2012-07-01 Lessons In Latin

The restaurant may be a 'hole in the wall- Mom and Pop' restaurant, but Richard Grayson has been known to frequent it, especially when he needs some time away from having to be the socialite. That and their food is just that damn good. He might also manage to catch the woman from the other day who worked nearby...or so she said. It's also about time to introduce Tim to the place and their phenomenal pastrami sandwiches.

Following Richard into the 'hole in the wall', Tim glances around a second. "Wow...not your usual kinda place Rich." he says, stating the obvious.

Helena Bertinelli is indeed here again -- those loyal customers, they're loyal -- and sitting at the same table as last time. It might not be clearly obvious, though, as she's dressed VERY differently from last time. Before, she was wearing casual jeans and tshirt, now she's clad in a positively severe outfit. One of those business suits that female executives usually wear, but without even so much as a low-cut silk blouse in a bright color to add personality. Smoke grey and white and almost screaming 'no sense of humor'. The hair is pulled tightly into a bun, furthering the whole look.

Richard Grayson does look around as if looking for someone, "What, it's good food. I like good food. It doesn't have to have a Korbel fountain in the middle of the place for me to go there, does it?" It takes him a moment to recognize the woman from before and his eyebrows shoot up briefly before he goes to take a seat at a nearby table. "So," he pitches his voice to carry some, at least to the nearby table, "I'm told that you can add sirloin to the cobb salad here too."

Throwing himself in a chair opposite Richard, Tim Drake raises an eyebrow at the older man across from him "Sirloin to a cobb salad?" he questions before looking around, confused for a moment before that exceptional attention to detail of his kicks in. He looks at Rich, then to the woman, then back to Rich and motions with his far hand, trying to hide the motion from the girl, towards her with an exression of 'really? You brought me along to help you pick up chicks?'

Helena Bertinelli turns a page in the leather-bound book she's reading while slowly working on a plate of pot roast and veggies. When the elder of the two wards speaks up on purpose, she snaps her head up from her book and looks around with a frown that, in conjunction with her attire, resembles a librarian about to scold someone for talking too loudly. Then she recognizes Richard and the amused smile changes her demeanor completely. "Yeah, but make sure it's medium rare. Any better done and it makes the lettuce wilt. Too rare and it bleeds on everything. Gross."

A sugar packet is flicked at Tim, "No..." is hissed at the younger man, "Behave or I won't take you to the strip club for your birthday." When Helena recognizes him, he looks over and grins, "Well, of course! That's the only real way to eat steak. If you cook it any more, then it's just a brick of charcoal and any less...well, then it's steak tartare and not sirloin." A smug look is given to Tim then. See?

Tim bats the sugar packet down and shakes his head, a stupid grin crossing his face. He agreed to come along on this little adventure to ask some advice from the older man about those of the fairer sex, but upon listening to Richard try to use steak as a pick up line, he's not so sure he's asking the right person. He barely seems able to suppress his chuckles and makes a lame attempt to enter the banter. "Don't even get him started on the chicken."

Helena Bertinelli looks at Tim then for a moment, almost as if studying the younger man for a moment. And of course, the slight resemblance isn't lost on her. "I'll take your word for that." She then looks at Richard, as if waiting for him to do the introductions.

Tim gets a kick under the table before Richard introduces, "This is Timothy Drake..." since Bruce introduced him the last time they were here. "Let me guess...this is your school uniform?" He looks back to the younger one as if nothing was wrong, "She teaches at a Catholic School. Latin." See? He listens!

Tim jerks upright a little at the kick and grrrs, reaching under the table to rub his shin. Okay...thats how the man wants to play. He leans forward and whispers, "She teaches latin? Tell her "Heu, modo itera omnia quae mihi nunc nuper narravisti, sed nunc Anglice?". It's super smart and romantic."

Helena Bertinelli hehs. "Well, it's not a uniform, but I'm pretty sure the Mother Superior would probably frown on my showing up there wearing something ... Lady Gaga-ish, you know?" She then watches the two as Tim starts to whisper something to Richard, wondering if she just heard the kid say something in Latin. Nah. Can't be.

Richard Grayson murmurs back to Tim, "Tell her yourself. She probably doesn't want to 'talk shop' on her lunch break," or something. That and he would probably repeat it wrong as he's not as up on his Latin as he could be. Of course, it's about now that someone comes to take their order. Does Dick order the salad? Nope...he orders a reuben sandwich.

Tim folds his legs up so he's sitting Indian style in the booth, so he can't be kicked anymore. He orders the Reuben as well, along with a Dr. Pepper, then scribbles furiously on a napkin and slides it over to Richard, with a fairly easy Latin phrase written on it. Tim is really trying to be a helper here.

Helena Bertinelli looks from one to the other, then after a moment turns back to her own meal. Not to mention, Don Quixote in the original language takes concentration to read and comprehend. It's just close enough to Italian that she can read it, but it's kinda like reading Chaucer. Or Beowulf.

Richard Grayson looks at the words on the napkin before he glances at Tim. There's a moment of pause before he clears his throat and does his best to remember the Latin he did learn as far as pronunciation as he reads: "Nisi mecum concubueris, phobistae vicerint." No pain no gain, right? Even if this is a trick, he knows where Tim lives. Tim Drake deserves an oscar for his next few moments. When the latin leaves Richard's mouth, he face his supportive, and totally helping his friend on. When the phrase finishes, he looks down and is carefully unwrapping his napkin covered utensils and setting them on the table, smoothing the rolled napkin out, and doing anything but looking up at Richard.

Helena Bertinelli stops with a forkful of pot roast in mid-air and turns to look at Richard with a wide-eyed, incredulous expression. "Excuse me?"

Richard Grayson's cheeks flare a bright red before he points his fork at Tim, "I. will. hurt. you." is mouthed before he looks back to Helena, "Hmm? Beg your pardon?" No, that wasn't him speaking Latin just now. Not at all.

The poor boy is trying not to laugh so hard that tears are leaking from the corners of his eyes. Tim's body shakes, and he's biting his hand to keep from getting kicked out of the resturant. He's barely able to breathe.

Helena Bertinelli looks from one to the other for a moment, her eyes narrowing in a perhaps dangerous manner. "I guess the terrorists are just going to have to win." And then she turns back to her book.

"You are dead, kid. Dead. No strip club for you!" He tries to keep his voice quiet as he chides Tim. Of course, Richard still has no idea what he said...until Helena speaks. "I...what? What terrorists?" He looks back to the younger one, "What did you have me say to her?"

Poor Tim can no longer contain himself, and erupts in laughter. Each word is punctuated by loud, hiccupping laughs, and even a snort or two. "You...said...Sleep...with...me...or....the...terrorists...win!" he manages to choke out, before pounding on the table for a moment.

Helena Bertinelli finishes her last forkful of pot roast, puts her book away in her bag, then moves to stand. She steps over toward the pair and leans close to say something softly in Tim's ear. "And for a moment there, I thought you were the cute one." She then smiles smugly at Richard and turns for the door.

Richard Grayson turns around to Helena, "I am so sorry! He didn't take his meds today...I thought I might be able to take him out in public, but I can see that he's just not ready. He's a smart kid, but...obviously disturbed." He watches as she heads out before he drops his face in his hands. "Why did I take you anywhere? Why?"

Well, that sobered him up rather quickly. The boy flushes a moment, before calling out. "Absit invidia." (No offense intended) "Forgive my prank. May we make it up to you?" he offers, stumbling a little, not sure if he really screwed things up for his friend with his prank. Tim is actually trying to be sincere though. "Let us buy you dessert."

Richard Grayson peers at Tim through his fingers for a moment, "What, are you Royalty now with the 'plural'?" He just shakes his head and sits back, just in time for the food to arrive. "You do realize that girls don't tend to find that sort of thing funny, don't you?" He's trying very hard to keep a straight face now that the embarassment has passed.

Helena Bertinelli stops on her way to the door. "How about I take a rain check on that? I have to get back to work." She offers them each a smile: understanding to Richard, and forgiving to Tim. "It's either that or you both /cook/ dessert for me. Now, I've got to go. Don't kill each other, okay?"

Tim scribbles on a napkin quickly and leaps from the table, moving to Helena quickly and holding the napkin out to her. "Just say when." he says, trying to be cool, and to keep the flush from his face. Naturally, he's not very successful on either front. The napkin reads "I O U 1 Dessert", followed by Richards phone number.

"Tim!" Richard tries, but the kid is up too fast. He just shakes his head and gives another sigh and...chooses to feed his embarassment with the reuben sandwich in front of him. It's quite a good thing that this isn't one of the places where the paparazzi tend to frequent. Helena Bertinelli takes the phone number graciously enough and smiles when she sees what Tim scribbled on it. "All right, I will. See you then." She makes a point of carefully tucking the napkin away in her bag and then leaves the restaurant.

Tim makes his was back to the table and flops back into his chair. "Sorry bro." he mutters, eyeing his sandwich. "My brain gets away with me sometimes." Tim eats a french fry and smiles at Richard, his grin returning. "The first part? It meant, 'Please repeat everything you just said to me in English'."

Richard Grayson actually starts to laugh at that, "I should have said that, huh? Might have saved us both...me the embarassment, and you, the can of whup-ass I'm going to open on you when we're done here."

"Well, if I'm gonna get my ass whupped, I'd like to have earned it." he jokes. "Hey...out of the blue question for you..." he starts. "Did Bruce ever let you date?"

"Oh, you earned it, kid. You earned it." Richard takes another bite of his sandwich and nearly chokes on it at the next question. "Let me?" He takes a long drink of water to wash it all down. "I don't think he ever 'let me'...but I did anyhow. Why? Is he not letting you date?"