7978/Enemy Territory

Enemy Territory
Date of Scene:	25 September 2021
Location:	Family Room - Wayne Manor
Synopsis:	While Tim recuperates from his trip to the hellscape of Apokolips, Lonnie makes a foray behind enemy lines to check on him and put his shoes on as many expensive pieces of furniture as he can. Jason stops by to "borrow" some Bat-gear, and joins the investigation into what the Grand General of the Armies of Apokolips was sent to Earth to find.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Lonnie Machin, Jason Todd
Cast of NPCs:	Alfred Pennyworth

---

Tim Drake has posed:
    A solid 12 hours of sleep and a shower proves enough to semi-revive Tim after his brief jaunt in Apokolips, so he doesn't quite look like he's about to keel over any more. He's still pretty beat-down, but after Alfred installed him on the couch in the family room with a cup of soothing herbal tea, he's doing alright.

    Given he's swathed in a gigantic down comforter, the only obvious signs of his ordeal are the bandages wrapped around nearly the full length of his bicep, and his bruised and battered face. Black eye, split lip, shadowy bruise on his jaw. Tim has certainly had better days.

    The television is on, volume down low, playing some sort of astronomy-related documentary. Tim's fingers are tucked around the mug in his hand, steam still rising from it.

    He's admittedly a little bleary. Alfred may or may not have forced some painkillers into him as well. His phone sits on the arm rest of the couch next to him, but for now Tim is doing little more than existing, which right now... yeah, it's good.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
How many rooms does this place have? Like 500? Lonnie's objections practically travel ahead of him like a thundercloud. And yet, here he is. The butler, who merely arched an eyebrow at Lonnie's invective objection to the existence of a servant class and then arched the other eyebrow when Lonnie called him the 'Wayne Family Manny' pointed him in the right direction.

He knocks first, on the doorframe. "Family room... huh. How many families?" He asks, looking around. "Will we be having tea with the Queen, later?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's probably a good thing that Tim was exceedingly honest with Alfred about him and Lonnie. Well, especially about Lonnie. And Lonnie's views.

    ...he'll apologize to Alfred later.

    Right now, though, Tim is too busy staring off into space to make note of Lonnie's approach until the knock on the doorframe, and it surprises him enough that he lurches forward a little bit. Thankfully he's had enough of his tea that it doesn't slosh over the lip of the mug and scald him.

    His head turns, eyes open wide. Well. One is, the bruised one is mostly just open a normal amount. "...Lonnie?" He sounds incredulous. And pretty exhausted, too.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
Well, Alfred's from England, this probably isn't his first time meeting an anarchist.

Lonnie walks over, and drops onto the couch next to Tim, and doesn't say anything - though eventually he does put his feet up on that hideously expensive Louis XIV coffee table with his shoes on. He puts his arm around Tim's shoulders, and grabs the remote - "I've seen this one before." He changes the channel to 'Looney Tunes'.

Daffy Duck says, from beneath the xylophone he's working on, "When he strikes this note, instead of a Xylophone, he'll be playing a harp! Muwahahahahaha~"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's brow furrows a bit, until he realizes ow, that hurts, and then it smoothes out. His eyes track Lonnie until he's sat down on the couch, and then Tim frowns at the mug in his hands. "Did I ask you to come over?" he questions, sounding like he's not quite sure himself, and then his gaze cuts to his phone on the arm rest.

    He stares at it a long moment. And then he takes a sip of his tea.

    "I'm sorry," he adds, after. "I don't really--I had a." His mouth opens, and then closes. "A rough night."

    The channel change has him lifting his chin to blink rapidly at the television.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie shugs one shoulder - and then he suddenly leans in to kiss Tim on the mouth, warmly. PDA! Right there in Wayne Manor! In front of the PORTRAIT OF AUNT HARRIET.
    Actually she looks like she approves. All the handsome young men living in this house, it's so *Greek*.
    "You're stoned. Watch cartoons." Is all Lonnie says.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim doesn't actually respond to the kiss at all because Alfred has absolutely supplied him with the good drugs. It just leaves him blinking again, but then he leans forward to put his mug on the coffee table--on a coaster!--before he resettles back on the couch, tucking himself into Lonnie's side.

    "Okay," is all he says, and he does. Watch cartoons, that is. Until he passes out against Lonnie, breath puffing out of him in even measures.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie eventually wiggles so that Tim's more comfortable against him, until he passes out. He doesn't seem in any particular mood to angst about anything - he just drops his arm around him and keeps watching cartoons. It must be a Best of Daffy Duck marathon today, because when Tim finally wakes up again Lonnie's still there, and Daffy Duck is still on the TV.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Actually, Tim wakes up several times throughout, though he doesn't do much more than peer for a couple of seconds at the television through the glaze over his eyes before nodding off again. Good drugs. Gooooood drugs. At one point he shifts against Lonnie's side and hisses out a breath, the pain strong enough to pierce through the haze of pain meds. He shifts again, more carefully this time, and sighs.

    "I know you must be miserable here," he says, because half-unconscious Tim is still sharper than most, even when he's functioning at low mental capacity. "You don't have to stay. But, thank you for coming over to check on me."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "While I may have a list of objections to this palace of aristocratic excess as long as I am tall," Lonnie drawls, "...I'm just glad that you're all right." He quirks his mouth to the side and then says, "...I did get lost three times on my way to the family room, though." Then he unwinds the blanket Tim's wrapped in enough to drape it over himself too - so he can share his body heat with the convalescent.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Wherever Tim was mysteriously whisked away to, he has just as mysteriously been rescued from. A bit worse for wear (maybe an understatement) but alive, and probably only a little bit traumatized. He's slept off the worst of it, showered, and then Alfred relocated him to the family room for further recuperation in the form of tea and painkillers and... well, originally it was a science documentary, but now he's watching Looney Tunes.

    Because someone else stole the remote.

    Not that Tim is objecting, all that much. He's been bundled up in an oversized down comforter, tucked in against the side of a tall redhead--the aforementioned remote stealer--and is barely awake. Being wrapped up as he is, the worst (in terms of actual seriousness) of his injuries are hidden, but he's got a black eye and a split lip and some more bruising on his face. So really, it's just the worst (visually) of his injuries on display.

    Basically, he looks like crap. And like Alfred has him on the good drugs, based on the way he's blearily staring at the television. "Why would a pig even be hunting ducks or rabbits in the first place?" he asks Lonnie, mystified. "Pigs mostly eat plants."

    He probably never got invited to birthday parties as a kid.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason usually made his trips to the manor for food and supplies at night, but 'work' from the night before delayed his arrival to daylight hours. Coming up from the cave in his civvies, a leather jacket, jeans and a Rage Against the Machine t-shirt, he peeks around the mansion, before he hears the sound of the television in the family room and his steps take him over in that direction. Coming to the door of the rec room and spotting Tim and the redheaded remote theif curled up on the couch, he his brows raise and he clears his throat. "What the hell happened to you?" he asks Tim, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "And who's your friend?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Pigs are obligate omnivores - they'll eat anything - and Elmer Fudd isn't a pig." Lonnie says. "Well, I mean, he is a pig but only metaphorically." The tall kid in the Dead Kennedys t-shirt is nestled up against Tim with his hair up in a bun and his chuck-taylor clad feet up on that disgustingly expensive coffee table.
    He puts his finger to his lips in a silent 'shhhh' gesture and says "'He' is me. Nice shirt."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim squints at the screen. "Oh. I thought that was Porky Pig." His hand worms its way out of the comforter to press against his black eye, briefly, showing a thick wad of bandages wrapped around his bicep, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. Which, unlike everyone else in the room apparently, is not advertising a band of any kind. It's just a plain shirt. Boring.

    He's still got his hand against his face when someone clears his throat behind them, and Tim's reflexes are affected enough that it takes him a second or two before he turns around.

    "Jason," he says. Tim sounds very perplexed to see him. Well, Tim sounds perplexed about a lot of things right now. "I--it's a long story." His hand drops, and he looks at the cuts and bruises on his knuckles. "This is Lonnie, my."

    Pause. Inhale. "Boyfriend?" Of all things, Tim probably shouldn't be confused about that, but he is also very woozy. What was in that herbal tea, exactly?

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason's smirk broadens just a bit at the news that Tim has a boyfriend. "Innnteresting," he remarks, before his eyes cut to Lonnie, "Likewise," he says giving a nod to his Dead Kennedys shirt. He moves to one of the chairs in the family room and drops down, shedding the sports bag he had slung over his shoulder. "So...how'd you guys meet?" he asks, teasing big brother mode fully engaged. "And I love long stories, let's hear yours," he says with a nod to Tim's wounds.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie looks back and forth between the two. "Boyfriend." He agrees. He tries to decide whether to play dumb or not. He thinks about that and then, giving Jason a really thoughtful look, he lets himself momentarily slip back into his peanut butter thick Otisberg accent, Gotham City Lower Class, and he says, with a sneer, "What's it to ya, punk!?" You know. Really speaking Jason's language for a second. He relaxes, momentarily. "...We met a long time ago and reconnected a little while ago. There was a spark... we're seeing how things go."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Slowly, Tim's head tips back until it rests against the couch, and he can stare up at the ceiling. "Oh my god, Damian was right," he laments. "Everyone knew but me." His eyes scrunch shut, then he winces and blinks them open again.

    "I used to beat him up a lot," Tim says. And then he goes, "Oh, I'm not supposed to talk about that." He pats at Lonnie's shoulder lightly. "He's definitely not ever done anything bad before while dressed up in a costume." Tim nods his head. "Never."

    He drags the comforter back around himself with a sigh. "I was in New York City," even drugged, some of Tim's dislike of NYC bleeds into his tone there, "Investigating. There was a subterranean cavern beneath the streets filled with... giant bug men." His own explanation is starting to sound a little ridiculous to his own ears, judging by the mystified expression deepening on his features. "Then I got teleported to an apocalypse world?"

    Well, Apokolips. But it's not like he had the time to stop and ask for the correct spelling.

    "But I was rescued!" That's the important bit, there.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason's voice has hints of a similar lower class accent thinned by years with Bruce and years more trained by the League. If it spoke of anywhere in the city it spoke of Park Row, now called Crime Alley. The verbal challenge is met with a genuine grin. "Where ya from Lonnie?" he asks, guessing they had more in common than their taste in music.

Ice blue eyes turn back to Tim. "He's your Talia or Selina, got it," though the part about Damian gets a brow raised. "Know what? You like dudes? Didn't know, didn't care, trust me I have better things to think about than your love life, but hey no judgements, have fun where you find it little bro," he says in a tone that is at once both supportive and teasing all at once.

The story is met with a nod. "Jeeze, and people say Gotham is weird," he says in agreement with what Tim's tone says about New York. "Do we need to ki- er, beat up anyone over this?" he asks. "So, we're all on 'in the know here' then?" he asks the pair of them.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Way to go, Tim. You wind up a little bit medicated and secret identities go right out the window." Lonnie says, huffing out a sigh. "My Mask is 'Anarky'. It sounded edgy when I was a kid with a fake head to make me look taller. I got started on the streets when I was twelve. Drug dealers. Crooked businessmen, that sort of thing. When Tim here first popped up, The Man farmed me out to him and we crossed paths a few times - he sent me to Juvenile Hall a few times. We helped each other a couple of times. Tim asked for my help with something recently and-" he rubs the back of his neck. "We sort of... sparked."
    "And here I was all set to spin this elaborate lie you would've told me about a bad skateboarding accident. Eesh." He rolls his eyes. "It was a good lie, too. It really was."
    Lonnie gives Jason an amused look. "Otisberg. I lived in apartments less than half the size of this room. Actually I think I passed by a closet bigger than some of the Studios I used to live in."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim points out that "It's Jason!" as if that clears everything right up regarding the whole secret identities thing. Well, in his head, it does. "Either I tell him now or he goes and finds out about it on his own. Do you really think any of us would just take something at face value like that?" He leans forward to pick up a mug of tea off the coffee table, wincing only faintly as he does so, and then he takes a sip.

    The wince after that is more pronounced. His tea's gone cold.

    He sets it back down. "Um, thanks," Tim says to Jason as he settles back into the comforter, and then he rubs at the basically one single expanse of non-bruised skin on his face. "Selina was there too. When I was rescued. Do you think--." But then Tim goes quiet, narrowing his eyes as he stares off into the middle-distance, clearly calculating.

    It's a little bit before he comes back to the conversation. "I don't know. Feels a little above our pay-grade, I think." He shifts uncomfortably. "What I saw over there--right now, they're just looking for something here on Earth. But if they have bigger plans, then... apocalypse is a fitting name."

Jason Todd has posed:
"Park Row and the Narrows for a bit," Jason replies to Lonnie. "Nine for me, my Dad needed someone small who could slip into places and unlock the door, amoung other things." A nod is given, at Lonnie's mask. "Heard of you, Red Hood's mine, both the one ripping up the city a couple years back and the one helping the Bats now. It's complicated," he explains, he'd switched costumes when he switched sides to try and draw a line between the two. "Welcome to the madness," he says with something like a warmth in his expression. "Met Bruce yet?" he asks.

Tim's words brings Jason out of his amusement and for a second concern flashes in his eyes. "What'd you see?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
Lonnie decides to go quiet about re: Bruce - or play dumb, because even if he knows, even if he guessed a long time ago, you can't admit that you know that you know... you know? It's rude. He keeps his arm around Tim's shoulders. "I remember your turf war with Black Mask and the Mob." Lonnie says, "I thought it smacked of becoming what you despised, I see I was right."

"Your manny seems nice. British Intelligence? Something about the way he walks says British Intelligence to me."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Meanwhile, Tim went to Brentwood Academy. He wisely keeps his head down for that portion of the conversation.

    The mention of Bruce, though, earns Jason a grimace from Tim, and a subtle shake of his head. Maybe a mouthed "Bad idea" along with it.

    "I spent most of my time there running, but..." Tim goes quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor and his brow furrowing slightly. "I saw enough to convince me that they have the manpower to be a... considerable threat. And I don't even think what I encountered was the worst of it. Not their leader, at least."

    His tone has dropped, gone serious, but he tilts his head a little at Lonnie and manages to crack a smile. "Alfred's past is a mystery to us all." The cogs in his head are definitely turning, or maybe spinning out of control might be more accurate, playing out the potential scenarios if his impression of Apokolips turns out to be correct.

Jason Todd has posed:
Lonnie's remarks about Jason becoming what he despised, gets a "Heh," out of him. "Not wrong," he admits with a shrug and a look that says Tim's new beau might have moved up a notch in Jason's book.

Taking Tim's warning to heart, the subject of Bruce is dropped like a hot potato but Jason focuses in on the stuff about Apokolips. "Think they'll be coming?" he asks Tim. "Any idea what they might want?"

Alfred is left alone, except for a slight snort at the term 'manny', "I definitely need to call him that sometime."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Since Tim and Jason are talking, Lonnie disentangles himself from Tim and picks up his tea. "I'll be back. I'm sure there's a... secondary kitchen or something around here where I can warm this up. I might get lost." He looks back at Jason. "...Our first date was at the Snake Pit, by the way. I took him to see Eyehateclowns. He went into the mosh pit."
    On that note he steps out, however briefly, to go warm Tim's tea back up.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim burrows down more deeply into the comforter as Lonnie gets up and takes his tea. "I'd say leave a breadcrumb trail but Ace will probably eat it before you can follow it back," he calls out, and then he shrugs over at Jason.

    He takes a long, slow breath, measured so that it doesn't twinge his broken ribs too badly. Even with the pain meds, that's a hurt that can really get you.

    "They're an alien force, so I don't know if any of my assumptions can really be considered valid. Hard to anticipate the desires of a population you don't understand at all." Tim takes the opportunity to steal the remote back and return the channel to the documentary on black holes that he was watching before Lonnie arrived, because he is in fact a great big nerd. "I won't lie and say I'm not terrified by the possibility, though," he admits as he stares at the television.

    He hazards a glance over at Jason, and while his expression doesn't actually read 'terrified' there's enough genuine concern that it speaks to how much more Tim is feeling on the inside. "They killed William Bates. Whatever he had that they wanted, I don't know, but I did some digging. To the surprise of no one, it turned out he was a billionaire hiding a bunch of secrets. Namely, some serious connections to cults and mystic secret societies."

    After a moment, he tips his head to the side. "Basically, it's probably magic, so I don't have any idea."

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason grins at the description of that first date. "Really? Sure that's not where he picked up all the damage?" he asks with an amused twist to his lips. "What'd you think?" he asks Tim before calling to Lonnie. "Third door on your right."

He frowns as the talk turns to aliens, and potential invasions. "Fair point on their motives, and what kind of cults are we talking here?" he asks about Bates. "And you think that ties into these alien guys?" Magic aliens, joy. The flinch at that breath is not missed and Jason asks, "Alfred set you up with the good pain meds or just the over the counter stuff?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Third door... on the right. Lonnie steps into what would under ordinary circumstance be a fully-stocked kitchenette and he rolls his eyes. "Lifestyles of the rich and famous," He says to himself as he puts the tea in the microwave, sets it to 'Boiling hot because I'm stoned to the gills and keep forgetting my tea' and then uses the two and a half minutes to begin snooping around the kitchen, because what does one do when waiting for the microwave if not snoop?

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I am... absolutely not cool enough for the Snake Pit," is what Tim decides summarizes his experience perfectly. "We had ramen afterward, though. It was nice."

    He tucks his chin into his palm. "The one I got the strongest lead on was something called the 'Society of the Word'. Cultish, for sure. Plus he bought himself a Caribbean island on the down-low, but that's honestly not really much of a red flag, all things considered."

    His eyes droop shut and then blink open again rapidly a few seconds later. "Pretty sure he gave me the serious stuff," Tim says. That he doesn't actually know, and took the pills anyway, speaks to his trust in Alfred. "He might also have drugged my tea."

Tim Drake has posed:
    As Lonnie snoops in the kitchen and the microwave timer ticks down, Alfred arrives in the doorway and clears his throat. "Mr. Machin," he announces. "Is there something I can help you locate?" He raises an eyebrow.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie's caught having opened a cupboard, and taken out a can of Horlicks, to which he was saying 'Really?' When Alfred steps in he promptly drops it.
    "I figured an Englishman like you had to have some Jammie Dodgers hidden around here somewhere, I was going to bring some to Tim." He says, with his hands out by his sides.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason smirks, "I could have told you that," he says of Tim not being cool enough for the Pit. "Still seems like you and Lonnie are having fun at least."

As for the cult business... "Not too suspicious on it's own but if he's into cults... a private island does sound like a pretty good spot to get your cult on without people dropping in on you unannounced," Jason reasons. "So, when are we dropping in on that island unannounced?" he asks with barely a beat between the statements.

"Wouldn't put it past him," he opines of Alfred. "Though definitely looks like it was the serious stuff."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim deadpans a "Thanks," at Jason for that. But then he shrugs again. "Yeah. It's... nice having someone who I can talk to, without the pressure of also being responsible for their lives out on the field. In fact, he actively dislikes when I try to tell him what to do."

    He cuts a look Jason's way after, and despite the pain meds (plus whatever else Alfred has slipped him) in his system, Tim is always willing to talk shop. Especially about an investigation as interesting--and potentially world-threatening--as this one. "Maybe once I can breathe without it feeling like I'm being stabbed," he says. But he nods. "Soon."

    Elsewhere, Alfred's ears are surely burning from all the talk about him, but he does little more than glance placidly at Lonnie before he steps forward, and around him. "Master Timothy prefers Maltesers," is all he says, and then he reaches past a few glass canisters of barley and oats to produce a package of such, which he silently offers over. Then, the microwave beeps, and Alfred looks to it, from Lonnie. "Off you go, then."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Right." Lonnie says, as he takes the packet of biscuits and the now scalding tea and slips back out, a moment later walking back into the family room. "Well now I understand why you're not dead a little bit better." Lonnie says, before he sets the tea back down. He doesn't warn Tim it's hot, some lessons must be learned the hard way, but he does open the biscuits. "Alfred said you like these."
    He puts his feet back up on the coffee table, and crosses his arms.
    "So how did you and Tim meet." He asks Jason.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason nods, "Sounds good to me. Let me know when you're healed up and ready to go."

Lonnie's return is met with a raising of Jason's eyes before he answers. "Back when I lived here full time, he's the annoying nerdy kid next door, like a white Steve Urkle," he says an amused grin crossing his lips.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim lived with an English buttler for several years, he knows not to drink hot tea immediately! But he does cradle it in his hands, blowing on it as he waits. The rustly packet of Maltesers disappears into the folds of his blanket, like he's squirreling it away for later.

    Which, you know, he definitely is.

    "I will," he tells Jason, and spends the next few minutes grumbling about being compared to Steve Urkel. Words hurt, Jason! Tim only gets a few sips of his reheated tea before he tucks himself into the couch and falls back asleep, the comforter pulled up around his head.

    Alfred definitely put something in the tea.