the inside of the boutique. So upscale, despite her decent income from her job, she'd probably only dream of browsing in such a place. That kind of window-shopping is almost a form of self-harm for a shopping-enthusiast like Hella.     "When I was at home, I was spoiled, too, because I was only girl. But, being spoiled by brothers is very different from this kind of dream-come-true. Real 'Pretty Woman' moment for me," she says with a laugh. "This will not bore you to tears, Ollie?" she asks, suddenly, stepping back in his direction, a hand on his forearm as the concerned thought threatens to burst her excitement bubble. "Most men complain about shopping," she says, basing her knowledge entirely on TV shows and movies.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen smiles, "Tagging along on a shopping trip was sometimes the only chance I got to spend with my mother," he says. "She thought it was important for me to understand things like that. Part of being in 'high society'", he says, the air quotes perceptible if not actually demonstrated. "She was kind of a master at it, though. She could outshop any salesperson and usually knew more about their products than they did," he says. "But I'm not here to look at clothes or shop. I'm here to watch you do those things. And I don't think I'll get tired of watching you do anything anytime soon."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella smiles, relaxing a little as Ollie reminisces about his younger days with his mother. "Oh, that is so sweet," she says, briefly cupping his face, her hand so warm, the scent of a soft perfume wafting from her wrist. "I may not be high society, but I do enjoy shopping. I know what I like when I see, but I don't know everything about brands, designers, etc. I like looking, finding hidden gems. And," she says with a crooked little grin, "I'm sure you can guess my favorite colors by now, just from clothes I wear."     At the very suave comment, Hella's heart flutters a bit and she grins shyly, turning her face to the side for a moment as she banks that one for future replayability. "That was...so smooth," she says with a laugh, her tone relaying her congratulatory amusement. "...I wonder if you have used before," she adds with a cheeky grin.     Then, she begins going through the store, Ollie trailing behind her. She picks out something in every section, at least two or three things, though she always ensures to let him know her order of preference. She seems to favor very elegant, feminine scents: many are fresh, fruity perfumes with floral hints, or spicy chypres that speak of sensuality and desire.     She tends to favor designers such as Valentino, Elie Saab, and Christian Siriano. She prefers flats, if she must wear dressy shoes, because they don't impede her from running if the need arises in an emergency. However, she does like to wear heels, from time to time, and will wear them to feel pretty. That said, she also dislikes how tall they can make her, so she tends to go for kitten heels over stilettos. Her favorite shoes to wear, however, are sneakers.     It becomes clear that her favorite colors are, in descending order: white, pink, blush, grey/silver. All the jewelry she looks at -- mostly bracelets and necklaces, as her ears are...basically unpierceable -- is either platinum, white gold, silver, or rose gold. Never plain gold. Never. She seems to like simple pieces that have a unique look to them, classy and somewhat understated. Her favorite stones seem to be white opals, diamonds, and pale pink gems. A pink diamond ring really catches her eye, but she didn't mention it to Ollie, despite looking at it several times.     She picks out purses, bags, scarves, hats, practically something in every category, to try to give him the best breadth of knowledge to work with. When done, she smiles softly, "I ...hope a picture begins to form for you. If asked to describe my tastes, I would be lost. But, maybe is because I'm too close to subject."
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen trails along behind her, instructing people to put certain things away or to keep the staff generally on their toes and making sure they're giving Hella the attention she deserves. He does want her to feel spoiled, pampered a bit. Not just so she likes him better, but because he doubts she's gotten the experience much. It's nice to be treated, sometimes. "I never understand why men re-use lines or say the same things to different women," he says. "All women are different. And doing the same things all the time is boring. Why would I want to bore myself?" he says. Of course, Ollie likely can't imagine the level of desperation an average man can have in trying to land a date. He's never had any trouble in that area. He inhales perfumes when offered and even tests a few colognes on his wrists, letting her have a whiff. He shoos away the sales clerk and puts the shoes she wants to try on onto her feet himself, carefully cradling her calf and guiding the shoe into place while kneeling on one knee. "This has been very informative," he says. Then he gestures towards the gowns. "What about those? Which one would you wear if you were to to a formal event? Say, a society gala and charity ball, happening in a few days in one of the most elite private clubs in Manhattan? Can you imagine what you might wear to such a thing, out of these?"
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella is really enjoying herself. She doesn't take it for granted that the salespeople have been basically hired for the night and likely paid handsomely to be at her beck and call, offering her new options, complimenting her choices, and so on -- she's kind to them, and respects them as individuals. She calls them by name, if she knows it by introduction or by nametag.     She lifts a shoulder to Oliver's statement about men reusing lines. "Maybe is because is too good to use just once?" she laughs. "That one is definitely too good to waste on me," she murmurs, but somewhat to herself. If Ollie asks her to repeat what she said, she simply shakes her head and brushes it off with a laugh, claiming it was just a joke.     She seems to love it when Oliver includes her in his cologne testing, thrilled especially when he tries on some that she liked. Her smile is so brilliant, she sort of glows in the soft light of the boutique.     It takes some time. And, patience. But, after trying on about eight dresses, she settles on one. It's a spaghetti strap, floor-length a-line gown with a lowcut and half open-corset laced back. It's covered in tiny glittering, iridescent Swarovski crystals that look like glitter in the light. It has a low-reaching v-neckline, an empire waist and it looks perfect on her. "I think, if I came to charity ball, this would make me feel like I fit in," she smiles, looking down at the dress. "Maybe I wear some cute sandals, or ballet flats... Maybe curl my hair, or make fancy updo? Necklace with pendant.." she says, rocking her head back and forth as she debates her reflection in the mirror. "Yes, this dress, I think."
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen smiles and takes a long look at the dress, holding it out in his hands, letting her drape it over her body. He signals to the attendants, "Make sure this is fitted to her measurements. I don't want to see her try it on. I want seeing her in it to be my first time," he says. "That is to say, if you want me to," he says. "I'd buy you the gown regardless, but I admit, when I'd like to see you wear it is to the Hellfire Club Mardi Gras Ball later this week. Provided you don't mind having me on your arm that night. I wasn't planning to go originally, but suddenly I find I have someone worth showing off," he says.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella's brows lift in surprise at Ollie's instructions to the salesperson handling this portion of the shopping trip. "Oh!" she says, watching the woman nod crisply and make off with the dress and all the measurements that'd been taken earlier in the evening. She cups her hands to her cheeks as he clarifies things for her, turning her look of surprise into one of...pleasant surprise.     "Ollie," she says softly, stepping up to him, her arms sliding through his and around his waist as she presses close. Her head, however, she has leaned back a bit so she can look up into his eyes with that happy, dimpled smile of hers. "I...would love to go to ball with you," she says. "Are you sure you want to take me? They will take pictures of you, I am certain. I could enter from another place, so you will not have to take photos with crazy Russian stranger," she says with a crooked grin.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen closes the distance between the two of them and takes her hand in his, drawing her close enough to hide her face briefly against his chest as she blushes. His other hand comes up to stroke over her hair softly, feeling the silken texture of her golden tresses. "You are the only person I would want to take," he says. "Well, I suppose if one of my sisters begged me to take them, I would, but they have their own invitations and their own boyfriends they can pull along without using me as a shield," he says with a crooked smile. "Having you with me is the best defense against the photographers, because no one will notice me standing next to you. They'll all be trying to remember thename of the guy who brought you and probably have to check their photos again later just to be sure," he says. "I'm glad you want to come. You said yes, by the way, so you can't take it back now."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation of Oliver holding her, again. She's been dying to hug him since she caught sight of him! She feels his voice rumble through his body, vibrating against her, humming deeply in the ear pressed close to him. She feels more laughter escaping her smiling mouth as he compliments her shamelessly, going over the top! "Oh, please," she says with a grin and shakes her head, even though it's still against his chest. He can feel it, so he knows what she's doing!     "You're right; I did," she agrees with a soft murmur. Then, pulling back just a little, just her head so that she can meet gazes with him, again, she says, "You've gotten me something. Now, I have little present for you." She reaches into the deep pocket of her trousers and pulls out a simple silver chain with a very small, circular pendant on it. "I only have couple of these, Mama told me. So, I must be careful when I give them. But..." she says, holding the chain up and asking, with her eyes and brows, if she has permission to put it around his neck. "The wearer will be able to...be with me, safely," she says, her voice catching as she tries to find the right words to explain it.     "Mama won't tell me exactly what pendant does, but tells me pendant makes loved ones safe. Not exactly sure what that means or how pendant works, but...if you look," she points at the pendant, rune for my middle name is carved there. Hard to see unless you tilt in light just right. See? Looks like 'P,' but stands for Wunjo," she smiles, her eyes flicking back up to Ollie's. 'WOONyoh,' she said. "It means joy," she adds.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen takes the pendant carefully, letting it rest in his hand for a moment. "It means a lot that you'd give me this. Not just because it means that we can...well," he says with a bit of a roguish grin, "But because I know it is a treasure of your family. I know it's not something you would give out lightly," he says. He leans forward and kisses her forehead, very gently and then pulls the pendant up and over his head, looping the chain a little bit and then tucking it down in his shirt. "Just to keep it safe," he says. "Joy is the right word, I think. That's what I'm feeling right now, anyway. What I feel around you."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella looks down shyly as he thanks her, feeling bashful about it. "I...know is kind of...weird? To give gift like this so soon, but... I don't want to hurt you. If we become close, and I am...well...I just don't want to hurt you. So, I apologize if this seems like I am trying to tie you down. Not my intention," she shakes her head, beginning to back up. "You are free as bird, Oliver Queen. You can do what you please, no pressure from me," she says.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen cups her chin with his fingers, tilting her head up to look into her eyes. "That's always true, Hella. Always has been, alwyas will be. Just as you're always free," he says. "Right now, I'm using that freedom to be here with you, because that's where I want to be. Don't get me wrong - I have a very busy life. I have a lot going on, both as Ollie Queen and as...that other guy," he winks. "But if I can choose, all to myself, then right now, I'm choosing to be with you. You don't have to tie me down for that. Although...I mean, you can if you're into that," he says, playfully tugging on his collar.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella pauses in her attempt to scurry away in nervousness as he takes hold of her chin and speaks calm, soothing words to her. She relaxes a bit and nods her head. "If things come to point where I want to tie you down, I really hope is more like you come to me and say, 'Please, tie me down. I don't want to be so free, anymore.' That is more romantic than me giving you heat protection charm keyed to me; yes?" she says with a half-grin.     She melts a little against Ollie as he continues to charm her with his way of wording himself. "I have no idea if that is my style. Maybe, one day, I will try out on you!" she says with a laugh. Hella's not really short on confidence, generally speaking. But, this is her weakest area of, well, pretty much everything. Romance. Emotions. Relationships. "But.. We both have lives. We both work hard to save others, to make world better place. I understand as well as you. But, I find more often that I think about you."
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen smiles, "Good," he says. "I want you to think about me," he says. Even when you're with that other guy, he thinks to himself, although he doesn't say it allowed. He's allowed to be a -little- competitive. He takes her hand again and lets the staff take Hella off for quick measurements. He pulls out his cellphone and calls the restaurant he'd arranged to have open, much like this, for a private dinner. He really isn't trying to show off. He just likes privacy. He likes being left alone and it's one fo the few things he can buy with his wealth that he actually thinks is worth it.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella wrinkles her nose. "You are supposed to say you are thinking of me, too! But, I let this slide, because is clear you have been thinking of me, to set this up for me," she replies with a dimpled smile. Then, she's being whisked off for even more measurements. They already took them earlier, but one of the senior assistants insists they want to take the measurements /for themselves/ because Mr. Queen is a highly prized customer and the clothing must 'fit like a dream!'     Hella grins at the senior assistant who, in fact, is an older Russian woman, cursing darkly in her native tongue as the other assistants rush to get her preferred measuring tape and so on. Hella converses with her pleasantly, though not too chattily because Hella knows the woman is harried and has a job to do. She hears about a really nice Russian restaurant not too far away, and makes a mental note to visit it, later!     Then, all is well. All measurements -- and /they do mean all/ from her head to her toes -- are affirmed as accurate and precise. She even learned that she's been buying the wrong bra size for a while, now. Oops. She'll keep that secret to herself. Or, at least until she sees Stella! ... She wanders back out of the fitting rooms and smiles at Ollie. "So, handsome man, where do we go next?"
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen offers his hand, "Come with me," he says. He leads her back out to the waiting car, sliding into the back with her. They're kept in snug quarters, but not forced together. That said, Hella's slightly elevated body heat does build a bit within the confines of the car, making the windows fog up just a bit. "I swear, it wasn't me," he says to the driver as he gets out at their destination. Royal 35 Steakhouse is one of the premiere establishments of the city and usually closed at this hour but, again, the power of being a billionaire is on display. "Simple, classic American food," he smiles. "I'll let you choose where we eat next time. But I'm in the mood for a steak," he says.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella accepts Oliver's hand and exits the boutique with a little smile and wave offered to the salespeople before the door closes behind them. She eases her way onto the seat and shifts a little to make room for him to sit beside her. She stays close, though. There's enough room to have some space between them, but Hella's thigh is definitely making contact with Ollie's.     Hella smiles apologetically to the driver, "Maybe is good idea to crack windows just enough to help heat escape, next time?" She shrugs her shoulders genially and steps up beside Ollie, taking in the exterior of the upscale American cuisine restaurant. "Oh, I like meat, big time," she says enthusiastically. "I hope you won't mind if I actually eat my fill? It might be expensive in this place," she says with a half-grin.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen shakes his head, "On the contrary. I want you to indulge yourself. You should never come to a restaurant like this with a price tag in mind - the decadence is part of the point. There are few better uses of having a lot of money than having a meal deserving of its overpricing," he says. They are escorted carefully and politely by tux-wearing host, the waitress coming to serve them quickly. Oliver orders a bottle of wine, but allows that Hella may order her own drink if she likes. "Give us a minute to look at the menu. She's a first-timer," he says, restraining his usual flirtatious wink for the waitstaff, just out of respect for Hella. The place is candlelit and intimate, much of the rest of it shielded in darkness with the two of them at a table carefully lit in that sea of shadow.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella's smile grows broader as Ollie replies with the perfect answer. In his time, trapped in the world of high society, it's entirely possible that he's only ever been exposed to women who pick at their food as though eating pains them, entirely too concerned with how they will look to others, should they actually consume food that isn't basically sticks and grass. Hella...is not one of those people. She grew up heartily, the same as all of her brothers before and after her, eating their fill on a daily basis -- though, thankfully, she's not as sloppy and ill-mannered as some of her bretheren!     She steps inside, following the host to the table, seating herself, and smiling as Ollie orders wine. When he looks to her for any additional ordering of drinks, she says, "Is bad form to ask for white Russian?" She looks to Ollie for the nod of approval or a discreet headshake. "Also, big, big Sprite with little ice," she says with a grin that's unashamed.     She takes her time looking over the menu, her expression one of delight. "There are so many good options!" she says approvingly, praising the menu. "I would liiiiike," she says, deciding on the finalized order, "..Jumbo lump crab meat cocktail, mixed green salad with no onions and thousand island dressing, Porterhouse for two, medium, sauteed mushrooms and asparagus, steamed broccoli, and German potatoes!" She smiles brightly and snaps the menu shut. Then, she pauses, holding onto her menu as the waitress tries to accept it, "...There will be dessert menu, yes?"
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen takes a sip from his glass of wine and nods, "The only taste that concerns me is yours. Order what you like," he says. He seems to favor red wine, for what it's worth, a slightly sweet Spanish vintage. "I'll have tuna tartare and a wedge salad to start. Bone-in Ribeye with steamed asparagus and a baked potato. Sea salt, butter, sour cream. And yes, the dessert cart will come around at the end with endless options," he says. Menus are given away and they are left to themselves as he looks at the beautiful Russian across from him, "How has firefighting been? Do you receive any negative feedback, being a superhuman? You're not a mutant, but bigots don't always distinguish."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella beams at Ollie's reply and nods to the waitress, "Yes, also white Russian, too, then." She grins a little sheepishly, "I'm not used to dining in places as nice as this. I need help with etiquette. I know there are unwritten rules for things like that, is why I checked with you. Last thing I want is someone going around, whispering, 'Did you see that girl with Oliver Queen? She ordered white Russian at dinner! What is this fine establishment, now; a bar?!'"     She smiles, again, as Oliver orders his dinner, happy to see he's getting a real meal, too. "Ooh, good!" she says delightedly, regarding the news about the dessert tray. "I've never been to place where that happened!" she shares, trying not to be too embarrassing in her excitement, Appearances, y'know.     The question surprises her, somehow. Her brows raise and she takes a drink of her wine, enjoying it more than she expected -- she's more accustomed to Stella's penchant for box wine, which is good in its own way, but not as nice as this undoubtedly expensive wine! "No one has ever asked me that," she says softly, regarding him with a studying gaze. "Is very good question, Ollie."     She sits back in her chair and exhales a soft sound, "At first, guys at firehouse treat me like dirt. Is always the way for candidates. You must earn respect. Don't fuck up. Anticipate what will be needed. Don't be hero. Work with team. Make team /better/." She smiles a little wanly. "I fuck up, of course. I am excitable, overeager. Always. I failed to follow proper procedure and make sure there was enough ventilation in building to enter safely. There was explosion, but... I ate fire. I take it all inside me and I rescue people who almost died because of my stupidity..."     It's clear that this still eats at her; the screw-up she made that could've cost lives. There's a darkness in her eyes that passes. "They couldn't figure out what happened. I admitted I fuck up. Was on probation, almost kicked off engine. But, I made sure to work extra hard. Stayed and did work when I could have left, I put my everything into being best firefighter I could be," she says, remembering how tired she was back then, denying herself sleep and pushing herself to her upper limit as far as stamina goes.     "In time, they forgive me. I try to use powers carefully, not to stand out as better or stronger, but to always help any way I can. To always save all lives possible. My guys, they begin to notice how flames die very quickly when I am in room, how I am able to carry so much weight so quickly, little things add up. They confront me," she looks a little embarrassed as she recalls the dressing down she got. "They tell me I should have come clean sooner, that I could have helped way more than I thought I could, that I was invaluable asset, and part of family.     "I should have trusted them. They were hurt, at first. But, again. They see I give my everything, I give my 100% to firefighting, to saving lives. And, they forgive me a second time. Then... they had fun testing out how durable I am, how strong I am. Is kind of joke around station house, now," she smiles a little. "Lately, their favorite thing is to yell 'PIGTAIL POWER!' at top of their lungs when I come into room. Because of news report about fire engine rescue you saw. They saw, too," she smiles a little, shifting uncomfortably.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen leans forward, listening carefully as he refills his glass of wine. The appetizers and salad arrive, providing a momentary distraction, especially as Oliver tackles the enormous girth of his wedge salad, "Speaking of superhuman feats, watch me eat this," he says with amusement. "I'm glad you have a team that's bonded with you. It really does help. I used to be a lone wolf for the most part. I think it's still my first instinct. But I've found other people to help me over time, people who are dedicated and caring and capable. The hard part for me was learning to let go and trust them to do their part. It's gotten easier with time. I had to learn to mellow out a bit. I'm not as...angry as I used to be," he says, offering up a little glimpse into himself. "Pigtail Power sounds very good. We should order them some t-shirts with that printed on it as a surprise. In pink, of course."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella finally has a chance to drink some of her Sprite and eat a bit of her crab cocktail, grinning broadly as Ollie attacks his wedge salad. "Relax jaw, no, more...yes, okay, good!" she says, playfully coaching him with tips on how to stuff more food into his mouth with each bite. She also devours her salad, which is a bit smaller than Oliver's, but no less delicious, she's sure. "You want some crab lumps?" she says with a big smile, offering him some of her food. This is unprecedented! When Hella eats, she doesn't share. She ensures she makes enough for everyone present to eat, in addition to herself. But, if it's on her plate or in her vicinity, it's getting eaten! Except, it seems, that she's willing to share with Ollie, if he wishes! He will perhaps come to know what a great honor this is, some day.     "It took time. I had to really dedicate myself and show them I'm not fucking around when it comes to The Job. That's what firefighters call fighting fires -- The Job, with capital letters, even. There is no better job in whole world. Even simple person with no superpowers can be hero every day," she says proudly, smiling fondly as she thinks of her crew. "I hope you can meet them, sometime. All great guys," she nods her head.     She listens as Ollie shares a bit of his personal experiences with being part of a team, nodding and taking everything in with her good listening ears! "Trust is hard thing to give, sometimes. Especially if you've been hurt or let down a lot. But, very rewarding when you trust right people," she says with a little smile. This from the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve and trusts pretty much everyone until given a reason not to. "Anger can be very dangerous. Make us blind. Trip us up. Better to go with cool head, if possible. But, sometimes, anger burns too hot to be ignored," she says, sounding entirely too knowledgeable about the subject to be innocent of it.     "Hah!" she laughs before pressing her napkin to her mouth to shut herself up. "How villains gonna be scared of superheroine whose slogan is 'Pigtail Power'??" she shakes her head. "I try to embrace teasing because will only get worse if I fight against their jokes. Is catchy, true. But, doesn't strike fear in hearts of evil-doers!"
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen wipes up the last of his salad quickly, taking a slice from the complimentary basket of Dark Bread (TM). He's untied his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck and unbuttoned his collar, showing a hint of dark chest hair at the lowest open button. "Pretty sure you'll always be able to scare people. The whole 'strong enough to rip your arms off and can breathe fire' thing is kind of an easy shortcut to intimidation, pigtails or no pigtails," he says. "I made a lot of mistakes when I was young and angry," he says, his expression a little wistful. "Mistakes are good to help you learn, but it doesn't always make them hurt less. I drove some people away, for sure. One of the best reasons for keeping my temper under control. There are definitely people in my life I don't want to drive away. Present company very, very much included," he says. "I'd be happy to swing by the firehouse sometime. I do have a fire extinguisher arrow somewhere put away, although I'm not sure when the last time I actually packed it in a quiver."
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella silently appreciates the level of 'clean your plate' that Oliver visits upon his wedge salad. She smiles openly, though, when he partakes of her crab lumps! She also enjoys the fact that he's gotten comfortable, despite the fancy surroundings. Unfortunately, Hella has no real way to similarly let loose, unless she wants to pull her hair down, and then it'd just be in her way, no matter how pretty it might look!     Hella smiles wryly. "I suppose you are right. I do appear quite frightening until you get to know me," she exhales a soft sigh. "I don't want people to be afraid of me, exactly, but I also don't want them to think I am doormat because I'm kind."     She receives a text and briefly checks it to find that Stella's messaged her, sending a picture of a very spooky locale and a text ensuring she's safe and having a good time. Hella shows the picture to Ollie, lifting her brows as she says, "I wonder what this pilot man is doing, taking her to place like that?" Still, Hella asks Ollie if he'll take a quick selfie with her to send back to her roomie.     She smiles at Ollie as they eat their food, their main courses having arrived. She pretty much inhales everything she's ordered, and, even though she doesn't eat physically faster than he does, she somehow puts her food away more quickly than her date! She is sitting back, enjoying the fullness of a well-eaten, delicious meal. Her white Russian is long-since emptied. Her wine glass is only partially full and her Sprite is nearly empty. Her plates are clean, for the most part, and stacked neatly. "This has been really good meal, Ollie," she smiles, seeming content.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen shakes his head, "I didn't mean it like that. Only that you don't have to work to be formidable. At a glance, you're just a person, like everyone else. It's just relatively easy for you to demonstrate the fearsome part. I have to at least take the time to get a bow and arrow out of the trunk of my car and even then..." he says, making a 'what are you gonna do' gesture. "Pilot man, huh?" Ollie says, but doesn't ask any questions. It couldn't be anyway. That would be really weird, right? Just an all around strange coincidence. Nah. He smiles, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. The meal was very good, I agree. The company was even better," he says. He reaches down and plucks her hand from the tableclothe, leaning in to kiss her knuckles. He sets her fingers back down delicately and sits back for a moment, wiping his mouth. "Time for the dessert cart, huh?" he says. As he says it, though, his eyes look over her shoulder towards the front of the restaurant. There seems to be some sort of conflict at the door, someone's voice raised, a bit of a clatter as the maitre'd tries to shut the door and finds it block. "Stay here for a second," Ollie says, pulling his tie off and stepping up quickly, heading towards the front of house.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella smiles and shakes her head. "I think you can plenty intimidating when you want to," she says, and she means it. Though, she won't press the matter. It may be that Oliver is far more recognizably intimidating in his super suit? outfit?, but he has an intensity to his eyes that can probably be very unsettling for someone pinned beneath his stare.     She nods her head, "I don't know much about him. Only that his name is Hal, I think? Maybe is Cal. No, I think was Hal, because I remember thinking, 'how will I ever remember this strange, American name'? And, then, my brain made rhyming-slash-homonym joke of 'hal will I ever remember...' It was funnier when I thought of joke, not so much as I explain," she says with an embarrassed little laugh.     Her hand, as Oliver picks it up, is so very soft and, of course, noticeably warm and dry. The thing about being born with a certain measure of invulnerability, and the developing ability of that invulnerability matching up to one's strength....is that one never builds calluses, never acquires scars, nothing to toughen skin that is so durable it simply doesn't need toughening. So, her skin is as soft and smooth as it was the day she was born, which is to say...baby soft. She smiles as the kiss presses to her flesh, making her heart beat a little quicker. But, then...there's mention of dessert and, very quickly after that, a sort of skirmish of some kind at the front?     Hella nods at Oliver's comment, staying put. But, she does lean to try to get a better look at what's going on.
Oliver Queen	Hella can see a broad man in a suit, with several others behind him, taller and more formidable looking, at the door of the establishment. They seem to be trying to push their way in as Ollie joins the grouping, putting up a hand to placate them. To Hella's surprise, one of the voices that gets higher comes in Russian, the bloated man leading the group shouting <<Do you know who I am, you arrogant little cocksucker?>> Ollie slams the door in the man's face and reaches into his wallet, giving a few large bills to the maitre'd and sending him back to the kitchen as the billionaire power-walks back to the table, "Looks like we might have a liiiiittle bit of trouble," he says, shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella's brows furrow as the shout in Russian is heard. She stands up, letting her napkin and all sense of decorum fall to the floor. Who does that big blob think he is, talking to people like that?? Her frown is deepening as Ollie makes his way back to the table and takes off his jacket, preparing his clothing to give him more range of motion.     "Who is asshole?" she asks quietly, but her gaze is completely dead-serious and laser-focused on the big man of the group. She's ready to go. There's no real way to make her more prepared to do combat except slip out of her shoes. Which, thinking on it, she does, so she's now barefoot and offered far better traction with the flooring than in her flats. "I can punch them, yes?" she asks, briefly darting her eyes to look at Oliver's face. "I really want to punch them." Already, the blood in her veins sings with power, the initial shot of adrenaline kicking everything into motion. The area where she stands is growing considerably warmer.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen rolls his neck. "Mobsters. Russian Mafia," he says. "Apparently, they saw the lights and their boss wants a steak. Not interested in taking no for an answer. They walked away, but they'll be back. Soon," he says. He sounds extremely focused, flexing his hands. No bow here. He'll have to do without. "Yeah. Punch 'em all you want, babe," he says with gritted teeth. Suddenly, there's flash of bright light at the front and a sudden crash as the gangsters crash their car through the large front window, shattering a couple of spare tables before their doors open and about six gangster pour out. "I go right, you go left," Ollie says with a grin, grabbing a silver tray and preparing to use it as a shield as he sprints towards the armed men drawing their guns.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella's frown is as deep as ever when Ollie reveals it's the Russian mob. The Bratva is a plague that creates more than its fair share of misery and pain on innocent individuals all over the world; not just Russia. "Blyat," she replies. A common Russian curse word -- in this particular moment -- meaning, roughly, 'fuck.' It's a very vulgar word.     Some of the tension goes out of her shoulders when Ollie gives her permission to punch them as much as she wants. Because she wants to punch them a lot. Especially now that the car has come crashing through the front doors, creating a lot of damage to a restaurant Hella's decided is one of her new favorite places to eat! "How dare these scumbags show their asses like this!" she says, stepping into the middle of a section of tables. She needs to clear the way to avoid the mobsters from damaging more property. "Cover your ears," she says to Ollie, miming the action with her hands. If he fails to do it in time, well...he'll learn to heed her warnings more quickly the next time?     She swings her arms wide open and brings them together /very hard/ and /very fast./ This serves two purposes: it creates an almost deafeningly loud clap that is certain to be disorienting to anyone not expecting it, but it also creates a fairly strong gust of wind around her, sending tables and chairs tumbling away from the point of impact. There is now a cleared path from where she stands and stretching almost far enough away that she displaces some of the debris from the car crash.     <<DO YOUR MOTHERS KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, BABY EATERS?>> Hella bellows in Russian.
Oliver Queen	Hella's assault pays off, shattering all the windows in the Bratva car and sending two of the men on her side, directly in the line of fire, tumbling backwards, one actually going over the roof of the car to land behind it with a thud. They seem utterly stunned at the sudden, superhuman resistance, but one of them manages to start shooting anyway, aiming at the voice shouting at him in Russian for all the good it will do him. Of course, Hella's brash and brazen attack is not only effective, it givs Ollie plenty of cover to close the distance. Those not directly hit by the shockwave are distracted by it, looking towards her and scrambling to respond when suddenly Ollie's upon them. He strikes one low, chopblocking his knee and bringing him down before rising up to drive his elbow into the throat of another. He strips that one of his gun, popping the clip out and tossing the empty weapon aside as the remaining thug charges at him with a knife. "How's this for dessert?" he calls out to his date as he blocks the knife blow and twists, breaking the Bratva muscle's wrist with a snap.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella is being SHOT AT? In her NICE DATE CLOTHES? These sons of bitches... She roars as she tears into the car, literally ripping it open. She tears the door off and swings it ruthlessly into an on-coming Russian mob member, sending him sailing out the ruined doorway, achieving some quite impressive air-time...until he hits the building across the street and falls to the ground. He probably won't be moving for a while.     However, Hella is far from done with this vehicle. She begins tearing it to pieces, tossing it in chunks out the doorway, calling for people to, "STAY CLEAR, DANGER ZONE." She uses her very authoritative first-responder voice, which is always effective at herding shock-dumb individuals.     Woe betide any mobster who comes her way. Because she is NOT in the mood for their bullshit. She catches sight of one that's trying to hide, maybe waiting for a chance to strike at Ollie when he's busy dealing with someone else. She lifts this guy into the air and shakes him vigorously, "NO MEANS NO! NO MEANS NO! <<NO MEANS NO!!!>>" She, then, tosses /him/ out the doorway at an angle, away from all the ripped up car-junk she's been throwing out there.     "I want big boy! Where is he??!" she demands, her hair now almost completely out of her chic french twist. <<COME GET SOME, BITCH!>> she calls out to him.
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen would have handled his boys more easily if Hella hadn't been such a spectacle of wanton destruction. He can't help but be a little distracted as he watches her just mow through the scene, tearing off a car door and swatting a gangster like an ill-mannered fly. Still, he's not so distracted that he actually gets hurt or anything. He ends up choking out the third thug, cinching his forearm into the guy's throat and pressing on a nerve cluster to drop him. He recovers the dropped shiv and springs towards the car just as Hella rips the roof off the thing. The crimelord within is cowering, covered in flopsweat and pushing himself back into his seat, his arms around his knees, "Please, please, I am sorry, I lost temper, forgive, forgive, do not kill me, please, boginya, I will pay, I promise!" When Hella is looming over him, he tries to worm away, only to have the shiv Ollie throws cut close enough to trim off one side of his floppy mustache. The old man just cries now, utterly surrending to the superheroic duo.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella pauses in her rampage, finally setting her sights on the big man who was so very rude to the kind, polite maitre d' that escorted them to their table, earlier in the evening. The big mobster is blubbering shamelessly, calling her a goddess and everything. "You are lucky I am on date," she hisses to the crying man. "If not for my date being here, I would bend you over knee and spank you with seatbelt until you cry for mama!" she spits, clearly disgusted by the man.     "Your mama would be ashamed of your behavior! Shame on you!" she tutts. "You will pay for ALL damages and donate large sum of money, many thousands of dollars, to feed those who cannot afford food. Donate it in name of this restaurant, so I can check. Because, if you don't---!" She leans in close, pointing a finger in his face, hissing, "/I will find youuuuuuuu/."     The heat radiating off of her is very intense and, for a moment, there is a flicker of bluish-white flames in her eyes as she stares the man down. "We understand each other?"
Oliver Queen	The mobster looks to Ollie, as if pleading for mercy, but the billionaire playboy just shrugs, "What she said. I think she's letting you off easy, honestly." The bad guy blubbers his promises and, once allowed, scrambles over the seat to flee, running off into the night and leaving his battered thugs to be arrested. "If I had my bow, I'd put an arrow right up main streat between those two hamhocks he calls an ass," Ollie says. His eyes reflect a bit of the streetlamps outside as he gives Hella a long, appraising look. It isn't judgmental or fearful. If anything, it was...a little smoldering. "Guess we should get our cheesecake to go, huh?"
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella calls after the fleeing men in Russian, <<AND GET SOMEONE TO COME CLEAN THIS MESS UP, RIGHT NOW!>> That way, there's no chance of misunderstanding her.     She holds a finger up to Ollie and grabs the undercarriage of the car, its framework, and drags what's left of it outside and leaves it parallel parked next to the other bits of car she ripped off and tossed outside. She can't do much about the little bits of debris, but she does move the large parts out of the way, hopefully making clean-up easier. She dusts her hands off and takes a look at herself. Surprisingly, few bullet holes. One here or there, but her clothing remains mostly in tact.     She smiles at Ollie as he regards her with that smoldering look. She's not sure what he's thinking, but at least it doesn't seem like it's anything negative! Especially when he mentions cheesecake. "That sounds good to me," she steps up to him, looking him over for any wounds or anything. "You did good, Mr. Queen," she says with a grin. "Let's go. I need to apologize for making big mess," she says with a little sigh. Sometimes, being a superhero is hard, 'cause there's almost always fallout when doing those super feats! "Do you think they will ban me?"
Oliver Queen	Oliver Queen grins, "If they try, I'll buy the place and unban you," he says. He lets Hella make her apologies while he settles up some. He knows the gangster probably won't follow through on his pledge to pay, so he gives a phone number for the owner to call to m ake arrangements and get Damage Control in to clean up the mess and put things right. He has an account - it comes with using the occasional explosive arrow. The car comes around and their desserts are packed away, a nice little doggy bag. Ollie sits in the backseat and lets Hella lay her head against his shoulder, his arm over her, the two of them listening to some classical music on the ride. Just simple, soothing stuff. Outside of her apartment, he opens the door to let her out. "I had a wonderful night. Even at the end," he grins. "I like having someone I can fight alongside. The dress should be delivered tomorrow and I'll send a car for you for the ball with plenty of warning. Take care, Hella. I will see you soon," he says. And then, he cups the back of her head and kisses her on the lips. The kiss isn't lewd or demanding, just firm and desirous and suitable for the moment. Ollie is good at reading nuances, it seems, and it shows as he gives Hella a just right goodnight kiss at the end of their first 'official' date.
Hella Rokkurdisardottir	Hella does make her apologies for making a mess and promises she will definitely be a better guest the next time she comes, though this time wasn't her fault and she really gave them hell for messing up this wonderful restaraunt. The staff doesn't quite know what to make of her, her hair all down and flowy, her shirt and pants marred slightly by bulletholes, though no blood or wounds seem to accompany them. She smiles and shakes each one of their hands before she rejoins Ollie and gets into the car.     "You will tell me mobster's name and where I can find him, yes?" she says, using a questioning tone of voice, but one that expects an answer in the affirmative. "He will keep his promise or he will rue day he decided to show his ass in polite company. I /will/ spank him, if he lied to me," she says, sounding determined. Entirely serious.     Hella settles once the ride home gets underway and she leans her head on Ollie's shoulder, closing her eyes, and enjoying the soft classical music that's playing. Then, it's time to go inside, so she climbs out of the car, stepping up to Ollie to hug him around the waist, smiling and gazing into his eyes as he speaks his goodnights to her. She is almost surprised by the kiss -- she wanted it, but didn't think she'd be able to manifest it! As such, her hands slide up Ollie's back as she hugs him closer to her, tilting her head and letting her hair fall to one side as he kisses her, and she kisses him back. It's all lips, no tongue, but sensual and lingering... And, it's clear that Hella wants more of this. As they part, Hella's head feels a little dizzy with it. She smiles softly, waving to him with the hand clutching her dessert doggy bag. "Goodnight, Ollie," she says softly... Then, turns and heads inside her apartment building.     Oh, the things she'll have to tell Stella!