2385/Prohibition

Prohibition
Date of Scene:	08 July 2020
Location:	Rose's Room - The Robin's Roost
Synopsis:	Rose gets Tim a little tipsy and they talk.
Cast of Characters:	Rose Wilson, Tim Drake

---

Rose Wilson has posed:
There are. Things. And....stuff.

Rose's door is open, and there's music playing loud enough that it is probably somewhat annoying to some people with super hearing. But that doesn't seem to stop her from listening to it loud either way, and she's sitting on the floor with a rifle out in front of her, and she seems to be going through the process of cleaning it.

Maybe not safely, considering there's a half-finished bottle of whiskey on the floor as well, gotten from....somewhere.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim's room is a bit removed from everyone else's (the perk of being the guy whose house it is, right?), but he hears the music coming from Rose's room as he's in the kitchens rifling for something caffeinated to drink. Snagging a can of coke from the fridge, then thinking better of it and snagging a second for Rose, he decides to slip down to see what's up with the music at least, with the coke as an offering of sorts.

He figures Bart and Conner aren't around at least, as the latter would probably be driven nuts by the volume of the music... and the former would... who knows with Impulse, actually.

Tim raps on the open door with two knuckles, lifting the unopened can at Rose on the floor. "Hey." Sharp blue eyes take in the gun and the whiskey. Both earn a slight frown, but he doesn't say anything about either.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Hey." Rose replies, glancing upwards at Tim, then at the coke that he holds up in offer, "You can come in." She probably won't shoot him. There is a rag on the floor that she picks up, starting to clean off her hands to make sure they are clean before she gets to her feet.

The rag is then tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, if there is any judgment in his eyes over the gun, or the bottle, it slides right off her back. "Want some?" To be the pushy sort.

Tim Drake has posed:
"Some what?" Tim asks dryly, placing her can on the top of minifridge for Rose to grab as she wants, cracking his own can open and taking a swig. Was that pointed? Maybe a little. Still, he is now fully in the room and doesn't seem to be throwing a fit, so there is that.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Whiskey." Rose replies, showing zero shame in making the offer. Instead she reaches down to grab the bottle off the floor, holding it upwards towards him. "You can pour it into your coke, it'll taste fine."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim eyes the bottle and lets out a sigh. "Getting drunk seems like a very bad idea. Alcohol makes one numb. Lose inhibitions. Not be able to think clearly. Have poor judgment." If he sounds like he's rattling off a list of reasons given to him by someone older and disinclined to allow his proteges to end up drunk and dead somewhere, it's probably because that's entirely the case. "Besides." He shrugs. "I doubt I'm a very fun drunk anyway."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"You might be a rotten drunk. A mean drunk." Rose has seen those drunks before. But she isn't seeming to take no as an answer this time, moving towards him to grab his wrist so that she can hold his can in place before pouring some of the whiskey into it. "I'll make sure that you don't make any terrible decisions. You trust me, don't you?"

Tim Drake has posed:
There's a slight protest as she tops him off with the whiskey. He sighs. "I doubt I'm that mean," he says mildly, swirling the can a bit and then taking a sip. He makes a slight face. "Do I trust you to get me drunk?" He arches a brow. "I'm not sure I trust what kind of trouble you might try and convince me to get into if I did."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"You won't get drunk off that little amount." Rose points out to him with a slight upwards twitch of a brow, lifting the bottle up to her mouth to take a swig from it. Then she moves towards the door, pushing it closed, "Sit down, you look awkward just standing there with that sour look on your face."

Tim Drake has posed:
He looks around for a chair, and, finding none, he sits on the foot of the bed, sipping from the can awkwardly. Awkwardly in the sense that he can definitely taste the whiskey, and it's not exactly that great of a taste for someone who doesn't drink at all; but he's trying not to look like he's wondering to himself what the appeal is. The closing door gets a half lifted brow, and then Tim definitely looks away from the door and focuses on anything else. Like the... wow, that's a lot of guns. Huh.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Lot of guns. Lot of being alone with Rose in a room, too. Beyond pushing the door closed she doesn't push that issue, though, she just moves back to the floor where she was sitting before. Settling there, she takes another swallow from the bottle before setting it down next to her, reaching for the rifle to finish working on what she was doing. "So what brings you to my neck of the woods, Tim?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Uh. Music was a bit loud, figured I'd come poke my head in, see what you were up to." Tim shrugs a bit. "I mean, if I'm bothering you or interrupting anything..."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"You're not bothering me or interrupting anything." He is interrupting something, but it isn't something that she can't do while entertaining company, after all. The gun starts to get put back together before she glances over at him, "You have any plans?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Not really. Maybe eventually work on some painting. I feel like I never have time to do that with everything else." He shrugs. He takes a swig, frowning a bit. Weird. It's like after drinking a few swallows the taste goes away. "What about you? Plans after you're... done... with that?" He leans forward a little bit, glancing over the room but then to the gun in her hand.

Rose Wilson has posed:
It is one of those things that becomes more tolerable the longer it is drank. Not that Rose would have any reason to know that. Not at all. She gets to her feet, starting to pick up everything so that she can put it back up where it goes.

"Might go for a run. Take a shower. Sharpen the swords." Yah know, those things that Rose's do. Soon as everything is put up, she reaches for the bottle, heading to drop herself onto the edge of the bed next to him, "What're you going to paint?"

Tim Drake has posed:
He pretends he doesn't notice how close she is as she plops down beside him. "Uh. Minis, actually. It's relaxing. When I have time for it, anyway." Another swallow of the whiskey and coke. "Seems like every time I think I might, something comes up. Some psycho breaks out of Arkham, or the world is about to be eaten by space fleas, or half a dozen people overdose on some new drug..." he sighs. "Never a break. You'd think villains would take a vacation at some point at least," he jokes. "And if I have any time, I've been using it to read up on some new technology. It's always advancing."

Rose Wilson has posed:
After that next swallow she reaches over, pouring some more of the whiskey into the can before she takes her own swallow, then she sets it down on the floor between her feet. Someone, somewhere, used to say always keep both feet on the ground, and imagine you're holding a penny between your knees. Rose keeps her feet on the ground, but only so that she can secure the precious whiskey. "Mini what?" Oh, this nerddom, it is totally beyond her. She might just not realize how much of a nerd he is.

Tim Drake has posed:
"Hey!" Tim protests, his can topped off a little more. He sighs, realizing its an argument he isn't likely to win any time soon. "Minis... are miniatures. Small resin or pewter figures about yae high," he holds up his thumb and forefinger about an inch or two apart, "mostly really detailed. Some games have them for pieces for the board to move around." He smirks a little. "It's kinda geeky, but like I said. It's relaxing. Something different than being jacked into the computer all the time. Gives my brain a reboot." He takes a swallow of his coke-- whoa, okay, topping that off the whiskey flavor is definitely stronger.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Miniture...figures?" Oh, Tim. Tim. Rose just gives him a look that is confused, despite the explanation that he provides her. "You could do other things to unplug from the computer more, too."

However, something in her tone seems to convey that she doesn't believe he really wants to. Except to maybe paint tiny dolls. "Working out always gives me a bit of a brain reboot."

Tim Drake has posed:
"Oh, working out is good." Tim has to, regularly, to keep up with the rest of the Bat family. "It definitely helps." He takes another swallow. Huh. It tastes 'normal' again. How does it do that? He figures he just must have gotten all of it in the first drink, as opposed to just growing accustomed to the taste hidden by the soda. "Getting the heart rate up, as they say."

Rose Wilson has posed:
Funny how that works. It couldn't possibly be something that Rose was counting on, could it?

"There's a few good ways to get the heart rate up." Rose points out, leaning herself back on her hands, tilting her head at him before she lets her eyes shift upwards towards, "Can I ask you a question, Tim?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Sure," Tim replies fairly cheerily. He swirls the soda in the can... it's mostly gone by now, and there's a bit of a strange warmth, as if his insides were filled with warmly crackling flames in the middle of winter. It's warm, but... comfortable, somehow.

Rose Wilson has posed:
It's probably dirty pool waiting until this kind of moment to ask him this question, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

Not at all to put Tim on the spot, of course. But she sounds honestly curious at the same time.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim coughs, blushing a bit. "I mean... yes?" He shifts a bit on the foot of the bed, looking uncomfortable. "Who wouldn't? ...maybe Bart wouldn't. I'm not sure //what// his type is but I don't think it's you. But..." that was an aside that wasn't really intended to be said out loud. He takes another drink, mostly to give himself a moment to think. Adding additional alcohol may not be the brightest idea, but he's not thinking about that, per ce. The can is almost empty now.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Then why do you keep running away?" Rose wonders, a hand reaching over to take the can from him, moving to then set it down on the floor at their feet.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim watches the can be taken from his hand and placed on the floor. He frowns. He looks away. He looks back at her.

A few thoughts come to mind he tamps down pretty quickly. Mostly. "I... am not running away," he argues. "Exactly... I'm just not..."

His words falter for a second. "Sure. I guess. I'm not sure."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Sure about?"

Probably so many things, honestly. So many. But now that he's trapped in the room with her, and she's working on getting him really drunk. Now Rose has questions.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim gives her a wry look. He may be a little tipsy, but even 'dumbed down' he isn't stupid. "Heh." He lifts a finger. "You know, if you weren't you-- I don't think anything shocks you, Rosie-- I wouldn't say it, but bluntly? Not really sure what the hell I'm doing."

He shrugs. "For one. And I mean that in every sense of the word. With you. In bed. Whatever."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"I'm going to tell you something that I know you already know." Rose //knows// that he knows this, and the look she gives him is both amused, and oddly patient for whatever reason. Maybe she's feeling pity for his emotional flailing about?

"You'll never know until you do it. And most of us don't know what we're doing half the time with half the things."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim snorts at that. "Speak for yourself. I'm used to knowing what I'm doing. If I don't know, I learn it so I can know. I don't like going into anything blind." He leans back on his hands on the bed, musing. "This wasn't what I was expecting when I came in here," he points out dryly.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"And how exactly do you learn what you're doing if you're not //doing// it?"

Rose probably has a few good ideas how he might learn about these particular things. The internet is a hell of a place, and Tim is probably more familiar with it than she is. "What'd you expect coming in here?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Nothing, really," Tim tilts his head curiously. "Was I supposed to expect something?" He pauses a moment. "I mean, was I supposed to swagger in here, demanding and expecting something of you? If that's what you expected of me, I'm sorry to disappoint. I'd never consider demanding anything like that. From you or anyone."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"You can expect whatever you want." Rose replies with a shake of her head, "But you're avoiding answering the other question. How are you going to learn?"

Tim Drake has posed:
There's silence for a little bit as Tim considers. "I haven't really thought that far ahead," he admits with an uncomfortable shrug. "Or considered what and when I should... do anything. I'm not interested in..." he frowns, searching for a way to put it. "Meaningless. Meaningless anything."

Rose Wilson has posed:
Meaningless. Rose watches him for a moment, then she gets to her feet, reaching down to grab her bottle before going to fish out her cigarettes from a drawer, "I'm going to go grab a smoke."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim sighs, reaching down and grabbing the can, finishing it off. "You want me to come with?" He spots the coffee can by the window, and realizes she probably actually isn't going far. Maybe. His head is a little slower than usual. He isn't really sure if he should explain himself further, or if he's already said more than he should. He swirls the empty can, musing. "Did you want me to..." he trails off, unsure if he should even finish that.

Screw it.

"Did you want me to sleep with you?" he asks, dark brows furrowing a bit. Slowly catching up as parts of the conversation seem to be passing him by.

Rose Wilson has posed:
One of the slightly bent cigarettes is tugged out, and she glances at him when he asks if she wants him to come with her. One pale brow lifts upwards before she laughs, "You can."

Though the other question gets more consideration, her head tilting to the side as she thinks, eye flicking over him from head to toe, "I'd sleep with you."

Tim Drake has posed:
Its definitely the alcohol that allows him to respond without thinking. "Really?" Its incredulous. He hadn't really figured she was even that interested really. She's Rose. And he's Tim. Not bad looking, but certainly not the sort of guy any girl really fawns over as far as he is concerned about himself.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Really."

It's as simple as that. Rose moves towards the window, pushing it open so that no one else is going to be forced to smell all the smoke. Then she settles in it to light the cigarette in her mouth.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim watches her light the cigarette, frowning slightly. He cocks his head. He had thought the whole idea of an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other was a joke, but maybe it's the tipsiness... he definitely feels like good Tim is advising him of one course of action and bad Tim is advising an entirely different one.