April 24, 2074

[morethanrevenge]

It's a typical, even stereotypical scene, and that's the reason Bruce has established it this way. The newspaper open on the table in front of him, the hot cup of coffee, everything down to the choice of suit and tie say something. Or they would in Gotham; there, they'd be exuding an air of importance, of confidence, of someone who believes he and

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[magicoftheeast]

Walking into the lounge presents him with the sight of someone he isn't familiar with. He smiles easily at the man before going over to order tea. It's one of the few non-alcoholic drinks that he's familiar with here. When he's trying to avoid even the direct scent of substance, it's vital for him to be aware of what he can order.

When he has his drink, he comes over to the man. It'll be better if he learns early if this stranger is worthy of any trust at all.

"I do not believe that we have met. I'm Marron, are you new here?"

[morethanrevenge]

He glances up when the young man comes in, and watches him as he goes over to the bar to order his drink. Bruce sips his coffee, looking across his newspaper while the young man's back is turned. He has long hair and a slender build and he's probably in his late teens. Any further judgement is put on hold temporarily when he receives his drink and turns around.

Bruce returns his attention, or at least, most of it, to the paper. But there will be ample opportunity, it seems, as the youth picks up his tea and wanders over.

Bruce folds the newspaper and nods when Marron - that's his name - introduces himself.

"No, we haven't." He holds out a hand to the kid, smiling. "Bruce Wayne. And yes." It's been obvious to just about everyone he's met here.

It's an unaccustomed feeling, to say the least.

[magicoftheeast]

The man was watching him. Possibly studying him. He knows how that feels and he's sure that he's not wrong about his instinct. But he doesn't mind. Marron nods to one of the seats as he takes the offered hand.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit."

Sitting, he tucks some of his hair behind his ear to get it out of his way.

"It's nice to meet you, Bruce." His voice is deeper than what would be expected of someone with his looks. His gold eyes stray to the newspaper that Bruce was supposedly reading. It's possible he was before he came in. During his time in here though, probably not.

[morethanrevenge]

"Not at all."

Bruce rises from his seat a little to properly shake Marron's hand, grip firm and steady. He looks Marron in the eye and smiles one of his best - although not entirely genuine - smiles. If nothing else, he knows how to greet someone, and he knows how to give a good impression on first meetings. Neat hair, expensive and well-pressed suit, the smile, the expression in his eyes, all of those things combine to present a certain image. One he's very good at cultivating.

And though the kid shows no sign of recognising his name or face, there's still an image to maintain. To do anything else would be worse than sloppy, it would be dangerously so. And sloppiness is one thing that Bruce Wayne can't afford.

Bruce gestures toward the same chair Marron indicated.

"I'd be glad for you to join me."

If his motives in saying so aren't entirely altruistic, well ... that's his business.

[filledwithmercy]

All he wanted was a drink. Just some Wild Turkey to put a cap on the parade of weirdness that his life has turned into, but the stupid new bartender is taking forever. He never thought he'd say he missed a robot, but that metallic bartender had kind of grown on him, a little.

At least it had known to give him a double.

He holds the rocks glass up to the light and gazes sadly into the tiny amount. The ice cubes clink together, softly. Whirr, go the bartender's--what, joints? Ball bearings? Who the hell knows how those things work? Setting the glass down, he taps the rim firmly, eyeing the thing with distaste. "Top it off, huh?"

The bartender pauses, and inclines it's--head? ever so slightly. He gets the feeling, even as more of the amber liquid dribbles over the ice in his glass, that the robot is rolling its eyes at him. Cheeky.

Swiveling, he looks out over the lounge, casting a glance at Willy's Silver's set-up on the stage--where's that guy gone, anyway? As a matter of fact, where's everyone gone? He's seen Spike

[morethanrevenge]

Hazel eyes flick upwards from the newspaper as the other man comes in and stands at the bar. From what ensues, he appears to be having some sort of disagreement with the bartending robot. That's the second such disagreement he's seen. Apparently, it's a trend. At least this man hasn't pulled any guns on it.

That's one thing that he supposes the robots aren't necessarily programmed to do the way humans like it: make the important concessions and adjustments that people expect from their bartender.

He certainly knows that he expects - and accepts - no less.

This man's irritation is almost palpable, and that in itself is interesting. And given that he's planning to use the circumstance of being in this place to observe and learn, he may as well make an effort to do just that.

"Did you get it to make the drink the way you want it?"

[filledwithmercy]

"More of an amount than a way, but that's only if you want to get technical."

He sizes the guy up. Tall, deceptively so while sitting down, good posture but an air of well-isn't-this-interesting that still manages to look bored.

Huh.

Raising the glass, he toasts the other man. "But we seem to have mended our differences." The bartender whirrs just out of sight, and he feels the hair at the back of his neck prickle. They seem to be the norm here, but that doesn't mean he's lost any of his distaste for them.

[morethanrevenge]

Bruce raises his eyebrows.

"That bartender's pretty unpopular. Last time I was here, it nearly got shot."

That may perhaps be a slight exaggeration; he doesn't really think Spike was about to shoot the thing. There's amusement in his voice, but there's still just a hint of disapproval in the set of his lips. Guns never cause anything but more problems.

"I'm glad to see the dispute settled amicably."

He returns the toast, raising his cup of coffee to the other man. He's tall, well-built, with the suggestion in his face that this is a man who has seen some of the less pleasant parts of life. But Bruce knows better than most that appearances can be just as much a careful construct as they can be genuine. He's pretty good proof of that himself.

[theunsmiling]

Michael walks through the door to the lounge, stride brisk but long. She's got a bag slung over her shoulder that looks packed full of --

Well, it looks packed full of stuff. There might be a computer in there, and some books and -- yarn? It's covered with a wide variety of patches and buttons, most of them either sharply mocking words or difficult to decipher images.

There may be a cartoon rabbit or two somewhere.

She drops her bag at a table, leaning over to place an order for coffee of her own. Then she settles herself down, shifting to prop her crossed (and booted) feet up on said table.

Waiting.

Eventually she'll meet Bruce's gaze with her own, green eyes bright and a little sharper than her casual posture would suggest.

"Hi. I don't think I've seen you here before."

As openers go it's not particularly original. Michael may be of the opinion that it doesn't have to be.

[morethanrevenge]

He's watching her on and off, almost but not quite idly, from the moment she comes in. There's something about her, something in the way she moves, that's not quite what he'd usually expect from a gangly young woman. Especially one carrying a bag covered in buttons and overflowing with stuff. But if he knows anything, it's that one should not rely too heavily on appearances and assumptions.

She looks relaxed and at ease as she props her boots up on the table. And yet, when she looks across and meets his gaze, there's a keenness and intelligence in her very green eyes. Interesting.

He nods.

"No, I imagine you haven't. I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne."

Best to get the name out of the way first. Then he has some idea what he's dealing with.

[theunsmiling]

Whether or not that name registers as familiar, Michael's reaction gives nothing away. She merely nods, lifting one hand and pushing a heavy lock of hair out of her eyes.

Twice.

It is apparently stubborn. (Like her.)

"I'm Michael. Nice to meet you, Bruce."

It's a reasonable assumption to begin with -- that their association will be pleasant. Or at least not painful.

If one considers only her previous experience of hotel guests here, that is.

[morethanrevenge]

Michael. It's not a usual name for a woman, but he makes no comment on that. Or on her rakish hair and the way it flops into her eyes. Or the way she's dressed or any other things about her.

Because there's that something in her air, something not quite right for the young woman she looks like. It's not just in her eyes, either. It's in the very way she holds herself. He knows more than a little about the signs that indicate a person has greater skill than they wish the world to see. After all, he's rather a master of that sort of deception himself.

But rather than let that on, he simply smiles at her. This may be an interesting encounter.

"And you. I take it you've been in this place a while." Something about the way she said 'seen you here before' that rather suggests that to be the case.

Now the basic formalities are out of the way, there is perhaps an opportunity to get some idea of just what Michael's skill-set may be. He's here to learn, after all.