7715/Faerely Barmy

Faerely Barmy
Date of Scene:	06 September 2021
Location:	Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis:	A Fae, and elf and a cat walk into a bar.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Meggan Puceanu, Kurt Wagner

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Terry O'Neil has posed:
Labor Day! Glorious Labor Day! It was a holiday that Terry was looking forward to- it had been a crazy weekend during which the Titans had managed to save the world... to the complete ignorance of the world at large, because the issue with the Doppelgangers had to remain secret. Still, the knowledge of it puts a spring in his step, which is evident even in his trek down the stairs looking like a perfectly ordinary young man in Jeans and a black t-shirt displaying the ABBA logo in gold letters. Upon entering the bar, its enchantments will let the proprietor know that a creature of chaos, with a fae flavor, has stepped into the premises. And his nature is not exactly hidden, to those who have eyes to see such things, even if that power is only a hint in his human guise.

"Oh wow..." he says quietly as he comes in, glancing around. He had been to 'British style pubs' before, but this was the genuine article, alright. He still remembers that one time he went to Leeds with his mother, when she was chasing that missing heir case for one of the wealthy socialites in New York. She spent a lot of time in The Cross Keys digging up information on the wherabouts of the profligate heir. Little did they know--

But that was another story, to be told at another time.

The young man walks towards the bar, to get himself properly seated. Even if he's not of drinking age, he still can get a soda, after all. The location of this bar had been disclosed to him by the aging sorcerer the Titans had rescued from an alternate dimension krypto-fascist, as a place where Terry could run into magical people like him. He was eager to test the truth of that statement. "Just a coke, please," he says to the barkeep with a smile as he sets his messenger bag down.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Labour Day, the celebration that most of the civilised world cays May 1. No Marxists outside banging on about the proletariat is a singularly corporate-friendly event. Instead, the season of barbeques and last hurrahs up at the lake signal the unofficial begin of a season and the end to another. Powerful magic in that, when half the students under 18 sigh at the loss of another balmy summer with no responsibility and another look forward to it being pumpkin spice oil change time.

Things haven't been going great outside in Hell's Kitchen lately. Destroyed buildings and a heap of invisible horses knocking people unconscious or losing them in nightmares leaves the Laughing Magician with a reputation. Stands to reason members of the mystic community might swear off until things settle down a mite.

Resident mystic knocked unconscious by a nightmare isn't one of them. Stubbornness could be at play, or just a sanguine state of affairs as she confronts the site where a nightmare had the umbrage to poison the Tuath de Danaan. It's complicated. Deep breath outside the door still clinking shut after Terry and there she goes, tracing her silver-marked fingers over the wards fondly. How one pets a cat or touches their child's cheek announces her. Then in, crossing the threshold, puts her into a world all too familiar, though her gaze instinctively moves to That Stool not permitted for anyone else. Something else stands out, a river of stars across the sky, and her smile lifts. Intriguing, this, for what leaves such a signature that resonates so familiar to her heart?

A flick to the bar identifies who might be tending in residence, 'ere she sets her passage. Meggan does not resemble her extensive social media profile. The happiest environment activist on behalf of The Green this side of a swamp wears her white-silver hair partly up, and she slip slides her path to the bar with an grazing ease to settle in a stool down from Terry. "Make it two, would you, please?" The sunshine in her tone carries permeable warmth, though she doesn't sit quite yet. Something hesitant there has naught to do with him.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry glances at Meggan, upon hearing her voice, and he gives her a smile. "Good afternoon!" the redhead reaches over and moves his messenger back closer to him, so that it's not in the way. As had been patently demonstrated yesterday, his own training in magic is incipient and mostly instinctual at this point, so while he can perceive things, it isn't exact, and the nature of the place and his human seeming combine to leave him clueless as to whether the person arriving is one of the magic folk said to frequent the place or not. He, on the other hand, is much easier to detect.

In hindsight, he could have come in as the Cheshire, but that would have drawn attention, and that often made things harder when you wanted to feel a place out. The young woman's hesitation doesn't escape him, however, and he raises his eyebrows. "I'm sorry- are you expecting someone? Should I make room? I can slide down another stool." Even if he is not familiar with the place, he doesn't want to scoot down towards /that/ other stool, so away is the only reasonable choice.

But by what standard of reason? He couldn't really say.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Good afternoon to you too." Muddled accent there carries a distinct British cast to it, but not the smart BBC announcer voice at all. Meggan speaks like the Celtic Tigers met in a dark pub, had a brawl, and came out with a pointy-eared baby like hers truly. Gaelic wins out a little to place her, but not especially strongly. Terry's magical abilities might pick out two very strong notes living in delicate balance.

The first, the delicate filigree on her arm that may well be some kind of henna tattoo is nothing of the sort. It's an Oath, capitalised and sworn, in a tangible manifestation. A tattoo on the back of her hand only becomes visible with magical talent of a sort, ribbons of chaos balanced perfectly through the sigil-spun knotwork.

"He'll sit there," she says softly and nods at the untouched barstool down the way. "Provided he intends to come tonight. John's the proprietor. Never fear, he makes almost everyone feel welcome in a special way," she offers that warm smile. A wink underlines that reputation running ahead of Constantine. "I would never want to displace you when the bar's open or sitting on it's an option." She curls her fingers to her palm, dropping her gaze and giving a quiet laugh. "Meggan. Fellow fan of syrupy bubbles. And ABBA. We put that on the jukebox, it might be considered a mutiny."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry smiles rather sheepishly, "We are a misunderstood and solitary lot, we are. My boyfriend has given me an ultimatum that if I play it out loud any more this week, I'll be sleeping in the doghouse. And he bought an actual doghouse." He sips his soda and shrugs, "I might have gone a /little/ overboard... but their first single in forty years? How could I not?"

The young man is trying to focus on the things he's picking up, but it's a bit much- magic-rich environments are something of a rarity in his day-to-day. He also suspects that the inconvenient human shape is playing havok with his senses. His green eyes focus on the filigree and questions start brewing immediately- but questions that he's too polite to ask of a total stranger. He's not on assignment, after all. "And I'm Terry!" he says cheerfully, "I work in media and getting into trouble." It was true. His face is not as easily recognizable as other public figures because he made a practice of making his feline face the go-to appearance on social media... and even on his byline. Even when it was under his civilian name. It afforded him some level of anonymity. "This is the first time I've been here, so I don't know the proprietor. An old gentleman I helped yesterday steered me this way. It looks like the real deal..." he says, glancing around, and he winks, "The proprietor is a compatriot of yours, I take it?" he says, remarking on her accent.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"No one might be the wiser if we get it out of the way first. Though I had Waterloo on the brain since hearing it a few days ago, and now..." Meggan hums the damning melody for a moment, and then pinches her brow while Terry suggests the ultimatum for his addiction to the blonde Swedes. A final attempt to hold back caves, and she needs no accompaniment to make a more than satisfactory rendition.

    "I was defeated, you won the war,
    Waterloo!
    Promise to love you forever more.
    Waterloo,
    Couldn't escape if I wanted to,
    Knowing my fate is to be with you."

She pauses, then offers her hand -- the unmarked one -- in that unpracticed method of non-Americans being friendly to Americans. "We both work in media then! How's that for coincidence? I mean, generally I remind people not to haul nets through fishing grounds or try to remind them lopping down old growth forests rarely ends well. That rather gets me into trouble more than you think." His cheer is infectious, and she agreeably nods to that outcome. The pop brought over by the bartender earns the warmest smile, gratitude practically a third person at the bar for a moment. "Thank you."

Then she takes a sip, the first hit the giddiest, taking a few moments to settle back. Never one to deny herself the smaller pleasures in life when harmless, she hums and murmurs, "I feel like I win when I lose..." A beat, and laughter gathers in the silence. "See, earworm. Welcome here, then, to the Laughing Magician. Mind that any celestial or infernal issues stay outside, and the main point may be freedom to be yourself. The proprietor makes a point of offering help to those in need, so should you find yourself in that way? Let him know I mentioned it, though half the time these things shout to him and he gets a head's up. Definitely something to me, mmhmm. Among other things, we're both in the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, so if you've an issue with monsters or the Otherworld, oh my."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Kurt Wagner may or may not be the one Meggan is referring to, but he is acting on a text that said a certain someone would be at a certain place at a certain time, and if a certain other someone happened to be in a certain area at that certain time, perhaps that certain other someone might drop by?

"The Laughing Magician?" Kurt muses to himself upon descending the steps to enter. "As good a name as any, I suppose." Glowing yellow eyes sweep the place, catching blonde hair that must belong to that certain someone..and a redhead nearby. Kurt is dressed in a red shirt, black shorts with a belt..and barefoot. "Ah, is that Meggan over there?" he calls, his tail affecting a playful wave.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Oh, it's on! The moment Meggan bursts out, Terry is joining her in harmonizing. It's... passable, making up for lack of vocal training with sheer enthusiasm. The singing dissolves into chuckles, and he sips his drink while listening to Meggan.

"No way, we're both in media?" he takes in her pointy ears, and his eyebrows raise, "Wait, you're the environmental activist, aren't you?" She does look different from her social media profiles but, over the last few days Terry has come to appreciate how little changes can hide an identity. Dick's domino mask, for example, does little to cover the full real estate of his face, and yet nobody seems to notice. Because this is Terry, after all, it mus tbe mentioned that his brain also comes up with the counter-argument that perhaps far more people are looking at his butt than his face, and it makes him want to make a mental note to ask Dick if that was an intentional and rather devious tactic. But he should probably ask when Donna is around, so if he gets yeeted off the top of the tower, at least someone will catch him.

He blinks for a second, having gone into a completely unintentional deep dive, and resurfaces. "You're actually on the list of topics that Lois assigned to me at the beginning of the Summer. Well, you and a series of other environmental activists and conservationists. I haven't gotten around to it yet because the world tried to end... what, three, four times this summer? Or two, and then there was the Shi'ar invasion, I almost died in that one... but it's so serendipit-"

A voice, a familiar voice and accent interrupts, and Terry turns around, eyes wide.

"Herr Wagner!" he says, with a wide grin, failing to realize that the blue elf has absolutely no fricking clue who this freckled dork is. "Fancy meeting you here. You two know each other?" he glances at Meggan.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Certain coincidences can be attributed to right place, right time, right finger on the turn of fate. This is terribly true where people like Meggan are involved. Things have a way of happening. Not always good, but necessity would not be necessity without adding a spice of the unexpected.

She guides a few locks of hair from her forehead, shepherding them around the curve of her face and back behind her ear. Silver strands stay put for now, but rarely behave for long. Especially when someone calling her name justifies turning her head. Pretty suddenly, actually. Surprise gives a pleasant mask, not an unwelcome one, when sound catches up to thought in the deep, varied seas of her wild mind.

Another time, joy might have sent her toppling forward to practically pounce Kurt from halfway across a room. She expresses that flash of joy in another way, the gentle empathic aura rolling away from her merely embodying deep delight. Opening an unexpected gift and finding something inside that's both meaningful and highly prized might be the nearest equation, stripped of any harshness. She turns on the stool to face the blue elf, her hands coming together. "Kurt!" Okay, the chiming welcome hasn't changed at *all*. Her eyes brighten up to a brilliant green where before their shade was nearly grey, mustering only a little hue around the edges. "How have you been? Here you are!"

"Yes!" she chimes in to Terry. "You know Kurt too? Oh, that's wonderful! Today has charted a much better path than the past fortnight, and luck provided two things I needed most. Silver and gold, new friends and old. Yes, we go back... oh, ages. It feels like ages."

She gestures to Terry, including Kurt in that circle of her hand. "This is Terry. We've been talking about music and some of our work, the Shi'ar invasion -- wasn't that scary?" Her conversational rabbit hopping is controlled, hardly running away in a babble. But enthused, yes. "He knows Ms. Lane, too, by the sounds of it. I would love to hear more about what you do there. Plus, you can talk to me any time about that for your work."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Reactions like that from Meggan never fail to bring a smile to Kurt's expression. Ignore the fact that he often smiles as a matter of course. "You know how difficult it is for me to say no to a pretty face. You have been well, I hope? It has been some time again, und I must at least partly apologize for that."

The needle veers off the record as the youthful-looking guy next to Meggan calls out to him, confusion registering immediately. "Ja, we have spent time working together und are good friends, but I am afraid I have not seen you before, or mein memory is beginning to go before I am even thirty."

It takes Meggan bringing up things like the Shi'ar and Lois Lane for him to begin to suspect there is more to this than he is aware of. "Oh...OH. You are the Grinsekatze?" Should this have been something he ought to have been aware of, clearly he is not. Recovering, he approaches. "It seems you are full of surprises. Me, I received a text from this lovely lady und I thought I might see if they had Weihenstephan Hefe here."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The redhead laughs and slaps his forehead, "Oh god... I forgot, you didn't meet me in this form!" He slides off his stool and reaches for the bracelet on his right hand, which sports the emblem of Wonder Woman. "Let me- We're all ma-"

He stops, and glances around. He may not be trained to sense things accurately, but the place suddenly gave him the impression that it was not welcoming of magical activity. "Oooone second," he says, and skips out the front door,

A few seconds later, there is a burst of color in the outside world, and the Cheshire Cat steps into the pub. He strikes a pose then, in an olive-colored jumpsuit that contrasts with the ginger-and-red fur. "Ta-daaa!" he says playfully, both hands on either side of the door, "I am ready for my closeup, Mister DeMille."

Descending the steps into the pub, he gives a merry laugh and, with a graceful leap he ends back up on the stool, spinning around twice until he's facing Meggan.

"Terry O'Neil's the full of it. I work at the Planet as a junior reporter under Miss Lane... and I'm also one of the Titans. And I also happen to be /the/ Cheshire Cat. It's a pleasure to meet you! I just met Kurt a few days ago... I plied him with food at Cafe Lalo to convince him to tutor me in acrobatics. If I had known a pretty face was his weakness, I would've gotten my cousin April to intercede on my behalf," he says, flashing that trademark grin and a wink.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
First, Terry trying to turn leaves Meggan shifting on the stool, her eyes wide to him. Green in her gaze holds, though fading back to a more natural shade. "Of course! I'll watch your bag for... Oh?"

He's out the door. A chance to speak with the German elf follows. "Very well and rather not," Meggan replies after Kurt asks about her welfare. She gestures to the shock of silver tresses framing her face. "Don't worry too much, Kurt. It was bad there for a while. Like being unwell, and not realizing how serious it was until you wake up with concerned faces all around, something like that. I'd gone severely out of balance inside." She taps her head. "A talk with the best doctor I know sorted it out straight for now, though I still need to find Mum and take a walkabout in the Otherworld to settle some of it down properly. Since whatever made me sick? I'm sure it is not the only one. The Doctor said one of my relatives was driven a bit nutters too except *he* tried to conquer... oh, it's a bit muddled. It went badly."

She manages to speak of events like tea or the best pairing of wine and steak, nothing cataclysmic at all. The concern is entirely for when Terry goes running out and bouncing back in. With that, her smile brightens again and she breathes out. "Oh good, you are okay! And most fabulously arrayed in a cloak of many colours." Fingers crook and wiggle a hello. "Cafe Lalo is the very best for pastries. I hope your education goes well. He's a fine teacher, among the best. Watch out for the dashing entrances." The compliments are genuine, her smile for them both ringed in amber sunshine and the sea's calm.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Kurt Wagner lifts a dark brow and shares a glance with Meggan. "You have met him before?" he asks, claiming the open spot that was meant for him, or someone else. It's his now.

"Und I am sorry to hear that, truly. At times, things get away from me und I need do a better job of keeping mein freunds close. Is there anything I can do to help, even if you are in a better place now?" he asks, folding his hands atop the bar as he turns just so to allow it, he looks back toward the entrance after the door opens again, Terry having returned as Vorpal.

"Ah, that looks more familiar, ja." If he's rolling his eyes right now, it doesn't show very well. "He was interested in learning a few techniques from me. I told him I would do what I can."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh, I have no doubt he is an excelent teacher. I can tell he can handle his body like a master. I can only hope I can be half as good as that. I've got instinct and natural agility, but that won't carry me forever. Just like my magic- it's all instinctual, and last night that almost got the world doomed, if it hadn't been for a friend intervening just in time."

He takes his soda again, and gestures, "So you two go back a long way... and you- ahhh..." now that he has Cheshire eyes on, things are much clearer now, "Are you magical as well, then? The old man said that people 'like me' frequented this place, so I was hoping I could run into people who could point me in the right direction. I'm on a self-improvement kick, and being the Cheshire Cat came without a manual, believe it or not."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The bar hosts its line of friends, the drinks being turned over by the bartender or Meggan herself. She has no question whatsoever about helping out, though duties on that front may be Chas' role more often than not. "We met now, and I definitely know his online presence. I spend more time than I should on social media. Between Gotham, Metropolis, and New York, plenty of worthy accounts to follow," she explains. Back atcha, Terry!

A swirl of the straw will come later, but when it's about nursing a drink, she can absolutely make one last. Her smile builds up a little as Kurt asks after her. "I don't know. I may have damaged a few things important to me beyond repairing. Even making amends may not fix them completely, not if the other person is unwilling. But I owe it to them and me to try." Eyes clouded by a reflective softness, her smile diminishes a little but not entirely. "But you aren't here for me to drink out my sorrows with you, Kurt, when my job is being the good listener. Subrosa of the bartender." She raises a finger to her lips, smiling briefly.

"Tell me more about what you plan on learning together?" she asks, changing the subject deftly but gently all the same. "How did you almost end the world last night? I thought it nearly ended a few days before that."

Her gaze shines slightly paler silver, losing more of its green. "This place harbours quite a few magical people, yes. The Empire Club, where the League is based -- Extraordinary Gentlemen, that is -- does as well, and same with Greenwich Village."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Kurt Wagner says, in his patient way, "That is all you can do, Meggan. Whatever happened, as long as you are sincere in your apology und willing to make whatever amends are necessary, you should sleep at the end of the day knowing you did your best, und if it is not enough for forgiveness, that would be a shame but at least you will move on over time."

Wise? Experienced? Idealistic? Hopeful? All of the above, perhaps. In a sense, naive.

He adds to Vorpal, "Meggan und I were part of the group in Europe, but more specifically England, known as Excalibur. Ja, after the sword. But she was captivated by my antics well before, isn't that right?" He's giving her a mischievous look by the time he finishes saying this, then he adds for her, "Vorpal here is seeking advice und training in the use of his teleportation, for starters." Regarding the world-endangering talk, he gives the Titan the floor for any more on that. It's news to him as well.

Though, he can't help but wonder playfully, "A League full of me? How would anyone manage?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh... there was this pyrokinetic mutant who had captured an elderly wizard and was using him to seal himself away while he was opening a portal to summon an eldritch, betantacled abomination into the world. His was order magic and mine was chaos... and. Well." Terry says to Meggan, looking a little embarrassed. "I couldn't get through, so the team couldn't get through the barrier. Luckily we had an insider who knocked him out. He was a sweet old man being forced against his will. In any case, I want to learn it all from Kurt- acrobatics, and how to pair them up with his teleportation, since I can do something of the sort. Maybe he can even teach me his fencing style!" He grins at Meggan, "He does seem rather Erroll Flynn-ish, if you catch my drift." He glances over at Kurt, and raises an eyebrow.

"A league full of you might be too much of the world. We are not ready for that much panache, mein freund. Am I right, Meggan?"

Another sip of his soda, and the caffeine is clearly starting to get to him. "Excalibur, like the sword- Oh, don't even get me started. I used to /devour/ books about the Arthurian cycle. I always wished all of it could be real- you know, the Round Table, handsome sir Lancelot... Morgan LeFay, the fae..." he trails off, and then looks down at his body, and then looks up. "But I ended up in a different book altogether!"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Fire-throwing mutants and abominations are the stuff of stories, and the daughter of the Otherworld is nothing if not a consummate audience for a talespinner. She plants her elbows on the bar, listening with open fascination. "No, no, go on!" she enthuses, encouraging Terry along. "Did they cancel one another out, the order and the chaos? Did something else happen? Sometimes they seem to square off or explode, don't they? And that's such a lucky stroke, someone who could stop it all before it went any worse. Are they all okay?"

Do not end the story without that clarification, not with an empath of that magnitude. She practically leans forward on the barstool to the point of falling off. "Yes, Kurt has all the derring-do and panache of the old movies and shows. Put him on a sailing ship, it would be a blockbuster. Of course, I'd never suggest a career like that unless you wanted it," she adds for Kurt's benefit, beaming. The infectious positivity hits her too, raising the glass to more than half-full. But it's temporary for now, her baseline more even than it ever has been.

"Teleportation," Meggan sighs wistfully, and cups her chin in her palm. Her elbow rests on the bartop. "I wish I knew how. You can go nearly anywhere lickety-split and save people like that. Does it feel funny when you hop through on spot or another? Not to pry if that is too personal. Curiosity, that's all. And no... You don't want to meet Morgan. She's very much about the eldritch, betentacled abominations, hurting many people in her pursuit for power. Recognition? A throne? At this point, it's muddied, and I'm not quite sure."

That sounds awfully familiar, which might be telling. Badly telling. But that fades away to address Kurt. "I'd say you know what happened, and I so badly need guidance. Advice, even. But it's sad. You came here to be jolly. Not something to talk about unless you really want to."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Kurt Wagner sits there with his hefe once it's been poured and set before him, and at the story Vorpal tells of chaos against order and all that, he can only shake his head and sip. "That sounds almost like a typical day for many of us. Und das ist sehr gut," he remarks while holding up his glass. "Funny you should say that of Mr. Flynn, as he is perhaps mein favorite actor. But we have not even begun yet. Let us take it one step at a time."

Vorpal's fawning over the Arthurian legends leads him to suggest, "Given some of what we have seen in this world, can you be so certain the Round Table, Lancelot, und all the rest did /not/ exist? After all, if you are from a story that has come true, cannot other stories also be?"

To Meggan he remarks, "Perhaps one day I will retire to my own ship und sail the seven seas for the joy of it, rescuing those that need it, all for a kiss on the cheek. You might ask, 'how can a pirate be good?' I say it is more about the lifestyle, the adventure." Then Meggan indicates Morgan actually does exist, and he points toward Vorpal as if to say 'see?' "Mein teleportation is a useful gift, but it carries with it some mysteries I have not yet been able to unravel. There are limitations I must be aware of for safety."

Finally, after another sip, he shakes his head. "You know me well enough by now that if there is something you need too share, you may do it und I will listen. I might even be able to help. As long as there is enough to drink here, I will remain happy enough."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"It's... kind of embarrassing, but holy and divine magic make me..." he clears his throat. "Let me put it this way. I touched Wonder Woman's lasso once- you know, the lasso that has the blessings of Hestia- and I felt like I was drunk for hours afterwards. After the Shi'Ar invasion I was mortally wounded and a friend healed me with holy magic." He clears his throat and sips his drink. Little does he know that by the time this evening is over, Meggan will be able to see just how much holy magic affects him, "I basically tripped balls for two weeks. I was starting to get loopy when my friend interceded. Everybody is alright except for the pyro-fascist. He got eaten by the eldritch abomination before we collapsed the portal."

"Speaking of portals, that's what I do. I don't exactly teleport as much as... poke holes in the fabric of reality and jump through. I call them Rabbit Holes because being on-brand is very important..." and he grows quiet for a second, glancing between Kurt and Meggan. "You know, I could nip out for a spot of lunch at the gyros place across the street and come back later, if you need to get stuff off your chest. " These two had known each other for a while, after all, and he had just met them. "And I can come back with gyros!"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"You tripped for two weeks after getting healed? Was it an accident, touching Wonder Woman's lasso or did that send you loopy too?" Can't blame a girl for asking, her eyes going a little wide for a moment. "I'm glad that you were okay, both times. That must be an experience."

She glances then at Terry and gives him a shake of her head. "No need for you to run aside. I would feel bad for shunting you off, even though you do that more gracefully than most would." With her silvery hair falling in her face, a sheet of it, she draws a circle on the bar with her thumb before putting her elbow back. "Is it the falling down a rabbit hole bit about something psychedelic, like rolling around in vertigo? Or the pathway leading one way and then another, an adventure like going down the wiki black hole, not sure how you end up at the end result after two or three hops? Because that happens *all* the time."

Little do they know the curve of grief or joy. The smile mirrors the white crescent of the moon, her fair lips too pale in her fair, mostly humanized countenance. What normal warm complexion and bright shades usually accompany the Englishwoman have been dialed down thanks to the elaborate ward marked into her very skin. She addresses them both. Inclusivity comes as naturally as breathing. "That's just it. Sleep was the whole problem, actually." Her tone is soft. "John -- the proprietor here -- vanished a little while ago. He went somewhere far away for important reasons, since he throws in to save others from themselves. I didn't want to be a distraction to him focusing on what mattered, so I went to sleep. I thought sequestering myself in dreams would keep everything safer. When you worry about someone else getting hurt or lost, it can break their concentration. With empathy, sometimes that feeling -- even if it's just faith -- can reach a long distance away. Dreaming about getting home safely and diffusing myself so that he would find a path back seemed the best route. But it wasn't." None too fine a point is put there, and she looks at both of them with that troubled, reflective expression instilled. "Sincerity may not cut it. I thought I was doing my best, and it looked that way from my side, but not to who I hurt. Good intentions matter not one bit to the hurt party. So whatever it takes, in my lifetime..." She halts.

Habit, of course. One of the fae never promises such things lightly. And their gods? A crooked little smile.

"I would."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
"Magic und me..we do not have much of an understanding," Kurt admits. "Though I know some who understand it quite well, which is all the more awkward." He listens to more of Vorpal's tale and busies himself with his beer, especially after talk of tripping balls, eldritch horrors, and the like. Heavy stuff. "Und yet you look nothing like a rabbit," he tells the cat after the rabbit hole term comes up again.

At his offer, he glances back Meggan's way. It's her tale, her show. /His/ tail is scooping up a few pretzels to cradle within a dip the sides create, held near so he can snag a few to chew.

Now comes the information. While he listens, he perhaps does not fully understand the situation. "I do not know this John," he begins, and looking around the place doesn't seem to show the man present right now, else he'd have either come over or probably given them enough of an eye that Kurt could tell from that. "Is it that he ended up needing you after the fact? If he is the sort to go it alone, or think he can do things himself, sometimes you have to let them und hope they do not fail so badly that there is not a chance for reconciliation. All the same, this sounds like a wound time may heal. I reiterate that if it does not seem like things will change, you must go on as you will."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh, no, I touched the lasso intentionally. I just didn't know I'd have /that/ reaction. But now I know, and knowing is half the battle!" He grins. "In common parlance, the Rabbit Hole is all about falling into strange and unknown territory, like jumping links on Wikipedia. Or looking at a link and going 'huh, what does Furotica mean?' and you click, and you're never the same again."

He reaches behind him and grabs his tail, and drapes it across his lap with a disturbed look. "That's when I found out there were /webpages/ dedicated to me. Of /art/. Can't unsee." He shudders and shakes his head, "But my rabbit hole is, by comparison, straightforward: Go from A to Z bypassing the rest of the alphabet."

He keeps a respectful silence when Meggan speaks of the issue, and he frowns a little. "... I have been to the Dream Realm. Nothing really is straightforward there, and subconscious desires can outstrip conscious intention. And that's without talking abut the LEGO musical numbers..." he trails off. "Long story."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan isn't lost in her own misery. It sits quietly in its swing, and occasionally reminds her of its presence. Clarity is a strange feature for the daughter of Danu. "She let you?" she whispers. "She seems so wonderful. I never met her but if I do, one day, is it okay to ask her about the time you touched the lasso?" Her eyes get wide and the smile peeks back out, refusing to settle down. Not when there is a choice to it. "Let's never, ever talk about furry art about yourself. I believe you have the right to be ignorant about that. Kurt, promise you, it's not cool when someone sends you a picture that is *so* creepy and inappropriate. I hope you never got that, only the awesome ones of you in a good pirate coat or a hat with a remarkable plume. An *excellent* sense of style, he has."

She nods at Terry to get his buy in on this, before looking back to Kurt. The blue elf subjected to the concentrated weight of her focus earns a little smile. "You'll have every woman and half the men swooning after you without ever drawing a sword or showing off how good a heart's in there. I don't deserve it, you know."

She breaks into a throaty little chuckle, soft, in a sense. "The Dream Realm and the Astral aren't the same exactly. Like... sometimes I see them. But -dreaming- in the Otherworld is different. Fae tap into the great potential and creativity when they dream, and they can do a lot in there. But it's possible to see what has been, what is, or what could be. It won't always come to pass, futures are really tricky that way. I tried to stay put there, away from the big nightmares forming outside, because they've been brewing and making me right sick. Except it wasn't obvious until the Doctor came along and pulled it out of me, but that's another thing. Anyway, sleeping and dreaming isn't a straightforward thing. And it wasn't intended to leave anyone alone but it did. So, right. Adventure time."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
"Fur..what?" Kurt asks, resorting to German again. "Was?" Meggan's follow-up about furry art gets him to shake his head slowly. "I think I will be having another drink right about now, Danke. I am sure there is no art of that kind of me out there, und I am not about to see if that is false. I am sure I am barely even known compared to many of you."

Plumes, he can get with. "Ahh, ja. Every good pirate must have a hat with a plume atop it, und a proper coat or shirt, or even a vest. You should have seen one of my Halloween costumes, freund," he finishes with an aside to Vorpal.

Dream realms, the Otherworld, these things are again a bit beyond his level of familiarity, and while he has /seen some things/ he chooses to leave talk of these to those with experience. He does add, "To adventure time!" as he holds up his refilled beer.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Cheshire Cat purses his lips and then breaks into a smirk, "Yyyees, I can see how someone would swoon over him," he says, glancing at Meggan. Was that an admission? He does notice the tone of longing in Meggan's voice, not unlike the one /he/ had more than a year ago. "Do you want to meet Wonder Woman? She's my friend! Just say the word and we'll hop over to the Themysciran Arts Center on a day she's there- she is lovely, and she'd love you!" the Cheshire says, putting his soda down.

"You know, in January of last year, my cousin interviewed Harley Quinn in Arkham. Then Harl broke out and decided to come live with April!" He laughs, and then he adds, "And we get to talking and she asked me who would ever give her another chance- and I tell her, 'Go to Diana of Themyscira'. Well, she did, and now she's walking a much better path. Diana is ..." and he has to grin, "Wonderful."

Trying very hard NOT to think of Kurt in a jaunty, flattering pirate outfit, he raises his empty glass and adds "I must concur: To Adventure!"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan stifles a smile again. Her mood is still even and bright, alloyed by friends. "To adventures and Hallowe'en costumes. I hope this year, we'll see some truly splendid ones!"

Then hitch, reverse that mental car, find the last exit. "Would you be willing to introduce me? I don't know what we would talk about but I love art and I've never been to the centre. Consider that done. Wonderfully!"

She slumps forward on the bar a little, and then shakes her head. "You two are balm to my heart. How grateful I am for such good company. If there is any way I can ever cheer you up, or simply be a cause for adventure and joy, you tell me how! The world needs more of this."