2017.01.10 - Birdboys Flock Together

Dick, Tim, and Jason confer and have some fun

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Robin is at the massive Batcomputer console, leaned back in the chair and studying several documents and maps. He's frowning just slightly, but also moving pictograms around on the map. He has a steaming cup of coffee next to his hand, and he occasionally sips from it.

Sadly, damp and cold is no excuse to stay in bed, so Tim is up at oh-six-hundred sharp and out the door within five minutes for a morning run. Despite the low temperature, when he returns and bypasses the upstairs bathrooms for the shower in the Batcave, his jacket is soaked through with sweat and his whole face is red with exertion. He's a little bit better off when he returns, in clean clothes with his own cup of coffee, and slumps over the back of the Batcomputer's chair. "Morning," he says-slash-grumbles before taking a long drink from his mug before making a face. Too hot. He takes another drink. "Something big go down last night?"

Robin looks up and smiles. "Hey, man. No, no, this is just the compilation of all the Penguin stuff from the last several days. Short story: he's planning something big, it involves the zoo and diamonds, an outside money-source, and it all goes down tonight at the annual Gotham Zoo Fundraiser." The masked teen rubs his eyes. "Speedy and I went to check out his club the other night, and found tons of animal tranqs and supplements. He's definitely involved.. somehow. What we need to know is just what his game is. Being all sneaky like this is NOT Penquin's style - he WANTS people to notice him. The only thing he craves more than money is respect." The Teen Wonder clicks through several more screens.

Tim takes another sip of his scalding hot coffee, grimaces again, and stares up at the screen. He has no real context for the data displayed on it other than what Dick's already told him, so he frowns and says nothing at first. But ultimately Tim can't help himself, so he says, "Outside money source and Penguin acting unlike himself? Is he not the one calling the shots, then?" Mostly he's just thinking aloud, but round-robin (heh) back-and-forth between the Bats can lead to eureka moments.

"Bingo, Boy Wonder," Dick smiles. "And the one thing Penguin hates more than disrespect is sharing power, so this is either too big a score for him to pass up... or someone has him firmly under their thumb." His smile fades a bit. "That is the million dollar question, here. The only slight clue we have is that it might be a woman. Catwoman was the obvious go-to here because of the diamonds, but she's not the kind to do huge long-range plans like that. She's more of the opportuinst." He sighs. "Honestly, that only leaves me one real suspect, and I really, really hope I'm wrong."

There's a long moment of silence from Tim as the implication sinks in, and he looks down into his mug. "I'll swipe the invitation from my dad this afternoon. Probably a good idea that he doesn't show up, anyway, and I don't stand out too much from the typical upper crust Gotham crowd." He steps away, and ends up perching on the desk, setting his coffee down next to Dick's. "For what it's worth," he says. "I really hope you're wrong too. But I have a bad feeling that you're not."

Robin smiles over at Tim. "Me, too," he says. "Talia al'Ghul." Even the way he pronounces it sounds like he'd drinking poison. He looks over at Tim. "So how have things been coming on the Junior Birdboy front? School doing OK?"

The muscles in Tim's jaw shift, almost imperceptibly, but he acknowledges the point with a nod. He's had his fair share of run-ins with Talia, and her father. They weren't exactly pleasant, and he's not excited for a potential repeat. "Hm? Oh, yeah. I was ready to go back after the break. Life just doesn't seem right if I'm not functioning on four hours of sleep every day." He grins at Dick and shrugs one shoulder easily, all the tension of their previous conversation seemingly forgotten. "How about you?" He picks his coffee back up and lets it warm his hands.

"Things are good on that front. School is a coast this year, but man.. choosing colleges?" The older Teen Wonder shakes his head. "I wish I had your brains, is all I'm saying. Harvard, Yale, all these.. high powered places send letters, hoping to snag Bruce Wayne's cash. Not sure I want that. And it would put a huge crimp in being Robin, that's for sure."

Tim shrugs, the very picture of nonchalance, but he averts his eyes and even in the lights of the Batcave it kind of looks like he might be blushing. Despite their professional relationship, he still hero-worships Bruce *and* Dick. So the compliment means a lot, even if Tim is already annoyingly aware of how smart he is, most the time. "Yeah, I mean, there's always Gotham University, right? They'll bend over backwards for you to stay local," he says. Then he laughs, continuing, "And maybe you can establish a new Batcave under the co-ed dorms."

Robin flashes his eyes. "That.. is not a bad idea," he says. 'Robin's Roost' doesn't quite have the same ring, though," he laughs and settles back into the chair, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink from it, then holding it in his gloved hands to warm them a bit. "I'd like to stay around, certainly, but.." There's a thought there, something he's been toying with, but.. he shakes his head. "GU has a nice criminology program. I haven't really given too much though to what Dick Grayson should do with the rest of his life, after all."

Tim nearly drops his coffee because he's laughing so hard, but then he sits back, still unable to stop himself from grinning, and offers instead, "The Bird Nest?" After a moment he wiggles his hand in a so-so sort of gesture, clearly unimpressed with his own suggestion. "Have any of us? This sort of lifestyle doesn't exactly lend itself to thinking about the future." He drums his fingers against his coffee mug, uncertain. "Still, get your degree and join the GCPD and you'd probably be just as unsafe as you are in the tights."

Robin whistles softly. "Man, that would be a challenge," he says, and if there is one thing the young acrobat likes is a challenge. "Being Robin in literally a room-full of cops? That.. is an insane idea, Timbo. I love it."

Because he's not wearing the domino mask, Tim has no way of hiding it when his eyes go hilariously wide. "Um, that-- I wasn't really trying to give you any ideas," he says, quickly. "Honestly, Poison Ivy and Killer Croc are probably less dangerous than the bullpen at police headquarters, Dick." His mouth thins into an uncertain line.

"There are worse places to be a cop," the Teen Wonder says with a perfectly straight face.

Tim makes a faint sound, something sort of like a dying animal. "Oh, this is going to end terribly and I'm going to take all the blame."

Robin quirks a smile. "Got you, Boy Wonder," he says, tipping his coffee mug towards Tim. "Though.. something similar? Maybe," Dick say as he sips his drink.

The Batcave is not the place to dramatically throw yourself to the ground in despair, so Tim settles on a world-weary sigh and downing the last of his coffee. "I refuse to take part in this. I'm Switzerland." He looks at Dick after, head tilted to one side. "So, you work the cape and I'll go undercover," and he pauses there for a suitable length of time for the implication of Timothy Drake being his undercover persona, "And preferably Penguin goes down without any League of Assassins sightings. We should do something after."

Robin nods at this. "Bruce and I will be there as Bruce and Dick, at least at the beginning, but the focus will be on us - if I can get away first, I will - shouldn't be too hard, since the spotlight will be on Bruce. You mingle, be on look out, see if something hinky is going on to the sides, something like that."

"I'll fly under the radar and see if I can figure out what Penguin has planned. Better that we end it before it begins, especially if--" She Who Will Not Be Named. Tim wrinkles his nose, both at Talia's general existence and his own unwillingness to say her name. "If tonight's the night for the big reveal, though, he'll do it big." His eyes go distant, gazing off into the middle distance, and it's pretty standard for Tim running potential scenarios through his brain. Usually every one worse than the last.

Robin stays quiet for a bit, letting the younger teen exercise that big brain of his. "I sent all these files to your personal account as well - you might see a correlation we don't," he says. It's lots of legwork, paperwork, recovered accounting journals, truck routes, payments, etc, etc. "That's what I'm hoping for, at least. That right at the end, Penguin won't be able to NOT put on a show."

After a long moment, Tim nods and slides off the desk. "I'll go take a look, totally not as an excuse to put off working out," he says. "The only reliable thing about Gotham's villains is that they play to their own archetypes. And Penguin's like a peacock, he has to show off his feathers." Honestly, Tim looks a bit aggrieved by his own bird puns, but it's kind of ingrained at this point. He really can't help it.

"Ouch. You're worse than I /ever/ was," Dick grins. "Keep that up; it keeps Bruce humble." He picks up a rubber band, pulls it back and lets fly at Tim. "And no slacking off workouts," he says. "If you want, I can spot you in the weight station."

Tim presses his fist to his mouth as he considers, with heavy shoulders, the absolute garbage that just came out of him. So he's completely unprepared for the rubber band to come flying at his face, and all he manages is to recoil and blink owlishly at Dick. "What?" he asks, then his eyebrows start to creep upwards. "Uh, yeah. Sure?"

Robin quirks a smile. "Maybe we should work on those cat-like reflexes. There was a guy in the circus who threw knives and his brother would catch them out of the air. Freaking fantastic. Maybe we should try that," he says.

"Shouldn't it be bir--" Tim stops himself just in time, biting his lip hard, and eyes Dick instead. "Or we could just, you know, not. We could not do that. Ever." He inches back away from the console warily.

Robin sits up. "Hey, someday you will be facing a psychopathic group of carnival performers and you will thank me then," he says, standing. "Come on, it's really not that hard..." He walks over to the training area.

Tim, despite himself, follows. He looks like he's mentally punching himself over and over as he does so, but he follows. "So says the guy not about to have knives thrown at him," he responds, loftily. "What happened to you spotting me? At least then if you drop the weights on my neck I can tuck and roll out of there."

Robin has already pulled out a couple of massive knives from the weapons collection, easily a foot long if they're an inch, and he's casually juggling them, tossing them up and catching them. "Or, hey, that's a good idea, too," he says, as he lets one of the knives fall past his hand only to catch it by the hilt at the same time he catches the other by the blade. "This'll be next time." He replaces the knives, and keeps on walking to the weight station, checking out the various sizes. "What are you deadlifting these days?"

Tim has already calculated his percent chance of success to make it to the elevator before he dies when Dick decides to put the knives away. "Yeah, sure," he says, while vigorously shaking his head no. He pulls his hoodie off over his head and tosses it aside as he walks over to the weights, behind Dick. "Uh, I hit 210 last time?" He looks at the weights uncertainly.

Robin nods and looks Tim over, and then pulls up records of his past workouts. "OK, then, lay down on the bench and let me rack this up," he says, putting a bar down, then clipping on two weights, then four, then upping it to six. "We'll start you at 180 and work up from there."

Tim huffs out a breath but does as he's told, laying out flat and then squirming himself upwards so he's properly positioned under the bar. "Go easy on me," he tells Dick, then laughs, mostly at himself and his own embarrassment. "I'm not-- you and Bruce both started training younger than I did. I feel like I've had a delayed start." He reaches up to grab the bar and let his arms hang loose from it.

Robin smiles down at the younger teen. "I know, dude; I take all that into account," he says quietly as he takes the weight off, his own arms flexing, and lowers it to let Tim take the weight, feeling how the youth is doing, his own leather-gloved grip on the bar firm and confident.

Tim presses his toes against the floor as he firms up his grip, eyes lifting to meet Dick's-- or rather, Robin's, through the domino mask. He nods once and swallows, and then he's taken the full weight and the muscles of his arms flex visibly. He wavers on the first rep a little before it touches his chest, but by the next he's established a decent, if slow, rhythm.

Robin watches the young teen carefully, always ready to take the weight off him. He watches Tim's progress, making some mental notes, and after about the tenth rep he pulls the bar up and hands Tim some smaller hand weights. "Let's also work on your muscle tone," he says, walking around to the side to judge Tim's form, making a couple of hands-on adjustments. He kneels and puts a hand on Tim's stomach as the boy lifts. "Good, breath in with your stomach muscles here and here, like that; it pulls the air down further into your lungs.."

He's sweating a little bit by the time they're done with the lifts, but Tim eagerly accepts the dumbbells when Dick hands them to him, and he's careful to moderate his breathing as instructed. Still, he knows he's the lacking the physicality that Dick (or even Jason) has, so as he curls the weights he looks up at Dick, possibly for approval. Probably, actually, because the hero-worship thing still.

Robin gives the younger teen a warm and encouraging smile. "You're doing fine, bud," he says, pressing his hand on the boy's stomach, testing, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. "It took me years to understand what Bruce was trying to teach me about the importance of correct breathing," he says, standing up again and watching Tim's form from all angles, suggesting small corrections here and there. "But you're doing good; you're on the right track."

Tim's stomach muscles quiver underneath Dick's hand in time with the movements of his arms. "Probably-- because it-- came naturally to you," he says between reps, and when the first set is done he drops the weights down on the floor and rests his arms on his thighs. His face, and the back of his neck, are flushed. "Everything has to be systematic with me because I don't have the instinct for it."

Robin - Dick - and Tim are in the weight room section of the Batcave, where Dick is spotting Tim on the weights and giving him some pointers. Dick is in his full costume, where Tim has his mask off for now.

Tim takes a drink of water, and then another and another. Basically he polishes off half of the bottle and then leans back, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Yeah, I guess so," Tim answers, but he doesn't sound convinced. "I lost a lot of flexibility because I started late. Bruce has a full head on me and he can still bend more than I can." He doesn't even mention Dick's flexibility, just gestures loosely at him with a frown (*not* a pout, okay).

Robin takes the water and sets it down beside the bench. "You're doing fine, Tim. It takes time to build flexibility, but here's the thing - flexibility is in the mind. Any person at all, especially in the shape you're in, is capable of doing any split. Side split, front split, standing oversplit, anything. It sounds stupid to say this out loud, believe me I know, but it really is mostly in your mind. You CAN do it."

Jason wanders in, mostly costumed. That is, he's wearing his full costume except the mask, but he also hasn't put in the hair dye. Pausing when he reaches the doorway to the gym area, he leans up against it and folds his arms across his chest, a light smirk playing across his lips. "Guess that's where being a trained acrobat from really young comes in," he offers cheerfully. "But don't compare yourself to Dick. *Nobody* bends like Dick does."

Tim opens his mouth because he clearly looks like he wants to object but ultimately he's just left sitting there with his mouth open, eyebrows drawn together, puzzled. The day is, thankfully, saved by Jason's appearance, and he leans to look past Dick towards him. "Trust me, I'm well aware," he says, flatly.

Robin ruffles Tim's sweaty hair affectionately, his kid brother, and he shifts his shoulders, adjusting his short cape. "We'll put that to the test later," he says. "Special stretching classes."

Jason chokes on a snicker, asking, "Special stretching classes? Should I even ask?" Leave it to Jason to turn things a bit wrong--or at least joke about it. Or both. He pushes off from the door, falling forward into an easy cartwheel, then does a little flip to land, sitting, on the bench beside Tim. "You're so gloomy, Timmy!" he announces.

Tim is acutely more concerned than Jason about these special stretching classes. "That sounds like it would end poorly for me," he says. His eyes track Jason's movements, up to and including the cartwheel, and that just makes Tim sigh and flop dramatically back onto the bench. "Please, just rub it in."

Robin gives a slow 'oh Jason' head-shake. "Jay, you've had more time as well to get all limber, but you could deal with some more pointers yourself," he says. "Just like you give me pointers in hand-to-hand. We're all training here, all the time," he says, turning to get himself some water. He spurts a little chill water from his bottle onto Tim's head, and tosses him a towel. "Don't take it hard, Tim, you'll master this as well. Bruce would not put you in that uniform unless you were 100% ready. This is just honing what you already know."

"Be happy to," Jason teases Tim. "Wanna roll over, and I'll start with your shoulders?" Of course, then Dick's being all big-brother and splashing people with cold water. Jason gives a mild shrug, saying, "Hey, I'm always happy to improve! You know how much I love getting sweaty and working out the kinks." Then, more seriously, he looks to Tim and adds, "But, I mean, he *is* right about everything, y'know."

The water-splashing has Tim flinching in surprise and making a soft sound in his throat, but then the towel hits him in the face and frankly that just feels an appropriate end, so he lays there. "Yeah, I *know* that. I just... sometimes I have to convince myself," he says, from beneath the towel. He flaps his hand at Jason but doesn't move. "You're terrible," he whines. "You're both *terrible*."

Robin nods slowly as he leans back on the counter and sips his water. "Too true," he smiles down at Tim.

Jason reaches over to pat Tim's... thigh, since it's the least awkward place he can easily reach at the moment, and says, "We kind of are, but you know you love us."

All Tim manages is a pitiful groan as he lets his arms slip, falling off the bench. Which immediately has him tense up and cross his arms over his stomach, because *ow*, he just worked his chest. "Ffffuuuuuuuhhhhh I have *no* idea what you're talking about," he answers, finally. Still from under the towel.

"He only retreats under the towel when he has impure thoughts," Robin says sagely, taking the last of his water and walking back to the research still up on the Batcomputer. "Tim, there's some juicy traffic pattern analysis waaaaiting. Really hard maaaaath stuff..." he says, calling out to the bedraggled teenager.

Jason cranes his neck a bit to watch Dick go, shaking his head some. "Damn," he mutters to himself. "He's got... good form." Hopping to his feet, he reaches down to snag Tim's hand and tug him along. "C'mon, Mopeybird. Let's hit the showers, then you can do some juicy mathematics." What Jason's been doing that requires him to hit the showers, too, is anyone's guess... or, more likely, nobody's going to ask.

For a moment it's almost as if Tim hasn't taken the bait, but then the towel drops to the floor and he sits up, watching Dick go plaintively. "How juicy are we talking? Do you have the data from the red light cameras too?" Then Jason's hauling him to his feet. "I've been working on a new tracking algorithm... it's a bit rough but it might pull up some good results." He reaches to start undoing the closures on his costume as he follows Jason to the showers.