9338/All I Want for Christmas Is the Abolishment of Capitalism

All I Want for Christmas Is the Abolishment of Capitalism
Date of Scene:	25 December 2021
Location:	A Gotham homeless shelter
Synopsis:	Tim spends Christmas day with Lonnie, volunteering at a homeless shelter. There's some relationship talk in there too if you're into that kind of thing.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Lonnie Machin

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Tim Drake has posed:
    It's about as close to the ideal of a white Christmas you can get. Picturesque, even, for Gotham. To the people comfortably bundled up in their blankets and pajamas, enjoying the day with their family indoors, it's wonderful.

    While being very much not for those less fortunate, living on the city's streets. It's no surprise, then, that the homeless shelter they're volunteering at is bursting at the seams. The organizers who run the shelter have done everything they can to fit people in, which includes lining the hallways with cots and making space in every available corner, even if that means bed for the night is just a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. So the shelter at lunchtime remains well past capacity.

    Thankfully this is not anyone's first rodeo. Beyond Tim, at least, and he's good at going where he's told to go and doing whatever he's told to do. One of the organizers has apparently figured out quickly that he's stronger than he looks, so he ends up hauling trays of food between the kitchen and the dining room pretty much the whole time. It's a hell of a workout.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    It's really amazing, how Lonnie produces supplies and where he gets them from. Tonight, he rented a uHaul, told Tim not to ask any questions, and then he stopped somewhere and picked up crate after crate of military MREs, filling the truck with them. He stopped at the shelter and climbed out, and asked the organizer, "Do you think you can distribute these?" So they've been passing them out. They, and some of the vets in the crowd, have been showing people how to use the MRE kit to prepare their food.
    Between that and the dining room, people can not only eat tonight, they have food for the next several days. Lonnie is practically a whirlwind, keeping people organized, quelling fights and turning chaos into... order, which is quite a feat when you're an anarchist.
    
    "Look," He says to a vet, "I know you don't like the hot dog MRE, but you can't just take somebody else's, you know that." He gives the guy a Mac & Cheese one instead. "Nobody likes the Five Fingers of Death." He says, to Tim.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Normally, Tim is an ask-any-questions kind of guy. Extremely so. But in the passenger seat of the uHaul truck, he mimes zipping his mouth closed and then... sticks to that unspoken promise. He even helped unload the truck, once they were at the shelter.

    Which is probably when the organizer noticed him lifting crates a little too easily for a rich kid from Bristol who was just here to feel good about himself on Christmas, or maybe gloat over the poor, unwashed masses.

    Tim doesn't overstep by trying to break up fights or settle disagreements while he works. He's outwardly meek as a dormouse, always finding one of the shelter staff or Lonnie to handle things. No need to rile up a bunch of folks by letting the trust fund kid get too familiar, right? "Can't imagine why, with a nickname as pleasant as that," he answers. Then he hooks his fingers into the pocket of Lonnie's jacket. "Need me anywhere else?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "What's a Brentwood boy like you doing hanging out with Lonnie?" The organizer asks. "He's always there to help when we need it, but that kid is hardcore. He don't like rich boys." He seems genuinely puzzled by that, maybe intrigued.
    In the meantime, Lonnie gives Tim a list of things to do, and then trusts him to go and do them. "Just... take care of these," He says, before he gives Tim a trash bag full of stuffed animals. "Pass them out to the little kids. This place is swamped tonight." He's momentarily crestfallen. "It's always swamped."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim isn't going around sharing Lonnie's business, so he's given a series of evading answers to similar questions all day. This time around it's "There's always an exception to prove the rule," before he conveniently ends up somewhere else he (or anyone with a pair of free hands, really) is needed. Which is not hard to find.

    When Lonnie sends him off with several tasks needing completed, Tim pauses to arrange them into an order in his head that he suspects will be the most efficient. Not enough time in the day and never enough people, but he can at least try to take the edge off. His pause extends a moment longer to put his hand on Lonnie's arm, squeezing lightly, before he hauls the bag up over his shoulder like he's a very young Santa and sets off to hand them out.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    And so Tim gets to hand out used stuffed animals to homeless kids who treat them like the rarest, most expensive toy they've ever seen. It's both heartwarming, and sad. That's really how the whole night goes. But sooner or later the volunteer shift is up for the night.
    Lonnie is standing out in the alley, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's worse every year." He says. "I hate Christmas. I hate how the rich people feast while the poor people starve, and then they talk about compassion and caring." He suddenly turns, and violently punches the brick wall, bloodying his knuckles.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's mostly heartbreaking. And despite him definitely being needed elsewhere, Tim spares a few moments for each child, just to get to know them a little bit. One of them offers to give the toy back if he could get medicine for his mother instead and that's... a lot. But Tim manages. It'd be selfish to let himself get upset and be distracted.

    Still, he's run a lot more ragged emotionally than physically, by the time they're done for the day. He says his goodbyes as he steps out, already making a mental list of things he needs to do to support the shelter's work further, when he finds Lonnie. At first Tim's silent, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, but a "Hey!" is startled out of him when Lonnie punches the wall.

    He's closed the distance between them in a second, tugging Lonnie's arm down so he can inspect the damage. Though he doesn't try to admonish Lonnie for doing it.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Mostly scraped knuckles. Lonnie doesn't even seem to notice. "I fight and I fight and things never get any better. And when I do things to try to change things-" People step in and stop him. "...Agents of the Status Quo, like Batman. Keeping the fever from killing the patient but not doing anything else, while things get worse and worse-"
    He looks away. "...I'm sorry. You probably grew up loving Christmas, but it's different when you're poor like I was."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Well, Tim notices. Even if it's not a serious injury, he takes a moment to inspect the scrapes, even going so far as to pull out his phone and use its flashlight function to check them for dirt or debris. None that he can see, at least.

    "My mother was a lapsed Jew and my father never believed in anything, as far as I know. Mostly they travelled during the holidays." Tim pockets his phone, and the tips his head slightly in acknowledgment. He doesn't so much as broach the subject of Batman. Too public, even if they're alone in a back alley.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie looks down, and then he shakes his head. "It's all right. It's fine." He looks up at the shelter, and says, "I've done all one person can do, at least for tonight. Haven't I?" He turns to walk away, out of the alley, blood still dripping from the scrapes on his knuckles.
    "I hate Christmas." He repeats. Then he raises an eyebrow. "You didn't tell me you're jewish. Why didn't I know that?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim follows after, at arm's length for the time being. He's unusually hesitant tonight, perhaps thinking that anything he tries to say might come off as cold comfort, given the circumstances. Though he does make a face at Lonnie's back about his still-bleeding knuckles.

    "It's been warped and corrupted into something far different to its origins," he agrees, distantly. And then Tim shakes his head. "I'm not. I have Jewish ancestry but it's not part of who I am. It would feel... I don't know, fraudulent to claim it."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie sets his jaw. "Funny thing is, they wouldn't agree with you, they'd tell you it's your birthright. I object to any and all forms of tribalism in any event. Identifying with a group is - human. Logical. It gives us a touchstone." He shakes his head, apparently more in the mood to be grouchy than to philosophize.
    "The kicker is, I hate Christmas. But being here, with you, I was - happy. And the things I know need tearing down, they don't seem as... urgent, all of sudden. And that's wrong."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim follows after, his boots scuffing through the snow. He doesn't seem to have anything to say at first, or maybe he's just giving Lonnie his space, the conflict obvious enough by the furrow of his brow and the uncertainty in his gaze. This whole time his eyes keep locking on Lonnie and then drifting away.

    "I... feel like anything I could say in protest to that would just push you away more," Tim admits, after a moment of silence.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
"Lonnie grimaces. "I don't want to give up the things I need to do. And I don't want to give you up." He looks at the blood on his knuckles. "That's all." He walks on, his boots crunching in the snow. "It's not worth angsting about."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim hurrying to catch up isn't an immediate thing. It does happen, but a few seconds late, so his breath is fogging up the air along with his panting exhales once he falls back in step with Lonnie. "So, what, do we just wait around until that first thing outweighs the second and you dump me?" he asks, voice pointedly flat.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
Lonnie stiffens, and then, bloody hand and all, he turns to grab Tim by the wrists, and he kisses him, snow flurrying about his head from above. That's enough of an answer - it's a definitive 'no', he isn't going to do that. But he doesn't have an answer, and geniuses like Lonnie don't like having nothing to say.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The sudden movement is enough to send Tim reeling backwards, so the whole thing ends up--to an outside observer, at least--like the sort of picturesque romantic moments that only happen in movies. Lonnie's hold on his wrists is the only thing keeping Tim from tipping backwards onto his ass.

    It is, however, not actually romantic. Not really. To Tim it feels frantic, maybe desperate, though he might be projecting a little bit, there. "Something always has to give," is all Tim says once they separate, blinking snowflakes from his eyelashes as he looks up at Lonnie. Then he tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat and starts walking again.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "I know." Lonnie says, his head dipped.
    He looks up at Tim, and then he says, "...But the way I feel right now, it's not going to be you. I HATE that you have that kind of sway over me. But don't I have the right to be happy? Even a little bit?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I'm not trying to... hold sway over you. I don't--look." Tim stops, both talking and walking, and he holds onto Lonnie's elbow so that he stops too. "I'm not going to pretend I agree with everything that you do. I understand the reasons that drive you, and I agree with them probably more than I should, but I don't want to change you."

    He huffs out a breath that cascades out into the space separating them. "None of this is coming out right."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "...And I don't want to lose you because I do something where you have to side with Batman and not me." Lonnie frowns. "Do you know, statistically speaking, as a signifier Batman is winning his war? Right now, in the United States, statistically speaking, violent crime rates are the lowest they have been since they started collecting those metrics? That's a fact. He may not see it sometimes, but he's winning, Tim."
    "...But there are other kinds of crime that Batman ignores. Maybe even condones. But I can't. I can't."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim bites the inside of his cheek rather than reply immediately. He knows what the crime statistics are. Nation-wide and specific to Gotham. Though whether he sees the trend as a success for Batman specifically or not, he doesn't clarify. "That wouldn't happen. Not like that, at least. If I have to stop you from doing something stupid, I'll probably beat you up a little bit but you won't lose me."

    He really tried to sound like he's joking, there. It... doesn't really land. "I know. I know you can't." By this point his nose has gone red from being exposed to the frosty air. If his knit cap wasn't pulled down as low as it is, the tips of his ears would probably be faring the same. "And I don't want to ignore them either. Maybe I can't split my focus enough to give those issues the attention they need, but this is what you do best." It's too cold for them to stand out here holding hands, so Tim does the next best thing--he sticks his hands into the pockets of Lonnie's jacket. Close enough. "And I'm willing to help however I can."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
"Until you can't." Lonnie says. He grips Tim's forearms, and he puts his forehead against Tim's. "...This is fucked up. I'm upset because I'm HAPPY." He closes his eyes, and then lets out a bitter laugh. "All right, that's enough. I've done all I can do here, for tonight. And - I actually got you a gift. I had it dropped off at your place. We should - go there."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Maybe this was all a clever scheme for Tim to inch in close and steal Lonnie's body heat. If so, he won't admit to it. But Tim is decidedly up in Lonnie's personal bubble right now. "That is pretty messed up," he agrees. No, he doesn't repeat the swear word. What a dweeb.

    "If you wanted to come hang out before I go on patrol, you could've just asked." Tim nudges his nose against Lonnie's, their breath intermingling. "Want to stop by your place and pick up Yap?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie exhales, and says, "I guess I should. I know you like my place better than yours. But your place, my place... maybe I want to be in a place that's you, for awhile. I don't know. Get out of my own head a little bit. I have the right to do that, right?" He kisses Tim on the forehead.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I spend most of my time at your place because I'm avoiding several awkward conversations with my friends." Tim presses his lips together into a thin line after that admission, though it's not like Lonnie isn't aware of the whole ordeal. It's more that Tim's finally acknowledging it by saying it aloud.

    He makes a wordless sound at the forehead kiss, his nose wrinkled faintly, and then Tim nods. "My house is yours for as long as you want it to be. I have to patrol tonight but you're welcome to stay. Use my bougie, overdesigned shower and sleep in my too-big bed."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie shrugs. "Can't avoid them forever." He says, before he gives a faint smirk. He doesn't give Tim's comment about his bougie home a response. Instead, he slips his hand out to take Tim's and walk off with him.
    ...Later, at Tim's house, Lonnie's placed a cardboard box on a table.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Especially not when half of them have some variety of superpowered senses," Tim mutters under his breath, in agreement.

    By the time they make it back to the Roost, or at least the private part of the renovated theater that Tim calls his home, it's late. And so is Tim, who should definitely be out on patrol already. But he keeps finding other things to do, like making sure Yap's dishes are set out and a bed arranged for him (apparently he trusts Lonnie to get himself settled, but the dog's another story). So he's not quite fully in costume yet, suit on but only half-secured, no cape or gloves or boots.

    He stands by the table, staring at the box like he's trying to figure out what's inside it purely from a visual inspection. "You didn't have to get anything for me, you know," he points out, before finally taking the necessary steps forward so that he can open it.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    ...It's coffee mugs?
    Lonnie is busy giving Yap a pet, but he seems to adjust pretty quickly and proceed to start shedding and grinding hairs into Tim's incredibly expensive couch, wiggling around on his back until he's got it just ruined I mean right.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It is a very expensive couch, but at least it isn't one of those modern all-white ones with the harsh angles and uncomfortable cushions. Tim had a moment where he earnestly considered that as an option but ultimately went with furniture that's actually usable.

    And after he's unpacked the mugs Lonnie bought him, rinsed them in the kitchen sink--yep, partially dressed as Red Robin still--he sets them on the drying rack and then comes over to the couch. Yap gets a few scritches to his belly. That is *not* what Lonnie gets.

    Though given that he's now running hilariously late, Tim pulls away after only a moment. "There's food in the fridge, help yourself," he says, and then he finally slips away to go get ready down in the Roost.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie watches Tim go get ready, and then he gives Yap a scratch behind the ear - and he sets about investigating the place. Of course, he's waiting for Tim to go for the night. Afterward, he makes a phone call. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, I need a few things."
    ...When Tim gets back - Lonnie has... decorated his home. With... stuff. Posters of books, bands, and games Tim's expressed interest in. Books that were out just for show have been taken away and replaced with books Tim actually likes. It's not a complete transformation, the place is too BIG for that. But there's... stuff.
    Lonnie is currently putting together a Construx Castle Grayskull playset he found in an unopened box. "Some of this stuff you had packed away." He says, as he sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "Some of it I had my people pick up." Like all the band posters.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's patrol lasts so long--and okay maybe he has to take a trip out to Bristol Township at the end, there--that it's morning by the time he returns. He's changed out of his suit somewhere in the Roost, so he's in civvies as he passes right by most of the work Lonnie's done, bleary-eyed. It isn't until he catches sight of the minimalist poster of a white-washed windmill against a green sky and two tiny, desperate figures running in the foreground that he stops, actually *backs up*, and turns to consider the poster.

    "I... uh." He's honestly a little too tired to process things properly, but he shows his appreciation by lifting Yap from where the dog's been sacked out next to Lonnie on the couch so that he can settle down there instead. "I like what you've done with the place." He leans against Lonnie's side. "...but this has 3500 pieces and have you even *slept*?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "No." Lonnie says, as he continues to work on the construct. "This is your home." Lonnie says, "Your sanctum. A place where your mind is at ease and you can think constructive thoughts. So I..." He gestures, "Did a little re-arranging based upon what I know about you and the things you find comfortable." One of Lonnie's hoodies, that he's been wearing for a few hours, is sitting on Tim's bed. Others, laundered, are hanging in his closet.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I always meant to, you know... do this. Use all of this stuff." Well, aside for what Lonnie bought and put up himself, which is mostly the band posters. "Otherwise I wouldn't have any of it. But other, more important things always came first and... I never found the time."

    Lonnie can stay up putting together the construct kit, but Tim's going to bed. He shuffles off to his bedroom, Yap in tow. Possibly because he bribes the dog with treats. If Tim's wearing Lonnie's hoodie and he has Yap curled up underneath the blankets with him soon enough it's nobody's business but his own, thank you very much.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "FInd it." Lonnie says. He keeps working for a few minutes, and then he walks in and falls on top of the bed next to Tim - he doesn't even bother to cover up before he passes out.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Lonnie's probably going to have a terrible night of sleep, because the pillow on his side of the bed is unusually firm and lumpy.

    But hey, Lonnie found his gift! It's wrapped in plain kraft paper, but with very precise folds, no taped edges showing. The bow is real ribbon, too, red velvet that has been smushed a bit by being under a pillow for who knows how long.

    It's a book. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, an old Wordsworth Classics edition. Probably printed not long before the start of the 21st century judging by the beginnings of age starting to show, though despite appearing like it's been read many times over, it's well cared-for. A note slips out from between the pages:

'Lonnie, I was lying about Hyperion being my favorite because I thought if I told the truth it'd be lame, but this is my favorite novel. You've probably read it before but I hope it's as good a reread as it proves to be for me every time.

-Tim'

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie almost tries to punch the pillow into shape - but he grunts, and checks what it is first. "What in the world-" He says, barely awake.
    Lonnie looks at the book, and then looks over at Tim, and muses about why someone like Tim might feel for a character like Captain Nemo. He sets the book aside for the moment, and then rolls over, draping his arm over Tim... with the dog snuggled up between them under the covers.
    In the morning, Lonnie gets up, and lets out a tremendous stretch. He's still dressed in what he was wearing the night before, so he whistles up Yap, and gets ready to take him out for a walk.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's still asleep, but he does roll over into the warm spot that Lonnie leaves behind in the bed. He'll probably be up by the time they get back from their walk.

    ...Probably.