(2014-11-14) The Elephant (Art) in the Room
The Elephant (Art) in the Room
Summary: Tigra experiences a bit of attention in Gotham City, then she and Pepper meet. Includes a cameo by Bruce Wayne, who we believe was OOCly eaten by dinner.
Date: 2014-11-14
Related: NA
Scene Runner: Mutual
Social/Plot: Social

-==[ Fashion District — Gotham ]==-------——

This area has the reputation of being a quirky home for starving artists. The reputation is somewhat outdated; this area attracted artists, then galleries, then celebrities seeking to identify themselves with the artists, then people flocking to be seen with the celebrities, in a spiral of costs and gentrification. By now, though there are 250 art galleries in the space of one-fourth of a square mile, the artists themselves are by and large gone.
The architecture in the Fashion District is still unmistakable - Italianate, neo-Grecian, and Victorian Gothic structures decorated with wrought and cast-iron. And the converted warehouses and factories still boast the expansive living spaces of their lofts; it's just that it's highly-paid professionals who can afford them, not the artists and sculptors who made them famous.

Following a few days in New York City, Tigra's path has taken her to Gotham City, at least for the weekend. That is, assuming nothing goes wrong. Rather than taking to the rooftops, she walks along a sidewalk in the fashion district, eyeing buildings and random windows that predominantly showcase the arts. Of course, when one is nearly a six-foot tall tiger woman, one draws considerable attention to oneself. To those seeking to pay her compliments: smiles and waves. To those calling her names: sharp looks and enough of a growl to suggest reconsidering the attitude. Naturally, a few simply run away. Fortunately, nobody's tried shooting yet.

"Yes, that's fine." A conversation is happening right at the doorway of one of the gallerias, the young man, rather attentive to the business-attired redhead as they stand half in the street. Miss Pepper Potts seems to be assuring him, "The timing will be perfect. I will call to be sure that everything is ready, however," sounds as a gentle but insistant warning.

"Yes, ma'am, Ms. Potts. I'm sure that Mr. McGowan will be more than happy with the request." Sounds like a manager who just made his receipts for the month? "We'll have it delivered."

The slight commotion in the street pulls Pepper's attention from the ending of a cashless transaction, and she takes a breath. Nearly six-foot tiger woman, indeed. Taking a step in towards the store, she has to force herself not to stare.

Not. Easy.

Business outside of the suit never ceases and today it finds Bruce in the fashion district. Standing outside of a store he is on the phone his back to mostly everyone. "I don't care about the cost. Make it happen." the phone is hung up just as one of those running away from the six foot tigeress smacks into him. "Careful." he tells the frightened young woman who just continues running. "Alright." he shrugs now taking a moment to turn around to continue his trek only stopping as he notices the woman. Not even this phases him of course, if anything at least she is better looking than Joker. No law against walking so he doesn't stare, no he just continues walking along his wn way which just happens to be in her direction.

Tigra looks much, much better than the Joker, unless someone has a very narrowly-defined opinion of beauty or appeal. Granted, some might like a pasty-faced psychotic over a woman with fur and tiger coloring. She's clothed in something not so much a costume as simply an outfit for comfort and convenience, and while the average person might feel cold or underdressed, it seems not to be an issue for her. Undaunted by the attention she receives, she's really doing nothing more than strolling along and minding her own business, to the point of whistling quietly. Now, she's paying attention to those around her as well. As people jostle and congregate at a corner, it slows everything down to the point she stops just outside the entrance to the place Pepper's in. That's when Tigra seems to feel another pair of eyes on her, if for a moment, and she glances inside with a mildly curious look about her.

Well, isn't that a touch embarrassing, getting caught staring? The least Pepper can do is offer a smile along with it with a hint of a wave attached. She really should be used to all the varied people in the world, but she does live in a slightly rarified version of the world, and as such, rarely actually -sees- said 'varied people'.

Well, okay. Pepper hired one. Blue and furry. But he has spectacles and a PhD with the promise of a multitude more!

"Hello," is given softly, but not too awkwardly in Tigra's direction.

Bruce Wayne's approach just beyond also doesn't miss her notice; who doesn't know the man, at least by reputation? Pepper isn't about to shout, however.

Tigra is a strange sight anywhere, no doubt about it, but once people spot none other than Bruce Wayne himself, it's almost surprising how quickly the feline woman is forgotten in order for them to seek Wayne's attention, wanting to shake his hand, offer him a sob story in hope he'll hand over some money, things of that nature. "Now who is that..?" Tigra begins, glancing away from Pepper as a couple others brush past her in their haste to reach the billionaire, then a few raised voices of "Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!" helps her remember. "Oh, yeah. It all makes sense now." As she returns her focus toward Pepper, leading her closer to the doorway, she jerks a thumb in the man's direction. "I think we just found one of the only people in Gotham City famous enough to make me an afterthought."

Bruce's presence certainly does cause something of a commotion, and Pepper admittedly was going to at least greet the man. But with so many 'fans', even in an area where the rich undoubtedly come, it's probably not the best of ideas at the moment. As a matter of fact, Tigra's self-deprecating words actually makes the red-head laugh before she stops herself. "Oh, I'm sorry… but Mr. Wayne is rather popular, isn't he?"

It's exactly why certain people are here. Whether paparazzi or just those who are awed by being near celebrities, they flock to the district in hope of that one glimpse. Today, they've had two wildly different encounters in short order. Tigra shrugs it off and admits, "I could've done a couple things to blend in better, but why?" She leans back to have a look at how the wealthy playboy's doing over there before adding to Pepper as a follow up to her rhetorical question, "Just a bit. Oh, I'm Tigra. And you are?"

Thankfully, then, the paparazzi won't look to a Personal Assistant. Pepper takes a step back towards the door and puts up a delicate hand onto the doorway, peeking out once again. Green eyes linger for a long moment on Bruce before she pulls her attention fully back and gives the tiger-woman a genuine smile and extends her hand with the introduction, "Virginia Potts," she begins before she offers something of a breathy laugh, "Most call me 'Pepper'." A light shrug comes, but it's not dismissive. "A nickname."

Indeed, Pepper just doesn't rate the same as Bruce Wayne or a tiger woman. The latter lingers close to that doorway, out of the main path of the adoring public, an amused look etched into her face before accepting the hand with a firm grip of her own. When the nickname is brought up, her brows knit closer together before she visibly sniffs in the direction of the other woman. "Pepper? Why? You don't smell like pepper to me." Pause. "That's good, otherwise I'd have just sneezed on you and that's no way to make an introduction."

"Just a nickname I was given," Pepper shrugs once more, though she takes it in stride. If anything, it really is a relief. In NYC, well, she's a virtual celebrity. At the sniff, however, she scrunches up her face and raises her brows in question. "That wouldn't have been good." Though, she'll reserve the 'not allergic to cats' comment for later, when and if she gets to know the feline lady better. "But understandable -if- I did smell like peppercorn."

The droning buzz of the masses leads Tigra to brush her way past Pepper inside. Politely, of course. "Nothing wrong with a nickname as long as you don't mind it. It's the bad ones that stick that really stink," she declares, coming to lean against the nearest wall as her tail dips down, the tip twitching. Yes, she even has one of those. "Anyway, you from around here, or no?"

Pepper's finished her business with the galleria owner, but she doesn't see any reason not to file back in, if only to wait for her ride back to NYC. Closing the door behind her once again to keep the heat from escaping, she follows a tail(?). First notice there.

Her tone takes a somewhat amused tenor as she pauses in front of a brightly hued picture of the Statue of Liberty. "Problem with nicknames is that you never choose your own."

The question regarding whether or not she's 'from around here' gains a slow shake of her head from Pepper. "No, I'm a New York City girl. I don't come south unless there's reason for it." And the galleria is reason enough, apparently. "There are lots of little galleries in the City, but I do like to look elsewhere too. Not everyone comes to New York," and here, a quirk of a smile rises, "much to my chagrin."

And, it's only polite, "Are you from Gotham?"

A benefit to staying inside means Bruce Wayne can be accosted without Tigra or Pepper getting mixed up in it. Much as the cat-woman might enjoy seeing how he reacts to her, it's not worth dealing with that many people. The tail's path shifts and sways before slowing as it settles to curl loosely around one of her calves. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you can guess some of the nicknames I've heard, especially the dirty ones." Rather than looking annoyed or put off by it, she just remains amused.

For a few seconds, Tigra takes in the sight of some of the closest artwork while even in here, a few begin to stare with mouths open. "Mmm. Never been much of an art girl myself. The sciences..a little more my thing. And no, Chicago's home, but I'm exploring. Never know what you'll come across, right?" Grin. Fangy grin.

Pepper's expression deliberately says that 'yes, she can guess but would rather not', and a soft chuckle sounds from the redhead. "Oh dear. I really don't mind 'Pepper'. I've gotten used to it over the years, and it's not anything like," a light hand gestures in Tigra's direction, "those suggested." Tame.

Now, however, to see the remarkably striped woman take in the art around her, she wanders towards one of the walls that one of her preferred artists (not her favorite!) has a couple of pieces hanging. Blurs and blots, it's very 'art nouveau' in the definition that it hasn't yet stood the test of time. It's very 'today'. "Really? Nothing wrong with art. Particularly if you like science. Look at it too long, and science stops being logical and moves to the emotional, which is where art lies."

Pepper waves her hand in front of her face as if to wave away the words, "I'm sorry. I do like science as well. And math. But art," Pepper wanders to the wall and reaches to touch the faux gilt frame, "It seems like it encompasses all of that too."

Tigra answers with that sort of knowing nod that says 'yep, you get it.' "That's why 'Heeeere kitty kitty' or 'Bet I can make you purr' doesn't bother me all that much," she quips. "Pepper is unique. Beats being called 'Red' or something like that." She meanders away from the wall to peer at some of what the New Yorker finds appealing, head tilted at the attempt made to connect art to science. It might be lost on her so far, evidenced by a general nod and mumbled, "I guess so," then she shrugs. "I can appreciate it, but it's not my thing to actually do. Some people have a weird definition of 'art,' though."

Pepper screws up her face such that her nose wrinkles in distaste. "I can see that. I'd be a little annoyed at that, and probably someone would get hurt." Badly.

Watching Tigra approach, there's a gleam in those green eyes, and she gives a conspiratorial look towards the gallery manager before closing the distance between the two women. Her voice lowers until it's a stage whisper, "Not everything they claim is art is actually art. Some of it, I wouldn't put down to line a catbox."

"Don't mistake me saying I can put up with it for me saying I've never put a scare into anyone," Tigra explains with a shake of the head, a scrunching of her nose to match Pepper's. "If it's innocent I can deal. If it's more than that, I'm not just going to let some dog - and I don't mean /dogs/ - think he can get away with it." After this, she listens long enough to laugh and answer, perhaps a bit too loud for Pepper's comfort, "Yeah. Look at that one over there. I could have just thrown a few buckets of paint around and done that!" At least it isn't one of the pieces Pepper seemed to prefer.

Pepper is an extremely good patron of the gallery, so even if the manager catches the conversation, he's not about to ask her to leave. Twisting around to catch the painting gestured towards, she shakes her head slowly and whispers, "Have you heard about elephant painting? Where they take the brush and paint with their trunks?" A gesture is given in that direction, "Sort of like that. Only better."

Tigra really doesn't need to lean closer to hear, but she does out of habit as the whisper is offered, eyes further taking in the painting she singled out while she likely imagines what Pepper tells her about. "Some people really have too much time on their hands if they think a elephant knows anything about art. Maybe they should just say an elephant did that one." A few seconds later, she turns her attention toward the door back to the street. "I think Mr. Rich Boy Bruce moved on. It got quieter out there."

Pepper chuckles, her head inclining in a light nod. "They might sell better if they said an elephant did it. But then, they'd have to provide video proof. That's called 'provenance'." Imagine, being sued over a painting like that? "And," she begins again, self-deprecatingly, "I know way too much about this. It's a little embarrassing at times."

The words 'Mr. Rich Boy Bruce' actually gains a larger smile from the Personal Assistant, but she doesn't say a -word-. Instead, Pepper heads towards the door once more, and with the traffic snarl released a little, a sleek, black limosine pulls up to the curb. "Ah, I'm sorry. That's my ride," is given with a touch of amusement hinting at her tones. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Tigra. I hope we get to discuss science next time we meet."

"…good point," is all Tigra says about proving the elephant did it, a sniff following. This one is of lingering amusement, not for purposes of getting a scent. In fact, her tail twitches again to show the mood she's in, then she squints at the limo that stops out front. "I didn't know you rode in style. Guess you'll be getting some attention after all before you're out of here." A pause follows, then she finishes a thought. "I know I'm hard to miss, but how /do/ we meet again?"

"Well," and Pepper lets out a soft chuckle, "I'm hoping I don't get too much attention. With the departure of Mr. Wayne, I can only hope." Unless, of course, the manager makes a point of advertising the patronage of the Personal Assistant of Tony Stark himself. Which she's pretty sure he's not above doing. After she's gone.

The question brings an 'oh' to Pepper's face, and she digs into her purse to pull out a business card. Emblazoned upon it, 'Stark Enterprises' with her name below, 'Executive Assistant', and a phone number. Turning it over, a genuine smile quirks her face. "That will get switchboard. I'll give you my extension." A pen is discovered, and she writes quickly. "I'm almost always at my desk, unless I'm not." Once done, Pepper hands it over before she steps out. "I'm sorry, time to go- Okay, I'm coming."

The goodbyes made for the time being, Tigra raises a brow as the extension is written down, then she accepts the card. By the time she glances back up from reading the information on it, Pepper's gone and making a beeline for the limo. "Stark Enterprises, hmm? Well, then." Another look behind to roll her eyes at the painting she scoffed at, then she's back on the sidewalk to deal with stares and cat-calls once more.

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