9615/Path of Glory: But In Deed And Truth

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Path of Glory: But In Deed And Truth
Date of Scene: 13 January 2022
Location: Gotham Stadium Refugee Camp
Synopsis: Jon and Tim return to Gotham after a hellish week in angel-infested New York. They run into Lonnie volunteering at one of the refugee camps.
Cast of Characters: Lonnie Machin, Jonathan Sims, Tim Drake
Tinyplot: Path of Glory


Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The situation in Manhattan was bad enough that refugees have been bussed into Gotham City, which is usually where people are fleeing from, and countless people are doubtless having some kind of... crisis of faith over the whole thing, which, you know. Lonnie's general attitude toward the divine is like Granny Weatherwax's, he's aware of entities one could call divine but that's no reason to go and worship them.
    Still, he's at one of the emergency shelters, currently handing out blankets and trying to talk to someone despondent. "Look, if you're a believer God plainly wanted the concerns of humanity to be with this world, and what was happening here, not with the next world and what that might be like. Faith that demands tangible recompense isn't faith, it's just a job." He shrugs at the young man, and then continues, "Besides, this all smacks too strongly of John Milton for my taste. I refuse to believe that whatever might or might not be out there was accurately envisioned by a poet who tried to make Oliver Cromwell and his crimes against humanity look pretty. At least until he started to feel guilty about what Cromwell was doing to the Irish."
    He shrugs, once. "So this is another of life's many tests of faith, whatever it is you believe in. *I* believe in the people, and my faith is continually put to the test. Usually vindicated, though. Vox populi, vox dei." He gives the guy a blanket.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's taken the time to hide his SHIELD lanyard and badge, hide the ICER and staff under his jacket, but he can't really hide the fact that everything he's wearing looks government issue--black fatigues, black boots, heavy jacket. At least the gold-rimmed glasses keep him from completely looking like a G-man, and he doesn't really have the stance, walking through the refugee camp with his hands stuck in his pockets.

    He's come down here with Tim Drake to check on things because all of these people were displaced on his say-so. Even if it was a good idea, even if it's keeping them out of the line of fire, keeping them safe... it's a disruption he's responsible for. And he's supposed to be helping them.

    "'Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.'" Quoting Hebrews is good for two major faiths of the world, at least, and that resonant baritone speaks in reassuring tones. "He's right. The point of faith is believing in the darkness, that light will come again." Whether that's a good thing or not, well... one's mileage may vary. Jon thinks it is, at least.

Tim Drake has posed:
    If there wasn't a small issue of fit, Tim would have offered Jon something from whichever bolthole he stopped in to clean up and switch out his Red Robin gear for civvies. There are plenty of Wayne Foundation staff on-site, once they arrive, and before he knows it Tim is swept up on some sort of logistical discussion.

    He sends Jon up ahead, though he promises to be along shortly.

    Which, generally, is probably not something Tim should promise. Get him talking about plans and strategy and he's practically giving a TEDTalk. But things are well in hand here, at least to the degree that there's no raging fires that need someone with the last name Wayne to put out.

    "Even when the voice of the people prove Alcuin's response to the quote to be true," Tim says as he walks up, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He has little to say about faith, his eyes slipping away to glance at Lonnie through his peripherals before shifting towards the floor.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie grumbles, and straightens up - all of him, in that tight black Sabot Cat t-shirt and ripped jeans. "And your point is what?" He says, before he puts his hand on the small of his back, and straightens out until it pops. He fixes the two of them with a look, and then says, "Why is it that everyone always loves to skewer my philosophical point," He says, "Even when I'm trying to be helpful? Excuse me for just a second, you two, I'll be back."
    "Also you may want to dress down a bit," Lonnie says to Jon, "You scream 'Fed' and these people are already angry that nobody's doing more to help them."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "They can scream at me if they like," Jon replies, looking around. "Punch me if they like. I didn't come down here for a photo op, and I don't precisely have easy access to my normal wardrobe. I'm sleeping on a cot in a storeroom in Grand Central Station just now."

    He sighs. "I don't disagree with your philosophical point. I was just... trying to be helpful, myself." He shrugs, and steps away a bit so they're not crowded the refugees, dark eyes troubled.

    "How are things? Really. That much danger of someone punching a fed?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's mouth opens and then immediately snaps back shut. He's still for a brief pause, but then as he follows after Jon who moves away from the refugees, Tim wordlessly strips out of his jacket--branded with the mascot of one of Gotham U's sports teams--and holds it out to him.

    "You do look like a Fed," he admits with a wane smile.

    Now just down to a pair of layered shirts, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead, shoulders hunched up slightly. "A cot in a stadium and MRE rations are cold comfort to people who should be asleep in their beds right now." He shrugs. "They have a right to be angry."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "And if they have knives?" Lonnie says, his eyebrows raising. "I've taken a couple of knives today." Then he grabs a pile of blankets and pillows, and thrusts them at Jon. "If you want to help, then roll up your sleeves and help. A soothing quote *isn't* when people are cold and hungry."
    "Danger of punching a Fed? From me? Always, though right now I'm distracted. From these people?" Lonnie gestures, "Take a scan of the crowd and then you tell me, Mr. Sims." He picks up another pile of blankets and pillows, and drops them on Tim, before he says, "You haven't been sleeping. Your eyes are all purple and bruised."
    He grumbles, and then pats a bag slung at his hip, before he pulls out a bottle of melatonin and pushes it at Tim. "Here, I've been giving this out to people. Make sure you take some tonight."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs as he looks to Tim. "I know," he says softly. "Trust me, I know. They have every bloody right to be angry. I /am/ a 'fed,' in a way, and we're /not/ doing enough. If they have knives...?" He shrugs. "I have magic shielding. You'd be surprised what I can take."

    Nonetheless, he takes the jacket Tim offers, changing into it. No use courting trouble on purpose. Once he's changed jackets, he takes the pile of blankets and pillows. "What else do you need? Besides hands and arms to give these out?"

    He goes to start moving around to offer blankets and pillows, adding a smile and a comforting word to people as he does so. Whatever Lonnie says, it's his nature. Bedside manner, one might say.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Rather than argue, Tim just pockets the bottle. It'll probably end up back in Lonnie's possession by whatever means necessary soon enough, but for right now... it's better to just accept it.

    Same with the pillows and blankets. He shuffles them around in his hands until they're a little more orderly, and then over the stack, Tim asks, "And what about you? Have you been sleeping? Eating?"

    Tim casts a critical eye up and down Lonnie before he heads off to do the task assigned to him. The lack of recognition in the faces of the refugees he speaks to means Tim can actually try to be comforting. If they were Gothamites, it'd probably be a different story.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Well, there's always someone trying to sneak in in order to get a warm place to sleep or a meal, but Lonnie doesn't seem to be bothering to sort anybody out unless they're here to actively try to shake people down or cause trouble, in which case they're being evicted. There are attempts people are making to create order in the chaos, such as one area where they're trying to create little 'apartments' where families can have some privacy.
    One woman, completely exhausted, looks at Tim and says, "Do you have a charger? My phone is dead, and I need to call my husband, I need to make sure he's all right, please." She holds up her dead phone to him, and then says, "They say they're trying to get people access to phones but there's an hours-long line."
    In another area, a teenager is trying to wrangle a bunch of kids. He plainly lied and said they were all his siblings, but only two of them are. He looks completely defeated.
    As Tim walks off, Lonnie asides to Jon, "It's compassion-deflection. If he doesn't take the Melatonin crush a couple of them up and sneak them into his coffee. If he goes 36 hours without sleep, he's usually too strung-out to notice it, even if he thinks he's stone sober."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks slowly at Lonnie's last statement and then nods slowly. He'll pass that on Phoebe and other people around Grand Central; he's having to be badgered to bed by his own husband half the time.

    He doesn't have a phone charger on him, and apologizes to the woman, but he does stop for the kids. Just... stops, and watches them for a moment, something pained passing over his face, before he turns to the teenager to ask if they need anything. Politely, respectfully, as if the teenager is capable, not any sort of adult condescension there. He even smirks and says, "Bit like herding cats, isn't it?" in commisseration.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Fuck no it ain't," The kid says, with his hands over his eyes. "Cats SLEEP!"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Before the woman is even done asking, Tim has sent out a text to a friend at Wayne Enterprises, asking her to hit up a few electronics stores and buy them out of phone chargers and extension cords. Charge it to the company account, he'll handle it.

    And then he hands over his phone for her to use. Given his Bat-inherited paranoia, even if she were to try to snoop there's nothing she can access beyond the phone app at current. Though his screen background is an image of himself and Lonnie slurping up noodles at some late-night ramen bar.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    The woman of course isn't going to have any luck getting through to her husband. The cell phone networks are heavily stressed right now as it is. And when she does get through, his voicemail is full with the other messages she's left him.
    "They never should've ripped out the payphones," Lonnie says, grimly, "They save lives. But who needs them anymore, right!?" He looks at the other two, and then says, "Sure, I'm exhausted, but there's always more to do. And never enough people to do it. And I mean, there are people here trying - FEMA, the Red Cross, the Catholic Charities, even just random people off the street." He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Listen. I'm sorry I'm being... clipped. This - all this - will get sorted out eventually. And I've been sneaking in power naps. Fifteen minutes here, ten there."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon can't help but laugh at the teenager's remark, though he does do his best to cough it down. He tries to see if /someone/ can help the poor kid, and then goes about continuing to hand out blankets and pillows.

    "No, I know," he says to Lonnie. "We're filling up the Hyatt at Grand Central with people who couldn't or wouldn't leave in time. The streets are still safe, but come Saturday..." Come Saturday, the angels start shooting regardless of whether someone shot first. There's worry in his tone.

    He regards Lonnie quietly, and says, "/Is/ there anything that isn't being done, that should be? I'll rattle whatever cage I have to rattle. These people are the reason we're fighting, after all." He's making a mental note to check and be sure there isn't some beaureaucratic bottleneck, somewhere.

    His brows draw down. "Is there anything we can do for /you/? You won't make good decisions if you're not sleeping, as I've been /repeatedly/ reminded in the past week."

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's little Tim can do for the woman beyond take down her name and her husband's name, as well as some basic details about him. It might help to locate him further down the line.

    When he rejoins Lonnie and Jon, having finished distributing his share of the blankets and pillows, Tim shakes his head. "So much of the preparations the Wayne Foundation put into place after the disaster in 2011 was focused on evacuating people out of the city," he says as he looks out across the stadium floor. Absently, he reaches out to curl his fingers around Lonnie's hand. "The team is doing its best to adapt. And I have access to discretionary funds," here he squeezes Lonnie's hand, "So just tell me how to best use them and I will."

    Then he sighs. "And after, we'll both take a nap. No need to try and spike my drink." Yeah, Tim heard that. Also, big emphasis on *try*.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie gives Tim's hand a squeeze in return, and then he says, "Yes, I've seen all the memes about people fleeing *to* Gotham City." He looks over at Jon, and then says, "There's a break room in the back, let's go there, I'm pretty sure someone just brought in some donuts." Then he glances over at Tim, and then says, "Try, he says. I've got my percentage chances of success completely calculated out, and I use them."
    "He just doesn't remember how many times I've peeled his keyboard off his face."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks at Lonnie and Tim for a moment, holding hands, and smiles briefly. Then he follows them to the break room.

    "What's the term? Always fighting the last war?" He sighs. "It's not your fault, Tim, it seems like a perpetual problem of any large organization."

    And he raises a brow. "I'm sure we'll find /someone/ to spike your coffee. Phoebe, maybe. Though then we need to figure out how to get /her/ to sleep." Good sleep hygiene is not something he can teach the Outsiders, evidently.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Pretty sure she's juiced up on angelic speed right now," Tim points out once they're no longer in earshot of any eavesdroppers. His hand scrubs against his face, and once in the break room he collapses down onto one of the couches.

    As soon as he's seated, he's leaning forward, phone out and elbows resting on his knees as he types out several more texts, rapid-fire.

    Without looking up, Tim adds, "No one needs to spike my coffee. I'll sleep when Lonnie sleeps."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie stands leaning against the wall near the doorway, and he checks his phone. "What he means is," He says, "He wants to snuggle, and he'll actively avoid sleep until he gets to snuggle, he's really passive-aggressive about intimacy. He just kind of side-steps his way into it. It's a lot like owning a cat, honestly. He doesn't tell you when he wants affection, he just kind of gets between you and whatever it is that you're doing at the time-"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks between the two of them. "Good lord," he mutters. "It really is like looking in a mirror. An American mirror." He shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair.

    "So Tim doesn't sleep until this is over, brilliant." He goes to sit down; he looks better rested than either of the other two, but still worn. "Suppose that means we get those over as soon as possible."

    He rubs his hands over his face. "I mean that. It's the best thing we can do for these people--get this /done/ with so they can go home. Which actually reminds me--Tim, any chance the Wayne Foundation has access to or knows anyone who has access to any of the ancient Egyptian funerary texts? The Book of Nut's the one I actually need to look at most immediately, but Amduat or any of the other books of the dead would be helpful."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "You should be careful of that rock you're about to throw in this glass house of poor emotional communication skills we live in together, Lonnie."

    No, Tim still hasn't looked up from his phone. He could conceivably run an entire country from it, if he ever needed to. Though as Jon asks after Egyptian funerary texts, Tim bites at the inside of his cheek. "The Foundation? No, probably not, though we might be able to lean on some of our connections with the local museums. We'd probably have better chances with the Wayne family library."

    This, of course, prompts Tim to send more texts.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie takes in Tim's warning, and then he simply asides to Jon, "...Watch this."
    He sits next to Tim, and then casually stretches out his long legs, as he sits back, his arm draped across the back of the couch behind him. He looks at his phone, and pointedly pays Tim no attention.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "The demotic Carlsberg papyri 1 and 1a are the most complete," Jon notes idly, sitting back. "I need to work up a spell to keep the angels away from what they need until the bigger spell that will /actually/ solve things can get done. Which... will hopefully end this. Or at least let these people go back to New York."

    He looks between the two of them, eyebrows raised. Curious.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim makes a face at his phone, brow furrowed and mouth thinned into a line. He knows what Lonnie is up to and doesn't appreciate it, thank you very much! "Bruce has texts out on loan from the library to probably a dozen or so institutions at a time. It's just a matter of figuring out which relationship to lean on."

    Which is what Tim is trying to do, in-between sending out texts to help facilitate more supplies arriving on-site.

    After a quiet few moments, he hits send on a final text and sits up with a heavy breath. "Okay," he says, with some finality.

    This also coincides with Tim twisting on the couch cushion so he can lean himself up into Lonnie's personal space, like he's huddling up for warmth. His head thunks against Lonnie's shoulder as he continues tapping at his phone screen. "We're going to get a bunch of the local food trucks over here to start cooking hot meals." Pause. "The Onion Maiden truck's on its way."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie continues to look at his phone, "And I've been mobilizing donations from the various Gotham street charities, advising of donation drop sites on Reddit and Facebook and Twitter, and mobilizing my street network to put the word out on the street about what the refugees need." He uses his free hand, and begins to lazily scratch Tim behind the ear.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim immediately reaches up to smack Lonnie's hand away. "I'm not getting you any tots," he grumbles.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "That's OK, I wanted pizza anyway." Lonnie says, before his hand creeps back up to That Spot.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon watches this with raised eyebrows and then chuckles, shaking his head. It's all terribly familiar, the interactions, like looking into a mirror and a little over a decade back.

    He sighs. "I'm glad to hear... all of that. I wish I knew what else I could do, beyond... fixing this."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's hand collides with Lonnie's, again. SMACK. "We can handle things here. You need to focus on the mystical aspect of this whole thing; until it's over, Lonnie and I can help with triage but we're stuck in a holding pattern until these people can get back to their homes."

    Or the world ends. But Tim doesn't even consider that a possibility.

    "Still, if there's anything I can do to help--" And this is probably when Jon's phone notifies him of a text from an unknown international number, some admin from the University of Copenhagen reaching out to schedule a meeting with the Rector of the school to view the papayri.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie withdraws his hand, and turns away from Tim a bit. Fine. He'll just stop paying attention to you completely, Timothy. He continues to check his phone, and then says, "People underestimate the generosity and humanity of the people of Gotham. Once we're done, there will be ample help for everyone who washes up here. The goal is to try and prevent people from falling through the cracks.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls out his phone and blinks down at it. Then he laughs softly. "Your superpower really is money, isn't it?" He sighs as he goes to text back; he has access to portals, for the moment, so he'll be able to figure out how to get over there and take a look. "Thank you," he says as he does so.

    "I've always liked this city," he says to Lonnie, still looking at his phone. "I just... I was working in Arkham, last time I was here regularly, and I'm not... suited for the place."

    He looks up. "But... thank you. Both of you. It means a lot, to know you're taking care of this."

Tim Drake has posed:
    As soon as Lonnie turns, Tim's twisting further so that he can force his way into the space between the couch and Lonnie's back, wedging himself in there until he's comfortable. No, don't ask how that's comfortable. It just is.

    "Lonnie's the one with the real on-the-ground experience," he says, side-stepping the mention of money entirely and acknowledging the thanks with a quick shrug.

    There's always more to do. It's true what Lonnie says: Gotham might have a reputation but the people living here have a sense of community that might seem a little strange, to anyone who isn't a local, but still keeps the worst of the lurking darkness of Gotham's deepest nights at bay.

    Like the elderly woman volunteering with some of the displaced kids, who walks into the breakroom for a quick snack break and tucks a blanket around Lonnie and Tim where they've passed out on the couch.