Re: steph/babs quicklog
[Stephanie was having a rough go of it, and that wasn't even just because of the demon teeming in the back of her brain. Whispering nastiness in the back of her brain, haunting both her waking and sleeping moments, twisting her dreams more violent and dark than before. But it wasn't just that. There was lingering loneliness in her bones that she still couldn't shake, and maybe she should have stayed at the Manor, but what was the point in that? She would have still felt alone no matter if there was one or a thousand people in that house. And people reaching out now? Well, that was just them feeling bad wasn't it? Or getting poked to check in on her. No one actually cared, and that wasn't much of a surprise.
Still, she'd indulge at least for a little bit, and she hadn't seen this new Barbara yet. It was weird that she was so young, but that was probably a good thing. Getting older in this city wasn't meant to happen. After all, look at what shitty shape she was in. But, she hoped that Babs dodged the nonsense of this goddamn hotel; it was clear the redhead had already fought for so much. And coming to a place that wasn't really your home with people you didn't really know? Well, Steph knew a lot about that pain, too.
When Steph heard the knock on her window, she was already on her second glass of merlot, the wine glass on her counter filled about halfway with another one waiting to be filled next to it. Sliding off the stool by said counter, she strolled over to the window, spying Babs and her fresh, young Batgirl get-up. There was a bright grin, and when she opened the window for the younger girl, she couldn't help but comment:] Well, look at you. [And there was clear affection and admiration in that. Stepping back to give her room, she wasn't exactly sure what to do. Should she hug her? Shake her hand? In the end, she opted to wrap her arms around her middle for a moment.
The apartment had a slapdash, hodgepodge sort of charm to it. It was sparsely furnished, whatever pieces there left by the last tenants. A table, some mismatched chairs, a couch. The rickety stairs in the center lead up to her loft bedroom; Bandit was perched on the third stair up, looking curiously and angrily at the women. Steph, with her blonde lion's mane falling around her face in messy curls, had changed into her (still sustaining) typical loungewear: a baggy shirt that slipped off her shoulders, a pair of black leggings, and some mismatched socks.
After a moment, she waved the redhead in.] How was the ride over?