Charity Case
Roleplaying Log: Charity Case
IC Details

Frank has info to give and info to want, Dick agrees to meet. They are later joined by Dinah and Helena with revelations abound and offers made.

Other Characters Referenced: Batman, Barbara Gordon, Wilson Fisk, Lucius Fox, Agent Orange
IC Date: September 20, 2019
IC Location: FRP Rooms - FRP Room - 1 (Gotham Coffee House)
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 18 Sep 2019 07:35
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* OOC Time: Tue Sep 17 22:51:08 2019 *

* * *

Frank really shouldn't be out and about four days after getting beaten nearly to death while strapped to a chair, and the way he moves shows it — to say nothing of a face that is basically a mass of bruises from his temples down to the collar of his hoodie. If there are any higher up, they're hidden by his short hair and the Mets hat pulled over his head. He started the day buying a bed and getting it — painfully — into his new apartment, his last having been rendered uninhabitable by being a crime scene. Then he dropped a text to the contact named 'Flatfoot' in his phone: 'Coffee? Have info, need info.' Now he lurks two blocks down from a popular cop coffee shop just down from Grayson's precinct, reading a paper and glancing up at the shop now and then, waiting to spot his contact in the NYPD entering.

* * *

At least one of them is living an exciting life. But unlike Frank, Dick doesn't currently look like a walking cankersore. But rather he looks like the Gotham City pretty boy who does nothing but paperwork at a desk all day. But Frank will get a text back. 'Sure. Be there in Fifteen.'

Though Frank might read in the newspaper that although vigilantes in Gotham are being targeted hard by the GCPD, a bank robbery was stopped the other night by someone called 'Nightwing', whoever the hell that guy is.

Irrelevant news aside, Frank will see his police contact, Detective Grayson, walk into his 'favorite' coffee shop. He wears what looks like a relatively nice-looking suit with his badge on his hip and a nice overcoat to stave off the cold of the day. He picks out a booth, and takes his seat. Seems he definitely got the message, and he opens up his phone as he scrolls through his contacts, finding Franks.

The contact name?

Walking Dead.

'Present. Get your coffee while its still hot.'

* * *

Even though Frank has never met Nightwing, he knows of him, knows that he worked with the Birds before they were the Birds. So he glances that story over as he keeps up the mediocre spycraft. Really he's just trying to keep any cops from looking too closely at a face that still appears on more than a few wanted posters on most precincts. He spots the Detective that he still thinks of as 'nice enough, but a little slow' due to Grayson's acting abilities, folds up his paper, tucks it under his arm, and groans his way up off the bench, checking his phone as he crosses the street like the Millennial he just barely is. He snorts softly at the text, tucks his phone away, and slowly walks the two blocks to the coffee shop. Keeping his head down as he enters the warm, rich-scented business, he waits in line as unobtrusively as possible, ordering a large drip coffee, black, and getting a vente, because who calls it 'large' anymore. He approaches Grayson's booth slowly, carefully, both hands visible. The rolled newspaper is tipped carefully in his free hand, to show that he isn't hiding a weapon in there, and then he laboriously lowers himself down into the seat across from Dick, stifling a grunt of pain as he does. "Hey."

* * *

Dick is sipping on his frappuchino when he lifts his eyes to see Frank Mother-effin' Castle approaching him with his hands visible. Good, he doesn't have a gun on him. Or at least not that Grayson could visibly see. Worthy of trust, for the moment. Thankfully, the list that Dick gave Frank turned out to not have nearly as many dead bodies as Dick had perhaps planned ahead for. Isn't just grand when deals actually -work-?

He sets his coffee on the table as he looks up at him. "Hey." He gives him a once over. "I'm sure you already realize this, but you literally look like you decided it was a great idea to take the 'why are you hitting yourself' game way too seriously." Yes, Grayson needs to joke, because he has a feeling that Frank kinda needs it.

"Do I want to know?" Because if Frank is beat up THAT bad, it means he's had a long night. Or couple of days, really.

* * *

Frank's voice sounds like 40 miles a bad road on a good day. Today? It's worse, much worse. "Crooked CIA Director," he croaks, deadpan. Surely that's a joke. He sips at his coffee, letting out a muted sound combining pleasure and relief. He carefully holds up his left hand, then reaches into the pocket of the work jacket over his hoodie with two fingers, fishing out a thumbdrive and setting it quietly next to his newspaper on the table. "Gonna be some thrashing around," if it's possible to sound more serious than deadpan, that's what he's doing right now, "from a group gettin' heroin and that blue-eye shit Meta in from overseas. I know they're in Gotham," pretty deeply, until their ship blew up with him (and Babs and Luke Cage and almost Owen Mercer) on it, "but they're probably up here too."

* * *

"Heh, and I thought you sounded like an angel before." But Dick seems to sit up a little straighter when Frank mentions a crooked CIA director. GREAT. Frank probably killed him. Dick seems to deeply take a breath. "You're kidding." Does that look like the face of somebody who's kidding? The long answer is: No.

Thumbdrive planted on the table, Dick very subtly swipes and pockets it with a motion that is clearly practiced. As Fluid and smooth as water, this guy. Dick listens carefully to Frank as he tells him about heroin and a new drug on the streets thats shippin' in.

"Last thing I need is more of this junk in my city. Alright Frank, I'll get moving on it. Tell Gotham's Finest to start doing more regular sweeps for drug busts. Thanks for the tip." Dick tells him with a smirk and a bow of the head.

"Since you mentioned it…is uh, this crooked directoral staffer going to be making any more loud noises?" He might as well ask if the bastard is still alive, just in case he should be expecting company if Frank is being watched. Its CIA. They're still dodgeable, just harder than the usual punk.

Frank and Dick seem to be sitting in a booth all by themselves. The coffee shop is quiet, but so are they. Dick is clearly taking time off of his shift being a detective to converse with Frank about whatever he wants to talk about.

* * *

A Ducati surges up into the parking lot with two passengers. The lean vehicle really isn't built for two, and it's a cramped fit. The one on the back is one Dinah Lance, wearing jeans, cavalry boots, and a leather jacket with the sleeves rolled back over her forearms. A white t-shirt with faded 'Sturgis '18' stenciled on it is under the jacket.

She removes her helmet and shakes her blonde hair out, and once Helena's ready she heads to the coffee shop.

The door's swung open to admit them. "God, /I'm sorry/," Dinah says. Her tone suggests repetition. Her eyes roll heavenward in supplication. "I'm not wild about riding bitch on your Vespa, but until the new new fork for my bike shows up, it's either bum rides or take public transportation."

She looks at Helena, then holds her hands up in surrender. "Fine, I'll take the bus," she concedes, muttering.

* * *

Frank snorts and shakes his head, grimacing as he does both, "Better you than me. Half of Gotham PD wants me in cuffs 'cause they're over-protective," of Babs. "And half 'cause they're pissed at the old administration." Jim Gordon, whose daughter is dating Frank — sorry, Pete Castiglione. He takes another sip of his coffee, just starting to balance out his blood-caffeine balance. "No. He's about to be disavowed as fuck." He nods toward where the thumb-drive was pocketed, and then looks up sharply at the familiar voice, then promptly winces. The wince is probably because about nine-tenths of his face is covered in livid bruises, and he's moving like the rest of him is about the same, if not worse.

* * *

"Call my bike a VESPA one more damned time, Honda, and you'll have to WALK home." Helena is more grumpy about the consistent disrespect of her beloved Ducati than having to give Dinah a lift, clearly. "Now why the hell are we here again? It's not like this was just a quick hop down the block or something."

Her own clothing is more the racing bike version of Dinah's, with an oversized plain white t-shirt, jeans, and a protective motorcycle jacket. Still trying to shake her near-black hair out from the helmet she'd been wearing, she is completely oblivious to Frank's presence, or the man that's there talking with him.

* * *

Dick sighs. "I still don't approve. And its definitely not because I'm protective of Barbara." Dick narrows his eyes at 'Pete Castiglione', yeah…at least Dick is saying 'absolutely effing not' for better reasons than most of the department. But he nods at the confirmation of the flash drive. Looks like Nightwing has a SHIT TON of work ahead of him there.

Then he hears a voice he rather enjoys hearing. He looks past Frank to see Dinah Lance, apparently fresh from cruising throughout the city. By her side is Helena Bertenelli.

"Hey, Pretty bird!" Dick calls over to Dinah, lifting a hand in greeting to her, though he hasn't quite met Helena - well, he's met Helena. They were just wearing vigilante gear and were having a talk with a dude who had storm-fire molecules or something like that. "I promise it just looks like a taken table. But there's room aplenty!"

A spot by Dick and a spot by Frank. Who will take what spot?

* * *

"Because I'm looking for /those/ two dorks," Dinah says— but she smiles as she says it, and waves back at the duo. "Babs asked me to drop something off for F— er, Pete, while we're in the city."

She walks up to the table and plants her hands on her hips, looking from Dick to Frank. "Christ, Pete, you look like ten miles of bad road," she informs him. Dinah digs in her jacket pocket and produces a little unmarked orange canister with a white cap. She rattles it once and hands it to Frank. "The Nerdette sent these over. Said it'll help with the swelling and stuff. I can't do anything for your looks, though," she chivvies him.

She looks at Dick with a brow lifted, but takes the offered seat. Next to Frank.

It's done a little quickly and she flashes a sly look at Helena as the Italian's forced by default to take the seat next to the good-looking and entirely charming King of Subtle. "'Aplenty'?" she mouths at Dick, and then gives him a look of questioning disdain.

* * *

Not knowing the guy sitting across from Frank at all, she's only mildly annoyed by Dinah calling dibs on sitting next to Frank. Looking at Dick, she offers a small wave. "Uh, hey."

She settles into booth next to Dick a smidge uncomfortably and can't help but wince at the bruises on Frank's face. Thank fuck Dinah said his fake name already, she'd have forgotten and called him by his real name. "Damnit, Pete, your first comment better be that the other guy looks worse."

* * *

Frank groans slightly as the second Bird makes her entrance, "There goes me bein' subtle." The words are a grumble under his breath, and he looks down quickly, taking a sip from his coffee. Dick's greeting for Dinah causes him to snort and shake his head, grimacing as he carefully scoots further into the booth. "Thanks," he grumbles at Dinah's description of him, taking the pill canister and looking at it briefly before he winces his way through twisting the top off. "Bullshit, by the way, Flatfoot. If you ain't over-protective, you're fallin' down on the job." He shrugs at Helena, then shakes his head a little, pouring a couple of the pills into his palm and dry-swallowing them. Coffee is too important to waste on swallowing pills. "He does," he assures her, glancing to Dick and then biting down on saying just how much worse the other guy looks. "Just here givin' Detective Grayson a heads up on the shit that might be comin' down the pike. And wanted to see if he'd part with some info on a giant asshole who's back in town."

* * *

Dick smiles when Dinah and Helena decides to actually join them. A smirk given to Dinah when he realizes she's apparently being the delivery lady for Barbie. "and how are ya, Di?" when she mouths 'aplenty' at him, he just winks at her and mouths 'you know it'. But then he looks to the poor lady at his side.

"Hi. My name's Dick. Dick Grayson." He offers her his hand for a handshake. He wasn't going to lay on the King of Subtle charm on her quite yet, because you just never know how someone takes that until you chat with them a bit more. But he looks at Pete.

"See Pete? Told you you'd be a lady killer with the new look." Yes, he gets back in on the teasing Frank bit. But then he narrows his eyes at Frank. "You're still alive, arn't you?" He replies about the over-protective bit. Yes, Dick is his own level of over-protective. He'd never kill, but he can mess with Frank, who doesn't know him THAT well yet.

* * *

Dinah looks between Dick and Helena, then flips out her cell phone and swipes her thumb back and forth across it. It's wiggled near her collarbone; she's not ready to share what's on it yet.

"Helena, Dick is Babs' ex-boyfriend," she explains to lend some context. "From high school. Dick, Helena's my roommate— well, was," she amends.

Her eyes flicker meaningfully. "You two should probably talk about … side hobbies." Her fingers flex. "Anything you two can say to me, you can say in front of each other," she clarifies.

* * *

Helena shakes Dick's hand, not really Holmesian enough to try and guess anything about him based on any callouses she might feel. For her own part, her hands are an odd combination of boxing-ish, pistol-esque, and… writing callouses.

"Wait, really? You and Babs?" Honestly, she can see it. The disgustingly beautiful people always gravitate toward each other. Then she looks back at Dinah again. "Side hobbies? Like what? Grading essays and creating lesson plans?"

* * *

The interplay between Dick and Dinah doesn't escape Frank's attention, but honestly he hurts too much to be very amused by it. "Yeah. Bruised and battered really works for me." Besides, he had his own joke to make, dry as it is. "And I'm pretty sure I'm still alive 'cause you're scared of Babs." Which he figures is way less likely to trigger the other man's alpha-male-ness than saying he's scared of Frank. He frowns a little at Dinah's mention of side-hobbies, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks to Dick, then shaking it off with a wince of pain. "Apparently, Flatfoot here's a fan of the boob fairy." Dry as dust, Castle.

* * *

Dick smiles softly at Helena as she shakes his hand. He feels the calluses. Huh. Fighter. Spends a lot of time grappling or on a punching bag. Sometimes doesn't tape her hands, other times its not punching leather. Huh. Maybe a pit of a pistol's grip in there somewhere too. All of this happens within the few seconds that Dick is shaking Helena's hand.

But then he's looking at Dinah, and he winks at the camera on her phone, suggesting that he's playing along. Because might as well, right? "Well, I do enjoy long walks on the beach, conversing with beautiful italian princesses, and of course, some kickboxing here and there for fun." He tries to read Helena like a book to guess her likes and dislikes.

But then he looks at Castle. "What the hell is a boob fairy?" He asks Frank curiously.

* * *

Dinah almost sets her phone down, but then the 'boob fairy' comment gets dropped. She rolls her eyes at Frank and Dick. "The boob fairy's the reason you suddenly noticed Babs," she reminds Dick, with a sly, digging tone. "Remember? Your senior year? She had three classes a semester with you for a year and you didn't notice her until that fall."

She sets the phone down in front of Dick and Helena. The screen's unlocked and she swipes between two photos. Helena dressed in purple, crossbow in hand. Dick, looking down over the city, perhaps from a slightly gratuitous low-and-behind angle. Both in masks.

"Might as well rip the band-aid off," she says. "You'd have figured it out soon enough anyway."

* * *

Helena comes THIS close to rolling her eyes at Dick, but somehow manages to refrain from doing so. But then Dinah goes and plunks her phone on the table, and Helena practically recoils from the device, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"What the fuck, Honda? And you were bitching at me about being shit with the whole subtlety thing?" She looks ready to scramble back out of the booth and bolt. And no, she didn't really take more than the briefest glance at the image displayed after her in her Huntress costume. That was more than enough for her to feel very much on the defensive.

* * *

Frank starts to answer Dick's question, but Dinah gets there first, and he points over to her. And then she's pulling out the phone and revealing something Frank didn't know before. He cranes his head a little forward to look at the phone upside down. Helena he knew just fine, but Dick… he starts a little as his very recent suspicions are confirmed, and then he shakes his head, grumbling, "Oh for fuck's sake." This demands more coffee, so he takes a healthy swig, grimacing as the motion pulls at split lips, a lacerated mouth, and an aching throat. Helena's response causes him to shake his head in amusement, "She also gave Babs shit for accidentally outing herself to Stark." He keeps his voice low, turning his eyes back to Dick, "So it wasn't just Blondie and Red runnin' around as kids." He grunts thoughtfully, "Makes a lot of sense now. Jesus Christ. Everyone around me's fuckin' nuts." It clearly takes one to know one.

* * *

Dick looks at Dinah. "Thats because she didn't do this ancient ritual: Its called saying 'hi'. Geeze." Also, Dick was probably the most oblivious person to romantic interest EVER in high school. A lot of girls were interested in him that he didn't notice, so its not COMPLETELY his fault. But he makes no comment about ANYBODY's breasts because that is just dangerous territory.

Especially with Dinah-RoundhouseKick-Lance.

But then He's about to say something to Helena before Dinah puts down her phone, outing his identity to the GODDAMN PUNISHER and Helena Bertinelli. Which actually makes a lot of sense if she's Huntress.

"That…makes a lot of sense, actually." Did he research Huntress?!

Of course he did. Trained by Batman dude. Get with it.

He then looks at Frank. "I don't want to hear a word out of you about crazy." Dick sounds actually really firm and 'don't test me' about that. Then he looks at Dinah. "But I'm pretty much with Helena on that one. Come on, Dinah."

* * *

Dinah clears her throat and flexes her fingers from where her wrists rest on the tabletop in front of her. "For one, you guys take the disguise shit way too seriously," she points out. "Second, there are entirely too many cross-connections here for any one of you to stay stupid about it for long. Dick would have figured it out pretty fast. I mean, there's no way I've got a roommate who isn't hip to the cape and tights thing. Let alone someone I'd let drive me on a bike."

A finger pivots to Helena. "And it's not like you wouldn't have put two and two together yourself," she points out to Helena. "C'mon. Babs is chill, but can you remotely imagine someone who'd be cool with *this* guy as a boyfriend" she gestures at Frank "meeting with her ex, who also happens to be a cop?" she inquires.

Her arms fold across her stomach and she slouches in her chair. "So fine, I'm a bitch for taking the initiative, but this way we're not playing the 'how much does who know'," she points out.

Her face hardens. "There's entirely too much shit going down right now between arsonists and drug dealers for us to be suspicious of each other. Now no one's gonna waste time and energy trying to maintain a cover identity and we can focus on business."

* * *

Fighting the almost overwhelming urge to turn tail and run, Helena wipes one hand roughly across her cheek to give herself a moment to regain her composure and not snark right back at Dinah. Because she's right, but she still went about this in the shittiest way possible. "You're right, life sucks right now. But I'm still spending sixteen hours of every day trying to not lose my job before autumn break, trying to get my FUCKING insurance to pony up so I can afford a deposit on a replacement car, following you all over damned Gotham and back, and I'm /still/ not sure if I'm gonna have to go get a piece of shit efficiency apartment by myself."

She doesn't even touch on the fact that all of the purple gear in that picture on Dinah's phone is so much ash and melted plastic now.

* * *

"Masks are a pain in the ass," Frank sort of agrees with Dinah, even though she wears one herself. Luckily, here in the cop coffee shop, that could be taken to mean disdain for those who wear the masks, rather than the accessories themselves. But he does look back to Dick, because he really can't help himself, looking the other man right in the eyes and noting, "Never said crazy was a bad thing. Just…" And one finger peels itself from his coffee cup to gesture vaguely around the table. "Don't worry, couldn't see the costume anyhow past the ass-shot." At least part of those quiet words might be a little shot at Dinah, because he grins faintly over at her. That grin falls away at Helena's words, however, and he grimaces, "Yeah. Money's rough as hell for all of us right now." There's a pause, and then he offers, "Anything I can do to help? Not with the money, I'm gonna be stretchin' for another place myself, but I don't know… I could look over any place you're lookin' at? I ain't an inspector or anything, but…" he knew enough to fix some of the siding at the former Lance house, at least.

* * *

"I do catch Dinah looking pretty often. I don't get it though. I've always been a sucker for sonic-screeching blondes." Yes, Dick openly flirts with Dinah, before he looks at Frank for a minute, then back to Helena as she states her entire financial situation. Something he feels he really shouldn't comment on because its historically and alphabetically a horrible idea.

But after Dinah's outburst on how the secret identities thing is a waste of time, Dick goes serious for a moment and he looks at her. "Maybe you're right, Dinah. But next time: Don't reveal this shit without at least asking first. Some people actually have shit they're trying to protect when we put on a mask."

But then he deeply inhales, then looks between Helena and Dinah. "You know I can forward money and help you guys get a better place."

* * *

Dinah reaches forward and steals a piece of biscotti from someone's plate, and sits back to crunch it between her molars. She shrugs once at Dick's reprimand— acknowledging it at least, even if she doesn't necessarily agree with it.

"The insurance will cover most of it," Dinah informs them. "Eventually. My house. The stuff inside. The business, all that jazz."

Her face twists. "But, uh… the gear. Hers. Mine. Babs' spare stuff." She tugs an earlobe and grimaces, looking out the window. "I can't afford to replace it. My Honda got a lot of fire damage. Bunch of my good gear was in the house too. All I've got is some old spare stuff in the closet in my hideout." She takes a slow, steadying breath. "That's… gonna take me a while to replace."

* * *

Helena's lips twist perhaps a bit sourly. "The only gear of mine that's gonna be a bitch to replace is the crossbow. The rest of it was leather, spandex, neoprene, and my shitty sewing skills. That side of it I'll figure out. It's this side," she plucks at her t-shirt, "that has to get shit together as fast as possible. You know what I've been dealing with, Dinah."

She KNOWS her friend has been doing her best to help, but the blonde can't go talk to the school superintendent for her, or stand in front of her classroom full of students in her place.

* * *

The flirtation causes Frank to look between Dinah and Dick, shaking his head just a touch in amusement. His lips press together at the offer from Dick, only to part again as the pressure threatens to split the scabs still there. He lets the women respond first, noting to Dinah, "Yeah. Bet there's only so much 'diving gear' you can claim before they send really borin' guys with pocket protectors after you." Helena gets a little nod too, "I got a friend, might be able to get you a vest that fell off the back of a truck." Probably not literally. "Won't be free, but it'll be cheaper than retail." Which is a distinctly lesser offer than Dicks, and he grunts once, "Thanks, Flatfoot," not going to give that one up, even after Dick showed that he can fool Frank, "but I got it covered. Red saved a buncha our stuff from my place, and I got a job. It's her gear, mostly." He gives Dinah a little judge with his elbow, and then winces, even though the contact wasn't that hard at all, "Speakin' of which, I gotta move my ass. They're already pissed I missed four days." Upnodding across the table, he adds to Dick, "You get anything on the people hangin' around the Big Man who just got back in town, you let me know?" Fisk's a hard man to miss, but he's also a hard man to hit, what with all his money and influence. "And lemme know if I can help out with any of the Meta shit." Not that he looks ready to help much of anyone as he scoots out of the booth with his coffee and the pill canister, "Thanks for drivin' these up, Dinah, Helena."

* * *

Dick looks at Frank. "Been doing this for a long time now Frank, specifically with gear. High tech gear, even. Don't need back of the truck." He shakes his head. He pretty much knows that no matter what he says, everyone at this table will say no. "Well, its up to you guys. But I don't want to hear any complaints." Dick says with a grin, implying he's teasing, but he's earnest in his wish to help. It was nice being extremely rich with access to WayneTech, specifically, access to Lucius Fox and his Dick's own genius mind.

But then he looks at Frank as he's apparently deciding its time for him to take off. "See you later, Frank. I'll keep you posted on his efforts. If I need help, or a really big gun, I'll let you know." He teases Frank, but its clearly appreciative of his offer. He gives Frank a bow of the head, before he looks to Helena. He pretty much can't help her with the school stuff. Not unless he tries to pull celebrity status stuff on the staff there.

Then he settles on Dinah. "So if you need anything…you know I have your back." he looks at Helena. "Yours too."

* * *

"You know me and charity, Dick. I'd chew my hand off before taking a handout," Dinah observes, and gets to her feet while Frank rises. "But I can't exactly hold up my end of things on an old dirt bike and fishnets," she says, wryly. "We're not exactly dealing with Cobblepot and a purse-snatching ring, these days."

She goes to offer Frank a hug, thinks better of it, and instead squeezes his shirt collar between thumb and forefinger. "Don't overdo it, big guy," she warns him. "You need to rest and heal. Take your meds. Eat. Sleep. Smoke some pot." She brushes her hair back from her face. "Not that I give a shit, but Babs does, and she'll bitch nonstop if she feels like she needs to nursemaid you," Dinah says, covering with a smirk.

She looks at Helena and tilts her head inquisitvely towards the parking lot. "You ready to head back to G-town?"

* * *

Helena waves after Frank, not nearly familiar enough with him offer even the substitute hug that Dinah did. When the latter asks if she's ready to head back, she stares up at her friend for a whole .75 seconds before sighing. "Yeah, fine." She moves to stand as well and turns back to the man still seated in the booth.

"So, uh, good to meet you," she says to Dick somewhat distractedly, and digs in her pocket for the Ducati's key.

* * *

Frank nods to Dick, "Vests and stab plates do okay, as long as you know where you're gettin' 'em from. But yeah." There's a pause, "I do little guns too." And knives, and blunt objects, and sometimes his bare hands if the autopsy reports from his suspected victims are to be believed. He starts to brace himself for the hug from Dinah, not because he wants to avoid it, but because it's going to hurt like hell. Instead he just nods at her nursemaiding, "Yes ma'am, on all that but the pot." He reaches out to clasp Dinah's shoulder, even if the movement draws a grimace of pain, then turns aside, offering Helena's shoulder a slightly tentative pat before he's headed out, head bowed again to mostly hide his features from the cops and cop-adjacent customers who frequent the coffee shop.

* * *

"If I thought you were a charity case, I'd drop you off at Goodwill." Dick replies to Dinah somewhat coldly. He stays seated. He probably won't be getting any hugs or well-wishes, since he scolded Dinah earlier and he doesn't know Helena and he DOUBTS that Frank is a hugger. "I'll see you all later. If you need anything, if you stop being stubborn at any time, let me know and I'll try to help. But, I should be getting back to my job too."

He gets out of his chair and puts his hands in his pockets, giving a little two-finger wave to the group. "Be seeing ya." He does watch though to make sure Frank gets out of the shop alright, but doesn't help him so as to not draw attention to him.

He takes a breath then, and starts to make his way out. Well, that just made today interesting. But Frank gave him information, and he fully intends to delve through it and see what he can find.

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