Chicago
Pairing: Jason/Tim
Verse: '20s verse
Word Count: 553
Summary: The primary objective is to find work. Then he can work on getting back to Jason.
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They had stopped in Ohio. Toledo, if Tim had to place a guess on a city. Half the passengers got off. Half didn’t. Tim is part of the half that didn’t. They were fed bread and cups of water, then sent off to another city.
Now they are in Chicago. It is freezing. New York was cold and breezy.
But Chicago is blisteringly cold. The sun is setting when the train stops, though it is hard to see. The light is watery and gray, thanks to the clouds sliding across the sky, dropping snowflakes onto the heads of the displaced city dwellers.
Tim is the first to shake off the cold and the shock and starts walking. The city is smoggy, just like New York. The city is ugly, just like New York. And, if habits die hard, there will be bars, just like New York. All Tim has to do is listen for poor piano playing and offer to take someone’s place. It will get him food or money. Both of which he needs.
Dirty snow is piled up on the sidewalk, brown and muddy. Yes, Chicago is basically New York, only on a lake rather than the ocean.
And, just like New York, the bars are obvious, regardless of the 18th Amendment. There is one that Tim is attracted to, if only because of the awful music winding its way into the darkness. Even with the terrible entertainment, it’s warm inside and dim, just like all the other bars Tim has played in.
An older man is standing behind the bar, wiping it down. He pushes his glasses up his nose and runs a hand through his white hair. Tim walks up to the bar and leans against it. He looks over the rims of his glasses and raises a bushy white eyebrow.
“Aren’t you a little young, even for this sort of establishment?”
“I’m not here to drink. I’m here to play your piano,” Tim replies. “I’d replace that amateur for a little bit of money, or a little bit of food, or a place to stay.”
The old man smiles. “Hmph. You’re that good?”
“I’m better than what you have, I assure you. I’m also an excellent record keeper.”
“You’re also really straightforward.”
“I really need a job, or I will freeze to death on the streets. I need to be straightforward, sir.” The man thinks about it, or seems to.
“Well. I could use help with my records.” He sighs. “No matter how off the record this place needs to be.” Tim catches the self-depreciating tone, but doesn’t pry. He wants a place to work for the night, at least, and getting kicked out would be detrimental to that plan, “and this guy is bad. Okay. Let’s see how you play. I’ll consider giving up a dinner. Then you can look at my records when we close. You think you can handle them, I’ve got a spare room at home. Do we have a deal?”
“I wouldn’t have room to complain even if we didn’t. We have a deal.”
He holds his hand over the bar. Tim takes it. “I’m Jim Gordon, son. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Tim Drake. Pleasure to be working for you.”
(He won’t stay in this city, though. He has to find Jason.)
Verse: '20s verse
Word Count: 553
Summary: The primary objective is to find work. Then he can work on getting back to Jason.
---
They had stopped in Ohio. Toledo, if Tim had to place a guess on a city. Half the passengers got off. Half didn’t. Tim is part of the half that didn’t. They were fed bread and cups of water, then sent off to another city.
Now they are in Chicago. It is freezing. New York was cold and breezy.
But Chicago is blisteringly cold. The sun is setting when the train stops, though it is hard to see. The light is watery and gray, thanks to the clouds sliding across the sky, dropping snowflakes onto the heads of the displaced city dwellers.
Tim is the first to shake off the cold and the shock and starts walking. The city is smoggy, just like New York. The city is ugly, just like New York. And, if habits die hard, there will be bars, just like New York. All Tim has to do is listen for poor piano playing and offer to take someone’s place. It will get him food or money. Both of which he needs.
Dirty snow is piled up on the sidewalk, brown and muddy. Yes, Chicago is basically New York, only on a lake rather than the ocean.
And, just like New York, the bars are obvious, regardless of the 18th Amendment. There is one that Tim is attracted to, if only because of the awful music winding its way into the darkness. Even with the terrible entertainment, it’s warm inside and dim, just like all the other bars Tim has played in.
An older man is standing behind the bar, wiping it down. He pushes his glasses up his nose and runs a hand through his white hair. Tim walks up to the bar and leans against it. He looks over the rims of his glasses and raises a bushy white eyebrow.
“Aren’t you a little young, even for this sort of establishment?”
“I’m not here to drink. I’m here to play your piano,” Tim replies. “I’d replace that amateur for a little bit of money, or a little bit of food, or a place to stay.”
The old man smiles. “Hmph. You’re that good?”
“I’m better than what you have, I assure you. I’m also an excellent record keeper.”
“You’re also really straightforward.”
“I really need a job, or I will freeze to death on the streets. I need to be straightforward, sir.” The man thinks about it, or seems to.
“Well. I could use help with my records.” He sighs. “No matter how off the record this place needs to be.” Tim catches the self-depreciating tone, but doesn’t pry. He wants a place to work for the night, at least, and getting kicked out would be detrimental to that plan, “and this guy is bad. Okay. Let’s see how you play. I’ll consider giving up a dinner. Then you can look at my records when we close. You think you can handle them, I’ve got a spare room at home. Do we have a deal?”
“I wouldn’t have room to complain even if we didn’t. We have a deal.”
He holds his hand over the bar. Tim takes it. “I’m Jim Gordon, son. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Tim Drake. Pleasure to be working for you.”
(He won’t stay in this city, though. He has to find Jason.)