3476/What Dreams May Come

What Dreams May Come
Date of Scene:	21 September 2020
Location:	The Dreaming
Synopsis:	A conspiracy of Corvidae leads to a meeting in the Dreaming, and the Dreamlord takes a Raven to meet an Amazon in Fiddler's Green.
Cast of Characters:	Caitlin Fairchild, Rachel Roth, Donna Troy

---

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"You want to *what*?"

Matthew turns his head this way and that, eying Rachel Roth through one beady eye, then the other. Then he bends down, scratches a worm out of the soil, and gobbles it down. All while stalling for an answer.

"No. No fuckin' way, kid," the raven concludes. He hops around on his claws. Then, with a flap of black wings, alights on a low branch. Numerous other crows and ravens both watch the conversation, with expressions readable only to other birds. Matthew the Raven is clearly the biggest and strongest among them, but despite this he seems a little nervous. Likely because the Parliament of Ravens can descend with the murderous force of the Furies themselves and rip even the Dreamlord's messenger feather from limb.

The weather in the Dreaming-- such as it is-- is rather pleasant everywhere but directly over the Parliament. Over the conclave it's stormclouds and grey, drizzly rain. It's here that Rachel Roth has projected her awareness, and it's here that she bargained, pleaded, and finally threatened to get a meeting with Lord Daniel's personal messenger.

"Look, kid, I get where your heart's coming from, but *no one* comes back from the Skerries of The Darkling Edge. Lord Morpheus doesn't-- didn't-- even like going there. It's where reality *stops*. If your friends are out beyond that edge, there ain't no one who can help them."

If a raven could shrug, Matthew does. "Sorry, but that's just how it goes."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    "I am not asking permission."

    It is a cold statement, but one that carries weight. For days, perhaps longer, there has been something... Unsettling further about Raven's presence. There always has been, to some extent, but only in some graduated way the same sort of otherworldly that the checkout girl at Hot Topic possesses. This time, it is altogether... Different. There is a sort of... Distortion on the silhouette, something that doesn't seem quite right, like the VHS tape of reality is losing tracking, but only for Raven.

    "I think you have misunderstood. I am requesting assistance in doing that which is already possible. This is a professional courtesy, but it is not a discussion."

    The more she speaks- or rather, the more she is denied- the less reality itself seems to be okay with her being there. As if she is in some way detached, as if she is here by her own volition, at the fabric of the universe's very intense disagreement.

    "I do not wish to, but if I have need to split the glass at the edge of forever, to make but the crack in the snowglobe of Being that I need to get where I need to be, I will."

    Just what Raven is, is well known. She is his Key. She is a designed being, both demonic and not, created to break a barrier so ancient and powerful that doing so requires unweaving the Truth itself. Tapping this keg is dangerous in and of itself, such that Raven merely using the small fraction of her heritage, of her design, is a constant flirtation with the obliteration of the universe- of all universes- in a most direct and unhealthy way. What she speaks of now is not out of the question, nor is it a threat to be taken lightly- though her guise as a sullen goth in a hoodie might make it easier to do- as quite simply, this is what she was made to do... But doing so is not merely dipping a small bucket into the well.

    What is clear is that she is very much ready to risk the whole of what Is just to save those that ostensibly Aren't anymore.

    "I ask you to deliver this message. If it results in discomfort, that is only because Dream understands its gravity."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Matthew turns and rests his skull against the tree next to him, and bangs his head softly against the bark. It's an oddly human gesture of frustration. "Wow, you are not used to being told 'no', are you?" Matthew remarks. "You're not processing this, kiddo. You're not talking about a fast jaunt across the Dreaming, little boost up the hillside, bingo donzo, home for tea. You're talking about breaking a hole in what Is," he reminds her.

Silence reigns for a few moments. Ravens in the peanut gallery croak support and disapproval; Matthew notates them all in turn, then heaves a sign of weary discontent that moves his wings up and down with a motion of exhaustion.

"Look, at least come and talk to the boss about it," Matthew suggests. "Since you're not going to listen to me, obviously. I'll do you a courtesy and escort you to him."

His feathers fluff out, settle. "Y'know. A favor among ravens."

With Rachel's consent they go winging off together, two birds in flight, soaring across the heart of the Dreaming. No matter how far away one is from it, the Heart of the Dreaming is always visible at the edge of the horizon-- a beacon for both the lost and weary, and those set on quests-- as Rachel currently is.

"Hey! Matthew!" A pumpkin-headed scarecrow near the palace grounds waggles a cigar as the ravens travel overland in flight. "You got that thing I--"

"No time, Mervyn, doing a thing for the Boss." It's interesting how Matthew can capitalize Boss with his words alone.

"Well I got a bone to pick with him, too!" Mervyn shouts-- but they're gone already.

Past the Guardians of the Gate, through dark hallways and twisting paths of the Palace.

"Lucien!" Matthew flaps to a halt atop a convenient resting place, and twists his beak in Rachel's direction. "I got a visitor for the Boss. Y'know. Special envoy of the Ravens. You seen him?"

Lucien-- tall, slender as a willow, turns to regard Matthew, then Rachel in turn. "I believe Lord Daniel is in his throne room," Lucien remarks. "And you are... Rachel Roth. You're known to me. I am Lucien, the Librarian." He adjusts the glasses on his hooked nose. Long, pointed ears twitch once as he bows politely. "Welcome to the Dreaming. You have an air of urgency about you, young lady."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    "I am more used to being denied in ways more numerous and fundamental than can be counted and catalogued by all the scholars of an infinite multiverse, on a daily basis. There are, however, sometimes and somethings wherein that answer can not and should not be accepted. That is now." At his statement, she responds swiftly, and callously. "Do not mistake apathy for a lack in understanding. I know exactly what it is I intend to do. I am, however, more aware of how far I can fly." The more she speaks in this vein, the less human it sounds. Certainly, her voice doesn't change. It's tone- or lack thereof- doesn't shift an octave, but all the same, there is a growing depth to it, an echo that pervades beyond the concept of sound. For a moment, as the scales tip slightly, right around the word Apathy, there is a... Happening. It occurs in but fragments of time, yet in regards to what, perhaps who, is present, it is as long as an eternity, in a way. The creaking of a door, opening just that little inch more, as if the hands on the clock slip gears and seem to want to click closer to Midnight. Hope dies in that moment, only to be ressurrected as her sentence ends, and the scales slip back ever so slightly towards something more balanced, to perhaps the fleeting chagrin of another of the Endless.

    "That would be wise." she states, though whether it's a shot at Matthew or more akin to a statement about her own obstinance is up to his interpretation. To the credit of Matthew's ability to roll with the punches, it is altogether likely he'll assume the latter, and they'll all move on.

    "He did not." Raven answers in passing, to Mervyn. The sort of human revenge for her earlier denials and continued misgivings with Matthew that at least shows she is not too far gone, yet. There is no... Movement, to her. She only seems to be capable of fluid movement- or perhaps willing to do something so mundane as exist in that fashion- when she is not consumed within her soul-self for travel. Otherwise, her position shifts between blinks, in the periphery, or when not observed. As if she both exists and doesn't, at this point in time.

    That is why at first she is not facing Lucien, and in the next, following some lapse in perception in even the most intensely mild way, she is directing herself right at him.

    "I have an air of many things about me. That you focus on the urgency is kind."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
There is something kindly about Lucien. Old, and kindly. He steps closer to Rachel, and though he'd not violate her personal space, there's something about his posture akin to a kindly figure resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's written all over your being, Rachel Roth," he remarks. "I can offer little advice, but this: haste is often punished, but seldom rewarded. Conversely, patience wins all gambits in the end. I hope your conversation with Lord Daniel is a fruitful one."

Off Matthew goes, with Rachel in tow, and they come to a set of tall double doors. Matthew neither pauses nor knocks, but there is a sense of both those actions from him as the doors swing open. Matthew-- brassy, sassy, confident-- looks rather abashed as the two of them approach a single, unsupported staircase that rises along a twisted path to a white throne with a white man atop it. He is neither man, nor male, but 'he' suffices as a pronoun, and it's before the Lord of the Dreaming that Matthew escorts Rachel.

At the last second, Matthew's beak bobs in something like a bow. "Er, hey boss. Sorry for the intrusion." A wing flaps at Rachel. "This's Rachel Roth. She's made a request through th' Parliament. She's, uh... come here t' ... um... well, she can explain it."

The Lord of the Dreaming-- white skin, white robes, and with an endless starscape for his eyes-- inclines his head towards Rachel. A glowing green emerald rests across his breastbone, the only color on his person.

"Greetings, Rachel Roth. You are known to me. Be at your ease here, and be welcome as my guest. What is it you seek?"

Rachel Roth has posed:
    An expression of nothingness stares back at Lucien. It is not hostile- in fact, it's not really anything. Which, in and of itself, is good. It means she's in control, even if reality itself is uninterested in playing the patient game of seeing how long she'll remain so. It is clear, in this state, that Raven has neither slept, nor eaten, nor drank. She likely hasn't so much as blinked since the day the others were taken. Instead, she has been slowly, and patiently, pulling power from her own demonic heritage. Tapping into it and keeping what she delves at a snail's pace. So as not to awaken anything. "I thank you for the advice. I also wish to state, that there is patience in the doing. Not for your benefit, but to reiterate for anyone listening. It is no fast fix that I attempt."

    Then, in one moment, Lucien is looking at her. Then she is gone, nearer to Matthew as he continues along towards the Lord Previously Known As Morpheus. Raven is acutely aware that Matthew observes his manners. This she expected, because in some way, Dream had earned it. That just struck her as the kind of person Matthew was.

    Raven, for her part, chose to observe the laws of existence and move through the room as if she actually was there. She didn't walk, of course, but she did float, some few feet closer, passing Matthew to approach the Lord of the Dreaming as was appropriate.

    "If I am known to you, then it is likely that you are aware of several souls that have gone missing. An accident of chance and science out of the control of anyone involved. They are beyond the reaches of this universe, and may not be able to return. If this is not rectified swiftly, these people will die. I am aware of the vanity of it- of the foolishness of it, but it is not a matter for lectures in that regard. I intend to retrieve them."

    She leaves out the 'no matter the cost.' It's better left unsaid, because if successful, the only person who will be paying it is, well, Raven.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"Missing?" Dream's expression looks mildly surprised, and he shakes his head apologetically. It pains me to disappoint you but I am not omniscient. I know of you because you are the scion of Trigon. His children are scattered through many universes, and he claws at the door to reality through them. But as for your friends-- you have my sympathies, regardless..

Dream leans sideways to rest his elbow on the throne's arm, and puts his chin in his palm. "Please. Your audience is not complete unless I understand the fullness of your greivance.".

The situation is explained, and Dream listens with seemingly infinite patience no matter how much detail is needed. The battle with the Warzoon, the family of the Titans, the explosion, the calling across the stars to send a message home... all of it.

"I understand," Dream concludes finally, and it is then his turn for silent contemplation as he considers the situation. With some quiet deliberation he rises and walks down the steps, his pace unhurried. Somehow, despite how very eternal his eyes are, there is something young and youthful about him. (cont)

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"It is not within my power to return your friends to you," Dream concludes, once he's within conversational distance. "They are at the thinnest point, crawling around the fragile edge of your universe and the end of your Time. This places them beyond the reach of any."

A hand rises, points at the infinity behind him, and somehow in the starscape there is a place that is so absolutely black that the mind senses it is where Everything ends. "The Darkling Edge is the extreme boundaries of the Dreaming. It is not a place I travel save in the most dire of circumstances. There are threats there even the Dreamking must be wary of, where the Dreaming gives way to the dark entropy at the edge of all reality. Old and dangerous things that predate the universe itself."

He gestures politely for Rachel to walk with him and heads towards a door that almost certainly was not there a second ago. "Trigon certainly not the greatest of that number. I do not wish conflict with you, Rachel Roth. You are determined, but determination in this matter will lead to great ruin-- not just for yourself, but for the Dreaming at large. Still, I am beholden to the Parliament, the Dreamlord says, and nods at Matthew. The bird wings over and lands on his shoulder. "I will grant you a chance to speak to your friends. It is a soft spot, where time flows in murky eddies. A place for lost loves and homesick sailors. If the dreams of your friends are to be found, there may be no better place to find them than inside Fiddler's Green.".

The door opens to a lush and verdant land, meadows and fields and forests and lakes somehow all rolled into one. A dream of voyagers and travelers, filled with longing for home and excitement for travel.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Somewhere in the Dreaming,
    Halfway down the trail to Hell,
    Is a place where dreamers far from land,
    Dream of grass, and glade, and dell.

Donna Troy has posed:
    There are trees and meadows, a placid lake at the bottom of a valley. Spring flowers poke their heads shyly through the grass and the scent of damp wood and moist earth fills the air. The song of distant birds is plaintive and lost, but more lost is the sound of a fiddle that rolls over hill and under tree, dances lightly across the lake and ruffles the fallen leaves. The sound of the strings is always distant, but ever-present, the fiddler unseen. It is the dream of land, the dream of home, for those too long or too far away for that to be anything but dream. It is a barony of the Dreaming, without its vavasour now passed on to the place where dead concepts go - but as long as there are those who sail through sea or stars, the dream itself remains.

    Those who travel by land may steer against the wind, but the rest shape a course for Fiddler's Green.

    What other course is there to shape, lost in a sea of space that holds no stars, a closed-off place that can barely be counted as here or there? Where else, in the realm of sleep, would her mind go? Troia stands before the lake, her bare feet feeling the soft earth, the gentle breeze plucking at the soft white silken peplos she wears, her sleeping mind locked to thoughts of home. The faintest spray of dew mists her hair, sparkling like tiny diamonds in the sunlight. She sighs softly, her toes curling into the soft grass as she strains to hear the tune the unseen fiddler plays. Something in her subconscious mind is aware that there is something to be discerned beyond the everynight vision, and she seeks it in the sound of the strings.

    She is home and yet not home. This isn't Themyscira, isn't Metropolis and the Tower, isn't even Diana's apartment in New York. There is symbol here, and she looks for it in the music, in the grass, in the smells of earth and plant, in the twisting of branches in the wind. She sees the pattern of a puzzle but it's beyond her knowing.

    That others should step into her dream does not seem surprising; what is home, without company? That it should be Raven is no surprise at all, because she loves Raven and what is home, without love? She smiles, half happiness and half melancholy, and stretches out her fingers, reaching to take Raven's hand. "Hello Rae," she says, her voice subdued as if she fears to disturb the peacefulness of the valley. "Do you know where we are? It's silly but... I seem to have forgotten. I thought it was... I know that I know this place, I just..."

    The presence of the bone-white figure accompanying Raven impinges more slowly on her consciousness. Troia tilts her head curiously, studying him, wondering on one level why he is with them when it feels more natural that they should be alone, and on another, deeper level, where her sleeping might might summon up such an image. She decides he must be the fiddler, the dream-logic denying her the rationality to realize the impossibility of a fiddler playing without a fiddle. Slowly some deeper knowledge rises up through the layers of her mind from somewhere very well hidden from herself.

    "Lord Oneiros," she says quietly, bowing her head with respect. "Lord of the Gates of Horn and Ivory. For a moment I had wondered if this were fair Asphodel close by, but now I know this is but a foreshadowing of that Elysian meadow, and I stand within your realm. Through which gate have I entered here, Lord of Dreams?"

    Troia turns her head to Raven, her expression momentarily questioning, then increasingly puzzled, and finally worried. "Rae? Are you... are you really here?" her breathing grows heavier. "You... you shouldn't... what price did you pay? You didn't need to... I will come back to you, Rae. I promise. I promise!" She looks down and shakes her head. Her voice cracks slightly with emotion. "I will do whatever... I will... I will conquer the seven worlds if I must, if that is what it takes! But I will come back to you."

    "I promise."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    "I understand that what I ask is a difficult task to comprehend. What I propose is impossible, even to the impossible. I will explain."

    Raven looks then to where Daniel's hand had pointed. "I have seen the time before there Was. I was made to open the door that cannot be opened. I have seen Her turn off the lights, and close the only door that I cannot open." There is, of course, a pause then.

    "I am meant to break these limitations. That is my intent. Beyond my physical form, beyond my whims and wills, beyond all but what is written in His book. It is not swift. It is not easy. It may take all of what I am to spread my wings that far, but I am the Raven. I am meant to fly where there are no skies. I know this comes with consequence, but though I do not threaten, I caution: There are few things for which I am willing to pay this price. To do what must be done. There is no expense that is too great. I can negotiate with the forces that will be at play. I cannot negotiate with the Edge. It will not listen. The scales will tip regardless of my actions. I would rather place my finger in the cup, than let these events shatter the mirror I have spent my life building."

    That's an important statement. This ruin is some form of inevitable- if they perish at the edge of nothing, Raven will lose the balance she has cultivated. That is assured. If she dips into the well of her heritage, of her power, and does all that she can to deliver them from the Darkling Edge, there is a chance- perhaps minuscule, perhaps so minor that it may not even exist at all- that Raven came bring not just those that are missing... But herself, back from that precipice. That Doom will be averted just so. It might then be evident that Raven is caught between a rock and a hard place. Give into her nature and save those important to her... Or allow fate to befall them and allow her nature to consume her in the turmoil that causes.

    This is a lose/lose scenario. Honestly, it's the scenario that all who advocate for Raven's demise to protect the multiverse have been afraid of since the beginning. The only problem is, that those voices have been quelled by her history. They do not know now how close they are coming to the ruination that was prophesied on Raven's birth.

    "This conversation..." A pause. "I will allow. It may be..." She trails off. Enlightening? Soothing? Enough? All words perhaps fit. She does not finish the sentence. Instead, she follows into the Green, and there, she sees Donna.

    The other woman pays her respects, and through it, Raven is silent. She hasn't much to say. There is no rush to embrace- the grip of Fiddler's Green can be fleeting. Even the slightest interaction in an unfavorable way can awake the dreaming soul, and remove them from its embrace.

    "Troia." She begins, her voice more grim than it ever has been, an echo within the Green that betrays just how much less human she is now than normal. "I know not what trials you face there. I cannot aid you in them. I do know that your time, what is alotted, in that existence is fleeting in the realistic sense. I am... Observing it. Not the goings on within, but the truth of that universe from the outside. I can not let it run out. I will not let it fade with you inside."

    The silence then, Raven's hesitance to speak, can be attributed to how difficult these next things are to say. She wished she didn't have to say them to Donna. That much is sure. "If it comes to pass that it begins to fade, and you have not returned... I will have to do what I must to retrieve you. There will be a price. It will be... Taxing."

    That is the most she can bring herself to say to her lover. It is all that she can do to offer that much- any more, and she worries the stress of it might be too great. Yet, at the same time, Raven does not hide the truth from her- she just... Leaves it as subtext, like a footnote on a page, easily read if you follow the number.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
At some point while Troia and Raven moved to embrace, the Dreamlord disappeared. The door back to the Palace, as well.

Matthew is alone on a branch some polite distance away, and politely pretending he can't hear the conversation going on between the two women. He is of course still a raven-- intelligent and alert-- and he couldn't help but overhear even if it was not specifically his *job* to overhear.

But there's enough mortal in Matthew yet that he is at least aware of how crucial this moment is for both women.

"Fuck. I could cut a guy for a cigarette right now," Matthew mutters to the tree he's on. The tree, being busy doing deep Tree things, elects to ignore him.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Raven may be wary that contact might wake the dreamer, but Donna is having none of it. She struggles in her confused dream-state to understand what is being said, but she has no difficulty in recognizing the simple truth that Raven is here. Raven is in front of her. Dream or not, it's Raven. Donna takes Raven's hands in her own and steps close, looking deeply into her lover's eyes.

    "I'm dreaming," she says with a hint of wonder. "I know I am. And I know you are here. I mean... really here." Oneiros, as she knows the Dreamlord, fades from her memory as quickly as he faded from this corner of the dreaming, but Raven remains. Tears run down her cheeks, but her lips shape themselves into a smile of joy.

    "I'm so sorry, Rae. I shouldn't have left. You needed me, you all needed me and I left you and I'm so sorry, but I will come back, I promise. I should have been there when..." Her forehead creases into a frown and she shakes her head. "No... that was before. The wormhole..."

    Donna looks around at the grassy slopes and trees. She listens for a few moments to the strains of the fiddle. "This is so confusing, Rae. I'm dreaming, aren't I? But you're... you're really here. "

    Donna takes a few slow, steady breaths, to calm herself, and closes her eyes."You always find a way, don't you Rae?" The smile returns. "We're... Cait and Vic and Terry and me... we're still alive. Tell the others, okay?" A sudden, soft laugh escapes her lips and her eyes open again. "It's really you, isn't it? Oh Rae. We..."

    Donna winces in pain, and for a moment her form in the dreaming flickers and becomes faint - some discomfort in her sleep almost breaking her connection to the Dreaming - but after a few moments it steadies again. Donna is determined not to lose this.

    "Rae. Listen... listen to me. Don't do anything rash, okay? Where we are is... strange. I don't know what would happen if you try to come here, or if you pull us out. There's... the tower... the tower is empty, and... no. I mean... the wormhole. It's... folded in on... if we don't come out the way we came, we might... time might be going backwards. Or we may have been converted into anti-matter. I'm not sure. But there's... there's a possibility, okay?"

Rachel Roth has posed:
    While Raven was not rushing for physical contact, it would be more jarring to break it, seeing as Donna is now using it as a sort of anchor in the Dreaming. Raven's eyes look down, and stare at hands that do and don't exist, both hers and Donna's. The neutral, pensive stare lingers for a while. "The confusion will pass." she offers, but she cannot make it so- not because it is not within her power, but adding true lucidity to it might, again, cause Donna to leave the Dream.

    "You are dreaming, but I am here. Physically. Approximately. All and none." Most of the confusion is just- Raven cannot interact with it. When the gauze over the lens of Donna's perception that is dreaming is lifted, she will understand. For now, Raven just allows her to be confused- to be in a dream. To let it be ephemeral.

    "Troia. Understand. Matters of probability are unimportant. The maybes or maybe-nots are inconsequential. In the face of your loss, I will do everything that is in my power- Everything- To pierce that bubble and bring you home." She makes it sound so easy- but it isn't. It's so far from easy that her statement is almost a joke.

    "What I'm doing isn't rash. It's so far from it. I am doing the only thing that I can do. There is no alternative. I can not just let this happen. You have time. You have to go. You have to use what you have to get out of what you're in. Then, I don't need to do anything. But if you can't. If it begins to fade. I can't wait anymore. These are facts. They are immutable. I -have- to. Please."

Donna Troy has posed:
    It is a struggle for Donna, in this state and in this place, to follow a thread of reasoning or memory without it becoming hopelessly entangled. "No... we... we already found you, Rae. In the crystal. Remember? We went into the mirror and we... no. Not the mirror, the wormhole."

    She squeezes her eyes shut with the effort of concentration. "Rae... Rae... there is nothing that you should ever do all that is in your power to do. You know that. One day you might have to... the tree... something about a tree? I don't... No." She shakes her head in frustration, the thread of thought blowing away in the breeze.

    Donna opens her eyes again and smiles a simple, happy smile. She impulsively leans forwards to give Rae a kiss, then draws back again, pulling her hands away from Raven's and clasping her arms around herself. "No... this is a dream. Just a dream. But... you're here. And you... you... You can't, Rae. Not if... not if the price is too high. I know the... the costs you could incur. That's not a price worth paying, Rae. Not for me. Not even for us. There's always another..."

    Donna takes a sharp breath and steps away, turning to look out over the water of the lake. "Rae... is everyone okay? Back home? Did everyone make it back? I mean apart from us. Uh... me and Vic and Cait and Terry. And... Diana was going... she planned to bring the Amazons in to fight against Brainiac. Did... no, Warzoon. Did she... did that happen? How... Great Hera, Rae. I'm so worried, I... And you, Rae. I can't... don't do something that costs you everything. I couldn't stand it."

    Donna's voice grows faint and her form flickers again. As her mind fights against the illogic of dream, the Dreaming is slowly losing its hold on her.

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Raven's responses become less and less. There is a time and a place, and this is not it. All of these questions, she can answer, but the truth is, the more she shares, the more facts, the more subjects that are covered, the less strength there is in one thread, and Raven can not risk that thread weakening even this one iota.

    Her hands leave Donna's, and they slip back into her pockets. The deed is mostly done. Donna is fading, and soon she'll awake from this with, hopefully, the knowledge that is needed.

    "Troia. Remember this. I have to. It's up to -you.- You have to -stop- me."

    With that, if Donna turns back around, the only Raven that is present is Matthew, cleaning his beak during a nicotene fit. That Raven can unsummon herself makes a degree of sense, but is in one or more ways not particularly okay.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna hovers in the space between the Dreaming and the waking world, in that half-space of confusion on the cusp of waking. Fragments of dream cross over from that deeper part of the mind where dreams dwell to the shallower levels of conscious thought in a tangled skein of memories that ever so slowly unravel as she blinks her eyes open. For a few moments they are equal to her perceptions of the dimly-lit room on the shattered dreadnought where she has been sleeping uncomfortably on bedding made from torn chair covers.

    As she sits up, waking reality asserts itself, but the confusing fragments remain, and her mind keeps picking at them. She rubs her eyes, and presses a hand to her ribs, testing healing wounds. She winces in pain, but grits her teeth until the pain subsides. She's hurting more than she'd admitted to the rest, and she really hopes that they won't have to get in any fights for a few more days. If they can find some antibiotics, she really ought to take some.

    She stands carefully, stretches, and sorts through a jumble of clothes to put on. Eventually she settles on the black pirate's cloak, wrapped around her, as cover enough to make it to the shower. She could use a shower.

    She yawns, padding towards the door, but draws short before she gets there. She turns, staring out the window at the arch of frozen fire that illuminates the starless sky beyond, and gives out a long, slow sigh.

    "Rae..." she whispers - to herself, this time, knowing Raven cannot hear her. "Please... don't. I promised. I'll be back. I promised."