7529/A date with MURDER MITTENS

A date with MURDER MITTENS
Date of Scene:	25 August 2021
Location:	Sublevel 2 -Training Facilities - The Roost
Synopsis:	Gabby is held hostage by Mr. Murder Mittens. Tim and she talk. Tim is held hostage.
Cast of Characters:	Gabby Kinney, Tim Drake

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Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney was getting used to the roost and Gotham in general. She had a good excuse to spend time here at this point though, with the shcool being damaged, though she already knew it was finished being rebuilt. Still, school didn't officially start until tomorrow. No reason not to enjoy some more time in Gotham where she felt she at least was useful instead of being told 'no' all the time. She'd situated herself here in the training room to do some weight lifting by herself--Not the best idea with no one to spot, but she wasn't going to strain herself TOO much.

That had been the plan at least. Soon enough she's forced to get on her radio as she lay on the bench staring at the ceiling. Over the non-emergency line she speaks up. "<<If anyone's in the roost I could use some help in the training room. I, ah, I can't move. Bring snacks.>>"

Tim Drake has posed:
    The Roost has a whole host of amenities. Full kitchen, expansive recreational areas, even a nice rooftop seating area with a wonderful view of Gotham.

    And of course Tim knows about them. He designed the place, after all. But realistically, if he's here, he's in one of two places: at his computer in the labs, or down here in the training room. Maybe on occasion he finds his way to his bedroom, but can anyone really say they've seen Red Robin sleeping?

    The timing works out well for Gabby, as Tim is changing into his workout gear when her voice comes over the line. He tugs his tank top down and bends over to grab his comm-unit. "<<Copy,>>" he says.

    And then he pauses, silently mouthing 'Snacks?'

    But he does as bid, making a pitstop into the kitchen he rarely makes use of to raid the less-than-healthy snack vault, AKA where most of the Outsiders food budget goes to. When the elevator dings and he steps out into the training area, he has a box of cheese crackers and a couple packets of peanut butter cups, fresh from the freezer, clutched against his chest. "Gabby?"

Gabby Kinney has posed:
It's easy enough to spot Gabby on the bench press where she's lain out still. Legs planted on the floor, she's stretched out on her back with her head tucked beneath the bar. Thankfully it's on the rack and not pinning her down which may have been what would keep her trapped and unable to move. She seems fine... mostly?

A hand lifts to draw attention to herself when she hears Tim's voice as he enters. "Hi Tim. I'd get up to greet you, but I don't think I should move right now." Should? Could? Her arms were moving well enough. "I've been here for an hour now," she explains with her arm dropping again to gesture down to her chest.

It's there that the reason for her being 'stuck' becomes obvious as she rolls her head to the side to try and peer over at Tim with a sheepish, perhaps even guilty grin. Because on her chest is a ginger tabby known around the roost as Mr. Murder Mittens. Curled up and snoozing comfortably. Which in itself is odd given he often lived up to his name. Perhaps he'd just decided that the best place to nap would be in the most inconvenient place given the excersizes Gabby was doing.

Tim Drake has posed:
    This is why Gabby can't move? A cat? Tim walks over silently thanks to years of practice sneaking about the shadows of Gotham, and today that training pays off. He's hardly even breathing, his chest moving up and down only the slightest bit.

    With the utmost care, he crouches down to set the snacks on the floor, somehow without so much as the faintest crinkle of plastic packaging. And then he stands, looking down at Gabby.

    Then he digs his phone out of the back pocket of his shorts and, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, starts to take pictures.

    *snap* *snap* *snap* *snap* *snap*

    After a few moments, the Outsiders group chat pings.

    "Do you want something to drink?" he asks, motioning over his shoulder to the stocked fridge of water, sports drinks, protein shakes and etc etc etc in the corner.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
It takes a moment for Gabby to realize just what Tim was doing with his phone out. She very nearly laughs but catches the breath that would have belted the sound out by holding it. Best not to startle Murder Mittens either. She does however lift a hand up to give a cute victory sign and wink though she imagines that the photograph is mainly centered on MM. Still, it never hurt to play along. She was far more relaxed in that sort of thing than, say, Laura.

"Water would be great," she admits with a soft chuckle that thankfully only earns a little 'Mrrr' of displeasure from MM. Her eyes snap down to him again as she stills once more. "I mean I know I'll survive moving but it just seems wrong."

Shifting her eyes back to Tim she regards his attire with another grin. "Planning to work out? I'd offer to help but..." Ah, perhaps she will be able to. MM stretches out those forepaws with claws elongating to DIG into her chest in a manner that would be most unpleasant to anyone else. There's no holding back on how much those claws dig even if it seems an innocent gesture. "I am *so* glad I can't feel pain."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Water it is, then. Tim is still looking at his phone as he heads over to fetch it, and it's probably answer enough to Gabby's question that he comes back with two bottles, handing one over before tucking the other underneath his arm. Which only has Tim grimacing a little bit, because it's cold against the bare skin of his arm and already dampening the thin material of his tank top.

    "I was just going to run on the treadmill for a while," he says, and once he's fired off another text he finally tucks his phone back into his pocket. "Sometimes it helps when I'm stuck on a case."

    Though admittedly he sounds pretty dubious about his prospects regarding whatever breakthrough he seems to need on his current investigation. Whatever it may be. And he's certainly not in a rush to get to it, as he kneels down, moving the snacks so that they're more easily within Gabby's reach before he tucks a hand against his cheek and stares at the cat. "He looks like he's so soft," Tim says, and he sounds so unbearably upset by that fact. Because he cannot pet, for he in fact does feel pain. Alas.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney lifts her head to peer down at Murder Mitts with a faint grin of amusement. "I mean I could distract and let you snag a pet... But yeah pretty fluffy for being so sharp." Apologetically she glances back up toward Tim. "If it helps sometime I could borrow Piotr's cat? He's a giant fluffy Russian. So is the cat," she explains as if this makes sense. "He's very loveable and not prone to biting off fingers."

Carefully she lifts the bottle to twist the cap off trying not to spill any in the process. It's the mention of the case that has her tip her head to the side. "Want to talk it out? One of the other students said it's a good way to figure out problems by explaining them. Something about a rubber duck? I mean I get it, sometimes you have to try to see things from a different point of view. He had so many rubber ducks though."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I can't imagine there are all that many folks at your school who would enjoy coming to Gotham," Tim says just before he stands back up, complete with a little pop of joints from some long-healed injury that has him only flinching slightly, tightness around his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck. "You and your sister notwithstanding."

    He casts one long, lingering look at Mister Murder Mittens before he takes a step back, seating himself on a stack of crates in the adjacent deadlifting area. The kind of crates used for box jumps, for context. "I have a Batman rubber duck in my lab for precisely that purpose," he says with a half-smile. Hard to tell if he's serious. Hard to tell if someone in Gotham would have enough of a sense of humor to make such a thing.

    Tim tugs one of his legs up so he can wrap his arms around it, chin balanced on his knee. His eyes close as he pulls up the details of the case from memory, a map of Gotham overlaid with strings attached to files on the inside of his skull. "We've seen an upswing in suspicious import activity coming into the city. Tech-related stuff, mostly. GPUs and RAM and the like. But there hasn't been a noticeable increase in that sort of thing being trafficked, so we have no idea where it's all going."

    He cracks open his own water bottle and takes a quick swig, then fiddles with the cap after. "Thanks to a friend, I've managed to link some of the smuggling ops to a foreign investment company called Perreault & Richelieu, and they've been buying and selling a lot of real estate in Gotham in the past two years. Very slim profit margin, which is suspicious. But we've checked out over a dozen of their past and present holdings without finding anything suspicious at all, even though my brain is screaming at me that there's something to find."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney takes a swig of her water as she considers the remark of folks at her school. "I could think or one or two, but most would probably want to be elsewhere, yeah. This is... Well. It's kind of nice being somewhere that my skills are recognized. Even if I can't always help out, it's nice that I'm not being treated like I'm super fragile and needing to be protected all the time." Carefully she sets the bottle of water down on the floor beside her so that she can shift both arms behind her head. They cross behind her neck supporting her head so she can continue to talk without getting a crick in her neck.

"Huh. I can't claim to know a lot about technology. And I don't recognize the name of the corporation from the lists that we were made to memorize of potential rivals to Alchemax, either." Lightly chewing on the inside of her cheek she considers it. "Have you mapped out the locations they've bought up? If they're not out to make a lot of money, then maybe they're trying to get themselves set up in strategic locations," she suggests. "Either to help move goods later, or to gather information on those around them, maybe? I was usually on recon with my sisters."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "For what it's worth, I appreciate what you do as part of this team. You know we vet all of our members carefully, so you wouldn't be here if we didn't want you to be." Tim does not comment about Gabby's supposed fragility, though he does offer her a wry grin at that. What can he, a random human, say to that?

    The crate-sitting does not last long. After he's given the basic rundown of the case, Tim stretches both his legs out in front of him and then he's back up on his feet, apparently too troubled about this case to sit still. But he's definitely listening as Gabby gives her own insights, his hands clasped together and pressed against the lower half of his face as he paces back and forth.

    Apologies to Mister Murder Mittens if Tim's soft footfalls across the padded floor are disturbing.

    "Yeah. Their primary focus seems to be industrial locations though they also have dabbled in retail holdings. Small lots, generally. Doesn't make any sense." His gaze remains on the ground as he traces the same path along the floor between the bench press and the deadlift area. "Strategic locations," he echoes. He stops, for a second. Then blows out a breath through his nose and resumes pacing. "Strategic for what, though? There's basically no neighborhood in Gotham that they haven't had a presence in at one point or another."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney smiles in response to being vetted with a dip of her head to acknowledge that. "I appreciate it, I do. You guys have been great," she assures only to pause when Murder Mittens gives another grumpy noise. An eye cracks open to peer over at the pacing Tim. The pacing apparently is enough to disturb the laying, and instead the cat launches off of her stomach causing an 'Oof' of exhaled breath.

Finally able to sit up she does so with a hand dropping to rub over her stomach. "Still need air though," she mumbles with a sigh. "Oh well it was nice while it lasted." Sitting up properly she stretches her arms overhead with a little groan.

"Sounds like a net being cast over Gotham itself, then. For whatever reason. You said they were smuggling before, so that's an option. If it were me I'd probably see what the sewer access was like in those areas as well. You guys have most of Gotham well patrolled so trying to come up with ways to get around that remain unseen seems like a good idea."

Her hands drop down to rub the back of her neck idly. "I mean, I could be off completely I admit. Some could even be distractions to throw off any pattern that might be spotted otherwise."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim goes abruptly very, very still. Because Mister Murder Mittens is on the approach, having abandoned his previous Gabby-perch. With his breath held, Tim manages to remain still as a statue as the cat twists itself around his ankles, tail poofed up and brushing against the inside of his leg.

    Hands still against his mouth, Tim casts a nervous glance in Gabby's direction, then downwards towards the cat, then back up at Gabby again. Slowly, the air begins to leave his lungs, and a few seconds later the soft pat-pat-pat of cat paws precedes Mister Murder Mittens' exit.

    And so Tim flops down on the ground, arms and legs spread out. "Maybe it's as simple as that. They want coverage over all of Gotham. But for what purpose?" He sighs at the ceiling. "My gut tells me you're right, and that there's something important at one of these locations. It's a needle in a haystack, though."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney holds her fists up to her chest watching as Murder Mittens does the little dance of death between Tim's ankles. When he shoots her a look she gives a double-thumbs up along with a wide grin of encouragement. It was certainly a good sign!

"Okay that was adorable," she gushes with a renewed grin. At least until Tim sinks down to the ground in that way. A little laugh comes in response.

"Yeah, that's the problem a lot of times. You don't know until it happens. All you can do is prepare for what's about to jump out at you. You know SOMETHING is about to happen. Just not what precisely."

Humming in thought she considers a moment before bouncing up to her feet. She gives a little jump on the balls of her feet a few times to get the blood flowing properly again only to walk over. She doesn't LOOM over Tim due to her height so she just stands there and offers a hand down. "Since we don't know the what exactly, we could start plotting scenarios and how to respond if it ends up being one of them?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    The ceiling does not contain the answers Tim is looking for, but he's assuredly trying to glare it into submission anyway. He brings his legs up into a bend so that his feet are planted firmly on the ground, and then his gaze shifts, softening as he turns his head to look up at Gabby.

    "Most of my off-time is spent planning for every inevitability. But if there's anything I can say about the type of criminals who live in Gotham, it's that they're creative. Definitely moreso than I am."

    He takes Gabby's hand and pulls himself up to his feet. "Thanks. For reminding me that I have a great team with their own individual points of view that I should listen to more often," he tells her, and then his shoulders bounce up and down in a quick shrug. "I preach the whole collaboration thing all the time but I forget that it applies just as much to my own team."

    Tim looks over at the treadmill and bites his lip. "I'm going to run for a little while, but maybe we can get a few people together and work on it. Over dinner? My treat." He pauses, and then holds up his hands. "I'll order something in rather than inflict my rabbit food diet on you, promise."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney grins with a large grin that causes her cheeks to dimple, and thus the scars to crinkle as well. It's paid no mind though--It's just a genuine and honest smile. "I grew up being part of a team even if it was just my sisters. You have no idea how glad I am to be on one again. Feels like I was missing something otherwise, you know?" Her shoulders roll in a shrug of her own.

"Yeah, work it out. I get the need to run. I still go for morning runs most of the time. Helps work out a lot of things." A half-step back is taken to give him plenty of room. "Ah, I'll eat just about anything, so long as it's not oatmeal." Here her face scrunches up with a look of absolute disgust. "You have no idea how often that was our meals. I can't even stand it anymore. Eugh." Shuddering at the mere thought her tongue sticks out with a childish 'yuck' face before she grins again. "And no problem. I'm good at talking. Sometimes too much, but that hasn't stopped me yet. Dinner sounds great."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I won't inflict my overnight oats on you, then," Tim promises with an earnest nod. "I eat pretty much the same thing for most of my meals, I know it's--look, I'm trying to be serious here but all my brain can think of to say right now is 'difficult to swallow'." With that, he rolls his eyes at himself, and then he drops his hand onto Gabby's shoulder for a quick pat. "The kitchen's open to you 24/7. I keep it stocked. Eat *whatever* you want, and check the computer terminal next to the phone in the kitchen if you want to order something. I have several pre-arranged drop-off spots with most of the local restaurants."

    Trust Tim to plan for everything. "If there's anything you want but can't find, just add it to the list and I'll make sure we get it with our next grocery order."

    He fiddles with the headphones around his neck, pulling the earbud free from one end but not quite putting it in yet. Sounds like there's already music playing through them, synced up to his phone. "I know what you mean about the whole team thing. Started off as part of one, you know." He doesn't mention his mentor by name, but the Dark Knight's presence looms heavy around the Outsiders anyway. "Thanks again, Gabby."

    And then he's off to run.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Thirty minutes later, Tim is once again sprawled out on his back in the training room, though now his tank top is drenched with sweat and his muscles are screaming at him in a familiar, almost comforting way. He's only just got his breathing back under control when he feels an unfamiliar pressure on his chest, and he opens his eyes to find Mister Murder Mittens curling up atop him.

    "...Crap."

    He manages to drag the snacks closer to himself, and for a long while he lays there, chewing silently on half-frozen peanut butter cups as he stares up at the ceiling.