It's a Graves thing (soundofwings) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-11-28 13:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, death |
Who: Iris and Wren
What: Brunch
Where: Jasmine, at the Bellagio
When: Wednesday at noon
Warnings/Rating: Nope?
Wren was nervous. It wasn't that Iris frightened her in a traditional sense, but her interactions with the woman hadn't been very positive in the past. It was, she knew, largely her fault. She was insecure with her own place in Gus' life, and Iris was opinionated when it came to the little boy. But Iris cared about Gus, and that was what mattered just now - at least that's what Wren tried to tell herself as she dressed for her lunch meeting with the other woman. It wasn't Iris' fault that Gus didn't know who his mother was, and it wasn't Iris' fault that she'd entered the little boy's life first. Maybe all of this could have been resolved if she'd just insisted that they tell Gus everything, but Wren always deferred to Luke on that count. Luke felt Gus was too young, she knew, but Wren was starting to think that the longer they kept the secret, well, the more it would feel like a lie when they did tell. Wasn't it better now, when Gus could accept without understanding the full implications? But that wasn't the point of any of this, and she'd just have to deal with her uncertain place without letting it boil over. She only hoped she could manage it, for Gus' sake.
During the season, brunch was offered daily at Jasmine, and Wren had selected the restaurant for two very specific reasons. One, at $58 per person it evened the playing field from a financial standpoint and, two, staying at the hotel meant Wren didn't need to bother with a driver to get there. She gave her name at the hostess stand, informed the woman that Iris would be joining her, and followed the woman to a quiet table near the windows. She took her seat, and she spread the linen napkin across the tan fabric of her designer trousers. She slipped off the cream wrap she wore, draping it over the back of the seat and straightening the color of her fine white top. Breathe, she reminded herself. Breathe.
However nervous Wren was, Iris would have made an argument for being just as, if not more nervous. It didn’t help (in her mind) that she and Doctor Roman had been steadily, though slowly, decreasing the amount of medication that she took on a daily basis. It meant that the level of anti-anxiety drugs in her system was a dwindling percentage of what it had once been, and the lower level made everything seem more intense than it had in years. She’d noticed herself starting to react much more strongly to things than she could remember in the past, at least since her time in Seattle. The prospect of this brunch was one of those bright, intense worries that she couldn’t put aside, and she wondered if maybe she should have contacted Doctor Roman about it, about the meeting in general and about the prospect of the briefest increase again. Just to get her through the upcoming meal and discussion.
She had no idea what Wren wanted to discuss, couldn’t plan for whatever it was, so she tried to find comfort in routine and habit, the little things over which she had control. It was a carryover from childhood, the things she could do for herself once her vision had gone. Things like brushing her hair until it was smooth, putting on a dress that was simple (this one a pale grey expensive but boring thing), tying a scarf around her neck to hide the yellow and green of bruises that were still clinging to her otherwise stubbornly pale skin. For all her preparations, there was something fragile and almost brittle about her - angles that should have been closer to curves, the soft thumbpress of bruises beneath her eyes that betrayed the reduction of things to aid her to sleep. They were subtle signs, ones that could be covered with another layer of clothing and a little makeup, ones that she was certain that no one would notice.
When the driver (Anton’s or the building’s, she doubted she would ever know at this rate) dropped her at the Bellagio, it took her a few moments outside before she could muster the courage to enter and head toward the hostess. There was still time for her to turn around, to pretend she had never been there, but she finally took the step forward because there was one thing that overrode everything else, and that was making sure that Gus was alright. She may have only helped care for him for a very short period of time, but since then she had found herself wondering about him on a regular basis. Pushing the thoughts away wasn’t always successful, even when she knew that she had no real right to feel any sort of connection to him. He was with his family (the one he was supposed to be with), and she had no place in his life any longer.
But it didn’t stop her from wondering.
She sat down at the table that the hostess indicated, settling herself into the seat across from Wren. She took a moment of minor adjustments, smoothing her skirt, running self-conscious fingers along the scarf. And then, with the slightest visible tremor of nerves, she settled her hands in her lap and looked up at Wren. “...Hello.”
Wren noticed the hint of nerves, but she didn't mistake Iris for someone weak, despite whatever Iris thought of herself. She'd already made that mistake once, months ago, and now she knew better. Iris might appear fragile on the outside, but some of the strongest people Wren knew appeared weak in that way. "Hello," she said quietly, giving Iris a reserved smile and then waving over the waiter for drink orders. She ordered some champagne, making a monetary statement even with that, and she waited for Iris to place her own drink order. The brunch buffet was self-serve, but Wren didn't move immediately, figuring it wouldn't hurt to sit while they waited for their drinks to arrive.
"I'm sure you weren't expecting to hear from me," Wren said calmly. "Things have been challenging the past month, and I thought we should mend fences, for Gus' sake." She wasn't particularly warm when she said it. She was quiet and reserved, distant, but still polite. She wasn't here for herself, and that was fairly obvious. "I'm not asking for myself," she clarified, because this wasn't about her, not in the end. It wasn't even about Luke. How she felt sitting there hardly mattered, and she wondered if Iris even understood why this was so hard for her, why it was such a touchy subject.
Iris ordered a bottle of mineral water when Wren ordered champagne. Even if she had wanted something extra to help calm her nerves, she still had enough medication in her system that she knew she shouldn’t be drinking. Besides that, she always had bad luck when alcohol came into play. She didn’t see Wren’s order as anything other than her wanting champagne to drink, certainly didn’t interpret it as any sort of statement. Wren had made herself very clear on the issue of money those months ago, and Iris tried to not repeat the same mistake twice in such matters.
She listened silently to Wren, trying to figure out what was really going on. She tried to take the words at face value. She would never completely understand what Wren was facing, how she felt, but it was obvious (even to Iris, who had less experience reading people) that Wren wasn’t comfortable with any of this situation. She stayed quiet, hands still folded in her lap, watching as she listened. Her new joining with Death was different than the one with Alfred, but there was still enough connection for Iris to know some of the things that were happening on the opposite side of the door. The timing between that and this meeting was revealing.
The drinks arrived before she could reply, and she waited while glasses were poured and set before them. The surface of her water quivered slightly when she picked it up to take a sip, her eyes watching carefully to make sure she didn’t bump anything with the glass when she set it down again. “I wasn’t,” she finally replied, smoothing her hands over her skirt again before looking back up at Wren. She took a long moment for her eyes to focus on the other woman, and pressed her lips together before saying anything else. It came out half as a question and half as a statement. “You think that my being around again will somehow make things less... challenging...?”
Wren took a sip of her champagne, and her fingers lingered on the crystal stem after. "I don't think it'll make anything less challenging. I think challenging is here to stay," she said regretfully, her expression honest when she looked up from the champagne glass to the woman across from her. "Between Halloween and the recent events in Gotham, Luke and I were gone for days at a time. Gus' other caretaker moved out last month, and he thought we'd left him behind. He's taken to hiding beneath his bed again, which he hadn't done in months, and he hasn't been doing very well. I thought that more people who we could trust, that could check on him if we disappeared for any length of time, would be good for him. I don't want him to go through this again," she said plainly, because there was no point in beating around the bush. This was why she'd asked Iris here, and she didn't see the need for small talk leading up to it. "He has sitters, and I'll be with him during the day, but there are things that are out of our control," she explained. She didn't know Iris wasn't with Alfred Pennyworth anymore, and she assumed the other woman would know if Selina and Bruce were both unavailable because of things in Gotham, just like Jack would, once he was back on his feet.
Iris nodded, just a single motion in response to the summary of recent troubles and the possible solution. She appreciated the honesty, the frankness, as she didn’t always do as well with people being too subtle. “You’re looking for emergency back-up?” There was a problem though, and it wasn’t that much different than what had been problematic those months ago. “Anything that the hotel does to you still affects me as well. That hasn’t changed. The hotel... isn’t gentle with anyone.” She toyed with the very end of her scarf as she spoke, fingers reaching up absently to make sure it was still looped close to her neck, obscuring colors that she didn’t want to be seen, before dropping her hand again. Halloween had played its own havoc with her. Though if it was something that happened through the door, Death would know. She seemed to know almost everything, even if she wouldn’t (or couldn’t) step in to stop it. She would at least know if Bruce and Selina were having troubles in Gotham. Iris hadn’t yet told anyone about that switch, but in this instance, Death might be more helpful than Alfred could have ever been. The only slightly limited omniscience could come in handy.
"We have sitters for when that happens, which isn't often. I mean- Bruce and Selina got into their own trouble this time, and I don't think it'll be the last time it happens, even though we're trying to make sure that it is," Wren said honestly. There was no point in pretending it had been anything other than what it was. Bruce had kept the truth from them, and they'd all paid the price. "Selina thought to ask someone to collect Gus this time, but I don't want to risk it happening again. He likes you, and I just want him to feel safe if they get into trouble again." Her smile was sad for a moment. "Let's face it, they're going to get into trouble again," she said, pushing her chair back and nodding toward the buffet. "I'm going to get something. You should too," she said, because their conversation was long from over, and they might as well eat something. It would give her a chance to calm her nerves, to stop wondering what Iris was hiding beneath that scarf. It brought to mind Iris' mental state, which was always a concern, and which was why she wasn't actually asking the other woman to take care of Gus. The sitter would always be there and, with any luck, her clients would stay steady enough that they could replace the various sitters with one nanny.
There was a slight shift to Iris’ expression, the most minute lift of eyebrows and tip of lips. Though the topic remained serious, it was a smile of understanding about Bruce and Selina. “They will,” she said with soft conviction, and whether it came from her own mind, leftover memories from Alfred, or from Death, it was hard to tell. “That’s who they are.” The expression, slight as it was, faded again, because she did know how badly the past few days had gone for them. She watched Wren stand and head for the buffet before she could say anything else, and once the other woman had crossed halfway to where the food was spread, Iris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her hands were still shaky with nerves, and she worried about handling a plate without dropping it, but the breath was enough to force her shoulders to relax just a fraction from the tense knots she’d forced them into.
Iris finally pushed herself back from the table, pausing a moment to take stock of herself before crossing the room in Wren’s wake. Meals she could handle; she’d been doing it since she was a child, listening to the flow of conversation around her while she remained unobtrusive and politely silent. She maybe wasn’t as used to the one-on-one interaction, but she could dine in an upscale restaurant and not cause a scene, at least. She assured herself of it as she continued to walk, and then as she placed small portions of food on her plate. She started at the top of the plate, at “12 o’clock”, and then worked her way clockwise around the plate. Each item was separated by at least a small ribbon of space, until it resembled a tasting sampler instead of a buffet plate. Once she’d taken a small amount of everything she wanted, she returned to the table. Sitting once again, napkin smoothed over her lap, she turned her plate with careful fingers until her “12 o’clock” was again on top. Not wanting to rudely jump right in, she reached to take a sip of her water instead of picking up her fork.
Wren's plate held only one item, a serving of lobster eggs benedict, and she smoothed her napkin on her lap when she sat down again. Her maman had been a child herself and, as such, there had been tea parties and playing dress-up. Etiquette classes had followed in Seattle, because Wren had thought it would be easier to go from hooker to mistress if she had better manners, knew some French, could play some piano. It had worked a little, but more than that, it had reminded her of the things she liked about being small. Those memories with her maman, they were good ones, and Wren was an expert at compartmentalizing.
Wren gave Iris a small nod, and then she picked up her own silverware and continued the conversation between bites, as if it had never stopped. "Luke and I aren't living together right now, but we're going to get a house soon, somewhere things can feel more permanent for Gus. We were going to invite you to dinner, but I didn't want to spring all of this on you in front of Gus, where you'd feel pressured to accept," she explained. She didn't add that she just wanted the practice too, wanted to see Iris and see how it felt to sit at the same table with her. She knew these were her own problems, her own insecurities with a child that was more attached to the people around her than he was to her, but she needed to put that aside; this was a test, to see if she could.
Iris picked at her food, a bite here, a bite there, a sip of water, and it was impossible to tell if it was due to nerves still, or if it was simply the way she ate. After several bites, she set her fork down again and smiled, this one less subtle than the last. She appreciated the strategy of asking without Gus present, because it was true that she would likely have agreed without thought if the boy was there, turning wide eyes on her. They’d earned more than one trip to the zoo in the past, and with a glance at Wren, Iris suspected that the similarly grey eyes had earned their own prizes in the past. It was a thought that was there and then gone again, as it didn’t matter much for their current situation.
“Thank you,” she said, in response to the thoughtfulness of asking without Gus around. And then, sincerely, “I hope you find someplace nice.” The offer to help only brushed through her mind for a moment, immediately discarded before it even shifted her expression. Neither did she give any opinion on what she thought about providing Gus with something more stable. She agreed with it, but it wasn’t her place to say, and she knew that now. She went quiet then for a bit, the tines of her fork pressed delicately against a piece of smoked salmon, her eyes tracking the way it pushed between the silver as she gave the offer thought. She wasn’t usually one to fill the silence with extra words, and the quiet hung between them until she finally set down her fork, the salmon still clinging to it. Her eyes were pale blue when she looked up at Wren again, serious. “I think I would have to think about it. Not about the concept,“ she agreed with the concept, “but about my place in it.”
Strangely, Wren didn't realize until just then that she expected a yes. She looked crestfallen for a moment, but it was gone so quickly that it might have just been an imagined thing. "Of course. Take your time," she said, every bit the polite lunch companion. It had been a while, and they hadn't parted well. Maybe she should have allowed Luke to do this, invite Iris to lunch and win her over with his honesty and boyish smile. She knew she wasn't very welcoming with people she didn't know well or care about greatly, but it was done, and all she could do now was wait. Begging and pleading didn't cross her mind, and she took another sip of her champagne and commented on the quality of the food, which indicated that her topic of serious discussion had come to an end. "You can let Luke know when you've decided," she added, figuring it might make Iris more comfortable to contact him, giving her unspoken permission to do so. They were friends, weren't they? Luke not mentioning Iris recently didn't mean anything, because Luke tended not to mention things that would make her upset. Quietly, she returned her attention to the plate before her.
If Iris hadn't been looking directly at Wren still, she would have missed the flicker of expression. But she caught it before it was hidden away again. She kept her words to herself until after Wren had stopped speaking, nodding once to herself before clearing her throat. "I'll probably agree," she finally said, her gaze still on Wren's face even when the other woman looked down at her plate. "Your son is a charmer even when he's not here." Wren's son. It was perhaps not a deliberate choice of words, but it made her own thoughts on the matter clear enough. "If you need help, and you trusted me enough to ask, I likely cannot say no. I just..." Needed to talk to her doctor... "Want to be certain that I can. For Gus' safety. I can let you know soon, I suspect." Wren, not Luke. Wren was the one that had asked, and Iris hadn't spoken to Luke in... she couldn't even remember how long. It made more sense to her to talk with Wren, even if it was strained.
Wren smiled a little at her plate, and she gave Iris a small nod. She looked up then, grateful, even though she didn't say as much. The truth of it was in her grey gaze, the appreciation she felt at being given her rightful place. "Thank you," she said simply, acknowledging without adding too much to it. She almost asked how Iris had been then, and she almost made small talk, questioned the scarf and asked after Alfred. But she decided against it, in the end. Maybe later, once they could manage a real conversation, if it came to that, which she hoped it would. But just then, this was enough.
Iris returned the smile, something small and fleeting, but genuine. It was gone again in the next moment, but she nodded slightly at Wren’s thanks. She didn’t try to make small talk, either, not used to it even if she could manage when other people started. Instead, she gave another nod and returned her attention to her food. It wasn’t the liveliest of brunches, and she was certain that most other people would find their silent meal strange, but with the small smile from Wren, Iris at least felt slightly more comfortable at the table for the rest of their meal.