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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
izzy's playlists!
Mike Driver
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Claire Keane
if i look back, i am lost
Xuebing Du
Origami Around
PR's Tumblrdome
Noah Kahan
JVL
⁂
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Peter Solarz
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Product Placement
Kiana Khansmith
#extradirty
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@foundmywaytoserve
Pleasure t’meet ya, Kate.
You’re right on the money there. If you happen to be the wife of a mob boss lookin’ for help, I’ve had enough gangsters chasin’ me for one week.
... sounds like you've had a very strange week, Mr. Barton. Or would you prefer Clint?
That’s what I thought.
Deal, then. Name a time and place, and I'm there.
foundmywaytoserve started following you
Three redheads this week. Let’s see if third times the charm.
Clint Barton, an’ you are?
... Kane. Kate Kane.
I trust the last two experiences weren't exactly great? Well. I'm not making any promises that this will be an improvement.
More for you now that I don’t drink it.
... Good point. I think a girls' night-in is in order.
I’m a functioning human being, I promise. The only thing that’s changed is that I don’t drink coffee. Calm down.
That alone is enough to make me wary. Coffee is my lifeblood.
I’m just a pregnant woman with a weekend to herself.
Nothing interesting.
Uhh. Is this a bad time to mention I'm... legit terrible when it comes to dealing with pregnant women?
Well, I’ve got all night.
My—- well, Viktor leaves this evening. Come over.
... sounds like you've got a lot of your own to talk about.
Also sassy.
What’s eating you, Red #2?
The snarky half of me is tempted to say "no one, and that's the problem."
The sensible half insists I say... "way too much to talk about right now."
The Charity Gala.
It was another fundraiser. Bruce and Harvey seemed to be fond of them, back in the day, when Bruce had agreed to back the one time District Attorney. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Bruce seemed to still hold them, eight years later, after having been a recluse in Wayne Manor for so long, consumed by the pain of her own apparent death. If only she knew how close she was to him right now. Oh, sure she had undergone millions of dollars of plastic surgery to have her face altered, at Talia’s expense, and she had blonde hair now, but the memories were still there. Now, she was Tamara Monroe, one of the many trust fund sons and daughters of Gotham’s elite families, like the Kanes, the Waynes, the Rileys and Elliots of the city. She had a vague backstory, being from Los Angeles originally, a convenient pipeline to explain the riches she had recently acquired illegally, to place herself amongst the city’s elite.
He still didn’t know that she was Catwoman, but she had ran into him a few times as Batman, and he was challenging. She had lost her entire loot of diamonds once, because of him, and it was infuriating. She was almost too afraid to tell him about who she truly was.
She had just written a check, to help fund the Gotham City Police Department, and made a beeline for the bar, in her revealing blue sapphire colored dress, open around her breasts, and her hair up in a pretty bun, as she ordered a martini, and stirred it around a bit, parking her chin in her hand as she didn’t notice the stunning woman coming up to the bar.
The 17th Annual Wayne Charity Ball.
Also known as... the 17th Annual force-myself-to-put-on-a-dress and act like I actually enjoy the company of a bunch of rich trouser-sniffers at a "ball." Ball, of course, from Italian "ballare": to dance. .. But even this dancing at these things is so detestably old-fashioned it makes Kate's skin crawl.
This time, Kate Kane hasn't even been able to bring herself to do that much. Very much to her aunt's perpetual chagrin, she's shown up over an hour late, and in a man-tailored tuxedo. The kind a boy might wear to prom, or a man might get married in. Black suit, white dress shirt, overall elegant, with her hair done into a meticulous red bob. Her entrance to the grand hall is fairly haphazard, since some of her buttons are mismatched, her collar isn't straightened, her cuffs are a mess, and her hair could use some... fixing.
All things she should have taken care of prior to entering the ballroom. But that's not Kate Kane's MO. Right now, she's playing the role of spoiled socialite, and there isn't a soul who could ever claim she doesn't play it damn well.
It takes only a few moments to fix her buttons, adjust her cuffs, straighten out her collar, and huff a bored sigh out of her chest. She's acting like an entry-level businesswoman late for a meeting, or a high school student who's just strolled into class ten minutes before it's over. ... Good. That's how she wants it to seem. The thought has a smile lit at the edges of her lips, as she plunks down next to the bar and holds up two fingers, not even noticing who or what she's just sat next to.
"Double whiskey sour, with Jameson. Keep them coming until I say 'stop,' or I stop being able to pronounce the word 'stop'."
... You’re lying of course.
Brilliant, Holmes, What tipped you off? You take Broody's "Deduction 101" recently?
Which ever you feel like telling.
... in that case. Great. Dandy. Fucking A-Okay wonderful.
And how have you been, Kate?
Would you prefer a lie or the truth?
foundmywaytoserve liked your post: Ugh, men.
You don’t get to gloat.
Wasn't gloating. Was expressing my approval.
