2013.05.28 - Offers and Ice Cream

The Clocktower. Late-afternoon. Barbara Gordon is getting ready to head out to the Wayne Foundation Rec Center for a bit of swim time. Before she goes, however, there's business she's been meaning to take care of as Oracle. Thus, sat at her console, she runs a visual search to see if Superman is out and about or not... Not, mind, that it really matters. She can hack into the JLA com well enough, even if he's lurking somewhere as his (still unknown to her -- because she hasn't pried) mild mannered alter-ego. But, you know. She figures it's not polite to bug Everyman, if the Man of Steel can be reached instead.

To find him is easy enough. There was just a large blaze on 57th that he put out with his ice breath after the fire department was stuck in rush hour traffic. Currently, he's high above the city, taking advantage of the nice weather and the momentary lull in mayhem.

He's having an ice cream cone.

There's a flicker-pop on his com. It's doubtful the human ear can hear it, but Superman can. He's not alone.

"Have you ever tried chocolate with chocolate cookie dough? I'm more of a vanilla guy, but I'm trying new things. It's amazing."

He says this to no one in particular. Or no one in particular who is in view.

Barbara's brows rise as he speaks almost before her connection to his com is establish, and then she grins. "I'm partial to Chocolate Mint, myself," she admits, though the casual tone is distorted by Oracle's androgynous, digital speech patterns. "Nice work there on 57th. No casualties, according to initial reports." Not that he needs the praise, of course. She's just striking up conversation.

But, that's not why she called. "I thought we might talk about that offer you made me a while back."

"Ooh! Chocolate mint. A cybernetic being of high class, assuredly." It's clear Superman is smiling before he takes another bite from his ice cream cone. "Would that be my offer to give you the number of my carpet cleaner? Or, that other thing?"

Oracle chuckles, the digitized sound almost musical -- in a layered midi sort of way. "The other thing. I don't have carpets." They're hard on the chair wheels, after all, though she doesn't say it. "It's the static build-up, you see. Hell on my systems."

"I'm just somewhat impressed that you're a real person and not a machine. Perhaps you're really a machine, pretending to be a real person only to throw people like myself off your secret-non-identity identity. Say that five times fast." Superman crunches on the cone and eventually is able to get the whole thing down. "So, what did you come up with, Oracle?"

"Personally," Oracle comments idly, "I'm pretty sure even AIs have human souls, just as humans have that spark of the divine."

Nevertheless, back to business. "You suggested to me, as I recall, that I might be of use to the JLA. Do you still believe that? Is the offer still on the table? I thought we might chat about it."

"Oh, /right/," Superman says with a smile. "/That/ conversation." His face twists as he looks around and realizes he's got nothing to wipe the ice cream off his hand with. Darn this airborne peace, thing. In a quick motion, his heat vision incinerates the cream into a black, crusty, residue. "I'd love to talk about it."

Barbara smiles, the satellite feed above him showing the thermal spectrum as well as the visual. "Nice trick," Oracle comments. But, still. Back to business. "What are your ground rules for the JLA, Superman? I'm not really willing to put my personal identity on the line for this. But, I do want to help." That, and she wants access to stuff without always having to tunnel in. It's easy, but it gets old and she's always having to tweak the algorithms.

"Well, everyone has different needs and special situations, Oracle. I don't think it would be fair to ask you to give up your identity when no one else has had to. Additionally, it would seem fair to me for you to require a certain amount of space and understanding given what you do and how you do it." Superman wipes his hands off, sending the charred fragments free in the wind. "No one knows my personal identity. At least, not by my hand."

Barbara rather hoped that'd be his answer. "Well, then. In that case, I'd be more than happy to help out. I should tell you, though, the only way I'm going to make it into your headquarters is electronically. I really am, in many ways, little more than a ghost in the machine." A beat. "Chocolate Mint, aside."

"I think I knew that going in, Oracle. You're an international man/woman/android of mystery. I wouldn't expect you to just walk into the office with your morning cup of coffee," Superman says with a chuckle.

Again, that harmonic chuckle. "Hey, they don't call it Java for nothing." Okay. Bad hacker joke. Moving on. "I'll take a look at your system," Oracle says now. "If there's a way to reinforce it for you, I will." She'll also adapt it to her needs -- both so she can be useful and so that she can be comfortable. "I'll email you with a contact point for me, so that you can give me official access." Just to keep things on the up-and-up. "Is there anything I need to know?"

Superman nods as she goes over what she needs, putting it to memory. In regards to her question, he responds lightheartedly. "Well, Black Canary's boyfriend makes the hottest chili you've ever had. But that won't be a problem for you, unless your technology is of a different world entirely."

Oliver Queen. Yes. Barbara's heard about his chili. "I'll take your word for it," she says, however. "But, I can assure you, my technology is entire Earth." A beat. "21st century, even." She's no Legionnaire... though she's not opposed to reverse engineering and incorporating offworld and futureworld tech whenever she can get her hands on it. Her list of patents is already becoming fairly impressive.

"Well it looks like it's all decided from your end. I have a few loose ends I need to tie up with the League, but I'll contact you in the next few days to get you set up." Superman needs to double-check with the league, of course, but from all outward appearances, it's a rubber stamp.

Oracle doesn't doubt it. But, she'll leave it with the Big Guy. "Well, whatever happens, I have your frequency. And you'll have mine. I'm sure we'll be in touch." Because, really, she's not about to stop playing superhacker anytime soon.

"Sounds good," Superman says, unsure if she's still there. He noticed the soft click when (s)he comes on, not when (s)he leaves. "Take care, and I'll be in touch."