Preparedness

[sirrobinv]

 Who: Damien Wayne and open!
What: Settling in.
Where: Lovecraft Diner
When: July 20th, mid afternoon
Status: Open
Rating: PG/PG-13 because Damien can be a right jerk sometimes

Comments

[never_blink]

Not far from the counter, Clarice had a booth to herself. She preferred the sandwiches at the bakery, but you can only eat at the place you work so many times. And this place made a very good tuna melt, which she was waiting for now, small purple hands curled around a glass of Coke. (Another thing the bakery didn't carry.)

Her name was called, and she slipped out and went up to the counter. Everyone in town knew Clarice on sight, of course, the business district people especially, and the server had a warm smile for her as she collected her sandwich. She returned it shyly.

[sirrobinv]

At first, all Damien caught in his peripheral vision was a lock of red-violet hair, and bright eyes widened.

'Scarlett, what the hell?! Does that mean Todd's here too?' He swiveled on the stool, expecting to see that strange, fractured skin, wrinkled warped like an old woman's but at the same time false, like bad theater make-up...the same as all of Professor Pyg's other Dollotrons.

Instead, what greeted him was a girl who still looked at lot like Todd's partner, but with lavender skin and blind eyes.

'Could have finally removed the mask...who knows what Pyg's chemicals actually do to the skin underneath? But how does that explain the blindness?'

Regardless, he needed to be sure it wasn't her. The last person he needed to deal with in this madhouse was Jason Todd.

"I knew Todd was determined to torment me, but I had no idea he'd follow me to another dimension." Damien said flippantly. "Let alone bring his girlfriend with him."

[never_blink]

Clarice stared. She couldn't help it: of all the mad things she'd experienced in Aternaville, the one that had never happened was mistaken identity. Well, obviously.

The boy beside her was younger, and no one she recognized. But he was behaving as though he knew her. Her fingers tightened on her plate. But he was younger...

"I, um, I'm sorry, I don't - I don't know who Todd is?"

[sirrobinv]

The voice was all wrong, for one thing, soft, humble and confused. But then, there was always the off-chance it was an act. Damien scowled.

"Jason Todd. Red Hair, likes guns, last time I saw him you two were flying off into the sunset in a stolen helicopter?" He pushed his tea out of the way in case the girl actually was who he thought and she decided to pull one of the knives she loved so much. "He seemed to determined to save you I figured you'd still be together. Or am I wrong?"

Damien had never wanted to be wrong more in his life than at that very moment.

[never_blink]

Stolen helicopters? Guns?

Clarice looked down at herself quickly, just to make sure she hadn't swapped bodies with someone again. The boy was all in her face in a way that seemed incongruous for his age. She'd known children that aggressive, that hard-edged, back in Miami - but not here. Where had he come from? The thought that it might have been a neighborhood like her own made her sympathetic, and less anxious.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, still softly though she didn't stammer this time. "I'm afraid, I mean, I'm afraid you are wrong. I - my name is Clarice, I don't think I know you?"

[sirrobinv]

"Tsk. You're his type anyway--weird hair, tattoos; the body paint is a bit excessive...chest is passable, though." He spent a moment really looking at the girl. She might have seemed unassuming but Damien knew a trained body when he saw one. Casual clothes hid a lean but powerful frame, an acrobat or a gymnast.

'Wonderful, more carnie refuse like Grayson.'

At least Todd wasn't around, that was one less thing to worry about.

Ignoring any possibly insult or effrontery his previous comments might have caused, or the looks he was getting from the server behind the counter and the cook who was looking up from a grill that had probably never been cleaned, Damien flipped a page in the menu casually and asked.

"Can you recommend anything, Clarice, that has the least possible chance of sending me back to the hospital?"

[never_blink]

Well, that made a little more sense, actually. More likely that he'd know someone who liked playing about with self-decoration than that he'd met someone who naturally looked like Clarice did, though she knew better than to dismiss anything as impossible. Dr. Reid had also assumed that her appearance had been something she'd deliberately done to herself, ears and eyes and all. As if she would choose to look like this.

She started to speak and faltered under his frank gaze. Her chest? It wasn't often that anyone looked past the colors at all, but his stare was baldly assessing and it made Clarice want to shrink back and disappear.

"...um." She cleared her throat, fingers tightening on the edges of her plate. She was a big girl now; she wouldn't run and she didn't need anyone to save her. Not when all he was doing was looking. "Um. I don't have any tattoos. Or... paint. I - I just... look like this."Her eyes were down around the level of his chest now, but she still felt the weight of his gaze leave her as he turned back to the menu.

[sirrobinv]

Obviously the girl--meta-human, most likely, now that Damien thought about it, wasn't very observant. By the brand logos on his bags, even the way he was dressed now it should have been obvious that his concern wasn't a food allergy, but basic hygiene.

'Honestly, does she think someone who could afford fare to the city and bags from Armani, Gucci and Dior all in one trip would eat in a place like this?'

"My only allergy is to terrible food." Damien replied simply. "What do you believe is the best this establishment offers?"

A heavy ceramic pitcher clanked loudly on the counter-top as 'Stephens' overheard, but Damien paid no mind, keeping all of his attention on the menu and Clarice.

[never_blink]

With several years of constant exposure to Lulu, it was just possible that Clarice would know that those were names of high-end fashion... things. Possible. But she'd grown up in a slum. The closest she'd come to recognizing name brands was knowing someone who'd sold knockoffs to tourists on street corners. She would never have recognized the real thing, nor would she think to look. A bag was a bag; as long as it looked nice and carried things without falling to bits, what else mattered?

Right now she was giving him a look of genuine astonishment. "Nothing here is terrible!" Not that she'd tried absolutely everything on the menu, but she'd tried enough. Also, that was an awful thing to say, especially with the staff right there. It was a little unbelievable to her that she'd heard him right.

When asked for her opinion, she faltered. The brief outburst had taken pretty much her whole ration of boldness for the day. "The best? Um..." She looked down at the menu he held. She'd noticed the looks of distaste he'd been giving the grill.

[sirrobinv]

At her assertion, Damien only barely resisted rolling his eyes.

'The lengths some people go to in order to stand on tact and propriety...'

"Well, that's good to know..." He practically drawled, listening to her suggestions with some interest--he knew to avoid the grill and any seafood, only someone with a death wish ordered seafood at a diner, after all--but soup was a possibility. Despite the heat outside, the interior of the diner was cool, two massive air conditions set into the wall on either side of the building pumping in chilly air

[never_blink]

This boy just got stranger and stranger, and coming from Clarice, that was saying something. He looked so young, but his behavior, the way he held himself, and the way he spoke didn't line up at all with his apparent age. The mutant girl almost asked whether he was an adult who'd found himself in a child's body - that would be in line with Aternaville's style, after all. But she didn't quite dare.

He didn't seem fazed at all by her appearance, either. When she'd said it was natural, he hadn't even blinked.

At least he wasn't being rude about the diner anymore. His tone and his expression weren't exactly endearing, but...

"...You're welcome." She considered the situation a moment, then slid onto the stool next to him, setting down her plate on the counter in front of her. It seemed like she was in a conversation now, so she might as well stop hovering like she was about to take flight. Taking a sip from her soda, she considered his question. Captain Scratch's Seafood Emporium was probably not the sort of place he was looking for

[sirrobinv]

"Damien Wayne. I arrived last week." He replied, "And I assure you, price is hardly a concern. Though from the amount of variety, it seems I would be better off hiring a cook..." Though he had arrived without any proper identification, he had the numbers for the main family accounts memorized and was able to access them that way through the local bank, which was only the second strangest thing he'd experienced since his arrival.

At mention of a bakery, Damien's dark eyes brightened somewhat and before he could stop himself, he asked: "Do you make baklava or hadef?"

Hadef, he knew was too much to ask for. He hadn't had it since he lived with his mother, and even then only at holidays, but it was one of his favorites. Most bakeries, if they dabbled in Middle Eastern pastry only kept to the safer, more recognizable ones-- it had taken Pennyworth months to find a bakery in Gotham that had even heard of the more obscure varieties.

'Don't know why you'd expect them too, I mean look at the size of this town. It makes Smallville look

[never_blink]

Hiring a cook. So maybe he really was like Nokoru, in that he had access to a lot of money even in the absence of parents. That boggled Clarice's mind. At his (apparent) age, even with her parents, they'd considered themselves lucky to be able to keep regular meals on the table at all.

Then again, that was hardly the only obvious difference between the two of them. Mutant coloration aside, she had never been so self-possessed at that age. She wasn't so self-possessed now.

Or so mean. She couldn't help the thought, but she tried to keep it from her face. He seemed to be easing up a little bit. Or at least trying to.

When he asked about the pastries, it was the first time she thought she saw his true age in his expression. For just a moment, it was unshielded eagerness. And then it shuttered again, so quickly she wasn't sure she'd seen it. But she wanted to bring it back. There was a child under there.

"Baklava - we do," she said quickly, leaning forward earnestly. Trying to find that child inside him again. "Not every day, but we

[sirrobinv]

"Tch. Not many know how to make it anymore, it's very old and complex." There was a note of arrogant challenge in Damien's voice at the idea that some small town bakery owner could possibly be good enough to make one of his few childhood delights, but then, his father's companies scoured the world looking for undiscovered talent in all fields...how was this any different?

"I can provide a recipe if you feel up to the task, however." reaching into a pocket, he took out a new, slim leather wallet and pulled out a business card with his name and cellphone number. After all, if Wayne Enterprises didn't exist in this universe, that was nothing more than an opportunity waiting to be taken advantage of

[never_blink]

The unchildlike child handed Clarice a business card, and a challenge. She couldn't help feeling nervous. Should she be making promises for Bethanne? On the other hand, she really did believe that the woman who'd taken her in four years ago could bake anything. She had far more confidence in Bethanne's skill than her own

[sirrobinv]

Damien took the card from Clarice with a cursory glance, slipping it into his wallet with a nod. For a moment he went back to his milkshake, listening closely as the girl muttered and stammered, becoming increasing aggravated by the quirk. It was like trying to hear to a mouse.

"Ugh, speak up, will you?" Damien growled lowly, almost low enough that she would have to strain to listen herself. "I can understand being cowed by your appearance but does it look like I care? Trust me, you are not the worst I've seen, compared to most you're a super-model." Amazing how he could make even the highest praise sound like an insult