9519/Path of Glory: A Grand Central Communication

Path of Glory: A Grand Central Communication
Date of Scene:	07 January 2022
Location:	Grand Central Station, Rooftops
Synopsis:	Phoebe and Tim have a moment on top of Grand Central Station. Donna arrives to offer help while Damian texts Tim with a C&D and a warning to not die. Occasionally Phoebe opens her mouth and her mentor falls out.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake, Donna Troy
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    To say that Phoebe had worn herself out last night trying to tend to as many people as possible might have been a slight understatement. After the battle, she had come in, and with help had set up a circle to amplify healing. It was complex, but she had been drilled in its sacred geometry to the point that she was sure she could do it with her eyes closed.

    Even now, spraypaint coats her fingertips as she sits on the rooftop of Grand Central Station, underneath a wool blanket haphazardly slung over her shoulders against the spitting snow. She'd taken most of her armor off downstairs, and was watching over the quiet city as she undid her braids with quick movements of her fingers.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's been a constant presence nearby. Always busy, always doing something, whether it's combing over footage from the battle in the hopes of finding some as-yet-unnoticed weakness for them to exploit or helping with the logistics of the continuing evacuation. There's also a question of getting necessary supplies into Manhattan.

    He'd rather avoid looting if at all possible, though it feels like it would be a drop in the bucket compared to the millions of dollars of damage already done by the Heavenly Host's arrival and the ensuing violence.

    But he'd eventually needed to go. Ostensibly to try and track down Batman, though that might be a feat in and of itself. By the looks of it when Tim creeps up onto the roof, he wasn't successful. Though he is balancing a cardboard tray of lidded coffee cups in one hand and several bags of what look to be pastries. That's something, at least.

    "Hey," is all he manages, tiredly, as he sits down next to Phoebe. He's still fully geared up.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Hey, Nerd." Phoebe greets Tim with fondness. And she lifts up one arm, scooching closer to Tim to loop the blanket over his far shoulder to share the cover of the wool -- if he lets her.

    "Don't tell me they opened up a Starbucks down there when I wasn't looking." she offers as a slight joke as she looks over to Tim.

    "Any luck finding him?" she questions gently.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's down for blanket-sharing time. It's practically a rooftop tradition. He sets the drink tray and the assorted pastries down in front of them, in the driest spot he can find. "Nah. Hopped the counter and made it myself," he admits. Knowing him, he probably left cash behind to pay for it too.

    "He's busy," is the answer Tim gives. Which means: no.

    After poking through the bags--there are actually, like, a lot of them now that they're all splayed out--he finds the ones with the Impossible breakfast sandwiches and passes a bag over to Phoebe. It's even warm. "Pretty sure I'd be a shoe-in as a barista after all this is over," he jokes, though there's not a whole lot of humor in his voice.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ugh. Don't do it. I wanted to quit long before there were demon-infested Karens demanding I make them an Americano Cappaccino Latte Espresso Mocha sugar free roaster. I wanted to tell them it was six different coffee drinks." Phoebe answers, but she noms. Mmm. Impossible Meats. She leans lightly against him.

    "He'll be okay. I'm sure if he wasn't going to be, there's a contingency plan." She gives a slight smile, and then looks up to the paler Outsider.

    "You given anythought to what ours is? Kinda hard to go between Gotham and New York right now."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim leans against Phoebe in response as he slides the rustly paper bag down to access his own delicious Impossible sammich. He takes a bite and chews silenty, the tilt of his head suggesting his gaze is focused out on the sprawl of NYC. "He always has a continency plan," he agrees.

    "But I still can't help but worry. This is... a lot for anyone to go through, even if they can burst into a cool hell skeleton or throw magic missiles around." The implication is, of course, that Batman doesn't have anything like that. Down past the suit, past the myth, he's just human. Like Tim.

    He eats the rest of his sandwich in only a couple of bites, only realizing once food hits his stomach that he's starving. "It depends. Chances are if we manage to make it out--I think our odds are good--we might not have an easy time of getting back in. Maybe it'd be better to bunker down here for a while until we have some sort of plan."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I wasn't sure if you were going to want to go back to Gotham." Phoebe replies quietly, she picks a little at her sandwhich. She knows she's hungry and that she has to eat -- using her powers, after all, takes a lot of calories to focus. Weirdly.

    "... no one would blame you for leaving either, Tim. This is... it's a lot. It's a lot for anyone. Sara and Johnny have Extremely Old Things on their side. Jon has powers. There's a good chance at some point we'll be fighting against some of the Titans, if they're following Caitlin's lead." she comments quietly. "If it wasn't for... I mean, if I hadn't... if things had gone differently, if I'd pestered Zee a little bit more, maybe I wouldn't have crossed paths with the other one, and made Chas desperate enough for this." she motions out over the city. "I have to stay. This *is* my fight."

    And she turns, and she looks up to Tim, quiet a moment, and she leans her head, just lightly, against his shoulder. She was just so... tired.

    "... gotta let the Team know. So we can make sure Yap and Idu get fed and walked, y'know. Dog ownership."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim finds a chocolate croissant in the mix and similarly inhales it. He spends a little while after wiping away crumbs of flaky pastry, but it's really just a thing for his hands to do. "As long as Batman is here," he begins, and then he lets out a slow exhale. "As long as you and Zee and Jon are here, I'm here."

    His head turns so that he can look back at Phoebe, and then when she leans against his shoulder, Tim rests his cheek against the top of her head, into her half-unbraided hair. "Chas is a grown man who made a terrible decision. Don't put that on yourself. If I have to give him a talk about Responsibility once we drag him back down to Earth then I'll put on my best 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' face, just you wait and see."

    Then he reaches over, nudging at the sandwich she should be eating, in a wordless request for Phoebe to actually do so.

    "Lonnie's probably gone back to his hidey hole without me there at the Roost. You know how he is about playing on a team." Tim's fingers curl around the crumpled remains of a pastry bag. "We should let them all know, though. That we're okay."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe acknowledges the need to finish her sandwich, and then 'toasts' it to Tim (geddit? Toast? Sandwich?), and then she goes to take another bite, chewing thoughtfully as tim rests his cheek against her. Her hair is cottony-kinked where it had been braided. "I can totally see that. 'Mr Chandler. You made your adopted daughter very upset with your actions. You should definitely consider your actions when accidentally summoning The Archangel Michael, who's a diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick." she extends the word out, spreading her hands for comedic effect.

    "Well. At least he's probably not setting cop cars on fire in our absence? I mean, doesn't the Wayne foundation write checks for new cars every couple of years?" she asks, and then she closes her eyes.

    "... I'm thankful you're here. There's no one I'd rather have watching my back. Even when I start getting the weird ideas... but yeah. Yeah, we should let them know. And place someone temporarily in charge, I guess, since neither Jon nor I are in the med lab."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Speaking of toasts (the thing you do with drinks, not the evolved form of bread). Tim pries one of the coffee cups free of the holder and passes it to Phoebe. "It's hot chocolate," he admits. "I made it with oatmilk and I added cinnamon dolce syrup." He must have been in that in that closed-down Starbucks for a while.

    The next one he opens the lid on to check, and it's definitely coffee. Coffee with a lot of cream and sugar in it, by the looks of it, which he sips from without a hint of guilt. "God, he's such a dick," Tim agrees, which is rare. The part where he used a swear word, at least. "He's the worst kind of snob, the kind that calls for prayers to help those less fortunate while all of his charitable donations go to the kinds of sham charities that only work in his self-interest."

    Whatever he thinks Lonnie is up to, Tim doesn't say. But he does pull his phone out from one of the pouches of his utility belt.

    "I'll route it through the Roost's computer," he says. Though then he sets his phone down and reaches up to peel off his domino mask. "Probably better if we just make a recording rather than try to call them. Connection would probably be terrible." Of course, the Bats have access to their own satellite system for upload and download. Tim knows this. Phoebe probably knows this too. But Tim swallows heavily, and his too-tight grip around his coffee forcibly relaxes, and he doesn't mention that.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's already removed her domino, though her hair looks crazy, and she takes a sip of the hot cocoa as she looks to Tim -- and immediately almost snorts it out of her nose, choking a moment on the so-hot-cocoa as she laughs at Tim saying that yes, the angel is a dick. It was just really, really hilarious to her at just that moment, with some of her braids undone, looking haggard in the lights around them, and she rubs her nose and face.

    "Cool, cool, recording -- just make sure I don't like, drown in the meantime." she coughs, though the hand not holding the drink touches at hos arm, gently.

    "Take a breath." she reminds him.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim exhales a puff of foggy breath into the cold winter air. He nods, after, and takes what is for him a steadying sip of coffee (AKA basically half the cup in one gulp) before he sets it down. "Okay. We're going to let them know we're alright and that we might be gone for a while and for nobody to touch my computer or your medical bay. Except, uh, in case of emergency medical needs."

    Then he unlocks his phone and opens up the camera app, holding it out in front of them. The image of two exhausted post-battle kids looks back at them, and for a moment Tim doesn't even recognize himself. He blinks.

    But there's a vague outline in the soot and dirt that still clings to his face, and if he squints, it's the shape of his domino mask. "I look awful."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe doesn't recognize herself. She squints a moment, and then sips her hot cocoa.

    The two heroes are sitting on the roof of Grand Central Station, sharing a wool blanket against the spitting of snow over New york City. They both look very tired, they have paper cups with hot drinks, and there are several bags of reheated pastries in front of them.

    Phoebe has her head on TIm's shoulder, which half of her chunky braids are undone, showing the cottony hair of her natural 'do.

    Phoebe looks at the image on the screen.

    "You look like you picked a fight with the rear end of a cross-town bus and lost. Which is pretty much how I feel."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Up in the gray and snow-streaked sky above, sometimes shadows move. The birds are too wise to hang about, but aircraft move regularly far above, and below from time to time smaller forms can be seen. Drones, fliers, angels perhaps. One such form hovers a few moments, far above Grand Central Station, then plummets suddenly down. The displaced air of the descent forms eddies of drifting snow that whirl and tumble dizzily across the roof, and in the blink of an eye, Troia of the Titans stands on the roof, just a few yards away from where Tim and Phoebe sit.

    There is an incongruity about her. Troia was once noted for something unusual amongst the superhero community -- before ever Diana was known to more than a handful of people, Troia of the Titans had made a name for herself as an armor-wearing, sword-wielding hero. Here and now, where swords and armor seem everywhere, Troia has none. She looks entirely civilian, but for the coiled lasso at her hip, glowing faintly golden.

    "Balm, Red Robin," she says. "I thought it was. You look cosy up here. How goes the war?"

    She steps a couple of steps closer. "In case you're confused... she may be my best friend, but I'm not Caitlin. I'm not here to fight you, don't worry."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim doesn't have the Bat's almost preternatural ability to never be surprised. Nor does he have any supersenses to speak of. He's also kind of a mess, emotionally, so when Donna Troy suddenly exists where previously was only empty air, he reels backwards slightly.

    Without his domino mask, he can do nothing but blink up at her for a long moment, before he clears his throat. "Truthfully? Not well," he tells her. His fingers tighten around the disposable coffee cup he's clutching to his chest, and then rather than continue using it as some sort of strange security blank it, Red Robin downs the rest of what remains within it and then sets it back in the cardboard holder he'd brought it up onto the roof in.

    At Donna's reassurances, he shakes his head. "I'm no more worried than if Nightwing or Robin were to show up," Tim says. Though then his nose scrunches up. "Uh... not any more, at least, in Robin's case."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Oh. Good. I'm... not looking forward to that fight either." Phoebe mumbles quietly, and she blinks owlishly up at Donna, and she gives a slight, mirthless smile, and she gives a breath, reaches down to one of the pastry bags and gives it a toss up to Troia. "Head's up," she calls out, and, robbed of the shoulder she was leaning on, teeters slightly where she sits. She looks totally burnt out and exhausted.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna grins slightly at Tim. "Honestly these days I'm not sure whether if I /was/ here to fight you, Robin would be more mad at me for hurting you because he's your brother and he has decided you're not so bad after all, or because he'd feel that was his job. As for you Balm, I will not forget the help you gave to my sister."

    She snatches the bag out of the air and peers into it, pulling out a cinnamon raisin bagel, then takes a few more steps forwards and holds the bag out to Phoebe with a smile and a "Thanks."

    "Strange as it is to say, I'm reassured you say the war is not going well. If you feel a war is going well, you don't understand what war is. There is no winning a war, there is only ending a war with the least possible damage." Donna turns to look out over the gray landscape of the quiet city. "This is a hard situation. In the greater scheme of things for sure, but also in the more immediate. Logistics. Planning. If the Outsiders need any aid from the Titans, ask. We have good resources. We can teleport things and people into and out of the city."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim manages a "I have cream cheese here somewhere," once it has been revealed exactly what sort of bread item Donna has received. Then he tucks half of the blanket he's sharing with Phoebe back around himself. "Six of one, half a dozen of the other," he says, about Damian.

    Wrapped up under the blanket, Red Robin's hand emerges to rub at the back of his neck. Unlike Balm, he's fully geared up except for his domino mask, which sits amongst the various things scattered around them. "This isn't an Outsiders mission." He tips his head slightly, like he's trying to pop something in his neck. "Batman is here. It's serious enough to get him out of Gotham, so..."

    The offer of aid isn't something Tim can refuse, though. "I'm not sure the answer is more firepower, but having a means of quickly getting in and out for the defenders would be nice. Maintaining the peace in the surrounding buroughs, too, that's something we have to consider depending on how long this continues." He goes quiet then, eyes narrowed as he stares down at a half-melted puddle of snow on the roof. Without the mask, the gears are practically visible as they begin to grind away in his head.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm -- really, Phoebe, she's not wearing any armor, and she once-upona-time was a regular visitor to the embassy to take up space in the library on weekends -- looks up at Donna, and shakes her head "What I did for Diana was out of love and admiration for her -- no more, no less. If there'd been anyone else who could do the same, I'm sure they would have." she mumbles, it seems like a rehearsed line. She looks to Tim, and gives a little bit of a nod.

    "We have forces from Gotham, Lady Death arrived, but she's more here for the chance to wreck The Archangel than anything else. Zatanna was here with us last night..."

    Phoebe's nose wrinkles a moment "Teleporting things in and out? Not with Vorpal. There's so much Holy energy hanging around I'm surprised Tim hasn't lit up like a cadmium watch face..." she pauses a moment.

    "... I could pull them." she gives a soft mumble, and taps her fingers against her thigh, and looks to Tim.

    "... when their physical forms are toasted, I could pull their energies. John -- both of them -- have done it. Zee's done it. I know it'd burn through a normal human but maybe someone like me, made of..." she grasps at a coin hanging around her neck, inscribed with Old Atlantean as she thinks too.

Donna Troy has posed:
Donna gives Tim a smile and a nod that looks almost approving. "There are a lot of pieces on the board, and most of them are not combatants," she agrees. "Hopefully containing this here is possible, but that does not mean there won't be plenty to do elsewhere, too. No, it's not an Outsiders mission, but you're in the middle of it. Let's just say I have a soft spot for outsiders."

    She clamps the bagel between her teeth and unclips her T-Com from her belt, fiddling with it for a few moments before holding it out to Tim and recovering her bagel. "Press your thumbprint to the front plate and it will be coded to you for guest channel access. Means you can contact easily any time. If you like. You can always relay something through Impulse, Cassie or Robin if you prefer." She tilts her head slightly to Phoebe, an eyebrow raising a little. "Balm already has one, but I suspect she left it at home."

    "Vorpal has an issue with Angelic magic we're looking for a solution for, but it's only an issue if he personally gets too close. He can open a Rabbit Hole here. However he's not our only teleporter."

    She keeps her attention on Phoebe for a few moments, and then speaks her name again. "Balm." It's almost like she's tasting the word rather than addressing Phoebe. "These are challenging times," she says after a few thoughtful moments. "And times like this make us desperate for answers. I believe that the only way we can truly win this is by remembering who we are. If you win a battle but the enemy has shaped you into something other than who you were to achieve that victory, you may have lost the war. Be careful, Phoebe."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Distractedly, Tim places a fist against his mouth, still temporarily lost in thought. But he snaps back to attention as Donna talks, blinking rapidly. Was he lost in thought or about to pass out?

    He pries another coffee cup out of the holder. "Cafe latte?" he says as he offers it up to Donna. Either she takes it and he goes for the fourth and final cup, or he drinks that one. Either way, caffeine happens.

    "It's going to get worse before it gets better," is all he comes up with, after another moment of pensive silence. Then he takes a sip of coffee. "Given what the angels have said about Jon being married to another man, Phoebe, pretty sure I'm not going to earn my way into heaven." He sniffs. "Which sounds super lame anyway. I bet Michael throws the worst parties."

    His fingers flex in his glove just before he starts working open the hidden clasps that secure it to the rest of his armor. Once his hand is free, he sits up on his knees so he can do as told, thumb to the front of the Titans communicator.

    "Thank you."

    The look he shoots Phoebe out of the corner of his eye is... concerned isn't a strong enough word for it. But that concern is also warring with exhaustion, so Tim decides to hold his comments for the time being.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe raises her eyebrows a moment. "Which home, the one that burned down, the one that has a massive hole in its roof, or the one I don't have access to now because it's adjacent to the one with the massive hole in its roof?" she replies wryly, and she gives a small shrug of her shoulders.

    And she tilts her head back. "I don't carry it unless I plan on coming by the tower. Last time that happened was because Vorp had a hole through his stomach." Phoebe comments dryly, "And the last six months I've been living in New York City. And if there's one thing I learned, it's that we're different people day to day." she pauses, and she wrings her hands a moment.

    "They have my adopted dad, Donna. The one who snuck me a magic book and had to be the rock for two very, very high strung magicians." One who turned out to be a demon meat puppet.

    "And it's OK, Tim. I've been to the afterlife. It pretty much sucks. Once I get a demense you can hang around there. I'll get dogs. It'll be great."

Donna Troy has posed:
    "A somewhat literal interpretation of 'home'," Donna says mildly. She hunkers down opposite where Phoebe and Tim sit, tilting her head a little. "Chas?" She nods her head slightly takes a thoughtful chew on her bagel.

    "I believe that Michael has made a strategic error in making Caitlin his champion," she says slowly. "Unfortunately not necessarily an error that gives us any advantage. But perhaps /understanding/ that error does. Caitlin was raised Catholic. Her religion is very important to her. So yes, she was an easy target in that respect. Michael could offer her a vision of the world that seemed ideal to her. She is utterly convinced that what she is doing is good, and right, and that she is trying to save the universe. But it's not just that she's convenient, it's that she's /pure/."

    "Cait is a very simple person in some ways. She cares -- for everyone. She loves easily. She is truly, genuinely, a good and noble soul. I believe that's what appealed to Michael, that purity. If she believed that what Michael was doing was... what we believe he is doing, then she would not be aiding him."

     She looks away, and sighs softly. "And that's Michael's problem. He may not have lied to her, but he has deceived her. What she is doing now... it is no longer entirely her doing it. The gifts he has given her are changing her. She speaks, and her followers listen not because of her words, but because of the power Michael channels through her. And that means he is taking her words away from her. Taking her truth, her purity, away from her."

    "If he ends free will, he ends evil. But he also ends good. He eliminates what makes Caitlin... what makes his champion... who she is. I suspect because of that, he cannot truly win, even if we lose. I'm not sure what we can do with that thought at this point, but I do believe very strongly it is an insight worth keeping in mind."

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's hardly been more than a few seconds that Tim's had the Titans communicator in his hand when it lights up.

    "<<You have a C&D order at your home re: your costume. Merry Christmas.>>"

    Damian's voice, because of course it is. After all, there's a sword leaning up against the wall next to where Tim is sitting, and his cape has a hood attached to it. Admittedly it's hanging down against his back right now, but it is certainly evocative of Tim's successor to the title of Robin.

    All Tim can do is look, nonplussed, down at the communicator in his hand. He apparently decides not to reply, because instead he turns to Phoebe. "You still have a home back in Gotham. Multiple, actually, from what I heard." His eyebrows go up. "If you're not in the bedroom next to mine back at the manor, then I'll--."

    He's cut off by the communicator again. "<<Don't die out there.>>"

    Tim stops. His mouth snaps shut, and he stares down at it in his hand for a long moment before he huddles his legs up against his torso, communicator cradled in his hands. Deep breath. He toggles it on. "I won't. Keep Gotham safe while we're gone. Say hi to Ace for me."

    The explanation that Donna gives about Caitlin and her motivations doesn't quite go in one ear and out the other, but it's not something Tim will truly process until later. Still, he nods at her to acknowledge it, and cups his hands around his second coffee of the evening, Titans communicator squirreled away somewhere on his person. "He's manipulative," Tim adds, after a moment. That much was obvious even in his very limited exposure to the Archangel and his methods.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, well you get your wish, after this I'm moving back to Gotham for physical training purposes, and I'm supposed to start up with private tuition so I can graduate highschool on time. Apparently it's important to the new guy who adopted me." Phoebe points out to Tim. "And... was that your little? Ohmigosh -- does it give his picture when he talks?" she asks in a quiet question to Tim, leaning against his shoulder for a brief moment. "And yeah, mine's the one next to yours, I think. I didn't know they made thousand count Egyptian cotton." she jokes.

    But she sombers a moment, and she draws to a stand.

    "I used to be Catholic. I was baptized, I have godparents. Caroline Beacon and my friend Nacho's family all go to the same church. I was a good little girl and made communion, made confirmation, even went to confession. Rosary above my bed, everything. When I developed powers, I thought it was with Purpose-with-a-capital-P. And then I saw the real side of magic that the fairy tales and urban fantasy novels don't prepare you for, that every exchange of power has a cost. What has it cost Caitlin for this imbuement from Michael?" she asks, crossing her arms.

    She takes a breath, and lets it out. "She's going to see me as completely monstrous. But she doesn't know me."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna can't help but smirk as Damian's voice comes over the comms, and when the smirk dies down she gives a little shake of her head, grinning slightly. The human things are a comfort at a time like this. A reminder of what everyone's fighting for.

    "Sometimes," Donna replies to Phoebe with careful deliberation, "Sometimes the cost isn't something you have to pay. Sometimes it's something you can choose whether to pay or not. I can fly. I can catch bullets. I could pound this building to rubble. Those are an exchange of power. Something granted to me. In itself, that cost nothing, unless you can call being given a home, a family and a life a price. Yet I pay for it by /choosing/ to have a purpose. Your call whether you capitalize it or not. I give my life to this, and I do so gladly, so does it really count as a cost?"

    "Perhaps sometimes the universe grants power without cost, to those it knows will pay anyway. I don't think Caitlin knows what the price is."

    Donna sighs softly. "When I saw her, I saw her speak to the zealots at the church, and I do not believe she understood that it was not her that they were listening to. I believe that's the cost."

    She puffs her cheeks out, her breath clouding in the chill air. "At the very least you guys could probably do with some more warm blankets. And food. I'll arrange for some supplies to be delivered here. Look out for a care package in an hour or two."

    "We're pretty busy with stuff that's going on in Metropolis at the moment, but the Titans is a large team these days," she continues. "We'll be around to help where we can. You may be seeing a few Titans around the next day or so, we're planning a little experiment. It may be nothing... but if it works, it might lead to a technological approach to dealing with angels. No promises, and don't expect anything immediately. But fingers crossed."

    "Sims is working on getting another thing for me that might produce more immediate results, but that's kind of... speculative too. It's annoying we don't have anything more concrete right now, but I suspect that our best chance with all this is going to involve thinking out of the box. Simply fighting them is... well, that's what /they/ want. I think we all know that's not how we win this."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's sat there silently through the rest of the discussion about home, and the cost of what they do. Through finding a picture of Damian on his phone--probably taken against his will, and definitely with a furry creature of some kind in the frame with him--to show Phoebe. His hand remains tucked against the lower half of his face like he's forgotten it's there, and it isn't until Donna mentions a care package that he rouses, and nods up at her. "Thank you."

    He blinks a few times and gives a tight shake of his head, trying to clear the fog, before he stands up. "It is what they want. If we exhaust ourselves trying to fight an unwinnable battle, we won't be able to find a real solution to this," Tim says. He looks out across the cityscape surrounding them. "I'll be here for as long as that takes. If you or any of the Titans need backup on any of that, let me know."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe pinches the bridge of her nose.

    "See, this is why I hate working with the Titans. You're all so... cock-sure of yourselves that everything's going to be A OK, swoop in and save the day. Caitlin said the same thing in the Laughing Magician when she stopped in to tell us how evil and misguided we are, and now we're stuck in a war for /existence/. You're a Demi-God. You could sit on the couch and eat cheetohs all day and still have those powers. It's not the *same*. My biological family were murdered. Horrible things keep happening to my adopted parents. They die, they get stuck in fires, they turn out to be Nergal-infested puppets and go skulking off into the night and now one's a *freaking Door* on the gate of the Silver City because he felt responsible for the skulker. Whenever I've gone to your group for advice it's always been a pat on the head and a 'leave this to the professionals'." Phoebe points out to the city. "So any time the Professionals want to show up and tell me how to contend with the Host of Heaven that I plan on stealing the essences of so that they don't return to the battlefield, I'm All Fucking Ears, Donna."

    She breathes out, and then goes to make her way back in. "Until then, keep to it being annoying that we don't have any concrete while Sims has to make the 'your child has died' calls."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna stands too. It seems to be what all the cool kids are doing right now. She turns to Phoebe, studying the young woman's expression. After a few moments, her features break into the hint of a smile.

    "I'm an orphan. At least I think I am. As far as I know my parents drowned at sea when I was a baby, and I almost died with them. I have no idea who my parents were, where I come from, or who I was. I was raised on an island of immortals as the only child, and was sixteen before I ever had a friend. I have lost some of the people closest to me, brutally and senselessly killed, and five years on I still struggle with the guilt of it. I have been almost killed on several occasions, and in the last year alone I have been lost inside a black hole with no hope of ever returning home, and stuck in Tartarus with an army of the undead at my back."

    "And yes, I know how very, very lucky I am. Every day of my life I am amazed, baffled, and thankful for the extraordinary good fortune I have had, for the families I have found, for the people who look out for me, and for all that has been given to me."

    "Diana misses you, Phoebe." Donna shrugs her shoulders, almost apologetically. "You should visit her some time. Perhaps sooner than you think. Everyone can do with Diana in their lives."

    She turns to Tim, saluting him with her bagel, and says "Titans and Outsiders Together? That sounds good to me, Red Robin. Thanks for the bagel, and stay in touch. We'll find a way through this, all of us, together."

    Donna's suddenly a blur, and the whirling snow whips around into a funnel leading high into the sky, showing the path of her passage as she goes, soon lost in the gray above.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's a good thing Tim stood up when he did, because it gives him the opportunity to slowly creep backwards, away from Phoebe and Donna. He's still got his coffee, too, which. You know. Is really the only thing he'd want if he needed to throw himself over the edge of the roof.

    Maybe his domino mask, too, but he probably has a spare in one of the pouches on his utility belt.

    He does not add to the conversation. All he does is take careful sips of his coffee as he looks between the two, one Titan and one Outsider.

    "You Metropolis folk up for slumming it with us Gothamites?" he asks, but one corner of his mouth starts to curve upward. The salute is returned, coffee to her bagel, and Tim looks up at the sky for a long while after.

    "So, uh, maybe we should take five to cool off before we record that message."