towerofanimus | //01//

Entry tags:

//01//

Characters: Tim Drake and YOU (yes, you)
Setting: Library
Format: Brackets but feel free to use prose.
Summary: Newbie having something like a quiet mental breakdown in the library. Approach him during any part of his information gathering.
Warnings: None.

[As soon as Tim had arrived in the tower, he was determined to find out why he was brought here. Sorry, but he's not buying anything about his world being destroyed. He's helped save it far too many times to accept that.

So, the only logical place to go (besides interrogating various workers and other kidnapped people) is the library. Unfortunately, there was no section on the history of this place or even other worlds, so now Tim is striding quickly through the aisles of bookshelves, pulling books down at random to hold in his arms. That's not all of them, though -- just outside one of the aisles is a group of stacked books, unnecessarily high, where Tim is dumping them all.

Eventually, he sits cross-legged in the middle of all the stacks and starts to flip through the books at speed, skimming them for information. He doesn't particularly care if he looks odd; it seems like a good portion of the people here are just as curious about this place as he is.

As he reaches the end of a rather thick encyclopedia, he discards it a bit roughly and groans to himself.]

Oh, come on, there has to be something useful hidden in one of these books.

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[He couldn't quite decide if hanging around the library was a soothing activity (It was quiet, after all) or masochistic (Even if the books didn't detail the worlds the Tower's captives came from, they were still reminders of outside sources that weren't the Tower). Maybe Francis was more of a masochist these days, having found a book of grim fairy tales to amuse him.

The man paused when he saw a few formidable stacks of books. That spoke, and oh--there was that tone he knew oh so well. Slowly advancing, the man peered around a stack to see a boy surrounded by discarded books. Well, he couldn't say it was an unusual sight, but it was ...morbidly funny.]

Allow me to make the broad assumption that you are new and welcome you to the tower... Cozy?

Edited 2011-08-21 13:08 (UTC)

I am new, thanks. [Tim offers the stranger a sheepish smile in response to his welcome.]

Well, the carpeting could be a bit thicker, but I'm actually not that uncomfortable.

Thought so. All the new arrivals flock here for answers. [tucking the novel against his side he stepped around one of the stacks to extend his hand for a handshake. Might as well be gentlemanly to the boy.] I've not heard any news that will necessarily lead to any answers though, cher.

[He smiled a bit. This one seemed pretty young--yet another one.] I am Francis. Yourself?

[Tim quirks an eyebrow at being called 'cher' but shakes the man's hand.]

I'm Tim. You're French, I'm assuming?

[His grin turns a bit teasing at the assumption; lightly:]

If you found a man more French than myself I would throw myself off the top of this fine ...establishment. Tim.

[He quirked a brow] Where'd they pluck you from, exactly?

"Establishment" is putting it kindly, don't you think?

Gotham City. If you've ever heard of it.

It's all rather ...sterile, if anything.
Et non... I've not. Sounds rather American though.

It's kind of creepy.

You're right.

[At that he looks a bit sad, but the boy is new so he doesn't know what Francis is nor is he aware that Amelia randomly disappeared, seemingly for good just days before. He recovers quickly with a chuckle. Good actor, Francis.] A tip: if you run across it and it doesn't look human--don't squint. There's a floor with a forest and it's ...boggling.

Even more creepy than the white walls. [Shrug] You look like a strong boy; I'm sure you'll be just fine here. [HE SWEARS HE'S NOT HITTING ON YOU. SOB.]

[Tim catches the sad look. He is a detective, after all. Fortunately for Francis, he doesn't mention it.] Why would there be a forest in here?

[Someone possibly hitting on him? What? He smiles slightly, happy that someone finally thinks he won't die at the slightest danger.] I can handle my own.

[He attracts detectives. No. Really. A bit of a smirk met that]

There's also a maze that changes routinely and a pool impossibly deep. By all logic, well--there is none here. At all!

I have never seen such a place and I've been in many strange situations. [reaches up to eye the top book on the nearest stack, offhanded] Still... this library holds nothing. Two months since I arrived and not a word of enlightenment. Désolé, mon ami...

Merci. Guess I'll just have to look around and get information the old-fashioned way. [But it won't hurt to finish sifting through these books.]

[amused, or curious, or both] Parlez-vous français?
In other words you will sit here for the next week finishing off these books, non? [He doesn't have to be a detective to be observant~]

[He smiles.] Oui.

I was thinking I'd ask around for information.

[Kid, you just got two-hundred times more attractive. Sigh, it can't be helped--France is an egotist. A bit.]

I do suppose the many stacks of books offers as an attention getter for curious residents. [teasing]

[At that, his smile turns into a smirk.] It's convenient and attracts those willing to make conversation.

[headtilt] Look who's devious. I like.
Now that you've lured in your first proverbial catch of the day, what can I tell you?

I call it planning ahead.

Do you know where we are? What country or universe?

[Offers a wide grin at that, moving to lean up against the bookshelf; he may as well get comfortable and he refused to sit on the floor yet.]

There have been no identifying locations, unfortunately. There is a room dedicated to showing planets... whole galaxies snuffing out. [frowns] I have heard whispers from people like myself to avoid it at all costs.

None of my companions have felt any connection to this place. I am only assuming that we are not on Earth.

I can imagine something like that would be depressing. It's probably just an illusion or some special effects.

What kind of connection would your companions feel? [He notices that he moves to get comfortable and figures it would be easier to get information if the man isn't fidgeting.] You can sit down if you want.

[Francis doesn't fidget. He smoothly accommodates. Still, he doesn't like being propped against the sharp lines of the shelves. He dropped the book he'd been holding next to the patch of carpet he'd be occupying before following suit.]

I thought that may be the case, mais non. [Francis paused, frowning] Great loss. Pain. [Hands clasped, he offered the boy a smile] Allow a bit of blunt honesty. Nobody can claim to be more French than me because I am France, and my companions are similar. Just... different Nations, of course. [He used that old charm there and winked]

When we view our homes being destroyed we feel the pain and loss of our people. So--I would rather avoid that room. At all costs.

What do you mean, you are France? [Tim's eyes narrow as he studies Francis, searching for some kind of clue.]

You would think that in a thousand or so years that question would be easier to explain... [He gave his new interrogator a noncommittal shrug] I am a ...representative of sorts, of the public within my borders and their children, and the land. Without them there is no me.

[quickly adding] Et non, the Eiffel Tower is NOT that part of my anatomy. People like to joke a little too much.

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STOP WITH THE MOLESTABLE ICONS SOB

I'M SORRY ALL THE ART IS SO GORGEOUS

/shall not molest, no no no

you can admire all you like

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