9545/Metropolisn't: Fit The First

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Metropolisn't: Fit The First
Date of Scene: 09 January 2022
Location: In a ship sailing over Metropolis. Because Terry.
Synopsis: I... where to start? Madison got the thimble, and cared about cats getting wet. Victor stuck a fork in his arm, full of hope, but it's not as crazy as it sounds. Well, actually it is. But it's Vic crazy, so that's okay. Mike refused to Crow at Terry's misfortune, as soaked, soaped and dislodged, he sang sea shanties. At least he got to borrow Maddie's coat, which made him smile. Ancient and foul Fae-ish magics preyed on Raven's mind, but they were less ancient and foul than the balloon, which was a patchwork of used underwear and should never be mentioned again. Raven will no doubt be extracting many concessions from Donna for all of this in the future, even though Donna, to be fair, did agree to /most/ of Raven's plans. It ended with a feline pendant, and an impounded ship, and if you're still reading this nonsense, you should stop. Really, just stop. Stop reading. Go home now. We're done.
Cast of Characters: Donna Troy, Madison Evans, Victor Stone, Michael Hannigan, Rachel Roth, Terry O'Neil




Donna Troy has posed:
    Metropolisn't what it used to be. There was a time when it was normal. No -- that's unfair. For years it has been plagued with oddness, generally shortly before Superman punched it. The last couple of months have been something different, though. Not only weirder on a bigger scale, but qualitatively different in one major way -- people often don't notice, at least until it's over and they wonder why on Earth they didn't realize how odd things had got. The weirdness of Wonderland has been imposing itself on Metropolis, and making itself what's real.

    Though the heroes of Metropolis have been fighting back and trying to limit the more dangerous outpourings of oddness, a kind of low-level oddness just seems to pervade the streets. Much of it seems harmless. The fact that everywhere you look there are people wearing deerstalkers and carrying butterfly nets in the hope of catching the fictional 'Snark' and claiming Loren Jupiter's $25m dollar reward fits in this category. For the segment of Metropolis unaffected by the widespread belief that the Snark is real, it seems a relatively harmless example of what has been afflicting the city of late. Life in Metropolis lately seems more like a waking dream than reality, and to those who can sense such things, there's more than a little truth to the simile.

    Though reports of Snark sightings are widespread, nobody has ever managed to get more than the blurriest of photos, and frankly what's in them could be just about anything. It may be that this is just a passing mania, but given the strangeness that is Metropolis of late, perhaps there really is a Snark? The reality of Captain Drum's ship is more certain.

    Throughout the day, an old and rather rickety sailing ship has been sailing through the air above the city. Flying from spot to spot, every hour or so the ship descends to tree-top height, and a loud kettle-drum can be heard beating out a rhythm. Once a crowd has gathered, the figure of Captain Drum (everyone seems to know this is his name, though perhaps they just call him that for the drumming) leans over the bow of the ship, lowers a rope-ladder, and calls out below.

"Ahoy the land!" he cries, his voice deep and resonant. "Ahoy the shore! I seek the Snark, I know his flaw."

"I have a map! I know his ways. My ship sails high, o'er this urban maze.

"So come! So come! And join my crew. Who'll find that Snark? It could be you!

"That treasure vast, shall soon be shared, Jupiter's repast, our fortunes shared!

"So board my ship, Those who dare, and join my trip, sail through the air!

"I'll catch that Snark! And you can too, I have a map! So join my crew.

"I know his flaws, I know his ways! So join my cause, but do not laze!

"So climb aboard, if you are brave, while I'm here moored, if the Snark you crave!"

    So far, it seems, nobody has taken him up on his offer. Some things are just too weird even for Metropolisians.

Madison Evans has posed:
    Madison's trip to Metropolis was meant to get her away from the madness that is New York these days - perhaps her mother didn't look closely enough when she picked the destination? Once arriving in the city, the teenager had happened adopted the deer-stalker and butterfly-net fashion trend, declaring boldly that she would certainly find the beast before the end of her stay!
    ...flying ships with beating drums were only the icing on the cake for her. The teen's eyes gaze up with exictement - and she doesn't even wait for the end of the poem before she jumps for the rope - jumping nearly twenty feet into the air after all the practice she's been doing with Spider-man. (Respect the hyphen).
    She climbs her way up, seemingly undetered by the way the rope later sways in the wind, and barely hampered at all by the net she carries in onehand.
    "Ahoy!" she declares as she reaches the decking. "I be Madison Evans, and a dab hand at, umm..." she flounders for a moment, searching for nautical terms, "the rigging, and polishing the brightwork, and uhh... yeah! Swabbing the decks!" Nailed it.

Victor Stone has posed:
    One might think that literally living in the same building with the Chershire Cat might make one immune to this snark nonsense. One might think that being very much aware that Wonderland is impinging on Metropolis, and having been /scientifically/ studying the whole business, might insulate the mind.

    One might think, but then again, Cyborg was there when the Titans rescued the Hatter, and he /was/ the one who played the awesome chord that put the naval base back to being a base instead of a bass. Look, it was a whole thing.

    So... he's snark hunting. Not for the prize, though $25m /could/ keep Titans Tower in food for like... a month, maybe. No, just for the thrill of the thing, the honor of the catch. He's wearing a deerstalker and has a butterfly net coming out of his cybernetic arm instead of a weapon. So when he hears about Captain Drum... well. He comes up to the ship and calls, "I hear you're the guy to talk to, to catch a snark!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
If there is one who is at home in a waking dream, let it be an earth bound phantasm. Mike had been in town yesterday for a charity performance of an Opera. And while the ending of the evening wasn't planned, him stopping by the Tower the next morning to say hi to any friends on site was. And such timing! For now the former drummer for Silver Round is now getting to form he own assessment of Captain Drum.

The musician cranes his head up, hands tucked in his pockets as he casually observes the flying ship. He is Seemingly not caring to be in phantasm form at the moment but considering the location of said ship. That's soon to change. "Why does this seem like a recipe for shanghaiing?" He mutters. Because he reads. That's why.

Either way, no one has taken up the pirate's deal yet so there's little reason to hop on up t-

Wait a minute.

Mike KNOWS that voice.

Turning his head to see the source leaping up to grab hold of the rope, the musician's jaw drops. "Madi-" Nooooooo- Shaking his head he takes a running start. As he flips his body into the air, his form shrinks down to a purplish black feathered form. The dream powered raven spreads his three foot wingspan to take off after the Happy Harbor student.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Seeing the ship closer up brings no greater reassurance of the vessel's seaworthiness than a more distant view, so it is perhaps fortunate that it is not sailing on the sea. How it's sailing in the air remains something of an open question -- even if the sails weren't threadbare and torn, they would hardly be sufficient for flight, and the ballon attached to the mast, which appears to be a poorly inflated assemblage of sewn-together underwear, is far too small to provide sufficient buoyancy.

    There is, it would appear, a lower decks to the ship -- but the doors that lead in have been boarded up, and a number of tents set up on the deck instead. An old-fashioned spoked wooden steering wheel is mounted close to the prow, and beside it a small telescope sits atop a tripod. A desk covered in paperwork sits the other side of the wheel, with an assortment of old glassware acting as paperweights. The glasses have not been placed with any great care, and the ship is leaving behind it a trail of papers flying off into the breeze.

    Captain Drum is about five foot tall, and twice that round. He wears a wide-brimmed hat and his face is barely visible behind a red beard of epic proportions, but lively, gleaming blue eyes shine from his face. "Evans you say!" The captain calls out when Maddie clambers aboard, the first to offer to join his crew. "Let's take a look at you. Hmm. Barely more than a slip of a girl, but I detect a courageous heart, and that's all a captain can ask for. Swabbing the deck though? Manning the rigging? Polishing the brightwork? None of those sound like useful skills. Let me see. Can you stand against the fiercest gale, while the winds whip the waves to a fury, and wrangle a wild spoon while it tries to bite yer feet off? No? Well then, could you make a candlestick taller 'n a man out o' bits and pieces ye find scattered on a beach? Or tie a knot in a rope that ain't been made yet. Probably not. Still, never mind. Ye can be my first mate."

    "At it, matey! To work! Splice the mizzen, frost the truckles and fray the vambraces! We're off! Ah.... ye brought your own crow!" Captain Drum turns to sweep his hat from his head and bow low to Mike, his red hair almost touching the deck. "Welcome aboard Mister Crow! I have a crow's nest awaiting ye, ye'll be my lookout!" He points up at the top of the mast. Just below where the balloon is attached can be seen a couple of wooden boards, nailed precariously to give the most dangerous-looking of crow's nests.

    This stop on the Captain's journey is proving fruitful, as next aboard is Victor Stone. "An expert in Snark hunting be ye?" the captain calls out to Cyborg. "You look more like a man who knows his way around a kitchen, but I'll take ye! Can't hunt a Snark without a well-fed crew. There's rations o' grog in the tent yonder, and we'll be feastin' on hard tack unless you can come up with something better!"

    The ship sails on, while the three new crew members try to get their bearings on the unsane vessel. Before long it draws to another halt, and the drum starts again -- on closer inspection, there is one other member of the crew, a tiny man no more than a foot tall, who sits atop the kettle drum at the rear of the ship, beating it with drumsticks larger than he is, each beat of the drum bouncing him up in the air. The Captain leans over the edge, and once more calls out "Ahoy the land!"

Madison Evans has posed:
    "Oh, I'm sure I can do //all of that//," Madison boasts. "And umm... find the chicken that has no bone, and the cherry that has no stone!" She beams at the captain as she adds, "I just need to make sure I call my mom from the hotel by 7:30 or she'll get pretty pissed at me - she has caller ID, you see," I mean - who doesn't these days?
    The teen looks momentarily surprised as she discovers she's been followed by a raven - but she quickly takes it in stride. "Oh, of course, my bird! This is ummm - Mischief! You have to watch out for him, but he makes things interesting."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Metropolisn't what it ought to be. Though on most days that's typically an understatement, today it's somehow even moreso, because Raven has decided to leave the roost of the Tower. She isn't alone of course: Likely the impetus for such an undertaking, by her side is the literally Amazonian form of Donna Troy. At first, of course, this could qualify as a form of date. As is /not/ atypical, however, the two are likely, as always, to come across something altogether requiring the attention of a pair of heroines.

    Such is the case today, as they happen across a ship having parked itself in the air above an assembled crowd. Raven's good mood turns somewhat sour, to a degree: Nowhere near as deeply perturbed as she would normally be, she pauses their walking to point out what needn't be.

    "Ship in Metropolis, taking on people. Hunting the Snark." she begins, bringing her hand up to massage at her brows. "We can ignore this, right? That's acceptable? This is Vorpal's job. This weirdness. We should page him, and bring him here by force to clean up his mess." None other than Raven blames Vorpal as directly for this current situation.

    Still, though, despite that Troia could easily stop an application of physical force, Raven nonetheless drags her partner toward the ship.

Victor Stone has posed:
    'Knows his way around a kitchen?' Well, Cyborg /does/ but maybe not the way Captain Drum means. Still, he doesn't want to argue with his new Captain, not if this is the way to find the snark, so he goes down into the tent to valiantly try to whip something up that's better than just grog and hard tack. He does this through judicious application of puns, turning a croquet mallet he finds in a bin into multiple croques, which is to say, bread and ham and cheese with which he makes grilled sandwiches. Croque monsieurs, this time, rather than madames. He is a monsieur, after all.

    He's bringing the plate back out to the deck when the ship passes by Raven and Donna. Spotting them he waves wildly. "Hey, Rae and Donna! Come join us! We're hunting snarks and I /just/ got dinner cooked!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"Raven!" The corvid responds rather quickly in correction. It seems there's often this mistake when talking to others. But then again the bird IS talking so not everything is by the book. "Crows are smaller."

His head turns, looking over to Madison as she weaves a tale to go with his presence. He gives a sigh. "Fine...caw."

For a guy who does acting on the side, there's not much feeling to that line. With a flap of the wings he rises up to take his place upon the crows nest. Well, better he's up in the crow's nest than in the kitchen while they're having trouble with their bird identification. Lest he end up on the menu.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Raven need not page- for all of a sudden there is the irruption of a disembodied male chorus, singing a gleeful hornpipe:

~There is a cat we all admire, so flashy and so snazzy, oh!
Who never has a thought of care; he takes his life so easy, oh!
And as he sails across the sens, enjoys his salt-junk daily, oh!
And since he never has a frown, can turn up his quids so gaily, oh!
Vorp's the lad, Vorp's the lad, always gay and frisky, oh!~

And there, as the ship approaches, there where its mighty shadow touches
there comes a tap-tap-tapping, like the proverbial koan clapping
upon the green and upon the street: his feline figure flowing, fleet,
the ship to catch and rigs to climb, a Cheshire figure in his prime

~Vorp's the lad. Vorp's the lad, to lower the rum And the whiskey, oh!
At keeping his feet he's handy, oh! his legs are rather bandy, oh!
A rollicking, frolicking son of the sea, is sailor Vorp the Dandy, oh!~

Upon the deck he sets his foot, he disregards the grime and soot
upon the planks for he has tread the dreadful dungeons of the dead,
his voice rings out, a pluck, a strum: "Ahoy, is that not good ol' Drum?"

~Who stows away his tot of rum, and of It ne'er grows weary, oh!
And though he's very often tight, can hoist his slacks so cheery, oh!
Who's been wrecked twenty times at least, but doesn't seem to care a bit,
Who at the skipper and the mate was never yet known to swear a bit!~

His Phantom friend he then regales with all the most absurd of tales,
"Oh Mike, you see, this man once bled until he spent the color red
and Wonderland of all its sheen despoiled of luster, hue and sheen
until the Queen of Hearts decreed that no man henceforth there may bleed!
Oh Captain, Captain, stout and brave- you seek once more to taunt the grave
and hunt the fiercesome, gentle snark that hides in wood, and glade, and park?
My Victor true has joined with thee? Then I shall join this company!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As Terry burts into song there is a thruming beat coming from crow's nest to accompany him. Stray bits of bright light errupt from the landing to spotlight the cat's entrance upon the deck. Due to the tattered nature of the perch, the Raven crow's nest can't hide its nature now.

The bird bobs his head to the music.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Troia isn't having any of it. "Rae... no we can't. I mean we... why are you dragging me /towards/ the ship if you want to leave it to Terry? Also, we can't leave all the weird nonsense things to Terry, he only encourages them." Troia stops firmly. As Raven is currently attempting to drag her, this means that Raven stops firmly, too. "However, this is obviously Wonderland stuff, so we should contact Terry and... Rae? That's Vic, isn't it. Vic is waving at us from the side of the ship."

    Aboard the vessel, Captain Drum looks long and hard at Mike. "A raven you say! Well that's no good at all. A raven in a crow's nest be no good at all. We'll have to build a raven's nest for Mister Mischief. Ye can make things interesting, my first mate tells me, but can ye make a crow's nest into a raven's nest? That's yer first challenge!"

    roia appears over the side of the ship, shortly followed by Raven (not Mister Mischief - capitalization will be important here). "Viiiiic," she says, one eyebrow raised, her attention on her team mate rather than the captain. "What the hell is going on? Why are you on this ship? You do realize there's no such thing as a Snark, right? It's more Wonderland nonsense."

    "Arr!" Drum declares. "A doubter. Never go on a Snark hunt without a doubter, that's what my old father always told me. Very useful. And another crew-member coming up behind! Excellent." He looks long and hard at Raven. "Let me find a job for ye. Are ye good with anchors? I need a woman who can make an anchor out of seaweed and twine, who can cast it deep, and cast it fine. Who can pull back the chain without no hint of a strain, and calculate compound interest while doing it. No wait, that last one is banker, not anchor. Can ye do those things?"

    He turns to Troia and says, "As fer you... can you fly in the air, faster n' a sparrow? Hurl a rope from afar, so it winds round a mast? Can ye lift a whole ship form the sea if it's stormin', and carry it back to the shore?"

    Troia looks at him, thoroughly nonplussed. "Uh... yes?" She hazards.

    "Hmm," the captain ponders. "I ain'ts certain I got a use for those skills, but I guess we can find something for yer to do."

    And then... Vorpal. "I know yous! I know yous!" The Captain declares. "Aha! A fine addition to my crew. The Pressure Cat, if I remembers correct. We can use him to plug any 'oles in the boat. Ye'll never sink if ye have a Pressure Cat aboard, that's what my old father used to tell me."

    The Captain looks around, beaming. "Six of yer, then! The perfect number for a Snark hunt. Never do twelve, it's unlucky. We'll be off then!"

    Troia looks around the ship, eyes growing wider, until... "Maddie? What on Earth are you doing here?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The Raven peeks out of the crow's nest, allowing for some beams of red and green to flash on and off behind him as they sway back and forth. "BUT THE MUSIC'S SO GOOD IN HERE NOW!" The bird protests over the dance music.

Madison Evans has posed:
    "OH. EM. GEE, you just //said// caw!" Madison gushes, as she stares at the raven before it flies off. She quickly adds, "Err. I mean. Of course he did. Mister Mischief //always// says caw. He's a very accomplished talker, you see. In addition to being a jewelry thief, and a sailor, and a witch's familiar. All at once!"
    As her name is spoken, Madison turns towards Donna - and beams with the brightest of smiles. "Oh! You're Irie's friend! One of the Titans! Hi! Umm, my mom sent me away from New York for a bit because of the angels - and now I'm hunting snarks! We just have to be back to the hotel by 7:30 to call mom or she'll kiiiiiiill me. Have you met my friend, Mister Mischief the talking raven?" She gestures upwards.

Victor Stone has posed:
    Vic /stares/ at Troia. "...No such thing as a /snark/? Donna... Donna, my great-uncle hunted snarks when I was young and regaled me with the tales. Snarks not real, /c'mon/, Donna. Next you'll tell me the Elf on the Shelf isn't real either."

    I mean. It's not. Except to the degree it is.

    He offers the plate of croque monsiuers around, to "Mischief" and Madison now. "Nice to meet you! I'm Cyborg, you can call me Vic. Ship's Cook, I guess. Shame Cait isn't around, she'd be way better at that."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    "I know we can't." she states, pulling Troia along until the shock of everything happening causes her partner to come to her senses. It lasts longer than normal, so for a time, there is a genuine show of the slight power dynamic between the two. When Troia stops, so does Raven, retaining her balance with the practice of having done this sort of thing before. "Guess we hit the safeword." she comments, low and somewhat under her breath, but it's there. "Yes, that's Vic. I hold no illusions that we're not getting on that ship, and I hate every moment of it, but it would be easier if you came along, and doubly so if you called Terry. I don't have my comm in."

    Then, she's back to dragging, using Donna's shock at Vic's presence to get her to the side of the ship so that the two of them can float their way upwards. "I don't think he realizes any of that, Troia. The issue is that right now, nonsense is word of law." Offers Raven, punctuated by the appearance of Vorpal, something that Raven despises in any context, most of all this one.

    Raven turns to Donna at the singing, having spent a moment trying to figure out the best way to annihilate the very concept of rhyme from the world, before gesturing all around them. "I guess you don't need to call him, but I would ask that you hit him. Repeatedly."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Hearing the introduction to him, there's a loud whistle sound as the raven peeks his head out of the crow's nest again, waving glow sticks at Donna while he continues blowing that damn whistle in rhythm to the music.

To the offered croques, the raven hops out of the crow's nest to swoop down. As he does so, the lights and dance music fades away leaving but just a stray amount of glow sticks to tumble to the deck below. "Thank you." The bird gives in exchange, tone pleasant as he starts to fly back up to the crow's nest. He pauses. latching his talons on to the pole instead of touching down on the nest. The mischief maker chews thoughtfully. Right. This is Vorp's Terry-tory.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"For sure, we must avoid all pessure if we set our hearts to reach our treasure-
a feast of kings, a feast divine- to eat such trifle we're inclined
and have our heart's content and fill--- ACHOO! oh god, I've caught a chill--"
And chill indeed his body's caught, a glaciar hoarfrost's icy spot
has limn'd his limbs, his tail, his head, "Jack frost upon my soul has fed!"
And with one swipe the rime removes---

"There, much better!" the Cheshire cat says, removing the rime from his fur, still shivering and shuddering a little. "I usually don't get this cold. It must be the glare. Oh, Madison, isn't it? What a coincidence! We, too, have a misty miss chief, the talking Raven!" the Cheshire cat waves in the general direction of Raven. You can tell where she is because of the line of daggers that usually leaves her eyes and ends up at Vorpal.

"No such thing as a snark... of /course/ it is nonsense, which is why it is real, isn't that right, my dear Captain? Victor, I must say your croques are absolutely fantastic." He waves to the line of strange footwear lining the outer wall of the cabin, ready for anyone to grab and wear to relieve the pain of standing up on deck for so long, "But what shall we do with /two/ Ravens?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Uh... sure Maddie, don't worry, we'll get you home on time," Troia says. "Troia. Or Donna, your call. This is Vic, and Raven. Who is not a raven. You remember Terry, right? The rhyming cat? He doesn't normally rhyme, but he's not usually rimed either." She follows Madi's gesture up to Michael. "Okay. Hi there Mister Mischief. Nice party you seen to have going on there." She turns her head to Raven, but rather than saying anything, she just takes a deep breath, and sighs.

    She does take a croque monsieur, though.

    The Captain reaches into his coat and pulls out a large scroll. "Just consultin' me map!" he calls out as he unfurls it carefully pointed away so that nobody else can see it. He studies it for a few moments and then lets it coil back up with a snap. "Right we are! Bearin' north by north west! Unfurl the sails and then furl 'em up again! Release the canker-batons and tie down the sward! All hands on deck, and all feet too! We're off to catch that Snark!"

    He spins the wheel wildly, causing the ship to lurch dangerously to the side for a moment before he catches the wheel again and it rights itself on its new course.

    "What are we doing here?" Troia asks Raven.

    "Huntin' the Snark!" the captain calls back. "Three o' you take a look at the table inside the red tent and grab yourselves some gear. Ye'll find a fork, a bar o' soap and a thimble. One weapon each! Choose wisely, or our venture be doomed. Doomed!"

Madison Evans has posed:
    "Man. I wish I could rhyme like that!" Madison declares brightly, taking one of the sandwiches and biting into it, before giving Vic a thumbs up. "Mmm mmiiimphy mooooom!" she declares unintelligably around a mouthful of food. Hopefully the gesture gets the sentiment across.
    After she swallows she adds, "Good to see all of Irie's friends again - gosh, I wish she was here! Troia, and Vic, and Raven, and Terry - and Mister Mischief! Off on an adventure, to find the mythical snark, to conquer the unknown, and to face utterly speakable terrors!"
    She strikes a dramatic pose.
    "...cook gets the fork, right? What should I take? I think my mom would want me to take the bar of soap - so of course I'll take the thimble instea- oh! Hands AND feet!"
    Abruptly, she claps both of her hands onto the deck. There we go.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The purplish black corvid looks down to Terry as he asks what to do about two ravens, "Would you rather I was a wolf?"

Victor Stone has posed:
    "Who will take a croque?" Vic gestures to the wall of footwear. "But you're right, First Mate Madison, I'll take the fork." He's really just entirely embraced the nonsense, hasn't he? "Who's got the soap?" Oh there are /so/ many comments that could be made there, but he'll leave them for someone else to make them.

    He goes into the tent, to grab the fork, which he considers for a moment before sticking it into his cybernetic arm in place of the butterfly net. "Sonic fork," he says with a grin. "/Yeah/."

    This cannot end well.

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Raven raises a hand, waggling her fingers in a mild and lazy wave towards Maddie as Donna makes the greetings. She remains quite silent the entire time, twitching idly that the cure to Vorpal's rhyming was homonyms. There's a level of poetic irony there that isn't lost on her, but it isn't something she approves of all the same.

    She does not take a croque monsieur.

    Instead of putting her hands and feet on the deck as one would when pariticpating in this particular insanity, Raven just stands there and sours as would a particularly potent lemon. Her expression shifts to that which is expected of her, leaving the realm of temporary happiness and almost mildly affable personage that it wears lately to assume what is her normal deep and permanent scowl.

    She gestures to the captain when he says they are hunting the Snark. Raven for her part raises one brow and eventually responds: "You were the one that was going to charge onto the ship. You're just upset that I did it first."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Aye Aye, Cap'n!" Terry says. And then proceeds to do the total opposite of what the captain says- putting hands on deck first, then feet, unfurling before furling. He goes into the tent, and then comes out, holding an index finger high, and the soap upon it. It has been clawed in the shape of a thimble Roughly. Very roughly. "I guess I'll select the soap, then, by process of elimination. And speaking of contemplating elimination- Rae, don't do that with your face, it'll stay that way..." too late.

He approaches Madison, "Trust me, you don't want to rhyme. It's not worth the chances of frostbite."

Donna Troy has posed:
    "The Snark'll be about havin' his breakfast right now!" The Captain calls back. "Keep yer eyes peeled. Not literally mind. Had a crew who peeled their eyes one time. Nobody could see where they were goin', and we kept runnin' aground. When yer ship's a sky ship, that's an achievement. "

    "Maddie," Troia says slowly. "I don't think you should take him so literally. You can stand up, really. Just because Vorpal's doing it doesn't mean everyone has to. Pretty much the opposite in fact." She pauses a few moments. ". I mean literally about not taking him literally, because... oh gods, this is..." Donna pinches the bridge of her nose and looks back to Raven.

    " Rae, perhaps if we /did/ catch this Snark, everyone would snap out of it? And everything would just go away and leave us alone? Am I... is it a bad sign that I'm even /considering/ this?"

    The ship's cook has forked himself, following an ancient tradition of Cyborg integrating random objects the Titans find into his chassis. He seems confident that this is the right thing to do, but the rest of the group don't seem to holding out much hope. Nevertheless, moments after he has got the fork in place, he can feel it vibrating oddly on the end of his arm, and a faint purplish glow starts to crackle around the tines. Perhaps it's the integration of cutlery with his sonic cannon systems, or perhaps some strange variant of St. Elmo's fire. Or perhaps it's just more Wonderland nonsense.

    "I refuse to arm myself with a bar of soap or a thimble," Donna declares. "It's nonsense. I have my lasso. That will do."

    "A lasso?" The Captain calls back. "Never heard o' anyone capturing a Snark with a lasso. Mister Cat! Have you ever heard o' anyone capturing a Snark with a lasso? I didn't think so. Neither have I. You folks take the gear I laid out on that there table, and take old Cap'n Drum's word fer it that there's nothin' better for capturin' a Snark. So long as you use 'em right."

    He turns his head back, no longer looking where he is steering, and narrowly avoiding the top of a skyscraper. "You folks are usin' 'em right, ain't you? If you don't knows how to use 'em, all sorts of horrible things can happen" He studies Madison for a moment. "You be careful there, young lady. You'll fall over board!"

    He turns back to the wheel. "Not that a Snark is a dangerous creature of course," he calls back over his shoulder. "Safe as anything, really. Quite a tame beast. Though very slow to catch on to jokes."

    Donna looks up at 'Mister Mischief' again. "Why is there a talking crow?" she asks. "Is this another of your Wonderland things, Terry? Or is he one of ours?" Donna has met Mike before, but not in this form. Last time she saw him, he was on a game show.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The raven looks down to Donna, "I assure you that I am not of Wonderland. I'm just..." He pauses, looking towards Terry, "familiar with things of that nature. And perhaps privy to a nature that runs in parallel at times."

Madison Evans has posed:
    "SOAP THIMBLE!" Madison crows with delight. (Oh, lord, not another corvid - do we really need three?) She pops back up to her feet, beaming at the captain as she adds, "Never fear, Captain! Your First Mate has a right steady set of sea legs on her! ..sky legs? Nevermind."
    Her attention shifts to Donna as she adds, "Well - you gotta play along. Otherwise what's the point? It's the spirit of the thing! The sense of adventure! The- OH! My thimble, right!"
    That said, she dashes into the tent to retrieve her prize.

Victor Stone has posed:
    Vic gives Raven a hurt look since she won't take one of his sandwiches, but then the fork he's put into his chassis is /crackling/ and /glowing/ and that's just the coolest thing ever. He starts to laugh, cackle really, that mad scientist laugh he sometimes gets. He raises the glowing fork to the sky.

    "No snark can escape us now!!!"

Rachel Roth has posed:
    As the insanity mounts, Raven folds her arms. Her hand comes out, and with a flick of her fingers, she wordlessly grasps the bucket for scrubbing the deck, and sends it and its contents flying in Terry's direction. That's her only response.

    "The best advice is to just not be here at all." she comments, hoping that Maddie might take that to heart for next time something absolutely bonkers happens within her vicinity. Go somewhere else is probably the best solution. Sadly, she and Donna cannot and did not take that advice today.

    "I have no hope that it will be over if we capture some sadly-currently-existant being at the behest of Wonderland and a ship's Captain that has saltwater as his only cranial contents. The only reason we're here is so that nobody who doesn't have powers gets on this ship."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"The Raven is an old friend, quoth him often, Donna, mark my words. Familiar, indeed, you might say he almost has insider knowledge! And Captain- no, I have /never/ heard such a thing! To lasso a Snark... it's impossible, you need to be able to go hither and tether, everybody noose that! I see my dear friend is currently being preyed upon by her nobbler instincts..."

He narrows his eyes at the Raven, a question finally, can be answered. "No. Not a wolf. UNLESS the Snark happens to be near Grandmother's house, in which case we would have great need of you."

And then, there's a bucket upside down over his head, and liquid all over him. "Well, Rae always says I am all wet, after all. Rae, you really should let your hair down one of these days," he sighs, almost transitioning into a sulk. Ufortunately, his thimble has also gotten wet, and there are bubbles blowing around him now

Donna Troy has posed:
    While Madison is rushing into the tent to recover the thimble, the Captain once more takes the scroll from inside his coat and unfurls it to study it, jealously guarding it from the gaze of the others. After a moment he puts it away, peers through the telescope for a moment, then puts his hands back on the wheel to give it another spin. "HARD 'A STARBOARD" he cries as the ship lurches once more, causing the thimble to roll off the table just as Madison is about to grab it, and roll out of the tent and across the deck.

    The ship rights itself again, and the thimble comes to rest against one of the boarded-up doors that presumably lead below decks. "DUE NORTH!" the Captain cries. "We'll have this Snark in no time! Why I can already taste th... I mean, the twenty-five million'll be ours!" He peers up to 'Mister Mischief', shielding his hand. "They're very good for strikin' a light too, 'tis said," he confides in the Dream bird, though given the distance between them and the volume required to communicate, it's not a very private confidence. "Better 'n yer glowy sticks, I'll be bound."

    A wet cat is always a miserable sight, even if he can just about avoid the sulk. His soap-carved thimble slowly melts on his finger. It may not take another ducking. Victor, on the other hand, is having a good time with his fork. As he strikes that pose with fork held high, it begins to *tingle* and he can feel it dragging very gently. He senses that it wants to go /east/.

    Troia is sulking. Or at least she has her arms crossed and looks a touch annoyed. "Rae, you're right. Maybe we should just run this ship aground and break the mast so it can't go anywhere, and this idiot captain can't drag anyone else on board?"

    At the stern of the boat, the tiny man on the drums beats down twice with his drumsticks, bouncing high in the air with each drum. The drumming booms across the deck.

Madison Evans has posed:
    Madison careens across the deck after her thimble and- well. Rather belatedly realizes she doesn't have to. She skids to an almost cartoonish halt, and holds out her hand - only for the thimble to rocket towards her outstretched palm. She closes her hand around it, and starts hurrying back to the others with her prize. "Got i- aww, man, who made the kitty all wet? Everyone knows cats hate water! Here," she starts pulling off her coat, "You'll get sick. You should borrow this."
    She holds the coat out towards the man - sure, he's a little bigger than her, but he should be able to squeeze into it. It wasn't exactly a snug fit for her, anyways.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The Raven tilts his head as Terry vouches for him. Giving an uncanny smile that should not be natural upon a beak. And yet the smile is there. The bird gives a slow nod, "So a Raven I shall continue to be. Now. I hear arguments about the existenence of snark but I have missed the reason why we're on a boat seeking it out when people can so easily create it on their own."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    "If you keep going, the things I throw will get larger and larger until it reaches the size of an Amazon that will be more than allowed to blame me for whatever happens to you." Raven notes, staring directly at Vorpal. It answers the question of who dunked the cat, but similarly, another question is why Vorpal is the one getting all of her ire in this scenario.

    "You are, after all, responsible for this." She answers, promptly.

    Turning back to Donna, she raises her shoulders in a shrug. "If I felt that anything short of burning this ship down would have any effect, I would have done it. With our luck, the most nonsensical response is that we did not destroy the ship's heart in some fashion, and then he's back on the open skies in a ship made out of one suit of playing cards." There is, then, a short pause.

    "You were the one who said we should leave the tower."

Victor Stone has posed:
    Cyborg turns with the fork in hand, finally pointing it due east. "I think we should turn hard a' starboard again, Captain! The fork wants to go east! Man, I've never tried snark, I bet it'll be delicious."

    He looks around at Donna and Raven. "Aww, c'mon, we're having fun! Lighten up! Enjoy the hunt! The thrill of the chase! The ridiculous puns! The crisp texture of snark!"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I am not!" Vorpal protests, looking genuinely upset for a moment, "Everybody keeps blaming me and I've done /nothing!/ It's that Al-is. Or Al-isn't. It's-"

He grabs onto the mast to avoid getting swept to one side or the other, careful not to lose his thimble. "... Donna, Raven is blaming me. You need to settle this argument!"

Donna Troy has posed:
    "But at least it would delay him and we could go home," Troia wheedles. Offering Rae the opportunity to go home. That, surely, is a temptation she would find hard to resist. "I could reduce it to matchwood?"

    The people who know poor Terry don't seem particularly upset that he has got soaked. Perhaps there is no coincidence in that fact. Nevertheless., kind-hearted Maddie cares! However she finds it a little hard keeping hold of her coat as she holds it out to the cat to take, because in her hand the thimble starts to vibrate violently. She feels like it's dragging her... south!

    

    The Captain looks around with surprise when Victor makes his claim. "East you say? East? Surely not." He pulls out his scroll, consulting it once more in a huddle to prevent anyone seeing what's on it. "Nonsense! Poppycock!" he cries, letting the scroll curl back up. "I see nothing on my map to agree with you. North we will continue to go!"

    "I have already proposed a way to settle this argument," Troia points out to Terry. "Ship. Matchwood. Home. Right now the only thing that's stopping me is that the balloon..." she glances at the frankly ghastly assortment of sewn-together underwear floating clumsily above the mast before continuing. "...is clearly not capable of holding this ship up, and I suspect it is being held up by nonsense and obstinacy, and smashing it to matchwood might not stop it. Maybe we should ask the bird to create a Snark for us, and give it to the captain in the hopes that makes him happy. Terry, any idea what a Snark actually looks like?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The bird turns his head at the mention of creating a snark and then looks over to the female Raven expectantly.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Still hanging on to the mast, as a precaution, the Cheshire reaches out for the coat. "Why, thank you, my dear, it is good to see at least /someone/ in this cruel, cold world cares for me." The little coat is reached for, gratefully, and gives Madison a smile, dispelling his previous cloud. "And you are asking the wrong Raven for that miracle, Donna. Miss Glower McGloweface is the one who is full of snark!"

Madison Evans has posed:
    Madison beams brightlly at Terry, before she attempts to answer Donna's 'logic' about the illogical ship. "I'm pretty sure the underwear balloon is filled with faaaaaar-! OH!" Madisons childish exclimation is cut off as she feels the thimble jumping and quivering in her hand. She digs in her heels - but feels herself dragged a few inches anyways. "WHOOOOA!" she exclaims. "Thimble says we're going entirely the wrong way!" she exlaims, opting to close both hands tightly on the thimble, to help her keep ahold of it.
    "Gosh this is fun!"

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Raven ponders Donna's offer for a period of time, before offering a nod. "Yes. Please. Destroy the ship." Raven herself does not seem to have any issue with the ships tipping and turning, nor the wind that they're likely to be buffeted by at their height.

    However, the oddities catch her attention more than Terry and Donna's short back and forth. Her mood deepens ineffably, and it is only because she is so adept at keeping knowledge of her surroundings, that she notices all of the signs. For a moment- half a moment, indeed, Terry is almost charming. Truth be told it is because at this moment Raven is more human than she's ever been- and many of her mental protections are currently offline that she even notices it as it takes effect rather than as it rebounds.

    "No." is the first word out of her mouth, as her eyes narrow and the left twitches a few times. "Fuck every last part of this." Her attention turns to Donna, "Break the ship, and Vorpal, and everyone else who disagrees. I am having no part of this, not /now./"

Victor Stone has posed:
    "East!" Victor insists, swinging his fork back and forth. "East is the direction and the direction is East! North is the /worst/ idea. North is where you go to sail into the stars." Wrong half-nonsense, Vic.

    Then he peers around at both Terry and Raven. "Rae, did you find a snark and not /tell/ us? I thought you didn't believe in this stuff?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    "South? East? What are you talking about?" the captain cries out. "North I tell you, north!"

    Troia takes a deep breath. "Nope. Down." She expels the breath. "Look, maybe you guys are having fun, but this is dangerous. This idiot could pick up people who'd be in trouble if he crashes this thing. And he's narrowly missed crashing it into buildings several times. People could get /hurt/. And if you hadn't noticed... well I see that Mister Mischief has at least... we appear to be hunting Raven, not a Snark. Which..." she takes a deep breath. "DOES. NOT. EXIST."

    She narrows her eyes for a moment at Vic, daring him to contradict her, but she doesn't wait long enough for him to have the chance before she takes off from the deck. "Rae, give me twenty seconds to get underneath this thing, then destroy the balloon please. I'll bring this thing down safely where it won't cause any damage, and then we can wreck the thing."

    And with that, she flies out of sight beneath the ship. After a few moments there's a bump in the passage of the ship, and it comes to a halt in mid air. "Any time now, Rae!" Troia's voice comes calling out from below. "Down we go to Davy Jones'... ground."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
From the high vantage point, the raven looks to the positioning of others as they shout their directions, and then to the reaction of the young woman. Giving a chuckle, the raven hops off his perch, gliding down to land upon Terry's shoulder with a light touch. "And... there we go. Snark. It is a learned trait. And you can catch if you're not careful."

Madison Evans has posed:
    "Wait - what?!" Madison has to concentrate on that part of herself she calls 'the Force' - to help her resists the pull of the thimble (who knew the thimble would be so mighty?!), so that she could skirt around Raven and prove that - yes. It was always pulling her in towards her. "Ohhhh. Oh, it is-!" She starts to giggle. "Silly thimble. You think if I let it go it would just... plink? Right into her?" She looks to the others to see if she should try or not.

Victor Stone has posed:
    Vic peers at Donna for a moment. Despite the nonsense, he /does/ trust Donna. He takes a step around, back and forth... and the fork keeps pointing at Raven.

    Well.

    He sighs. "/Fine/," he says, looking vaguely pouty. "No, don't do that, Madison, she gets grumpy. Can you hover or something? Prepare to hover."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"She's no fun," Terry says to the phantasm, his smile wilting a little

But then he suddenly girds his loins (how does one DO that, anyways?) and decides that, if they are going to stop because of The End Of All Fun, it might as well be in style.

Thud - Thud - Thud - Thud

A rhythmic thud against the mast, with his fist, setting up a rhyhthm. And then he sings:

~There once was a ship that flew the breeze
With a brilliant crew, so if you please
The winds blew up, Donna went down
Oh boo, the end of fun, boo:
Soon will the snarky one come
to bring us misery and glum
I'm fed up being blamed and so
I'll take my leave and go~

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The raven grins and sings along, pointing over to the Happy Harbor Student, "Madison it's time to leave, my dear
I can't leave til you're in the clear.
We've found the snark and now play times thru
Time to go to land and call mom too."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    As everything continues to focus on her, Raven stands there and continues to sour as if somehow that is a thing that is physically possible. She is not without the knowledge to end this debacle, but at the moment, she is somewhat without the raw magical power to do so. Certainly, if this had happened some weeks later, or some weeks earlier, there might not be a Wonderland left.

    At Donna's cue, Raven unfurls her arms and slings both in opposing directions. From her right hand emits what can only be described as a two-dimensional shape, flying through the air and seeming to cleave the balloon in twain. The other hand, however, flings a tiny bolt of blackness, in cover of the first gesture.

    This smaller bolt surges towards Terry's ankle and, if it connects, it will pluck him up and drag him violently overboard before dropping him.

    Sure, it's not quite the same as teleporting that one guy infinitely, but it's what she can do with ease right now.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Victor's warning is unnecessary, and there's no need to hover. The bursting of the horrendous balloon causes a slight bump in the journey, but that's all. After a few moments the passengers, now missing a cat, feel the boat heave to one side and start moving in quite a different direction. West. Vic will be so disappointed.

    The Captain frantically attempts turning the wheel of his ship, but to no avail, "What's happening!" He cries. "I've heard of passengers being Shanghaied, but an entire ship? Entirely impossible! Absurd! Nobody has heard of such a thing."

    The ship picks up speed until quite a strong breeze can be felt, and the ship is making a significantly better pace than it had been before. It isn't long before the giant T of Titans can be seen in the tower, getting ever closer and closer.

    Eventually the ship comes in to the bay, and there's a short bump as it plummets a few feet and settles in the water close to the tower. By the time the others come to the edge of the boat to look over, they'll see Terry and Troia standing on the shore, waiting for them.

    "What are you doing?" The Captain cries. "Where are we? What nonsense is this?"

    "You can think of it as the vehicle impound yard," Troia replies to him. She gestures to the shore with a thumb. "OUT."

    In days to come, those who had been there on this bizarre journey will be able to enjoy looking at the many clips of video of the voyage that had been posted to social media, but the ones that get the most hits are definitely the ones that show Troia carrying the boat as she flies over the city, with Terry dangling below her, lasso wrapped securely around one of his legs, like a pendulum.

Madison Evans has posed:
    "Hover? No! Jedi don't hove- ooo! Sea shanties!"
    She listens intently, waiting for a chorus so she can join in but- there isn't one. The teen lets out a heavy sigh of disappointment, before the ship jolts, and they begin to be carried along. She runs up and down the ship - enjoying the view and pointing out the sights until they land safely.
    Once upon the shore, she tries to pull the damp feline wearing her coat into a selfie - with the ship in the background. "Emma won't believe this one!"
    Click.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As the phantasm's perch is snatched out from under him, there is a period of time where the raven is standing in thin air. But when the sight of Terry being flung off enters his side vision, the bird's smile dies quickly. "TERRY!"

The moves quick but Donna is quicker. By the time Mike gets to Terry, the cat is on his second swing on the pendulum. Flying over the bird grabs on to Vorp in a bit of a tiny hug. Giving a soft murmur of instructions, he allows for the swing of the rope to continue their movement. But as the rope starts back downwards, the pair swings up through the ship. Popping up through the deck.

Once they're situated top side, the bird taps Vorp on the shoulder and lets go, glaring at Rae in the process.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry opens his eyes.

That was... strange. But the Cheshire Cat recovers, standing straight once his feet are safe. He reaches over to straighten his tie, which he apparently has now, for reasons, and clears his throat, eyes squinted dagger-edge thin in Raven's direction. He wets his lips once, and speaks:
"Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, misprizing what they look on, and her wit values itself so highly that to her all matter else seems weak."

The burst of magic from a Rabbit Hole opens behind him, showing the bullpen at the Daily Planet.

"I've got a meeting to go to, if you'll excuse me." And the hole closes behind him.