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Entry tags:
healthy passtimes
Against a backdrop of a simulated, gloomy Gotham City (in the dead of a dark night, naturally), Tim stalked some thugs quietly, whom he was sure part of something larger, a puzzle he could put together from the scenario playing in his mind.
Maybe it wasn't the healthiest way to vent after everything that had happened-- and, frankly, Tim was aware of that fact-- and that he would have to be careful not to cross lines, but it was what worked for him, and that was what mattered.
It honestly helped him think, to work these things through, to fight against a more tangible problem-- it got his blood pumping, oxygen flowing, and gave him some extra layers of thought and distraction to promote more complex thinking. To sort out everything in his mind, in the simulation and, more importantly, on the ship.
Plus, he was beyond frustrated-- to have lost so much time that he could have used to work, to do something productive. To help his friends and family on the ship. Because he had missed some pretty huge events, and even though they hadn't been privy to most of what was going on, the communications posts and what information they'd found out? Was more than enough to know how bad the situation had been. And his best friend had been hurt badly. Everyone had been hurt, but Conner... He regretted not being there to help, to maybe have been able to try to keep the situation from boiling over. But he couldn't have been. Because he'd been out of commission.
Red Robin's grip tightened on his staff weapon at the thought, and he cast out a line to swing himself down, feet first, to the previously unsuspecting lowlifes.
Besides thinking, it wouldn't hurt to work out some anger before it got to be too much.
Maybe it wasn't the healthiest way to vent after everything that had happened-- and, frankly, Tim was aware of that fact-- and that he would have to be careful not to cross lines, but it was what worked for him, and that was what mattered.
It honestly helped him think, to work these things through, to fight against a more tangible problem-- it got his blood pumping, oxygen flowing, and gave him some extra layers of thought and distraction to promote more complex thinking. To sort out everything in his mind, in the simulation and, more importantly, on the ship.
Plus, he was beyond frustrated-- to have lost so much time that he could have used to work, to do something productive. To help his friends and family on the ship. Because he had missed some pretty huge events, and even though they hadn't been privy to most of what was going on, the communications posts and what information they'd found out? Was more than enough to know how bad the situation had been. And his best friend had been hurt badly. Everyone had been hurt, but Conner... He regretted not being there to help, to maybe have been able to try to keep the situation from boiling over. But he couldn't have been. Because he'd been out of commission.
Red Robin's grip tightened on his staff weapon at the thought, and he cast out a line to swing himself down, feet first, to the previously unsuspecting lowlifes.
Besides thinking, it wouldn't hurt to work out some anger before it got to be too much.
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have enough street cred tojoin a gang.He cradles Puppet close to his ribs, ready to punch but unwilling to do so indiscriminately.
A good fight's already breaking out. Punchy pokes his head into the alley, looking immediately to disarm anyone with a blade or gun. Not even for his or Tim's sake so much as to make sure these holographic goonies don't hurt each other.
Punchy is not the best at prioritizing, clearly.
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So he was taking people out quickly and methodically. He had little issue with using force, of course, forcing them to drop their weapons and to stay down. Occasionally harsh, but sometimes necessary.
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Between the two of them, Tim and Punchy level the bad guys pretty quick. Punchy twirls the butterfly knife in his hand, stopping only when he accidentally nicks his thumb. Smart. He collects the rest of the weapons.
"That was pretty bomb, gotta say."
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For Tim's part, he used a combination of his agility and speed and his resources. While he was more than willing to break a bone if that was what it took to force someone to drop a weapon or to stay down, he mostly relied on his weapons and gadgets where those were sufficient. All Sensorium-made imitations, of course, but still things he carried in his utility belt-- throwing discs, 'tanglers' to render firearms useless, tools for distraction.
Once the thugs were all dealt with, Tim noted Punchy quietly. He saw the slip with the knife, but made no outward comment, instead saying, "You're better than I thought."
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Still, it's a bit of a downer to hear 'better than Tim thought'. Quite the backhanded compliment. Punchy tries to shrug it off and grin. "Like I said, I got dope skills."
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"Have you been involved in the whole hero business long?" Tim asked, sparing Punchy a sidelong glance.
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"You?" He knows Tim must have been doing it longer, if he has a partner.
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"Close four and a half years," Tim said, and a part of him became vaguely aware that his birthday may well have already come and gone, significant really only as a marker of time for other things-- such as his experience. "I first began doing the whole 'detective' bit years before that though." Like figuring out and proving secret identities. Without much of a pause, he asked, "How much of your experience is on the 'field'?"
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He tries to not so subtly change the subject. "So, you been on this ride long?"
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"A couple of months," Tim said. It was hard to keep track of time here, but he knew it had been a fair bit of time, at least. "I've not seen you around before-- I assume you're newer."
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Ouch, Tim. Just ouch. He's very glad the cowl and goggles cover the way he just winced at that.
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"Now, should we get some more training in before then?" he asked. Considering that another invitation, Punchy.
Wrap up here?
FTB: Crime Fighting Edition!