Owner	Pose
Terry O'Neil	Everybody knows the way to Raven's room. It was right there, in the dorm wing. Just a short walk down a hallway and a knock away. So why was it so hard for him? The Regalia, which Kian and Gar taken out of the vault for Terry, sat on his bed. It sparkled at him. It tempted him to put it on. She /had/ threatened to kill him. "What harm could it do?" He asks. And he immediately stops, the crown halfway to his head. Because he remembers what has happened every time he's asked that question. And let it not be said that Terry O'Neil can't learn his lessons. Eventually. A long, long walk (to him) down the hallway later, he stands in front of Raven's dorm room and knocks quietly on the door, the Red King's Regalia back in his room, sitting on its bed, almost telling him all the way over here that he is going to regreat leaving it behind. Knock - knock - knock. "Raven? It's Terry. I've come to talk."
Rachel Roth	Raven has been in a... In a state. For a good while now, she's been spiraling, and while normally that'd be very, very bad- Right now, it's just very, very awkward.     When Terry makes his way to her room, the knock receives no response. There are of course going to be further attempts, and eventually, a concession is going to have to be made: He /needs/ to talk to Rae. He can't let something like the silly barrier of a door stop him from doing what needs to be done.     Eventually, he has to go inside. When he does- however much hemming and hawing there will be in between the first knock and the second and the third, or more, and the decision, there is only silence. The sight that he sees when he enters is perhaps the least Raven thing he could see. She lies, face down, on her bed. She's wearing her sweater, and little else, so while it might not do anything for Terry, he at least knows how she gets such a clean and smooth surface in her usual stretchy pants.     On her nightstand is a half empty bottle of vodka, a martini glass that lies on its side, and none of the other ingredients for a vodka martini. She is unconscious- intensely so, clearly having sedated herself in an incredibly atypical way. Benefits of being of age, of course, but /where/ she gets the vodka is some minor mystery.     Either way, that's what Terry has to deal with. /This/ mess.
Terry O'Neil	"/Jesus Joseph and Mary!/" You can take the boy out of Catholic school, but not the school out of the boy. At least when faced with as awkward a situation as /this/. He focuses on the table. Yes. The table with the booze. All the booze. Where /else/ can he look that will not garner him instant deletion when Raven is sober once again? But he needs to help her wake up. And sober up. So how can he do that without looking at her? He calms down after a few seconds of deep breathing. Right, the trick is that he shouldn't look at her. A moment's deliberation, and an illusory cloud of darkness surrounds Raven's lower body, obscuring everything sweater down to preserve her modesty. He also now doesn't know what to do with the information that he knows what Rae's butt looks like. If they were close, that would be a thing to be joked about among close friends, even mentioning that his own was no slouch- but they weren't close. The very knowledge in his mind might condemn him to being sent to Trigon's waiting room. Okay. That's one thing taken care of. Now... sobering up. He grabs for his phone and quickly googles for 'What is the best way to sober up?' and reads quickly. He mutters as he reads, "There is nothing a person can do to bring down the blood alcohol concentration or BAC level in their body. However, there are some things they can do to feel more alert and appear sober. Oh, great..." he rubs his forehead. Coffee and cold showers were suggested. Coffee was an option. If he put Rae in a cold shower, he might not survive. A Rabbit hole to the kitchen and the coffee pot is grabbed. Then he kneels next to Rae's bed and reaches over to patpatpat at her closest hand, gently. "Rae...?" he asks, trying to keep his voice low because hangover aggravation woud only add to the litany of reasons to kill him right now. "Rae. You have got to wake up." Besides, laying on your stomach while intoxicated was dangerous. That, he knew. He didn't know exactly how he knew that, or whether that was accurate, but why take the chance? "... can you lay on your side?"
Rachel Roth	A cloud blocking out Raven's lower half is a pretty good idea. Sobering her up is a difficult task, though, because she's /unconscious./ SO, the first real challenge is waking her up. The cold shower would work, but it'd put his life on a timer: She might not have the power now, but when, or if, she does regain her former abilities... That'd be number one on the to-do list. Atomize Terry.     Wisely, the man reconsiders. Instead, he tries coffee. Raven does love her coffee. Now, he likely hadn't made /her/ coffee because that takes an inordinate amount of time and ceremony, but really /any/ coffee could do. Should do, even. As long as he can get her awake to /drink/ it.     Incessant speech does the trick, but not in a way that he'll enjoy: Specifically, while she does flutter close enough to consciousness to take action, that action is to roll over and away from Terry, muttering a quiet "Go. Away." to the cat.     This presents a couple of problems. The cloud isn't shaped right for her to be laying on her side facing away, so it's awkward again. Awkwarder, again, at least. The other issue is that she isn't alert much more than she was before, even if she's mildly responsive, his shout and then bedside manner having roused her from slumber.     Third, she hasn't realized the state she's in yet, so he has only a precious amount of time before she understands. This must be what it feels like to be on the Bomb Squad in Gotham.
Terry O'Neil	It is telling that, for Terry, this is one of the tensest moments he's ever had. If fate will not cooperate and conspire to his death, he will cheat fate- he will grab it by its neck. Or something like that. Rabbit hole to Donna's room, and pulling off the covers from Donna's bed. A quick 'floosh' to cover Raven with the sheet. There. Modesty. And he needn't explain their presence: for all she knows, she grabbed them from Donna's room in a fit of tragic drunkenness. Right. Now... the wakening. "Raven, you have /got/ to wake up. You're going to get alcohol poisoning, for one. And for another thing- we need to talk." Of course, no, Terry didn't make Raven's coffee. That's because he has a two jobs and just as many boyfriends, and he doesn't have the time to brew something that complicated while keeping the ever-lasting pot at the Planet stocked to maintain Lois in an even keel. At least he hadn't been given Coffee duties at Starr Inc, even if he /does/ brew quite a fantastic cup of Venezuela if he says so himself. But he has little time in his day for esoteric brews. "We really /do/ need to talk. There are things I don't know."
Rachel Roth	Someday, sometime, Terry will think back to this moment and wonder why that wasn't his first solution. Worse, perhaps he will consider that Raven has sheets and a blanket of her own, that would preserve modesty just as well. Not figuring out the easiest useful solution is one of Terry's greatest... Talents? We'll call it a talent.     Regardless, Raven is covered. She's a little too sharp not to understand what happened eventually, but right now, she isn't in the right state to question much of anything. Otherwise, she'd have argued that Terry should not be in her room. Her hand delicately curls into the sheet and tugs it up closer to her head, as if she needed more than her hood at that moment. The other snakes out, searching for the bottle that Terry will no doubt have placed out of her reach before she gets to it. That much foresight, he definitely has.     It'll result in a grumbling groan from Raven who is now awake enough to be aware of whether or not Terry has gone, and while her first response is "We don't need to talk. You don't know a lot of things." The fact that he doesn't leave eats at her, and swiftly- which means that in the middle of his next sentence she'll blurt out a strained, almost /whiny/, "WHAT do you WANT?"
Terry O'Neil	Count to ten. One, two, thre- "Yes, and /you/ don't know a lot of things either. And you've spent the entire time drinking yourself into a stupor while things have been going on." So the counting failed. Breathe. Try to be more understanding. Try to be kind. He sits back on his haunches. "We need to compare notes, and you need to fill me in on some stuff. So drink up and have a good gulp," he gestures to the coffee, "because we've got work to do. As much as I feel for this Troia, I want Donna back. I've been down to Wonderland already and I have my suspicions, but I can't do a lot with just partial information here. We're not going to get her back by mourning by ourselves. We're going to have to get her back as a team." He frowns. "That's why we need you. I need you."
Rachel Roth	Raven is the kind of person that just provokes the inability to calm oneself, sometimes. Right now? It's worse than ever.     "I don't want coffee." she says, in the most unRaven way physically possible, combining the least likely words with the least likely, mopey, tone of voice that has ever come out of her mouth. "I don't want to be needed anymore. I just want Donna but I... I have to..." She curls up on herself, visibly shifting into something approaching the fetal position with her back to the man who is trying to help get her lover back.     "I have to go get the other half of me. I don't want it. But I have to. I don't know anything other than that. I can't help. I'm not useful right now, and I have to go get /that/ to be useful and it'll make me dangerous again and I just... I just..." She breaks down, then, a little pile of misery under cover of sheets and sweater.     "You don't need /me/ you need /Raven/ and I don't want to be Raven anymore, I just want to be happy."
Terry O'Neil	Misery embraced, from Troia's prophecy. Could it be? He frowns. "... I do need you, Rachel." He says quietly, letting the woman indulge in her emotions. There was no shame in crying or mourning. "You are super smart and you know all sorts of things about mystic knowledge. You don't /tell/ me any of it-" he says, his voice lilting a little to add a little warmth and gentle humor, "- I'm pretty sure you knew I was part Fae apparently. But that's neither here nor there. When I lost my powers, remember? You and Donna told me that I didn't /have/ to be uselesss or feel useless because there was more to me than that. The only thing we have lost is a magnitude of power, but your brain is still there." He pauses, "And more of it will be there once you sober up." He waits for a few seconds, and continues in a quiet, still voice. "I don't know /exactly/ how this is for you, Rae. But I remember what it was like curling up every night crying my eyes out and seeing... seeing that video of Gar being torn to pieces replaying in my mind. Going to bed and waking up in an unending cycle with the knowledge that the person I loved was gone." He lets out a breath, heavy memories sitting with him. Out of kindness, he leaves out the memory that Rae said he would have to learn to deal with it, it wouldn't help. "... I just wanted to curl up and sleep and hide. And none of you let me do that. And eventually we found a solution. Look, Donna isn't dead, she's just currently in the midst of a probability anomality of some sort. It's a puzzle that we have to figure out. But I don't think we can all do it alone." He sits down on the floor, his toe idly touching one of the legs of Raven's bed. "You're always standing by yourself, you always come across as seeming to want to discourage offers of help. I know your burden is heavy. Unique, even. Maybe most of us can't understand it. But..." he shrugs, "You know. When I came out to my mom and she was in a bit of shock, and said she didn't quite understand... she told me that you don't have to fully understand someone to care for them..."
Rachel Roth	Raven is quiet in her misery while Terry is speaking. He's right, and she knows he's right, and she knows that it's her own advice that she needs parroted at her now. The problem is that what she needs and what she wants are at odds. Raven /knows/ that part of the prophecy or whatever-equivalent-noun had been used, directly relates to her finding and reintegrating what she had excised from herself with the help of a god of magic.     She doesn't want it. She was happy- sure, she hadn't really fully adjusted, wasn't quite sure how to act now that she could just /express/ everything, but she was happy- and that, she knew, somewhere deep down, wasn't allowed to last.     There's a long period of time where she just does nothing but provide a lump in the sheets, no longer sobbing but not /moving,/ as if all the life and joy had been sapped out of her, and for a moment it almost seems like now they'll have to jump into a mirror and have another hours-long adventure through Ravne's psyche... But, eventually, she speaks.     "I'll meet you... Somewhere that isn't the throne room. I don't want to see that thing again. We'll figure out where we have to go next. Just leave me alone for a little bit longer."
Terry O'Neil	Terry slowly gets to his feet, "Of course. Just let me put these... in the cupboard." He takes the bottles, a means of removing temptation. He knows about temptation and grief, and avoidance, after all. "Anywhere you want. You know distance isn't an impediment for me." He peers to make sure the coffee cup isn't precariously balanced over an edge, as he himself leaves it when trying to wake up in the morning, and then he starts tiptoeing out of the room. But he stops at the door and looks back at Rachel. "I know you want to be happy. Maybe we'll find a way. Or maybe there will be another path that isn't exactly what you want, but is enough of what you want. I can't guarantee a perfect anything... the only thing I can guarantee is that we will still be here for you." He slides out and closes the door behind him with a soft click. And now he had to dread Donna's return, because he was going to have to apologize for unintentionally seeing her girlfriend's bare bottom.