9040/What Do You Get For The Boy Who Knows Everything

What Do You Get For The Boy Who Knows Everything
Date of Scene:	11 December 2021
Location:	Tim Drake's Home - Chelsea
Synopsis:	Lonnie leaves a gift for Tim to find.
Cast of Characters:	Lonnie Machin, Tim Drake

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Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie said he'd gotten Tim a gift. He told Tim that he wasn't going to give him any clues about what it was, or where it was. And so far, he's proved impenetrable. 'You're the master of puzzles, figure it out.' He said, before he went off to do whatever he does, which is probably causing chaos and declaiming Christmas as a load of oppressive commercial hogwash.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Somehow, Tim manages a solid eight hours of sleep. He'd come in from New York, doing... well, who knows what he does up in New York, as frequently as he's there now.

    That was late last night, and now it's afternoon and he's just crawling out of bed. Still in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt he's stolen from Lonnie's closet, hair a mess, he stumbles around his bedroom for the first five or ten minutes of wakefulness, doing nothing of consequence except sending a command over his phone to his automated coffee press to start getting some of that delicious bean juice brewing.

    Off in the distance, the brrrrrr of the coffee grinder starts up.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    It's raining outside, unusually warm for a december. Lonnie's sent Tim a text message, of Yap in a little dog hoodie holding a lit flare. #adagd
    The coffee grinder gets going, smells good. Lonnie apparently also got Tim groceries, since there's a large assortment of things in the fridge that require minimal cooking skills in order to prepare them. He also left one of his hoodies folded up on a stool.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's jaw cracks on a yawn as he scrolls through his text messages. He pauses for a little while on Lonnie's before he Likes the picture and sends a quick 'be careful <3' before he finally gets himself downstairs.

    Finding things in the fridge that he didn't order gives him pause, but after another quick text sent off to Lonnie, then decides to leave the question of breakfast for later. Blessed caffeine first.

    Which is still brewing, so he backtracks to go grab the hoodie off the stool.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The hoodie is, since Lonnie's both taller and heavier than Tim, too big. It's red, with a black rose decal on the back of it. Other than that, the room is quiet, and still, and very un-mysterious.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Even if it's too big, Tim still puts it on. He zips it up. And then he leans against the edge of his counter, waiting for his coffee to be done.

    Which, shortly, it is. So he makes himself a cup. Dash of oat milk, sprinkle of sugar. Not much, but it's an improvement on his previous habit of drinking it straight black. Rather than heading immediately into the Roost to get to work, though, he stands there with his fingers around the cup, letting it warm them, and taking tiny little sips of his coffee.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
There is the crinkle of paper in the pocket of the hoodie. A receipt, for an online purchase. There isn't a store or a website labeled on the receipt, but there is enough data where Tim could trace it, if he wanted to. It's not a clue, not really, since it isn't going to tell him where Lonnie put it.
    But it's nice today, and whatever Lonnie did, it isn't going anywhere.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim takes a more considerable slurp of his coffee, tongue basically immune to the scalding heat at his point, as he considers the paper. He has it laid out on the counter where he's tapping his fingers against it. It's not like he has to reread it; once was enough, the details are committed to memory.

    But after a little while--and once he's poured himself a second cup of coffee--Tim wanders into the Roost and to the sanctity of his darkened computer lab, where he logs in and gets to work.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    It's not an official online store - it's a private seller. And of course, the actual communication about them is on Lonnie's phone. But the receipt indicates payment was shipped and payment was delivered, and from there it's easy enough to find the date the receipt was issued and that the shipment was sent, though the receipt doesn't indicate WHERE - just that it would be received on the other end.
    So where would that be? Presumably if Lonnie orders something he has place where he can pick up his stuff. Or he had someone else accept the package. Lonnie has plenty of contacts but not many friends.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tracking down what may or may not be a gift for himself isn't something Tim can justify spending a great deal of time on. So, he multitasks. Whenever he can find a moment, though.

    Eventually, it leads to a dead end. Or at leat, a dead end insofar that he can't do anything more at his computer. Just like how Anarky knows Red Robin's patrol patterns, Tim knows some of the places Lonnie tends to visit frequently.

    It'll have to wait, though. Other things to do. Investigation leads to run down, emails to be replied to, a great deal of boring work that goes along with maintaining the secrecy Tim values so much.

    But... it keeps nagging at him. The mystery. Tim can't let that sort of thing go, so it's always in the back of his head. Bothering him. Until he can't handle it any longer, so he logs off, gets dressed, and heads out.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    It was a nice day, now it's a nice evening. Lonnie's sent another text, of him and a group of Bludhaven Antifa posing in front of yet another high-tech military toy the police are spending tax money on, which has been completely disabled, #itsinsured.
    I mean Red Robin could just turn this over to the cops as evidence but what good is having a boyfriend if you can't brag? Anyway. The evening is still young, so there's time for Tim to do whatever before he makes his next stab at whatever this scavenger hunt is.
    Lonnie does have a lot of contacts at the local soup kitchens, where he spends a lot of his time.

Tim Drake has posed:
    'Get dressed' in this instance means winter-appropriate clothing, not his Red Robin gear. Tim knows the kinds of places he's going to be poking his nose into won't appreciate a vigilante skulking about. He layers a coat and a scarf over the hoodie he's borrowing, and sets out.

    Which means he's toasty warm in the mild chill of the evening as he hits up Lonnie's haunts. The soup kitchens aren't actually the first item on his list. He slips some cash to the homeless folk around Lonnie's hideout first, getting plenty of information but not actually the information he's looking for. But then, yes, the soup kitchens. The one in the Narrows first.

    And then he ends up helping to serve dinner.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The night goes on, and near the end of the night, as Tim's scooping up a heaping pile of mashed potatoes, an old woman says, "He said you'd be here tonight." She smiles, and says, "Wrong place. But I'm not supposed to tell you where to go next." She holds out her plate. "You DO look like a movie star." She says. Maybe she's angling for a heaping helping of mashed potatoes.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Oh well," Tim says, as he does indeed give a slightly larger portion of potatoes to the woman. Though he doesn't acknowledge the comment about his appearance. Nope, not gonna happen.

    After, which is a not-inconsiderable amount of time because Tim ends up sticking around long enough to clean up, he steps back out into the night air. Thankfully he doesn't have patrol duty tonight. Instead he contemplates where to go next, fingers curled around his phone in his pocket. He's NOT going to ask for a hint.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Eventually Lonnie sends another text, which is just a shot of a bridge over looking the Bludhaven harbor. "Chilling, how u?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's back on his bike when the text comes in, and he pulls over to the side of the road to check it. Safety first. And then he sends a few panicked texts mostly revolving around Lonnie's plans for the bridge.

    Basically, Tim doesn't want to deal with another destroyed bridge. Sooner or later they're going to end up with the kind of traffic he has to deal with in NYC, and Tim does NOT want that.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Response: 'Lol' and an image of him pointing his phone down at a thumbs-up. Whatever that means.
    There are other soup kitchens. There's also the tree, which Lonnie considers their first non-humiliating 'date'.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim is perplexed enough by this that he sits there by the side of the road just staring at his phone until a car nearly swipes him, the driver WAY over the line. No one is around to hear Tim's shriek, at least.

    But that does spur him into movement. Movement that is basically him driving around in circles until he ends up a couple of streets over from... Batburger. Yep.

    He goes in to get some Jokerized fries.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The dinner rush hasn't started yet, but the kid working the counter is the same one that was there the night the Condiment King attacked. "Hey." He says, "Fries are fresh. Your boyfriend said I might see you tonight." He serves some up, and makes a point to put extra seasoning on the fries, before he gives them over to Tim. "Already paid for. He says your gift's not here." He raises an eyebrow. "This some kind of scavenger hunt or something?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Even though he doesn't have to pay, Tim still slides a bill across the counter to the kid. "Thanks." Does he give the kid an answer? No. Maybe his curiosity is sated by the $100 tip Tim just gave him.

    Tim enjoys his fries with extra Jokerized seasoning while leaning against his bike. And he sends a selfie to Lonnie, with Batburger in the background.

    After, once he's wiped his hands clean and mounted his bike again, Tim sits there for a little while, deliberating. The truth is that he should probably head back to the Roost and be productive... but instead he revs the engine and takes off, headed for the rougher part of town and the Snake Pit, though he doesn't actually pull over to the curb until a few streets past. Send Noodles. Tim still has that picture of them as the background on his phone.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Inside, the dinner hour is beginning, and the restaurant owner is serving up some Ramen to a couple of college students. "Heyyyyyyy, hi!" He says, "You're here! I wasn't sure you were coming?" He reaches down under the counter, and he hands Tim a code card, like you'd use to open a magnetic lock. "Red says that your present's at the Snake Pit. Oh, hey, before you go." He offers Tim a takeout counter. "Vegetarian Pad Thai, extra spicy, you try it! Some hipsters opened a place a couple of blocks down, but I'm not going to let them steal my business! At Send Noodles, everybody wants to slide into my DMs! It's my new slogan."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I am," Tim confirms. Here, that is. Look at him being all food-motivated nowadays. He holds the code card up for a moment, examining first one side then the other, before he pockets it. And then, apparently in no rush, he accepts the takeout container and buys a bottle of green tea from the cooler before he heads out to perch on his bike and eat.

    Another pic gets sent: the open container and a bunch of noodles hanging from his chopsticks, balanced atop Tim's knees. 'thanks for dinner *kissy face emoji*'

    And then he sits there and enjoys the food. He's in no rush. The Snake Pit will surely be there when he's done.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie responds with 'Glad u like it' and a... licky emoji? Hungry emoji? Tasty emoji? It's some weird tongue-y face.
    Anyway, the Snake Pit waits until Tim's done with his dinner and has a satisfied tummy, though all these carbs can't be good for his carefully cultivated diet. Still, good food is good for the soul, right? And there was a lot of tofu on it, the Send Noodles guy doesn't skimp on the proteins.
    Anyway, it's an off night tonight, no band, so the Snake Pit is pretty quiet, except for the usual rowdy punks hanging around outside.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Dinner consumed, trash properly discarded, Tim walks over to the Snake Pit rather than driving his bike. It's a nice night out, and when was the last time Tim went on a casual stroll? Well... by himself, at least. No Yap, no Lonnie. There's very rarely any chance for Tim to spend time by himself doing things that... well, are non-productive. It's nice. Sort of a gift in and of itself, and Tim supposes that's part of what Lonnie was going for.

    'clever. forcing me to take a night off and enjoy myself. you're v sneaky sir.'

    He tucks his hands into his pockets as he approaches the Snake Pit.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie would probably say 'Thank you, I know I am the cleverest of them all' or some such.
    As Tim approaches the guys outside stop joking around and turn to look at him. "Smoke?" One offers him a cigarette.
    Another, with a neon-green mohawk and sci-fi specs that probably look familiar says, "Oh hey, it's Lon's new guy! Your shit's in the back. I don't know what kind of lock he put on it, but the thing's high-tech."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim mutely shakes his head no, though his eyes narrow slightly at mohawk guy. Familiar, yeah. "Nice glasses," he says, actually sincere, and then he ducks his head as he steps into the Snake Pit.

    It's funny. Lonnie had said Tim was probably the first (slash-only) person who'd actually come to the Snake Pit for the music, and... well, he's honestly a little sad to see that there's no band. But then again, he wouldn't want to be here without Lonnie. So instead he approaches the bar, and once he's managed to grab a bartender's attention: "Club soda with lemon, please." Then he adds some change to the tip jar.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I'm amazed we still serve booze at all with all the straight-edge types we get nowadays," The bartender says before he gives Tim his drink. There's still music, just no band tonight. "Anyway, Lon put your thing in the backstage area, a couple of the kids are watchin' it. You gonna be all right carrying that thing out on your own?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, "S' kind of heavy, I don't know WHAT's in it."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim takes a long drink from his club soda with lemon before he shrugs one shoulder lightly. "He's thought of everything else already." Though as he tucks a piece of hair behind one ear, Tim's eyes crinkle with concealed mirth. "Still, I'll let you know if I need help?" Another drink, enough to more than half-empty his glass, and then... well. His gift.

    Which, really, could be anything. At this point, Lonnie could have bought him... anything, and Tim would be happy. Despite being on his own this whole evening, it's been nice. Quiet. A good opportunity for Tim to reconnect with the city on ground level, rather than brooding atop its roofs.

    Still, it's a gift, and Tim's excited to open it, so he's brandishing the card from Send Noodles as he heads backstage.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Backstage, there are a couple more punks sitting on what looks like one of those reinforced, bombproof trunks. Unwieldy, a little low-slung, with a magnetic lock on it. "Heyyyyy, here he is!" One of the kids - head shaved, lots of piercings in his eyebrows - says. "These are for you." He grabs a bouquet of red roses, and hands them over with a flourish. "Courtesy of the man himself."
    There's a note with the flowers. "Tim - one thing you, B and I have in common is, we're not who we really are, until we put on our mask. But why have just one face? Don't ask where I got the materials or contacts to get this made for you. Just enjoy it." He signed it with an anarchy symbol, which is really... his thing.

Tim Drake has posed:
    As soon as he sees the flowers, Tim's face goes bright red. He's so affected that he barely manages to stutter through a 'thank you' as he accepts them. So affected that he doesn't even read the note right away, he just kind of... stares at the bouquet for a little while.

    And then he clears his throat, plucking the piece of paper out from the roses to read it. His eyes get real big for a second, and then they narrow, though it's in that considering sort of way Tim gets when the gears in his brain are really starting to turn. So he swaps the note for the key card in his pocket and approaches the trunk, waiting for the people using it as a seat to clear off. "Thanks for watching over it," he tells them, before he kneels down to insert? swipe? the card.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    It opens - there's a black duffel-bag inside. Maybe Tim shouldn't open this with other people around
    There's a... uniform inside. It's got Tim's symbol on it, but it's... sleeker than his normal one. It's dark black and crimson red, the colors of the revolution, and it's got a long, all black cape, more Batman like in its size and drape than his usual one. The mask is meant to evoke a more bird-of-prey like mien. It's certainly up to spec with Tim's current costume, in some ways better, with its tech integration, though there's room for tinkering.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Wisely, Tim only opens the zipper wide enough to stick his hand inside, and upon confirming what he suspected was in there via touch, he immediately zips it back up. The bag is certainly heavy, but Tim doesn't have any issues with shouldering it. It's no heavier than what he wears most nights, anyway. Then he tosses the key to one of the nearby punks. The one with the eyebrow piercings. "Don't keep anything *too* dangerous in there," he says with a smile as he tucks the bouquet carefully into the crook of his elbow.

    And then he shrugs. The shoulder with the bag's strap hardly moves. "Or do. He'd probably like that."

    And then he has to figure out how to tie this down to the back of his bike so that he can get it home and properly open his gift. Well... he'll figure it out.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Eventually Tim figures it out. The bag's unwieldy, but not impossible.
    Eventually he can get it set on his kitchen counter and unpack the whole thing. It's even sized perfectly for him. The boots are comfortable and reinforced. The knuckles in the suit's gloves are absolutely loaded. The suit is insulated against electric shock, which is a good thing because there's an electric discharge function built into the cape. Lonnie weaponized the whole getup.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Eventually Tim figures it out.

    He only spends enough time with the bag on the kitchen counter to look at the suit once, before he immediately hauls it off to the manufacturing lab in the sub-basement of the Roost. If he were anyone else Tim probably would have stopped to send Lonnie a text or call him or something, at least. But no. Tim has a new toy to figure out.

    Though he does get around to texting Lonnie: 'already had dinner but can i interest you in dessert? my treat. especially if we can eat it next to the 3d printers.'

    Then he realizes the time. It's something like fifteen hours later. He doesn't even feel tired. 'nvm about dessert, how about brunch?'

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie's text is just a smiley face - ':)' and then after a few minutes, 'I take it you found your present. I usually keep my gear a little more street-style these days, but this was a nice challenge.'

Tim Drake has posed:
    While he's waiting for a reply, Tim realizes precisely how tired he is. Two cups of coffee and a green tea many, many hours ago aren't enough to keep sustaining him, now that the new-tech high has worn off.

    He makes it to the couch in his computer lab, sends a bunch of heart, kissy face, and other applicable emojis (okay, the Vulcan salute emoji was probably just a typo) before he passes out.