Xover: Never the Twain (Gen, PG)
Title: Never the Twain
Summary: Tim Drake walked into a bar.
Notes: Written for the "Walks into a Bar" challenge.
It was a bright May afternoon in 1890 London and Tim Drake walked into a bar.
There are, of course, several questionable things about that sentence (besides the obvious "ouch" joke), but let's start with the most immediate: What in the world was Tim doing in the year 1890?
Let's just say that it involved Zachary Zatanna, a missing Batman, and a very strong wish and leave it at that.
So when we left him a few moments ago, Tim was walking into a bar. Well, more like a gentleman's club. And why was he was there? Because he had to start somewhere, of course, and word on the street was that the men in this club knew everyone and everything there was to know. And if Bruce was here...he'd be making a name for himself somehow.
It says something about Tim Drake's life and luck that after some fast talking, he found himself seated next to Lord Henry Blackwood a few minutes later. Finely honed instincts meant that the man made Tim's skin crawl for reasons he couldn't define, but he could neither run away nor punch him now that he'd gotten to this point.
Tim sipped the coffee in front of him. "As I said, I'm looking for my mentor."
Blackwood leaned back in his chair, stroking the top of his walking stick. "Hmm. And his name?"
"His name is Bruce Wayne, but therein lies the difficulty. He may not be using his own name. In fact, he almost certainly won't be."
"Ah." There was a world of experience in that word and Tim was entirely sure he didn't want to know what kind of experience.
"I don't know the city well and I'm looking for some guidance as to where he might be able to hide himself."
Blackwood's smile was...disturbing. "The city is riddled with excellent hiding places, depending on the...kind of man he is."
Tim's hands tightened involuntarily on his cup, and he was sure Blackwood noticed that, but he kept his voice even nonetheless. "My mentor is an honest man."
"Mmm." Blackwood's intense interest faded somewhat, and he reached for his own coffee. "London is generally rather short of honest men, so perhaps he won't be that difficult to find."
"I hope not," Tim said.
"Have you--" His attention was drawn to someone on the other side of the room and the change in his expression made Tim's fingers twitch for his bo stick. Tim glanced over, but he was hamstrung by his lack of knowledge of the time. The two men who'd just entered the room might be businessmen or members of Parliament or pirates, for all he knew.
Tim took a moment to remind himself he was here to find Bruce, not take down whatever criminals he came across. He sipped the coffee again and sat on his instincts.
"I'm sorry," Blackwood said, looking back at Tim. "I'm afraid I have some other business to attend to. But I think I know just the person to help you. A kindred spirit, one might say."
"Yes?"
"You'll want to visit 221B Baker Street."
Why should he trust this man? Tim dredged up a smile. "Thank you, Lord Blackwood."
"Oh, don't thank me." He gave Tim a lazy and dangerous smile. "Knowing Sherlock Holmes is a hazardous thing at the best of times. And these are not the best of times. Do give Mr. Holmes my regards, won't you?"
--end--
Summary: Tim Drake walked into a bar.
Notes: Written for the "Walks into a Bar" challenge.
It was a bright May afternoon in 1890 London and Tim Drake walked into a bar.
There are, of course, several questionable things about that sentence (besides the obvious "ouch" joke), but let's start with the most immediate: What in the world was Tim doing in the year 1890?
Let's just say that it involved Zachary Zatanna, a missing Batman, and a very strong wish and leave it at that.
So when we left him a few moments ago, Tim was walking into a bar. Well, more like a gentleman's club. And why was he was there? Because he had to start somewhere, of course, and word on the street was that the men in this club knew everyone and everything there was to know. And if Bruce was here...he'd be making a name for himself somehow.
It says something about Tim Drake's life and luck that after some fast talking, he found himself seated next to Lord Henry Blackwood a few minutes later. Finely honed instincts meant that the man made Tim's skin crawl for reasons he couldn't define, but he could neither run away nor punch him now that he'd gotten to this point.
Tim sipped the coffee in front of him. "As I said, I'm looking for my mentor."
Blackwood leaned back in his chair, stroking the top of his walking stick. "Hmm. And his name?"
"His name is Bruce Wayne, but therein lies the difficulty. He may not be using his own name. In fact, he almost certainly won't be."
"Ah." There was a world of experience in that word and Tim was entirely sure he didn't want to know what kind of experience.
"I don't know the city well and I'm looking for some guidance as to where he might be able to hide himself."
Blackwood's smile was...disturbing. "The city is riddled with excellent hiding places, depending on the...kind of man he is."
Tim's hands tightened involuntarily on his cup, and he was sure Blackwood noticed that, but he kept his voice even nonetheless. "My mentor is an honest man."
"Mmm." Blackwood's intense interest faded somewhat, and he reached for his own coffee. "London is generally rather short of honest men, so perhaps he won't be that difficult to find."
"I hope not," Tim said.
"Have you--" His attention was drawn to someone on the other side of the room and the change in his expression made Tim's fingers twitch for his bo stick. Tim glanced over, but he was hamstrung by his lack of knowledge of the time. The two men who'd just entered the room might be businessmen or members of Parliament or pirates, for all he knew.
Tim took a moment to remind himself he was here to find Bruce, not take down whatever criminals he came across. He sipped the coffee again and sat on his instincts.
"I'm sorry," Blackwood said, looking back at Tim. "I'm afraid I have some other business to attend to. But I think I know just the person to help you. A kindred spirit, one might say."
"Yes?"
"You'll want to visit 221B Baker Street."
Why should he trust this man? Tim dredged up a smile. "Thank you, Lord Blackwood."
"Oh, don't thank me." He gave Tim a lazy and dangerous smile. "Knowing Sherlock Holmes is a hazardous thing at the best of times. And these are not the best of times. Do give Mr. Holmes my regards, won't you?"
--end--