Long Work Days
Roleplaying Log: Long Work Days
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

The Birds have a long night and so slump back home for a drink.

Other Characters Referenced: Frank Castle
IC Date: July 21, 2019
IC Location: Sherwood Florists
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 26 Jul 2019 00:22
Rating & Warnings: PG
NPC & GM Credits: None
Associated Plots

It's another late night for the Birds of Prey, and Barbara is slumping in through the front door with a slight limp in her hip. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, and her forelocks are loose and disorganized. She's changed out of her suit and into her nondescript yoga pants and jacket that do not scream vigilante. She holds open the door for the other two, her duffle bag of gear hanging loosely over her shoulder. "You ever think that maybe Gotham is starting to organize into theme nights? I've never seen so many dudes wearing rabbit masks in all my life."

* * *

"Why can't it be the fun kind of theme night?" Dinah asks, rhetorically. She's shucked off her gear as well, though it's simpler for her; ditch the abrasion fishnets and the jacket, and put the denim jeanshorts and the tank top back on. An instant ice-pack is pressed to her lower back and she fights a limp all the way to the sofa.

"Oh, hello old friend," she sighs, and flops bonelessly into the pillowy embrace of the russet-hued old furniture, face-first.

"Babs, you're on the hook for my chiropractor bill," Dinah says. Her voice is muffled by the cushion. "You're a bad friend for not telling me that guy was swinging at me with a lead pipe."

* * *

"God I hate rabbits." Rounding out the trio of tuckered out Birds, Helena closes and locks the door behind them. She's, if possible, the slobbiest of the three, wearing faded once-black yoga pants and and overly baggy t-shirt with a snarky comment printed on the front. Her hair is pulled back into a sloppy and slightly crooked ponytail, and she promptly shuffles off to get a hairbrush. What? Motorcycling is murder on long hair.

She still heard Dinah's comment, though, and starts chortling at… something. And humming. And snickering. And then she calls out from across the way. "It's one of you guy's turn to heat up something to eat."

* * *

Barbara rolls her eyes in dramatic fashion as she also slumps down into a chair, grimacing as she does. "I'm sorry, I was too busy not letting Bugs Bunny garrote me. Next time, I'll be more thoughtful." She rubs slightly at her own aching hip, and then she glances aside to Helena's barely-muffled chortle and the call of dinner detail. She groans heavily as she slumps out her legs, stretching her aching feet in her sneakers.

She would stay there, but she knows it's her night. So, she hauls herself up, padding toward the kitchen in a mannerism that might be construed for hung-over, but is really all post-vigilante work night. "Do we have any of that leftover casserole?" It's a hopeful question because her first instinct is tater tots and pop tarts. She opens the fridge, and there's the foil-covered casserole dish, so she hauls it out and starts heating up the oven.

* * *

"I have a radical proposal," Dinah volunteers, and uplifts a hand. It flops bonelessly to the sofa. She exhales a groaning sigh of complaint and digs her little billfold out of her duffel bag and makes a wholly half-hearted attempt to chuck it at Barbara.

"Pizza," she declares. "I mean, unless Miss Barbara Warbucks 'Stark Industries On My Paychecks' Gordon wants to chip in a few bucks," she offers.

* * *

Helena emerges again with her brush in hand, already trying to work some of the snarls out of her hair. "What, you gotta a problem with my casserole?" She shuffles over and swats Dinah's legs with the bristles of her brush to make room so she can sit. "See if I ever cook for YOU again."

Claiming her spot on the sofa — whether on top of Dinah's legs or not — she flops boneless for a moment before sitting up again and going back to trying to get her hair under control.

* * *

Barbara breathes out a short sigh. "It's Stark Unlimited, and honestly… I probably am going to be taking a leave of absence anyway." First anyone's heard of that mindset. She then is looking at the chucked billfold, and she snorts as she picks it up. "But, pizza? You're not hoping that Dwayne or whatever his name is, is delivering, are you?"

Then Babs is back in the kitchen, grabbing gatorade bottles from the fridge for all three of the tired Birds. "Well, the oven is heating up, and if we want to call pizza, I think Dinah should call it in, because I'm happy with casserole, because it means I can eat it cold."

* * *

There's some hissing and spitting and badly aimed slapping, and like a grumpy cat, Dinah makes room for Helena to sprawl on the sofa. She immediately takes her vengeance by flippign on her back and laying her calves on Helena's lap.

"Have I ever, once, complained about your casserole? No I have not," Dinah says, answering her own question. "I want something hot, fresh, and easy."

A beat. "Or a pizza," she adds, and flips Barbara off casually. "Dwayne notwithstanding. Rawr."

* * *

Helena hisses as she tries to work her brush through a particularly rough snarl. She seems not at all perturbed by Dinah's calves across her lap. "For fuck's sake, Honda, do you perv on EVERYONE? Next you're gonna tell me that you were fucking with Babs and Frank to hide that fact that YOU wanna climb that murderous tree yourself."

She looks at Dinah for another moment then calls over toward Babs, "I'm okay with eating casserole cold too. 'Specially if there's some o'that sour cream left in the fridge."

* * *

Barbara slumps her shoulder into the doorframe of the kitchen, looking at Helena and Dinah with her head resting against the wood. "Poor Dwayne. He has no idea what awaits him." Then she rubs the heel of her hand against her orbit bone. "We're having casserole, Dinah. I have dinner duty, I make the calls." Bossy! She rolls off the doorframe and back into the kitchen to shove the casserole in the oven. "If you can wait, Helena, it shouldn't take long."

When she pads back in, she's handing off the gatorades to Helena and Dinah while flopping on the floor of the couch so her head lolls back in the space between Huntress and Black Canary. She stares off for a heartbeat before she blinks over toward Helena. "Um. About that." She rubs slightly at the back of her head. "Frank and I are… doing… things." That could have sounded better.

* * *

"Not /everyone/," Dinah tells Helena, defensively. "Just the young and hot ones." A beat. "Sometimes Batman, but you gotta admit the guy looks good in black. Frank's a little old for my taste."

It's then that the gatorade's delivered and she uncaps it and uptilts the bottleneck into her mouth. Glug, glug, glug. It's like pouring it down a drain. She powers through a quart of the flavored drink in about thirty seconds, then drops the empty bottle aside and belches into her hand.

"Jesus, Babs, we're not in high school anymore," Dinah says, and flicks a nail against Barbara's temple. "Quit counting the bases already. You're doin' the deed. Woo woo," she says, finger twisting a circle in the air. "At least you're gettin' laid."

* * *

Helena accepts her gatorade and dinks maybe a fourth of it in the time it takes Dinah to chug the entirety of hers. Ew.

"Are they kinky things?" she asks Babs while nudging her with a leg. "Wait, no, don't answer that. I don't think my brain can handle it, 'cause like Dinah just said, at least you're gettin' laid."

Recapping her drink, she tucks in between her hip and the side of the sofa, and goes back to trying to detangle her hair. "Though you wanna talk eyecandy, just take a drive on up to Manhattan. Some pretty boys up that way."

* * *

Barbara's cheek heat with a high blush, and she narrows her eyes at both Helena and Dinah on either side of her. "There's no kinky things!" Bummer, right? Then she's taking a few more drinks from her bottle. "Look, it isn't weird or anything." Beat. "And Frank isn't that old." He's the same age as Batman. He's old.

Then she exhales a hard breath, shaking her head. "Manhattan does have some pretty boys." She tilts her head. "You know, maybe we should just move to New York. No more rabbit masks, cuter boys… no psycho super villains."

* * *

Dinah exchanges glances with Helena. "Olllllld," she says, her voice low and carrying effortlessly.

"Think about rental rates in Mahattan. And then," Dinah adds, "consider how often that fucking island gets levelled. Alien invasions, rampaging robots— you can't go a week in New York without someone trying to knock your house down. I'll take gangsters any day of the week," she says, with an airily dismissive flick of her hand.

* * *

Helena finally gets the last snarl out of her hair, brushes through all of it quickly a few times, then plunks her brush onto Dinah's stomach while she pulls her hair up into a ponytail again.

"Yeah, I dunno about actually moving to Manhattan. The schools there don't pay worth shit compared to the cost of living. Here I can at least kinda break even." Well, NOW she can. Before, she almost had to rely on the money she was taking off of thugs and drug dealers and similar ilk to supplement her income enough to pay the bills.

There's also the unspoken quest she's on, seeking out her family's murderer.

* * *

"Fine. He's old." Babs rests her head back, eyes half-lidded. "But he's hot and old." She will never, ever use the word around Frank. He would probably groan 'Jesus Christ' or something like that. So, instead, she moves on while she stays slumped down on the floor, drinking her gatorade.

"I did the New York thing." For college. "I don't know if I actually want to go back. It's expensive, and those anti-metahuman registration laws are brutal… somehow, Gotham still doesn't care what you are, as long as you don't step out of line." Bitter, much? Then she nods slightly, feeling a bit of guilt settle in. "Besides, I don't think Dad could handle it if I moved away again."

* * *

"Yeah, they're real /fuckin/ brutal," Dinah says, with a sudden irritated tone. She plants a heel against the sofa and rolls backwards over the armrest to land on her feet. It's the sure, effortless motion of the gymnast, and she pivots on the toe of her foot to tend to the food warming in the kitchen.

From the sound of it, she's taking her irritation out on some pots and pans in the sink, too.

* * *

Helena rescues her brush as Dinah heads off into the kitchen, then offers to Babs more softly, "Hey, you know we poke fun at you 'cause you've got it better than us, right? I don't think any of us are seriously considering heading up to Manhattan even if the eye candy is better. It's just not Gotham."

She bends forward over her lap, partly to stretch her back a bit, partly to comment a little more quietly still. "I can't think about leaving this 'burb. Gotham may be a shithole at times, but it's MY shithole, and I refuse to let lunatics like those damned rabbit masks take over just 'cause they can."

* * *

The brush is taken from Helena, and there's a little smile that blossoms at Babs's lips at the words that accompany the handoff. She sits up a bit more, tugging out the hair-tie so her red hair falls in a matted mess. "I know. I sometimes think that maybe working in Metropolis for Stark has really… made it seem like I Don't want to be here, but I really do." She starts to pull the brush through her own hair, tugging at the knots gently.

She listens to Dinah taking her rage out on the pots and pans, and she presses her lips together. "Di can't go to New York anyway… she would have to register." Then she smiles wearily up to Helena. "Our shithole, huh? Rabbits and all."

* * *

"Yeah, those assholes can shove it up their ass if they think I'm signing their goddamn fascist hit list," Dinah chimes in from the kitchen.

She sticks her head around the corner, polshing a pot with a terrycloth. "You realize how fucked that is, right?" she asks. Seems they've touched a nerve. "If some dude tried to jump me in a bar and I killed him with a bar stool, I don't think I'd even get manslaughter. But if I sing him a lil' song, I'm facing arraignment with a charge of failure to register /and/ assault with a deadly weapon."

She harrumphs and turns to go back into the kitchen.

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