15645/This Will Be a Very Witty Title

This Will Be a Very Witty Title
Date of Scene:	28 September 2023
Location:	Somewhere.
Synopsis:	Kate and Renee.
Cast of Characters:	Batwoman, Renee Montoya

---

Batwoman has posed:
Molly's. It's been a favorite bar of Katherine Rebecca Kane's since she was old enough to drink legally, and also slightly before that. A mainstay of Gotham, if not a particularly popular or well-known one, Molly's been part of the city's fixture since before the legend and infamy of the Batman completely changed the landscape.

Mostly, it managed to do this by being a bar in Gotham willing to sell affordable alcohol that they -didn't- water down to oblivion. Some things really are that simple.

Kate can track the major eras of her life by her memories at Molly's. It's a little heartening to her, even if in the way that would make her feel the tiniest pique of shame if she allowed herself even a moment of introspection about it. As it is -- she's become enough of a regular here that she's on a first-name basis with the owners, at this point. She's even had a few musical gigs here, from time to time, when she can spare a moment or two.

It's what brings her here today, playing sub-in guitar front and center for a small, relatively-obscure Gotham punk band called The Dusted Bunnies. Dressed in a loose, black fishnet tank top and a black bandeau beneath it, the studded black choker she wears and black, metal-heeled knee-high boots she wears with her red leather pants at the very least help cultivate a proper punk look -- a fact really only added to by the dark red ombre of her lipstick, her kohl eyeliner game, the tousled undercut style of her scarlet red hair, or black lacquered nails. Or just the fact that she looks right at home there, intensely focused on her performance for the modest crowds come to listen to The Dusted Bunnies angry strains as they finish up their final number.

She's at home here. She always has been.

That used to be part of the problem.

Renee Montoya has posed:
It's not just jet setting billionaire vigilante redheads that find Molly's to be a haven from the chaos and turmoil of Gotham city and their own lives. Renee Montoya's been enjoying the hospitality of one of Gotham's true hidden gems for a good long time herself. And not just because she sometimes works the door for a little off-the-clock extra pay.

But that's not what brings Renee in after she clocks out of GCPD tonight. No, she just needs... not-cop-stuff. And if there's one type of stuff she could go for when she's in that mood, it's cheap but quality booze.

Angry music is a second. And so when she sees Molly's has got a punk band providing live music, she barely stops at home to shower and change. Because she can't hit the bar in her work clothes... for one thing, if she shows up to the office reeking of bourbon again, people /are/ going to go back to talking. And besides, a suit and tie for a punk show? Perish the thought.

Renee breezes in with all the confidence she's got, dark tanktop under a bolero cut leather jacket and with a hip-hugging pair of dark jeans leading down to sensible boots for shitkicking or hiking... not dancing, but then, she's not really expecting the musical lineup to be a dancefloor vibe.

Imagine her shock when she settles at the bar, moves to eye the band, and discovers that the guitar player is stunning. Gorgeous. Rock and roll incarnate. In her entirely unbiased opinion.

Besides, it's not /her/ opinion she's worried about... it's Kate's. She finds herself immediately frowning slightly, a frown Kate's no doubt familiar with , a very 'How did we leave things? Is she going to glare daggers at me? Do I /deserve/ that glare?' uncertain sort of frown.

Well, maybe Kate won't notice her. Maybe she'll be so focused on jamming that she'll miss the familiar face in the crowd. It's not like she's got finely honed military training and also hard-won street instincts from fighting crime in Gotham as Batwoman or anything.

Oh wait. Right.

Batwoman has posed:
Kate always thought Renee looked good in a tie.

Some things - and people - are hard not to notice, however, even when they're -not- wearing a stand out suit and tie. Some people are impossible not to notice, even if you -didn't- have years of cutthroat military training and tangling with everything from Killer Croc to Kite Man.

Renee Montoya's been one of those things for Kate Kane for a long time.

It's a testament to her dedication that the deft work of Kate's pale fingers barely even so much as flinch as vivid eyes fall on a familiar form in the crowds, rocking a bolero jacket that only she could pull off quite like that. The Dusted Bunnies' guest guitarist's dexterous digits may not hitch in their performance... but her striking green gaze does flutter out a blink of muted surprise as she lays eyes on that familiar figure from her past.

Surprise only lasts a few seconds, before Kate's pale features settle into a more muted, impassive expression that Renee is intimately well-acquainted with, that unreadable look Kate always used to get when she started withdrawing to keep those thoughts and feelings of hers out of plain sight. That cool, detached look probably doesn't help Renee's predicament in the slightest, but then...

Kate's got problems of her own -- very similar problems. Suddenly, she finds her thoughts racing. How did we leave things? She remembers more than one shouting match between the two of them. Did she burn down yet another bridge because she's too hardheaded to let things go?

Her last thought is how unfair it is how good Renee looks in that jacket before she jams out the final notes of a song that sounds like its straight out of a Runaways catalogue. The crowds clap. Some of them cheer, raising glasses. The frontwoman, Zero, offers thanks and final words as Kate shrugs her guitar off the pale slope of her shoulder. As she turns to the rest of the band, to talk and offer thanks and small talk, she hesitates.

It's a hooded stare she offers over her shoulder for Renee, before she nods her head once, subtly, in the direction of the bar, relying on Renee's detective skills to get the simple message:

'Wait for me.'

Renee Montoya has posed:
Renee's in control she assures herself. She can just... hang out at the bar and relax and have a singular solitary drink and not more than a single solitary drink even though she's staring at Kate with the intensity of a laser beam. It's not like that's going to raise her stress level /and/ Kate's or anything.

And so Renee does her best /not/ to stare at Kate. But she also can't bring herself to stare at the rest of the band, and eventually she's just /glowering/ at the front of the bass drum.

But she can't fully control that urge to watch Kate, glancing back again and again, despite having dressed down to unwind, Renee's perched on her stool like one of Gotham's many stone gargoyles, locked in place and rigid as can be.

In response to that one, single brief look, Renee only tenses further. One hand twitches up in an aborted little attempt at a wave... but there's also a tiny bob of her head. Message received.

Hey, that didn't go so bad, did it?

Batwoman has posed:
She's really staring. Really -staring-. And now she's doing that thing where she tries to stare at something else which just makes it more obvious.

Fuck, Kate thinks.

I must have really pissed her off.

Her world is racing thoughts and a mix of memories that stir up conflicting feelings in her stomach. Part of her thinks it'd be wisest if she just slips out the back. There's always that part of her that feels that way when it comes to relationships, especially the big ones. The important ones.

But there's also the overwhelming part of her that can never not confront things directly.

It's a good eight or ten minutes in which Renee lingers alone at the bar until a hand presses its palm against her back.

"So, Detective Montoya..."

And one wouldn't think that Kate Kane had a single care in the world, the way she saunters back into Renee Montoya's life with casual confidence, filling the air around her with that familiar, citric scent, easing into the stool beside her with an arched brow and a small, killer smile that could mean everything and nothing.

"... you still a bourbon gal?"

Renee Montoya has posed:
Renee's doing her best to relax and bask in the vibes of the show and... like.. be a functional bar-dwelling patron of the arts, even if that intense stare is working like a giant flashing 'Danger: Radioactive Materials' sign to keep away anyone from approaching her... she's /half/ sure people are ordering at the other end of the bar to avoid having to get close to her.

Which, you know, is doing wonders for her self-esteem and general 'Don't worry Renee, you're not a fucking trainwreck'ness.

And then Kate's there. Here. Right here. In the flesh. In the punk rock outfit flesh.

Which, she supposes is less awkward than if they met up at a crime scene for 'work'.

She offers the barest ghost of a crooked smile, a very 'I am trying to act casual but I know your impressive detective skills can overcome my ruse to see the trashfire I am' smile.

And then she heaves out a sigh and smiles a little wider. A little more /real actual smile/.

"I mean, I'm a whatever you're buying gal when you get down to it."

See? Water under the bridge. They're fine! Thick as thieves!

Batwoman has posed:
Renee's got a killer stare. It pairs well with the suit and tie. It's another thing Kate likes about her:

With the right lighting, she looks like she was pulled fresh and hot from a noir caster mould.

It makes Kate feel nervous. She's sure the intensity of that stare is because Renee's stewing in anger probably made worse for having been made to wait around for her.

She tries to make sure none of that uncertainty makes it to the surface of that winning ghost of a smile that touches dark lips as she pours her way into her seat and slumps with slinking confidence against that bar top, one hand propping her chin on her knuckles, the bangs of her short red undercut spilling just so over one green eye to make a perfect, pale picture of punkish appeal.

It's all presentation. She's always been great at presentation. She's hoping that it makes her come off as charmingly disaffected and not arrogantly dismissive, but she's pretty sure Renee sees through -all- of it. Renee was -always- sharp.

Fuck, she thinks again, inwardly, as she sees that crooked smile. It's so forced. She -does- see through Kate!

(how is even that awkward-ass smile so cute--)

"Oh yeah?" Kate wonders aloud instead, her other red brow joining its partner in hitching up in amused incredulity.

"Okay. Let's put that to the test."

And here, Kate flags down the bartender. She leans across the bar when he approaches, to whisper an order into his ear. They both look sidelong at Renee, with perfect timing, before he nods and moves away, quickly getting to work on Renee's new mystery drink.

Kate settles back down. And for a while, she's quiet, inwardly floundering even as that cool, jade stare remains settled on Renee. She needs to say something. Anything.

"... It's been a while, huh?" No, not that. Shit! Well, she's in it now-- "Feels like it's been ages since we were last here at the same time."

Fuck. Again.

Renee Montoya has posed:
Renee can read most people like a book. But then, Kate's not most people. She's the goddamned Batwoman. Also, she's Kate. Really, it's the 'She's Kate' that throws Montoya's whole mindreading cool and calculated detective game off. She can crack run of the mill criminals, even outwit the occasional special brand of Gotham crazy.

But Kate's Kate.

That's the problem with them isn't it? They're so used to each being the one in control, the one five steps ahead, that they trip over one another and it always leads t-

"If you buy some some fruity umbrella drink I am going to..."

She narrows her eyes, because Kate's leaning forward and fucking /whispering/ before the words are even past her lips and she hisses softly, a sharp, long breath escaping... damn you, Kate.

Because even if it /is/ an umbrella drink she can't not drink it, or she'll lose their little dance here.

So instead she tilts her head, eyes sweeping down, up, down, up... by the third repetition she's clearly seen all of Kate's outfit, but she does a fourth look over for thoroughness. "Punk suits you. Well. Really well."

She heaves out a sigh and nods, "Yeah, I should've... reached out. Called you. Texted you. The only redhead I've met recently? Not nearly as taken by my charms as you." She frowns, an actual genuine one, "I mean, I can't blame her. I was frustrated, tracking this stolen shipment of fertilizer. It turns out Poison Ivy's /not/ a fan of police dropping by to ask her about... a massive fertilizer theffffft...." Her voice breaks down, there's a crack in it... then a little snort... a wheeze... a /giggle/.

"I really did it... I mean, I don't know /why/, but... like... I mean... cops are supposed to start with the usual suspects and doesn't that sound USUAL in this fucking city?"

Batwoman has posed:
The smug smile that dances briefly on darkly-painted lips says it all as Kate settles back into her seat.

You will feel shame for your words and deeds this day, Renee Montoya.

Kate: 1, Renee: don't worry about it

It's a little frightening how easy it is, falling back into the swing of things; how easy it is for her to lean back in just a subtle enough way to better call Renee's attention to all her fishnet-clad glory without being obvious about it, so that the 'I see what you're doing there' stare she offers Renee looks perfectly organic and not wholly engineered.

Or how she answers that compliment by leaning in slowly, invading that personal space she knows by heart to reach out...

"I know. But sometimes it grabs the wrong kind of attention."

... and smoothly straighten the lapels of Renee's bolero with crisp ease. just as natural as breathing.

"You always did look great in the right jacket, detective."

It all comes as natural as breathing. Just as natural as second-guessing herself. But that was always the problem, wasn't it? How natural this all feels, how -good- it feels when it's all working, and then...

'Yeah, I should've... reached out.'

"You should've," Kate answers back on reflex, even knowing she could have reached out too. She should have tried, too. But she can't keep back the kneejerk frustration all the same, both with herself, and with Renee.

Maybe it's fortunate that before she can ask, 'Why didn't you?' Renee leads in with that tale of another redhead. Green eyes widen briefly in a startled blink. There could be any number of reasons for it: surprise; worry; concern. Renee's casually talking about running up on an infamous eco-terrorist, after all. But instead--

Kate snorts after Renee for perhaps entirely different reasons, pearly white teeth flashing in a grin that pairs so well with the richness of her laugh.

"I can't believe this," she mutters, grin lingering as she shakes her head. "-I- bumped into her too. What kind of fucked up serendipity is that, Renee?" Green eyes crack open, glimmering with amusement.

"Wait, did you accuse Poison Ivy of being -full of shit-?"

It's a question asked, perfectly timed to the arrival of the drink Kate ordered for Renee.

It's fruity. So fruity that it's -bright goddamn blue-. There's two umbrellas in there. Two! And a colorful blend of citrus wedges are floating in the middle of it, just mocking Renee.

All served in a big, quirky fishbowl.

And two straws.

Renee Montoya has posed:
Renee heaves out another sigh. This is just... it's easy, isn't it? So easy. They get together, they fit right back in their usual comfortable banter and play.

It's fine, right?

Because Kate's just... so Kate. And Renee's basking in it, trying to fight back that little grin the redhead's presence brings to the surface no matter what.

Renee arches her back just a little, spine straighter, shoulders back, making it easy for Kate to adjust that jacket just so as she murmurs out dryly. "Oh, really? Are you afraid some overzealous cop's going to stop and frisk you? Or pull you over because you /look like trouble/ Ms. Kane?"

Eye brows pop up suggestively before she's fighting off another soft laugh. "Why thank you. I mean, jackets are /the/ secret to my entire style. Well, coats in general really."

One eyebrow perks /high/ at that mention of Kate crossing paths with everyone's favorite verdant ecoterrorist. "Oh /did/ you? I didn't hear any news reports about giant plants causing havoc, so... it... /went well/?"

Again those eyebrows pop. Because she just can't help it.

And then she's snorting helplessly, "No! I accused her of stealing fertilizer! For plants! She grows plants, plants need fertilizer! It was sound logic!!"

Her eyes drift to the drink, her mouth falls open and she just stares at it, "Oh my god, it's the color of electricity or something. No good can come of us consuming this."

Which is why Renee's already reaching for her straw. "Oh my god... no /wonder/ Ivy was so insulted... okay, also I was uhh... kind of staring at her. I haven't been socializing much so uhh..."

She trails off and dives in to capture that straw between her lips.

She's just going to attempt to make the level of blue in the fishbowl visibly lower.

Totally fine.

Batwoman has posed:
    Are you afraid some overzealous cop's going to stop and frisk you?

"Sounds like the right kind of attention," is the final thought Kate offers Renee, those dark lips pulled into the oh-so-easy charm of that enigmatic smile of hers.

"Some of my best dates came from some overzealous cop giving me a hard time."

She lets the little ghost of insinuation linger there. And just like that, between a little flirtation, a little laugh -- it's just like how things used to be. The dance is so familiar; she knows all the steps by heart. Each one makes her forget her worries a little more; makes her forget all the reasons it didn't work before.

By the time they're laughing over a shared experience with one curt, attractive redhead, the smile on Kate's lips is that lopsided one of genuine amusement that reaches and wrinkles the corners of that bright, kohl-lined stare of hers.

"Uh huh," she assures breathlessly at Renee's adamant denials. "Sherlock Holmes would be proud of your deductive skills." Her smile lingers; she leans in closer against the bartop in a sign of genuine interest. "But I'm still sticking to my full of shit theory."

"So -you're- why she accused me of trying to hit on her, huh," Kate accuses, a brow of her own lifting in faint accusation. "I found her at a bar. She was pretty drunk, so I took her home. I was a perfect gentlewoman," she shoots an accusing stare Renee's way. "Unlike -some- people."

Her grin grows fractionally. But... "She was..." Her amusement lapses, for a precious few seconds. She looks aside, green gaze hooding. "... I mean. I think she's really trying, Renee. It's just..."

Hard. She knows that look she saw in Ivy's eyes perfectly. She knows it well.

She doesn't tell Renee about how she and Ivy commiserated over exes. When it bubbles up to the forefront of her thought, she distracts herself from it by focusing instead on Renee:

"Poor Renee. Your game's got all rusty. Sounds like someone needs some help shaking off the dust, detective."

She teases, as Renee dives. She watches her, and a fonder note touches briefly at her pale features.

It's natural, the way she dips her head in towards that blue fishbowl, to take her straw between dark lips; the way she pauses, to wonder off-handedly, innocuously,

"Are you still living at that old rundown at Burnsley?"

It comes so easy.

It must be fine.