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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
Hell of a direct approach.
He screws on a half smile, making a show of trying to peer at Mr. Arroyo's screen. Whether or not he's allowed to peek, the outcome is the same. "I don't know," he says, voice lowering with Mild Curiosity #4. The kind that screams, repeat that again? i slept through the lecture.
God he can't stand that... look, from Arroyo. Not like it'll break him that easily, though. "What is that?"
Atlanta Braves won the World Series.
Suck it, Houston.
no subject
no subject
Tim blinks, straightening and forcing himself believably still. He furrows his brows, his next huff of breath coming out nervously-- normal.
Good Cop is waiting for him to spill.
It's fine.
"What?"
Considering they're just there, it's a solid question. Tim's eyes flick to the man's hands. He's not about to get tased is he?
no subject
no subject
A teenager dragged out to talk about nothing with some old man who thinks he's being wise? It happens. Tim just shakes his head, feels the bite of cold for the first time. "Okay?" Does he look like someone keen on inflicting lethal anything?
His stomach churns.
No wonder Bruce can't stand him.
"You know sparring at the gym isn't about killing anyone, right?" Sue him if he sounds halfway to peeved, halfway to placating. "I wasn't about to ram that stick up someone's-- throat."
no subject
No, that title is held by Martin Whitly, and it probably always will be.
His temper subsides, the gentleness creeping back.
"We can keep dancing around and wasting time, or you can tell me what's got you asking a cop about what would make him use lethal force."
heck, cw police brutality ?? in MY gotham city??
There's nothing he can do about it but wait. Wait it out.
He's always done that.
And then the Bad Cop routine has done its due and Tim feels free to move. The first thing he does is suck in a breath
and hiss out, "What the hell are you talking about?"
With all the necessary bravado of a guy who does not, in fact, make a habit of telling off people he respects. Tim's not even sure if he's offended at being called a bad liar. There's a sting, regardless.
"Do I want to know what makes a cop use lethal force? I just got out of ten months of trying to walk around on crutches," he explains. And, no, he doesn't mind much the odd look here and there from passerbys. Hell, this... almost even feels good, the raised voice and posturing (and he can't remember when he raised his voice). "Detectives, beat cops, it feels like the whole GCPD wants me dead. Lucky me that they're bad shots, right? What do I care?"
no subject
Put a pin in the rest. They'll get there.
"Bad shots, bad cops. Both." He draws in a deep breath. "One of my detectives, brilliant guy, he's my rec for lieu if I'm forced to retire--he almost got shot by a cop who wouldn't let him pull out his badge."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing the spot for a second. "Look, kid. I'm not going to push you on this. But I'm not letting it go. You..."
A tiny half-smile, another deep breath. He waves the thought off. "Never mind."
Gil starts to walk again, gesturing ahead of him at the sidewalk in a clear invitation for Tim to keep him company still. "You looked pretty comfortable with it, that staff in the training area."
no subject
He doesn't elaborate, and a handful of steps later Tim comes to the realization that he is keeping pace with Arroyo.
Gross.
He doesn't have to follow just because he's been told to follow.
Tim stops. Makes a show at digging out his... phone, and he clicks on the time. Just routine bullshit. "Look-- I need to go." Sir. "Good talk." Not?
no subject
"Uh huh." It's not clear what the half-noise is in answer to. "You'll have to show me some time, how to use that thing, the staff. I've got some basic hand-to-hand, but I don't love the idea of wrestling something that can take my face off if I get too close."
He gestures down the block again before tucking his hands back into his coat pockets. "See you around, kid."
no subject
(Technology talks with him.)
But the Lieutenant doesn't need to know that, doesn't need to know Tim had fixed a lethal blade to the end of his old, beloved fighting staff back home.
He hits harder now, when he fights. He's had to-- he's grown up.
Taking someone's face off isn't... entirely out of the question.
Okay, so maybe Arroyo has worked him up to a bad mood. Tim frowns- it's a commonplace expression for him- and just lifts a hand in a silent goodbye before turning away when Arroyo does.
Sure.
See you around, then.