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Despite her loud and aggravated protests to Dinah and Zinda about 'wasting her time', with the exception of the first ten minutes in the club to get oriented, Babs has spent the entire time out on the dance floor. She's currently working on her fourth dance partner, the previous three all having ~~been wimps~~ taken a breather.

There are few things Barbara Gordon likes more than dancing, and even fewer things that she can still do in the chair. And her enjoyment is evident in the absurdly large grin on her face.

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Sparrow is effectively distracted from the Dick-and-Barbara reunion (That slut. Isn't she supposed to be with Bruce Wayne?) by this transparent and blatent attempt at distracting her.

Out of curiosity more than anything else, she reacts to the rucus, by leaning back, scowling angrily at being jostled.

And out of the corner of her eye, easy behind the shades, she watches to see what she's being distracted from...

The tangle is small and quickly over, the bumper apologising and buying the bumpee a drink.

Meanwhile, without much subtlety -- but with enough to get the job done, were she anyone but who she is -- the chubbier boy leans across the bar, hand passing over Sparrow's drink, and a small white tablet drops from his palm and fizzes for a couple of seconds before dissolving.

Sparrow is now completely grossed out. She's thirteen, for chrissakes. What kind of perverts are these people?

The plan forms quickly, and when she reaches back to get her drink, she drops in a pill of her own - something palmed from her utility belt that's designed to neutralise the effects of a range of poisons, including that one.

She hopes, because part two of the plan is to drink the juice much more quickly, to see what happens next.

The teenagers nudge each other, grinning, and the kid who dropped the pill casually comes over to stand beside her as soon as she's finished the glass.

"Hi," he offers sweetly. "You sure looked thirsty."

I've been flying all day with that guy who's just ditched me for a cripple is ditched as a potential answer. Sparrow's more concerned with figuring out how people are supposed to act in these circumstances.

"I've been dancing a lot," she decides, grinning at him.

It's supposed to be a charming, teenage girl innocent smile, but as she dopes it by peeling her lips back over her teeth, it misses the aim.

"I wish I'd seen that," the boy says, grinning at her. "I'm Sam. Nice to meetcha." He offers a faintly sweaty hand.

"Hi, Sam," Think of a name, think of a name.

Sparrow takes his hand in hers, small and dry and warm. "I'm Robyn."

"Hi, Robyn."

He almost looks shy. But a glance at her empty drink glass reassures him.

"You're really pretty. I've never seen you here before."

"I've not been in town long," 'Robyn' admits, and wonders if she should be slurrier. Hmmm. "Jus' got in t'day."

Better?

His grin grows a little bit wider, and he rubs a hand over his freckled face.

"Really? Cool. Where are you from? I heard things are really nasty outside of Kansas. You could've been hurt."

Lucky he met her, really! He is a Big Brave Protector.

Or something.

"Gotham," says 'Robyn'. "'Scept it's all in ruinsh now. So I came here."

Woe! Angst! is poor defenceless 'Robyn'.

"Aw, no!" He's SO SAD for her.

"Do you need a place to stay? I could help you out, if y'like."

It's probably meant to be a charming, helpful grin.

Nestled innocently in her lap, Sparrow's hand clenches into a fist so tight the knuckles turn white. She really wants to smash that irritating grin into next week.

"Would you really?" she asks, saccharine sweet.

"Well, sure." Gringringrin. Kind of like a shark sensing blood in the water, really. "We're all in this together, y'know? It's the end of the world, the least I can do is help you out. My friend over there, he's staying with me too, so you wouldn't even be alone. I wouldn't want you to feel weird about being the only one."

The 'friend' nods and gives her a wave that isn't at all creepy. ... well.

Sparrow hasn't the slightest idea how sweet, naive and drugged 'Robyn' should respond to that, so she bluffs.

"Oh, that's a relief," says she. "That's really sweet of you both..."

She leans against the bar, trying to appear woozy.

"We're just nice guys, what can I say?" Sam says, sliding an arm around her waist in a gesture that's surely meant to be suave. "Hey, you look kinda tired. Wanna head off now?"

Sam is the most pathetic attempt at a human being Sparrow has ever encountered, she decides. And that's really saying something.

"D'you mind?" she slurs. "I don' wanna mesh up your nigh'..."

She adds in a lolling of her head, and leans against his arm. It's the worst performance of her life.

It's okay, because he's not the brightest, either.

His friend comes up beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and bombarding her with the smell of cheap deodorant and hair gel. "It's okay, we'll look after you."

"Yeah, we'll treat you right."

"Oh boy," Sparrow - not Robyn - mutters. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Aw no, really? Quick, c'mon, we'll get you outside, c'mon ..."

Slimy arms steer her through the crowd and towards the door.

The boys may have exchanged an unsubtle high-five over her head, too.

Really ... not very bright.

Sparrow disguises her facepalm as a sign of feeling woozy again, and allows herself to be steered, constantly reminding herself that she's not supposed to be leading them out.

The bouncer gives her a look that's half concern, hlaf annoyance that she got in the club anyway.

"Time you took her home, boys," she says.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam grins at her widely, until his friend smacks him behind Sparrow's head to shut him up. Then they're outside into the cool night air, the breeze sharp and fresh on their faces. A little way away a blonde girl is hunched up on the kerb, her friend hailing a cab; there's a couple of nondescript party girls falling over themselves to chat up a guy in a black leather trenchcoat; a handful of guys sporting bruises are skulking off down the way.

Apart from that, they're just about alone out here. And the two boys don't let go of her, leading her firmly towards an alleyway where they'll be even more alone, both of them grinning openly now.

About halfway to the alley, Sparrow stops pretending to be drunk and woozy; she wasn't any good at it anyway. By the time they start heading into the dark, she's walking upright, the only act being that she hasn't tried to shrug off thir hands on her waist and shoulders.

"You guys are real gentlemen," she's saying.

"Aw, thanks," Sam says, beery breath hot on her neck.

The unintroduced one, who's evidently the smarter of the two, lifts his hands off her and eyes her warily.

But she's just a kid, what's she gonna do?

Sparrow ignores Sam for now, and grins vicously at his friend instead. It's nice when the penny finally drops, isn't it?

"All right," she says, legs slowly spreading to a firm stance. "Let's get this over with."