14119/Down in the Depths

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Down in the Depths
Date of Scene: 12 February 2023
Location: Sublevel 1 - Fabrication - The Roost
Synopsis: Lonnie finds Tim working on a secret project down in one of the Roost's sub-basements. Tim reveals a plan that's just about ready to hatch.
Cast of Characters: Tim Drake, Lonnie Machin




Tim Drake has posed:
    Everyone has their vices. That's just human nature; some will do their best to resist them, others indulge them so deeply that it kills them.

    Tim is... somewhere in the middle. The amount of coffee he drinks is extremely unhealthy, and sure, caffeine isn't exactly the world's worst thing to be addicted to (though opinions vary) but it's really his unfortunate obsessive tendencies that are the problem.

    Like today. Or really, like the past, uh, few days. At least he's not so deep into whatever this project is that he's forgotten the basic human necessities. Sleeping, showering, eating, that sort of thing. Though there are bags under his eyes and his stomach is starting to cramp, but aside for the chemical smell coming off the 3D printer, the room passes the sniff test. Small victories.

    But the machines are definitely running. All of them. The electricity bill for the Roost is going to spike this month, that's for sure. One of the walls is displaying a set of armor with the all-important R of the Robin symbol emblazoned on its chest, though right now there isn't a Robin in Gotham, is there? Maybe Tim's rethinking his moniker. As of right now, anyway, he's sat in front of a computer monitor, stylus in hand as he works on a CAD drawing of a gauntlet.

    And yes, his other hand is occupied by a cup of coffee.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Well, when the cat's away.
    Lonnie's been in the garage, welding. What? Who knows. He's building SOMEthing and as is typical for him, he just sort of... does things. The exposition usually comes later.
    He needed something from the fabrication lab - though the what isn't relevant at this time. He notices the armor, notices Tim working away. "Did you know," He says, "That after about 19 hours of sleep, your level of cognitive impairment rises to a BAC of point-oh-five percent? After, oh, thirty-six hours with no sleep, that rises to around a point-one percent BAC." He picks up a bushel of welding rods. "Here they are. I was out."
    "So really, your engineering skills are operating under a severe impairment right now, which could result in serious flaws in your final template."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I'm almost done," is Tim's automatic answer. Has someone already been down here and asked, or is he just ready for the questioning? Not that it was exactly phrased like a question, more of a statement with implications. Implications that Tim, obviously, doesn't care about. Otherwise he's in bed.

    Either way, mi casa es su casa, so he barely lifts a glance thataway when Lonnie goes for the welding rods. There's a reason he has a budget for manufacturing... amongst many other things. His stylus taps a few more times against the screen and then Tim spins around on his stool. Turns out he was telling the truth: behind him, the screen blinks with the word "Printing".

    Last dregs of coffee consumed, Tim abandons the empty cup on the desk and rises to his feet. "I'm only iterating on a design, the changes are minimal," he explains. "What are you doing up this late?"

    It's almost 5PM. How long has he been down here?

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I'm up early." Lonnie says, "You're up late." He walks over to the costume up on the wall, and puts his hand on his chin. "...Huh." He says. "You know I sort of missed the short sleeves? But red and black and yellow suits you better without any green in it?" He knocks on the costume, briefly. "Kinetic impact diffusion, tensile strength increases when placed under stress. Non-conductive, of course." He studies it, and then muses, "Technologically-enhanced physical strength, or are you not looking to box a Kryptonian with this one?"
    "I suppose I could give you a lecture on relying too much on technology at this point, but... that wouldn't be any fun either." He turns. "But when was the last time you went low-tech?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim isn't the type to preen, not openly, but his expression morphs into one of satisfaction as Lonnie steps over to the display. "Standard stuff. The gauntlets are where it gets interesting." A swipe of his hands brings up the new schematics, which are bulkier than the type Tim himself usually wears. Underlying it is what looks to be complicted circuitry, except upon closer inspection it's actually also series of conduit channels that link to some sort of entry port. "This is where you load the cartridges," he says, pointing. "Similar to some of the grenade tech we use already. Compressed liquid nitrogen, thermal explosives, or a battery component that charges the circuits. Everything discharges from these ports on the knuckles."

    He steps back, arms folded over his chest. "Not my work, originally, but it's impressive stuff." Tim stares for a long time up at the schematics, unblinking, before he shakes his head. "I've made a few modifications to slim down the profile for added mobility and flexibility in the joints, particular the wrist. Plus the outer layer of nanotube filament, but that's, you know," he shrugs, "Cosmetic."

    The last question only gets a blank stare aimed Lonnie's way. "Uh," Tim says. "Last time my suit tech got knocked out, I guess? Happens every so often."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie tilts his head, and studies the suit. "Though... this isn't for you. Is this a project for the kid with Youngest Child syndrome?" He asks, before he goes back to looking the suit over. He narrows his eyes, possibly already calculating ways to thwart whoever was wearing this suit - you know, if he had to - and then he says, "Though as memory serves, that one likes knives and swords. A real stick 'em in the liver type."
    He gestures. "I suppose it's mostly academic. It's good work, and honestly, I was teasing you, I know you're trained too well to become dependent on high-tech toys."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "He's not going by Robin any longer," Tim says, and then pauses to run a hand through his hair, which is when he finds the stylus he lost two hours ago tucked behind one ear. This one joins its replacement on the desk, and then he picks up his empty mug, looking down at it forlornely. "This one's for a newer bird among the bats. Not sure if it'll get used, but...."

    Once again, Tim sets his mug aside. No doubt he'll come back to it again later and still be disappointed that it's not filled with hot bean juice. For now, though, he leans his hip against the desk and cocks his head to the side. "I'm making a proposal to Batman about our current lack-of-Robin-problem," he begins, narrowed eyes focused on his work. A gesture of one hand swipes through to another set of schematics, this one clearly suited for a much more tech-focused vigilante, with a portable launch-bay for drones and other autonomous gadgets inside of a slim-profile backpack. Another swipe, another new armor set, this one with a hood and a more agile lean to the design.

    Tim pauses there. "Robin isn't a person, it's an idea. Throw red, yellow, and green on a suit and you're most of the way there." His hands clench into fists against his sides, where he's tucked them up beneath the fold of his arms. "Batman needs a Robin. So I'm going to recruit a few."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie tilts his head. "A veritable flock. Though Robins only flock during winter, when they're traveling." He sits on the edge of his desk and leans back on his hands. "A Robin corps?" He thinks about that for a moment, and then exhales, before he glances at Tim. "But having said that, what about *you*?" He kicks his ankles against the side of the desk. "I know you well enough to know the signs that SOMEthing is bothering you, and while there not being a Robin might have something to do with it, that can't be all of it."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The bird facts get a back-and-forth tip of Tim's head in mute acknowledgment. He looks at the screen for a beat longer before turning away, up on his feet again to pace the length of the manufacturing lab to the... coffee machine!

    Don't worry, he's not actually making any more. Tim just picked up his empty mug and is taking it over there to rinse it in the sink. Trust the world's biggest coffee addict to build a small kitchenette in just about every room in his secret team headquarters JUST to support his caffeine habit. "I miss it," Tim admits... to the sink, and the soapy mug in his hands. Which is easier to do than admitting it to anyone for real.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I miss lots of things." Lonnie says, before he shrugs. He watches Tim gaze soulfully into the... mug, and then he adds, "When the world seemed smaller, and simpler? Unfortunately I dont have any answers for you there. Then again, my self-satisfaction quotient's always been RIDICULOUSLY high. If there's ever a man who gets high on his own supply of bullshit it's me. It's a side-effect of being right about so many things."
    He shrugs. "Though if being *a* Robin is where your heart really lies... then be one. Out of all of them, you're the one who saw it as a duty to an instution, not... something else. Granted, you know my opinion about institutions and hierarchies but - it matters to you. So, it matters."

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's about when Lonnie says the word bullshit that Tim wheezes out a laugh and hunches his shoulders over. Somehow he manages to finish washing one mug (truly a great task) and sets it aside to dry as he turns around.

    "Yeah," he agrees. "Right about so many things. Uh-huh." He's teasing, that much is clear by the upward tilt of his mouth, but he puts his hands on his hips and sighs. "I don't know, Lonnie. I just, sometimes... sometimes I felt like I never had enough time. It wasn't what I wanted when I first set out to find Batman, but then I was being trained to be Robin and I had all these hopes and expectations and it--I don't know. So much happened, but it never felt like I was done."

    He steps over and bumps his hip against Lonnie's, then folds himself into the other man's personal space. "Maybe I'm not done with it yet."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie puts his arm around Tim's shoulders, and then he muses, "Really, the only thing that's ever been holding you back is you - that's both a good and a bad thing. If you didn't have such a pronounced conscience, people would be in a lot of trouble. On the other hand, you're such a detective that you're continually doubling back on yourself and second-guessing yourself." He narrows his eyes, and looks straight ahead.
    "Though right now, my advice to you is that you need some sleep - but first you need something to eat, and a shower. Because you smell like stale coffee. Also, you've got stubble."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "God, how long has it been that I'm actually growing stubble?" Because Tim always struggles with growing a beard, it's frankly a little embarrassing. After a moment of lingering, he withdraws from Lonnie and makes his way towards the door, rubbing his chin as he goes.

    Though as it slides open ahead of him, Tim stops and turns. "Thanks. For listening, and maybe being right about a few things." He smiles. "Try not to pull a me and work all night. If you come to bed, I want to hear what you're building." After a pause, his eyebrows go up. "Unless that's something I should pretend not to know anything about," he adds.

    There's still a smile on his face as he turns on his heel and leaves.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie hops off the desk, and studies the costume. He looks at the device currently in the 3D printer, and then says, "Maybe it would've been fun. ...Nah. We would've driven each other crazy." He says, before he leaves the device to run, and turns out the light behind him. "Then again, maybe he could've used an ethical challenger. Oh well. Nostalgia's a mnemonic poison anyway. Still, I would've looked good in the cape."