Summary:Tim and Steph knock ideas back and forth for the Dome. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
A magical dome, a D&D world, has descended upon Staten Island. While Red Robin was on the bridge to see it happen, Stephanie was in class. Her devices alerted her to stay out of the area until further notice, then information for processing and investigation. For now, avoid the dome on the Island.
There has been some more searching since then, little recon forays, but now it's time to head home. Of course the apartment they got together has rooftop access. Careful to avoid being seen, Red Robin heads on inside. He doesn't quite relax until the door is closed and curtains pulled. "The good news is, the Cave and Drake Manor are outside the radius." So his father is safe, at least. There's still that tension, that agitation in his stance.
At his side, Spoiler to waits until the doors are closed. She shoves the cowl off and back, turning toward Robin.
"We'll take it," she says, voice light and normal now that the cowl's down and she doesn't have the voice modulator going.
"Now, the bad news so we know where to focus for information?"
Red Robin is slower to get his own cowl off. His suit takes a lot of careful, methodical motions — which gives his hands something to do while he's thinking. "Bad news is, there's no way to get into that dome without being transformed by it. And, from what I've heard… while you're in, you forget everything about the world outside. Meaning there's no viable way to do internal recon. Drones don't work, either. No drones in a fantasy world." He sighs as he gets the cape off his shoulders and puts it all carefully back in the closet.
"So, we find a trained pigeon?" Spoiler retorts sarcastically. It's not helpful, she's sure, but off hand remarks never hurt anyone. At least, not as she too begins working the armor off and putting it into the closets designed for them. There's nothing shy about her movements. She's wearing underarmor after all.
"Or maybe we send someone in with a hand written letter in their hand telling them what they are and what needs to happen or something?"
Tim's wearing a light jumpsuit under the costume, too. It helps with thermal issues in the winter months, he has said. That's Tim-speak for 'I get cold'. He rubs his chin, thinking over the suggestions. "Lower tech options, that could work. But…" He sighs. "The trouble is testing them. Each time we send a person in, how can we be sure they'd even come back?" He frowns. "Can we, like, tie a line to them and use that to tug them back after a little while? We could use Medieval standards of rope-making, see if that keeps it from being transformed…"
"Get with a renfaire or someone in that SCA thing, see if they have any rope we can use," says Stephanie, taking a brush to her hair to get the tangles free. "We can see through the dome. Do you think they can see us? I mean, if they did they've be freaked out by the cars so.. I guess they can't…."
Tim shakes his head. "Definitely not. That'd make it too hard to maintain the memory distortion. In an environment like that, you have to isolate the subjects, minimise and control their information sources." He steps in behind her, a hand on her shoulder. "May I?" He can take over the hair-brushing. He likes hair-brushing.
Stephanie stills at the touch, head turnign to look over a shoulder. She considers a moment, then hands over the hair brush. She likes her hair-brushed. It was so rare that her mother brushed her hair gently. Rarer still for her father to do it. Those times were teh clsoest she had to comfort. It makes her want to melt into him.
"So if we send a letter it should be on hand made paper written with fruit based ink from a feather quill? I think SeaLemon has a video on how to do that on her channel," says the blonde, eyes closing and shoulders relaxing.
Tim takes his time with it. The brush starts near the end of Steph's hair, to work loose any tangles in the gentlest way possible. His other hand lifts little bits of her hair at a time. "Exactly. Something which matches with the general technology level of the era. But then, the message could end up distorted too, just like the memories…" His brow furrows, but even in his consternation, his touch is gentle.
"Maybe start with something simple, like: When I read this, I'm going to turn around and take twenty big steps. And we should probably have whomever is gonig in be the one to write it… just so it doesn't screw up because of handwriting or something," Stephanie suggests, her voice starting to sound dreamy and soft.
Tim nods, thoughtful. "We'd need a volunteer to try it," he says. "Someone willing to go in, and risk… losing themselves. Risk losing their memories and, for one reason or another, not coming back out."
Stephanie's quiet for a moment, for too long for it to be just her enjoying having her hair brushed. No. The batling is thinking something through, weighing the consequences before her next words.
"I'll do it."
Tim looks past her shoulder, into the mirror, seeing that look on her face. His eyes go wide for a moment before he speaks; he has some inkling of what she's thinking about. And then she spells it out. When they'd first met, he certainly would have warned her away, would have tried to keep her from it. There have been phases in their relationship when he still would, but now…
Now he kisses her temple and wraps an arm around her waist. "If you're sure. We'll talk with the Family about it. I'm torn about whether we should send at least a pair through — strength in numbers — or conserve the numbers that we know for sure aren't affected." He sighs. "That's a cold calculus, yeah, but…"
"It has be to done," Stephanie says completing the thought that Tim had started. She knows this gamble. At his kiss she leans back, taking solace in his warmth. She knows that jsut a few years ago, he would have told her absolutely not, she didn't have the skills or the training, let someone else more capable go.
"I'm the least important of us. THe least skilled. I'm good enough that I'll be able to hold my own if I get lost but… You won't be down anyone important if I don't come back… and… then you can play the daring knight and come to my rescue."
Tim's arms both wrap tight around her as he frowns at her reflection. "You're important," he says. "You have perspective that so many of us lack. A lot of the Family, we have our ivory towers — or our Clocktower — and that separates us from the people we protect. You're closer to their lives, their experiences. That is valuable." He kisses the back of her head. "So don't let me hear you say you're not important. Okay?"
Stephanie smiles at this, a wry sort of half-chuckle in her throat. Oh yes. She's the peasant among princes, the street rat, the child of a criminal. She's best kept as a reminder of the little people. She reaches up to rest her hands on his forearms, returning hte embrace.
"Okay. I'm the least skilled. Better?"
He still squints at her via the mirror. Still gives her a kiss on the cheek to add another layer of affection to the embrace. "I'll settle for it." He gives her a squeeze. "But we're still going to talk to the Family first. Make the preparation a group effort, get as many ideas together as possible. Write the letter with the whole Family's ideas for testing."
It's chaste, that kiss on teh cheek, and yet it makes her blush and smile in a way that she so rearely does; only in these quiet moments of affection.
"Okay. That's fair," she says, leaning back and letting her eyes close again.