7595/Hunting(ton) Wabbit(Hole)s

Hunting(ton) Wabbit(Hole)s
Date of Scene:	29 August 2021
Location:	Bolero Hotel and Spa - Hotel Room. Huntington, WV
Synopsis:	Everything Goes Wrong
Cast of Characters:	Michael Hannigan, Terry O'Neil, Damian Wayne

---

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Well it is done. The last of the concerts for leg 3 has completed and Nick Drago has long since made his leave of Mountainview arena. Currently he finds himself in the safety of his hotel room of the Bolero. Yet another member of the Muse Hotel Network.

Despite matters, the presence of security directly in the hotel room is not apparent. While Wade has insisted on a bare minimum, and the Muse network is still having to deal with salt around beds, said security got moved to an adjacent room, relying on locks and relative proximity to do what is needed.

The hotel is rather peaceful. The only sounds actually reaching the inside the hotel room are coming from two sources. One is the tv tuned in to some public broadcasting fundraiser and the sound of the shower running.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry is not supposed to go out and about- as per Phoebe's orders, he must take it easy, rest, recover. Well, he IS taking it easy- resting, recovering, the whole thing. But it just so happens that he has just woken up on his bed and feels absolutely, devastatingly thirsty. It is a bit of a trek from the bedroom to the kitchen, this loopy and off-his-feet wobbly. He is also not supposed to use his Rabbit Hole because... well, loopines makes it hard or him to concentrate.

Debating waking Gar or Kian up to ask for a glass of water, he decides that it's better to be nice and he instead untangles himself and, in his underwear, gets to his feet with only a little bit of a sway.

"Okay..." he mutters to himself, "Kitchen. Kitchen... Kitchen..." he opens the Rabbit Hole, and takes a step forward...

And the Rabbit Hole changes all of a sudden, but it's too late for him to fix it as he falls forward and towards---

Michael Hannigan has posed:
What Terry gets greeted to is the floor underneath a bed. Other than the line of salt running along the floor in front of him, the hotel room looks very familiar in layout. Like he's been in several like them before. The TV is also in view from the vantage point.

(( The channel cuts to the newest program for the evening, likely to be bludgeoned with a surprising number of commercial breaks where the hosts promise to send a copy of the performance to watch (uninterrupted) to those who donate over a certain tier.

The opening to the concert gives a view to the venue the show is being performed in with the wording on the bottom fo the screen proclaiming the location to be the Sala Santa Cecelia in Rome, Italy. The event featuring a local philharmonic group.

The inside of the Sala Santa Cecilia is different compared to most known auditoriums. Reds and light browns are the primary colors inside but the coliseum style seating around the concert stage combined with the oddly shaped ceilings are what give this place its true personality. The rounded panels high above like serve some acoustic purposes but for the more imaginative of the viewers it has a feel of fabric being draped over several bars, gradually leaning out further.

The audience is a mix of ages with a sizable chunk of them to be of the school age group. With the occasional adult positioned to break up the clump of youth it becomes all the more apparent to what is going on.

FIELD TRIPS. Oh fudge. This show IS going to be educational!))

Off to the bathroom area, behind the closed door. There's a slight squeak of the pipes as Nick finishes his shower. Unknowing of the newcomer, the musician takes his time getting ready behind the closed door.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
5rTerry frowns, confused by the sudden confinement. He tries to get up and *bonks* his head against the bed.

"Ow!" he says, muffled, and rubs his head. Where the /hell/ was he? Should he try to Rabbit Hole out again?

NO, that could be catastrophic. Maybe he should call the Titans over the comm to come get him...

Wherever he was.

It also dawns on him that he is in his briefs, and therefore has no communicator on him.

"... shit..."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Trapped under the bed, Terry is subjected to the horrors of televised fundraisers. Which, isn't so bad. Except the very start of these shows are so slow!


((
The lights start to dim and a relatively youthful man, no more than 50, steps from the stage side. A polite applause erupts as the man steps towards the center, waving to the crowd. His hands come together, holding on to a thin sliver of stick between his hands as he gives a cursory slight bow and approaches the microphone. The man speaks Italian. But, the subtitles appearing on the screen beneath help explain most of what is said.

Most. It's a very poor font usage and some of the lettering gets washed out with the background color.

{"Good evening. We would like to welcome you to tonight's activities which will feature a variety of music taken from movies and shows we have grown to love. By the end of the evening, we hope that not only have you had a pleasant evening but that you will go away knowing that just because you choose to play in an orchestra doesn't mean you only have to play the old stuff. "}

There is a pause as some of the audience members chuckle. The orchestra members are quiet, seemingly having heard this speech before. ))


The door to the bathroom opens, allowing for slightly damp Nick to step out. While without shoes or socks, Nick has an advantage over the Cheshire under the bed in that he is wearing sleep pants. The towel draped over his shoulders that he's lazily using to towel off his hair as he pads over to the tv? Oh that's probably much more covering there as well. He stands near the bed, not crossing over the salt circle just yet as he looks to the TV, giving a slight smile. "Hmm."

Seems he wasn't expecting the programming to be this either, "...Horrible font."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry realizes that the only way out of this is to crawl. He isn't as perceptive as he usually is, and thus he doesn't notice Nick coming out, due to his frantic crawling under the bed. Head down, he makes like a soldier crawling under barbed wire- one two, one two, one two-

And, alas, poor Nick, his may be the surprise when a pair of fur-covered arms burst out from under the bed and two hands lwatch around the nearest thing they can find- ankles, to try to pull their owner out from under the bed.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
(("We have several special guests who will be joining us as they help us bring out some key musical scenes. Some from nearby while others come from Japan, The United States, and Australia. We would like to thank them in advance for their time working with us to make this evening a possibility."

Our first piece comes from a series that made the rounds in the US a few years ago which carried a lot of spooky overtones. It also had a lot of interesting arrangements brought to life for those who tuned in. This is a favorite of mine from that series. From 'Descent from Darkness' we bring you 'Twisted Sonata - Redux'. Please enjoy.))

Nick's positioning doesn't move as he idly continues rubbing the head with the towel, unknowing of the decision the Titan under the bed made. Or of the actual presence of the Titan. But that changes the moment he feels something latching onto his legs and pulling. "HOL-"

Using other people as a means to pull oneself out of a tight spot can be helpful. Assuming the person being used is aware of their function enough to brace for it. This is not the case for Nick who, while awake from the shower was NOT looking downwards and most definitely not ready for the sudden tug afterwards. Feet pulled out from under him, Nick falls back. Legs bending, the partially musician finds himself no longer standing but seated between the two beds. Knees bent, eyes wide, and a fist raised up ready to punch the ever living shit out of what chose to attack him.

He blinks. Fist lowering, "Terry?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry blinks, and quickly lets go. He is still not fully all the way there, of course, so the first thing that comes out of his mouth is rather puzzling:

"Nick? What the hell is your bed doing in my kitchen?"

He refocuses and looks around a little more, taking in the other bed, and the carpet, and the television, and-

"Shit, who turned my kitchen into a hotel room?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Nick blinks at the nonsensical question being posed to him before rolling to his side to retrieve the remote from the nighstand.

(("We hope that you are enjoying tonight's feature showing of Live at the Santa Cecilia, The Rome Philharmonic presents Television's finest. If you would like to help us continue to show such fine programming you can show support by -))

The pleas for funds on the TV is muted.

The remote is tossed over the shoulder to land on the bed behind him. Switching to his knees, he offers a hand to the still partially bed ladden cat. "This has always been a hotel room. I'm guessing you ported over here. You're not in Metropolis anymore."

He gives a bit of a concerned look. "Are you half asleep or on something?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
5r"...my apartment is- what... wait."

The cat pulls himself fully out from under the bed, which shows that he's in his briefs and nothing else. But at least his taste for humorous sleepwear is maintained- red briefs with a 'Warning: Contents Under Pressure' stamped in yellow warning letters across the rump. "... oh crap. Where are we, Nick?" he says, reaching out to grasp the edge of the bed and get himself to stand up, but he is clearly wobbly on his feet, "How the hell did I even end up there? I didn't even know you'd be here. I didn't even think about you, I wanted a glass of water..."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"We're in-" Nick pauses, thinking about it. "...West Virginia."

Once certain that Terry is fully out from under the bed and able to get up, he gestures to the bed where the remote was tossed.. "Here. Sit down. I'll get you some water."

Walking over to the desk, he removes a paper cover from one of the glasses before carrying it over to the bathroom to get some from the tap.

The muted TV is still showing the two announcers talking, seemingly going through the tokens of appreciation one gets for donating. Even holding up a DVD case with a picture of the conductor plastered to the side of an even larger picture of the orchestra performing in the Santa Cecilia. Oh. There's even a tote bag with the station logo. How nice.

"The layout to this room's pretty familiar to other ones you've been to so maybe that had something to do with it?" Mike offers up as a possible explanation over the sounds of the tap. There's another creak, before the musician emerges with the glass. "I don't think my taking a shower would have had anything to do with it."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"... I think that being loopy... had something to do with it." He reaches for the water, but his aim is a few inches off and he ends up grasping air instead. "I almost died. I had a hole in me and then Phoebe pumped me until that hole was full and now I'm kinda wooooooosh and everything around me is kinda wooooooah and the floor moves sometimes."

He rubs his eyes and looks around, "... hey, I'm in a hotel room!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Nick holds on to the glass as Terry fails to grab onto it. He sits down next to Terry, an arm lifting up to press a hand against the younger/older man's back in an effort to provide support while he brings the glass over to help Terry drink.

Concerned, he waits until a few sips are taken before he takes the glass away to prevent the briefs encounter a water based accident as well.

The declaration that they're in a hotel room gets a bit of a smirk. "Good observation." He replies, lowering the hand behind Terry as he leans over to set the glass on the nightstand, "And you are in no condition to be jumping through any more portals tonight, so guess you're staying here."

((Sales pitch done with, the concert shows back up on the TV.

The lights on stage dim further, leaving the escaping light from the music stands the only evidence of those on stage. The slight outline of bow strings shifting is barely visible as additional shadows of figures seem to take position with the other instruments.

One of the silhouettes gives a nod.

There is likely music playing but with the TV on mute, nothing is heard. Blue shimmering lights start to filter onto the stage as the screen cuts to the percussion section and then immediately over to the violin section. The bows move back and forth slowly. ))

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Cheshire blinks, and then frowns. "But... I can't do that. I've got to go back. Gar and Kian don't know I'm gone and they're going to worry in the morning... because I'm..."

He pauses and refocuses on Nick. "Nick, /where/ exactly am I? I mean... aside from a hotel. Are we... what state?" He glances over at the television. "... or country?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"We can call them up and let them know where you are. They should be fine once they know you're staying with a friend." Nick assures. "We're still in West Virginia." Nick repeats, more confident this time. "United States. And we just finished the last show of the leg so we've got some flexibility to make sure you get back home. Okay?"

(( The light cuts over to the featured performer, standing off to the side of the orchestra, back to the audience initially before turning around midway through the second passage. Dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, black tie, and black dress pants, hair pulled back and tucked away to give the illusion of a short hair cut, the attire combined with the player's positioning jogs the memory of a few. For the others, they cheat by looking at the program.

There's a flash of white light with a cross beam effect, giving the illusion of lightning and showing what looks to be a suit jacket tossed on top of an open violin case.

It's the rehearsal scene from the Devil's pact story arc. And it looks like Nick Drago's reprising the role of Colin once again. ))

Nick glances over to the TV Terry's looking at. "Don't mind that, That's a recording of a concert that was done a few months ago. Not live."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry stares at the television, clearly entranced by what he's seeing so much that he doesn't quite hear what Nick says all the way. Then he looks back to his friend. "... are we time traveling? You're in there but you're also in here." He squints, reaches over and lightly pinches Nick's cheek. "Or am I dreaming?"

He seems to have got the pinching thing backwards. His brain finally grabs on to a name: "West Virginia? Oh no, that's all the way to the... " he tries to envision the map of the U.S., and for some reason he gets a very different map in his head, "Contrariwise to the... pool of tears... no, wait, that doesn't make sense. Can I.. can I use your phone to call?" he asks, looking at the telephone by the night stand.

Can he remember how to use the phone? At least it's not a rotary one.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Hearing the odd questions continue, he shakes his head, eyes closing for a moment. Which, likely contributed to the sudden jerk back upon getting pinched. "Ow-you know you're supposed to pinch yourself, right?"

(( Sound still out, there's a quiet display on screen.

The lights shift more quickly, expanding to cast the whole stage in the same light with bursts of white light popping out to continue the stormy effect.

The instrument stands to the side of the orchestra are empty and the piano bench is occupied by other musicians. One of the violinists from the orchestra has apparently shifted over from the regular seating as well, joining the side group, looking to the guest performer.

The bow of Nick's violin along with the new violin player's starts visibly jumping up in tempo the two start to move together.

The cameras cut over to the the view of people in the audience bouncing a little to the rhythm.

The bows suddenly slow as the two violins up front continue with their exchange. ))

The request to use the phone is rewarded with a nod. "Yeah." Nick, leans over Terry to grab his phone off of the nightstand. Straightening up, he checks the screen to make sure it's unlocked before handing it to Terry. "Here. I'll go pull out some spare clothes for you to wear tomorrow."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Clothes? I own clothes, I don't need-" he pauses and glances down at himself. "Oh." He pauses for a few seconds, as if he is trying to grasp with some deep problem or tricky philosophical question. In truth, he is trying to remember the apartment's phone number.

"Right... five five five..." he pauses. His finger is dialing the wrong number. He sighs and tires to think... oh! Right. He can make the phone call by itself!

He taps one finger to it and says "Call Gar!"

A quick flash of chaos magic, and the phone suddenly grows a little mouth.

This was not what he was expecting.

The little phone starts rocking from side to side, emitting a tiny, high pirched shout:

"GAR! GAAAAR! GARFIEEEEELD! GAAAAAAAAAR WHERE AAAARE YOOOOU?"

Terry panicks "Nononono!" and grabs a pillow, and he pushes it over the phone, which then starts letting out muffled screams asking for help because someone is trying to smother it.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Red X had been next door, attempting to gather some peace in the night after guarding Mike from demons. But the cries of 'Nononono!' from the other room have Damian reaching for his sword, in his Gotham Knights lounge pants, he kicks in the door, sword at the ready as he storms in.

  "Get behind me, Nick!" He commands, before his eyes flare open at the sight of Terry O'Neil standing before him. "Fucking hell." Damian offers, his sword falling to his side, standing there, no shirt on and showing all of the teenage heir's battle scars.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Nick was walking over to his suitcase when the screeching suddenly started. Eyes wide, the musician spins on his feet to look towards the phone and the briefs wearing catboy trying to smother the phone.

There is a pounding on the floor from the floor above.

"Oh for fu-" He glances over to the adjoining door where security is, in time to see Damian bursting in.

((
The conductor flicks his baton harshly as the orchestra makes movements indicative of playing along. The pianist's fingers twirls across the board as the unheard music continues. And suddenly they stop, leaving the two violins to be the source of movement as they exchange movements.

Two white lights flicker towards the audience before a Nick lowers the violin quickly, twisting away at the waist to face away from the audience, seemingly struck by something. The camera zooms in on the still musician as Nick brings the back of his bow holding hand to his face.
))

Nick brings a hand up to his face.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Yep. There is Terry, feline form and all, in red briefs with 'Warning: Contents Under Pressure' in yellow print around the back. Yes, it was a gift from Gar. Yes, it was purchased after Taco night.

The little phone finally stops screaming as the magic discharges and sparkles onto the carpet, which tries to run away but cannot by virtue of being /nailed to the ground/, and then remains still. He hands Nick his phone without making the call, saying "You must be with AT&T..."

But his eyes aren't on Nick. They're on the person who burst into the room. He may be loopy, but he /can/ focus, it just takes a strong exercise of will, as with J'onn, or a surprise, as when Leonardo splashed him with water.

The Wayne heir balling into the room wielding a goddamned katana decidedly falls in the 'surprise' category. Of course that face is familiar. He works at the Planet. Lois would throw him out the window if he were unable to identify someone linked to one of /the/ most important fortunes in the news. There is a second burst of magic in the room, as the surprise and shock register.

He then opens his mouth.

What
The
Fuck?

Instead of words, little cartoon bubbles with colorful words float out of his mouth and hover over his head.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian stands there, looking quite annoyed and pissed off. "I fucking hate magic."

  He immediately turns around, heading back into his room, before coming back with proper attire on, and without his sword. "If you were going to screw this cat-guy, you should have given me a heads up, Drago." He comes in, scolding the rockstar for rockstar things. "And you!" He commands, pointing directly at Vorpal. "No word of this to any of the Titans, OR THE PRESS, or else I will personally see to it that your career in journalism ends with you pushing tabloid junk. Do I make myself absolutely, crystal fucking clear?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Hand lowering, Nick's lips part slightly.

{Sigh.}

A brow raises as he looks to the bubble coming out of his mouth, followed by another.

{Wha-}

He pauses, looking up to the secondary balloon that replaces the first. He looks to Terry, and then towards Damian. The eyes roll upwards as Damian jumps to conclusions.

{Until you have this under control, you're not portaling anymore. We'll call Gar and let him know where you disappeared to once we get our REAL voices back.}

Turning back to the suitcase, he pulls out some spare clothes.

((
Turning to the audience, Nick brings his hand away from the face, looking to the back of the hand, inspecting it before he looks up. The expression twists into an unsettling smile as he brings the violin back up. The two violins start back up in move once more, bringing it to a close.

Nick and the other violinist give a slow bow of the head to the audience as the conductor lowers his hands, signifying the end of the song.

Kzzt!))

The TV shuts off as Nick reaches back over to the nightstand, using the remote to do the dirty deed. The shirt and pants are handed over to Terry.

{Here.}

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Cheshire cat narrows his eyes. Maybe it is the ambient magic in the room picking up on his mood, or maybe it is his subconscious tapping into his power of illusion, but the result is that the lights in the room grow noticeably dimme. He stands, unsteady though he may be, he bolsters himself up on a scaffolding of quiet indignation. The Cheshire cat, like most cats, does not react well to threats.

Superman won Lois' confidentiality with trust, not threats.

The word balloons pullulate around his head for a second before he swats them away with a forceful bat of his hand. Nick's offer of clothes is rejected in a similarly dramatic fashion.

Go ahead. You can't touch anything I love, anyways. Those balloons, he lets them float where they come out.

He grabs the covers off one of the beds and hastily wraps them around himself like an indignant Marriott Hotel Seneca on his way to the conference room Senate. He makes a beeline for the hotel room door, determined to go to the lobby and call Gar before his fury subsides and the loopiness returns. He might have even attempted a Rabbit Hole, with the fury focusing everything, except that he was worried he might accidentally open one into Mount Vesubius itself.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian's pale green eyes read the speech bubbles around Vorpal's head. "Apparently you lack the focus to realize that I AM NOT SUPERMAN!"

  "Oh yes, because you looking like a whore on the walk of shame is going to be the greatest of optics instead of dressing like someone normal!" Damian's ire is of course, not going anywhere. Once the cat exits, Damian's face grows red, redder than a boiled lobster. "What the hell were you thinking?" He says in more of a hushed tone now, still angry, but this time it was his friend he was talking to. "A reporter? Are you looking to draw more attention to this tour? And now he knows who I am. He knows Red X is Robin, and he knows I am Red X. Ergo, cover blown."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Nick turns his head to look to Damian. Eyes narrowing. "W-"

SOUND.

"He didn't mean to come here." Nick replies to a low mumur, "His rabbit holes are acting up and he shouldn't be portaling anywhere else tonight. He needs rest." He picks up the clothes that got tossed aside, taking them back over to the suitcase, "Instead of automatically assuming everything about your teammates and friends. Get the actual story first."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry turns around at the door, one hand on the handle, to face the duo. He doesn't show it, but the handle provides him with stability.

"Where," he says, relieved that the magic has ceased and his voice is back to normal, "do you get off thinking that someone who works for Lois Lane is going to even blink at being threatened? Lois' career has been threatened over and over by people just as powerful as your father's money. As far as she'd be concerned, she'd congratulate me on earning my stripes."

Eyes narrow further, "But I do wonder what Father thinks about his son threatening a reporter because /he/ fucked up and entered a situation without covering his face. You screwed the pooch and you threaten me. You're not even trying to establish a bond of trust, it's all threats with you. And you are too stubborn to realize that of the two of us, /you/ have more to lose than I do."

He unlocks the door. "Luckily for you, I don't care about your threats. And I don't care about who you are. Whatever secrets of yours I keep are kept not for your sake, but for those who came before you who deserve better than you."

The door opens and Vorpal gives one last look back into the room, eyes narrowed like daggers.

"And you don't need to tell me. You definitely are no Superman."

*SLAM*

On the other side, he starts powering down the corridor. He figures that if he keeps himself worked up enough, he'll be able to get to the phone in the lobby and call Gar to come get him before the unfocusing begins again.

"Little... shit... why... I... oughta..." Anger. Focus. Focus. Anger. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Refusing to allow Vorpal to get the last word: "Nor do I want to be!" Damian yells out.

  Once that is over...Damian calms down significantly. "For what it's worth. I am sorry. I just...thought the worst." And he walks back to his room, either preparing some sort of poison to kill Vorpal with or perhaps how he is going to broach this subject again with his fellow Titan. But either way, shit hit the fan.