2012-09-03 Spoiling Spoiler

Oracle is alive and well and much better than she was. She's still wearing a sling, but she's mobile again. Well, as mobile as Barbara Gordon gets. She's sitting in her chair in front of the various monitors in the clock tower's mainframe room, tapping away at the keys. She's in sweats and a Wonder Woman t-shirt. Fancy.

Since it's a school night, Stephanie had to spend a good twenty minutes crafting the perfect lie in order to slip away from home and evade her mother's watchful eye.

Or at least, she /would/ have had to do all of that if she hadn't come home to find her mother passed out on the couch while some Judge show played on the TV. Instead, she spends those twenty minutes making sure there's food in the microwave(sort of; it's a Hungry Man dinner), slipping into something significantly less comfortable and climbing out the window to board her motorcycle.

A few miles of highway and a terrifyingly brisk elevator ride later, the (slightly queasy) young vigilante wobbles a few steps out of the elevator, takes a second to see what the Hub looks like when it /isn't/ under siege, and then sets her eyes on the woman who she was content to think of as software a few weeks ago. "Sorry I didn't--y'know--/call/ or anything..." Spoiler murmurs after giving her a onceover. After a beat, she slowly raises a hand in greeting and flashes a completely invisible smile. "Also, hi."

Babs has known Spoiler was there from the moment she approached the tower, of course. "There's some hot cocoa on the kitchen counter for you," she notes as she continues typing, with one hand, which she finds incredibly annoying. "And don't worry about it. I was in no mood for company when I was on bed rest. I think I nearly chewed Robin's face off and Dragnet was only spared due to bringing me chocolate muffins." She grins, and finally looks over at the girl. "How are you doing?" she asks.

"... /muffins/?" Stephanie's eyes bug out a little beneath the mask. Why didn't /she/ think of that? She briefly considers her utility belt, but somehow doubts that Barbara would be especially enthused about pepper spray, ball bearings or an athletic sock and a roll of pennies, so when Babs looks at her, she quickly lifts her chin to meet the computer wizard(ess)' gaze and lets out a little puff of air. "I'm all good," she murmurs, approaching the computer. "Sch--ootin' around, fighting the good fight; you know how it goes."

Oracle finishes her typing and leans back from the keyboard. She's using a powered chair while she only has one hand to work with. "Since my secret is out to you and the other Birds, I'm making rooms available to each of you for your personal use. When you need a place to lay low, you have one. I also have a small med bay for treating injuries that don't require surgery, and training equipment on the 13th floor."

Spoiler looks to the elevator and even half-steps towards it at the mention of training equipment, but--this is supposed to be a /social/ visit; instead of hurrying down to check out the gear, she elects to undo her cape and drape it over the back of the couch she, Barbara, and Dragnet huddled behind near the end of Jason's assault.

"I--guess I know where Batman gets those gadgets you mentioned, now," she say, cautious and appreciative all at once. "All of that, just for you?"

Spoiler looks to the elevator and even half-steps towards it at the mention of training equipment, but--this is supposed to be a /social/ visit; instead of hurrying down to check out the gear, she elects to undo her cape and drape it over the back of the couch she, Barbara, and Dragnet huddled behind near the end of Jason's assault.

"I--guess I know where Batman gets those gadgets you mentioned, now," she says, cautious and appreciative all at once. "All of that, just for you?" Beat. "And--him?" Beat. "--and Robin?" She considers the elevator doors again, then peers back at Oracle, brow invisibly furrowed.

"... and you managed to keep it a /secret/? Right in the middle of the city?" she wonders in hushed astonishment.

"Sort of. A lot of it I've acquired myself. Some of it I had long ago before," Barbara gestures at the chair. "Once upon a time, I was Batgirl," she explains. She decided to let her Birds know how she got to where she is now. "As for the tower, it's owned by shell companies which are in turn, owned by other shell companies several layers down before they come back to me. And it's closed for use solely by the Gotham Birdwatchers Association." She smiles.

"There was a Bat/girl/?!"

Spoiler thinks back on the homemade Batman costume she wore one long-ago Halloween and cringes. If only she'd known. "I--Jesus--" she murmurs as Barbara continues. If there's a chair light enough for dragging between the couch and Barbara's terminal, she'll bring it along; if not, she's reasonably okay with standing nearby--though not /too/ near, lest she worry about looming over the redhead. "But you look so--so--I don't know, /young/."

After a forlorn look towards the elevator, she looks down and mutters, "I guess I need to step it up a little, or something..."

There's plenty of chairs to pull over. Dinah would probably gripe if she had to stand all the time. "There was a Batgirl, yes, and not all THAT long ago. You're making me feel like 22 is ancient, kiddo." She chuckles. "I started in the vigilante business when I was maybe a little older than you are, if my judgment of your age is right."

Spoiler half-drags, half-carries her chair over and sets it next to Oracle; as soon as she's seated, the comment about her age makes her stiffen a bit, indignant. "I--" She squints at Barbara a moment. "I am /not/ that--I--" She glances down at herself, then just lets out a quiet, defeated groan and tightly folds her arms. "How--how old do you think I /am/?" she mutters.

Barbara will be gentle. "Young enough that this is a school night and you should be home? Old enough for Junior Prom maybe?" So she's guessing 17.

Grimacing, Spoiler mutters, "Okay, okay, you're smart, I get it," and hunches her shoulders. After a beat, she quietly - and somewhat playfully - notes, "--dunno if calling me kiddo does your 'I'm not old!' argument any real favors, though," as she unraps her arms and starts rolling the bottom of her mask up. Her hair is in a tight bun poking out through the upper-back portion of the mask, so she has to fight with the thing for a little while to get it /all/ the way off.

"Sixteen," she admits when her mouth is uncovered. "So you were--what, eighteen? Seventeen?"

"Eighteen. I was in college though. I wanted to join the police academy but my father wouldn't let me. So I took things into my own hands," Babs explains. She watches the girl take off her mask and, once she does, she offers her good hand to Spoiler. "Barbara Gordon, pleased to finally really meet you."

By the time she frees herself from the mask, Stephanie has managed to tug stray strands of hair from her bun. She balls the mask up and hurls it towards the couch; it flops to the ground about halfway there.

"Stephanie Brown," she replies, one hand firmly grasping Barbara's while she tries to nudge those unruly locks behind her ear. "I'm--glad you're a human being."

"I think Dragnet was under the impression I was a man. I can imagine the shock on his face when he realized he'd been referring to me that way for months now," Babs chuckles. "We're going to have to get you some better gear, Stephanie. If I'm going to be all right with someone your age running the streets beating on bad guys, you're damn well going to be armed for bear before you leave the house."

They break contact, and before she knows it, Stephanie is rolling her eyes at her handler's concern and trying not to groan. "I /guess/," she allows, shrugging. "But it's not like I'm /un/armed, or anything--see?" She sweeps her hand across the pod-covered belt around her waist. "People will eBay all /sorts/ of things." She looks down at the belt again and runs her fingers over some of the compartments, all ready to pull out examples.

Like her pepper spray, ball bearings, or sock and pennies.

Folding her hands in her lap, she looks over at Babs out of the corner of an eye and murmurs, "--it's not perfect, I /guess/, but I make due," still managing a little flicker of rebellious confidence.

"Nothing wrong with what you have, but we can make it all at least look extremely cool," Babs offers with a grin. She fingers the material of the hood lightly. "And maybe a little more bullet proof and fire resistant. Plus you'll need to learn how to use these." She taps a spot on the arm of her chair and it slides open. She pulls out four batarangs and hands them to Stephanie. "You can keep those, I have plenty."

The hood is some sort of polyester-blend affair that she probably picked up from a costume store or drama club wardrobe, once upon a time. "I don't really need it to /look/ cool," she quietly retorts, even as she imagines racing around town on a customized Spoiler-Cycle in the same kind of stylish, improbably lightweight costumes her fellow Gothamites wear when they stalk the night. "I--" The chair pops open and she looks down at the offered weapons.

"--really?" Her eyes have about doubled in size; she very gingerly touches a finger to one of them, then scoops them up, fetches the lighter from one compartment and tosses it onto the couch so that the batarangs can go there. She pats the compartment, then grins up at Barbara. "So, you have a--/throwing/ range, right?"

"Of course," Babs quips. "I spared no expense. We can start your training after school a few days a week with those and some other items, if you're amicable." Yeah, definitely a librarian, that one. Big words.

"I'm amicable!" Stephanie blurts as she leans over to throw her arms around Barbara's shoulders. She doesn't really think about the sling until she, well, /feels/ the redhead's immobilized arm, at which point she hurries to pull back and sheepishly shifts her eyes to the ground "--uh, sorry. I--uh, forgot," she mumbles. "Um. What I /meant/ to say was, uh--yes." She clears her throat and flashes a weak, self-conscious smile at Oracle. "I'd love to train with you after school."

Barbara grunt but she returns the brief hug. "Good. We'll start on Wednesday, after I put in some orders for items we'll need. Now, go down and check out the training room. I know you're dying to. And the door that opens for you is the one you can use as your personal room." She makes a shooing motion with her good hand.

No need to tell her twice; as soon as she's given leave, Spoiler springs from her seat and hustles to the elevator to poke around the high-tech crimefighting gym. And maybe measure her new personal space for One Direction posters.

Or, like, pushpin-covered maps of the city and photos of notorious criminals; whatever's more vigilante-ish.