I Know Who You Are

June 25, 2014: Richard Dragon recognizes his caped visitor from several nights ago and they talk. With y'know, words.

Cathedral Square

<Location Description>



  • None

Mood Music:

It's well into afternoon, and most people are winding down their days. Cassandra however, is only recently woken up. She's shaken off the cobwebs, but she still doesn't look bright-eyed-and-bushytailed. Maybe the coffee she's got will help with that.

It's a small cafe off of Cathedral Square that sees Cassandra Cain fairly often. That's because it's not too far from the Clocktower where she lives with Barbara Gordon. This is nice, because it means she doesn't have to actually order. They see her and know what she likes. In this case, it's a big cup of coffee and a toasted bagel. She's sitting on the outdoor seating as the day starts to cool off a bit, the heels of her feet catching the seat of the chair so her knees are drawn up as she leans back. Tearing off a bit of her bagel, she chews as she watches people stream past going about their days with the frentic undercurrent of wanting to be inside before the sun goes down.

Cassandra's dressed in loose, olive-drab cargo pants and a black tanktop. She has serviceable shoes that look a bit more 'combat' than 'athletic' and her hair sticks up in a mild sort of disarray. She doesn't have any makeup or the like and when the light hits just right, the faint, shiny lines of scarring can be caught along her exposed arms.

The city is active, and in those crowds it's possible to find any number of curious individuals. That fellow over there with the METs cap on has an antique teapot collection. And that lady across the way sitting in front of the book store and sipping her mocchiato, she knits, plays video games, and other crazy things. Why if one looked through the various components within the crowd that travels through Gotham it's possible one could find almost anyone.

Even a Kung Fu Master.

It's the end of the day and he's out and about away from his comfort zone. That dojo in Chinatown that he calls his temporary home for now still has to occasionally have some mundane paperwork done so that it stays in Drakonovski's name due to his long absences. So it was off to City Hall, a few errands… and back.

But along the way he caught sight of something. Most of the people who travel through the crowd can almost be dismissed out of hand. They're the citizens going about their day, trying to make ends meet. But very very rarely in passing Richard can get that subtle feeling, can espy someone in a crowd and know… 'That person has trained.'

When he catches sight of Cassandra on her way to her 'morning' ritual she stands out like a beacon to him. At first he wasn't sure who it was, but her manner, her movements… that silhouette of darkness in the rafters that night. The way she moves. That is her.

So for once one of the Bat clan is stalked. It's to his credit that she perhaps doesn't pick up on him til that moment when her eyes fall upon him in the crowd. He's outside across the street. One hand is in the pocket of his jeans and the other is holding a bottle of mineral water. When he catches her gaze she'll see a slight smile there.

As Batgirl, she can be terribly sneaky. She has on more than one occasion surprised Barbara with just how sneaky she can be. Assassin training does that for you. But she's not as good about the dual-life thing. Cassandra Cain is still Batgirl, just without the costume for those with eyes to see. And maybe… certain other senses.

It's the lack of harmful intent that lets the Dragon fly under her radar for so long, a sense she might rely on just a bit too much for what the Batclan's known for. Investigative prowess. But, cup to her lips she finally spots him. Watching her. The cup pauses, and then is slowly put down without her gaze ever leaving him. That smile gets a faint frown in return and then finally she slight tilt of her head towards the empty chair at the small cafe table.

For a moment he cocks an eyebrow and looks at her askance from that distance, as if asking her silently if she's sure. But then there's a small nod from him as he pushes off of the wall he was leaning on and starts to cross the street in her direction.

He definitely doesn't look the role. If one were to see Richard Drakonovski in a lineup and were asked to name what his occupation must be the first thing to spring to mind would be perhaps a groundskeeper? A bagpiper? Mountain man? Definitely not what he actually does for a living.

A few quick steps, a token jog across the way, and Dragon is across the road and walking towards the outdoor area for that coffee shop. He looks to the empty seat and then takes it, dropping into it heavily and for all intents and purposes looking like just some regular joe meeting up with a friend for some coffee. Well though the way she looks at him the word 'friend' might be stretching it a little.

Cassandra Cain doesn't seem particularly hostile, but she doesn't have that 'hey how are ya!' friendly greeting that most y'know, normal folks have. She tears off another piece of her bagel and chews on it slowly as she watches him. Again there's that sense that she doesn't fill up time with a lot of talking. "Different part of town." She notes in that almost flat manner of speaking she has. Most people aren't really confined to a particular part of the city, but those that claim 'territory' usually do.

His answer is a nod, simply applied and given freely. His own bottle of water is set down upon the tabletop with a faint plastic thunk, then he settles fully into his wrought-iron chair and slouches just a little. One leg crosses over his knee and she can detect a subtle edge to him, a hint of wariness, but no malice.

"I was toying with the idea of trying to pass off that I had tracked you across the city with my fantastic powers. But I figured you wouldn't buy it."

"You're not… that good a liar." Cassandra notes, sipping at her coffee. Her gaze stays on him, even when she reaches for her coffee, and she doesn't block her sightline of him even when drinking. Like him, there's a readiness to her even as she looks relaxed. "No reason to follow me. Is there?"

"None more than curiousity." But then he puts an end to that line of inquiry by confiding in her, "It was mainly just happenstance." He smiles a bit and he is the first one to grant a smidgen of trust to her without perhaps realizing it. He looks to the side, breaking eye contact and giving her the subtle assumption that she won't immediately careen across the table and punch him in the noggin.

A moment passes, then he looks back with those grey eyes and adds, "I considered just wandering off. But I was moved to make my presence known." His brow furrows a touch, "I'm not sure why."

"I've seen… your home." Cassandra notes. "Probably… bored." That… was probably humor. It's hard to tell, what with the lack of any real inflection to her tone but the joke is hiding there, around her eyes. The faintest of creases around the outside edges.

Now that he's glanced away, she unfolds a bit, letting one foot comes down to rest on the ground while she continues to lean back. A moment, and then she pushes the plate with the other half of the bagel towards him just a bit. She tends towards small, subtle movements. The kind most people would overlook.

The answer to her humorous foray is a cock of an eyebrow and a faint narrowing of his eyes, then he gives a small, 'harumph' of sound that's most likely affected. But then she offers the small plate with the half of a bagel on it.

In some cultures the breaking of bread between two people has a measure of significance. Drakonovski is a worldly enough man that such a thing means something to him. Though on some level he must realize that he is in America, there is naught more to it than a friendly gesture. But still, it causes him to smile a faintly wistful thing and with her ability to ready body language she might almost be taken along with him into that hint of nostalgia that small gesture engenders.

A nod is given to her and he leans forward to tear off a portion of that bagel. He lifts it up and holds it towards her as if acknowledging the gift she grants him, then he takes a bit and chews. Settling back into his seat he tells her with a faint smile, "You didn't get a chance to find my secret underground lair. I have a blu-ray player down there and everything." Another fib, but at this point she can probably read his humor easily enough.

Given the secretive natures of the Bats, the humor is particularly well placed. There's a soft huff of breath from the diminutive young woman, an abbreviated laugh. There's the slight tilt of her head to one side as he acknowledges her offer to him, and the slight nod and serious mein that might mean it means something to her too. Admittedly, for Cassandra it's less about any given culture and more growing up on the streets where food was hard to come by.

"So. Found me." She doesn't even bother to ask what he might want to do with that information.

"I did," Richard washes down the small bite of bagel with a swig from his water bottle. He recrosses his leg over his knee and lets his gaze drift to the side. She knows what he's doing, she does it herself fairly often he's sure. A casual scan of the crowd, a glance at those around them, noting, marking, dismissing. Then those greyish blue eyes return to her and he tells her, "I admit after our first meeting I wondered to myself if I would ever see you again."

"Usually… People don't want to." Cassandra notes. Like him, now that they've come to an unspoken agreement to be all civilized her gaze occasionally slips over the crowd. Follows the flow of the skyline. Unlike most people, she looks upwards. "I don't usually… want to have to visit. Again." After she's given her warnings. Because that usually means they weren't heeded.

A small twitch of his lip is given, then he looks back towards her and tells her lightly. "If I see you again in your work clothes I will be duly concerned. But if you arrive in normal attire I will take it as a social call."

There's a pause, then he cocks his head to the side as he considers her. "You remind me of the other one…" Though perhaps it speaks to his ignorance about the bat family that he thinks that she may be the only one, her and the Bat. He's not aware of Nightwing, nor a Robin, nor even really what the Batman is alike. The only thing he knows is of the young man who trained with him before.

"He was focused upon his purpose. Very intent. All that mattered was learning what he could. But already you have exceeded him in one way." He looks away again and nods to himself before he takes another sip of water. "You laughed at one of my jokes."

There's only one that Batgirl reminds people of. And it has less to do with the costume, or the name, as their personalities. "Maybe you had… more to teach him. So he had to… pay attention." He's probably getting used to the cadence of her speech, more distinctive than the tone. It would be easy for some to think she's slow, or somehow mentally deficient.
There's the hint of a grin at her comment, a challenge in its own way. The girl is cocky, definitely.

Those eyebrows lift marginally, to anyone else it'd be simply a slight shift of his face that signified nothing. To her it's as resonant as a chortle. He looks back and sets his bottle back down as he tells her with that oh so calm tone of his, "It seems you are missing at least one crucial lesson."

There's a small nod from him as he then leans forward to liberate another bit of the bagel for himself, tossing it into his mouth. And then he chews on it yet while he's doing so he smiles around it as he replies to her challenge in his own inimitable way. "Respecting one's elders."

His eyes hold hers and she can read he's entirely amused, though a passerby might find them amazingly restrained in their conversation. "Feel free to drop by the school one day. I will happily teach it to you."

Now there's a grin from the young woman, something unrestrained and almost fierce about it. It lights those brown eyes, giving hints of gold. "Wouldn't want to hurt… an old man." Despite the cocky attitude lurking beneath that quiet exterior, the implications that she would be better than him are really made in good humor. There just isn't any indication she thinks she'd *loose* either.

"You going to make me… take off my shoes?" Her communication is all about the layers of it. The words, the unspoken meanings, the real conversation that her eyes and body speaks. Something about the offer appeals to her.

And then the jovial refrain that is given to her is something almost from the schoolyard as he oh so _boldly_ steals the last bit of her bagel for himself. "Oh I'll make you." But then she can tell that he's in danger of actually laughing, and so that cannot be. So he looks aside, giving his smile to people who pass by. When he looks back at her there's a gleam of amusement in his eyes. And that's the moment he ever so defiantly eats the last of her bagel. That jerk.

Cassandra Cain purses her lips at him. To keep from snickering at his antics. "We'll see. If you can keep up." Looks like someone is planning to drop in. That will really tell them about each other. More than the converation and the sharing of baked goods.

Indeed, these moments between them have passed no real information between them. They have only barely learned of each other. She can tell he likes her manner, her confidence, her self. While he can tell that she perhaps finds him amusing, a touch mysterious, maybe even a challenge as well.

But that is enough for now. It is when they match themselves against each other that the volumes will fill, that their biographies will become evident in each movement, each punch, each kick. It is only when one faces another that they truly know them.

And for a time she might see some of that reflected in his eyes as his thoughts turn inward. When he returns to the here and now just the corner of his mouth curls, just so. He tells her formally, and with that unvoiced challenge in each word. "You know where to find me."

And with that said he gains his feet, still smiling from the eyes as he takes up his bottle.

"Lucky… you didn't say. Drop in. Anytime." Cassandra says, bringing her cup to her lips around another faint smile. "I keep. Odd hours." As he rises to leave, she gives him a nod in farewell, eyes still bright with her amusement.

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