multiversallogs | → sweet dreams are made of this.

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→ sweet dreams are made of this.

Who: Irene Adler and YOU YES YOU
What: Uh- work, shopping, drinking, seeing the sights, picking up chicks, going to dinner, anything you like.
Where: The Vault, various boutiques, restaurants, gay clubs, out on the street, anywhere at all. If you can think of somewhere to be, Irene is quite possibly there.
When: Here all week, baby.
Notes: Just pick where you're setting it and say when/where they are in the header. It needn't be somewhere mentioned here! If you think they could run into each other elsewhere, then go ahead- and if you think it ought to be an arranged meeting rather than a chance one, then that's probably fine too.
Warnings: Sex, drinking, kink, the Vault...and Irene.

Irene's life has changed since coming to Baedal.

Technically, superficially, her life has improved, which she doubts happens to many people once are magically transported against their will to a place where you oughtn't to look too closely at, say, shadows, because there's almost always something that's going to lurk there- but since when was back home safe, exactly?

Here, at least, she can work properly. She likes the Vault, even if she's used to being her own boss. It's enormous and extravagant, dirty and debauched and full of people she likes, whether they're her coworkers or her clients- it feels like a home away from home.

Her job, of course, doesn't stop and start with brandishing a whip. No, she'd get bored too easily that way. It's fun, but it's only what happens on the surface. What she does is single out people who interest her, who can give her something- whether that's money or influence or just fun. She knows how to spot public figures afraid of being noticed, tugging at their suits and sweating- she knows which people don't want her and which want her so much they have to pretend that she's the last thing on their minds. She knows whose CiD she wants to look through while they're distracted (panting, eyes closed, unconscious, sobbing, drugged, drunk- whatever, as long as they trust her and she trusts herself). She enjoys her time at the Vault, and watches a number of acts between working, but never forgets that she's there to do her job.

When she's free in the evenings she can go out, a strange feeling for someone who is so used to being on the run. There is, of course, Mycroft Holmes to contend with, but she really can't imagine him sampling the nightlife. She's careful not to become a regular anywhere just in case, though more often than not she's found in gay clubs. She doesn't often go home alone; in the mornings, she's polite and kind but ensures that the women in her bed aren't in her bed for too long, and doesn't make use of any CiD numbers they might leave.

And then there's money, fashion, food, exploration, a whole new world. Irene loves to travel, and it's not really travelling when you're running. Baedal changes daily and she's barely seen half of the city, or that's what it feels like. She dines out often, alone or with some of the connections (friends?) she's made, and she thanks her stars that her job pays well, because she has a whole new wardrobe to build up.

Irene Adler, therefore, is living again. And if she sometimes finds herself alone, with no distractions, and feels claustrophobic, knowing that she is in the middle of the city and there is no world outside of it, knowing that she can't hop on a plane with a faked passport and be someone else somewhere else, knowing that she is trapped-

-then that is a very minor detail.

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There's a fine line between pushing a story too hard and making it believable enough, and Steph is unsure which side she's on right now, "It isn't. I don't know how to convince him to break it off before mom finds out."

She wonders idly how her mom would have reacted if Arthur had ever cheated on her, but that would've required being conscious of her surroundings.

"I think it might be best to leave it for tonight," because it's not just the risk of getting caught by a hypothetical mistress. If Steph gets caught by someone with ties to the militia, she might not ever come back, "But shouldn't I be offering you a drink? I did interrupt your evening, after all."

Now that she isn't focused on the other woman, she's starting to pay attention to Irene, and she seems familiar. Although Steph can't place her, she's curious enough to want to stay.

She's weighing up her voice- vaguely familiar- and trying to match it to one of the numerous voices she's heard over the network. (Not all of them have been addressing; serves her cohort-mates right for leaving the conversation public).

"Not at all," Irene says calmly. "Nothing like a little subterfuge to make a night more interesting."

She smiles, but her eyes are hard. It's intentional; a trick she's fond of. No one who really has nothing to hide worries about things, but a guilty conscience will pick up on every little tell and- hopefully- react accordingly. "I'll have a whiskey sour, though, if you insist."

There's no way she wouldn't notice that look, and her own expression tightens, her lips briefly pressing together in a thin line, but she regains her composure quickly. Her smile is easy, if a little embarrassed, as though she's just someone who is quickly realizing this whole tailing her father's mistress was a bit of a ridiculous idea. What she's really hoping is that she hasn't accidentally run into someone involved with the militia.

"One whiskey sour coming up," it takes her a moment to get the attention of the bartender, but she manges to buy Irene's drink and a glass of wine for herself - sticking with a rose because of the low alcohol content. She slides the whiskey sour to Irene and takes a sip of her wine before saying, "I'm Sarah, by the way."

A fairly common name, but not so common as to be glaringly fake. At least thats what she was aiming for when she picked it.

Edited (left a lil bit out ) 2012-02-07 06:02 (UTC)

Irene smiles again- and this time, her eyes are in on it as well as her mouth. That doesn't mean it's particularly pleasant, of course.

"Pleasure," she says easily, all that hardness and coldness completely gone from her eyes; it may as well never have been there. She's friendly and responsive now. "I'm Irene." She holds out a hand. "Don't worry."

Don't worry about what is the question. Honestly, Irene knows less than she's letting on. The facts are these; 'Sarah' has been tracking someone, and could get in trouble for it, judging on her split second reaction. But that's all.

So, her plan is to bluff until she knows precisely who and what she's dealing with.

"It's nice to meet you, even if the circumstances leave a little to be desired," Her handshake isn't as firm as it would normally be, but the callouses on Steph's hands are hard to miss, and if Irene is paying attention, she'll notice fading bruises on her knuckles.

At the don't worry, Steph smiles, "So you're not gonna turn me in for stalking?" She's pretty sure that's not what Irene meant, but playing dumb has advantages sometimes.

Rough hands. Slight bruising. (Irene is always paying attention). But that doesn't get her any answers, not just yet. Now's when she misses Sherlock, really, which gives an inkling of how her mind works; never mind whether she's in love with him or not, at least he's useful...

"Not at all," Irene says, looking highly amused at the notion. "Really, it's...an inventive way of getting around the issue." She sips her whiskey sour. "What on earth gave you the idea to do it?"

What Irene says makes Steph relax, not the reassurance that she won't turn her in, but the fact she mentions Earth. It's not a phrase someone born in Baedal is likely to say, which means that a) Irene is probably not militia and b) she might even be in Steph's cohort. That all gets filed away as Steph outwardly reacts to the question by ducking her head and smiling with a hint of embarrassment.

"Have you heard of the Johnny Gossamer books? They're these silly detective novels, I think I read too many of them when I was a kid." It's a pretty good explanation, Steph thinks. Her persona romanticized the idea of sleuthing around and solving mysteries.

"Oh?" Irene purrs, swishing the drink in her glass thoughtfully. "I like detective stories too. Never come across any Johnny Gossamer- my favourite was a man called Sherlock Holmes. A real detective. We were friends."

She sips her drink again, glances off into the crowds, scanning for people, cross-referencing, remembering Sherlock now, remembering him telling her to think, charming as ever...she's looking for any of the people she thinks Steph (or Sarah) could have been tailing.

Her eyes snap quickly back to hers. Suddenly, her voice is a little more brisk, though her smile is in place nonetheless. "Anyway, as it so happens, I might be some use to you."

"You know a real detective?" She feels so ridiculous pretending to be impressed by that. She thinks Bruce would laugh if she told him about this. Well, he'd scold her for being sloppy and then he might laugh.

She blinks a little at the briskness, like she's surprised; inwardly she's tensing slightly, "How could you help?" She sounds genuine, keeping a little awe in her voice and adding a bit of confusion. She's wondering if she can get Irene to reveal a little more this way, by getting it to seem like Sarah wants her help.

Irene's perfectly prepared to be revalatory- she is of the opinion that she has less to lose than Steph.

"Well, I could help," she says breezily, waving a hand, making it sound as if it's an offer of no consequence. She takes another drink- "Mm. Bit too much lime. Anyway- I know how these things go. And I'm not bad at..." She pauses for effect, giving Steph a half-smile. "Finding things out, shall we say?"

There; could be a playful offer, or it could be serious. It could even be a threat. At the moment, even Irene doesn't quite know which she's going for- Steph's/Sarah's response will solidify her purposes. It's always best to let someone else commit themselves before you do.

Steph has barely touched her drink, it's a little too hard to remember things like that when she's focusing on not blowing her cover.

At the threat - and it's definitely a threat in Steph's opinion - she has to bite her tongue to stop from saying or doing anything incriminating. It hurts a little, but that helps her focus anyway and she keeps up the smile despite the momentary panic she's suffering from. This isn't what Steph is good at, and she suddenly feels so stupid for even trying; she should have left as soon as she was spotted.

She should get out now.

"You know what, nevermind," she smiles, keeping up the accent and light tone of voice, "I feel silly enough already, I wouldn't want to drag you into it."

Even as she speaks, as she smiles and tries to look normal, she's subtely checking the exists and sizing Irene up. She's not sure whether Irene will let her go, but Steph is ready to get the hell outta dodge if she has to.

But Irene's already been dragged into it. By now, in fact, there's not a chance in hell she'll drop it.

She smiles over the rim of her glass, eyes glinting- got you.

"That's alright," she says, sounding a little disappointed but still friendly- even fond, like she's playing the older sister. She catches how Steph's eyes dart towards the exits, and knows she's unnerved her, which implies she has something to be unnerved about... "Well, good luck with it."

Steph catches that look, and for a brief moment she thinks I'm fucked, before mentally kicking herself. She's Batgirl. There's nothing Irene can do right now, she has no idea who Steph really is, and it won't be easy to find out unless she's on their cohort (which reduces the chances she's in the militia, so it's a win either way).

Her smile is suddenly easy, and she finishes her drink in one go, but without any hurry, "Thanks, and thanks for all your help."

She slips off the stool and neatens her dress, before offering another warm smile, "It was nice to meet you, Irene."

"Delightful to meet you, Sarah," Irene says, eyes narrowed as she smiles- her expression should be feline, really, and in fact she's going for that, but it's not quite soft or pretty enough. Reptilian might be a better word.

"But wait. Just ten seconds."

Another test. How does she react? What is she thinking?

As she muses, Irene slips a hand into her bag and comes up with a pen. "Give me your hand," she suggests, twirling the pen between her fingers, a smirk tugging on her lips. "Or something to write on."

Steph cocks her head to the side a little, her expression curious and the smile still on her face. She'll wait, because walking away would be rude and she doesn't have excuse to want to get out right now. She's still a little rattled by the whole exchange, but she just has to focus on the fact it'll be over soon; she only has to play this game for a little longer.

When the pen appears, Steph inwardly relaxes and manages a small laugh before offering her hand, "I need to get in the habit of carrying a notebook." She could, theoretically, offer her CiD to input a number, if this is going where she thinks it is. But that would be dangerous.

"You do," Irene agrees, "if you want any success with your investigations."

A joke which is not actually a joke.

She scrawls a number on the back of Steph's hand, aware that she's giving over a vital part of the puzzle she's created for the other woman- but so what? She's not Militia, not as far as Irene can see. And she'd rather Steph not mistake her for Militia either, not when she wants to know what she's up to. And yes, she's handing over information- but a part of her is eager to see just what Steph can do with it.

"Give me a call if you change your mind."

"So that's where I've been going wrong," she answers as if it is a joke. It amuses her though, in it's own way, because it reminds her of the diaries she used to keep when she was working as Spoiler and Robin.

Steph isn't sure what to make of recieving the number, and se's a little surprised when she notices they're on the same cohort, but she tries not to show it. Still, her eyebrows may go up a little before she looks back up at Irene and smiles.

"I might," at the very least, she'll be trawling through all of Irene's conversations on the network, "Thanks again, I hope you have a nice night."

With a small wave, Steph carefully winds her way through the crowd and leaves the bar. Once outside, she starts walking at a casual pace, heading in the exact opposite direction she needs to go; just in case.

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→ sweet dreams are made of this.

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I should have said; do tell me if Irene's working out too much, I'll rewrite.

It's cool so far! But I'll let you know if there's a problem.

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