welcome to the justice lounge

Bruce arrives at the Star City Penthouse by zeta, in a black t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans, boots muddied around the edges (but he doesn’t track any of it in), and a bottle of champagne in hand.

Ollie has been dawdling around in his office, attempting to sort out what in the stacks of mail he’s let pile up he can actually throw out and what he should keep. The same goes for a number of newsletters from organic market shares and the like, and he’s standing in the middle of his office surrounded by the garish chairs he’d gotten (one for each member of WSQ) piled high with papers. “Oh thank god,” he says when he sees Bruce, going over and kissing the other man while simultaneously grabbing for the champagne. “I was just about to set fire to the room and solve my problems that way.”

Bruce returns the kiss, softly at first, before he can release the bottle of champagne, and when his hands are free, he moves one around Ollie’s waist, the other curling around his jaw and holding him in place against him, as he deepens the kiss.

Ollie settles a bit, when Bruce holds him still for kissing, and he rolls the champagne bottle against one shoulderblade through the leather jacket as he throws his arm around Bruce. “It’s good to see you too,” he says, when they pause for breath. “I hear you’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

Bruce smirks, lingering closely to Ollie’s mouth, his grip unrelenting. “When am I not,” he drawls, lowly, licking his lips before he kisses Ollie again, and determines. “..pineapple.”

Ollie nods, an answer to both remarks, and licks his own lips too as if confirming. “Yup. Was one of my resolutions, you could say. Isn’t that delightful of me?”

Bruce doesn’t answer Ollie, and move his hand from around his jaw to his temple, fingers smoothing into the hair above his ear, pushing behind it. “..alright?” He asks, softly, not adjusting their proximity.

( triangulation and the new year )

Kyle spent half of the rest of the gala brooding in the room in the back, then finally getting mostly dressed up again and looking for Zee out among the other people. When the gala is cleared out and Zee’s no where to be seen, he sends her a text and then sluggishly heads back to New York City. It’s pretty late; but he hopes Mar’i is home. And awake.

Mari is wearing her totally awesome roommate sweater but seems to have forgotten pants as she and Miss Meow cuddle on the couch with a massive bottle of champagne. In front of her, the television plays the episode of Friends where Ross screeches ‘PIVOT! PIVOT!’

Kyle is still sorta buzzed when he gets home, enough to be self-centered and needy. So he shuffles around till he finds Mar’i, not really caring whether or not she is asleep because, he’s gonna wake her up. “Mar’iiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeee​eeeeeeee,” he wheedles, voice echoing in the hallway. He flops onto the couch face first next to Mar’i, still in his tux. Or, well, partial tux. Mostly just the shirt and pants; the tie and cummerbund have been long lost. “Frggmhhtthsdlsewugh,” he says into the cushion. Miss Meow stares at him and this hisses.

Mari isn’t quite asleep, but still jumps when Kyle whines down the hallway. “NEEEEEEEEHHHHH—” Mar’i replies in sleepy Korean, before she cranes herself to the side, watching him enter the living room and proceed towards the communal couch, burying himself into the cushions. It takes her a second to register his clothes and position, before she repeats: “Neh? Did you have one too many highballs?”

Kyle remains in place until Miss Meow decants from the couch, tail high as she walks out of the living room. Kyle worm-wiggles himself up to prop himself up on his elbows, looking up at Mar’i. “Aww Mar’i. Were you asleep? Awwww…” he sounds all sympathetic, like he wasn’t the one who woke her up. He smiles, shifting his weight so he can pat Mar’i’s thigh. “Lookat you, look how cute you are. You shoulda gone to the gala, man! You woulda - ” Kyle stops short and blinks, his eyes flashing momentarily bright green. “Wait. What? ‘I’m away’? ‘I’m away’???! Wha- what the - what the hell is that supposed to mean??”

( no anchovies please )

Kyle isn’t expecting the Watchtower to be decorated, but there is some designated hallways for general secular holiday fesitivities and others for specific winter celebrations. He’s particularly intrigued by the ‘Winter Wonderland’ one, where everything is covered in sparkly shiny snow and there is a magnificent tree right at the end, covered in icicles and bows. Kyle wanders over to admire it, only noticing the other, smaller person in the hallway when he starts walking around the tree. “Oh! Tim! Happy merry holidays and all that.” Kyle pauses, then blinks. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you up, uh, here.”

Tim wishes he didn’t venture the Wathtower with his cowl down. It is a mini-mission, sort to say, in an attempt to stop hiding from everyone and see them as his friends instead of mere allies. Kyle’s presence puts his will to flee to the test. He stays, hands balling nervously as he nods at the man. “Happy holidays,” he replies shortly. “Needed time to cool down.” His explanation provides no details on his odd behaviour towards Kyle in the penthouse, but avoiding the man is no longer possible if he wishes to return.

Kyle watches Tim carefully, keeping his distance. He hasn’t forgotten Tim’s panic attacks in the Wayne Penthouse, and he hasn’t forgotten that he’d somehow been the cause of them. It’s not that Kyle isn’t used to dealing with people under a lot of trauma - he was in the GLC, after all, trauma is daily life - but he certainly isn’t used to dealing with Batpeople. As biased as it may be, ‘Batpeople’ seem in a whole delicate, separate realm of their own. So Kyle gives Tim a brief smile and nod, and even takes a few steps back, away from the kid. “Ohhhh. Well, I hope everything’s going well for you,” he says neutrally.

Tim counts the steps and fights guilt with relief. “Everything will take time. One step at a time,” he replies just as neutrally. The tree has become as interesting as a Monet painting, Tim shuffling closer to inspect the material of the icicles, even poking one just because he needs a distraction. “I take it everything is well with you and Zee?”

( the end of this chapter )

Zee has her hair half done up in curlers as she’s instructing a few staff members on where she’d like some of the last few decorative pieces placed around the ballroom, “No no no, I’d really prefer you to try and space out the snowmen, I don’t want it to feel like they trying to band together to form an army or anything…creepy. And why does that tree still not have lights on it??”

Tim spent the last few hours pacing his room at Wayne Manor in a somewhat successful attempt to calm his nerves and convince himself attending to Gala is in his best interest. With his suede black shoes, black three-piece suit, crimson shirt and Bruce’s Hermès Faubourg tie, he looks ready to dazzle the crowd with his appearance. Sadly he still doesn’t feel that way when he joins Zee and the chaos that her preparation is. He steps closer, watching people scurry to the tree while blaming each other for Zee’s possible wrath. “Am I this early or are you this behind on schedule?” he asks with a quick glance at her hair.

Zee her mouth is set with a frown as she thinks things would’ve already been done her way had she allowed herself more time to prepare for party and less time spent pouring over her mother’s diaries. She couldn’t expect her staff to to everything for her. At Tim’s sudden arrival she has to check a nearby clock just to be sure, it felt like the group had been rearranging already placed items for hours now, “No you’re early. But we are still behind. Ridiculous. I feel like Ollie got all these decorations and told whoever was working that way to set things up they way they wanted. It looked like a monkey decorated the place when I got here.”

Tim looks around as Zee explains the cause of her delay. Understandable, he thinks with a small amused smile as he envisions Ollie dumping piles and piles of decorations only to forget about them himself. “In that case you’re doing a good job. It does look like you could use another pair of hands,” Tim offers already undoing the buttons on his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. He has done his fair share of party-planning regarding W.E. galas and foundations, after all.

"Oh no no no, c’mon you’re supposed to be a guest. You don’t have to help Tim really it’s fine," but as Tim takes off his jacket an rolls his sleeves, Zee just sighs letting him do what he wants, "You and Bruce have very similar manners, you know. Which is to say you politely do what you want."

"I offered my help, Zee. It’s fine." Tim swings his jacket over a chair and re-arranges the ornaments on a nearby table. The comparison to Bruce causes him to look at her over his shoulders, eyes curiously narrowing at her. "Politely do what I want? That’s better than what I usually get, which is people telling me I have control issues," he responds as he moves on to another table, folding napkins and swapping a white candle with a blue one from a third table to create the exact same decoration composition on each. Satisfied, he steps back and observes, hands on his hips. "Besides that, yes, I do think we have similar manners. Does that bother you?" he asks looking at her and then around the room once more for another task.

Zee shakes her head, as she watches him work- obviously he’d be familiar with how a gala should be presented. She has to admit that his centerpiece design is even better than she one she’d been thinking on, “It doesn’t bother me, no. It’s just funny seeing similar mannerisms in someone else. I’m surprised I’m just picking up on it now. Yeah, maybe you and Bruce have control issues, but whatever. I knew him when we were younger so I’m used to his ways. Or at least as used to Bruce as he’ll allow. So I’m used to them for you too I guess.”

( let it metaphorically snow )

Kate is composing an epic screed regarding how ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ should be banned from any and all airplay.

Ollie glances over her shoulder. “They made a new version, y’know. Took out all the nonsense about no rain in Africa and all that. Band Aid 30, or something.” He sits down, sprawling his legs out, and rocks his feet back and forth on the heels. “Where d’you send these things, anyhow? You got a blog or something?”

"They made it for Ebola and ended up making the song even worse," Kate says, pen between her teeth—she’s typing, but she has a pen, and no, that doesn’t have to make any sense. She types NEOCOLONIALIST BULLSHIT in all caps, then scowls at the screen before turning back to Ollie. "Uh…I might…uh…have a blog. That isn’t a Kate Spencer blog. If you catch my drift."

"Cool." He waggles his feet some more, hands folded on his stomach. "What’s the blog called?"

Kate looks completely and utterly sheepish, face heating up, and mutters something.

Ollie bobs forward a little, ducking his head. “What’s that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

"Earned Disillusionment," says Kate, looking down at her fingers on the keyboard, mortified. "It’s, uh, an Ani reference. Because I am secretly nineteen or something and…I don’t know, I needed an outlet?" Not everyone could be as publicly outspoken as Oliver Queen, for a start.

( and in this world of plenty )

[Ring Txt] ~on the 6th day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee~
[Ring Txt] a cat
[Ring Txt] I'm bringing a magical cat home
[Ring Txt] think Luna from Sailor Moon except without the talking but a lot of the staring

[TXT] that’s not how that song goes at all omg what caroling books have you been reading?
[TXT] wait
[TXT] seriously? Is it cute?
[TXT] Can it turn me into a magical girl????????????

[Ring Txt] you’re already a magical girl, what. I’ve seen your whirlwind change sequence when you’re late for an appointment, all it needs is some starbolt sound effects and a stirring soundtrack
[Ring Txt] she’s pretty cute. I named her Miss Meow
[Ring Txt] I’ll be home soon, Mar’i. MAR’I.
[Ring Txt] I think it’s gonna be a popcorn and tequila and Adventure Time night for us, chica. if you’re up for it.

[TXT] miss meow awwwwwwwww
[TXT] sho sho!
[TXT] I’ll prep the limes and salt

Kyle returns home, the cat curled around his shoulders, and Kyle clutching a paper bag with a bottle of cheap tequila in it. He makes as much dramatic noise as possible getting his coat and scarf and shoes off, obviously so that Mar’i can hear him. When he greets her in the kitchen, he pushes his face into the back of her shoulder, leaning his weight into her. Miss Meow gives a small yowl and sleekly leaps to the floor, but doesn’t stray far. She returns and twines around the warmth of Mar’i’s ankles.

( also there's now a cat )

Roy is dressed in full gear as he stands at the crock pot in the kitchen in Star, adding slices of whole red bell pepper.

Ollie comes in yawning, scratching his chest. He’s still in pyjamas, having slept in after a long night’s patrol, the evidence of which is the bruise along one cheekbone and eyebrow ridge and the slight limp. “Tell me there’s coffee,” he says, sitting at the kitchen table. “Or sandwiches. Or cheesecake. Hell, I’ll eat yogurt tubes right now.”

Roy nods, and walks over to the coffee pot, which is perpetually on, and full, and pours him a mug. He also goes into the fridge and rustles up some left over lo me in and Orange chicken. He whistles, once, at Ollie, holding it up for a yea or nay.

Ollie “Please,” Ollie says fervently. He doesn’t get up to try and reheat the food, which pretty much means he wants Roy to do it for him. “So why’re you making crockpot dinners in full kit, anyhoo?”

Roy takes the food and walks over to the cabinet where the plates and bowls are and removing a toaster oven safe Pyrex pours the contents of both take out containers into it. He walks over to the toaster oven, opening the door, before he punches in a reasonable time. He shrugs, finishing the rest of the bell pepper that didn’t go in the pot. “It’s a new vegan recipe I’m trying out.. ‘Bout to go on patrol.”

( you know we'll have a good time then )

Ollie putters around in one of the meeting rooms on the Watchtower, comparing printouts of decorations and swatches of cloth and the like. On the table is a number of food and liquor samples, and he natters to himself as he considers the party details.

Zee pokes her head into the meeting room, eyeing the spread before making her entrance known, “Making any headway with all the details? Or do you need my expertise?” she teases.

Ollie looks up, a smile breaking wide across his face when he sees her. “Zee!” he proclaims, the loud cheer that he generally makes her name. “Of course I need your expertise, it’s about /our/ gala, ain’t it?” He sweeps his arm over the table. “I was just about to text you, I got all the samples and mock-ups set up for us to look through.” Ollie pauses, raising an eyebrow at her. “Did somebody from something called … shit, I don’t remember, was it Cat Ass Food? — did they contact you about catering? Because I hope you gave them a resounding no.”

Zee laughs, cozying up to Ollie with a closer look at all the mock-ups, “It is our gala, you’re right. Winter Palace!” she tries to find the set up from the catering company that had contacted her, “Cat Butt Catering. They pitched a cute idea and I gave them a firm maybe. Not a yes. No way would I give a company named Cat Butt Catering a yes that easy.”

( travails of party decor and planning )

Roy avoids the ‘art’ as much as he possibly can, and instead, heads to the gym for a heavy duty workout. He hasn’t given himself a sound beating like this in a while: lunges, sit ups, salmon ladder, as a cherry on top. It’s only with the sweat pouring off of him that Roy feels remotely human, and even then.. It doesn’t seem enough. He continues to work, wrapping his hands, going for the sparring dummies in the open arena.

Kyle is nearing the outside of the gym, in outer space, doing some repair work. Being one of the few people around anymore who can be out in space at will, Kyle’s taken on this duty with a lot of hup-to eagerness. It’s also fun because he gets to pretend he’s, like, some sort of badass construction worker or something. Without the union or the pay, but…close enough. He’s even constructed his team to work for him, and has self-appointed himself as the foreman. He sees Roy in the gym through the large curved windows, and raps on it, trying to get his attention (as if the bright green lights aren’t enough).

Roy spots the glowing green from the corner of his eyes, and exhales, punching the dummy once, hard, in the solar plexus, before he stops. He grabs his towel off the straight bars, dragging it over his face, and walks over to the window where Kyle is.

When he’s got Roy’s attention, Kyle plants his hands flat on the glass to brace himself, and then, dissolving his crabmask so it doesn’t bump, he makes a blowfish against the glass, his eyes crossing from the effort.

Roy can’t help himself. His face splits into a big, effusive grin, and he shakes his head, his hands moving down to the band of his sweatpants, thumbs stretching the elastic as he adjusts them. Overly loud, he states: “You’re an idiot.”

Kyle can see Roy talk, and mimes holding his ear and then shrugging in an exaggerated way. Really Kyle could be doing a clown act from vaudeville. He laughs too, then dissolves his crewmen as he phases through the window. It takes a bit of effort - particularly in remembering to just know it will not allow any suction between the pressurized indoors and the zero of outer space. “Yo! Lookat you! All working out and sweating to the oldies…” Kyle looks duly impressed.

( nobody expects )

O: So, I’ve got a cat now.

K: She’s a good cat.

O: Did you meet her? She’s so fucking demanding. I thought she might nip your ankles or something.

K: Demanding? Are we talking about the same cat? Or maybe she’s just being nice to me until I displease her.

O Maybe she’s waiting until five in the morning to jump on your chest, kneading and drooling and making weird little harsh meows.

K: Honey, that’s pretty standard for cats.
K: You know, all ‘large blond human, I require sustenance’.

O: If my mom’s Emma had done that she woulda crushed me. But I guess they don’t do it to kids. Kids have nothing they want.

K: You aren’t in charge. They know who’s In Charge, cats. My abuela had a cat for a while.

O: *grins* She had a cat, or a cat had her?

K: Both, I think. They were both strong willed as hell.

( four paws and an attitude )