Tim Drake
31 May 2012 @ 08:50 pm
[Warden Filter]

[Just before the end of port:] I think I've found a cure for the Titan. I can't say one hundred percent, but if anyone feels like they'd rather trust this than the Admiral, I've got it. Your choice.

[Private to Dick]

[This is his silent sorry I haven't been in the field. :c Also before port ends.] I wanted to leave them with their best possible chance.

[After port ends - Private to friends and anyone he's been guiding to in-need areas]

Check in.

[Private to Luther]

[and a while later, after he's changed and safely hidden in his room and you know, wearing clothes again:]

Looks like it's a good thing we ran into each other when we did.

[Open Spam]

[And just like that, they're back. He got the cure to the police just in time, it seemed. They'd have a shot. They could make it.

He closed his eyes and smiled; behind his eyelids, he could see it. Batman diving into the fray, criminals running terrified. He'd been close enough, on a lower roof, to see the Bat symbol on his chest, and thought Dick could look a lot like him in the suit, Tim had known he was looking at Bruce. He was alive, he was back, and that - and the cure - would have to be good enough. That Gotham wouldn't implode on itself again.

Tim leaned back against the railing on the deck - why couldn't he have wound up in his room? - and laughed. The costume was still on, his cape felt heavy around his shoulders, and the mask was in place. He knew he couldn't stay here like this, but he paused and laughed anyway, because Bruce was back in that universe, too. Bruce always came back, it seemed.

He didn't have a problem with that.

When the aches and exhaustion of the past few days settled on him, heavier than his cape, Tim pushed away from the rail and headed into the Barge. He'd duck into the nearest inmate bathroom and change; enough people had popped up in underwear that walking back in that wouldn't be too conspicuous. He'd managed to stay mostly out of sight for the entire port, he'd hate to be spotted now.]



((OOC: Other tags are forthcoming, I promise, I've just been super slow lately and wanted to get this out before too much time had passed. :C))
 
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Tim Drake
17 September 2011 @ 04:43 pm
[On a teeny tiny communicator made of acorns and fairy dust and BELIEF is Tim. Who has an acorn top as a hat. Oh and wings. He has wings, too. They're still for the moment, but they twitch and he lifts off his tiny branch in his very big tree every now and then, because HOW DO SIT STILL.]

Hey! Listen!

[No that's all you get for now. Timkerbell is Navi. Good luck.]

[Open Spam]

[It was always so hard to go anywhere when the wind was gusting. Tim struggled to fly onward, his eyes tearing up as the wind stung. It would have been so much easier if he could just walk like a human boy. It would be so much easier if he WAS a human boy. No more flying everywhere and not being heard and oh goodness that wind.

It barreled him over, head over heels over head over heels and wings and heels, through the air until he hit a tree, or a rock, or a person. Tim groaned; at least he hadn't landed on his head. Being a fairy was not what it was cracked up to be.]
 
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Tim Drake
24 August 2010 @ 04:49 pm
[Remember that time Tim was drugged and had seizures? It's happened two more times since. Since seizure therapy requires very high doses of cardiazol, by now he's on the verge of an overdose. Tim's laying curled up on his side in his cell, back against the wall, facing the bars. Almost out of sight is a doctor of the ghostly variety, but Tim's muttering to himself, ignoring him for the most part. He's breathing very fast, words coming out in a tumble with the occasional stutter as his body reacts to the cardiazol.]

He's dead. He's not in a coma. He came out of the coma and Boomerang killed him. He's dead. Dana's dead. Mom's dead.

Dana is your mother's physical therapist. Their deaths are a part of the delusion you've invented to explain Mister Wayne's abuse.

They're dead. They died years ago. Dad's dead. Bruce nev-ver hurt me. I'm not delus-sional. I know what's - I know what's-- [He jerks and swallows hard.] I know what's real.

[And it continues on in that vein, Tim babbling about deaths and defending Bruce and claiming not to be schizophrenic, until the feed scrambles and dies.]
 
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Tim Drake
23 August 2010 @ 02:15 pm
[Tim's time in the dark has been unpleasant. He's been holding it together, avoiding his static ridden and ghost luring journal, but it's getting to be a little much. Being told that his dad is still alive, still in a coma, that all his scars aren't from being a hero, but from Bruce abusing him while he stayed at Wayne Manor - it's all very ridiculous. But so is being a teenage vigilante.

So when the saturation chamber comes for the west wing, well. Tim's not happy. And insert fake static, for I am lazy.]


God, shut it off! Shut it off! I'm not schizoph-- this doesn't work!

Shut it off!
 
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Tim Drake
14 February 2010 @ 08:12 pm
This beats baseball with aliens in space.

I know a lot of guys who would love the way people act here, but this is going overboard. How many weddings and proposed marriages can there possibly be in three days? Three days isn't long enough.

Stop drinking things with names like 'Love at first sight.' That should be a huge warning label in and of itself.
 
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Tim Drake
14 February 2010 @ 12:48 am
[As strange as this little town was, it wasn't outright dangerous; and though he'd LOVE to get away from those hearts and those creepy cupids, it was definitely nice to stretch his legs outside of a gymnasium. Or that CES place. After the taking some solace in the casino and the library, Tim meandered back to the town's center, sitting at a pretty little fountain. He kept his eyes peeled for those gold haired demon children, though. What was it with blonds and arrows? He missed Mia. Noticing all the money pieces in the water, Tim tugged out one of the gold coin she'd been given, and flicked it over his shoulder, into the water behind him. Maybe Tam'd have a good day tomorrow.]
 
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Tim Drake
12 February 2010 @ 10:15 pm
I think someone just tried to sell me a singing ring.

This is crazy. But I kind of expected worse. Someone knock on some wood for me. Wonder what Tam's doing Sunday

It's not like I'd have remembered if I was home

God, she's gorgeous


So...has someone found someplace safe yet?
 
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