3453/Rooftop Thoughts

Rooftop Thoughts
Date of Scene:	20 September 2020
Location:	Roof - Renovated Theatre - The Roost
Synopsis:	Phoebe and Tim have a deep talk on the roof.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Phoebe Beacon

---

Tim Drake has posed:
It's a nice night in Gotham, which are relatively rare. The summer heat has given way to the first cool, crisp nights of fall, and the thin waxing crescent moon may not offer much light, but that suits Tim's mood, as he sits on the edge of the roof, dressed in navy slacks, a light blue dress shirt, and a loosened navy and cerulean tie. The street lamps down the way flicker, but that's nothing new. A half-empty bottle of Coke sits on the edge of the roof beside him.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There's the sound of someine coming over the side of the building, a pair of shoes scraping against the gravely top of the flat roof. Footsteps making their way towards Tim.

    "... important function, or did you just feel like getting dressed up?" Phoebe inquires. She's wearing a pair of comfy looking yoga pants, and a sweatshirt over a T-shirt. She has a towel around her shoulders, and her air is au natural tonight -- and all over the place as it dries. She gives a slight grin over to Tim. "... is it okay if I join you?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Eh? Hey, Phoebe." His mild surprise at her approach might be some indication of where Tim's mind is. "Yeah, just a family dinner," he mutters. "It was fine." It wasn't. He gestures towards the edge of the roof. "Free roof. Nice night, air is even fairly fresh tonight." The wind is rolling in off the ocean, bringing cleaner air all the way into Chelsea. Which is a nice change.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, Gotham doesn't get too many really nice nights like this." Phoebe gives a slight smile. She must have just got out of the shower, and she rubs at her neck a bit with the towel a moment as she gives a sidelong glance over to Tim, and gives a slight nod.

    "I ah... have some thinnings from my mint patch. I set them up in the med bay, so any time you want some mint for your tea, just go ahead and take some. I hear it sooths frazzled nerves." Phoebe states with a gentle tone to her voice, and she looks out to the city. "Made my rounds earlier tonight."

Tim Drake has posed:
He gives her a slight smile. "Thanks," he says about the mint. He looks out over the city as well. "I'm off-duty for the night. Probably should go get some sleep, or get some work done. But don't really feel up to it." He shrugs. "Could set up a movie to watch on the 'really big screen', but don't really feel like that either."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Or, you could stay out here, enjoy caffination and a view of the city we love." Phoebe counters with a little smile, stepping over the side and sitting down with Tim.

    Her eyes inevitably gaze out in the direction of her own home, and she rubs the back of her head a moment, then motions outwards.

    "A love song for a city that both cradles and robs, written on the staves constructed of brutalist and art deco office buildings and composed of the wails of sirens and the subtle winds of the gray Atlantic. Probably some sorta waltz in a stupid time signature like nine-eight or fifteen-over-seven."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim laughs lightly. "Eh. There's a song or two I think fit Gotham well," he admits. "None are waltzes." He stares out first over the city proper, then out towards the direction of Arkham island. "Like I said a few days ago... born here, probably will die here, in the not-too-far future." There's nothing morose or maudlin about how he notes that, simply a fact he's long been aware of. "Waltzes are too slow and gentle, even in a stupid time signature. Gotham is neither."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Unfortunately I know like nothing about actually playing music. I'll chalk that one up to Gotham's tendancy to cut the arts classes for more sportsball." Phoebe gives a slight grin.

    "And the fact that one time I threw the best Tuba player in the tri-state area into a wall. I was firmly asked to leave band class." she states, and then looks out.

    "Waltzes can be slow, but they're also romantic, and some of them are written I guess to be sad and longing, overly serious. Although now I'm pretty curious about what songs you feel describe Gotham."

    Phoebe also gives a small smile.

    "... and I'll try not to have you die, thanks. I mean, you are the leader and probably the only one I trust with some of my stuff, so I'm intent on keeping you alive."

Tim Drake has posed:
"I don't really know much about playing it either," Tim shrugs. "Never had the time. When I was a kid, my parents never really pushed me to it. They seemed happy enough to push my academic pursuits. And... since putting on the mask, I wouldn't know where to find the time." He sighs. "Maybe another lifetime. Feel like I'm on my third or so as it is, so another is bound to come around."

When she asks which songs, he looks rueful. "You shouldn't be. They aren't all love songs. Most of them are very much not love songs at all. I love the city, and I will do anything I can for her... but she's a monster, not a flower." He chuckles. "A monster who spawns more monsters, some to destroy her and others to defend her." He takes a drink of his soda. "A never ending cycle."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "The fact that we're talking about the city as a breathing entity that spawns monsters is a bit disturbing, but now I'm seeing it as like, a city built on the back of a tarrasque that ends up spawning these weird deck-of-many-things monsters and ragamoffins. Which is a level of geekery I thought I would not acheive outside of the old D&D nights with Nacho in middle school." Phoebe grimmaces. "Talking mythological animals at Diana's gala was one thing. The level of nerdery that I'm capable of at home is another."

    She draws one leg up, perching her chin on it. Her tight coils blow about in the wind.

    "So, all your secret keeping and half-answers -- are those natural paranoia or something you picked up from Him?"

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim considers that question. "A little of both, I think." He's quiet for a few moments. "I'm the only one of the Robins that looked for the job. The others... I can't and won't say that I'm just as good or better than any of them. But I can say this... I'm the only one who sought it out, wanted it more than anything. And I came into it with clear eyes. I knew the dangers and the risks. I knew the eventual, inevitable outcome." He sighs softly, draining the last of his bottle of soda, then capping it and dropping it behind him on the roof to grab when he leaves.

"This city is... everything to me. I was born with the expectation I would do great things to help keep her running... like my father, grandfather, all the way back to the Founding. I don't think what my ancestors had planned for me involved fighting crocodiles in the sewers or owls on the rooftops or clowns in the streets... but its the choice I made."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... that must be a hellacious expectation to live up to." the young woman replies quietly to Tim, turning to face him, looking him over in the lights of the city and that slender move above.

    "... so you probably understand better than I thought." she reflects, then looks back out over the city.

    "And you go out with the knowledge that any night could be your last night, and just try like Hell to make it through."

Tim Drake has posed:
"There is only one way wearing a mask ends," Tim agrees quietly. "Its just the way of things." He is silent for awhile, staring out at the not so distant lights of the city. "I have a lot of responsibility. To the people of Gotham, even if they don't know it. The team. The Bats. To my parents and the rest of my family, even if I'm the only one left. To the companies and holdings of my family, even if other people run them." He glances over at Phoebe, giving a wry look. "Its why I can be an asshole about the whole identity thing. Its never really been about me, or protecting myself. I already accepted //my// fate years ago. But I can't risk others."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, because obviously my middle-school history teacher mom who already lost her heroic husband in the Narrows, totally fine with her adoptive daughter healing random homeless people and fighting crime at night wearing re-enforced cloth and a dollar store domino." Phoebe states, not looking back to Tim.

    "Why do you think I spend more and more time here? I'm not like Cassie. My mom isn't going to ground me from superheroing for a week. She'll flip out, and then suddenly I'm either fighting for emancipation in order to continue covert superheroing missions -- hashtag not a good idea for the whole identity thing, or being in a secret hero group -- or I have to give it up and hope to God my powers don't get outed and either some assuredly well-meaning but ultimately awful anti-mutant group find a way to kill me or I get kidnapped and used as a medical service for awfully rich people dying of diseases that I might not be able to catch. Thank you, mysterious benefactory Light."

    Phoebe actually manages a scowl. It looks uncomfortable on her typically smiling and gentle face.

    She looks like she might say something else, and she brings her hand up to her face.

    "I /do/ wear the armor you gave me now. You know. You've seen me in it."

Tim Drake has posed:
"I'm glad you wear it." Tim lets her vent. He gets it. He glances over at her again, then pats her shoulder. "Its not too late, Pheebz. If you want to stop, or to hang back a year or two. I certainly can't blame you. There are two headstones I ask myself every day if I'm somehow responsible for, if maybe it wasn't just chance that both my parents were murdered, separately, after I put on the mask. Neither option has ever given me comfort: either it was a coincidence and I should have been able to prevent it, or my choice to do this cost them their lives. If you chose to go home and live a normal life to protect your mom? I could understand it. I wouldn't even disagree with it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Not an option. If I had these powers six months earlier, maybe there's one that wouldn't be there." Phoebe states quietly, and then she pulls her other knee up. The confidence seems to ebb from her body. The aura doesn't, but her shoulders sag. "And if anything were to happen now, I'd carry the same weight you did when Conner got hurt; I'd just blame myself and start ignoring my own needs to make sure others were taken care of first. My balancing act's not to o different from yours -- I just have different plates and sticks." she points out quietly as she looks over the city, but her eyes tear up.

    "At least I don't really have a family name to live up to. You've got Drake *and* Wayne. God, that must suck."

Tim Drake has posed:
He lets out a long, slow breath. "At least the Wayne part... Bruce has other kids, adopted and not. The Drake name is what kills me." Its probably her aura that has him opening up at this much at all. "Eventually I will have to get married. Have kids. How can I even consider that when this is what I do? My family would be at risk just existing, and protecting them... might not be entirely possible. I don't know." His face grows grim. "Maybe it dies with me, and maybe that's for the best in the end. Other houses have ended and the city moves on around them... the ripples are all that may remain, but its enough." There is a hint of defeatism in his tone at that. "That doesn't even get into the rest of it... the expectations of who and how and when and why." He grimaces. "If anything right now the Wayne name protects me from the worst of this. Mostly. But someday it won't, and I will have choices to make."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Wait, one of you is his real kid? ... if the rest of you are decoys, maybe I have a talk with Mr. Wayne about responsible parenting." Phoebe attempts to crack a joke, and she turns back to tim, her cheek on her knee.

    "... this is what you do, for now. Maybe one day you won't have to do it. Maybe you get the chance to walk away with Rose and lead quiet, private lives. And have absolutely terrifyingly smart and capable little kids running amok on some estate between rounds of expensive boarding school classes and platters of escargot, or whatever rich kids eat instead of Gerber baby food and lunchables." Phoebe gives a slight shrug, her eyes closing a moment, then she looks back out over the city.

    "... if you have a career-ending injury that won't end your life... would you want me to heal it, or leave it?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Yeah. Bruce's bastard. Surprised you didn't see all the tabloids about it." Tim laughs lightly. "He's a brat but we're all learning to get along."

He shakes his head. "Rose, live a normal life?" he snorts. "I don't even know if that were an option if I could ask it of her. Besides," he smirks, "Christmases would get really weird with her Dad. Assuming he didn't, I don't know, kidnap the kids and make Rose have to jump through hoops to get them back to prove something to him." He sighs, miserably. This is why he hadn't dared thought down these paths before. Even the small steps into this realm drove him towards gloom and depression.

Phoebe's offer at the end takes him off guard. "...force myself into retirement, you mean?" He sighs softly. "I don't know if it would matter. How long until I can't take it anymore and just... do it anyway?" He muses. "Not long. I don't know if there would be anything career ending short of death." He snorts again. "Sometimes I don't even think death will stop anything. Just delay it awhile."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ugh, I don't read tabloids. They're full of celebrities and rich people being just like regular people and calling it 'shocking'. British Royals enjoy cookie dough ice cream -- the savages. How could they." Phoebe purses her lips. "What, you don't see her enjoying the socialite life? She could totally be best friends with the Powers girl. They could go purse shopping together. I'm sure neither one would attempt to poison the other." there's a wry note to her voice, and she breathes out. "I dunno. Could always just mastermind the next bright up and comers from your mansion. Offer training and a chance of righteousness and -- ugh, no. That would lead to just..."

    Phoebe brings her hands up, and puts them over her head.

    "If you die on me, I'm going to be pissed. Just saying."

Tim Drake has posed:
He laughs softly. "Rose tolerates some of it for me. I recognize she's doing that and I..." he sighs, smiling wryly, "I wish she didn't have to. Or that she enjoyed it more. But no, she'll never be a socialite. She could fit in better than she does now, given time." The idea of training young heroes makes him snort derisively, but she already sees the trouble there.

"I'll try not to," he says lightly. "I may have accepted my fate is going to be death, eventually, but it doesn't mean I'm trying to find it soon. Batman has managed as long as he has, I figure I have at least that long." He tries to make light of it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Batman didn't have a Balm on his side." Phoebe states, and she swings her legs back over, stretching her arms out, and she leans over to deliver a gentle punch against Tim's arm.

    "I mean it, I've got your back as much as I can. Everyone dies. That's the natural order of things -- Death is the Great Equalizer, after all. I'm content that some day, I'll be there too. And I could either embrace cheerful nihilism and say none of this matters, or I could be my obnoxiously hopeful self and say 'there is always a chance. So, I got your back. And Rose's. Just if you end up having those oodles of terrifyingly great kids, remember Phoebe told you so." she gives a slight grin.

    "I'm turning in, gotta finish my Moby Dick report for AP American Lit. You want me to leave hot water in the kettle for tea?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Nah," Tim replies with a half grin. "I appreciate the offer though. I'm just going to sit up here a little while longer. Good luck with the report." He glances back out in the direction of Arkham again.

Maybe he'll patrol anyway. Gotham never takes a night off. Maybe he shouldn't either. But for the moment, he's content to sit and watch the city. At least a little while longer.