1076/Outside Looking In

Outside Looking In
Date of Scene:	09 April 2020
Location:	St. Martin's Island
Synopsis:	Terry meets Troia, and they agree to keep each other's secrets. Troia learns that things are worse than she thought, and Terry is a little freaked out by her 'intuition'.
Cast of Characters:	Donna Troy, Terry O'Neil

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Donna Troy has posed:
    She should have arrived in New York. Donna is under instructions to report to the embassy when she arrives in America, and it's easy to get a flight from Athens to JFK . However she really did want to make a stopover in London for reasons that had nothing to do with there being direct flights from Heathrow to Metropolis International which purely coincidentally seemed to fit her schedule a little better. Really it doesn't matter - the Hyperloop connects the two cities so quickly it doesn't really much matter which airport you arrive at. The opportunity to reminisce is just coincidence...

    Across the bridge from the tower, on the main island, there's a small park that has a great view of the tower. The view is particularly appealing in the morning, when if you're in the right spot the sun rises up behind the tower, and the brances of the 'T' make it look almost like an angel standing bright in the glory. It's far too late in the day for that, but the view is still good. There's a bench at the edge of the park which has the best view, and over the past few days it has been frequented by generally bored journalists hoping that there's some kind of story brewing, though by now most of them have got bored.

    Today the occupant is a woman, dressed in a black leather jacket, black jeans and calf-length suede boots. Her hair is done up in an elaborate French braid, with a white ribbon threaded through it, and she's wearing sunglasses. On her lap she has a camera - a large, professional looking DSLR of a notoriously expensive German brand. Next to her a half-eaten sub sits on its wrapping paper, forgotton, as she looks at the back of the camera, shuffling through photos.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Those bored journalist can eat their heart out, because there is a story brewing, but unbeknownst to them the early bird has gotten the worm. Not that he actually intended to, mind you- Terry's quest started as a standard young man's Quest For Father. He had no idea that the path would lead him down Campbellian trails, and with quite a tail to tell.

Tale.

As Terry parks at the island parking lot, he reflects on what a mess he's gotten himself into- he's fallen into his cub reporter job with gusto, and so he now finds himself in the ethical quandary of becoming the story he is reporting on if, indeed as Colette suggests, he join the Titans in his feline capacity. He's not quite entirely sure what to do about all of this, and he's terribly confused.

He is not so confused as to not notice the figure lurking (to his mind) furtively and suspicously in the park across the bridge. For a few seconds he juggles the options of going into the Tower and catching up on any new developments... and maybe spend some time with Gar... or see if there were any other nosy busybodies trying to edge in on his story-

By the time Terry arrives at the park, he's already thinking of things to say to Miss Sneaky McSneakyface over there. The expensive camera on her lap confirms his worst suspicions- potential paparazza-


~I'm your biggest fan
I'll follow you until you love me
Papa-paparazzi~


He winces at the earworm that explodes in his mind. Lately, it has been very hard for him to not get sudden flashes of sounds or images overwhelming his senses... and he doesn't know why. This makes him only more irritated.

He sits down on the bench, next to her, crossing his arms. For all purposes he looks like your regular teenager, down to the very casual clothes and a head of hair that is trying to assert its independence (despite his best efforts).

"Nice day," he says, though the slight undertone with which he says this is more indicative of the times people say things such as 'Eat hot lead, Kincaid!'

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna tilts her head, looking sideways at the person who'd just addressed her in a faintly aggressive tone. Sunlight glints off dark lenses. Her lips curl up into a quick smile, and she nods her head.

    "It is a nice day," she agrees. Her voice is smoke and honey. Her accent is sufficient to be noticeable, but hard to place - something southern European though, almost certainly. "I'm sorry, my sandwich seems to be hogging the seat a little." She reaches out and slides the sub closer towards her.

    The photographer returns her attention to the screen on the back of her camera. "They say it will rain tomorrow though. Enjoy the sunshine while you can. Metropolis in April... you never get enough of it. Too much rain here. Still, I was in London this morning. England. April there is famous for continual bouts of light rain. They call it 'April showers', but really what they mean is 'we forget what the sun looks like.'

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry's figuartive* hackles start rising. She was in London this morning? And now she's here. There's a little game of assumptions being played which, admittedly, is something that a reporter and the son of a P.I. shouldn't engage in... but he is also a teenager, and one Dealing With Some Stuff. In his mind, he constructs this image of this woman as one of the more pernicious type of camera hounds- in London to try to capture incriminating pictures of some royal being debauched, and now back Stateside to grab a photo of... what? Kori sunbathing on the roof? Not that he has personally encountered this, but he has been warned that it could be a potential random encounter.

He clenches his fists slightly. Well. If she thought he was going to let some two-penny paparazza purloin his friends' dignity, she had another thing coming!

This is what, in the P.I. business, some call 'getting mixed in.'

"Yeah, looks like rain," Terry follows the thread of the most casual and inane icebreaker there is, the weather, "This is the day to get your photos in, shooting long-range in the rain is a pain." He indicates her camera with a nod.



*Footnote: He is in the wrong shape for them to be /literal/ hackles.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna tilts her head again. She is presumably studying Terry's face, but it's hard to be certain behind those dark glasses. After a few moments, she nods her head again.

    "True. It affects the contrast. There is more scattering of light when it rains, and less direct sunlight because of the clouds." She turns her head back to her camera's screen, pressing few buttons on the back.

    "There are two things you need for a good photograph. A good subject, and good lighting. You can fake the lighting, somewhat. With software. But I don't like it. If the light isn't there when you're framing the image... I just don't feel it. "

    She presses another button, and the screen goes dark. She tilts her head again. "You seem upset. Is there something on your mind?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
He steals glances at Donna every now and again, trying to study her. In his current state, however, it is very hard for him not to see everything about her as further evidence that proves his assumptions true. The one thing that keeps tripping him up, and which he can't place, is her accent. Where has he heard a similar accent? It's there, nagging at the back of his head, but his search engine keeps coming up with insufficient information.

She speaks, though, as someone who is a seasoned lens warrior. When she speaks of framing and light, a cynical thought almost makes him ask her if she tries to frame for optimal lighting when snapping inebriated celebrities as a naturalistic commentary on something or another, but he bites his tongue.

"Me? No, nothing particulary in my mind." Pants on fire, "Outside of an earworm that won't let go." Okay, that part is true. "You?" He looks over at the woman, "Looking for someone to shoot?" the fact that he's looking at the camera makes his meaning clear, even if his phrasing is not the best.

Donna Troy has posed:
    "I think there's a lot on your mind," the hard-to-place accent responds. "Usually it is not best to keep such things to yourself. They fester. Was there someone in particular you thought I should shoot?"

    Donna switches the camera on again, and scrolls through images on the screen until she finds a particular one. She holds the camera out to Terry. "This is one I took a few weeks ago. Just sold it to one of the London newspapers. I look for stories. Can you see the story in this one?"

    The image on the screen is not a typical pap photo. It's in black and white. The foreground of the image shows three people, one with a sack over his head, being frogmarched towards the camera by the other two, who are wearing uniform. The foreground figures are soft, dark, grainy, and out of focus. In the background, visible between the figure wearing a sack and one of his escorts, a shaft of strong light picks out a tableau in sharp focus. A young girl struggles in the arms of another soldier, her face twisted in anguish, her mouth open in a frozen scream.

    "Syria," she says. "It fell out of the news after Genosha. Things are pretty tough there still."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Well, if that is not the most perfect way to take the ginger out of him*. Terry looks at the picture and he feels a knot in his throat. Helplessness. That's what images like these bring up- helplessness in the face of cruelty. Which is why the reporter picks up a notepad, picks up a camera, to bring these things to light. Because shared helplessnes can turn into anger can turn into outrage, can turn Not Doing into Fucking Doing Something.

His eyes flit between the woman and the camera. The idea of her being a paparazza is discarded for a much more dangerous one, though: this woman appears to be a legit journalist. This is the stuff that Lois reports on- admittedly, not shooting the camera herself, but aiming her intern or Jimmy** at something while she grabs the facts. So now he is faced not with a thrill-seeker but someone who is potentially looking to do a story. A real story.

His story.

"It's terrible," he says quietly, looking at the image. Helplessness. But now there's something equally terrifying: the knowledge that he is /not/ helpless anymore. Give him enough notice and time to fully figure out this reality hole thing and he could be anywhere in the blink of an eye. He could help. If he had known about this girl, and about the person with the sack, he could have been there.

And then his eyes widen.

WOULD he have been there?

That's a very uncomfortable question to face, out of the blue. Instead, he focuses on the distraction, the convenient, very mundane distraction.

"I respect what you do, but hate to tell you that there's already someone covering the story here." That's right, she's elbowing into /your/ story! Worry about whether or not you'd actually have a spine some other day.


*Footnote: Figuratively. He is still very ginger.
**Footnote: Over at the Daily Planet, Jimmy Olsen is known as 'The Boy Who Lived', having survived several assignments with Lois Lane.

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Her father... the men in uniform are with the SDF. Yekineyen Parasitina Gel, Kurdish militia. The man was with Hayat Tahrir al-Sham. A Salafist. He set off a bomb in a market place. You look, you see one thing. You look closer, you see another. "

    Donna switches the camera off again, and places it carefully down on the bench beside her. She leans back, looking across the bridge and over at the tower. "The world is a complicated place. You sit on a bench in a part in Metropolis and everything seems so simple, so civilized. In Syria, there are no simple answers."

    "Is there a story here? I didn't come to look for one. Perhaps you can tell me about it."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry stands up and walks a few steps down, turning around to face the woman, arms crossed. "I am finding it very hard to believe that someone who clearly looks for stories and is informed on the nuances of a situation is just sitting here, and not waiting for an opening on a story."

He casts a quick glance around to see if there are any other vultures gathering, but today it seems it's just the two of them, "Especially since I have spent the better part of a week giving the bum's rush to newshounds trying to get the scoop on the Titans getting back together. Admittedly you do seem to be one of the legit ones instead of the tabloid trash, so I don't think I need to worry about you snooping around trying to get a picture of Starfire sunbathing or something like that, but..." He tilts his head and puts his hands on his hips, "You're wasting your time here. I've got a promised exclusive for the Planet on this."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna smiles softly. "Now I understand. You are defending your 'patch'. You are mistaken though. I'm not here professionally, I am here to kill a little time. I used to live in Metropolis. I went to university here, and this was always a favorite spot to sit and reflect."

    Donna nods her head in the direction of the tower. "It's an impressive piece of architecture, is it not? But there is not a visual story here, and I tell visual stories. Still... maybe if I had been here early in the morning. Sometimes the light falls just right and the tower casts a shadow across the island, like... like a sundial. Maybe there is an image there... but that's metaphor, not a story.

    "You look young to be getting exclusives for the Planet." Donna leans forwards, chin in her hands, staring at the tower. "Wasn't it the other one that broke the news? The Star? But you say you have an exclusive promised for the Planet."

    Dark glasses point in Terry's direction. What would the eyes reveal? "So," Donna says quietly. "Starfire is back too?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"It's not just a 'patch', these people, they are-" he stops himself.

What are they? Your boyfriend's team-mates? Potential friends?

He grunts. What do you do when you become part of the story? Are all potential attempts at objectivity out the window? If so, what good are you telling the story? He allowed himself to get involved with his subject- and yet, if that hadn't happened, who knows if Colette's needling would have been successful (and, likewise, without Colette's needling, would Terry's emotional support have been enough?) and the tower would be empty. Without any of them, there was a different story. And he was in danger of being in it twice now.

He looks up at Donna, as she speaks about the tower. As she goes on, that accent of hers starts becoming clearer and clearer in his mind. He has heard it recently, but not in person. No. That accent is too important to be heard in person, hi smind says. This is an accent that was interviewed at one point by the likes of Lois. It sounds of...

And then the glasses come off. Terry is struck quiet where he stands, green eyes blinking as the accent, the words, the uncovered face and his memory collide in an ego-annihilating reaction.

For a few moments he stands there, looking as if someone had just pulled the rug out from under his feet, and then he calmly and very eloquently speaks up.

"Oh... fuck me..."

Donna Troy has posed:
    "I'm flattered, but we only just met." Donna smiles wide, teasingly. Simple amusement is etched on her face. "Really, I would expect an invitation to dinner first at the very least. Though to be honest you are a little young for me."

    She seems to have mistaken the cause of Terry's vociferation, though. "Were you not meant to reveal that Starfire had returned? I hadn't read it reported anywhere else. Perhaps you do have an exclusive then."

    Donna tilts her head to the side, looking Terry over curiously. "Don't worry. I was telling the truth. I'm not here looking for a story. This isn't my kind of reporting. I... my lips are sealed, I promise. Come. " She pats the bench beside her. "Sit again. Why don't you tell me about it? Maybe I can help you with an angle you have overlooked. "

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Words have a hard time making sense for a few moments, but then he hears what she is saying and panic mounts- "No! no, I didn't mean it that way! I'm gay! I'm..."

Deep breaths, O'Neil. Calm down. He takes a few steps closer, but he doesn't sit down. "You're... you're /her/, aren't you?" he says quietly, trying to get a good look. The face. The accent. But he shows some hesitation.

"... aren't you? You're her." And then he frowns, "No. You couldn't be. You wouldn't be sitting out here, you'd be inside already- and Gar would've texted me freaking out."

He pauses for a few secodns and stares. "... you do look like her a lot, though."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna's eyes drop down for a moment, and she licks her lips. "Ah," she says. There's a lot of meaning in that syllable.

    She looks up again, smiling. It's a less obviously happy smile than before. "Yes, I suppose I do look a lot like her." She drops her glasses back down over her eyes, and that surely, if nothing else was, is a confirmation.

    Donna pats the bench again. "Come, sit. Because now you have told me that Starfire is back, and you have told me that you are a friend of Gar and he tells you everything in excited text messages. Even though you didn't mean to tell me either thing. So, now you made me curious, and that means you owe me. Tell me who /you/ are, yes?"

    She smiles again, and this time the humor has returned.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry's demeanor is suddenly a lot more subdued. It there were a tail, and there occasionally is, it would be squarely between his legs. He takes a few steps and he sits down at the bench, his hands clasped together and his elbows at his knees.

He isn't entirely sure the woman's math works out, what with him owing her anything, but he complies- within certain limits.

"I'm not really anybody of note. Name's Terry O'Neil, I work for the Planet. And... yeah. Gar and I-"

A pause. "You haven't seen him yet, have you?... have you seen... Raven?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    "I... haven't seen any of them yet," Donna confirms. An odd expression flickers across her face. With the sunglasses back in place, it's not really readable.

    "It was a little complicated." She sighs softly. "When I left, I mean. Maybe Metropolis is not a simple place either, even though there is no civil war here. I will go to speak to him. But... not today. I have to... there are some things I need to do in New York tomorrow. It would not be right for me to go back to the tower and tell him that I was leaving in the morning. "

    "It's complicated."

    Donna tilts her head towards Terry again. "I would very much appreciate if you do not tell anyone I was here. But I will be back as soon as I can. I promise. I put it off too long already. When I saw the news..." she gives a short laugh. "It's ironic. I was due to come back here in a few months, but when I saw the news, that Gar had come back to the tower, I changed my plans. Maybe it's a character trait."

    Donna rests a hand on her camera and turns to look back at the tower, but she's really looking into the past. "So, Terry O'Neil. I don't think you truly believe you are not anybody of note. You know who I am, it is only fair you should tell me who you are. At the very least you believe that you are the person Gar would send a text message to. But also you know things. You know that Starfire is back, when that was not in the news. And...um. Raven to? Is she also back?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
He was not blind to how awkward the situation was: Him, a total stranger, giving news to Troia about what things were like at the tower. No, it wasn't awkward, it was surreal.

"I... that is, Gar and I. We, maybe, and-" No start over. "Gar and I are sort of maybe kind of dating." he says, sounding just as certain as he feels about the entire situation. "Maybe. When I came across him, he was... in a sorry state. He was sad, depressed... a lot of demons. He's still got them, but he was feeling alone. I like to think that I helped him some with that. Kori came back a week or so ago, Miss Lane and I ran into her at a cafe and I told her she had to see Gar. A friend of mine who wasn't a friend with this started was kind of working opposite of me without knowing it. I guess..." he spreads his hands, "We both wanted to see the Titans back together. So did Gar. This friend of mine, she tipped me off about an alien, and about Captain Marvel apparently not having been dead at all, so I got an interview with her and I asked her about the alien..." he looks up at the tower.

"Long story short, the alien is living there now. He's a bird-guy, doesn't speak a ton of English. Convincing Captain Marvel that he'd be better acclimated at the Tower with Gar was the start, really. Now Hawkeye is hanging around-" He turns to look at Troia "Not the Man-Hawkeye, there's a girl-Hawkeye who's about sixteen or so." He pauses. "She saved my life from a mob hit." Technically true without having to go into more details. "So now that there's all these people hanging around the tower, there's talk of officially reviving things, and Gar's doing much better." He smirks a little "Soon enough he won't need me."

And then he frowns. "Nightwing's not been heard of. Never met the dude, but the impression I get is that there's no help from that quadrant. But... Raven."

He takes a slow, quiet breath. "Yeah. She never left the tower." He lets that sink in. "As in, she's been there from the day you all left. And if Gar wasn't doing well and felt abandoned..." oh boy. "She's taken it to the next level. She walks around cloaked in shadow, and I swear she almost killed us at one point. She's unreachable and... the most terrifying I've seen in my life. And... not well."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna listens carefully to Terry's explanation of all that has happened without interruption. When he finishes, she seems to shrink into herself. Her shoulders hunch, her head lowers, and she clasps her hands together in her lap. She stays silent for a while after Terry's monologue winds down.

    The conversation gives way to the sound of traffic passing, of birds singing spring songs in the trees, of distant voices on the beach.

    Donna breaks her silence with a sharp shuddering inhalation, then a slow, steady exhalation. "I didn't know. I should have come back sooner. I..."

    "I should never have left."

    Donna snatches up her camera, and springs to her feet. She gets five steps closer to the tower before coming to a halt. She stands, staring at it. She takes several slow, deep breaths, then starts to shake her head, small movements at first, increasing rapidly to a firm, determined shake. "No. "

    "Nightwing... the Nightwing I knew, would not abandon them. I heard it hit him hard, but I never believed it would hit him that hard. Gar.Yes, I knew it would hit him hard. You said you and he are sort of maybe dating? Well ask yourself why it hit him hard, Terry O'Neil, and rethink your idea that he will abandon you when he feels things are better when you have answered that question."

    Donna stays rooted to the spot, her back to Terry. "So that's the archer and the bird-man. Who were the other two?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Gar and Starfire are the other two. And, well, Raven." He pauses. "Maybe the Nightwing you knew is not around anymore. Gotham changes people, it's a cursed place. I mean..." Terry spreads his hands, "Harley Quinn has now gone good guy. She's my cousin's roommate." Because nothing in his life is normal. He stands up, taking a few tentative steps towards Troia.

"My friend, Colette, she's not part of this. She just wanted to see this happen. For reasons of her own. She's like me, though- we're just powerless mundanes."

It's amazing that his jeans just don't, you know, burst into an inferno at this point. "You were gone a long time... but you're back. Right? Troia, back for good and all that?" He sounds somewhat hopeful, "I was wrong and I was right. You're here for the story that's happening in there," he points to the tower, "But not because you're a snoopy nose-jabber, but because you're part of the story."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna's stillness is almost spooky. Her shoulders move slightly with her breathing, but she could almost be a waxwork as she stands there on the spot she'd stopped her brief march on the tower. She takes a while to formulate an answer.

    "I was part of the story. Now is a new chapter, and I don't know if I will be part of that. That won't be my choice, it will be theirs. Maybe they won't want me back. "

    "When I admit all my lies and... my..." Finally there's a movement, a slight lowering of her head. "...Cowardice... they might not want me to come back. If they can forgive me, then I will stand beside them. Do everything I can to make up for my absence. For not being with my family when they needed me."

    She takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling, then slings her strap over her shoulder and turns back to look at Terry. "This Colette was the blonde mentioned in the reports then? And you are the cat-man? Because when you said that you two are powerless mundanes, you were not speaking the truth."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry /freezes/ all of a sudden, eyes wide. He is about to deny it, but it becomes pretty evident that it would be futile.

"How do you know that..." he asks very, very quietly.

And then, lower, "Yes. That's me. But they don't know... please... keep my secret. I need it kept. For now... I'm..."

He looks down.

Donna Troy has posed:
    "I have a knack for spotting untruths, Terry O'Neil. It used to drive Nightwing crazy. He hated me relying on instinct so much."

    She turns, looking at Terry over her shoulder, and she's grinning, just slightly. "And he really hated it whenever I told him I didn't need proof. But then I always was smarter than him. Smarter and prettier.

    Donna adjusts the strap of her camera on her shoulder and takes two steps closer to Terry. "I will keep your secret. After all, you are going to keep mine too. Fair is fair, yes? That I was here. It would not help Gar... any of them... to know. But I needed this to build up my courage. I'll be in New York a day or two to sort some things out. But then I will be back. And I will see you then, cat-man."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"My lips are sealed." Terry pulls on his T-shirt collar. Could she read minds? That wasn't something that was ever mentioned about her. Discovery is not always comfortable. As Donna steps closer, he says "I'm going to New York this weekend to visit my mom. If you want to meet up before you come back, and talk... she has a P.I. agency with two other detectives. Just look up O'Neil, Hayes and Addison. You can leave a message for me with the receptionist and I'll get it. Maybe we could go out for food with my cousin..." he trails off. "Maybe not, Harley would insist in coming along and we'd probably wake up up halfway on a boat to China with no memory of what happened because that's what happens around Harley."

He smiles a little, "But yeah. I will be here, Troia." He looks towards the tower.

Did Raven know? Could she feel them this far away? He hoped not.