Beware the Ides of March

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The sun has been up for some hours when Selina Kyle opens her eyes. Her dreams fade away from her as she does so. It was a strange dream with people not often thought of in it but she's not trying to hold on to it. Not today. Not when she is here with this man asleep next to her, his arm still partially around her waist.

I'm not doing badly for a woman of tw.. thi... my age. Still, another year passes and I can see where it has left marks on me. Things not quite what they used to be, even if the man asleep next to me would protest such a comment.

Then again, he wouldn't be who he is if he didn't. Coming to think of it that's a development I didn't see coming this time last year. Some part of me has stopped searching. I wasn't even aware it was searching and the rest of me is not at all sure what to think of it. I think, me being me, there will always be some part of me detached, on the prowl, ready to run. But .... we're both like that.

I've gotten a lot better at accepting things over the past year.

Some things, at least.

Selina stretches a little, yawning. For a few moments, she allows herself to sink back into the pillows and the comfort of the bed she's laying in... but no matter what day it is, there are things to do and people to see. Sliding out of bed, Selina heads to the bathroom, taking shower. When she comes out of it, Bruce is still sleeping like a rock, which causes her to smile a bit as she gets dressed.

Taking a moment after she's dressed, Selina smoothes Bruce's hair lightly away from his face and kisses his hair. He's likely still got a few hours of sleep left in him, or at least she can hope. She makes her way out of the door to breakfast and to her two lovely cats who also need breakfast.

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Her living room?

Filled.

With roses.

Red ones. Dozens of them. Dozens of dozens of them, enough to make a few florists roll in cash in the typical post-Valentine's Day slump. They reside in vases on the counters, on the tables, on the floor, everywhere. The place smells like a garden.

On the coffee table sits, alone, a single white rose amongst the others in an Irish crystal vase. A card in an envelope leans against the vase, with SELINA in bold writing across the front.

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Selina opens the door and stops.

The first coherent thought she comes up with is, Maybe the cats would like roses for breakfast. It looks as though Pong might have already attempted that but Isis is curled up on the arm of the couch. Closing and locking the door behind her, she heads over to the envelope slowly.

The roses would have been enough. She hesitates a moment before opening the card.

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No sappy sentiment, no saccharine poem of romance. A Parisian-style drawing of a cat decorates the front of the card, and inside is a message in Bruce's distinct print: I didn't forget. Happy Birthday, Miu.

Picking up the card also revealed a small rectangular box with a satin ribbon. A jewelry box, maybe?

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Miu, huh? Selina can't help but smile a little at that. Closing the card, she traces her finger across the drawing for a few moments.

Carefully putting the card down, she picks up the box and looks at it. The analytical part of her mind geusses about how much it weighs and that that likely means is inside. The rest of her, though is resisting shaking it to see if it makes noise before she opens it.

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Shaking it would make it rattle a bit. Metal.

The box contains something she might not have expected: car keys and a folded piece of paper with the address of a garage.

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A car? Selina curiously looks at the car keys, attempting to determine what sort of car from the keys. Because she might well be able to cheat a bit.

Pocketing the keys, she arranges food for the cats. Isis mewls up at her and Selina scritches her between the ears for a few moments before heading out.

It was tempting to take Isis with her but... maybe next time.

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The keys are deliberately bland, and no electronic fob dangles from the keychain. When Selina arrives at the garage, an attendant is plainly expecting her, because he hops up and grins. "Miss Kyle! Yeah, just a second, lemme get it for you."

A minute later, a low growling sound reverberates through the concrete building's entrance as Selina's gift (http://pds.exblog.jp/pds/1/200509/25/18/e0019918_1432050.jpg) is driven to where she waits. "Here you go, ma'am," the young man says cheerfully. "The fee was already paid. Someone sure likes you. Oh! He said I was to give you this, too."

Another envelope, containing a heavy-stock single-sheet appointment card, embossed. On one side Bruce has written You deserve a purring cat in the garage. The other side contains the following, printed by the salon:

Arden Day Spa
Wednesday, March 15, 10:00am
Treatments: massage, body wrap, facial, manicure, pedicure, shampoo, hair styling

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Whatever Selina had been expecting, that car was not it. She chuckles to herself, sitting in the car for a few moments, just to sit in it and listen to the engine. It reminds her of a few things, a few older cars she had for brief periods of time.

She thanks the attendant and heads on her way, not wanting to be late. As it is she'll be running close.

Especially since she doesn't want to get out of the car. There is a very cat-like impulse to rub her face against the seat which she ingores for the moment, turning the keys over to the valet and heading inside.

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Inside is a day's worth of pampering. The massage lasts an hour, the body wrap likewise. Lunch is provided, something light and healthy but extremely tasty, before the afternoon's treatments begin. She could not possibly be finished until 4pm.

Another card is deliverted to Selina during her pedicure: Antoinette Bailey, La Maison, 5pm. La Maison is one of THE shops in Gotham for a woman to buy evening attire.

Expensive evening attire.

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Selina looks at the card and sniffles a bit. She's relaxed enough that some of the emotion of this actually comes through. The roses would have been enough. The car will make her happy for a very, very long time.

Pulling in a breath, she lets it out again, determined to enjoy where ever this day goes. It is a struggle, for a brief moment, to stop the rolling number total in her head but she pushes it out of mind. She makes sure she has her cell phone in case Holly or Ted are trying to get ahold of her today, since apparently she's going to be pleasantly busy.

As she makes her way out of the salon she smiles, taking the keys back, the pleasure of the day winning out over the shadows in her thoughts.

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Antoinette Bailey is a tall, elegant black woman of middle years who also happens to own La Maison, and she is waiting for Selina in the shop at 5. Her store is, save two other employees, empty.

"Good afternoon, Miss Kyle," Antoinette says with a lyrical Jamaican accent, presenting her long fingers to Selina for a firm handshake. "Welcome to La Maison. If you will follow me, we shall have you fitted for your gown well in time for your dinner reservation. Do you care for tea or coffee? Perhaps a glass of wine?"

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Selina takes her hand in her's and shakes it firmly in return. "I could use a glass of wine, actually." Most of the time she isn't much for drinking but she's found herself in a pleasant place that she wants to stay in. A little help would be nice.

"When is my reservation?" She wants to as where but not just yet. The whole gown fitting should be interesting enough.

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"7:30." Someone has already moved off - unhurried but purposefully - to get the wine as Antoinette ushers Selina to the fitting area. Nothing cramped here: the room is large, with a raised platform for someone to stand comfortably without worry of toppling over. A burgundy gown (http://www.theage.com.au/ffximage/2006/03/06/Knightley2_narrowweb__300x615,0.jpg) is hanging in readiness for the fitting, already selected along with black heels from Selina's closet and that collar she received for Valentine's Day.

When did he DO all of this?

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Selina's sort of trying to figure that out herself. Some of the images that come to mind are distinctly amusing. She waits before getting onto the raised platform, greatful that she's wearing decent undergarments today, as she's going to potentially be doing a lot of standing around in them while they sew.

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Not long, as it happens. The gown needs a few adjustments here and there, but apparently something that fits Selina well was already provided to help the fitting process along in advance. Within 30 minutes Selina can be comfortably esconced in an arm chair with a glass of pinot noir while the seamstresses make the appropriate adjustments on the expensive garment.

Antoinette, for her part, lingers to ensure everything is under control. She is far too discreet to make inquiries beyond ensuring Selina is being cared for properly. And once the gown is fitted and donned, a makeup artist and hair stylist arrive to put the finishing touches on what is apparently to be a very glamourous evening.

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Antoinette could inquire all she wants. Selina has very little idea of what is going to happen, other than the parts that are obvious at this point. There is something about not having control, about having to sit back an enjoy all of this. It is a heady experience.

Putting the wine glass down, she stands up for help into the dress and then for the make up and hair, not wanting to smudge either.

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As Selina stands before the trio of full-length mirrors, three separate people ensuring that everything is well and perfect and unsmudged, a figure appears over her shoulder in one mirror's reflection. The figure is wearing a tuxedo and carrying a box.

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It is hard not to make the unsmudged very smudged.

Of course the fact that the dress isn't something she can run in helps some.

Still, for a few moments, she just looks at him, before crossing the floor to him. Really, she has to walk in that slinky way.

It's the dress. Honest.

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His smile spreads to a grin as he looks over her from head to toe, and, after blowing out a breath, he whistles low and says only, "Wow."

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Selina stops a few feet away. The urge to touch him is a physical pull but she doesn't. At least not yet. In the silence for a moment, everything is there in her eyes and she knows that some of this is just as much for him as it is for her.

"Thank you." Pause. "You look so handsome it makes my chest hurt." She has no idea if that makes any sense.

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He carefully places the white box on a table so that he can put his hands on her hips and pull her close for a kiss, a kiss meant to be gentle and brief but eventually far longer than intended. She'll need her lipstick touched up.

"Selina," he whispers into her perfectly arranged hair, "I wish I could say what you deserve to hear. Try to understand that what you feel for me...it's not far from what I might feel for you."

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Her hands find his hips during the kiss. He'll need to get lipstick off of his lips, most likely.

The comment afterward, however, sends a shock through her, leaving her tingling. One breath. Two. Three. Slowly, movement seeming awkward and strange, she slips her hands into his and squeezes.

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A half-smile, practically shy for a man like Bruce Wayne, finds his mouth as he gives her hand a squeeze in return and then reaches for a kerchief to remove the lipstick.

The box he put on the table? A soft sound comes from it, like a rumble.

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Selina looks to the box and then Bruce gets a look before she turns and finds that the make-up artist, the hair stylist and Antoinette were waiting. Probably just in case something needed fixing. Selina smiles and finds herself beset by people looking for something to fix.

Even if it is mostly just her lipstick. Maybe some mascara and eyeliner issues.

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The box mews.

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Selina almost messes up her make-up again in an attempt to turn toward the box and snuggle the contents but she holds still for a few moments more.

The expression on her face as she looks at Bruce is very young, almost childlike as she waits for him to hand her the box.