milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Dick wasn't expecting to see the bar.

Ever again, really. He had become used to the bar being somewhere he could access through tents and doors in the circus. It was a new part of his world, sure, but it was a part of it.

Then his world collapsed in front of him and everything changed and suddenly he found himself living in an orphanage in Gotham City run by nuns.

He's had to deal with that new, horrible world, and he hates everything about it. Hates how it's not the circus, but at the same time, he's sort of pleased that he doesn't have to be at the circus, to see Mister Haly or the animals or any of his friends, and not see his parents. This new world is horrible, but because it's missing everything, it's not missing them specifically.

That's what he'd think if he was capable of coherent thought on the subject right now.

As it is, Dick couldn't explain exactly why finding the bar appear on the way to his dorm feels like a betrayal.

The boy stands in the doorway, fists clenching at his side as he glares at the bar for daring to still exist, and still be bright and loud and friendly when everything on the other side of the door is broken.

He glares for one second,
two seconds,
three seconds...

And then he vanishes into the rafters.

[OOC: If you can find him, completely open! But be open to very short threads, if he doesn't want to talk. DCU!Dick.]

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"I'm fine."

His tone says 'go away.'

It ain't hard to miss.

She's quiet for a moment.

"Did y'get pulled in against your will?"

Technically, yes.

But.

That's not the point.

But.

"Might've done."

She offers him a sympathetic smile.

Milliways can be a trial from time to time.

"Would y'rather be someplace quiet? I can offer you sanctuary in the stables, if you'd like."

Dick's face appears out of the shadows, peering down.

"What kinda animals you got?"

(Is there an elephant?)

As he swings into view, her smile softens.

"Oh, ah. Horses mostly, a few ponies, a Brahmin — that's a two-headed cow — um, a falcon, an' a — well, I'm not sure what she is, unless polar bear-dog is her breed. A couple robots, an' some other various an' sundry."

Of course it doesn't have an elephant. Or lions.

But Dick knows horses, and he's now hanging upside down to talk to her. Which is progress.

"What's a polar bear-dog?"

Other than a polar bear mixed with a dog, which is what it sounds like.

Cubefall is coming up soon; maybe there'll be another elephant this year.

There's something akin to affection on her face when she starts talking about Naga.

"She's beautiful. Soft, white fur; big enough that her friend here can ride her. They fish in the lake sometimes. She's got some spunk."

Maybe Dick will BE an elephant this year. You never know.

"Would her friend mind if I saw her?"

Because a big furry thing sounds - well, like a big furry thing, and who can resist that?

"I think admirin' her would be all right."

She steps back, giving him some room to land if he does decide to come down.

"And if y'wouldn't mind, I could use some help with this peach pie I ordered. S'a li'l much for me to handle on my lonesome."

Dick frowns a little, because pie sounds like a bribe.

But he's already bribed by the prospect of a giant bear-dog.

He drops from the rafter - tucking into a roll and landing on his feet on the ground directly under his rafter spot.

"I'll have some pie. Thank you."

Welcome to Texas, circa eighteen-eighty-eight, where all your problems can be solved with food. That's what Kate thinks, anyhow.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. My, you're agile."

She gives him space; she wouldn't want him to feel penned in or pressured. Leading the way to the Bar, she asks the Miss if she could divide a peach pie into two slices they can carry with them, along with some snacks for the stock.

"My name's Kate. Miss Kate Barlow."

"I'm Dick. Grayson," he says, distracted by watching the pie. He's hungrier than he thought he was, and it's been a while since he had something as delicious looking as that pie.

Then he turns towards her and quickly says: "pleasedtomeetyou Miss Barlow."

Her lips twitch.

"Pleased t'make your acquaintance as well, Master Grayson."

She knows the look of a hungry boy. Turning back to the Miss, she asks for a thermos of hot cider as well, tucking it into one of the large pockets of her duster, and the treats for the stock in another. That leaves the pies on paper plates, one of which she quickly hands over with — ah, some strange plastic cutlery that looks like a cross between a fork and a spoon.

Gathering up her own plate, she nods toward the back door.

"Shall we?"

"Kay."

It's not that he's hungry -they're feeding him, fin. It's just that the food isn't any good and pie doesn't feature heavily.

But he still takes a bite before he moves, because it's right there. The thing about carrying a plat of food, of course, is the journey to the back door has got to take place on foot.

She's got no qualms with clearing a path as they move on; comfort food's no good if you're not doing the eating, and he needs it more than she does. So she moves a few paces ahead of him, well in his line of sight but still far enough on that he'll notice her turning to dodge waitrats no matter where his focus might be.

"I never thought I'd find a finer peach pie outside'a Green Lake, but Miss Bar sure knows her stuff."

She opens the door, letting him pass through at his leisure.

"Mmmm."

He walks and shovels pie, so words at all are something to be grateful for.

"She's good at food."

"Yes, she is."

She laughs under her breath, scooping up her first bite once they're out in the fresh air.

She doesn't mind if he's quiet. It's an improvement from the rafters.

"She's good at a lotta things. I might be in awful big trouble if she hadn't found me."

Dick would object to that. If he was aware of it, he might suggest that being on the ground and walking like a normal person is worrying in itself.7

But he's not that aware.

"Why's that?"

"Well. I don't have a home, for starters."

She chooses her words carefully. Not only is she reticent because he's young, and it wouldn't do to talk of her unsavory business, but because he's upset, and it wouldn't do to upset him further.

"I ain't got no means of livelihood no more. I've lost people I love, an' there are people out there who'd hurt me if they could."

She pauses to have another bite of pie, and see how that's settled before going on.

"Miss Bar's been a safe haven, from time t'time."

Well.

Um.

Dick is quiet for a while after listening to that, his head down, his attention on his pie.

Until eventually he says:

"I don't have a home either."

Anymore.

The orphanage is not a home. It's just a place. And places aren't homes.

She sweeps a look at him, silent, and glances away after a moment so he doesn't feel like he's under a magnifying glass.

"Well. I guess that makes you an' me kin, in a small way."

She smiles softly.

"Or it makes Miss Bar a black humorist. It can be comfortable here, but — there are things I miss. We had peach trees everywhere, down by the lake. Summer here doesn't quite fit without the scent of their blossoms. It can make my blood boil sometimes."

Dick glances over at the Milliways lake, the garden, the training area, the forest, the mountains.

"Can't you plant them?"

"I never really thought 'bout it. I ain't sure — this has always felt like somebody else's, where I jus' visit."

Maybe she should ask.

"Y'know?"

"Yeah," Dick agrees. "I know."

He can't really imagine living here. It's just another place.