8763/The Secret Life of Jack Drake: Book Hangover Part Two: 2 Fast 2 Falafel

The Secret Life of Jack Drake: Book Hangover Part Two: 2 Fast 2 Falafel
Date of Scene:	17 November 2021
Location:	A penthouse apartment in Gotham
Synopsis:	The group tries to figure out what to do with both Skelos and the Book. There is no falafel, sadly, nor is there pad thai. Fortunately nobody comes to blows, either--there's just a lot of sad to be had.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Zatanna Zatara, Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood

---

Tim Drake has posed:
    They have the book. They don't have Skelos. They don't have any clue where Skelos is, except probably at one of Gotham's falafel stands. Or maybe taking a nap while he waits for said falafel stands to open in the morning, given that it's well past midnight at this point.

    For now, they've retreated from Wayne Tower, to a nearby penthouse apartment overlooking the bay and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. The furniture is all modern, clean lines, but also expensive enough that they're actually comfortable while still fitting the aesthetic. Hell of a place to try to drink red wine or eat pasta with red sauce, though, given all the white linen.

    Tim paces alongside the floor-to-ceiling windows, his fingers flying across the screen of his phone. He's texting Zach, no doubt, who is off handling various errands at Tim's behest.

    No doubt with some serious bribery involved to get Zach to do so.

    Among the errands is the general cleanup of the scene Sophia Crowne left behind on the roof. Thankfully, Zachary is very skilled at the manipulation of non-living matter.

    The living matter of Sophia Crowne herself is locked into one of the bedrooms, not dead but not exactly all that alive, either.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I hope he finds some all-night Thai food. I'm craving some pad thai," Zee says morosely, half reclining on one of the white sofas. Skelos didn't mop the roof with her though it was a close call at one moment; instead, bonking Jon hard enough with a madly evil book for serious injury. "I should have stayed behind for clean up." She'll leave no smirches of blood behind on the couch, though.

"Will You sit, Tim? Does Batman know the oldest necromancer in existence is marauding the streets of Gotham for falafel at this very moment?"

She throws a worried glance over her shoulder at the bedroom. "She shouldn't be here." Eyebrows drawn into a frown, she nods at the book. "It by no means should be here and out in the open. I can protect it at Shadowcrest. Skelos could come tearing through the windows at any moment looking for it."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Getting smacked in the face with a giant evil book by a guy who, while he may /look/ all weird and skeletal, packs a punch, metaphorically and literally... it didn't go well for Jon. The book itself broke his right arm, and he landed badly on his left leg. There was a horrible few minutes where there was some very real worry that his neck might be broken along with the arm and the leg, but, no, he was just dazed after the brief loss of consciousness.

    Martin had healed up all he could, with Zatanna's aid, but the arm wouldn't budge, and so it sits at an odd angle in a makeshift sling, waiting for more proper care to be given. Jon's watching Tim pace, frowning slightly himself. Still a little dazed.

    His eyes focus on the book as Zatanna speaks. "The 0-8-4 is supposed to go to SHIELD," he murmurs, because it's stuck there in his head, the only direct order Peggy Carter has given him beyond 'stay out of trouble.' And he's botched that one a dozen times over, so... he's just going to blurt it out right there in front of Zatanna, evidently. Guess now she knows who Jon's new employer is?

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin has been watching Jon more than the book but he nods at the mention of it. "This is true. SHIELD can ensure that it properly disappears." He looks at Tim, "Which was the condition set by our agreement, was it not?" he asks. It disappears and all knowledge of it is forgotten, from all parties involved."

    He pauses, glancing at Jon. He isn't even sure if the amnestic that the agency could provide would work on the Archive, but that is a hurdle they will jump when they get there.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
One dark eyebrow arches in surprise and query. SHIELD? 0-8-4? Zatanna straightens and angles herself to face Jon, "Do say?"

The magician glances at Tim, then fixes Martin with an unreadable look, "Your agreement? What?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim paces a few steps longer, after he's called to sit, but eventually he does as Zatanna bids. Though it's rather dramatic, the way he throws himself into a chair, and then lets him sink down so he's nearly sliding off the cushion and onto the floor.

    "Pretty sure Batman is going to track me down and kill me when he finds out I'm responsible for it," he groans, both hands covering his face.

    His leg kicks out to bump the table that the Iron-Bound Book of Skelos, or rather some cheap knockoff, sits on. Then he sighs. "It's not even the real book! Begs the question, where's the real one, doesn't it?" This is as close to 'acting his age' as probably anyone present has seen Tim. Usually he's composed. Steady. But now he's rattled, and frustrated. Worried enough that he's chewing through his lower lip. Just shy of throwing a temper tantrum, honestly.

    Another groan precedes him sitting up, perched on the very edge of the seat. "Right now we need to deal with Skelos. Until he's gone, nothing else matters," he says, hand like a knife cutting through the air dismissively.

    Though then Martin brings up SHIELD. "I agreed to assistance in containing the book," Tim points out, his eyes narrowed. "Your words, not mine. The end goal here is that we bury the book so far down in the dark that it only has fossils for company, and we wipe all memory of its location from our minds. That part I already have handled, for when it's necessary."

    And then he's back up on his feet. Not pacing, at least. But standing at the window again, staring off towards the darkened horizon.

    "Zatanna's the only person I trust to contain the book." He glances at Jon, discreetly, before he looks away again, arms folded over his chest.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It's dangerous enough even if it's not the real one," Jon says, still a little dazed. It's the painkillers doing it, really. Tim's got the Good Stuff. "How are we wiping things out of our minds? You can do that? Chief Carter was hesitant." He frowns and puts his good hand to his head. "I could use that, I think. I could have done what she did, summoning Skelos. That's how I knew she'd mistranslated. But I never thought I'd say this, but I'd /really/ like it all out of there. Don't really care how. It hurts. All the time. Better now that I understand what was driving me up the wall with--"

    He seems to realize he's babbling and stops, biting his lip.

    "Oh!" Jon blinks at Tim. "I know! Zed takes this one, and we'll seek out the real one, and SHIELD can have /that/." Perfect plan, very good, everyone's happy, right? He beams at Tim.

    "/And/ you can feel free to blame me for the book business, if you like. My boss already is, I thought she was going to throw me out the window when she heard about it, so what's one more? I mean, I don't even know why... is Batman, like, /literally/ in charge of Gotham? Does everyone here just answer to him?" He blinks at Tim, expression questioning.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A ghost of a smile pulls one corner of Zatanna's lips up at Tim's theatrical pose, "No, he is not going to be happy with either of us. I should have seen this coming. The important thing is that he knows. We need to be out looking for our falafel-loving necromancer."

She gives Tim a troubled nod, "Logical that the owner of the book would come looking for even a copy of that book. Thank you for your trust, Tim."

The homo magi stands to address both Jon and Martin. Not without a look of sympathy for Jon's injuries. Her mouth firms into a straight line, "Shadowcrest is already a repository for the arcane and magical, benign and /dangerous/. Its vaults are inter-dimensional and warded against any intrusion. Can SHIELD claim the same? Magic belongs to magicians. The book has to be warded in such a way that it ceases to exist." Then rounding on Tim, she asks softly, "Did you mean a mind wipe of some kind?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Blame Jon's injury for Martin's slip on the agency's involvement. He reaches into his coat and produces his badge, which he offers to Zatanna without hesitation. "Jon and I work for SHIELD. The books is what we classify as an 0-8-4. Unknown origin, highly dangerous, and best kept from the hands of civilians. We have containment vaults built for things such as this book and" he gives Jon a look, "the copy of which, if complete, is just as dangerous and should not be in anyone's hands at all."

    Apparently, he wants the copy as well. That's a problem.

    At Zatanna's claim on the book he arches a brow. "While I do not doubt your ability to keep the book safe, I must assure you there are a number of highly skilled magicians who work with and for SHIELD, so yes... I can claim that the vaults we have are capable of the same capacity as your own. Furthermore, and I apologize if it offends you, but I trust those who have the oversight of the agency more than I trust you, who has none that I can see." He glances at Tim then and frowns. A puzzle is forming in his head. "Batman has claimed jurisdiction over Gotham, though we feel that his inability to operate in all places at once makes his claim... dubious at best."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "What? No. No, I can't. But I've been pulling a lot of strings to make sure we're ready to make this thing disappear for good as soon as we have it." And then Tim glances over his shoulder to glare at the book on the table, because it's not the real thing. All of this effort for a pale imitation.

    Something about the twist of Tim's thoughts goes especially sour at that last part, his own phrasing, and he covers his face with both hands again. Scrubbing, though, instead of groaning.

    But all he's left with his red cheeks and just as much frustration as when he started.

    He doesn't even try to get involved with the discussion about where the book ends up. Tim, at the very least, knows himself well enough to understand that it won't do any good. Not right now, not so close to what just happened. "A telepathic one, yes. It's already been arranged." A flash of understanding passes across his features, and Tim shoots an apologetic look Zatanna's way. "I wouldn't ask that of you, no. I... outsourced. If it makes you feel better I'll be the first to volunteer."

    Tim, shadowed against the moonlight pouring in through the windows, sighs. "If you're not from Gotham, it's hard to understand how... fundamentally intrinsic Batman's presence has become with this city. He's more myth than man, and I wouldn't doubt for a minute that he'll know about Skelos before long."

    Likely because Tim himself will send in a report informing him of the situation. Naturally.

    He tucks his hand against his mouth. "SHIELD can doubt Batman all they like. The rest of us will doubt SHIELD's ability to keep its house orderly and free of actual, literal Nazis." Okay, that was catty, and Tim's reflection in the glass of the window winces.

    "...Sorry," he says, a moment later.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon draws himself up to frown at Zatanna. "You know," he says, "I am bloody well tired of people acting as if I'm not a magician. As if the /Archivists/ have not been magicians, going back before Western civilization was a gleam in Aristotle's eye. My grandmother trusted SHIELD, and I do as well. I am giving over the Archivist's entire store of magical artifacts... which is evidently /quite/ extensive... to SHIELD's safekeeping. Once we find it."

    A pause, and then he adds, "The question, really, is not so much 'who can store the thing.' I am /certain/ that both Zatanna and SHIELD could, and, hell, I'd assume there are others with the capacity. Stephen Strange comes to mind."

    He looks between Tim and Zatanna. "The /question/ is whether you are willing to open your personal abode to the possibility of being attacked for this Book. It is sentient. It /will/ attempt to reach out and get out on its own, and attempt to draw mortals to do the same. Maybe not now, but maybe in a hundred years, five hundred, a thousand. This isn't just about who holds it /now/. It's about who holds it /in perpetuity./ If you are willing to pass that responsibility on to your successors, then so be it."

    Despite the Good Stuff in his veins, Jon manages to be serious. "The Archivists have held this responsibility for five thousand years and more, however. I am not only willing to pass on that responsibility, I am /honor-bound/ to do so. Gathering dangerous knowledge and protecting the world from it is part of our duty. I am willing to absorb this Book into the Archive, thereby entrusting that it will be protected so long as the Archivists exist. If Skelos or his minions want to come for it... so be it."

    He turns his gaze on Tim. "SHIELD has, indeed, purged its house of Nazis and is in the process of fixing any damage that was done. /Any/ organization or person is going to have those sorts of problems. What I /can/ guarantee that no future Archivist will be a Nazi, or a megalomaniac, or a supervillain. I am /myself/ a case in point that the power /cannot/ pass to such a one. Can Zatanna promise that, of her family? Can you, Tim?" He raises a brow.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Shaking her head with a pitying look, she barely glances at the badge, "Do you think that badge gives you jurisdiction over a magical object? It does not."

"I am a member of the Justice League and no one can impugn our desire to protect the world from harm. Furthermore, I don't take offense at people who lack a certain education in the matter of magic. No offense meant. I come from a family with centuries of service to the protection of mankind from all sorts of manifestations of black magic. I am willing to pass that burden on to my successors. I can and do guarantee that with the same assurance that SHIELD has, if not more, for not being taken over again."

She takes a deep breath, "As for SHIELD's capacity to protect itself, I have my doubts about it being fullycapable of protecting the book. But The Archives? Really, Jon? How long has it been since HYDRA was ousted from your headquarters?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin's mouth forms a tight line at the mention of Nazis infiltrating SHIELD HQ. It's a touchy subject. "It's been two months..." he says stiffly. "But that is why those vaults are not on the same grounds and SHIELD HQ and their location not on file." He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly and looks at Tim.

    "Tim, I am going to play diplomat here..." he says still with that clipped slow cadence. "What are *you* planning to do with the book? You have a magician, and an organization fighting over this item... which is essentially a family heirloom. What beyond a telepathic wipe--which has a number of possible loopholes whereas amnestics do not, but we can discuss that later--were you planning on doing with the item in question?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Still standing, chin raised, arms loose at her side, the magician's face is adamant, "I have no intention to even examine it. I don't want to touch it. It will memorize who I am, that is clear."

She approaches the book but keeps her distance as though it were white hot,"If it can be destroyed then I will do it. If I need the aid of Dr. Strange then I will call on him. I /trust/ him with my life. Notice that I didn't mention another powerful magician that we all know." She looks from Jon to Martin and nods knowingly," There is too much temptation for the likes of someone who flirts with demons."

Tim Drake has posed:
    To be honest, Tim was almost willing to go along with the Archivist explanation. Up until the last bit, where Jon says, "Once we find it," and Tim holds up a finger. But whatever he was going to say, which advanced through his brain to at least the open-mouth-begin-to-generate-sounds stage, he decides to swallow instead.

    Instead, he folds his arms again, and his fingers dig into the muscles of his biceps. "What successors?" he bites out. "The Drake line dies with me." His shoulders have inched up towards his earlobes. "And doesn't that defeat the purpose of wiping all knowledge of it from our minds? My father and Sophia whoever-she-really-is tracked it down because it was rumored to have been thrown down a mineshaft by Genghis Khan, and that's where they found it. If no one can pass a rumor around about what we do with it, then it stays buried."

    Given that reason, he doesn't explain what his plans are for the book. His eyes narrow at Martin, and he shakes his head.

    "You can't convince me that an organization that, for literal years, was being taken over from within is trustworthy enough to just store it in a vault somewhere. Because if I've learned anything from finding out what kind of man my father really was, it's that someone, somewhere, will eventually raid that vault and take its treasures for themselves."

    Tim sounds... inescapably bitter. His entire worldview has been forced to shift around his foundational understanding of his father being shattered.

    "I'd rather it be destroyed," he agrees. "Failing that, we don't lock it in a safe like my dad, or in a vault, or on a deserted island with an X to mark the spot. I am willing to pour away every resource at my fingertips to wipe this thing from the face of the Earth. Let that be the Drake legacy. Better that than grave robber."

    And with that, Tim walks away.

    He doesn't stomp his feet. He doesn't even slam the door when he vanishes into the master bedroom. No, it just closes with a soft click. And then he's safe behind its soundproofing to do... well, whatever it is that he does in there.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Sod it all," Jon murmurs. He glares between Zatanna and Martin. "Neither of you /touched/ the bloody thing. Neither of you /unleashed/ this hell on the world. That was /me/, Sophia Crowne, and /his/ father." He points toward the bedroom door. "I just don't want anyone else hurt by it, okay? It's /there/ in my head, every bloody moment, what that /thing/ did to me. I just don't want anyone else to risk that. /No one/. I don't care how all-bloody-powerful you think you are, that thing is /worse/."

    Then he pushes himself up off the couch and waves a hand at the book. "Maybe instead of a bloody pissing contest we should just all work together to, I don't know, fire it into the bloody sun. But, well, you're the bloody experienced experts... figure it out."

    Because, fine, he's not. He doesn't know enough about magic to do much of anything. But he knows /people/ at least. To some degree.

    So he walks away, and goes to knock on the master bedroom door before opening it a crack.

    "Tim? Can we talk? I promise not to try to convince you to do anything with the damn Book."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin watches Jon move off with a frown and looks to Zatanna. "Look... can we agree to disagree on which of our respective vaults might be better suited for it. I don't want to fight with you on the pros and cons of each mystical containment field."

    He sighs and shakes his head. "What I do want to do is work *with* you on how to best track down this creature and banish it back to where it came from... it walking around is bigger than Gotham or New York or the entire nation for that matter and it's all our responsibility now."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna watches Tim with pride and love softening her expression. She observes him swallow words that others would shout. When he spits out that he is the end of the Drake line, she bites the inside of her lips not to protest. Yet, even she felt bitter toward his father. Eyes downcast, arms crossed, Zee doesn't watch him leave the room.

When Jon speaks, she raises her eyes. "It is not my power but the power of all my predecessors who created the magic that is Shadowcrest. /I/ don't want it. I want it neutralized and the world safe.

Directing her gaze to Martin, "But if it is /our/ opinion, not SHIELD's, that it needs to be destroyed, then let us put our resources together, magical, financial and tactical and make a plan. Until then it needs to be protected in Shadowcrest while we find and banish the Necromancer."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The door to the master bedroom is unlocked. There is nothing particularly dramatic happening inside it, though the lights are off. No Tim sprawled out on the bed in the middle of a crying fit, or screaming into a pillow. He's just sat in a chair in the corner, the light from his phone's screen illuminating his face.

    But who is he going to call? His boyfriend that resents Tim's feelings about his father because he never had one? One of his best friends. Well, Phoebe has her own mystical maladies to deal with, and Conner is pretty overwhelmingly not-good at magic. It's one of the few things he can't handle, with his Kryptonian blood.

    Not that he can call anyone. No one else can know about this.

    He tosses his phone over onto his bed and tucks his fist against his cheek. "Sure. Fine, come in," he calls out.

    Whatever's happening out in the living room, he doesn't care about. Well... that's not true. He cares too much, that's his issue. He just can't deal with it right now.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon slips into the bedroom and shuts the door behind him. Leans on it. The pills are making him, mostly, lose most of his inhibitions, so he just sort of... rambles at the young man, as if he has the sense he might not actually say much.

    "I'm sorry for pushing the issue, about the Book," he starts. "It's the one thing my new boss told me, while /also/ telling me I'm not allowed outside without a chaperone--find the book, bring it back to SHIELD. It got stuck in my head. I'm sorry. It doesn't get easier, as you get older, the... worry about disappointing people. If anything, it gets worse. People expect you to know how to handle things becuase you're over 30 and it just..." He laughs and shakes his head. "I have this sneaking suspicion you're better at this whole business than I am, despite your age."

    He frowns. "This isn't your fault. And I know that you're going to say it is, but I don't care what reasons you have--it bloody well /isn't/. It's your father's, and Sophia Crowne's, and... and /mine/. I touched the book, I spoke the words, I let her take it. Even if I didn't want to, some part of me /did/. A part I'm... struggling with." He shakes his head. "That doesn't matter. This isn't... sorry. I'm trying to--"

    He hesitates, frowns, then says, "It's not your fault... but it /is/ your responsiblity. And that's a heavy responsibility for anyone, let alone a 20-year-old. It's a lot. It's... you wake up one morning to find that your family's passed on a difficult legacy, the weight of the world, and maybe made some bad decisions. Maybe there are things out in the world that shouldn't be, because someone you loved and trusted thought they knew better than anyone else how to handle those things. And they never told you, never prepared you, and now you're... left to pick up the pieces."

    He sighs. "You remind me of myself... a great deal. Presumably you aren't in a cult," he laughs slightly, "and I didn't have all the money you do, but otherwise... you remind me of myself at your age, a great deal. And... I know how I'd react to this, because I know how I /am/ reacting to this, and... look, I'm rambling, I'm... a /little/ high on the painkillers right now. I just mean..." He sucks in a long breath. Lets it out.

    "I'll listen, if you need to talk. And you /need/ to talk. I know... it's hard. I know it's easier to keep it in, to blame yourself, but it'll tear you apart. I know because if not for Martin... Tim I had a bloody /conspiracy corkboard/ up over this thing, okay? So just... just... I don't know. Reach out. When you're feeling a little better. I'm here. Okay? And I'm sorry. I... I should have... you trusted me--us--to help fix this, and..."

    He sighs. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

    And then he'll go, assuming Tim doesn't say anything to all the rambling.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim says nothing amidst Jon's rambling. For the most part he just sits there, face shadowed, blinking once or twice but otherwise not responding. Through the whole thing, at least until Jon mentions the conspiracy corkboard. "Murder wall," he corrects, absently. But then does a 'go on' sort of gesture.

    There's not much else for Tim to say. He waits, until Jon goes, and then with a groan he stands up and finally does that whole sprawl on the bed thing.

    But mostly just to sleep. Not before he texts Zach, asking him if he can't actually find any falafel out in the city, could he magic some up instead?