7818/Tim Drake Isn't Punk Rock

Tim Drake Isn't Punk Rock
Date of Scene:	13 September 2021
Location:	Park Row, the Snake Pit bar
Synopsis:	Lonnie takes Tim to a grimy punk nightclub for their first date.
Cast of Characters:	Lonnie Machin, Tim Drake

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Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The Snake Pit is... a rough bar. Once upon a time, in the 1920s, it was actually a very nice ballroom. The club itself isn't far from Park Row, and it's very busy - and very noisy. The noise - and the crowds - spill out into the street.
    But the bouncer, a genial-looking man, knows Lonnie well. "Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy, THIS GUY!" He says, shaking his hand.
    Lonnie is wearing an 'Against Me' t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of all-stars, under a sleeveless vest covered with patches. He shakes his hand, vigorously. "You guys still staying afloat?"
    "Ah, man, you getting the landlord off our back was a godsend. I don't know how you did it! I figured this place would be sold to hipsters and turned into a craft brewery by now." He turns and looks at Tim. "Who's your friend?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    The morning had started off, for Tim, in a panic. And a furtive series of texts sent Lonnie's way that revolved mostly around mosh pit etiquette and what was he supposed to wear because turns out the sole t-shirt that might have been appropriate, in his wardrobe (an old tour t-shirt for The Clash) no longer fit him.

    Thankfully, he is now attired semi-appropriately. Mostly by co-opting bits and pieces of their undercover outfits: Al's black jeans and steel-toed boots, the wool cap from Theo, but also the t-shirt Lonnie had offered and a thoroughly unnecessary belt Tim had swiped, given how tight these jeans are. When they approach the bar, he hovers uncertainly, more than once wrapping his fingers around Lonnie's arm or touching his wrist but never fully committing to a grip.

    He shoots a look out of the corner of his eye at Lonnie, though, as the bouncer talks him up, and smiles.

    Though his expression goes frighteningly blank when attention is brought to him. Tim keeps his eyes on the ground as he offers a quick, "Hey," and nothing else. He already feels like he doesn't belong, best not to make it super obvious to everyone else.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie gave tim a CBGB t-shirt. Old and well-loved, and still snug - something Lonnie grew out of, he's just too tall for it now.
    "G'wan in." The bouncer says.
    "See," Lonnie murmurs to Tim as they walk in, "You've been programmed by your high society upbringing - etiquette, ritual, an implicit fear of judgment if you don't conform just so. The people here have a shared style, yes, but it's individuality that's prized, not conformity-"
    Inside, the old ballroom is scuffed wood floors and - well, it's kind of dark, which probably helps mask the deplorable state of the place. There's a band on stage playing music that's mostly noise, and a rowdy group on the floor - the mosh pit is in the heart of this, in front of the stage."
    "As for the rules? They're simple. If someone gets knocked over or falls down, you pick them back up. If someone drops their phone, wallet, glasses, get it and hold it up over your head before it gets stepped on. No brawling. No shoving people into the pit against their will."
    He smirks. "As for how to do it - you're basically feeding on the energy of the song, careening around and using your body weight to bounce off each other. It's a sustained adrenaline spike. Do you want a drink or something first?" Lonnie gestures. "This is just the opening band, so we're not really missing anything."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Are you taking me on a date or are you psychoanalyzing me?" Tim asks in reply, but he tips his head to acknowledge that Lonnie's got the right of it, anyway. "This is also the first time I've ever gone out with," you, a guy, someone that doesn't let him get away with his usual neurotic crap. "I'm just nervous," he adds, looking away again. Mostly because they're inside and it's a lot to take in.

    As they walk, Tim's eyes scan back and forth. Typical Bat situational awareness to some degree, and also because overplanning is how he deals with things. He's already probably got half a dozen exit strategies worked out just in case things go sideways.

    Though in this instance 'go sideways' probably means him somehow completely screwing this up.

    Tim nods along with the explanation Lonnie gives him, absolutely does *not* mention how many mosh pit videos he watched on YouTube, and narrows his eyes at the offer of a drink. "I'm not legal," he points out.

    In the relative darkness of the bar, Tim manages to work up the nerve to reach out again and grip hold of Lonnie's hand. "But I'll tag along if you want something."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "And I don't drink alcohol." Lonnie says, offhandedly. "I wouldn't call myself straight-edge, but I don't vibe with mind-altering substances. Just not for me." He heads for the bar, and he orders club soda with lemon. Two of them. The bartender, a woman with a lot of piercings, grins and says, "Lon, who's your friend? I LOVE his hair."
    "This is Tim." Lonnie says, "He's popping his cherry tonight - first time ever in a mosh pit." He hands Tim his drink. "Also, *we're on a date*."
    "No way. You? Mr. Married to the Revolution?" The Bartender looks astonished.
    "Turns out it's an open marriage." Lonnie says, amused.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's eyebrows perk up. "Just mind-altering back-alley surgery," he quips, as he does indeed tag along, as promised. There's a lingering amused note to his voice as he says, "The princess of Wakanda managed to diplomatic-immunity her way into us having a drink at the Iceberg Lounge. Aside for champagne at parties, that's about as exciting as I get."

    He's still looking around as they approach the bar, but it's shifted from the intense focus of planning to something more curious. It's very fish-out-of-water for him. Usually he has a domino mask and lenses to hide behind.

    Tonight, there's nothing except the relative darkness of the bar to hide the flush to his cheeks as Lonnie introduces him, and he steps in a little closer. "Hi," he says, as he takes his drink, and he takes in the bartender's appearance--well, mostly the piercings--for a scant moment before he lets his gaze fall away. At the very least, Tim's not rude enough to stare. The open marriage thing has him huffing out some laughter, head tipped down.

    "Well, thanks for exploring the concept of polyamory with me." He's still holding Lonnie's hand as he turns a half-step to look over at the stage. Despite it being 'mostly noise' Tim's not exactly averse.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "It was non-invasive and achieved through external stimuli." Lonnie says, arching an eyebrow at Tim.
    "They're just finishing up their set, Eyehateclowns goes on in ten." The bartender says, in a helpful tone.
    "Thanks, Ruby." Lonnie gives Tim's hand a squeeze. "They're not mutants, you know. You can even say hello." He grins, just a little bit. "He's a genius." He says to Ruby, "Just shy."
    "Can't be that shy if he snagged you, Lon. I've never seen you back down from an argument and you first snuck in here at fourteen."
    "I needed a night off." Lonnie says to Tim.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim holds up a finger above his drink like he's about to make a point, and then dips his head in to take a sip. The carbonation makes him blink a little bit. "Still mind-altering!"

    This time around, it feels a little bit more like the bartender is addressing *him* rather than him as a subject of conversation, so Tim manages to pipe up with, "It's probably because I usually win our arguments," which is both a lot more syllables than his first go, and also definitely not actually referring to any heated conversations, if the subtle tone shift on the last word is any indication.

    And then he adds, "Sorry. I'm just--this is all new to me." His shoulders shrug and he flashes a tight, apologetic look over the bar at Ruby.

    His teeth sink into the inside of his cheek as the back-and-forth between her and Lonnie continues, and he scouts the crowd again solely as an excuse to grin without being seen. "I bet you did," he says, and he leans his weight against Lonnie for a brief moment before straightening up.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie rolls his eyes, and Ruby the bartender just laughs.
    The band on stage finishes up and clears out, breaking down their set and moving it off stage, after which local Gotham punk phenoms Eyehateclowns start setting up. Part of their set is what looks like a badly beaten stuffed clown dummy. "They throw Knuckles into the mosh pit about halfway through their sets." Lonnie says, helpfully. "The goal is to make sure he never hits the ground till they finish." Lonnie gives Tim's shoulder a squeeze. "Are you having fun so far? It does matter to me. This is my world. Even if you're just visiting, I want you to feel comfortable."

Tim Drake has posed:
    As the new band comes on stage and Lonnie explains, Tim's eyes slowly grow more and more wide. His attention remains on the dummy for some time, but eventually, he turns to look at Lonnie. "I think I'm going to find this very therapeutic," he says.

    The way he's keeping his drink close to his chest reads a bit defensive, or at least suggests some of Tim's nerves are lingering. But his expression is relaxed when he leans in. Despite the noise and the crowd. But chaos is often a large part of Tim's nightlife, and at least here he doesn't feel the need to be wearing body armor.

    Though it'd probably help in the pit.

    "You know what the parties I usually go to are like." The amount of people at the bar really doesn't account for how close Tim feels the need to stand. He just feels flat-footed, and despite Lonnie's assurances about judgment and the like, the fact that Lonnie obviously has a presence here makes Tim doubly unsure.

    Which is a weird feeling. "I'm just nervous, it's okay. Typical control freak out of his comfort zone," he says with a wave of his drink to the bar in general, and then he takes another sip. "That doesn't mean I'm not happy to be here with you. Not having to be in black tie is also a big bonus."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    As the band finishes their quick warm-up, Lonnie grabs Tim's hand. "I don't do ties. Come on, let's go." He pulls Tim into the waiting crowd.
    The band starts by saying hello, and then launches right into it, with a song called 'Bottoming out in Park Row' - they're a little more melodic than the guys that went on before them, but with a real tight, aggressive vibe.
    A lot of their songs are about how being poor in Gotham City is the absolute pits, but also why they'd never live anywhere else.
    "You ready?" Lonnie asks Tim, waiting for an affirmative before he gives Tim a gentle push into the mosh pit, and then follows him in. "Just throw yourself at somebody! Bounce, don't tackle!"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim finishes his club soda with the urgency of someone who knows he's going to need the hydration for later, and then they're off into the crowd, away from the relative safety and security of the bar.

    "You'd look good in a suit," he says, in a speculative way that suggests he's already thought about it. "Even without a tie."

    None of the songs are familiar to Tim. Despite the amount of research he no doubt put into preparing himself for this, he didn't look too deeply into the bands on tonight. It's music, and probably more to his taste than Lonnie (or most people he knows) thinks. None of his playlists are public, after all.

    Inside, Tim is going: "ohmygodwhatamidoing" but aloud, he says, "Yep!" and then Lonnie pushes him in.

    Guess what. Tim was not ready. He immediately pings off someone, loses his balance, and ends up down on one knee. But then someone hauls him up, and he turns around to thank Lonnie, but it's actually a tall girl wearing black lipstick. She winks at him before tossing herself bodily at someone else, and Tim is left to be jostled by the crowd.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Not gonna happen!" is the last thing Lonnie says before Tim gets swallowed up by the pit.
    It's a thrashing mass of humanity. People are throwing themselves bodily into one another to the music, which is all-encompassing. It's life in Gotham City in a microcosm on fast-forward. Lonnie is somewhere in the crowd, but Tim doesn't see him until the people in the pit form two ranks - he's on the other side.
    "Ready?" Somebody calls, "Three, two, one-" And the two rows charge each other, crashing into one another and then dissolving right back into a chaotic mess of colliding bodies.

Tim Drake has posed:
    That's an argument for another time. Which Tim probably *won't* win, but hey, here's to hoping.

    Tim is pretty much immediately lost to it. If just being in the bar was a lot to him, this is so far beyond that, to the point he really can't even conceptualize it. He gets thrown around more than he throws himself around, and he's definitely going to be bruised by the end of this, but at some point he's managed to work his way into the flow of it and stop being a basically unmoving target.

    Now he's a moving target, and that's a lot more fun. The adrenaline high of evading larger, more aggressive foes without the potential for gunshot wounds or suckerpunches.

    A young girl who looks like it's her first time in the pit too ends up stumbling down right in front of him, and Tim is immediately there, hauling her up as carefully as he can with his hands on her arms. A quick check of "You okay?" and she flashes a thumbs up and a grateful smile before she shoves them both into the lineup for what Tim's research has told him is called a wall of death.

    Great name. Yep. Love it. He's is debating employing one of his exit strategies when he spots Lonnie across the way, and then everything gets tossed out the window. Tim has an intense look of focus on his face as they two crowds surge at each other, dodging other bodies so he can aim himself at Lonnie.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie certainly seems to be enjoying himself. Everybody on opposing sides links arms, and then they kind of crash into each other before the line dissolves - And Lonnie bounces off Tim, before he bounces back to bounce into him again. "So are you enjoying yourself?" He asks, as he hurtles into another pair of people in the pit. He certainly seems to be in his element.
    "There's a saying: Everyone is equal in the pit!"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim remains thoroughly out of his element, but knowing him, trying to work out the dynamics of the pit and blend in is probably enough of a challenge that he *is* enjoying himself. On top of that, the way he's subtly redirecting people away from himself and towards Lonnie is the exact kind of sneaky, calculating sort of thing that Tim would get a kick out of in just about any situation. Well, one that is comfortably non-lethal, at least.

    "Oh, I'm *great*," he calls out, above the music, before the crowd swallows him up again.

    He's able to be glimpsed between bodies a few more times over the next few minutes-slash-next few songs, but it's hot and overwhelming and eventually he makes his way to the edge of the pit. Once he's worked his way free, Tim finds a spot against the wall to hang out and flap the front of his t-shirt a little bit, trying to cool down. He doesn't sweat a whole lot normally but there's some gathered at his temples, and the hair that brushes against the nape of his neck has gone curly with damp.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Eventually Lonnie emerges - he's drenched. "Whew." He says, "Rowdy night tonight." He leans against the wall, and gives Tim a nudge with one hand. "You were running that pit like a sheepdog, and directing everyone at me. I noticed." He looks upward. "Part of the point is to exist in the moment, riding the vibe of the music and the adrenaline high. You should try it sometime."
    But he crosses his arms and grins, so he's not really mad about it.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's expression cracks from cool nonchalance--definitely an act--into a nose-wrinkling grin when he catches sight of Lonnie. "It's pretty intense," he agrees. Then he nudges Lonnie back. He makes a thoughtful noise after that's probably lost to the roar of the music, but he slides in closer so that they press together, sides touching. "What, so everything shouldn't be a competition between us? See who's going to come out with more bruises?"

    He's joking, though, and his head tips back to rest against the wall. "I'm working on it, just not there yet." His gaze shifts away. "Maybe I'll get it right next time you bring me," he adds.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "It's not about getting it right." Lonnie says, "It's just about new ways of seeing the world. A mystic would call it self-transcendence. I just call it getting out of your comfort zone." He nudges Tim again. "Had enough? Let's go out walking. We'll find something to eat and call it a night." He cracks a wide grin. "Kay, buddy?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I am certifiably out of my comfort zone right now," Tim confirms. "And somehow I haven't spontaneously combusted, so I think it's going okay." Instead of nudging back again, he reaches up to put his hand on Lonnie's arm. "We don't have to leave. I'm fine with hanging out while you go back in. You know I like to watch."

    Pause. Blink. Thankfully it's dark in here because Tim's cheeks have gone scarlet. "You know," he stammers. "Like. People watch." His shoulders scrunch up practically to his ears. "Anyway! This is your thing, and I don't have to understand it 100% to support you, so." He motions back to the pit, and smiles. "Go!"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie rolls his eyes - and then he puts his arm around Tim's shoulders. "Now. I may just be a simple country anarchist who's never been on a date before, but I'm pretty sure that the object of a date isn't to leave the other person sitting while I go and enjoy myself, so no, that's not how this is going to go down." He ruffles Tim's hair.
    "So if you've had enough, I've had enough, and we're going to go do something else." He beams. "Right? This is where you tell me I'm right, by the way. Any time now." He taps his ear and leans in.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's lips press together into a thin line, partially at the hair-ruffling, but mostly at Lonnie demanding to be told he's right. So, instead, Tim puts his hands on Lonnie's cheeks and leans up on his toes to peck Lonnie on the mouth once, briefly, before he goes in for a more serious kiss. In public. With other people around! Even though it's dark and probably no one cares about them. Baby steps.

    When he pulls back, he slides his arms around Lonnie's shoulders to let them dangle there. "Does that get me out of telling you you're right?" he asks with a grin.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie rubs the back of his neck, and says "I consider that a de facto admission of your rightness, ergo tantamount to you saying you were wrong." He does flush, ever so slightly. "Come on. Let's get out of here. The night is young, and there's a big city to roam around in. I'm sure we can find something open late."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Basically, yes, it gets him out of saying it. Tim's head drops down against Lonnie's chest so he can wheeze out an almost hysterical bout of laughter, before he's shaking his head as he stands back up. "Okay," he agrees, and he pulls back. He looks up at Lonnie for a moment, considering, before he asks, "Dr. Taco?" hopefully.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Or I know an open-late Ramen place that opened not far from here. 'Send Noodles'." Lonnie offers Tim his arm, and says, "Come on, let's go. My treat. I'm really glad you came out here and tried. And you did seem to be enjoying yourself, before your introvert side took over. So... all in all, I'm going to call my first date a success so far."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Oh, that's a good pun," Tim says, and by the sound of it he definitely approves, possibly based solely on the name alone. And then he blinks down at Lonnie's arm. For a second he hesitates, because it's usually the other way around for him--Tim being the one to offer--before he wraps his own arm around it, head tipped down. He is maybe smiling at the floor. "We can come back here again, if you want." His arm squeeze's Lonnie's. "The band's great!" Hidden depths, apparently, because Tim Drake may not be punk rock at all but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy the punk rock music scene.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "You know, you may be the first person I've ever met who came to the Snake Pit for the music." Lonnie says, as he escorts Tim out. "But yeah, they really are great. Come on, buddy. Let's go see what else the night has in store. Maybe you can take some other pics for your Instagram."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim narrows his eyes, and for a moment he glances back towards the stage, but he allows himself to be led out of the bar. "So I'm your buddy now?" he asks as they head for the door, and as soon as Lonnie mentions Instagram, Tim pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Though he waits until they've made it out into the night air and stepped to the side so they don't block foot traffic before he slings his arm around Lonnie's neck, rises up on his toes so that they're mostly level, and snaps a selfie. Which isn't half-bad, given that he usually just posts boring photos of food that he eats and the cats that prowl around the Gotham U campus.

    "Okay. You can have my chashu pork."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie sighs, and then he dips his head in a brief nod. "I generally get spicy curry ramen, but you can have a bite if you want." He gives Tim a brief nudge, and off they go into the night! The noodle place - cramped and somehow incredibly busy even at this time of night awaits. "Maybe you should get some for your - y'know. Family? As much as I despise systems of patronage this place could use a little positive attention."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "You don't have to share if you don't want." Tim doesn't actually post the selfie to Instagram; he just takes it, looks at it a moment, and then tucks his phone back into his pocket. The night air isn't particularly cool, but in comparison to inside the Snake Pit, it feels nice. Even though the prickle of sweat drying on his skin is probably getting to Tim by now. He falls silent as they walk, though when Lonnie mentions his family, Tim looks up, brows drawn together. "I mean--I can suggest ordering from here next time we cater a lunch at the office?" he suggests. "Or, uh, for the team." He drags his fingers through the hair that's fallen against his forehead, unsuccessfully trying to brush it away.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie continues to walk. "Why does that make you tense?" He asks, curiously. "If you're worried about me, don't be. When the time comes, I can hold my own. You know that." He keeps his arm in Tim's. "Left at Mazzuchelli Boulevard." He points up ahead.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's tense, it's true. He blinks down at the sidewalk more than he properly watches where they're going, but he has good peripheral vision and an even better understanding of Gotham's streets. So he's managing. "I know you can. It's just--the dynamic in my family can be a bit complicated." They have to wait at the corner for the light to change, and Tim tips his head back to sigh into the open air. "And there's a lot about me they don't know," he adds, the implication obvious enough.

    His mouth twists, and the furrow in his brow deepens. "After I," and his tone drops to deadpan as he says, "'graduated'" to make it clear that he's not talking about school, "I kind of... went off and did my own thing. Well, we all did. Things were never perfect, but...." Well, it seems like he doesn't know what else to say after that. And it's their turn to cross the street, anyway.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Meaning that you've distanced yourself from the others." Lonnie muses. "That's not necessarily a BAD thing-" He gives Tim's arm a little squeeze. "Except if it's making you unhappy. We've both made tough decisions regarding our families. And really - I think all families are difficult. Just yours is a little more - uh - mythic." He wrinkles his nose, "I hate that word."
    "Anyway." He crosses the street. "Don't make my mistake and let the perfect be the enemy of the good."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The fact that Tim doesn't really answer is evidence enough that Lonnie's right. Over the past half a block or so, his expression has gone blank, until he abruptly snaps back with a grimace. "I'm sorry," he says as he brings his other hand up to grab hold of Lonnie's arm too. "It feels like every time we talk about anything serious, you end up having to deal with my issues. And that's not fair to you."

    If Tim was tense before, it really doesn't compare at all to him now. He exhales sharply, and by the tightness around his jaw, he's probably grinding his teeth. "You shouldn't have to do this. You're not my therapist, you're my--uh. Whatever... this is. That we are." He looks away.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie grins wide. "That's because I skillfully keep mine away from you." He sighs, and tilts his head, and says, "This is us going on some dates and having some fun." He stops, in front of the noodle shop. "Because we're both stupidly young and have the right to enjoy ourselves instead of following some maladaptive path forced down people's throats by a society obsessed with unhealthy notions of romance."
    He puts his hand on Tim's cheek. "You know what you need? Carbs."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim snorts. "Yeah, that's probably smart," he agrees. The next inhale he takes his weighted, like he's working his way up to something. But it's actually several moments later before he speaks up to add, "If you ever want to talk about anything, though, we can. Not just my own dumpster fire of a life." Despite forcing all that out as seriously as he can, one corner of Tim's mouth is twitching by the end of it.

    And then they've arrived. He looks up at Lonnie, eyebrows still drawn together. Tim covers Lonnie's hand with his own, and with a big sigh he steps in. His free arm goes around Lonnie's middle as he hugs himself in close, and he lets his forehead thump to Lonnie's shoulder. "You're right," he finally, finally admits, muffled. "I *do* need carbs."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
And so in they go! Into the noodle shop. Which probably ends with an anime-style picture of a red-cheeked SD Tim slurping a mouthful of noodles or something, IDK. Either way, the evening was a memorable one, at least for Lonnie - who orders his curry blisteringly hot, by the way.