7492/Study in Night

Study in Night
Date of Scene:	23 August 2021
Location:	Hell's Kitchen Rooftops
Synopsis:	Tim and Phoebe share junk food and studying on a rooftop by candlelight. Yep. Just studying, definitely no canoodling. She totally borrowed couch cushions from the Laughing Magician's loft for studying.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Sometimes there is a need for quiet and being alone, and other times?

    Sometimes Phoebe wanted the comfort of someone she was close to. Wary of inviting Tim into the Laughing Magician after what happened with Bart, the young mage and heroine had moved her study session to a rooftop nearby, in the shadow of a church. The flat rooftop now hosted a fan (run by daisy-chained extention cords and out of her window in the loft above the Laughing Magician. She has absconded with the blanket from her bed and a couple of the couch cushions (with apologies to Chas), and a couple of candles lent to the mood.

    ... unfortunately, the piles of dusty books, some leather bound,s ome in cloth, some in differing languages, probably did not lend as much to anything sort of City Romantic Chic, and definitely more to the oddness of it all.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's probably for the best that Tim doesn't get an invite to the Laughing Magician. For multiple reasons. Rooftops suit him better anyway.

    He doesn't arrive in the Red Robin getup. Right now he's just a normal guy walking down an alleyway in New York City in an oversized hoodie and jeans, Gotham Knights ballcap pulled down low on his head. Nothing unusual going on here, no, absolutely not.

    After a moment spent making sure the coast is clear, Tim gets a running start, throws himself at the wall, and then rebounds off of it with just enough additional height to get his hands around the lowest rung of the fire escape. He hauls himself up, casually dusts off his hands, and makes the rest of the climb silently until he can poke his head over the edge of the rooftop.

    "Is this a study session or are we staring in The Craft? Obviously I'm Fairuza Balk." He swings himself up over the ledge and tucks his hands into his pockets as he wanders over and makes himself comfortable on one of the couch cushions, legs folded. "Hey, Pheebs," he says. The flicker of the candle light doesn't do anything for his pale complexion, but it does at least show that the bruises beneath his eyes have started to fade. Maybe he really did get some sleep.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is even more dressed down than usual. Tim doesn't often get to see the Outsider wearing Grumpy Bear pajama pants. Definitely not often with her hair in just two poofs, having unbraided everything. She's also bitten her nails dowb to nubs.

    She's also wearing glasses, and has a thin penlight in her mouth.

    "I never clarified what I was studying." she states as Tim joins her up on the rooftop, speaking around the light she holds between her teeth, which she angles downward as she looks up to Tim.

    "... oh -- yeah ah... that's... not intentional, I promise." she states, but gives a smile as she breathes out.

    "Sorry, I need a change of scenery from the livingroom. Pretty sure I've worn grooves in the floor. And this is close enough that if something happens, the wards might pick up on it."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Once he's settled, which involves a little bit of squirming (and a lot of strange rustling), Tim reveals the purpose of the oversized hoodie. From its front pocket he pulls out a roll of Oreos and a couple of Clif bars that he passes over silently, and then he sighs and rises onto his knees so he can pull his hoodie up, revealing a quick glimpse of his t-shirt underneath before two bags of chips fall out.

    Phoebe gets the kettle salt & vinegar chips. Tim keeps the sweet spicy chili Doritos for himself.

    "Well, I'm not sure how much use I'm going to be here if we're not studying algebra or physics," he says, which is maybe a slight underexaggeration of his skill set. But he gestures to the books. "Is one of these the Necronomicon?"

    After a second, wherein he was too busy ripping open the Doritos bag, he adds, "Is the Necronomicon even a real thing?"

    He sits with the bag in his lap, casually leaning over to take a peek at the nearest open book. "Probably shouldn't read anything aloud, right?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... oh my god you brought me oreos. What did you break?" Phoebe asks as she accepts the sleeve of oreos, and immediately opens one. "Collar bone? Shoulder blade? Tibia?"

    Why? Because Phoebe ALWAYS gets a hankering for oreos after healing Tim. Weird quirks.

    "You're fine, you're actually present for me to just stay awake and be here, after I fell asleep and had a bad dream." she states, and then she pauses at the question.

    And she slooowly looks over to Tim.

    "Even if John thought I could handle it, pretty sure Chas would not let me have anything of that caliber without someone over my shoulder." the younger Outsider states with a small smile.

    The book is written in Coptic, and has several different circles describing the workings of angels in it.

    "Ah, these happen to be books I checked out of a rare section of a library, so they're not exactly hugely unknown. That one's just an old-as-balls translation of The Book of Coming Forth by Day." she states, and she turns back to the book.

    "But like all other legends, the Necronomicon is probably not real like it is in the Mythos, butmight be based on something. Just like any good Mummy movie is going to have the Book of the Dead, but it was never called that in Egypt."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Nothing's broken. Just figured I'd top up your supply, after you healed me the other day." Tim tucks his legs into a fold and settles his cherished bag of chips in his lap, and before he eats a single one he casts a suspicious look around.

    Only this far out of Gotham does Tim feel safe eating junk food. While the chances of him being caught are never zero, it's at least a low enough number for his conscience.

    He tilts his head slightly at Phoebe basically confirming the existence of the Necronomicon.

    And then he shoves a chip in his mouth.

    Cronch cronch. Tim rubs the side of his hand against his mouth before he tucks it against his cheek. "That's just a funerary text, isn't it? Rituals for burial?" he asks. For all the languages Tim both speaks and reads fluently, Coptic certainly isn't one of them, so eventually he stops trying to sneak looks through the texts. Instead he sits back with his Doritos. "I'm here if you want to talk about it. Your bad dream, I mean."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... I never really did a debriefing of what went on in Montana." she states, turning a page. She scribbles down something in a notebook.

    "Never saw much use in traumatizing and making everyone else mad about it," she breathes out, "but after I managed to get away, and almost burnt myself out trying to get somewhere with a camera, something that could be scanned..." she takes a breath, and she tilts her head back a moment.

    "They put me on horse tranquilizers, and chained me to a cell so that I couldn't escape. They taped IV feeds to my arms, and shaved my head, and kept my body so focused on keeping itself alive that I couldn't wake up out of it. A perfect living nightmare, kept weeks in the darkness and hoping you found the feed, and someone would be able to get me out."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Should Tim stop eating his chips while Phoebe tells him this? It feels, well, very personal for obvious reasons. And the crunching seems kind of disrespectful.

    So he keeps one Dorito pinched in his fingertips as he looks over at her, eyebrows drawn together under the brim of his baseball cap. Tim doesn't say anything; he doesn't interrupt, doesn't make any pointless sympathetic noises. He barely even moves until Phoebe is done, and then he finally eats that chip.

    Which is maybe just an excuse to give himself a moment to think.

    "The human brain is a funny thing," he says, quietly. "As much as I know about biology, I'm always amazed that we can put it through so much and it keeps going. And some people will say that it's just our minds trying to process trauma, but..."

    He dusts his hands off lightly, then folds them together. "I've always interpreted it as an open wound. Those sorts of... experiences, they carve into you, and the brain is the slowest organ to heal. Especially when we have a habit of picking at the scab." One of his shoulders bumps up and down lightly. "Metaphorically speaking."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "We are ghosts trapped in soggy bacon piloting skeletons with meat armor." Phoebe states in response to the actually meaningful thing Tim said, and she twists an oreo, eating half first.

    She chews thoughtfully. "No. We always pick the scabs. Mentally, it's the easiest thing to do. A man walks by with the same cologne of an orderly that held you down. Someone has the whiff of Jasmine and all I can smell is Julia. I can't even pass by someone grilling without having to double-check for the smell of singed flesh. Trauma affects everyone." she looks to Tim, and her lips purse. She knew his body was already riddled with scars and fractures. She's healed some of them.

    "How do you handle yours?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Spooky," Tim replies, tone bland as unbuttered toast. He eats another chip and then twists the bag around in his lap, looking down at the nutritional label.

    Oh, cool. 140 calories, 12 chips per serving. Tim isn't counting.

    He signals his agreement with a few rapid nods of his head and a murmured "Mmhmm," without looking up, though he does flick a glance Phoebe's way when she asks him that question. "Put on a costume and fight crime," he says instantly, and the smile that he plasters on his face looks entirely fake.

    After a breath or two, he blows out an exhale especially hard through his nose and puts his elbows on his knees. "I don't," is his eventual, honest answer.

    His attention shifts to where he's threaded his fingers together. The scatter of scars on his knuckles. "As much as I wish I had something to say that would be helpful, here, the reality is that you have a lot more figured out than I do."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That is the most horrifying thing I've ever heard. Me, having it figured out. I'm constnatly just shy of panic mode. My entire world revolved around keeping a bunch of college-age superheroes alive who could largely heal themselves or go to their main HQ, until they called me up to try and heal Diana. And then Terry. ANd then I was a stop-gap for John's lungs turning to /shit/." Phoebe curses.

    Phoebe almost never uses curse words, and it sounds horrible and uncomfortable coming out of her mouth. She was exhausted, but her body wouldn't show it, but the ghost piloting the bacon did.

    She tilts over, and then just sort of... leans against Tim. Which is about as much physical affection that she allows without someone being returned from the dead or a four-legged animal. It tingles.

    "Bart says the cheetah cubs are doing fantastic."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim holds up his hands. "I don't mean *everything*," he says, quickly. "The world's too chaotic for anyone to have everything figured out. I just meant... you know." His hands drop, blinking rapidly as Phoebe curses, and his mouth twitches with some restrained emotion.

    After a second or two of hesitation, he slides his arm over his friend's shoulders and pulls her a little closer, squeezing. "Pheebs. You have more responsibilities right now than anyone your age should have and there isn't a single thing wrong with you feeling overwhelmed about it. People ask way too much of you, and I hate it, I hate that--."

    He stops himself, inhales, and then spends the space of a heartbeat or two staring out into the middle-distance.

    "Did they end up naming one of them Cuddles?" he asks.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... you hate that you can't protect me from this." Phoebe finishes quietly, making quite an assumption. She reaches over, her hand just resting on Tim's knee. The circut completes.

    It's just her ambient healing. The soothing, calming feeling that's now hidden by the white, tattooed circle on her wrist. "Because it's so far out of your scope, you can't think of ways to logic your way around ghosts, so you're entrusting a member of your team to someone you don't know." she states.

    "I'm pretty sure the one we saved is named Cuddles. If he's not, we can hack their system and change the ID."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The twitch to Tim's face that isn't quite a blink, isn't quite a frown, probably indicates that Phoebe's right on the money with that one. "I know I'm good at what I do. Sometimes, though, the world contrives to expose all of the ways I can't hope to compare."

    He waves his hand towards the books spread out before them. "I could learn these languages. It wouldn't be hard. But that's never going to give me any aptitude in any of this, or help you in any way," he says, quietly. Though his tone is even, there's a note of... not despair. Defeat, maybe, or frustration. That Tim genuinely lacks any kind of temper (unlike some of the other members of his family) makes it hard to tell which is which. Everything kind of comes out flat when it's in that general range of emotions.

    "I wish I could help you. I wish I could ensure a way for you to get help without people taking advantage of you."

    Tim taps his fingers against the back of Phoebe's hand. "And more than anything I want you to know that you don't have to do this for me. I like spending time with you because you're kind, and honest, and a good friend. Our sense of humor is super similar. If you never healed me again, you'd still be my best friend, Pheebs."

    At mention of hacking into the zoo's systems, Tim snorts. "What makes you think I haven't done that already?" he asks, with a tight smile.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "And I can't do the things you do. No matter how many times I try to learn C+, I'll never be able to program a deck of cards, or a bubbling martini glass, or a Hello World without needing Tumblr and a million other For Dummies books. I'll never be able to think out logic on the fly or plan for every event that doesn't include 'hiding a smoke bomb in my purse." she gives a soft, humourous sound.

    "You do help me. This? Right here? This is helping. I don't always need a dramatic rescue, or caped crusader time. Sometime's it's just... nice to have someone I can touch." she states quietly. "Our abilities complement each other's. You do all the smart boy things and I do all the magic girl things. Going to have to change my uniform to a sailor fuku." she mumbles, and she turns her hand palm up. Tim would be able to see that white circle, intricately inked into her skin. A work of art wrought out of a want to protect.

    "So, you helped yourself to a little crime, as a treat."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I'm enjoying the implication that you've managed to find the, like, one Tumblr post in the entirety of the site that doesn't revolve around shipping," Tim says, dryly. He shoots a little side-glance Phoebe's way that is inlaid with a healthy dose of suspicion, but he doesn't follow it up with anything.

    Instead, he rolls the top of his bag of chips closed and sets it aside. The thing about never eating junk food is that it's hard to binge. Too much oil, too much salt. Mostly Tim wants a salad and as much water as his stomach can physically contain, now.

    The tilt of his head suggests he's looking down at Phoebe's hand, at the tattoo, but the brim of his hat hides his precise line of sight. "Sure. You can magic up a transformation sequence, yeah?"

    He straightens up, and slips off his hat long enough to sweep a hand through his hair.

    "It's not like we don't toe the line of legality on the regular anyway, Pheebs," he points out with a huff of a laugh.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Why, did you find the photograph that compares different young superheroes and ships them and then has fanfiction about their babies and somehow the babies end up meeting their alter-egos and also falling in love in spite of the fact that they are also a vampire?" she questions tiredly -- but as he straightens, she blinks, realizing she was leaning against him for a fair bit. HEr ears darken, her cheeks darken, and she straightens up as well, poofing up the slightly-flattened poof that was against his shoulder.

    "Well. I could at least have a little light show before I start hitting people with things." she smiles, and she breathes out.

    "All right, I should probably move this stuff back inside before Chas gets out from the bar and starts to question living with a teenager." she smiles, and turns to Tim.

    "Thanks for coming out."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "No, just the roleplay accounts where all of the guys from One Direction are dating members of the Justice League." Tim isn't laughing, at least not outloud, but his whole body starts to shake with the effort to keep it in. "Real creative uses of Wonder Woman's lasso in that one."

    The mental image is enough to make Tim cringe a little bit. It's extra weird when it's someone you know, even if vaguely.

    He's going to leave the chips and snacks with Phoebe. That's a given. Tim nods at her, and then after he takes a quick inhale, he nods again. "Okay. I'm going to hug you. It's going to be awful but I hope you can appreciate that I am trying my best to be a real live human being here."

    And then he does as promised. Leans in, wraps both arms around Phoebe, and squeezes her loosely once before he pulls away. It's a quick and awkward thing, which implies a lot about how often Tim does it. Immediately after, he's on his feet. "Any time, Pheebs."

    Does he offer to help get stuff back inside? Nope. Rooftops only. He gives a cheeky salute before he slips over the edge of the roof and starts making his way back down the fire escape.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Oh hey, no I played Nightwing on that one." Phoebe replies. Without any level of kidding on that one. She is of course kidding, her only Tumblr was her Gotham Hope project.

    But when Tim says he's going to hug her, she gives him a look, like 'uh-huh. Yeah. Hugs.

    But then he does. He hugs her. Phoebe is caught extremely off guard by it (if only because the only other person to recently show her physical affection was Cassandra!), but she brings her hands around, her arms pressing against him, and her hands against his back.

    Tim might be able to smell the cigarette smoke in her hair, beneath the tea-scented oil and shampoos she uses, but she holds him for a moment. It tingles.

    And as Tim makes his exit, down and away, she smiles, and leans over to lick her finger and thumb, and one by one puts out the candles.

    Chas might be a bit puzzled by the missing couch cushions, but she'll be happy to explain that they didn't want a *boy* alone with her in the apartment.