October 07, 2018:
Owen Mercer and Kate Kane bond over their shared love of alcohol. New drinking buddies are forged over the flames of poor decisions with past relationships. This, of course, can only end well.
Gotham Bars
There are several of them. They are all equally bad.
Characters
NPCs: None.
Mentions: Rachel Summers, Bruce Wayne, Harley Quinn, The Joker
Plot:
Mood Music: [*\# None.]
Fade In…
Addiction is an easy thing to fall into. Even just things one might commonly associate with those old bad habits can dredge them back up again. A place. A smell. A familiar face. And then you're spiraling again. Katherine Kane, of course, tells herself she's kicked addiction. And certainly she doesn't have the same problems she used to.
It's easier, when you trade one dependency for another.
Addiction is part of the reason why she finds herself here today, if not for the typical reasons. Bars are a surprisingly good place to dredge up information sometimes for a minimal amount of effort. Depending on where you go, and when, you can find bigger fish than you might expect following the breadcrumbs a bit of hole-in-the-wall ambiance can provide. And with Kate's hands tied with the situation in New York, well… she needs something that she can do. Needs to focus on things that will keep her from worrying unnecessarily and doing something stupid.
So, bar crawl. If she looks drunk as she pushes her way into this particular Gotham haunt, it's probably because it's not her first stop; it's also probably because affectations like that help lower people's defenses, because she's not that drunk. Really. Mostly. It's part of the wonders of building up tolerance over time.
So the slight stumble to her step is (mostly) put upon as she makes her way inside, hands stuffing into the pockets of her jeans as she flashes the bartender a most amiable smile mere seconds before she slumps her way into the comfort of a stool. Green eyes track the slide of that shot to the pour of that pint. She pauses, briefly, at the sight of who that alcohol is going to. Brows lift.
"… You know what," decides Kate Kane, with all due wisdom, "he looks like he has the right idea. Get me some of that, too."
Owen looks up as the door opens and takes in the newest patron. He narrows his eyes a little when no one follows Kate into the bar. That's usually not a good idea around here, an apparently drunk woman by herself when the bars close is not a situation that usually ends well in these parts of Gotham. But he's half in the bag himself and not really in the mood to care about other people's mistakes, he has enough of his own to drink down.
The bartender looks a little put out by the new arrival at closing time but slides her a shot and only when pouring the beer (which he leaves a healthy head on to pad it out) does he remind her, "We close at 1. Sorry but you'll have to find somewhere else after this one."
Owen approving of her choice of drinks, raises his shot glass. "But there's plenty of places to hit after this if yer just getting goin.." The bartender shoots him a dirty look, and makes his way over to harshly whisper, "If you think pickin' her up means yer not buyin' me drinks, I will punch yer stupid teeth in."
"Damn. And here I was, just getting comfy."
They're words paired with a winning smile for the sake of the poor, put-upon bartender as she snatches her shot off the counter top. Libation in hand, she tips it Owen's way in a return gesture…
… and then promptly drops the shot glass into her waiting pint of beer.
"Better make this one count, then, huh?"
And, as a person fully willing to own up to her own mistakes (for the most part (sometimes)), Kate Kane takes that bomb shot and starts making quick work of it, feeling the burn all the way to her cheeks until she finally finishes it off with the release of a heavy exhale. She, of course, holds up a finger for Owen's sake throughout this, the universal symbol of 'just a second.'
"Yep," she manages between a breathless laugh, "I think that counted pretty damn alright! So… what were you saying about plenty of places?"
It's only then that those green eyes, still surprisingly sharp, turn back to Owen just in the middle of that harsh little exchange with the bartender. A single red brow lifts just a touch, her chin propped on her waiting palm as she just… watches, for a moment.
"You okay there?" she wonders, voice wry and expression piqued with curiosity. "I'd hate to think I was butting in on a tender moment."
Watching with an approving look, Owen waits until it's clear she's going to finish that just fine before dropping his own shot and drinking it down. It's not Flash fast, more like thirsty frat boy fast. He sets down the glass a little too hard and lets out a small "mhmm" of appreciation after that.
Owen just glares at the bartender before replying, "Oh shut it Sock." Sock? Apparently that's his name. Or at least what Owen calls him. And Sock does apparently for now before throwing off his apron and calling out to some other staff that he's done for the night. Apparently that's Owen's cue to get up, as he stands and waits by Kate to ask, "You joining us at .." he trails off for Sock to supply.
"Tiger Tiger!" Which Sock, supplies over eagerly with an odd lear at Owen.
This apparently was not in the plan though as Owen's face darkens immensely. He growls, "..no. Fuck you Sock." before reaching into his pocket to pull out a wad of cash. He ignores Kate for the moment and shoves it at Sock, "Go. Whatever."
For a moment it looks like things might come to blows between the two men as they glare at one another over the wad of offered cash.
With the slightest shift, Kate pushes off her stool on one foot, leaning herself back upon the bar top. She looks at least fairly steady on her feet still, elbows resting on that alcohol-abused surface behind her as she offers up a most incredulous look in the scrunch of her brows and the faint frown of her lips.
"Sock," she repeats, as if testing it out, trying to see if what she's hearing is actually real. She's not that drunk, right? Right.
"You know, I still remember all those PSAs as a kid about never accepting candy from a stranger," she begins, slowly, like someone feeling out their words. She considers a moment. Decides she can take them both if she has to, in her own humble opinion. Lips part to continue in what will no doubt be a witty follow up —
— when things go very sour, very fast, with the mention of a name, and a strange stare. And for a moment, Kate finds herself taking a back seat for the sake of mounting tension that seems like it might soon spill over into thrown fists instead of spat words.
It's subtle, the way her muscles tense. She tells herself she should just leave. She has better things to do with her time. She should probably text Rachel, make sure she's still continuing to be alive. Maybe throw the rest of this out the window and go out on a more traditional patrol that wouldn't get Bruce frowning with the most severe of disapprovals. She runs through all the possible options in her head.
"Hey," she interjects instead, casually, as if to undercut the tension through the nonchalance of her tone alone. "I know a few places that aren't half bad. Full of lovely people who probably wouldn't even blink at a man who calls himself Sock."
All the other options are objectively better. But, well…
"What d'you say?"
… she's already on a roll, why not keep the streak alive?
Sock only gives Kate an annoyed glance in between his posturing at Owen. The little hissy fit between the two supposedly grown men ends up with some very mature name calling and pushing. Owen shoves the money at him calling him an asshole and Sock takes it but is sure to shove back and calling Owen something that sounds super dirty but is not quite intelligible as it's hissed in a whisper. Sock turns to go though and Owen is more than willing to let him at this point.
A little less effervescent than a moment ago, Owen rallies his best 'charming' smile that lands somewhere between shady and leering to answer, "Yes. Please, let's go find one of those places. But I'm not up for a party tonight.. so I'm gonna keep it no harder than a couple shots and maybe hustling up a game of darts." That's about as much of an explanation as he's giving for why he reacted so poorly to Sock's choice of venue.
Before he's even out of the bar, he has a cigarette in his mouth and is offering the pack towards Kate.
"I'm Owen by the way. And I need to get way more shitfaced tonight than I am right now."
Tiger Tiger. The intuitive part of Kate's mind can't help but start to piece together context clues from that brief and practically mandatory bit of chest thumping between the two strangers. Even dulled by a(n un)healthy application of alcohol as it might be, the reaction from Owen is one too obvious -not- to wonder on. Something personal? Probably. Related to the venue itself? Maybe. Or maybe what happens there?
She hardly seems intent to ask, looking woefully indifferent to either Owen or poor Sock's struggles. She doesn't even offer sympathy; apathy is a strong misdirection, sometimes, she's found. But 'Tiger Tiger' is without a doubt something she's looking into later.
She can't help it. Her inability to let things go is just a part of her charm.
As it stands, she just stays in that position, subtly tensed if things -do- escalate to outright violence, until the matter is resolved. She takes that leering charm without so much as the bat of an eye, instead just lifting brows just so as if to say 'you can do better.' She could press about the fight, what it was about. Instead:
"Sure. Looks like you could use something to soothe that broken heart of yours."
She settles for something glib.
With that, Kate shoves her way into a standing position with barely a stagger, shifting amiably away from the counter. She waves off the offered pack with a, "No thanks; my ex inspired a very healthy distaste for cigarettes in me," by way of vague explanation, before turning her head to look Owen's way. He greets. She smiles a sardonic little smile.
"Kate. Guess that means we're not strangers anymore, huh? Feeling safer already." Wry to a fault, she nods her way towards the exit. "Here's some rules. Get weird, I punch you in the jaw and you have to settle for getting shitfaced with a straw. Don't get weird, I don't punch you, and we'll work on getting you nice and properly drunk off your ass."
She stops, back pressed against the door, simultaneously gating the exit and preparing the way for the both of them out onto a night on the town. Her brows lift. Her hand extends towards Owen in offering of a shake.
"Deal?"
Tiger Tiger is a club that Owen used to frequent with his bartender buddies back in the throws of his heroin days. There is literally only one reason Sock would want to go there even if there are other pursuits. The short hand for 'Fuck your sobriety' was not lost on Owen who has been doing a rather decent job of going straight. Again.
He watches Kate, but not in the creepy guy in a bar watches someone, way. He's no detective and has no need for keeping his guard up around non-costume types for the most part, so he usually pays no special notice. But wasn't she more tipsy than that before? Maybe running a scam. Owen no stranger to running flim-flams and other such schemes tries to come up with what game he would have been playing at but his imagination and interest fails.
He nods at the name, lighting the cigarette before he's out of the bar. He holds the door and lets out a smoke filled laugh at her rules.
"Alright. I got conditions too though. You punch me for any other reason and I punch back, none of this not hitting girls shit." Holding the door with his left, he takes hers to shake it, pausing just before to ask,
"Deal?"
Deal?
Kate certainly was looking more tipsy before. And while the inebriation still there — it couldn't not be — she's certainly not stumbling her way out like she probably rightly should be with the way she came in, either. A hustle, maybe.
It doesn't make her grip any less loose, though, in the way of someone not quite drunk, but working hard on getting there, when she shakes his hand.
"You got yourself a deal, Mister Owen," she declares. This is Gotham, and likely a poor decision, especially since Owen looks strikingly familiar in a way that someone with a mug shot would look familiar, that she'll probably piece together when her mind is more lucid.
But let it not be said that some of Katherine Kane's best moments are founded on the worst decisions.
"There's a place not too far from here called My Alibi," she explains as she slips her way out, the stagger to her step a much less pronounced thing as her hands find their way back into her pants pockets. She casts a sideways stare Owen's way. "Not exactly full of reputable people, but they've got darts, and they've got booze," and they've got Gothamite goons, she fails to mention. But she's not stopping the work just for the sake of a new potential drinking buddy. Besides…
"And I can almost guarantee none of the people there call themselves Sock." She lets a single second pass by, before flashing her newfound companion a pearly white grin.
"Please tell me that's not his real name. Please. I don't want to feel bad for him, but that'd make it real hard not to."
Taking the hand and giving a firm, but not quite as strong as hers, handshake, Owen nods as it to seal the deal.
He peers at her just a little too long at the 'Mister Owen' part as if trying to decide if she knows that annoys him or if that's just a thing people do. He decides to let it slide either way and is readily agreeable with her choice of destination.
"Sounds promising." Is the reply to the name alone, and the description. He laughs about being full of not so reputable people. "Who needs the reputable? They're usually super boring on the outside and super fucked up on the inside. I'll take the lowlife crowd any day of the week."
Taking another drag off his cigarette as she leads the way, he's careful to at least attempt to blow the smoke away from her direction.
"Socrates. We'll kiss and make up later.." In reference to her earlier crack about him suffering from a broken heart. "Sock and I go way back. Just he sometimes forgets it ain't way back." And it's true, the little spat will likely be glossed over in a few weeks. Quicker if Owen doesn't stick to his guns on the sobriety, but so far so good.
"What about you? What brings you down to this part of town, this time of night? You lookin' for a guy to make a pass at you so you can crack his nose?"
If it helps, at least, Kate seems utterly oblivious to whether or not her words have struck a nerve. Maybe she doesn't care to know. Or maybe she just has that good a poker face. As it stands — all she demonstrates is a simple, easygoing look and the mild cluck of her tongue as Owen offers up his assessment of the social divide.
"That's a pretty low opinion on high class you've got there," she observes, before the right corner of her lips twitches upwards in a lopsided brand of smile.
"What? You don't want to attend a charity gala? Maybe go to a wine tasting? We could figure out what kind of tannin profile the Wayne family reserve's merlot has."
And her expression is an effortless sort of 'huh? what do you say?' that still doesn't quite hide the entertained spark in her eyes.
Nor does it stop her from laughing, just a bit, in the aftermath, a hand lifting to rummage through her short mess of red locks. "Socrates. Maybe I'll pick his brain over philosophy some time." She takes the rest of the explanation well in stride, though, her head tilting towards her right to peer at the buildings as they pass by. "Guess we don't always get to choose the important people in our life, huh? Well. I'm rooting for you two, all the same."
It's his follow up question that receive the slightest snort in response, her grin a wry and subdued on as they round the corner. In the distance, the sight of the dingy little corner bar is a bit hard to see — its sign largely obscured by other buildings until all that can be seen is the 'MY'.
"Lucky you, not today," she says, as if the possibility weren't entirely out of the question. "I used to come out this way a lot more often, you know. By myself. At this time of night. Sometimes a couple noses got cracked." She considers, brows furrowing just a bit.
"It's just sometimes… a distraction doesn't hurt. You know?"
And that part is true enough.
Coming up to the outside of the bar, Owen shoots her a mischievous smile that is far more suited to his face at the talk about high class. "Well they have a pretty damn low opinion of us so it's only fair." But then she's bringing up examples and mentions the Waynes, as anyone in Gotham might. Except Owen has a little more history with one of the adopted scions of the Wayne family.
"I would literally rather be stabbed and shot and run over before attending something like that."
As someone who has in fact been stabbed, shot and run over Owen speaks with sincere authority on the subject, but is quick to leave it when it switches back to talk about Sock. "Please never get him started on his philosophy.. he won't shut up."
He's laughing along with her until she brings up the part about needing distraction and his smile falters ever so slightly. He looks away, ostensibly to blow out smoke.
"Oh boy do I know about distractions. My ex .." Yes, Owen is currently that guy. "She was the best god damn distraction. Crazy as fuck. I mean .. but no one, was more fun than her."
In case it wasn't obvious before what was driving Owen's desire to drink, that sad little speech makes it clear that his reasons are hardly unique.
So. There's probably history there. It helps Kate Kane get a bit more clearer picture of who Owen is through the inebriated haze. Which doesn't stop her from commenting, of course, with the ever-so-subtle hitch of her brows.
"I'll let him know the invitations been turned down after deep and careful consideration," she assures Owen, in a way that can easily be interpreted as just going along with the joke. It's okay.
She knows better than anyone how insufferable Bruce can be sometimes.
It's only when they reach the door into My Alibi that she turns her gaze towards Mercer, just as the man turns his head away. To blow that plume of smoke, of course. He vents his hangups. About his ex. And she watches, quietly, as Owen becomes That Guy, for a few silent moments before her fingers grip onto that door.
"Mm," she exhales after a moment, before opening that door open for both of them. Inside, it's about as advertised — not completely run down, but not exactly a sterling establishment, either, smoke hangs heavy in the air here, stale beer the stench of the day — which, really, should be considered fortunate, with all the other possibilities.
There are a few people here, of varying stripes. Some Owen might recognize. Low level goons for Gotham rogues, smattered here and there. Huddled around their drinks, like this was their sanctuary from the madness that is their employers.
"Okay," Kate's voice cuts through the haze. "How about this: if your sad story about your crazy ex beats my sad story about my…" She really doesn't want to say 'crazy.' She doesn't want to invite doom. "… ex, the first round's on me. What do you say?"
Because clearly Owen needs to vent, and not because Kate needs to. This is her helping. It's the holidays for her, she's being a good person. To someone potentially shady.
Overall, she thinks this is a grand decision.
Smirking at the thought of getting the chance to turn down an invitation to a Wayne function, Owen adds for good measure. "Oh, and tell 'Fuck you' just for good measure." Sure she has no idea why he would have something against the Waynes, and he does play it off like it's just a joke but there's that little shred of reality behind it.
He looks around the room and sure enough Owen finds more than a few familiar faces, but nothing too worrisome. He stops scanning the room when Kate brings up a healthy wager.
"You .." he can barely get his sentence out without laughing " really don't want to play that game with me."
He actually starts to laugh even harder thinking about just flat out saying who his ex is, but manages to keep it to just a barely contained chuckle to ask, "Who goes first?"
There's a little kernel of truth behind that joking dismissal of Owen Mercer's. Kate's gotten fairly good at identifying these sorts of things as a matter of necessity. And maybe there's just a slice of like recognizing like in there. Regardless, it ultimately invokes a reaction in the form of a subdued arch of her brow; the words that follow are dry in the most noncommittal of ways.
"Don't worry — I'll keep that one tucked in my back pocket."
And with that, Kate Kane makes herself comfortable in that bar of ill repute. Familiar faces, if in different ways; it doesn't stop Kate from striding in there like a regular despite being anything but, of course, offering Owen a sideways glance as the man of his own ill repute makes his laughing declaration.
"Getting the feeling like I just set myself up for a trap here," she notes mildly — which still doesn't stop her from settling into a bar stool and making herself comfortable, decidedly not yet ordering a round of drinks. There's a game to be played, after all.
"I'm the challenger for the title," she declares over the din of the crowds, an easy smile on her lips as she leans herself into the side of the bar counter, "so I guess it's only fair I kick us off. A few years ago…" Memories flash by her thoughts unbidden in an instant. Of an island, of foxes. Of a burning lighthouse. Her brows furrow. No; that's not the one she wants to tell.
"… I wasn't in a great place, I guess. Not a lot of room for serious relationships when you're trying to be anything but serious, right?" Her smile turns towards the self-effacing as it dims; her gaze lulls towards the right, focusing on the bottles of liquor lining the shelves of the bar as she speaks. "Anyway, I end up tangled up with a cop, because I guess my life wasn't complicated enough already. She was trying to give me a ticket for speeding, she looked so serious like she was just tied up in the tightest possible knot, right? It was really cute. Good enough for a fling, I figured." Her hand falls, knuckles rapping once against the countertop before she returns that green gaze back Owen's way.
"Months later, we're still together. I don't know how it happened — she was a lot cuter than I figured, I guess. But I wasn't good for her, and I knew it. I wasn't good for anyone. I'd convince her to stay home from work, convince her to come drinking with me, convince her to do things an upstanding cop like her probably wouldn't have done if I wasn't there, and…" She rubs one shoulder, heaves a small sigh.
"… One thing just piled onto the other. I gave up on almost everything else except her. It was a nice feeling, just… letting go. She didn't really feel the same. We had a disagreement about it."
Vague to the end, Kate ultimately just shrugs her shoulders in a slow, languid roll.
"We got back together every now and then, when I was low, or she was… but we always ended up feeding our demons. You know?"
Walking through the room, Owen feels himself relaxing from the earlier disagreement with Sock. The bar feels comfortable to him, sadly about as close to 'home' as he gets in Gotham. He doesn't think anything of throwing out that line about the Wayne's, and probably still wouldn't even if he did know who Kate was.
Owen raises his eyebrows and gives a slight shrug to the comment about possibly being setup. He didn't pick the game, but he's pretty damn sure he's going to win it. He grabs a seat at a stool and doesn't order a thing either, mostly because for the moment he's found something more interesting.
"Yea, I'm the newly crowned state champ. I'm headed to nationals next week and I gotta say, I like my chances." He quickly rejoins about her being the challenger, but then falls silent for her to tell her tale.
"Oooh" Owen winces and reacts appropriately for someone of his ilk when Kate outs her ex as a cop. Owen's face stays in a half-wince, waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. He laughs slowly and ruefully at the confession that Kate wasn't good for her. Boy, has Owen ever been good for anyone?
But he refocuses on her story and as she wraps up his face changes from waiting for the dreaded tales of woe, to mild confusion. "Wait. Are /you/ the crazy ex-girlfriend in this story because I gotta say yer cop chick sounds kinda .. normal?"
"And, not that I want to cut this lovely distraction short but I'm thirsty." Here he pauses for a bit of dramatic flare, a cruel smirk of self-deprecation on his lips as he leans in to whisper, "My ex … is Harley Quinn."
Is she the crazy ex-girlfriend?
Katherine Rebecca Kane mulls this over for all of one and a half seconds of debating defending herself.
Ultimately, her answer comes in the form of a derisive, defeated snort.
"Yep. I guess I am, huh?" she declares roundly, pale hands lifted palms towards the ceiling. It's easier, in the end, to speak ill of herself, rather than an ex. "To be fair, I didn't have my best game face at the time. And she was a cop."
Mostly.
But when Owen gets into it in the most succinct way possible, Kate squints. "Wow, aren't you confident." She leans in to meet him halfway in a most conspiratorial of ways, selling the drama of the moment for the man's sake…
My ex … is Harley Quinn.
And then she blinks.
Muted surprise lasts all of half a second before Kate is leaning back and squinting again, this time with an extra added edge of incredulity. Her lips purse. Her head tilts, as if quietly assessing Owen with that piercing, suspect stare of hers. She leans back juuuuust a bit more, as if to get a better look at him.
"Alright. Fine."
And then:
"Hey! Bartender! Whatever he wants, and make it a double!"
OWEN: 1
KATE: 0
Owen gives an off handed shrug to Kate at the admission that she might be the crazy ex. There's no judgement in it, because hey, it happens. He's certainly been the drunk, irresponsible and dangerous half of nearly all of his 'relationships' but few hookups last long enough to be even called that.
"Yea, cops a good start …" Owen concedes the point, and did think for a minute that Kate might be able to give him a run for his money. But no. There are very few that could go toe to toe with Owen at least in the crazy ex-girlfriend round. There are plenty of events left in the self-destruction Olympics though and it's too soon to count our challenger out just yet.
Letting his confession sink in, Owen just nods as he watches Kate process it. He hasn't told many people in Gotham, and the people in New York maybe are a little too unaware of Harley to be properly incensed when they found out, so he hasn't had much practice in this. But his own internal estimates of how people would react, do follow this template quite closely.
"Whiskey!" The order accompanies a flip of the hand as if to say I don't care what bottle you pick, it's likely all the same anyway in a joint like this.
"And while Harley might be nuts. I'm an asshole. So we've decided to call it a draw …" He hems and haws for a bit and adds, "Which means I might wake up with her sharpening an ax over me in the middle of the night or never hear from her again. Not sure which."
And sadly unsure of which he'd prefer. Blech. Where's that drink?
All the whiskey here is of a similar, fine, and traditional quality:
Watered down.
Still, Kate sees to it that Owen gets the best in this place that money can buy. A deal's a deal, after all, and he won the game and then some. Ordering some for herself, the redhead turns her attention back Owen's way, considering him once more with a quiet, contemplative eye before she continues.
"First of all, and don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure you're not just angling for a free drink?" she wonders aloud. "The deal's already done, so you can be honest with me: how full of shit are you being here, exactly? Because last I checked, Harley Quinn has a certain type," emphasis on certain, "and you don't seem pale or green enough for that. And you've only laughed all of once in the time I've known you."
She's known him for like an hour.
That's exactly the point.
Still, she listens to his explanation, for all his hesitation in the middle of it. Her brows knit together, a frown pressing to her lips. She feels like commiserating. Telling him she's had it just as bad. Giving him a real bad ex story.
She doesn't. Instead, she waits for her shot of whiskey to slide into her waiting hand before asking, with all due curiosity,
"So, if this is the real deal… what's the appeal there? The thrill? Death wish?"
She leans in, her expression, and tone, utterly dry.
"Masochism?"
Owen takes a big gulp of the whiskey but doesn't quite finish it off. It might be a while before the barkeep comes around and he's not in a rush. It takes him a moment or two to realize what Kate means about angling for a free drink.
"Yes, this was my dastardly plan. Step one, date Harley Quinn. Step two, find people willing to bet drinks based on exes."
He's digging in his pocket as he says this though and produces his phone. He flips through it, making head bobbing motions as he slides through the photos and at least one grimace, before landing on what he is looking for. He slides over the phone, with a picture of Harley kissing his cheek.
"The appeal? I thought you were into chicks. Have you seen her in those tight little shorts?" It's a joke, sure, but there's plenty of truth to it to. But he does go at least a little more sincere than that.
"And damn. No one has as much fun in this life as Harley Quinn. And I c'd use a little fun. At least .. but yea, her ex ain't nearly as funny as he thinks. And he's just as much of a psychotic nut job as they say. So that doesn't help things."
And in truth he does blame the Joker more than Harley for the breakup, so really she's a distant third in why things broke down. Because even in a relationship with Harley Quinn, he's the unreliable wildcard.
"Hey," notes Kate, lifting a finger into the air. Expression utterly flat. "One. This is Gotham. Two…" The second finger lifts.
"… I question the sanity and planning ability of anyone who'd date Harley. Quinn. You're not exactly in fine company."
Kate Kane calls 'em like she sees 'em. As long as it's not her she's turning the lens on.
But still, as Owen provides that proof, Kate plucks up the phone to squint at that picture. Her lips purse just a bit as a soft "huh" exhales from between them. A second passes by.
"Cute couple."
She leans back then, sliding the phone across the counter. Her only answer to Owen's first, glib explanation is the critical heft of her brows before she offers a wise, "Not even the shortest shorts is worth that level of crazy packed into them," as, clearly, she has a plentiful amount of room to talk. But when he talks more, about those more sincere reasons, she pauses. She considers her whiskey. And then she downs it in one go.
"I guess neither of us have a whole lot of sense when it comes to where we ought to find our fun."
This is probably one of those moments wherein Kate Kane rightly ought to cut things off here. Maybe buy another round, exchange some pointless pleasantries, call it a night, and never speak to Owen Mercer again. That would be the smart play. And she certainly does tuck this information away for later consideration, at the very least — the cruel, practical part of her brain says this is information worth knowing in case she ever needs it in the future. The other part of her —
"Well, that is a very sad story, Owen. And considering you're probably not long for this earth…"
— the other part of her is the one that ignores the practical part of her brain telling her to cut this off at the head.
"… how about another round on me before then?"
"As you should." Owen is not going to argue that any of his decisions in life are good ones, least of all deciding to actually attempt a relationship with Harley.
He just makes a half 'heh' laughing noise at being called a cute anything and accepts the phone back. He tucks that back away and finishes his first drink in this place, but no where near his first of the night.
"Yea, I've been making terrible decisions in the name of fun for years. Somehow I doubt she'll be my last mistake in that arena." At least he managed to shrug off Sock and not end up falling back into that old habit, for tonight anyway.
"I never say no to free drinks, least of all when there's a good chance of dying." Not that he thinks there is any real imminent threat of that tonight, but his desire to get good and solid drunk remains and if someone else is buying? All the better.