9091/Watching Over the Watchers

Watching Over the Watchers
Date of Scene:	14 December 2021
Location:	The Narrows - Miagani Island
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Lonnie Machin

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Tim Drake has posed:
    The Miagani Watch has slowly, over the past few months, recovered from the loss of one of their own. If Red Robin or Anarky have had to step in to help at times, well... that's just part of the job. But the Narrows is often both the first place Tim patrols across in the evening and the last place he passes through late at night, given its location close to the Roost, so that makes it easy for him to keep track of things.

    Unfortunately, the investigation into Tomas Sandoval's murder has gone cold. It's unofficially "closed" with the GCPD, given that they've explained it away as drug-related violence, but between the evidence Red Robin stole from lockup and the information Anarky was able to learn from members of the Watch, it's much more likely to have been someone trying to intimidate the people who live in this neighborhood and put their lives on the line to protect it.

    It's good to see that it didn't work, at least. Red Robin is perched on the edge of a rooftop, as he does, looking down over the streets of the Narrows. It's early in the evening still, the start of his patrol, and there's little activity on the street. Right now he's just observing people walking home from their evening classes or their shifts at some of the local businesses.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Most people wouldn't be able to spot where Tim is perching - but then again, Lonnie Machin isn't most people. He's down in the alley in his civillian clothes right now, scarf over his face, fingerless gloves and all. "I like the way the new cape catches the wind," He says. "It makes you look suitably dramatic."
    He crosses his arms, as he watches people go by from the alley entrance.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's only a couple storeys up ut he is pretty decently camouflaged, what with the new outfit's focus on dark colors instead of reds. Still, if anyone would know where he'd be right now, it's probably Lonnie. He tips himself over the edge to peer downwards, then he lets himself fall all the way over, cape flaring around him as it catches the winter wind that cuts through the alley and slows his descent.

    He lands with a heavy thud, though. "Suitably," he agrees as he stands, and then steps in close, leaning himself against Lonnie's side. "Any news from the Watch?" he asks.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie checks his phone, and then says, "The usual chatter on their Discord. Um, hm. Oh hey, here's a message. Somebody said they saw suspicious activity last night, some men they didn't recognize from the neighborhood were going in and out of the back of the old Giordano building. That's been closed up for years." He glances over at Tim and his eyebrows go up. "I'll get changed and meet you there?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    As he is a nosey person in general, Tim immediately hooks his chin over Lonnie's shoulder to peer at his phone, too. "Hmm," is all he says, though he nods as he pulls back. "Yeah. I'll scout the perimeter. See you there."

    The quiet pop of air discharging from his grapple gun precedes Red Robin being whisked away up towards the rooftops once again.

    It only takes him a few minutes to make it several streets over. The Giordano building, from all external appearances, looks like it has indeed been abandoned for years now. If not for the snowfall that has been slow but steadily falling, there'd be no trace of anyone coming or going.

    But Tim notes the set of footprints that lead to a boarded-up door. And upon closer inspection, the boards are attached in such a way that wouldn't actually stop the door from opening.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie flexes his fingers, before he pops off to whatever hidden alcove he'd stashed his stuff in in order to quick-change. He's probably got these hidden spots under half the rooftops and hidden alleyways in the city. He puts his real face on, the bone-white mask bringing out the dissident's swagger in him, those loaded boots crunching in the snow as he approaches up the stairs.
    "A century ago this one of the fanciest apartment buildings in Gotham City. How quickly the rich abandon their toys to rot." He looks over at Tim. "Should we knock first, or ring the bell?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    "A century ago, this wasn't the Narrows," Red Robin answers. He taps the side of his domino mask to switch to thermals, and then begins to scan the building. The building might be old but its brick facade is thick. "I'm only getting a few glimpses of heat signatures here and there. Can't confirm how many people are inside."

    His chin lowers and he glances over at Anarky, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Where's the fun in that?" he asks as he unclips his grappel gun from his belt. As he aims it upwards, he offers a hand out.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Well, they don't build 'em like they used to. Less asbestos, for starters." Lonnie says, before he considers, and then he puts his gloved hand in Tim's, and prepares to brace himself. "I don't know, there's something to be said for kicking in the door and yelling 'MERRY CHRISTMAS' knowing you got plans for it to be anything *but*, for somebody."
    It's a good thing that his mask betrays no expression.

Tim Drake has posed:
    All Tim says to the asbestos mention is "Forbidden cotton candy," before he fires off a grapple line that sinks into the edge of the rooftop. The motor in the gun has no issue hauling both their weights upward, and Red Robin drags Anarky over the lip of the roof. "Seems a little silly when neither of us celebrate Christmas," he says as he returns the grapple gun to its place on his hip.

    The roof is barren, though it looks like at one point in the long-distant past someone maintained some sort of garden up here. It's all gone now, only shards of pottery and dried-out dirt remaining. He heads for the roof access door.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Well, *I* spend it serving food at the homeless shelters, so if you want to keep Christmas in your way, I'll keep it in mine." Lonnie says, archly. "Paraphrasing Mister Dickens." It's the same way he spends Thanksgiving, to tell you the truth. He pulls out a multi-tool, and neatly picks the lock on the padlock on the chain holding the rooftop door shut.
    Let's see..." He puts a finger over the mouth on his mask. "I think... six guys on the floor below us. You get a feel for these old buildings, and the sounds they make."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Usually I spend Christmas eve patrolling," Red Robin replies. "But I can head in early, get a little bit of sleep and come with you, if you want." He stands to the side as Anarky picks the lock, scanning the floors immediately beneath them. Up here, it's easier to get a better read with thermals, and Tim slowly starts counting on his fingers as he marks heat signatures, one by one.

    Yep, six. He nods a confirmation to Lonnie and then slips past him into the stairwell, steps slow and measured. They're trying to maintain the surprise, right? Otherwise them popping out to yell "Merry Christmas!" really won't have the same oomph.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Thank you." Lonnie says, "It's part of the deficiency of the broken capitalist system that its holiday propaganda machines insulate those who have abundance from those who have nothing. You can bring friends, the shelter always needs volunteers to wash dishes and bus tables. The little guy maybe." Lonnie watches Tim go down the stairs, and then he reaches down onto his belt, and takes off a shaped charge, and puts it in a weak spot on the floor.
    He steps back, and counts, silently, estimating where Tim is. "Five, four, three, two..." He sets off the charge, causing a *BAMF* and a hole to collapse in the floor, before he drops through it.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Red Robin cracks a smile in uniform, which is fairly unusual for him. But one could also argue that it's unusual for him to team up with a member of the Gotham rogues gallery.

    Though really, that *used* to be unusual. Things have changed. Changed enough that Tim doesn't even need to ask for clarification on Anarky's plan. He cracks his neck, takes in a quick breath, and then as a thermal signature of a man walks past the door, Tim kicks it in--hard. The door slams against whoever just walked past, and as a shower of brick dust and... well, hopefully not asbestos rains down, preceding Lonnie's appearance, Tim ducks in through the door and throws himself at the nearest goon still standing.

    And they're certainly goons. There is a truly astonishing variety of guns laid out on a folding table, and someone counting money in the kitchen.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Well, Lonnie wears a mask, and Tim can put a filter on if he has to. Right? He drops through the hole in the floor, and proceeds to cold-cock the nearest goon with a piece of board, which does an impressive job of ruining his teeth. One of them reaches for one of the guns on the card table, and Lonnie kicks it over, sending guns and ammo clips scattering across the floor. "No no no," he says, "Didn't you pay attention to all those TV specials? Naughty boys don't get toys."
    He snaps his cane out, and its taser comes to life with a humming crackle.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It only takes a second for Red Robin to, indeed, get the mask fitted to the lower half of his face. Juuuuust in case. He football tackles the goon he'd thrown himself at right through a wall, which thankfully proves to not be made of brick. Or asbestos! It crumples as they smash through it, and as Tim rolls to his feet his arm snaps out, a batarang leaving his fingers to embed right into the meat of another man's palm. Just as he was reaching for a gun, too.

    "You're not allowed to play with your gifts until Christmas," he adds as he grapples with the man beneath him, getting him flipped over onto his stomach. A few quick motions has the goon cuffed with a zip-tie.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie isn't an elegant fighter - just more of an effective one. Despite all the martial arts training and his own unique fusion technique, it's grounded in nasty Gotham City street fighting, the kind where you punch men in the face with loaded gloves. That's what the guy in the kitchen gets, before Lonnie proceeds to grab a nearby bottle of water and pour it on his face, before he puts a knee on his sternum and threatens him with a taser. "He's nice." He gestures to Red Robin with his chin. "I'm naughty." He leans his weight onto his knee and lets the point of the taser drop just a little bit. "Answer his questions, or you'll have to answer mine."

Tim Drake has posed:
    One guy cuffed, another screaming while clutching his now-ruined hand, another groaning behind the door Tim kicked in... and that's only the half that he dealt with. "You know, I've always had an issue with the whole Santa thing. It leaves a lot of room for the income inequality of their parents to be made really, really obvious to kids." He twirls another batarang in his finger as he stares down the only other goon who hasn't already been taken out of the picture.

    A quick scan of the room. "So you're trying to start a gang war," he says, after, laying a hand casually on Anarky's shoulder. "Bit 'bah humbug', don't you think?"

    The other goon lurches towards a pistol on the floor and with a quick reflex, Tim manages to pin him to the wall, batarang catching the material of his shirt. "Who's financing you?"

    When the guy pinned under Lonnie doesn't respond, Tim puts his weight against his hand, which transfers through Lonnie to the guy's sternum. "I'm not *that* nice," he adds.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie twists the control on his taser down to the lowest setting, and gives the guy a zap. "Nicer than I am." He says, as he turns it up a notch. "Also, we'd like to know who killed Tomas Sandoval. That's at the *tippy top* of our Christmas list. So..." He tilts his chin upward to Red Robin.