7768/Red Bird, Black, and Pigeon

Red Bird, Black, and Pigeon
Date of Scene:	09 September 2021
Location:	Level 1 - Labs - The Roost
Synopsis:	Phoebe, Tim, and Lonnie in the Labs with the Dog in a party hat. Phoebe discovers that her dog likes Tim more than he likes her. Tim and Phoebe have a very frank conversation, and then everyone eats scrambled eggs. Even Phoebe, who is a vegetarian. Lonnie knows a weird amount about magic.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake, Lonnie Machin

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was in the Roost again, second time after being away so long, this time she had tagged Tim to let her know she had pulled up, and parked her bike in the garage, and was walking through the labs with her gray-and-yellow biking jacket still on, looking pensive. She'd already stopped up at her room, so of course she was being tailed by a very happy but geriatric dalmatian, who was wearing a party hat.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The elevator dings and Tim strolls out once the doors slide open, hands tucked into the pockets of one of his oversized hoodies. This one's more exciting than the rest, if only because instead of being all one color it has a set of white and red stripes down one sleeve and an embroidered patch on the chest. Variety! Well, it's still all black, otherwise. He's wearing a pair of shorts underneath it. "They could have had a better selection of canapes," he's saying to Lonnie as he walks, brow furrowed.

    He's intending on walking straight to the medical lab, but the timing works out that it becomes unnecessary. "Hey, Pheebs." He smiles at her, but he's also giving her a good once-over with a gaze narrowed in concern. "You okay? Wait, why is Scout wearing a party hat. It's not your birthday." Tim blinks several times as he consults his internal calendar.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie walks in - he's *extra* punk right now to make up for that hipster nightmare. How punk is he? He's so punk that he promptly walked out of that club and into a pair of ripped jeans and heavy boots and a vest that's all patches and rivets, and he has a Rancid t-shirt on. "Well I feel much more comfortable." He says, "Also, what would you think if I shaved my scalp down into a mohawk?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Hey Tim -- hey Lonnie." Phoebe gives a small smile, and nod of her head to the young gentlemen as they made their way down to the labs. She rubs the back of her neck a moment. "oh. You know. AH. Atum the Devourer is going to show up in Mexico tomorrow." she rubs the back of her neck. "So I've got the night off from work. Figured I'd stop in." she looks Tim over, and then looks Lonnie over.

    "... I love your boots." she comments to him, with a little bit of awkward to it.

Tim Drake has posed:
    For the time being, Tim seems to have decided that there isn't anything noticeably off about Phoebe, at least enough so that he's not going to give voice to his nigh-eternal worries. He's working on it, okay? So he just smiles back at her, and then tilts his head up to peer at Lonnie.

    "Hmm. I think you could pull it off. But you'd lose a lot of length, wouldn't you?" He's not actually sure about that.

    Of course, any plans to ask further follow-up questions are put on pause. "So, how apocalyptic are we talking here?" he asks instead, eyebrows drawn together. He'd be less calm if he hadn't given in to his immediate urge to start analyzing the situation.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Is that one of the uh, Luciferian entities? Like the Fourfold Fiend, the Doubly Evil One..." Lonnie thinks about that, "Or were those monsters from a role-playing game?" He shrugs, and then rests his arm on Tim's shoulder, before he reaches out to give the dog a gentle scratch under the skin. "Yes, who's a good boy."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Scout gives a wag, and rests his head on Lonnie's hand. Happy old dog.

    "Ah, primordial god who rose from the waters of chaos, child of Gaea --" she trails off a moment, rolling her shoulder as she looks up. "I did a lot of research on him last night and provided weak points for everything from cthulhuoid creatures to crustaceons, analyzing using the Outsiders computer -- sorry for that, might have caused a lot of lag doing it over a cellphone." she admits with an embarrassed smile, and the younger Outsider then just leans back on her heels a moment.

    "W-... They have a plan. Matter of fact, if you cared to join ranks with the mystical and magical, there's a request to think Really Happy Thoughts tomorrow." she states with pursed lips.

    "I retweeted it."

    Beat.

    "Don't get a mohawk for any reason other than wanting to get a mohawk. Hair grows back." she states in a totally unrelated tangent as she takes off her jacket. She's just wearing a plain gray T beneath today.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The mention of lag gets waved off, dismissive. Not a thing Tim worries about, given how beefy his setup is for handling all of the information that gets routed through the Roost's computers. Besides, it's there to be used for a reason, and he wouldn't have let people connect to it if he didn't want them to have access.

    The rest is... more significant.

    Tim takes all this information in, and then pauses for a beat longer before he nods. "Sure, right. Really Happy Thoughts." He bites the inside of his cheek and glances at Lonnie out of the corner of his eye, before his shoulders shrug up. "Okay."

    Then he hesitates, for a moment, and does a brief immitation of a fish: mouth open, mouth closed. Finally, he asks, "Are you here because you expect something bad to happen? You can tell the truth, Phoebe. This isn't exactly my first time grappling with a potential end-of-days."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's mine though." Phoebe comments, but she caught that look, and then her eyebrows rise up, her eyelids dropping a moment, and she takes a breath, and then lets it out.

    "Actually I came to see about that bruise you mentioned and decided to grab a couple things to make... a lucky charm." she states, lamely, her cheeks and ears darkening a moment.

    "Trenchcoat also wanted a drop of blood from people and I'm weirdly more medically proficcient than him, so I came to grab a bunch of sterile lancets since I only had like, twelve in my bag. There's also that subject that you wanted to talk to me about in person, but I get it if you're not ready to do that yet."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Well. You'll." Tim sucks in a breath and tries to think back on how someone comforted him during said previous encounters. Nothing comes to mind, though, so he tries to think of what he would've liked someone to say to him. "Everything's going to be okay. Given what I know of how the superhero community operates, generally, there have been dozens--maybe even hundreds--of similarly catastrophic scenarios that have been thwarted. The probability of success based on that is high."

    Once he's done, though, Tim isn't sure how helpful that was. He tips his head at Phoebe, and shrugs, a little bit.

    The mention of his bruise makes Tim snort though. "You really don't need to. It's just a bruise, Phoebe. I bumped my knee, and it only hurts when I press down on it." He bends his leg up to show it, and yeah, it's just a run-of-the-mill kind of bruise, midway through the healing process. Not even a scraped knee. His gaze cuts to Lonnie again, and then he stares down at the floor. "No, it's okay--do you want something to eat? We were at a thing and I couldn't eat any of the fancy hors d'oeuvres."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Why? Was the horseradish too strong on the canapes?" Phoebe asks in a gentle tease, and she rubs the back of her neck.

    "J-" she stops herself, and corrects: "Trenchcoat says he's got it well in hand, and thanked me for doing the research for him. He hooked me up with the books." she explains, and then tilts her head and looks at it.

    "Well, I mean, it literally doesn't hurt me at all to fix the small stuff, and doesn't it bother you when you have bruises in places where the armor pinches?" she points out.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Trenchcoat-" Lonnie holds his tongue. Then he looks over at Tim, and back again. He findsa place to perch, which is to say sit, with his booted feet crossed at the ankles. "Where's the kitchen. I'll go uh - scramble you guys some eggs. Do you want them fancy or diner-style." He hops down.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The teasing makes Tim immediately lift his hand. "Hey, I like spicy food! I just don't get the point of eating something so hot it feels like your face is going to melt off. I'm not a masochist." And then he blinks, considering the life he lives and the stuff he gets up to while dressed in costume body armor. The realization is immediate and very obvious on his face.

    "Not the point. Anyway. Good, everything is going to be fine." Tim nods. "You should try to relax, then, which does not involve taking care of me so that I don't have to suffer the extremely mild consequences of tumbling off of a couch."

    He stops talking when Lonnie offers to go make eggs, and Tim's face does something funny. Abruptly he looks away to hide the twitch of his mouth. "Um. Sure. That's--thank you. Whatever's easiest is fine, I don't care." And then he lifts his chin, takes in a deep breath. He rises up on his toes for just long enough to kiss Lonnie's cheek. "Fourth floor."

    He turns to Phoebe after, shoulders hunched in slightly. "So. About that thing I needed to tell you."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks on, not really willing to explain her arbitrary dietary restrictions, and makes a surprised face when Lonnie goes to make the eggs.

    "Um... just... a couple of pieces of toast for me maybe? I kinda had a big breafkast..." she trails off -- and then she watches Tim. Her face is momentarily hard to read, as if some little bit of hurt crossed her eyes -- or maybe jealosuy. But she crosses her arms over her chest, and gives Tim a smile.

    "Knew it." she states softly as Lonnie takes his leave. "I'm happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you happy. You could do worse than a hacker with a sense of comedic justice."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie looks around, and then he takes stock of the kitchen. He looks under the sink, and says, "I could blow up half of Gotham with the stuff under here." Then he straightens back up. Milk, eggs, salt, whisk! Pan, hot, butter! Parsley! Daring! Toast! "Is Tim allowed to have carbs?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    If Tim catches the look from Phoebe, or recognizes it for what it might be, he doesn't give it away. He watches Lonnie go and then exhales, hands returning to his pockets. "In hindsight it was incredibly obvious how I feel about him," he says, and he's half smiling, half grimacing, reviewing his own behavior.

    "So, um. I'm into guys. Which is a thing I've known for a while, and... now you do too." Pause. "Well, and so does Lonnie. I mean, he's smart. He'll have figured it out."

    He sits himself on the edge of a lab bench, feet just brushing the floor. "I haven't told anyone else yet, but I thought you--I wanted to tell you." Tim's mouth twists as he looks up from where he's been staring at his shoes. "That's it, really. It wasn't nearly as dramatic as I was expecting it to be after all this time. Do you want to just... I don't know, hang out for a while? Try to take your mind off of the whole--."

    Well, he doesn't say 'end of the world thing' but he waves his hand around loosely, trying to get the idea across anyway.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    They don't have any bread. So Lonnie makes drop-biscuits. Make them small enough and they'll only need a few minutes in the oven! The eggs of course only need a few seconds. He whistles while he works. "A job well done!" He says, before he weaves his way out of the kitchen, balancing plates. "You can do a lot of things, Drake," He says as he wobbles into the elevator, "But you can't cook! Ha!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe scritches against the geriatric dog, who now also wants scrambled eggs, and she goes over to the bench and hoists herself up. She purses her lips, and looks over at Tim.

    "I've known it for a hot minute. Remember, I came out of the cupboard with all the other pans." she jokes, and she leans back, and lets her boots swing a moment as she considers, and then reaches out to put her hand on Tim's shoulder. She notably does not just heal him.

    "I /am/ happy for you. Affection's difficult, especially when you still struggle with being 'the other'." she gives a slight grin, "And dramatic? I mean, if you want Drama, I've got Terry on speed dial. Pretty sure he could vorp his way over and supply us with a musical number?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim frowns down at Scout. There is no question that Scout will be getting eggs, because he is a good boy. Plus, he gets eggs in the homemade dog food Tim makes for him, so it's not even something unusual to his diet. Of course this is something Tim considers.

    "Thanks, Pheebs. I never figured I'd--you know. I have my issues. But I'm trying to work through them, and I don't want them to hold me back from living my life." Carefully, he leans against Phoebe's hand, enough to acknowledge the weight of it on his shoulder without, hopefully, stepping over any of Phoebe's boundaries. He's good about holding off on casual touches.

    Then he bites back a laugh. "No, trust me, I've had enough. We spent some time undercover at a fancy party where I had to pretend to be eye candy, and that was..." He squints. "Well, it was easy at first, but then I was struggling to keep my mouth shut, and for me that is incredibly difficult." His head tips back so that he can sigh up at the ceiling. "I like the sound of my own voice, I guess."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie walks in, and says, "Breakfast! Come and get it! I'm not gonna serve you, because in an equitable world every man serves himself!" He gives Scout a bowl of creamy scrambled eggs. "Except for YOU, equity demands you get assistance because somebody has no hands! No he doesn't! He doesn't have hands!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That's why it's equitable!" Phoebe states back to Lonnie, her hand still on Tim's shoulder, and then it raises up and brushes Tim's hair back.

    "Don't you get a mohawk. You've got Good Hair." she comments to him, and accepts some food, leaving her place on the bench sitting next to Tim in case Lonnie wanted the position.

Tim Drake has posed:
    All those canapes Tim couldn't eat make their absence known as soon as he smells food. The noise his stomach makes would probably be embarrassing if he were anywhere else, but here, all he does is stand up and walk over, making a 'give me' motion with his hands. Hungryyyyy.

    "You know, the fake head thing made you look kind of alien," he tells Lonnie as he settles in with a plate. "It always wigged me out a little. And now here you are." The way he grins at Lonnie isn't really teasing, despite the fact that he's, yes, teasing Lonnie. Actually, it's just fond.

    Then he points his fork at Phoebe. "I *definitely* couldn't pull off a mohawk. And anyway, I'm growing it out, I'm not going to cut it." As he talks, he eyes the drop biscuit on his plate, and then he shoves half the thing into his mouth at once. His eyes go closed. Carbs are a wonderful thing.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "When he was twelve, he had this messy bedhead thing going on. I think he was trying to make himself look older." He settles in and toys with his own scrambled eggs with a fork. "We're - day-to-day." He says, "Given his line of work and my avocation-" His eyebrows go up. "But, I like hanging around him."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It'll look nice long. Just make sure you learn how to keep it out of your face, otherwise, y'know. Pimples." Phoebe states. She doesn't appear to have that problem.

    Stupid magical skin.

    She rubs at her left wrist a moment, picking at the eggs.

    "So you two go way back then?" she questions. Hey, she was here for a happy story. What's a happier story than finding affection?

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Yeah," Lonnie punches Tim's shoulder. "This guy put me in jail more times than I care to count!" He pauses - and then punches Tim's shoulder again, just a little harder. Whap!

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim can't speak again immediately, because carby biscuit in his mouth, but he's at the very least enjoying himself as he chews. And the 'oofs' he lets out at each of Lonnie's punches is thusly muffled.

    Eventually--and he holds his hand over his mouth, because manners--Tim manages to get out a "Yeah." And then he clears his throat. "We fought a lot when I was doing the whole unofficial Robin thing, in-between training. I kept an eye on him after, you know, due diligence." He has to stop talking again, but this time it's just for a normal bite of scrambled eggs, which only takes him a moment. "And then Gotham conspired to throw us together enough times that I realized we work well as a team."

    "He's especially good at undercover work," Tim points out as he kicks Lonnie's shin.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe chokes at the undercover work. Man that biscuit was dry!

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's cheeks darken to red. "That's not what I meant!" he hurries to say. "I just mean we--he--it was a mission!"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie turns a furious red himself, and then looks away. He goes back to petting Scout, who's very much not embarassed and would like some more eggs, thank you very much. He does get another forkful of eggs, and a biscuit, and he's quite happy to have both.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe continues to try not to laugh, her cheeks and ears darkening in mixed embarrassment as she pitches her head forward.

    "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It popped into my head." Phoebe gives a laugh, and then wipes at her eyes with her left hand, the white magic circle on her wrist catching the light.

    "I'm pretty sure if Tim was actually my boss, I would be so fired."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Scout gives a soft 'boff', utterly unembarrassed, his tail wagging as he eats his eggs and biscuit. Good ol' Doggo. He turns and nudges at Tim's leg, giving him The Eyes.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim is practically burying his face in his food with embarrassment. "It's fine," he says as his fork scrapes against the plate. "Yep, totally fine. It's not like the Outsiders have an HR department, anyway. Which," he points at Phoebe, "You'd probably be part of, if we did. Not just because I put you on every fake committee I make up."

    Then his mouth thins into a line. "Okay. Mostly because I put you on every fake committee I make up." Plate now empty--clearly, Tim was hungry, sorry Scout!--he sets the plate aside and leans over, half against Lonnie, so that he can pet Scout too by way of apology. "We were investigating an art collective. Lonnie had to dress up as a hipster and offer art critique, and it was legitimately amazing. Pretty sure he's an actor in another life." He nudges at Lonnie with his elbow.

    "We ran into someone suspicious, though. Natasha Cranston, CEO of Cranston Multinational. She, uh, was in the area when I was stabbed."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "To fight the parasite you've got to understand his nature." Lonnie says. His cheeks are still pink as he continues petting Scout. "To understand his nature you must become him. Think how he thinks, know what he'll do." He pets the very happy dog under the chin. "Yes, I knooooooooooow." He looks up at Phoebe. "I like dogs. Quite a lot." Then he looks back down. "Because a dog doesn't participate in the system that violently chokes out the innocent and the ethical, no he doesn't! No he does not!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Great, so I'm morale, party planning, medical, mental, HR and magic. Do I get a raise for this? Maybe I won't have to work at MoonCents Coffebarn." Phoebe comments, largely as a joke, as she leans back in a chair.

    "And yeah, Scout's fortunate. He just gets the best dogfood being a bougie pooch can get. Makin' his golden year happy as all get-out living here with everyone. Which... which is good. Since my mom was having issues taking care of him and... well. I can't have a dog in the apartment."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim leans back on his hands, seeing as how Lonnie has the whole petting-the-dog situation on lock. "Is that... something I should do?" he asks, and then his head tips back so he can stare up at the ceiling. "More than anything, the issue wouldn't be concealing where the money is coming from, it'd be getting it out to you all without it bringing any negative attention to your accounts. I guess cash under the table would be easier, but I'd have to significantly up the amount I withdraw every month and that might raise some red flags at the bank." Tim frowns. "...maybe if I started increasing it gradually... and then I wouldn't be able to give everyone precisely the same amount every month, but..."

    Now thoroughly distracted with this particular puzzle, at first Tim only makes a noise of acknowledgment about Scout sticking around. But then he looks over at Phoebe. "Is there anything your mom needs help with?" he asks, quietly.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No." Phoebe states, maybe a little too quickly. "I have a roof over my head and you take care of my armor and any tech or schooling I could ask for. I could say 'Tim, I want to go to Harvard, but only for a week', and you would make it happen." she states. "And I live with Cabbie and Trenchcoat, and *they* give me a stipend for helping out at the bar."

    She raises her fingers.

    "Besides. The trip that Mary went on? That ended up with me and Trenchcoat actually mildly teaming up?" she states, and shrugs. "Some rich vodoo priest gave me a hundred kay." she shrugs. "I borrowed a shell company in the computer to transfer the funds and paid off my mom's house, and put together a nestegg for her retirement. Really, the best thing I can do is not involve her in my life anymore. She's been through too much."

    She just gets maudlin at that point.

    "I know you run patrols by her house. That's all I have the right to ask for."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Okay," Tim answers, maybe a little too quickly too. The fact that he immediately drops the topic except for a nod at the end, acknowledging his patrol patterns? Also suspicious. But he's also looking away, brow furrowed and gaze distant, so it could just as well be that his mind is overcome with other things.
    He lets out a breath as he sits up, and leans over again to rub his hand over the crown of Scout's head. When in doubt, pet a dog. Basically guaranteed to work.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie has found a short-fur dog brush somewhere, and is busily brushing Scout - brush brush, brush brush brush. Something about the last exchange still has him done gone shy.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Everyone loves on the dog. Phoebe gives a smile as the old pooch's tail wags happily at brushing and scritches. Truly, he is the king of the Roost. He'd even fight Murder Mittens for the title. Well, maybe not fight, but he'd definitely consider it.

    "... John wanted me to come and collect a couple of stories to feed to Atum. About being human. Life. Love. Sorrow. Experience. So..." she gives a shrug. "'Cause he wants people to be sending good vibes as he does what he's going to do tomorrow."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim slowly moves deeper and deeper into his lean as he pets Scout, until he's practically folded in half. And that puts his balance off, so he slips off the lab bench and onto his knees on the floor so he can be level with the dog. "So you're all going to... tell the world destroyer stories?" he asks as he rubs his thumbs against Scout's cheeks and the rest of his fingers behind Scout's ears. Then he wiggles his hands, making Scout's ears flap back and forth.

    "I'm not going to pretend I understand anything about magic, but I hope it works. I'll try not to be too serious tomorrow." He bends to kiss Scout on the top of his perfect doggy head. "...maybe I'll eat more carbs." Then, eyes shining with hope, he looks up at Lonnie and mouths 'madeleines'.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I told you, I don't have time to bake! These were like... flour, salt, water, baking soda, and a bag of grated cheddar out of the fridge." Lonnie says, about the drop biscuits. He stops petting the dog. "I'm usually of the opinion that magic is just something waiting to be explained, then it becomes science. But- I wish you the best of luck."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Well. Here. First lesson." Phoebe states, and she brings her hands up, looking to Tim, and raising her eyebrows. "I could heal Lonnie. It tingles, but somehow you make me want oreos." she states with some measure of concern. "Maybe it's the carb deficit?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I've kind of always figured it's just because I have a massive sweet tooth that I don't indulge in. I could eat an entire package of oreos in one sitting," Tim says. "I mean, I'd be sick afterwards. But I could do it. Especially the thin ones, that's the best ratio of cookie to whatever fake cream is inside of them." The look he shoots Lonnie's way is puzzled, but also considering. "I... do you need healing?" He turns back to Phoebe. "Can you somehow tell that he needs healing? Is he hurt?" Back to Lonnie. "Are you hurt?!"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I don't think so?" Lonnie asks, looking up, and looking puzzled. He stops brushing the dog. Which puts Scout out a little bit. "I mean, am I? I have some bruises from going to the Eyehateclowns show at the Snake Pit last night after you left-" He rubs the back of his neck. "It was a late set."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "If the aura wasn't blocked, maybe." Phoebe interjects, "Otherwise I just assume you're lying to me."

    "All right." Phoebe tates, and the younger Outsider moves, and jumps to sit up on the lab table again, next to Tim.

    She stretches her arms, an d she brings her hands out, palms up. Tim and Lonnie would both be able to see the white tatooed circle on her left wrist, intricately tatooed by a somewhat drunk magician. Phoebe does not tell Tim that John was drunk at the time.

    And as she breathes out, pools of liquid sunlight seem to form in her palm.

    "So. I was apparently born to use magic. I use some of it instinctively, like when I heal people. I've got some control, so I can use different... I guess threads... and channel either light, or healing, or holy. Magic is basically kind of affecting the world around you through pure will power."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim wraps his arms around his knees as he watches. Well, scratch that--one arm sticks out so he can keep petting Scout. "As far as I know, this bruise really is the only thing I have right now. It's been a g--." He bites the inside of his cheek as he stops talking, abruptly. "Okay. I don't believe in luck or fate, really, but even I'm not going to say something stupid like that and jinx myself." He bunches his shoulders up. "Anyway. I'm fine. Please continue."

    The gathering appearance of Phoebe's magic in her outstretched hand doesn't surprise Tim. He's seen her in the field, using her powers, and has probably been the subject of her healing the most out of the team, on account of his relative squishiness. "Didn't you say something about magic hacking the code of the universe?" he asks, head towards Lonnie. Before he looks back, he scans his eyes up and down Lonnie's frame, very unsubtly trying to pinpoint any mosh-pit related injuries. But then his attention is on Phoebe again.

    "I feel like that tracks, kind of. Is magic something that everyone has some predetermined amount of ability to use? Maybe I'm getting too technical."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Actually there are ongoing efforts to determine whether there's a genetic proclivity for it - or if it's like... being a specific line of code in a world-hack." Lonnie says from where he's sitting. "Seventh son of a seventh son. It's all poetic and irrational." He remains sitting where he is, lazily scratching Scout behind one ear.
    "But they say witchcraft runs in families, for instance, even if you were never acquainted with your practicing relative. Or that men and women have affinities to different kinds of magic - it makes no sense to me."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I... don't know. I do know that Trenchcoat has no idea how the heck I'm strong in this particular thing, enough that I was able to help Diana recover when she was under a serious curse or basically regrow Vorpal's stomach and some of his organs, even though Wonderland weirdness. But Cabbie can use some magic, Trenchcoat is way more powerful, and then there's people like Dr. Strange who are just like... incredibly mad-strong, and Vorpal who uses a sort of chaos magic. Angels have a similar thing to what I do, I guess, but it's differently sourced. Basically, most humans would call out. I kinda make-from-scratch." she states, and she gives a whistle.

    Scout's ears draw up and he comes snuffing, and with some difficulty he brings his front paws up to the table, and then Phoebe leans over, and scoops him up.

    It appears this is a familiar thing; he lays across her lap, and she brings her hands to him, one between his shoulders, one on his hips.

    "I'm kinda just learning. I know a lot of folklore, and the folklore has some basis in fact. Mostly my experience has been 'I have this power and no idea where it comes from' and now my cousin is trying to kill me with necromantic dogs and ancient ghosts."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's shoulder bumps against Lonnie's. "On the one hand, it's interesting to consider that there might be some sort of marker for magic... capacity, maybe. The part of my brain that wants to explain this all away with science likes the sound of that, at least," he says. But then he shakes his head. "Still, the thought of being able to do genetic testing to determine if you're--well, something that a not-insignificant portion of the human population finds objectionable, or heretical, that doesn't sit right with me.

    He nods along to Phoebe's point about folklore. "Ultimately I don't think it'll ever make sense. Not in the way our brains work, at least." That makes Tim frown, and a wrinkle appear between his eyebrows, but he's pragmatic enough to accept the truth as he sees it. "And maybe that's one part of why we can't use magic. Our brains just aren't structured in the right way for it."

    "Do you think she could be trying to steal it for herself? If you generate it yourself rather than, summoning it or bartering for it or however most magic users power their spells, then that might be what's putting a target on your back. She's related to you, so she might know details about how your power works that you don't. Not that you haven't thought about all of this already, I'm sure."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie thinks about that, and then he dips his head in a nod. "I can't say I've never played with magic before as it is." He shrugs, "You use the tools on the bench." He gives Tim a little smirk and then muses, "It's getting late. Am I staying here or going home? If I'm staying here, you'd better point me at a guest room."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I was going to say you sound way more confident in your knowledge than me." Phoebe points out to Lonnie with a soft of sad smile, and then looks to Tim.

    "... I'm trying to find out. There's some tricks that can be done with blood; Trenchcoat looked in my past to find where I'd crossed paths before but saw something... he didn't want to talk about it. And I mean, the world is ending, there's bigger fish to fry for him." she smiles.

    "So. Want to donate a drop of blood to the Madman in a Trenchcoat Saving the World Fund?" she offers, mostly as a joke.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "So it's just me then!" Tim says, and he throws his hands up into the air. "That's fine! I'm fine with that. It's okay. I am allowed not to understand something." Who is he telling this to? It sounds like it's mostly just aimed at himself. His hands flop down, slapping against his knees. And that's where his bruise is, on one of them. Tim doesn't wince, but he does close his eyes and take a deep breath.

    After, he slides off the lab bench and tilts his head towards the door. "Sure. You can stay up in my actual house, not that I use it all that much." He looks at Phoebe, then, expression tight. "Look, Pheebs, I trust you. But I don't think I'd ever get another second of sleep again for the rest of my life if I knew that my blood was out there in the world being used for some sort of magical ritual I can't possibly come close to understanding. So... sorry. I promise to do the happy-thoughts thing, though. All day tomorrow." Pause. "As much of tomorrow as I can manage to be perky for."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's all good, Tim. I understand." Phoebe gives a small smile, though she winced at Tim's throwing his hands up, and she lifts her hands from the dog, who BOUNDS off the table, getting a good amount of energy back and turns, running in circles before Tim slides off the bench.

    And the dalmation nudges against Tim's hands looking for treats.

    "Meanwhile, I've got a charm to make." she states, "I should get going myself."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I apologize, but I - I'm not especially paranoid about it but the thought unsettles me." Lonnie stands up. "Well I understand the outcomes. I had a pretty good plan worked out to control the Black Diamond. For a fourteen year-old." He puts his hand behind his head and drawls "I'll just... go and find that guest room then. How many floors does this building have?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    There are no treats hidden in Tim's pockets for Scout to have, today. But he bends down for a little bit more petting, and a few whispered apologies. "Okay. Keep me in the loop." He doesn't specify about what, but he's also sure Phoebe knows. And then he locks his hand around Lonnie's wrist. "Your plan was terrible," Tim mutters, as he drags Lonnie off. "An amusement park is not a properly controlled area for an experiment!" Off they go towards the door to the lab and the elevator beyond.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Scout follows the boys, in hopes of treats or more eggs, and Phoebe is left alone in the lab.

    "I'm happy for him." she repeats to herself, then looks over the cloth she's pulled from her own room.

    A shirt with holes in it -- the shirt she was wearing when she met Tim.

    A plain, dark-gray shirt -- the shirt she was wearing when she became an Outsider.

    And a couple of the flowers with the skulls in the middle of them from her wreath.

    "I'm happy for them." she repeats out loud, and then she hops off the table to head back to the garage.