milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door to the bar slams open under the (admittedly not all that impressive) weight of a young woman in a black body suit and a cape. Despite the wildly uncontrolled arc of her flight across the room, she tucks and rolls with casual grace so that she's on her feet almost the second she hits the ground. Her stance is ready, an obvious fighting position.

And then she looks around and relaxes almost imperceptibly.

A mask covers her face so no one can actually see her lips curl up into a broad grin, but her body language isn't precisely subtle in declaring its delight in where she's landed.

After all, Bar makes amazing milkshakes.

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Cass goes in for discreet entrances.

(Trowa glanced over fast at the slamming door, though the subtle tension of readiness was nearly invisible. It vanished an instant later, when it became clear that this was Cass and no fight following her.)

Yo, Cass.

Cass subscribes to Gundam Pilot's Subtlety Monthly. Unfortunately, she can't read, so she hasn't managed to learn many of it's truly amazing tricks.

Her head swivels to look directly at Trowa. After all, she'd had plenty of time to scan the room during her brief arc through the air, and she always keeps an eye out for her friends.

Oh good. If she read it regularly, the bar would probably be in cinders by now.

Trowa fails to make any particular gesture of greeting, because such things are unnecessary with Cass. He knows she's seen him, anyway.

And, if she feels so inclined, he is at a table with extra seats.

Why, so he does. And after a short, inevitable, stop by the Bar, Cass does indeed approach Trowa's table. And she's brought him a milkshake!

Isn't that thoughtful of her?

Why, that is indeed ~~stunningly predictable~~ thoughtful! How kind.

Cass holds his milkshake out expectantly before she sits down. There's a subtle feeling to her stance that if he is interested in company he'll have to at least pretend he wants it. Or, well, take it.

Trowa accepts the glass blandly.

He might even have a sip of it!

No promises, though.

Cass'll take what she can get. She flops into the chair with a sort of liquid grace that looks almost sloppy except for the way that she could respond to an attack at any moment.

She reaches up and peels her mask back, then lifts an eyebrow ever so slightly. Clearly things are up with Trowa. It is, after all, obvious.

Well. "Obvious".

Trowa does not mistake any of Cass's movements, no matter how sprawling, for sloppy.

He cocks his head at her infinitesimally. "I'm fine," he says.

He thinks she's asking something more specific, or more extensive, than that, but he's not sure of exactly what.

Cass bounces her head from side to side in a sort of 'yeah, I can tell' gesture with a hint of impatience bleeding through.

It's not as bad as it would be if Trowa weren't much better at this than most people. As it is she just leans forward and slurps her shake with an expectant air.

This may not be the best plan as Trowa's not really one to get uncomfortable with expectant silence, certainly not enough to start talking without a prompt of some sort.

. . . Yeah, no, sorry. He's still waiting for a better cue as to what she's talking about.

Cass sighs. If she were a theatrical sort, it would be a theatrical sigh. But she's not, so it's just a sigh. She ponders for a second, then nods to herself.

She gives an exaggerated shrug, a sort of universal signifier of a question. Then she points at the rafters without actually looking at them.

What's up, Trowa?

. . .

The problem here is that Trowa interprets that more literally than Cass may intend.

Not seeing anything in particular in the rafters, nor any other reason to be moving upwards nor focusing attention up there, he continues to be bemused.

Sorry, Cass.

This draws a scowl and a bout of impatient foot tapping.

Except Cass can't come up with anything better. Which is sad considering how awful that last attempt had been. So she sighs heavily, foot still tapping in irritation, and sips at her milkshake.

Stupid language barrier.

"Sorry."

He has a sip of milkshake, which might be the apology continued or might be just because he's thirsty.

Or both. Trowa is efficient that way, after all.

Cass shrugs in what is probably a gesture of acceptance and forgiveness, and leans forward on her elbows. Well... she's exhausted her question-asking abilities...

How's she been? Any trouble in that fight out there?

He's pretty sure from her air that the answer's no, but it's polite to check.

Cass' shoulders shift in what might be a silent little chuckle, and she rolls her eyes just a bit. It's a fight. What kind of trouble could she possibly have?

Well, one never knows.

(And she did want help that one time! Although, y'know, not because she really needed it.)

Trowa tips his head slightly, good-naturedly granting the point anyway.

She grins and shrugs. That's just how things are, after all.

Cass looks him up and down thoughtfully. She doesn't flash any signals, simply looks.

Because Trowa is totally going to volunteer something if she does that long enough.

With most people, Trowa would simply sit unhelpfully, waiting with polite expressionlessness until they got frustrated or awkward or otherwise gave up on that game.

But Cass is a friend.

So he sits back a little -- still expressionless, but his body language is slightly more open than it could be. That's generally deliberate, but in this case it's also genuine.

It's pretty much the equivalent of a yes? (And he's never totally sure how much Cass reads or doesn't read. So there's that.)

Cass' sudden grin might seem woefully out of place considering that Trowa hasn't done anything. Except, you know, reveal just how much of a friend he thinks of her as.

From Trowa, that little shift is no small thing.

After bouncing in her seat excitedly for a second or two, Cass holds one hand above her eyes and pretends to look around the room intently. She is, of course, looking around the room intently, but the pantomime makes it obvious that it's part of a question rather than just something she's doing.

Cass's frequent fits of extroverted cheer are something Trowa generally regards with tolerant bemusement, and this latest is no exception. The general sentiment is: well, okay, Cass.

He can half-guess what she's looking for -- friends of his, as she's been campaigning to meet, probably.

Possibly Quatre, if she did pick up on the fact of a new arrival. (Or of more details -- but that is, while not a secret, still on the down-low. Trowa isn't sure how he feels about her knowing, so he ignores the question; he can neither confirm it nor rule it out, anyway.)

He follows her gaze -- mostly for the gesture, since he's been monitoring the room discreetly anyway -- and fails to visibly shrug. Nobody seems to be here today, sorry.

Cass' shoulders fall in disappointment. Not that Trowa isn't good company. In fact, he's sort of like a party all by himself.

But since he's so much fun, Cass bets his friends are too! And so she's hoping to meet some of them sooner rather than later. Besides! He's met some of her friends, so it'd only be fair.

Cass may be the first person to compare hanging out with Trowa to a party. This is an indication of . . . something, anyway.

But Trowa can't read narration. (And would just be amused anyway.)

He has another sip of milkshake, blandly. Sorry, Cass.

Well... he's a party compared to some people. You know... dead ones.

Cass grins and lifts an eyebrow with a significant look at Trowa's milkshake. Isn't it super-delicious, Trowa?

Now that is a ringing endorsement.

Trowa, in another ringing endorsement, shrugs.

It's, you know. A milkshake. So it's fine.

Cass frowns just a bit (some people might suspect it is a playful frown, but only those who have important things like... eyes). Is Trowa somehow implying that it is not a concoction of such amazingness that his mind is blown?

Because that would be silly of him.

Nah, he's pretty much stating that flat-out.

Without the actual . . . stating part.

It's milk and sugar and stuff. He doesn't object or anything. It's all right.

(This is about half genuine apathy, and half continuation of the running joke.)

The sigh that Cass heaves could only be called something as understated and subtle as "overly dramatic" by the truly generous. No one has ever accused her of being much of an actress, after all.

She shoots Trowa a long-suffering look that seems to despair of him ever learning to enjoy the finer things in life. That look is spoiled by the way her lips keep twitching in an attempt to grin.

Many of Trowa's friends seem to feel this way.

Sadly, he's impervious.

It doesn't really take long for Cass to lose the battle with that grin. And even a silent laugh to accompany it.

She slurps loudly as she hits the end of her milkshake and leans back, looking quite pleased. She cocks her head at Trowa, looking him up and down, and searching the table for any clues as to what he's been up to. Anything fun? Anything he wants company for?

He's pretty much just been people-watching.

With a book, which is one that genuinely interests him, but nonetheless in Milliways is mostly a cover for said people-watching. It's a very public place, and Trowa has his ~~paranoid~~ priorities straight.

He'd be up for something more active, but he's also up for just sitting around companionably. Whatever.

Cass spares the book a scowl. Stupid books and their stupid words with their stupid symbols.

She considers things, then seems to settle slightly. If Trowa doesn't have anything going on, she can deal with that. Companionable silence, after all, is something she can do. And people watching is also among her skills.

Suits him fine.

...this is unexpected. I haven't seen Cassandra in quite a long time (in my world) and though the girl who's landed a few feet away is undeniably her, whether or not she's the Cassandra I know is yet to be seen. If she is, this could be uncomfortable (or worse). If she's not, then I need to be careful about what I say.

If I wasn't sitting right in front of her, I might have tried to slip out quietly. As things stand now, that's not really an option. So I lean back in my chair, crack a smile, and applaud quietly.

"Very nice entrance." My gloves are on the table and my cowl is down, but I'm still in my Red Robin outfit. I hadn't thought to change before eating, something that I find myself regretting. "I'd give it an 8. The landing could have been more graceful."

While the mask covers her face, there's a strong sense that Cass is grinning in amusement as she turns to give Tim a somewhat exaggerated little bow. Then she looks him up and down thoughtfully.

He looks different. New suit, for one thing. Older for another.

Better. He's been learning a lot.

Given her light-hearted reaction, I'd say she's probably not the same Cassandra Cain I last met. Not yet, anyways. Or not anymore. One or the other. I nudge out the chair across from me with my foot, inviting her to join me. I'm interested in ~~studying her~~ talking to her more, just to see if I can figure out where we stand.

"Got any plans?"

[ooc: oops! I chose a bad time to tag earlier. I'm free from now on, however, if you still want to thread!]

She takes the seat, flopping into it with a sort of lazy motion that is easy to mistake for uncontrolled. But this is Cass, so.

She looks at Tim intently, eying him with what is definitely serious consideration, at least if her body language is anything to go by. Then she shrugs and jerks her head toward the bar.

They have really good milkshakes.

[ooc: The irony of course being that I just spent two days offline myself, so if you'd tagged back sooner you probably wouldn't have gotten a reply. I am so down with continuing!]

Seems like her plans for this place are about as complicated as mine. It's awesome to have somewhere to chill out without having to worry, even if I do feel guilty for not being more interested in the specifics of how Milliways works.

I lean forward a little, trying to read her half as easily as she reads me. She's never been a big talker, but the total lack of words thus far makes me wonder if she isn't early in her career. At the very least, she hasn't gone too far off the deep end.

"I'm guessing the Tim from your world still wears the Robin get-up, right?"

Cass nods. And holds up her hand to a height above the floor that is lower than Tim's head if he were standing right now.

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