milliways_bar | Entries tagged with tim drake

So - a teenage boy walks into a bar wearing leg braces and using crutches that honestly look kind of heavy duty. There isn't really a punchline to that, except that he pauses because honestly, he didn't expect the Bar today, and he hadn't really decided if he was going to keep up the ruse of his totally-real spinal injury while he's here. On the one hand, he hasn't really positively identified anyone as being from his universe. On the other hand, just because he hasn't doesn't mean they don't or won't frequent the Bar, and it could potentially screw up a lot of work. (It doesn't help that there's a voice in the back of his head that sounds frighteningly like Bruce reminding him to prepare for the worst-case scenario, no matter how unlikely.)

You know what would make this decision easier? An ice cream soda float. Which he has to have delivered to him while he's sitting on one of the chairs near the fireplace because he can't really carry it easily with the crutches (con of keeping this up at Milliways: more difficult to maneuver around). But at least he has something to brood over.

alreadywon

His mom and dad aren't home, and Tim's Not Disappointed because they're busy and it doesn't really matter, anyway, plus they sent him a very nice birthday card and a book, and his nanny bought him a cupcake, so it's been a nice birthday, really. It just... maybe had room to be nicer?

And the Bar obliges this wish when he happens to wander into the Bar, presenting him with Superbear wearing a party hat and a little bowl of ice cream, which he's eating with a big grin on his face. Come congratulate the birthday boy on turning six!

run_barry

[oom: can't save everyone]

It's late on his side of the door when Barry enters the bar. He's tired and subdued and heads straight for the counter to take a seat.

Opening his mouth to order he falls into a racking coughing fit, covering his mouth with a balled fist and hunching over on the stool.

Yeah, poison gas really sucks.

When he's able to breathe again he asks Bar, "Can I get some of that tea Chirrut likes?"

Bar provides, along with a bowl of vegetable soup, the kind with the alphabets.

Barry gives the bowl a sullen look, but doesn't turn it away.

"Thanks."

alreadywon

[oom: "...Well done, Detective."

content adapted from Red Robin #12, content advisory for violence and somewhat death-seeking behavior/thoughts]

“Injured teenager” is probably a pretty familiar sight to regular patrons of Milliways by now, but this is a day for old standards. Tim’s right arm is in a sling, there’s a pretty large white bandage taped under his left eye (that doesn’t quite cover the bloom of bruised skin on his face), and—well, that’s about all that’s immediately visible, and from the stiff way he’s moving, there’s more you can’t see.

Tim’s not really sure he wants to be in Milliways at the moment, but he wants to stay in the Manor even less right now. It’s been a hell of a few days, and yeah, there were some bright spots, like everyone believing that Bruce is still alive, but—but.

Everyone had treated him like he was insane. And then Dick realized the truth because he went and threw “Bruce” in a Lazarus Pit, the fucking hypocrite, and Tim’s just—he doesn’t know what he is. Exhausted, mostly. He ends up grabbing a few ice packs from the Bar and getting himself a room so he can just chill for a while.

A few hours later, when he feels less like he's going to explode, he comes back for a burger and a milkshake and finds somewhere relatively comfortable to sit down.

alreadywon

Have you heard this before? A Tim Drake walks into a Bar. (So far, so done.) This new, seventeen-year-old model is looking a hell of a lot rougher than either of the other ages he's come by, in part due to seen too much, grew up way too fast look in his eye, but the fact that he just had major emergency surgery not too long ago doesn't exactly help. Nor does his lack of shirt, given that there's nothing hiding his holy shit, who's been beating you up? collection of scars or the pretty large bandage taped over his abdomen.

He freezes - this is absolutely not where he expected to be, what the hell - and half-turns to walk right back out the door, but the doorway he came through has already mysteriously disappeared. Okay. Okay. This is. God, he hasn't been here for years. Why now? Tam's back there with the League of Assassins, he doesn't have time for this - well, okay, he guesses he does, given that time doesn't really pass while you're here. But still.

Okay, one thing at a time. Shirt. Shirt first. Upon being asked, the Bar kindly provides him with a t-shirt (decorated with a Bat symbol because of course it is, what even happened to his life), which he pulls on quickly enough that he almost doesn't notice the napkin that had been sitting on top of it and flutters to the floor. Get vaccinated, it says.

He leans heavily against the Bar. "Look, I'm having a really bad day. If I'm just here so you can tell me to get vaccinated, then great job, you told me. Can I go now?"

In reply, he gets a glass of orange juice, great for vitamin C and reasonably helpful for blood loss. Great. Thanks. That makes everything better.

runningred

Jay sticks a sign to the noticeboard.

Working bee for the garage drones and their new habitat.
Anyone who can lend a hand moving or building things would be greatly appreciated.
Free pizza and beer/soda for anyone who can help.
Follow the glowing arrow.

He leaves a pile of trackers like little key fobs that light up with a directional arrow when squeezed.

He orders a trolley of tools and another of food and drinks before dragging the lot downstairs.

{ooc: party style thread, open till we get bored. Thread hopping encouraged.}

nothinglikeanybody

Apparently, while Tim was away on his Robin work-study, Bruce picked up a new addition to the team in the form of Ace the Bat-Mastiff. He's nice enough, even if you count that near-miss when Ace jumped on Tim's bed while he was still on it and Tim was nearly trapped forever.

Tim... did not intend to bring him in to Milliways at this time (or possibly ever), but Ace pushes past him as soon as the door's open and goes trotting off to investigate the place. Eventually, Tim curtails his wanderings and gets him outside for a game of fetch, for which the Bar provided him with a tennis ball with tiny Bat symbols on it. Catch them any time.

nothinglikeanybody

It's been a long couple months. Busy, what with thwarting a terrorist plot to bring the bubonic plague back into style, but still plenty of time to get his ass kicked in many creative and varied ways. It feels like he hasn't had a day without pain pretty much since he stepped off the plane in Paris.

But that's okay. He didn't expect the Robin gig to be comfortable - although he could definitely do without the cracked rib. (Still better than dying.)

Here, he's finally taking a break, both in terms of immediate activity and in general; he's already located Dorrance's ship, just has to wait for it to come sailing into port so he can wrap up this whole mess and go back to Batman. That's all pushed to the periphery of his thoughts right now, though, because his concentration is on successfully guiding Mario to the end of a level. He's commandeered one of the more comfortable chairs (sitting carefully so he doesn't put any undue stress on his rib) and is currently dying pretty spectacularly in handheld 8-bit form.

nothinglikeanybody

[oom: "The mask hides your fear. No one knows what you're thinking. And it's double-edged - it frightens your enemies and feeds your strength.
But no suit, no mask, can ever hide you from yourself."
warnings for drugging of a minor and violence.]

You've heard this one before. A thirteen-year-old boy walks into a bar. He's wearing jeans, gloves, and a blue jacket that he may or may not be trying to disappear into. He's also pale, sweaty, and twitchy, but - details.

Milliways... may or may not be a better place to detox from fear gas than an alley next to the Batmobile. It's probably safer. But there's also way more going on, which means way more to set his brain down a fun new path of panic. They say that the scariest things happen when you're alone, but right now, Tim's pretty sure crowds have that beat. It'd be - he thinks it might be easier if he goes to the outside, so that's the direction he heads in.

It takes - pretty much all of the self control he has (what he's feeling isn't real, it's just a drug, he's - probably - safe. it'll wear off) to limit himself to walking to the outside door instead of running. This is fine. Sometimes he flinches at - nothing real, but that's fine. It's better. He knows where he is, he can identify the fact that he's been drugged. That's an improvement. Not too long ago, he was having full-on auditory and visual hallucinations, so this is better. He just has to hold on for a while longer. Like Robin would. He's still Robin for one last night.

nothinglikeanybody

Bruce has been handling most of the actual details for his mom's funeral, but as the only living member of the Drake family who scores higher than a 5 on the Glasgow Coma Scale, he still has to have some involvement in the planning. After the seemingly endless strings of information and questions about what instructions Janet left, what she wanted for the funeral, what Tim wants for the funeral. That last one trips him, because he doesn't know what to say. What does he want for her funeral? He wants to be left alone. So that's what he says, loudly, before storming out like a child.

Bruce comes and picks him up at the hospital after Tim's spent about an hour in his dad's room. He doesn't say anything about not losing control and running away, just squeezes Tim's shoulder and leads him out to the car. At some point, he announces that he thinks Tim would be better served taking the day off from training, which is. Fine. Tim's not sure if it's a restriction from concern or a punishment, but he doesn't really care right now. Caring would require more emotional capacity than he has right now. Right now, he just feels - wrung out, like a dishtowel.

Of course, Milliways catches him when he figures he should probably try to do some homework, which leads to his current state,of sitting at a booth and only sort-of trying to solve some math problems. They'll get done at some point.

nothinglikeanybody

His life has sort of been in upheaval lately. Starting when he convinced Bruce to give him a shot as Robin and started training, and now, well. His parents. It doesn't even feel totally real yet. It's not like he talked to them that much when his mom was alive. It'd be super-easy to pretend that they're both fine and he's going to get a postcard any day now telling him they decided to extend their trip a while longer, see you when we get back.

Tim elected to move into Wayne Manor instead of staying at the boarding school, figuring it'd be easier. He never really got that attached to anyone at school, anyway. He's not the first kid Bruce has taken in, so it's pretty easy to get Wayne Manor set as his foster home, especially since he'd already been staying there on and off. Plus, his case worker figures it'd be less stressful on him if he stays with people he knows. So yeah, it's been an eventful time in his life.

And now apparently the magic place he'd mostly convinced himself was the result of an overactive five-year-old's imagination is real. That's a thing, too. When he sat down, one of the rats brought him the teddy bear dressed like Superman that he remembers carrying around while he was here when he was a kid, and he can't seem to give it back. So now he's just sitting here, feeling stupid - a thirteen-year-old boy with a stuffed animal in his lap, seriously, how dumb must he look? - trying to process what this means.

There's a lot to process.

nothinglikeanybody

Timmy's parents were home, for once, which is exciting! He got to see his mom and dad every day, at least for a little bit. There were outings! But Business waits for no one (he thinks? that seems to be true), so after a week or so, Jack and Janet Drake announced they had to leave on a shorter, weekend-long trip that's not as far away as most of their trips, but Tim can't come because it's Business and he'd be bored and have nothing to do so it's really better if he just stays at home.

And that's okay, because Tim is Very Grown Up, and Grown Ups aren't disappointed about things like that. So Tim is sitting on the couch at Milliways again, not being disappointed.

Although his Superbear might be. A little. It's a good thing it has Tim to comfort it.

twiceahero

From Barbara's perspective, she hasn't actually been out of the bar for very long. But long experience with the place, and her own innate paranoia, mean that one of the first things she does when she comes in is retrieve a digital watch she keeps with Bar to check the time and date.

Oh, and she orders a coffee. Obviously.

Her eyebrows rise for a fraction of a second as she does the math, but then her expression calms back to a pleasant, thoughtful smile that doesn't actually communicate much.

She takes her coffee and rolls over to a table not too far from the door, her back to it so that she can watch the patrons of the bar, trying to update her mental catalog of who is around and what they're up to.

Hopefully it won't take her too long to realize that this isn't an especially good week to try to figure out what the bar tends to be like these days.

nothinglikeanybody

The Tim Drake who enters Milliways has been here before, even if that was not true up until a short while ago. He's unnaturally pale, somewhat underweight, and wearing a surgical mask over the lower half of his face. He's not alone, though - he's accompanied by a black lab wearing a service vest and a collar that proclaims him to be Ace (1007 Mountain Drive). He trots along at Tim's side loyally, subtly shifting position as they walk to put himself between Tim and anyone who gets too close.

Milliways is... a challenge for Tim. He's used to solitude and company in small groups. He may be forced to retreat at some point, but for now he's willing to slide into an unoccupied booth (maybe a little too pressed up against the side facing the wall but who's judging?) while Ace sits down next to the table and dutifully resists barking at the rats.

[Write-up of Tim's AU. Warnings for discussion of torture of a minor, mental illness, and other unfun things.]

daringyoungman

" It wasn't me that killed you, it was the Bat."

The good news is that Bruce is alive - he escaped his bonds and rescued Dick and is completely unhurt when Bruce wakes up.

"It wasn't me..."

The bad news is that Dick now knows something that hurts worse than a baseball bat to multiple bones.

It is the phrase: "You're fired. Robin's finished."

"...it was the Bat."

~*~*~*~

Dick wasn't looking for the Bar today. He wasn't looking for anything, really. He's just been puttering about the mansion in his sweatpants and a flannel shirt that Alfred has cut off and hemmed above the right elbow for ease of getting on and off over his cast. Apparently the door has decided he might as well putter around in here, so he takes it.

He alters his gait a little, trying to be less visibly in pain from walking, but he can't cover the bruising on his face or the plaster cast that covers him from wrist to elbow.

He kiiiinda wants to just hide in the rafters but that's probably a no-go. so he heads to the couches instead.

After a while a rat brings him hot chocolate and cereal.

nothinglikeanybody

Five-year-old Timmy is, once more, in the Bar. This time, he's sitting at a chair, his Superbear tucked under one arm while he studies the book lying open on the table with a look of utmost concentration. The material may be beyond his reading level (which is already considerably beyond what you'd expect from a five-year-old), but he's determined, darn it, he is going to learn about the country his parents are in this month, even if he keeps having to reference the Bar also helpfully gave him.

runningred

Jay is having an unfinished projects day in the garage. Music up loud and projects everywhere.

In the middle of the workshop is a stand holding a set of fold out wings belonging to Sam Wilson. He’s currently busy fitting a new device to the spine plate of the backpack rig.

Four white ovaloid shapes about the size of footballs float around his workshop, singing along to the music or carrying tools with slivery little arms.

Feel free to come and chat, or tell him to turn the music down.

nothinglikeanybody

Several of Tim's caretakers have learned, often on the job, that he gets nightmares. Bad ones, usually featuring someone he knows dying by falling. It happens much less often now than it used to, but it still happens, and his current caretaker hasn't been around long enough to be aware of this. So when he climbs out of his bed, instead of going to her bedroom, he intends to go to the kitchen for a cup of water. Instead, he gets Milliways.

He's been standing near the doorway rubbing his eyes for barely fifteen seconds before a couple waitrats usher him off to a couch. In short order, he is provided with a blanket, hot chocolate, and a teddy bear dressed like Superman. There's a short, wordless argument when Tim decides that Superbear wouldn't be parentally-approved, but the waitrats firmly refuse to take him back, so he gives up and cautiously hugs it. (It is really snuggly. And dressed like Superman. It probably won't be a problem as long as he gives it back before going home.)

So, in conclusion: still visibly upset five-year-old baby Robin wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot cocoa with the help of Superbear.

nothinglikeanybody

There is a tiny five-year-old sitting on the couch with a copy of the first Boxcar Children book that the waitrats provided for him, probably in an attempt to give the lost kid something vaguely age-appropriate to do. Not that he's reading it, mind you, because there's a bar in his house. It's unopened in his lap while he stares wide-eyed at basically everything at once.

He's pretty sure this is a dream, but if it is, it's clearly the best dream and he should memorize as much of it as possible.

seewhatyoumean.livejournal.com

The door to the bar slams open under the (admittedly not all that impressive) weight of a young woman in a black body suit and a cape. Despite the wildly uncontrolled arc of her flight across the room, she tucks and rolls with casual grace so that she's on her feet almost the second she hits the ground. Her stance is ready, an obvious fighting position.

And then she looks around and relaxes almost imperceptibly.

A mask covers her face so no one can actually see her lips curl up into a broad grin, but her body language isn't precisely subtle in declaring its delight in where she's landed.

After all, Bar makes amazing milkshakes.

mamaplays2win

Sam Puckett is tearing through a plate of ribs and a bucket of fried chicken when her eyes finally come to rest on the sign informing customers that tabs are being called in.

The rib bone clutched tightly in both hands slowly lowers from her mouth to the plate.

"What the chiz?" Sam demands of the air.

A napkin appears on the bartop. A conversation commences. Sam's half is very loud and very indignant, and ends with her throwing her hands up and demanding, "Well, how much do I owe?!"

A fresh napkin shows up in front of her.

"...Oh."

themysciran_diana

Diana is laughing as she comes through the door to Milliways, half-turning to wave at someone behind her.

"No, really, I'll see you later. Just try to get rid of me then."

The smile stays on her face even as she shuts the door behind her, shaking her head slightly in self-deprecating amusement.

"Bruce is never going to let me live this down."

She knows better than to think taking a year off means Batman won't pay attention to the wider world.

Diana herself is pretty terrible at that, too. What she's good at, however, is grabbing a pastry and some coffee from Bar, then ensconcing herself at a corner table to take her time with the food.

The end of the universe has its uses, after all.

Including cheap but good junk food.

someboywonder.livejournal.com

So it turns out that life, never tired of throwing me curve-balls, has decided that my insane quest to prove that Batman isn't dead just isn't crazy enough. No, it's definitely been way too boring up until now, what with the assassins and the explosions and the part where all my friends think I'm a nutjob.

So now to spice things up I'm working with Ra's al Ghul, leader of the League of Assassins, complete maniac and more or less one of the most evil, twisted men I've ever faced. Oh, and he's also the only person who believes me when I say that Bruce is alive. So yeah, that's fun.

...and that's why I'm sitting by the fireplace with a very exasperated expression on my face.

Seriously, when did I enter Bizarro world?

Jack's less than pleased today as she storms into the bar. Well, less than she normally is. She's sporting a cut lip, several bruises on her face and arms, and her hands are bloody from her own bleeding knuckles, as well as from somebody else's face. In her hand is the remains of a shotgun, though it now resembles more a piece of scrap metal. The hole that has been blasted into the side of the weapon may have something to do with Jack's mood.

“Fucking Batarian shitheads, ruining everything!” Jack takes a seat at the bar and unleashes a string of mostly-understandable curses that eventually end with her asking for a bowl of water and a rag. There's nothing to do about the gun now, it's wasted, but she can at least clean her wounds and get a bite to eat. A fight like that leaves Jack starving, so money or no money, she plans on eating like a king

alwaysroomforhope

It's the dead of the night and hardly anyone is around!

Except that in Milliways, that never means it's particularly safe. So Security is watching out for you! Don't break rules! Be careful! Or Security will GET YOU!

-- currently, Security is in the form of a bouncy, cheerful sixteen-year-old in sweat pants, sitting on a table, sipping a chocolate milkshake, and swinging her legs.

But swinging them in a totally threatening way! Really. No, really.

ellectrical

With the bruise on her face almost entirely faded (and taking considerably less work to hide), and the pain from her rib fracture subsiding, Elle had slipped out the door to take care of a few things in her world.

She's still a little relieved when the door to her hotel room once again leads back to the Bar. Elle looks around for a moment, and then moves to a booth, putting her bag down on the table and curling up well inside it. A few minutes later, a waitrat is scurrying away, and Elle is slipping various things out of her bag – a thin envelope with the tip of a paper ticket peeking out from inside it; a small, white plastic bottle; a passport.

The tray the rat returns with, in addition to a glass of soda and a tuna sandwich, includes a glass of water, a folded up map, and a black marker.

Elle isn't in a hurry to do even more work, however. She sets the map and ticket aside, and reaches for the sandwich.