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In Metropolis, one can find almost everything. All kinds of peoples - fighters, tricksters, thieves, innocent people just looking for a good time.

And occasionally, you can find a healthy looking kitty with silky white fur sitting on the porch of a nearby storefront to a club, grooming himself (because the cat itself is a boy, you see) and occasionally running off to walk a fence or leap on a row of trashcans or chase a mouse.

Rachel may or may not be avoiding the nightlife of other twenty-somethings.

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Dick crouches easily on the fence again, elbow on one knee, steady as if it's solid ground, and looks back at her.

"So I'm really getting the impression you're not just a normal cat, huh?"

It's extremely awkward and utterly alien and the cat doesn't much like it... but Rachel nods.

It's a really weird thing to see, a cat nodding.

Dick blinks, but that's all the reaction -- hey, he's seen weirder. "Okay, cool. So ... you need help, or are you out here for something else?"

And can he still pet the kitty? It's such a nice fluffy kitty. Wait, maybe not so good, if it's sentient.

Mmmmmmmm pettings.

...that was actually Fluffer enjoying being pet, not so much Rachel and her crush. (though she can't help but notice how cute he is... a lot)

She doesn't protest the pettings, but-- isn't really sure how to answer his question without using Thoughtspeak. She settles for slowly, awkwardly shaking her head.

It wasn't a yes or no question, but maybe that will help anyway.

Dick is totally not being amused, watching a cat try to make human gestures. Okay, well, he is, but he's mostly laughing on the inside only.

"Well, I probably won't get in your way, unless you do something dumb," he says cheerfully, "and considering I'm talking to a cat, I'll keep my definitions loose."

Frustration is the emotion of the day. How is she supposed to talk to him about gymnastics while she's a cat? And she doesn't want to morph in front of him-- and can't justify running off and suddenly appearing as a human who is ever-so-interested in whatever it is he's doing.

(actually, she probably could, but is a little too paranoid to expect other people to believe in coincidences)

Tail twitching irritably, the cat starts to groom himself. The hilarious part of morphing, sometimes, is when the animal and human mind get meshed together - ending up with the actions of an annoyed cat and a content one, simultaneously.

It's kind of hilarious, really. Dick isn't trying too hard to cnotrol his bemusement any more.

"Are you really a cat, or only sometimes a cat? Uh -- you don't have to nod. That looked awkward. Let's say two tailflips for yes. Really a cat?"

Um.

Well... it's not really telling him that much, right?

One tailflip.

"Figured," Dick says, sitting back in his crouch with a grin. "One sec, I'll be back --"

Something was moving up on the top of the nightclub that shouldn't be, and Dick disapproves of this. A leap off the fence towards the wall; a quick grab of a windowsill, twist and flip, to throw himself upwards again; and he's alighting on the roof and out of sight from the fence.

Yaye acrobatics!

...that was the coolest thing she's ever seen. Which pretty much settles it for Rachel, who waits until he's out of sight to leap off the fencepost.

By the time Dick gets back, there's a distinct lack of white kitty - and a distinct appearance of pretty blonde woman in clothing about as tight as his.

Dick returns by the simple expedient of jumping off the top of the building. It's only a couple stories, not too much of a drop (for a Flying Grayson - turned vigilante).

He straightens, giving the woman an easy smile. "...Catwoman?"

Hey, valid guess. Although why the hell Selina would be anything like this blonde -- who knows?

The wrinkle of Rachel's nose really can't be blamed. Not when that's his greeting and her first thought is: Great, more comic book geeks.

"Yeah, right. And you'd be Robin?"

"Not for years now, but I could still rock the short-shorts if you wanted." Dick is still amused by her reactions. "I'm guessing you were the cat, yeah?"

Skimpy and all, her outfit's still not really clubbing wear. Not that he's inspecting it too closely -- or at all, save for the first quick assessment. Dick is nothing if not a gentleman.

... a gentleman whose default interacting-with-strangers mode is 'charming and lightly flirty,' but still. A gentleman.

Clubbers don't usually go barefoot either-- though, for that matter, neither do cats.

But Rachel will worry about that later, after two things have been resolved: 1) getting the image of Dick in short-shorts out of her head (his pants really should not be that tight, it's terribly distracting), and 2) he agreed with her.

"...yeah," she admits after a moment, frowning slightly. "You're... serious? The whole comic book thing, that's for real here?"

"...comic books?"

It's strange, but even with the mask that hides his eyes and brows, she can just tell that one eyebrow is raised.

"Like -- the Wraith? Dudes in purple who live in the jungle? I'm pretty sure they're not actually real anywhere, ma'am."

Another Dick talent: managing to be completely genuinely warm-hearted and smiling even talking to the crazy lady.

Rachel's talent: getting irritated and annoyed with just about anybody, no matter how pretty they are.

"No, I mean Batman. Bruce Wayne, Gotham, all that crap."

"...crap?" Dick shakes his head at her. "Real as I am, ma'am. Gotham's on the east coast."

Beat.

"... so's Metropolis, in my world, so I might not actually be right about that."

Rachel frowns a little - helpless, not angry. Aliens, she's dealt with. Weird shit out of bad sci-fi, she's got that.

Illustrated comic book characters come to life and annoying her? Totally without experience.

(though it does explain why his gymnastics are so amazing. obviously, no one in the real world could manage that ~~or so she'll continue telling herself until she feels better~~)

"Stop calling me ma'am," she says after a moment with a deep sigh, giving him a look. "I'm si-- not old enough to be a ma'am."

Dick gives her that wide warm smile again. "I could try sir?"

"So tell me," Rachel continues, eyes narrowing irritably, "what's the spandex for? To distract people from what you're saying or to cut off the air to the head on your shoulders?"

She could just walk away... but then how would she find out more about the gymnastics?

There's a breeze in the air. There always has been, in Dick's vicinity.

"Wait, Wayne got comic books in which he's Batman? Did no one tell him the meaning of secret identity?"

Dick's lips twitch as if he's trying not to laugh. "Well, it's mostly for movement," he says politely. "But it's not actually spandex. It's a kevlar-nomex layered weave. A little more protective, you know?"

"Oh. Well, then."

She'd make fun of his outfit some more, but... well, Rachel's in skintight midriff-exposed lycra. Not a single leg to stand on, really.

Rachel shuffles for a moment, frowning. And when she finally does speak, it's grudgingly. "...where'd you learn all that? The gymnastics?"

"The -- oh." He grins, surprised and slightly flattered. "Oh, uh, long story, really."

Rachel doesn't much care for modesty. She waits for a moment and then frowns when she realizes he's not going to continue.

"You're taller than most gymnasts," she points out after a moment. "Where'd you find someone to train you?"