16427/The Whisper in Your Ear

The Whisper in Your Ear
Date of Scene:	27 November 2023
Location:	Bullbeggar Psychiactric Treatment Center
Synopsis:	Unfinished
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It began with a bright light. An intake of breath. A clean and comfortable but sterile room.

    A window to the right is wide, but re-enforced glass that looks out over a mixed pine forest and some mountains in the distance. Catskills maybe. They're very round, worn down with age. Older than fossils in some cases. Older than skeletons.

    Straight ahead there is a chest of drawers and a mirror, very securely attached to the wall. It's positioned just high enough that a reflection can't be seen of the bed's occupant. There is a framed picture of Tim and Jack Drake, with a collared cheetah sitting between them. Tim looks very young in the picture, before his days of chasing Batman around.

    To the right there is a door. There is no handle on the inside of the door here, but there is a number pad. It's very clean and the numbers are all equally worn.

    Probably the most disturbing thing, though, is that there might not be any recollection of how the current occupant in the room arrived here, under a cheery blue blanket and quilt with different birds stitched into it.

Tim Drake has posed:
    There are some people in the Bats that wake up in an instant, going from dead asleep to fully cognizant in the space of a heartbeat. Careful training or a lifetime of danger, usually, are the causes.

    Tim isn't like that. Not normally, at least. There's no reason in this particular room that might set off a warning signal, after all, so he comes to wakefulness in stages: the blur of light through his eyelids, the weight of the blankets atop him, the awareness of his mildly uncomfortable position, laid out on his back with less neck support than he prefers.

    Eventually, reality trickles in: the unfamiliarity of it all. This is not the bed he fell asleep in last night (which was, really, more like early this morning). So he doesn't open his eyes, not immediately. He rolls half-over and fakes settling back down into sleep, but what he's really doing is take in his surroundings as best he can with his eyes closed. And as far as he can tell, he's alone. Which can mean a whole host of things, really, but Tim only allows himself to plot out responses to the first half-dozen possibilities before he decides it's time to get up.

    Actually seeing everything does not reassure him in any way. He pushes the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his muscles tensed warily as he stands.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Definitely not the bed he's used to sleeping in. This one's more narrow. He may be able to feel that there is a sort of pad underneath the sheets that goes from about halfway up his thighs to his mid-back. Some sort of sensor. There is a little bit of noise coming from the hallway now, normal sounds of low conversation and feet shuffling by.

     And as Tim comes up to a stand, there's a little 'beep!' as he does.

    A few breaths later, there's a k nock on the door.

     The door opens, and there's a dimunitive man, with sun-bleached blonde hair, and wire-rimmed glasses pokes his head in. He's wearing a white button down shirt and casual brown slacks.

    "Good morning, Timothy!" he greets Tim with an air of familiarity to his voice. "Can I come in?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Despite the familiarity, Tim knows with utter certainty that this man is a stranger to him. He has a good memory for faces (amongst many other things) and recognizing people by other means like their body language and voice is something of a skill of his.

    He's never met this guy a day in his life.

    "Sure," he answers though, his voice as casual as he can make it. After a second or two of committing this man to memory, Tim turns and heads for the chest of drawers, his eyes glued to the photo. Which, after a moment of consideration, he picks up and studies more closely.

    Internally, Tim isn't freaking out. On purpose. He's controlling his breathing so that it appears neutral, keeping his posture loose and open, all the while trying to absorb as much information from his surroundings as he possibly can.

    Whatever this is, wherever he is, Tim is going to get to the bottom of it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Thank you. We try to respect privacy as much as we can." the man states, giving an OK to someone behind the door, and shutting the door behind him.

    "My name is Shaw Sewel -- Doctor Shaw Sewel. I'm helping with the transfer from Arkham's facility." he introduces himself. He doesn't have much of a chin. Roundish face. His hair is kept back by gel. He wears Axe, but not to the point of people tasting it. He's definitely a newer doctor, maybe freshly minted. He has a class ring on his ring finger in lieu of a wedding band. It's Gotham University colors.

    He also has a lanyard around his neck with the Star Trek: The Next Generation bridge crew's faces on it.

    "Now, a couple of orientating questions, since we've started you on something new... can you state your full name and the date?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    He remembers taking this picture. His dad hadn't often taken him on work trips, but this time was different; it'd been his first time visiting Africa. And even at that young, impressionable age, Tim had had very serious concerns about someone having a cheetah as a pet, but his dad had insisted, and so Tim had put on a brave smile and sat down for the picture.

    Still, Tim can see some of that hesitancy reflected in his younger self's face.

    He sets the photo down. It's then that he lifts his gaze to the mirror, and while he doesn't reel back from what he sees, he does find himself blinking at his reflection for a moment or two.

    Then he takes in a breath and walks away, headed towards the window. "Do we have to go through this whole routine?" he asks as he rests his hands on the windowsill, eyes narrowed slightly as he tries to figure out his likely location based on the scenery. Beyond the dubious notion of being in a psychiatric hospital, which was nominally #5 on his list of possibilities (so long as he counts it as being within the general "trapped in some sort of medical facility" category).

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm afraid so. You've given varying answers from nineteen eighty nine to two thousand and fifteen." the doctor gives a kind smile. "Doctors Wolfman and Broderick thought it best to keep to some of the fantasy you created, but I'm afraid we're under orders to keep you to the current time as much as we can. With the idea that you can be released to your father, and eventually fully integrate back into society, as long as you're comfortable with that."

    The mountains are far, but not distant. Probably in the foothills of some of the northern Apalachians, or Catskills. Upstate New York maybe. Vermont. How green *are* the Green Mountains?

    "We *are* expecting some brain fog as you get used to the different dosages. This is the first --" he pauses, and then with some level of tired in his voice "... and longest clear conversation we've had since you were moved here from Gotham City."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Not home, but close enough that getting home might be possible even without his usual means. Tim drums his fingers against the windowsill, briefly lost in thought as he plays through the potential scenarios in his head.

    Does he play along? Whoever is trying to do this to him made the mistake of trying to convince him his father is still alive, because that grief still rattles Tim to this day. There's no way it can't be real.

    "I feel fine," he says instead of the requested information, and briefly Tim's head turns to catch the doctor's gaze in his reflection. His expression is flat, unreadable, and that's intentional. Maybe a younger version of Tim would play along and try to ferret out the mystery; nowadays he's over it.

    And the sooner this guy leaves, the sooner Tim can start plotting his escape.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That's not the answer we're looking for, but I'll scribe it as that you're not feeling particularly cooperative. And I get it. You were moved from Gotham City to Stowe. It was a long trip. You bit an orderly, but for the first time in the weeks you've been here you're more..." he smiles, and then spreads his arms up "You! You're not talking about the fantastic characters you've created. The people who you lived with in Arkham, turned into twisted versions of themselves. That's already progress." he gives a bright grin, and he turns a moment, blocking the keypad from view.

    "Now, admittedly you're not cooperative right now -- and that's okay, we've got time -- why don't you come on down to the cafe? You must be pretty hungry. And I'm pretty sure the mess is making waffles this morning."

Tim Drake has posed:
    No way for Tim to see the code. That means he'll have to be a bit more clever, but that's never stopped him before. Either way, the idea of scoping out the facility is a good one. He'd never turn down a good information-gathering opportunity.

    So he says "Sure," and gives the view one last lingering look before he turns away. Vermont is well-within his ability to relocate back to Gotham from even without money or his usual methods of transportation, so at least that part will be easy to handle once he's out.

    Now it's just a matter of figuring out how to get out.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Facility is clean. New. This definitely wasn't Arkham of Tim's recall, which tended to be dark and forboding and occasionally full of dangerous plant life (thanks, Pamela). It's very bright. There's skylights that are high enough that most ladders won't reach them. There is a catwalk level that could be reached by stacking chairs if he wanted. Everyone is wearing blue pants (they're meant to evoke denim) and various colored short sleeve shirts. Tim's is white. Bernard passes by. He's wearing a pink shirt.

    He doesn't register any recognition on his face as he looks at Tim. And then he passes by as if they'd never met.

    The walk is otherwise uneventful. Shaw talks about how the facility is state of the art. Set up in neighborhoods. They have an ice cream parlor, and instead of punishing the crowd everyone's in assigned neighborhoods. For personalized accountability, he explains,. He feels the new medications are going to be the game changer.

    None of the doors have knobs. They're all keypads. Some even have shrouds to make it harder to see what buttons are being pushed.

    And when they reach the 'cafe', it looks more like a highschool cafeteria than an institutional dining room. There are round tables set up. There are people eating breakfast. Some are being hand fed.

    Someone who bears a very strong resemblance to Jason Todd is sitting by himself, glowering, with plastic silverware. His hair is far, far too long to be Jason.

    Someone who looks like a wish.com version of Austin Reese is sitting to the side talking to someone whose face and head is hidden in a oversized gray hoodie.

    It's beginning to snow. The mountains don't seem so far away looking out these windows.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's when people Tim knows start to appear that he starts having doubts. Oh, not about who he really is; he's still confident in knowing his own mind, but Jason with a manbun?

    Absolutely not. This does not fit into Tim's world-view at all.

    Besides, he's willing to believe that someone could conceivably manage to snatch him up. Maybe even him and Jason at the same time. But three Bats all at once? Beyond that it seems impossible to coordinate that kind of job, there's no way that would go unnoticed by the rest of the group, not for any length of time.

    So either rescue is imminent, or something even more underhanded is at play here. But Tim keeps his thoughts to himself, expression placid even as the gears in his head are spinning rapidly.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Three Bats at once would be a hard hat trick to pull off.

    "So, you must have /questions/. Comments. Concerns?" SHaw asks, his eyebrows drawing up. "I wouldn't mind answering anyt hat you have to the best of my ability. You're already jumping far, far ahead of the rest of the class with your progress over the last few weeks -- although regretabily, it appears that bits of amnesia are accompanying the medication." he states regretfully.

    "Which is one of the reasons why your cooperation -- and lack of biting -- is so important, Timothy -- here, I'll go get us breakfast. You just wait here." he gives a grin as he motions to the table across from Not-Austin and the figure in the gray sweatshirt.

    Naustin (that's Not Austin for everyone playing at home) looks to Tim with a curious expression.

    "Today's waffle day."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim looks at Doctor Sewel and, after a long pause, shakes his head. Whoever is orchestrating this, he can't even begin to imagine, but what he knows for sure is that he's not going to underestimate them. It's an impressive con, however it works. He's still not sure if this is a real place or all in his head, but for now Tim knows he needs to keep quiet.

    So he takes a seat. Naustin gets a nod of acknowledgment, but since there's clearly no recognition, Tim just lets it go. He wonders if there's someone he knows under the hood of that grey sweatshirt, though he's not sure if he really wants to know. Seeing his friends and family in this distorted fantasy is unsettling, to say the least.

    In the meantime, though, he does look around. For other familiar faces, but also for other details that might be useful for an escape attempt. Means of egress, potential exploits, that sort of thing. There isn't a cage in the world that can hold a Bat for long, after all.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Naustin at least tries to be friendly.

    "... they decided to do waffles twice this week. I think it's because there's been two new faces."

    He pauses.

    "You're one of them." he pauses again. "... but you didn' talk for like, a week. Just yelled at the staff. If we yell at the staff, we get in trouble. Doc says we're supposed to keep all the neighborhood safe and accountable." he murmurs, and then looks over at Not-Jason-In-A-Manbun, who has received his waffle.

    Sewel comes back with a waffle for Tim. It has butter melting into some of its dips, and a little plastic cup of syrup. Tim also gets an orange juice and a cranberry juice.

    "I see you've met Adam... and Merry is being unsociable -- ah... good morning, Merry. Do you want to say hello to Timothy today?"

    The hooded figure doesn't move.

Tim Drake has posed:
    What are the odds the food is drugged? Tim's still not certain if this is even real at all, but it seems more and more likely that he's caught up in some sort of dream or magical illusion, if he hasn't been punted into some sort of alternate reality.

    That last option is the most worrying, so he leaves it for later to ruminate on. There's only so much planning he can do when it comes to dimension-hopping.

    "Who's the other new person?" Tim asks, following Naustin's... Adam's... line of sight over to not-Jason. Nay-son, we'll call him. "Him?"

    Either way, no time for further questioning without being overheard by the doctor, so Tim pulls his plate closer and dumps the syrup over his waffle. Oh, he has absolutely no intention of eating, but he can at least pretend for a little while to throw off suspicion.

    His head does dip down a little bit to try and catch a glimpse of who's under the hood, though.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Everything could be drugs. Could be drugs in his socks, leeching through his feet and into his bloodstream like Vick's Vapor Rub.

    Is he even wearing socks? With the little grippies on them?

    "Nah, he's been here a while. His name is Josh. He's got..." Adam leans in, "... real bad anger issues."

    Adam, who seems to be quite chatty now that an assist has brought him and the mysterious Merry waffles, happily rips his waffle with his hands. "No no they brought someone else who keeps trying to escape. They tried to go out the window and tore their hand up real good. Two of the orderlies were talking about what a pain int he ass it was to clean up all the blood."

    "Adam, we're not supposed to talk about the neighbors unless there was an accident." Sewel interjects.

    "Well it wasn't an accident. They're not collected." Adam replies, and then begins to dip his waffles in the syrup. He was not permitted silverware at all.

    Merry, the person under the hood, lifts their eyes to look at Tim.

    Or they would, if there were any eyes on the blank face.

    you cannot create faces in your dreams. Which means either we are all real, or only one of you is. comes a whisper into Tim's left ear.