Owner	Pose
Barbara Gordon	The Oracle, the mysterious hacker who runs most of the Bat computers and manages The Birds of Prey. Not much is known about her by most. Babs is particularly careful about who she shares this information with. But Tim has proven himself time and time again, as Robin, as Red Robin.     Babs regrets biting at him over comms - he deserves to know the why of it and to get a proper apology from her. What better apology than to share a little bit more trust with him. Babs, as Oracle, sent Tim a summons to the clock tower.
Tim Drake	There's nothing quite like a break in a case to get your blood pumping. The adrenaline buzz Tim's got right now is like nothing else, better than the stomach-drop feeling as he soars on a zip-line across Gotham's rooftops or the blood-thumping buzz at the end of a fight. This is why Tim does what he does.     He's halfway back to the Roost, having completely forgotten about his plans to stay away, when he gets the call.     The roar of the bike beneath him slows to a heavy purr as Red Robin pulls to the side of the highway, biting at the inside of his cheek. But there's no question, not really: someone in the family calls, and he answers.     "<<On my way, ETA fifteen minutes.>>"     Which is maybe a bit of an underestimation given his location, but the speedometer needle pushes past 100 and it's a whole other kind of adrenaline rush. Still good, though. He parks his bike somewhere relatively out of the way and pauses only for a moment outside of the clocktower before he heads inside, to the elevator.
Barbara Gordon	All these other Robins that came after Dick are like an alternate reality for Babs sometimes. The costumes, so similar, yet so different. The front door to the clock tower opens automatically for him - the lower section is a historical museum about the tower.     His bat phone gives him directions to an elevator off to the side and it too opens for him. It's like the whole place is automated.. which it is. The elevator stops at the penthouse and stepping out delivers him in to the living space of Barbara Gordon and her ward Charlie Gage. Charlie isn't here right now it seems.     Babs smiles as Tim arrives. She's wearing jeans, a sleeveless top, and glasses. Her long red hair is done up in a ponytail and she has a cup of coffee in both hands. She takes a sip from one, then offers the other to Tim. "Red Robin, thank you for joining." It's no secret amongst the Batfam that Babs was the original Batgirl. Stephanie is still the new Batgirl on the block by those standards.     "You can relax, there's no emergency. This is about us. I need to apologise to you for the other day. I was a little short with you over comms while on mission." On the TV is the beta Back 4 Blood in the out-of-game area.     "This way, if you could spare some time for me to apologise properly," she says and with a turn of her head, then body, she starts heading toward a wall with a picture hanging on it of her as a young woman with her dad the Commissioner, an arm about her shoulders. It's a lovely family photo.
Tim Drake	Maybe it's Tim's own wealth of video game experience that has him at ease with what is basically a map marker leading him to his next quest objective, and all of the obstacles mysteriously removing themselves from his way in-between. Or maybe he has a similar love of automation. Either way, all he's doing once the elevator doors open and he takes a few measured steps out from it is tilting his head to look this way and that, overcome with curiosity.     His mouth drops open a little when he looks up at the innards of the clock face, and there's a real sense that he has to drag his attention away from it to Barbara when she greets him. "Oh," he says, and he moves closer to accept the coffee with a murmured "Thank you."     It takes him a moment to shift it from one hand to the other before he lifts the cup, blowing on it lightly before he takes a sip.     Tim looks at her across the rim of the cup as Barbara apologizes, and he bites on the inside of his cheek as he mentally reviews their interactions that evening.     "It's fine," he says, once he's placed the memory. He doesn't sound particularly bothered, but he follows after, though it's with a much slower pace, and he remains several feet back. "I was just going to do some analysis back home, nothing that won't wait for me."
Barbara Gordon	The wall opens up as secret doorways tend to do. Inside she takes him in to her inner sanctum. This is where she works. This is where Oracle lives. The computer displays are filled with information that Tim has seen before on the bat computers; but just a lot more of it - including source code in the midst of being rewritten for what appears to be satellite and drone projected 4d mapping.     But it's the back of Barbara's neck that might catch Tim's eyes the most. There's a scar there. Normally she's dressed as Batgirl or her hair is down, but right now it's very visible. "There's a reason I didn't want you to set off an EMP." She stops at a display case with bullet fragments in it. Her hands rest on the case and she taps her nails against the perspex.     "Ten years ago the Joker decided my father was getting too nosy and took it upon himself to try and murder him. He broke in to our family home and shot me." The bullet fragments - the bullet that the Joker shot.     A small sip of her coffee. Her tone isn't getting more intense. She's told this story plenty of times before, "He crippled me and tortured my father. He got his pound of flesh and left before Batman could stop him. I'm very thankful he ran out of time to kill my father. He was having too much fun playing with his food."
Tim Drake	If it was obvious Tim was impressed by the clock mechanism, well...     He takes in a sharp breath as he follows Barbara in, and the exhale that follows is slightly wheezy. With his mask on there's no way to see his eyes behind the lenses, but the furrow of his brow suggests they're open wide. And then he whispers, "Oh," under his breath. Mildly star-struck.     But he has manners, and so he quickly averts his gaze from the screens. Even if it's tapped into the Bat-network, it's ingrained habit at this point thanks to living with an entire team of teenagers and early-twenty-somethings. The less he sees of anyone else's computer habits, the better.     So his attention doesn't remain on the sweet Oracle setup. Nor does it remain on the scar showing below Babs's hairline, though he notes it nonetheless.     Tim approaches the display case, the tilt of his head suggesting he's looking between it and Barbara. And he has something of a reputation as a detective, he likes to think, and so it's maybe no surprise that he synthesizes the information quickly.     Again he says "Oh," but this time around it's pained, mutely horrified, and at around midsection level he switches the mug in his hands so he can lift his right hand up towards where the bullet fragments hang. He doesn't touch the glass, but his fingers hover there for a long while before they drop. His mouth thins into a line.
Barbara Gordon	On the table is the detonator that was going to be used to set off all the C4 at Arkham Asylum. It's mostly disassembled and the table it sits on has a user interface that is referencing those parts with her notes and a few photos of potential suppliers for the detonator. Someone helped up together that attempt at mass destruction and she intends to find out who.     One of those computer screens that Tim isn't looking at suddenly animates on to a map with a dot on it and some meta data identified as Hazel West. Then underneath it, an updated line that says 'Forwarding to Batgirl'. Babs doesn't even look, so much of what she does as Oracle is automated.     "I couldn't be Batgirl after that. I was in a wheelchair but I wasn't ready to give up on the mission... so I turned my mind to something I could do. I became Oracle." She also started a green technologies company that has been doing extremely well, continued to train in martial arts and assembled the Birds of Prey...     "Almost four years ago a chip was developed that could fit the space missing in my spine so that I could use my legs again. The operation was a success. I spent a long time learning to walk and run and jump again."     A slightly strained smile as she does not have fond memories of how hard it all was. But she's Batgirl, hard is what they do. "I'm sure you've already figured out the punch line. I need to avoid EMPs that could potentially damage or destroy my chip. And while my new Batgirl suit is capable of protecting me from an EMP.... I'd rather not have to test it if at all possible."     She takes in a breath and sets her coffee down on a table. The table comes alive and draws a glowing circle around it and writes a label next to it that simply says "Cup: Coffee". The map on the other screen auto-zooms in to a building and thermal readings turn on showing a cache of people armed with assault rifles.     "Tim, please accept an apology. I shouldn't have snapped at you and threatened to take away all your apps. I forget sometimes that there are members of the family who don't know everything that happened.. but I show people these bullet fragments to drive home how dangerous what we do is. How it can all be taken away from us in the blink of an eye."
Tim Drake	While Barbara speaks, Tim seems to be almost stuck in position, like his brain has hit a massive lag spike. Though it's really the opposite. Like everything in his life, some part of Tim quantifies the people he knows as cases, half-formed puzzles that he slowly gathers clues on. And Barbara has just supplied him with a handful of pieces that he's putting together in his mind's eye.     Eventually, his hand drops. He shifts the mug into it again, lifts it to take a sip, and turns away from the display.     For the space of, say, three or four of Tim's carefully measured breaths, he doesn't look at Barbara, even if he's subtle about it. Taking in more details about the sanctum he's been allowed into is a good excuse to divert his attention elsewhere. The detonator, the smart surface it's resting on, though still his eyes skirt the computer screens. Habit.     "Oh, it's fine. I think the world would have managed to survive without my daily overnight oats picture and updates about the succulents I somehow keep killing. I really don't know why people keep giving them to me," Tim tells her, an attempt at levity, though he's not quite as good as, say, Dick might be at it.     His fingers curl a little tighter around his mug. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I would never have suggested it had I known. Honestly, it was just chance that I had it on me at the time, because of a case I've been working on with--anyway. I can't even imagine how that must have made you feel in that moment." He nods at her, once, serious. "It won't happen again."     Rather than look over his shoulder, he turns fully on his heel to look at the bullet fragments again. "And don't worry," he lifts the mug carefully, to take a sip. "I've already received the message, loud and clear."
Barbara Gordon	One of the screens opens up a panel with live audio fragments. Peaks that get labelled as gun shot fire. Another one opens up below of live audio of police chatter. It's translating it in real time 'Shooters on premises, need backup'. But Batgirl is there to deal with it.     Babs smiles and says, "Thank you. If it comes to it, one day.. use the EMP. The mission comes before any of us." She opens her arms though, offering Tim a hug. "Very few people know I'm Oracle, so.. best not mention it to anyone. Ever."     The geography of the room is dark and misleading. Movement shows an alcove to the side and standing in it is her new armored Batgirl suit. The same one she used at Arkham. She does seem a touch amused by the death plants. "Do you want to stay for dinner? Charlie may or may not get home in time for me to reheat the spaghetti Alfred made."
Tim Drake	Tim's head snaps in the direction of the screen as the audio plays. All those honed Bat-senses. Sometimes (always) it's hard to turn them off. But between his trust in Oracle and his history with Batgirl, he has every reason to feel perfectly at ease about the situation being handled.     Beyond the usual tickle of worry that his brain maintains as background noise, of course.     "If it comes to it," he promises, though the stubborn set of Tim's mouth suggests it'd really, *really* have to be necessary before he'd even consider it. And when Barbara opens her arms, he only hesitates for a fraction of a second before he steps in, blinking rapidly behind his mask as he settles his arms around her with a light touch.     He keeps his body angled slightly, and then retreats with all the awkward energy of someone not particularly accustomed to physical contact. Beyond the violent kind, but that goes unsaid among the Batfolk, really.     As he steps back, his right arm tucks slightly against his midsection. "Sorry, who's Oracle?" he asks, head tipped to the side as he smiles.     "I... ah, sure, that would be fine," Tim says, mouth twisting faintly. Hard to turn down Alfred's home cooking, especially when you don't get it every day anymore.     Hard to turn down time with family too, even if theirs is a little on the strange side.
Barbara Gordon	Babs chuckles a moment. "Yeah. You're worried about what's going on on the screen. It took me a while to settle in to being 'out of the action'.. back seat driving is really different to being there in the action. After a while I learned to trust that my Birds would get the job done."     Another chuckle at the required joke about forgetting someones identity. The awkward hug is what she expected but she's okay with that. He's family, that's the way this works. The way that arm protects the side. She knows that postures, she's held it herself plenty of times in the past.     "Great!," she says and heads out of her sanctuary. After Tim leaves the wall closes back up seamlessly and she heads to the kitchen to reheat the food. "I know you're not going to listen to me about this, but you need to let your body heal up from time to time. No one needs you out there wincing from a knife wound when you should be taking down the bad guys."     Clearly he wasn't wearing his Red Robin uniform when he got stabbed.. which suggests, "Sooooo, not wearing bat weave under your civilian clothes like a sensible person?" She returns with two bowls of spaghetti and places them down on the coffee table in front of the tv. Couch dinner.     She sits cross legged on the couch and starts to eat, "Is this something I should be lecturing you about?" She doesn't look like she wants to lecture him. That's Batman's job but she has that mentor vibe about her these days after training up Steph. Clearly she doesn't take the hard approach that Batman takes though. No, she's all about the guilting.
Tim Drake	"Guess I'm still a work in progress in that regard," Tim admits with a smile that's just shy of being wry, maybe a touch of regret. "I know I can trust my team but I also want to throw myself between them and every dangerous thing they go up against. Even though most of them can deflect bullets with *their skin*."     He follows out at the same sedate pace he entered in, and as Barbara heads for the kitchen he peels off his mask and gloves. It's awkward to eat in full costume, though on occasion it's necessary. Still, if he can avoid it.     The cape stays on, though, because it's weighted and it took him way too long to get on with his current semi-limited mobility.     So when his attention shifts in her direction and his eyes widen, well, there's no hiding it.     With a slow inhale through his nose, Tim schools his face into neutrality. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, but guilt works. Guilt works so well on him. His chin droops and he stares at the floor. "I just--I was just hanging out. It was a party. I have no idea why I was targeted."     He's careful as he eases himself down onto the couch and picks up the bowl. The way he perches on the edge of the cushion would make it obvious he was injured in some way, if Barbara didn't already have his number. "It's just a case, that's all," he says quietly, fork twirling through his spaghetti.
Barbara Gordon	"Mhm. That ever work with Batman?" She knows that answer. It never worked for Dick. It never worked for her. Though over the years he devolved his displeasure in to a carefully constructed hmm of disapproval. Babs would like to learn how to do that one day.     "Your team is.." Hell, she knows Power Girl. Bruce knows Superman. Steph knows Supergirl. "..people like that are really impressive and I'm glad they're on our side." Now she realises she's subtly mentoring him in how to be a team leader. "Even if it's just one case you should still use the best assets available to you." She knows how it goes though, you always think you're the best asset for solving a crime.     "You know, the ones who aren't stabbededed," she says and waggles a fork at him teasingly. Very different vibe to the Batcave. She has no doubt he'll get to the bottom of it all though.
Tim Drake	Tim snorts, and then winces, and then snorts again but much more softly. "No. Once or twice I've managed to keep things from him, but... I always felt terrible about it. We were supposed to be partners, and, y'know." He falls silent as he cuts through his food with the side of his fork, because he is a monster and as a Robin came pre-installed with how to eat messy foods at fancy dinner events without splattering your tuxedo. It's left a mark on him.     "Though he was probably just pretending not to know about any of it," he adds, as an afterthought.     He balances his plate on his knees in a well-practiced move. "I know. There's something about this, though, that I can't--," and then Tim cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "Obsessing over it isn't going to solve it," he says, in a way that gives the impression he's reciting someone else's words.     He takes a bite and looks over at Barbara out of the corner of his eye. "Do you ever, uh... think about what you wanted to be as a kid? Before," he circles his fork around in the air, "All of this happened?"
Barbara Gordon	Babs laughs a moment and shakes her head, "Oh I knew exactly what I wanted to be as a kid." She glances over at the photo of her with her dad, "A cop. When I got older and got good grades and had advanced placements.. I thought, hey, may be I'll be an FBI agent instead."     Her eyes light up for a moment and she smiles. "But then there was Batman.. and not too long after that Batman and Robin. The Caped Crusaders." She found out her dad was working with Batman and at that point, she knew exactly what she needed to be.     "So.. I guess I'd be doing something similar. May be doing computer crimes investigations for the FBI, or perhaps working as a detective in the GCPD. Worse off than I am now for sure in both scenarios."     She shakes her head, "I'm not minimising all the pain and suffering - but what we do matters. The mission matters. I was stuck in a hospital bed when Gotham was almost swept away and the city was declared a no man's land. Not being out there, as Batgirl, it hurt me deep inside. I know the kind of difference we make."
Tim Drake	While Barbara gives her answer, Tim continues to eat. He's quiet and his eyes are aimed downwards, but he gives off the sense that he's paying attention anyway, the occasional microexpression flickering across his face.     Well, it's probably true to say that he's always paying attention. But this topic in particular has him focused.     "Yeah, I still remember the first time I saw him." The corners of Tim's mouth twitch, like he's fighting back a smile at the memory. "He scared the crap out of me. I mean, I was five years old, and I was kind of a sensitive kid. But once I realized he wasn't actually a monster...."     He doesn't finish the thought, but he doesn't think he needs to.     The tines of his fork scrape once against the bottom of the plate in his lap, and Tim pauses. "I wasn't--I'm not reconsidering, or anything. You're right, what we do is important. I guess I was just curious." He inhales deep and slow until he feels the twinge in his side, and then he stops, breathes out. "Anyway. How's Charlie been doing? Is she still in high school?"
Barbara Gordon	There's a small nod, "Yes. He was pretty imposing back when he first started. It was all rumours and sightings and blurry photography." She raises an eyebrow and grins at a memory, "I had one of those crazy people walls. I was tracking the stories about Batman, piecing together what he was up to." She took after her dad more than mum.     "Once I realised he wasn't just a myth, someone randomly stalking the shadows beating up wrong-doers. He was systematically taking out critical infrastructure of the mob." She whistles, "Well, then I was a fan. No one had ever seen anything like it. Every time I'd try and talk about him with dad he'd shut me down too."     There's an expression on her face giving Tim a good idea of just how unstoppable Babs was when she was younger and on the case. The case in this case was Batman and Robin.     Babs points to a text book on the coffee table using her fork, "Charlie." She takes down a big mouthful of delicious Alfred spaghetti, "is doing fantastic." To answer the two questions in one go. "What about you? I mean.. inside. Are you okay?" She pats her chest over her heart.
Tim Drake	"I was far enough away that, even with all the lights around, all I could really see was the outline of him. Cape, cowl, you know. The ears." Tim's almost-smile returns as he shakes his head. "Did you clip newspapers? I had an entire shelf dedicated to Batman & Robin. Pretty sure my parents were thrilled about that."     He rubs the side of his hand against his mouth, lost in thought. "They were color-coded. I always burned through my school supplies within weeks of the school year starting because they'd get cannibalized for my scrapbooks." His tongue clicks against his teeth. "I was a weird kid. But I guess you kind of have to be to convince yourself that it's a good idea to put on costumes and fight bad guys," he adds.     Tim makes note of the indicated textbook as he leans slowly forward to put his empty plate back on the coffee table. "That's great. And, that you, you know--you took her in, that's, that's great too." The way his mouth twists suggests he might have more to say, but he'd already struggled through getting that much out. Maybe that's enough.     Even if Tim only benefited late in his childhood from a similar situation, it's still meaningful. And he was close to Charlie's age when Bruce formally adopted him.     The follow-up question has him blinking owlishly at Babs. "I'm fine," he says, automatically. But he sighs, after. "Well, I'm just figuring some stuff out. You know. Questioning who thought it was a good idea to let me become an adult, all that."
Barbara Gordon	Babs chuckles a moment, "Yeah. It's good to know I wasn't the only one." She smirks a moment, "Well of course it's a good idea to put on a silly costume and fight bad guys." She still has her original Batgirl costume. Hand made. Patched up in numerous ways from all the combat it saw. It also still fits.     "The criminal justice system in this country leaves a lot to be desired. Driven by political influences and money more than justice. That's why we have to work so hard to wrap everything in a bow for the GCPD so they can't squirm out of prosecuting the real criminals." And boy how do those corrupt cops squirm. It puts them on their radar real fast. Right now a judge is on Oracle's radar.     "Couldn't be helped I'm afraid," she jokes about the becoming an adult thing, "though you're 20 aren't you? that's hardly an adult. Look at me. I run my own business while hacking federal agencies on the side. Who let me do that?" No one. No one let her do that. Batman may have encouraged her.     They walk that fine line between criminal and hero because laws are made to suit those in power - not those who live in the land they enforce over. Every one in the bat family knows that. They have to keep their eye on the prize because some days it's hard to see the forest through the trees.     Babs finishes her spaghetti and puts her bowl on top of Tim's. "Hey. Good luck with your analysis Tim." Hair ruffle. She really wants to do it. But that's a step too far. Batman could probably get away with it. A clock on the wall takes a random backwards second-hand tick and Babs' peripheral vision picks it up. "Hm. Work calls, I'll be seeing you around Tim." The smallest subtle little indicator in her penthouse to warn her the Oracle is needed.
Tim Drake	Tim never did the homemade costume thing, probably because he was never able to source anything properly bullet-resistant as a thirteen year old. If his life had gone differently, he probably would've gotten into something like renaissance faires or the like and been obsessed with historical accuracy.     Instead, he obsesses over cold cases.     "That's why we can't stop," he agrees. "Whether it's family wealth or the influence we've accrued, all of it... we're lucky to have. Power to make changes. Agency, really, when you get down to it. The system we live in does its best to strip that away from everyone it can so as to benefit the people at the top."     He rubs carefully at his side, a few inches below where the knife slid between his ribs. "I don't know how I could live with myself if I sat back and did nothing. Sometimes it scares me to think about who I'd be if my life had gone the way my parents had intended it to. Would I have cared at all?" Even allowing himself to say that question aloud seems to make him uncomfortable, judging by the inward curl of his shoulders. He sweeps a hand through his hair and shakes his head.     It's not something to dwell on, especially not when Barbara announces the end of what Tim supposes may have been her lunch break. "I think it has more to do with how there's nobody out there who could stop you." With a nod, he shifts back up on his feet, picking up the dirty dishes as he goes. "Thanks," he tells Babs, and even if she tries to stop him, Tim's gonna do his best to take the dishes into the kitchen and wash them before he goes.