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apocalypsehowcomm2021-11-05 09:49 pm
ployboy) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2021-11-05 09:49 pm
I will scream the word ( open log )
Who: Tim Drake, others
When: throughout November
Where: Dogtown, Docks, ADI HQ
Summary: catch-all log with gratuitous stalking and poor assumptions; individual threads will warn for content that comes up.
Warnings: ghosts, discussing death, stalking, possible violence, possible compulsions, possible gaslighting
Souls Come to Visit ( CLOSED to Neal ; cw ghosts, potential for compulsion, violence, discussions of death )
November 2. There's still the leaden feeling of the Halloween hangover over what seems like everyone's head, but Tim had found it in him to rise early, stay alert at his work desk, listen in to the serious talk of new waves of supernatural threats. He had declined dinner at B1, instead shutting himself back in his room and reemerging better-dressed: actual oxfords, dark chinos, a decent belt, a blue button-down, Malcolm's sport coat that he promises he'll return to the guy some day soon. He's got a date he says, and he'll be back late if at all that night.
If spends the evening in the graveyards, feeling the temperature drop as the sun begins to set. Dia de los Muertos isn't huge in Gloucester, Massachusetts. There's families coming and going, of course, and colors splashed around headstones which normally wouldn't be there. There's an exhibit on culture and history, and music and refreshments in an artists' cooperative downtown; Tim finds relief in the lonesomeness of the day, the deeper into Dogtown he wanders to reach the more abandoned graves.
He doesn't dare move anything. What's soiled and overgrown with grass or weeds is left as is. But he tries to read the names where the etchings haven't eroded. It's quiet and cold. Even the ghosts keep their distance. It makes Tim look up from where he had stayed for too long, contemplating a lost life he never knew, when he hears someone approaching. It's Neal.
"What are you doing out here?"
Aren't they instructed to keep to pairs around these places? But Tim's question isn't really accusing-- he's curious, is all.
God Killer( CLOSED to Ren; early November, cw stalking, violence )
[It's early in the month and late in the evening; Tim's around Bonnie's most often on weekends-- the freedom to step outdoors is exhilarating, same as it'd been years ago when he was a kid. There's danger in the streets, there's warnings to heed, there's misguided and self-appointed protectors. The nights are turning cold, and a street lamp illuminates his breath.
Gotta watch out for that.
Tim isn't looking to get caught and he's itching to dive into the shadows of the night. Conveniently-- Ren provides him the opportunity. The other guy had been searching for something or someone the past few days. He'd been acting off somehow, like he'd been eager to give chase, too. So Tim had decided to do good on his duty to ADI:
Suspicious activity is to be followed closely.
What is going on with Ren?]
Stick 'Em with the Pointy End( CLOSED to B1 )
So, yeah. Tim's made himself scarce. He even made it a point to go out of his way to avoid Malcolm, terrible as that made him feel, after the fits of endless nightmares. His alibis are solid, he's not sweating anything big, and every now and then he'll brave announcing to the two that he's going to stay out for the night. Mostly that last one is done in a rush, face pink-red as he dips outta Dodge with his backpack slung low over his shoulders and skateboard under his arm.
Then one day he slips off work early, a new break to his newest routine of being a good employee. When Meredith returns to the apartment, Tim will fetch her the gift like a dog would fetch a bone he's particularly proud of: sword cane. It follows the aesthetic model of her usual fashion. Tim lifts it some and twists its mechanism and-- "Concealed carry. Told you I'd do it." --the blade isn't for reckless swashbuckling. But it'll do damage.
Malcolm for his part gets a shoulder-bump some day as they cross paths in Headquarters after the nine-to-five grind. Shockingly, despite the stifled yawn that breaks out of Tim first, he seems ready to carpe the diem, and he wastes no time in getting to it. "How good's your aim?" he asks, matching pace and content to forget about hallucinations and night terrors and fathers-- but not guns. "Arroyo said you had training."
r/BlackMagicFuckery( OPEN; cw stalking, potential violence, compulsion )
I.T. knows Tim fairly well. He's the kid who takes too many breaks and who will occasionally reply to an email with Guinea pig gifs. But a challenge is welcome and the movie magic of Adobe studios and Snapchat filters has ADI finally providing him with a troubling enough puzzle. It'll have to do.
He sits at the canteen a lot, a notebook scrawled on with chicken-scratch shorthand, phone in hand as he scrolls on and on. Most days are a bust and he gives up on his one-man crusade only to trudge off to the gym or to his apartment. But the mounting frustration is a part of the game, and it's a game Tim plays very well.
He's been watching you.
One day he'll approach, or maybe you'll approach him on ADI grounds. "Busy?" He asks, because he's dying to get to work-- he's got a lead. "We'll split the reward fifty-fifty."
Arm Yourself (With Knowledge)( OPEN; cw violence )
[He wonders if he can ever shut off the cameras, maybe put the feeds on a loop. Two minutes, five tops. He'd have to ensure whoever is monitoring the cams will be gullible enough to fool with the simple trick- a new recruit, maybe.
Look. He just really wants to yoink that bo staff he's twirling around in the training room. It's hefty and cost someone a pretty penny, and it's deliciously balanced and it brings memories back with a vengeance. The weapons wall is ignored and Tim hasn't gone through all of his stretches yet, but
whoever's in ear shot, who looks like they can (and would) kick his ass?] Hey! We're sparring. [It's not a question.]
World is my Oyster( OPEN )
[Is it weird to nap on a fishing barge in the middle of a November afternoon? Probably. Will it stop Tim from doing just that? Not really, no.
Or catch him chatting with an old local, something about being interested in the lease of a dock-side warehouse.
Whatever it is, he's... looking blue, like the barrage of Happy Holidays right around the corner is a promise of anything but. It's why he's got to keep busy. Or die trying. You get it, right?]
((ooc, hmu if you want a scene! this will span the entire month, no rush for anything. Brackets or prose- I'll match you!))
When: throughout November
Where: Dogtown, Docks, ADI HQ
Summary: catch-all log with gratuitous stalking and poor assumptions; individual threads will warn for content that comes up.
Warnings: ghosts, discussing death, stalking, possible violence, possible compulsions, possible gaslighting
Souls Come to Visit ( CLOSED to Neal ; cw ghosts, potential for compulsion, violence, discussions of death )
November 2. There's still the leaden feeling of the Halloween hangover over what seems like everyone's head, but Tim had found it in him to rise early, stay alert at his work desk, listen in to the serious talk of new waves of supernatural threats. He had declined dinner at B1, instead shutting himself back in his room and reemerging better-dressed: actual oxfords, dark chinos, a decent belt, a blue button-down, Malcolm's sport coat that he promises he'll return to the guy some day soon. He's got a date he says, and he'll be back late if at all that night.
If spends the evening in the graveyards, feeling the temperature drop as the sun begins to set. Dia de los Muertos isn't huge in Gloucester, Massachusetts. There's families coming and going, of course, and colors splashed around headstones which normally wouldn't be there. There's an exhibit on culture and history, and music and refreshments in an artists' cooperative downtown; Tim finds relief in the lonesomeness of the day, the deeper into Dogtown he wanders to reach the more abandoned graves.
He doesn't dare move anything. What's soiled and overgrown with grass or weeds is left as is. But he tries to read the names where the etchings haven't eroded. It's quiet and cold. Even the ghosts keep their distance. It makes Tim look up from where he had stayed for too long, contemplating a lost life he never knew, when he hears someone approaching. It's Neal.
"What are you doing out here?"
Aren't they instructed to keep to pairs around these places? But Tim's question isn't really accusing-- he's curious, is all.
God Killer( CLOSED to Ren; early November, cw stalking, violence )
[It's early in the month and late in the evening; Tim's around Bonnie's most often on weekends-- the freedom to step outdoors is exhilarating, same as it'd been years ago when he was a kid. There's danger in the streets, there's warnings to heed, there's misguided and self-appointed protectors. The nights are turning cold, and a street lamp illuminates his breath.
Gotta watch out for that.
Tim isn't looking to get caught and he's itching to dive into the shadows of the night. Conveniently-- Ren provides him the opportunity. The other guy had been searching for something or someone the past few days. He'd been acting off somehow, like he'd been eager to give chase, too. So Tim had decided to do good on his duty to ADI:
Suspicious activity is to be followed closely.
What is going on with Ren?]
Stick 'Em with the Pointy End( CLOSED to B1 )
So, yeah. Tim's made himself scarce. He even made it a point to go out of his way to avoid Malcolm, terrible as that made him feel, after the fits of endless nightmares. His alibis are solid, he's not sweating anything big, and every now and then he'll brave announcing to the two that he's going to stay out for the night. Mostly that last one is done in a rush, face pink-red as he dips outta Dodge with his backpack slung low over his shoulders and skateboard under his arm.
Then one day he slips off work early, a new break to his newest routine of being a good employee. When Meredith returns to the apartment, Tim will fetch her the gift like a dog would fetch a bone he's particularly proud of: sword cane. It follows the aesthetic model of her usual fashion. Tim lifts it some and twists its mechanism and-- "Concealed carry. Told you I'd do it." --the blade isn't for reckless swashbuckling. But it'll do damage.
Malcolm for his part gets a shoulder-bump some day as they cross paths in Headquarters after the nine-to-five grind. Shockingly, despite the stifled yawn that breaks out of Tim first, he seems ready to carpe the diem, and he wastes no time in getting to it. "How good's your aim?" he asks, matching pace and content to forget about hallucinations and night terrors and fathers-- but not guns. "Arroyo said you had training."
r/BlackMagicFuckery( OPEN; cw stalking, potential violence, compulsion )
I.T. knows Tim fairly well. He's the kid who takes too many breaks and who will occasionally reply to an email with Guinea pig gifs. But a challenge is welcome and the movie magic of Adobe studios and Snapchat filters has ADI finally providing him with a troubling enough puzzle. It'll have to do.
He sits at the canteen a lot, a notebook scrawled on with chicken-scratch shorthand, phone in hand as he scrolls on and on. Most days are a bust and he gives up on his one-man crusade only to trudge off to the gym or to his apartment. But the mounting frustration is a part of the game, and it's a game Tim plays very well.
He's been watching you.
One day he'll approach, or maybe you'll approach him on ADI grounds. "Busy?" He asks, because he's dying to get to work-- he's got a lead. "We'll split the reward fifty-fifty."
Arm Yourself (With Knowledge)( OPEN; cw violence )
[He wonders if he can ever shut off the cameras, maybe put the feeds on a loop. Two minutes, five tops. He'd have to ensure whoever is monitoring the cams will be gullible enough to fool with the simple trick- a new recruit, maybe.
Look. He just really wants to yoink that bo staff he's twirling around in the training room. It's hefty and cost someone a pretty penny, and it's deliciously balanced and it brings memories back with a vengeance. The weapons wall is ignored and Tim hasn't gone through all of his stretches yet, but
whoever's in ear shot, who looks like they can (and would) kick his ass?] Hey! We're sparring. [It's not a question.]
World is my Oyster( OPEN )
[Is it weird to nap on a fishing barge in the middle of a November afternoon? Probably. Will it stop Tim from doing just that? Not really, no.
Or catch him chatting with an old local, something about being interested in the lease of a dock-side warehouse.
Whatever it is, he's... looking blue, like the barrage of Happy Holidays right around the corner is a promise of anything but. It's why he's got to keep busy. Or die trying. You get it, right?]
((ooc, hmu if you want a scene! this will span the entire month, no rush for anything. Brackets or prose- I'll match you!))
no subject
He makes to retreat-- there's a way to weasel out of harm's way, same way he came in behind the stored containers, helped by the shadows. But he before he does, he's got to ask:] How long have you been doing this? Before coming here?
[There's the sounds of rowdy quietness outside (you know the kind, the Don't Get Busted By The Cops kind, the kind of quiet amateurs revel in, thinking they're wise after their third promised engagement). Tim won't move, not all the way, without an answer. But he's making it clear: he will move.]
no subject
They're here. Ren can hear the door crack and the steps approach, several different paces echoing in the vast space that both Ren and Tim share. Shit, fuck, fuck. Thank you so much for ruining this, he's been marinating each and every one of them individually in fear for a while now, and today was finally the day he was going to put them in bars.
At this point, it's either help or get out.
Get out, please. Get out.)
no subject
[Or maybe Ren doesn't like him as much as he'd thought, Tim muses, and he's not saying the guy's a rookie. But this is what Red Robin would consider a rookie mistake.
Or maybe it's a misguided trust thing, and it looks like, intentional or not, that's their cue to hold hands and sing Kumbaya.
Tim knows how to weasel out of harm's way. He does that. He has no armor and no defined backup- it's not wise to help Joker.
But, obscured by the black of darkness, he knows he can do his own thing. He's planned for it.
And so the door to this room swings open, and the gang swarms in like the rats they are.]
no subject
The gang tonight is only three. With three, and the number of drugs scattered around this place, Ren knows for a fact that no police or authority is going to listen when they retell what they've seen here tonight. Besides, it's fuel, isn't it? The blue electric fire engulfs Ren again, and when it dissipates, it reveals something entirely different. Arsène is by far the most creepy looking out of the three Personas Ren carries, and his mask burns against his eyes with brightness for a second before Ren recenters.
The first thug that lunges towards Ren gets swept by the dark wing and he smirks. Ah, he actually does love this.)