Owner	Pose
Terry O'Neil	Over the course of several encounters, the Titans and their allies have made some progress, through small excursions into Wonderland. But so far, many questions still remain unanswered. Physical excursions have set our heroes on chase for physical clues- The Hookah and the White Rabbit- and Nadia's excursion led her to discover that there seems to be some sort of apocalyptic Cult of Alice growing in the land. But still... questions abound. Such as: What is the 'dream' that Troia's oracle spoke of? Wonderland is, of course, a dream creation... but, why, exactly, was it created? "I thought Looking-Glass might be a better approach for this." Vorpal says as Troia's portal drops them off onto square G1- a relatively safe landing spot, or so he thinks. The forest is thick here, although a square East is the modest village that borders the Tulgey Wood, and the square West holds the towering, gleaming white cathedra of the White Bishop. ut this square has been overgrown, the forest running rampant, half-hiding the dilapidated white tower that pokes out of the dense canopies in the distance. It is hard to say, exactly, how how far away anything is- distance is something that can change in the joint realms of Wonderland and Looking-Glass Land. Somehow, though, the enormous country always manages to have perfectly-shaped squares, no matter how distance might appear to fluctuate. The forest feels old. And there is something lingering within it, even in the strata of chaos magic and other elements, there is the distinctive, glimmering presence of the Dream. It glitters here and there, occasionally becoming visible to the eyes of those who can see it, but only for a moment as a possibility becomes predicate and something new and unusual appears, or as something passes from being into mere discussion, and then becomes something else. Chaos and Dream working hand in hand in weaving the wild, yet careful, pattern that seems to underlie all. And yet, there is also something else. Tendrils that do not shift but are constant, passing through the pattern, snaking through the earth and the grass. Inviting to the touch, to those who partake of dreams. "The Looking-Glass House is across the chessboard West of here, I think. I figured that this would be the stealthiest way to come in and attract less attention."
Terry O'Neil	Over the course of several encounters, the Titans and their allies have made some progress, through small excursions into Wonderland. But so far, many questions still remain unanswered. Physical excursions have set our heroes on chase for physical clues- The Hookah and the White Rabbit- and Nadia's excursion led her to discover that there seems to be some sort of apocalyptic Cult of Alice growing in the land. But still... questions abound. Such as: What is the 'dream' that Troia's oracle spoke of? Wonderland is, of course, a dream creation... but, why, exactly, was it created? "I thought Looking-Glass might be a better approach for this." Vorpal says as Troia's portal drops them off onto square G1- a relatively safe landing spot, or so he thinks. The forest is thick here, although a square East is the modest village that borders the Tulgey Wood, and the square West holds the towering, gleaming white cathedral of the White Bishop. But this square has been overgrown, the forest running rampant, half-hiding the dilapidated white tower that pokes out of the dense canopies in the distance. It is hard to say, exactly, how how far away anything is- distance is something that can change in the joint realms of Wonderland and Looking-Glass Land. Somehow, though, the enormous country always manages to have perfectly-shaped squares, no matter how distance might appear to fluctuate. The forest feels old. And there is something lingering within it, even in the strata of chaos magic and other elements, there is the distinctive, glimmering presence of the Dream. It glitters here and there, occasionally becoming visible to the eyes of those who can see it, but only for a moment as a possibility becomes predicate and something new and unusual appears, or as something passes from being into mere discussion, and then becomes something else. Chaos and Dream working hand in hand in weaving the wild, yet careful, pattern that seems to underlie all. And yet, there is also something else. Tendrils that do not shift but are constant, passing through the pattern, snaking through the earth and the grass. Inviting to the touch, to those who partake of dreams. "The Looking-Glass House is across the chessboard West of here, I think. I figured that this would be the stealthiest way to come in and attract less attention."
Michael Hannigan	As the two representatives of dreams and chaos are set down, sharing a starting point most commonly reserved for one. The wild haired vissage of Nick Drago glances around. Considering the nature of the task, a phantasm was not needed today. So instead he has dressed as disorderly as he could be. And what stands more for against order than person who basically gets paid to roam around, singing and dancing in front of screaming fans...And the people they dragged along with them. Dark lined eyes look around the Chessified-land, momentarily glad they started off at the begining stage. He glances down to his dark attire. "I should have worn lighter clothing."
Terry O'Neil	"Well, the weather shouldn't be too oppressive." The Cheshire glances around and frowns, "At least, I hope so... so the tack I was thinking of was that..." he leans against a nearby tree, "You have your finger on the pulse of dreams, right? Well, that's something no-one else I know can do. Sure, I have gone into Dream and manipulated some things, but someone had to /put/ me there." He glances around, "I figured that if Wonderland was born from dreams, maybe someone who could sniff out on the inside might help us get some clues. Now that you can actually get in thanks to Troia's portal. Because /someone/ clearly doesn't want /anyone/ getting in, from what you told me is enveloping this whole realm..."
Michael Hannigan	Nick looks over to the Cheshire, giving a nod. "If it is dream related, I can see it or interact with it." He responds, looking around. "When given enough time. Do we have hints of what we are to look for? Or is this more looking for something out of the ordinary in something out of the ordinary?"
Terry O'Neil	Vorpal shrugs, "What's ordinary around here?" the cat says, nodding towards a pair of squirrels running up the tree. Or, rather, fighting up a tree. Each one is dressed in a tiny squire's tabard, wielding tiny little swords at each other. "I was thinking we could pick up a remote place and try some dreamwalking... or however it is you access the dream, and see where the subconscious of the world takes us, you know?"
Michael Hannigan	The battle of the tree knights is not ignored as Nick tilts his head up to watch the fracas. "Well ordinary here is unusual so the unusual would likely be ordinary." Nick comments. "But yes, we can try dream walking. But mind you we won't be able to let go of each other while we're doing that." Nick shakes his head, "Either way. Let us find the remote place." There's a pause before Nick cracks a smile, taking a couple steps forward. He steps to the side, glancing back to Terry, "Hopefully there'll be something good on."
Terry O'Neil	"Oh yes, not letting go of you- what an absolute torture," The Cheshire cat smirks, "What ever shall I do? Like that time we were watching Encanto?" Terry leads them further into the forest, and little by little the ruined tower comes closer and closer. Glimmering remnants of raw dream flash into existence here and there before dissipating. The white tower itself is a magnificent ruin, overgrown with ivy. "The White Rook vanished a long time ago. Nobody knows where she went, but her tower fell into ruin. That's something I remember as far back as my dad being here..." The inside of the tower looks strangely attractive, with layers of moss covering surfaces, and butter-flies flapping their golden, tasty wings, coming in through the windows and flying out of the holes in the walls. "So do we lay down and fall asleep, or how does it work? This will be the first time I'll be going into this voluntarily."
Michael Hannigan	"A torture indeed." The musician agrees while his tone does not. Nick may not be phantasmed but even now his lips form a wide smile at the mention of that particular movie night. "...I wouldn't mind seeing that movie again with you." He admits. "Well, once we're done here that is. Probably going to need a place to crash tonight." The plans for later are put on hold as they start to progress into the forest. He blinks as the flicker of dream draws his attention upon the path. The mention of the tower's occupant brings him back to the now. "Maybe she migrated for the equivalent of winter here?" He offers up as a suggestion as they step inside. Nick takes a moment to admire the inside. There's a crack of smile as the delicious looking bugs add a bit of a choloesterol spiking sheen to the place. "We'll go in physically." Nick answers, "No parts left behind for this trip. Now, to allow you the most ability to move, what I'll probably do is take my raven form so I can perch upon you while you're walking. Do not break the contact with me until we're out of the dream." To be honest, they probably could have done this at the starting point, but it was a pretty walk.
Terry O'Neil	"Migrating for the-- heh. Hehee..." The Cheshire grins, "I appreciate the pun. You clearly know how to get into the spirit of things." He lets Nick guide him through the process, taking a deep breath. And then, once they step through there is- Nothing. No taste. No touch. No smell. The Cheshire is tempted to open his eyes, but he waits until Nick gives the command. "... is it safe to look?" All around them, the glittering semblance of the world fades away, replaced by ideas and symbols. Here, the nature of Wonderland becomes even more evident, as the underlying dreams right under the surface are made manifest-- the concept of 'squire' and 'squirrel' overlapping, running along the length of 'to grow' and 'with leaves'. The tower around them thoughts of protection, images of ruin, and the vitality of verdant dreams. And, off in the distance, a strange, stinging feeling, like the flash of an old, forgotten grief, glowing purple-blue in the hazy distance, before fading.
Michael Hannigan	The newly ravened Nick glances around from his Chaotic perch, mainly ensuring that the cat isn't standing inside of something. Seeing his back foot in a tree stump he frowns. "Move your right foot forward." Phantasm watches intently and upon the foot clearing the stump he continues, "Okay now open your eyes." Phantasm looks about the scenery, looking to the words on display. Then the glimpse of temporary blue makes the bird tilt his head. The wing extends outward gesturing to where the fading image once was. "I think what we seek is off in the distance."
Terry O'Neil	"Aright, but if you tell me to shake it all about, I'm gonna whack you-" Vorpal smirks and moves his foot as indicated, and he opens his eyes, and pauses. "... this is kind of like watching the code underneath the Matrix a bit, isn't it?" he says. Wherever he looks, there are forms that shift into thought, that shift into concepts, and back into shapes. He begins to walk into the distance, where that flash was first seen. As he walks, the landscape shifts, at first it is the idea of a forest, but then it becomes more murky, as if things are in flux. "Is this... normal?" he asks, turning to look at the bird on his shoulder. The trail suddenly grows cold, that hint no longer visible, but now they are at a fork in the road- a literal fork, at least a hundred feet tall, its tines dug deep into the dream-earth and splitting the way ahead in twain- left or right. "Which way...?"
Terry O'Neil	"The right path /would/ be the correct one in Wonderland. It makes sense," the Cheshire agrees and begins to walk in that direction. Path, however, may be a generous term for the meandering and vague terrain that follows. At times, there isn't even a clear path to follow amidst the blurry images, the memories of sounds and scents.It eventually becomes obvious that the path is obscured by an enormous amount of dream after-images, the memories of dreams that were, dreams that recur, and the things alluded to but never outwardly stated in dreams. They create a texture of overlayered images and emotions that is truly disorienting, "I can't really see much ahead... Nick, do you have any way of... moving or shaping any of this stuff? Make it a little bit easier to walk?" Vorpal asks, "I would try... but I'd rather have the person for whom dreams are their bread and butter try first. I'm as subtle as a mallet."
Joan Wright	Nick the raven considers the situation. "We are guests in the dream. The dream is not ours to change, just to manipulate. But we CAN control ourselves. Have you considered just jumping over all of it?" He pauses, "Or you could just pull a mallet out of your pocket and play whack a word. Like this." The bird simply walks along Terry's shoulder, and then down his side, making sure to maintain contact with him before reaching a wing into Terry's pocket. A large stick followed by a giant mallet comes out in a Poppinsesque manner. Now armed, the raven wadles up Terry's body and then along his arm to place the mallet in Terry's hand. "Will that work?"
Michael Hannigan	Nick the raven considers the situation. "We are guests in the dream. The dream is not ours to change, just to manipulate. But we CAN control ourselves. Have you considered just jumping over all of it?" He pauses, "Or you could just pull a mallet out of your pocket and play whack a word. Like this." The bird simply walks along Terry's shoulder, and then down his side, making sure to maintain contact with him before reaching a wing into Terry's pocket. A large stick followed by a giant mallet comes out in a Poppinsesque manner. Now armed, the raven wadles up Terry's body and then along his arm to place the mallet in Terry's hand. "Will that work?"
Terry O'Neil	"Huh. I didn't even know there was *room* in there for a pocket," Vorpal muses. Well, you've seen your standard superhero outfit. The mallet seems solid enough, and he balances and weighs it in order to assert the best place to grip it, for maximum effect. "Well, this is where we find out whether Harley's training has made me a master with this or not." He swings at the place where the layers seem the thinnest- and there is the sound of shattered expectations as the dreams disperse in every which way, leaving a dark void in their place. And suddenly Terry and Nick are pulled into the void, and they are falling, falling down a dark tunnel. Terry keeps one hand on Nick as they fall so they cannot separate. Their vertiginous fall is slowed down when Terry conjures an umbrella, once he realizes that this happened because the Dream must have taken umbrage at their actions, and a little umbrage was enough to get an umbrella. "Well... that worked. Sorta- I guess you're getting the full Alice treatment-" They land, softly even, but just as Vorpal's toes touch the ground a blustering wind follows after them, carrying fragments of shattered dreams with them- They are in a room. A kitchen. Or, rather, the outline of a kitchen. Over the black nondescript background that is everything, there are sketchy surfaces that appear to have been traced in white pencil, ever shifting, but stable, and the panorama that they paint is that of a kitchen. An old kitchen, with a large cauldron, buckets on the table, a window- The dream fragments blow in, and in a moment chaos ensues. The bucket falls over, spilling milk, or a similar white liquid, out of it into a thin trail that snakes out through the open door, somewhere beyond, outside. Leaves from the vegetables and spices hanging from the rafters are torn by the wind and fall after many circuits, falling in cascading succession towards a door that seems to lead inside the house. Somewherre, there is a quiet cry, that vanishes quickly. Vorpal raises an eyebrow and glances at his friend.
Michael Hannigan	Nick's talons latch on and the wings fold in so as not to even entertain the thought of catching wind during the descent. The umbrella does enough of this. "How nice. You didn't even have to use the air brakes." The bird looks attentively to the scene. Eyes set upon the trail of milk before tilting his head to look to Terry. "I don't think they were supposed to do that." Nick comments of the cry. He looks around, keeping sight for something that doesn't quite belong in this dream. Other than them of course.
Terry O'Neil	Terry ponders, glancing around the kitchen with a frown. He taps the cauldron- but his hand goes through it. And yet, when he touches the milk, his finger gets stained white. "Huh..." he glances to the door leading into the house, and the door leading outside, and the two materials on the floor. "Milk and leaves. Do either of those have any particular significance in dreams?" The quiet sobbing comes back again, wafting from outside. While, from the door leading inside, the sound of a broom sweeping across the floor can be heard.
Michael Hannigan	Spilled milk in dreams?" Nick repeats, he pauses, "Being upset... disappointments. Sometimes with friends. " Crying over spilt milk." "As for the leaves..." Hee looks to the leaves falling, "Stress... overwhelming, too much going on." He frowns, "I would follow the cries."
Terry O'Neil	"Someone's crying over spilt milk. Of course. Even in Dreams, Wonderland-" i Wonderand. The Cheshire follows the milk, leaving white footprints as he walks behind it. Eventually the thin strip of milk becomes broader and broader as they walk outside and into the woods, until it is a solid road of white cutting through the forest, and he is leaving black footprints on the white. Up ahead, among the trees, there is a slim figure. She is sketched with rough and hasty lines, but the silhouette suggests a young girl with her hair cut in a short, black bob. She is sitting down by the side of the road, crying into her hands. "Just a question..." Terry says, stopping short of earshot, "What exactly would happen if we were to get separated?"
Michael Hannigan	The bird nods, "We did kind of trigger that one." He admits, riding along and observing. As the pace slows, he focuses upon the figure crying. Ah-HA. Oh dear, this does seem a bit sketchy. When did they end up in an 80s music video? The bird looks down to Terry as he stops, asking his question. "A few possibilities." Nick tilts his head in as he responds, feathers brushing against the cat's cheek. "This seems like a collective dream so it could go the way of Robotman's experience. Or you could end up tossed someplace in the waking Wonderland near one of the dreamers. But even if that happens. Know I will look for you as long as it takes."
Terry O'Neil	"If I end up in Wonderland, I can handle it- I know where Troia's pick-up portal is, so you just head for that and I'll meet you there. But if I'm stuck in the dreams... yeah, do come for me," he chuckles. He glances around and frowns. "It seems like a collective dream, but there's something... can you see it?" Underneath all of the accumulated dreaming, there is the sense that the little girl crying and the road of milk are somehow foundational. As if everything else has been piled upon her. "I should probably talk to her--- hey!" he says, approaching her. The girl startles, and looks up. Her tear-sketched face surprised while looking at the cat. "... who are you?" She speaks quietly, her voice hoarse from crying too much. "Oh, just a concerned stranger. With my...er.. pet." "You're a cat" she helpfully observes, "That would make you a pet, too." "Right. I'm his pet." "That doesn't-" "Soooo why are you crying, hon? Is something the matter?" She pauses, and more tears appear. "I've gone and ruined it. I let kitty in and she spilled the milk and broke the pot and... and..." she wells up again, "Father will be /so/ cross! I need to fix it... before he notices or he shall be mad!"
Michael Hannigan	"We're each other's pet." The raven offers up, offering as comforting a smile a raven is capable of doing with a beak. Which...means he's not smiling. Let's be honest here. Raven smiles are more reasons for discomfort. Instead Nick offers up a solemn nod as the girl details her problems. He looks over to Terry as the girl details the milk incident with the sole difference being the gender of the cat. He looks back to the sketchy girl. "...What's your name?"
Terry O'Neil	The little girl blinks through her tears, and finds her voice again when Nick questions her. "Alais, m'sieur raven," she answers with some deference. "You... don't seem very surprised by talking animals, Alais," Terry observes. "Why, no, Father used to have one visit him often! An Owl. He says she was very wise, very very wise. She taught him a lot of things-" She glances down at the path, and her face scrunches up again. "But I've broken everything! He will not teach me more things if I break things, I will be sent to bed without supper... oh, you must, you /must/ help me, m'sieurs!" she pleads, her hands coming together. Somewhere, out of the corner of your vision, the dream crinkles ever so slightly. It's as if something beneath the surface were trying to feel its way out... "I know how to fix- the broken things, to put things back! But you must help, I cannot do it alone. Will you? Will you do it?" She gets to her feet, his eyes wide in supplication.
Michael Hannigan	Nick turns his head to the movement. Eyes narrowing as he studies the movement. "Another Alice..." The bird murmurs, he leans to Terry "Did you see movement over there?" The bird looks over to the girl. "And how will you fix the broken things?"
Terry O'Neil	"Father has... a special thing. It fixes things- but he never allows me to use it by myself." She looks utterly frustrated. "He's set... things that watch out. That will alert father if I come near!" Terry nods at Nick's question. So far, that 'thing' hasn't appeared again. "If you would distract it for me... I could fix the pot. And the milk, and then I will have my lessons and all will be well!" She stands on tiptoe, "Please, please will you help me? I'll tell you what you must do!"
Michael Hannigan	The raven glances around. "Does the special thing have a name?" He asks, "And why not just replace the pot altogether?" The bird bends his wing, reaching into Terry's chest pocket to pull out a white - He pauses, "...Not that." He pulls it away, shoving it into the darkness of his own purplish black feathers. Do birds have pockets?
Terry O'Neil	"It has no name- he hasn't named it yet. He says he is still working on it but m'sieur raven... it will not do to replace it. It was mamam's pot- with paintings she made along the side. It was /her/ flower and her pot..." The little girl grows somber. "Ever since mamam... ever since she's not here, Father has been very, very moody. I fear to see what he would do if he saw." Her voice grows so quiet, and so miserable, that the Cheshire cat reaches into the pocket he didn't know he had and pulls out a hankerchief. She takes it quietly and dabs at her eyes. Glancing at Nick, he sighs, "... can you really say no to her?"
Michael Hannigan	The bird looks to Terry. "I could, but the question is if I would mean it." He sighs, looking to the girl. Fine. "Tell me child with who has drawn this lot. Where is the item that will fix the pot? What is it that we must do, so you can see the repairs thru?"
Terry O'Neil	Alais stands up straight, hands behind her back and her toes pointing outward, as if she were reciting before her class. "The course is clear, monsieur, While I sneak about, out of view you must come around the front and my Papa's guards confront, Side by side the door they stand with watchful eye and ready hand To stop intruders afore they can my father's work, which he began not long past mama's last sad sigh, with curious intent pry. Counfound them, please, with tale or riddles, rumors to regale Whate'er may be, do not enrage their tempers quick, or else engage In feats of strength or force, or you will simply doom our course!" Terry slowly turns to the Raven. "... how did you know she would-"
Michael Hannigan	The raven gives a shrug. 'The plan seems sound; on which we'll act. To regale, confound; avoid attack. We'll do our best To awe, not shock For you to stand on better rock.' The raven tilts his head, giving a grand bow from his cat shoulder stage.
Terry O'Neil	The little girl lets out a relieved laugh and then starts running down the path, back to the sketched house, "This way! I'll show you the way!" The Cheshire cat raises an eyebrow at Nick, and smirks as he starts walking after her. "Showoff."
Terry O'Neil	The little girl leads them back through a different path, one where the forest lets out into a simple footpath that ends at the front of a modest-looking house. The details of the house changing- now being a small Victorian homestead, now what appears to be a medieval hovel, never quite fixating on any one detail for long- Except, of course, the door, and the two guards standing on either side of it. Even from the cover of the vegetation, it is clear that they are not human but some sort of magical construct. They resemble guards, but faintly, seeming to be an amalgamation of pots, pans, pitchforks, metal plates, buckets, and at least one very real sword apiece. Faces have been painted onto the bucket-heads, and they are surprisingly expressive, presently displaying the focused demeanor of a guardian. The girl points at them from behind a tree. "Distract them," she whispers, "And I'll slip behind them!" Then she is gone, a fleeting figure dashing through the foliage, looking for an angle at which she can approach to flank the guards. Vorpal hmms, peeking out from behind at tree. "So... I get the impression that I probably shouldn't be seen as myself. When the little girl first saw me, I felt something paying /attention/.... you saw it too, didn't you?" he glances at avian Nick. "Something in this dream... this memory, recognized me. Maybe we should attempt a disguise before we go..." And then, the Cheshire suddenly grins, apparently getting an idea. "... how are your Vaudeville skills?"
Michael Hannigan	The bird upon the shoulder gives a grin. "Well, when in Wonderland..." he whispers to Terry as they continue their walk. Upon reaching the house, the bird hurms at the sight before looking to the departing child. Terry's expressed concern brings the phantasm's attention back to him. "There was some odd movement." Nick admits, "Also that her story had the cat spilling milk was a bit interesting considering our entrance." The beak twists into another smile again, "I'm game to try it. What type you thinking of?" Of course it's going of be singing. Maybe ventriloquism.
Terry O'Neil	The Cheshire gives Nick an enormous grin, green eyes looking at the raven. "... do you trust me?"
Michael Hannigan	The bird tilts his head, matching the cat's grin. Teeth and all in his birdy beak.
Terry O'Neil	It is a good thing that the guardians don't seem to have very good hearing, because there is a muffled set of voices- "Hold on" "No don't mov-" "Is that your wing or your tail?" "Gah, wrong hole!" "Well I can't exactly /see/ now can I?" And then, something bizarre this way comes. The figure that ambles out of the path is definitely a strange one- dressed in a button-up shirt that is rather large, with arms drooping past the wrist, but a head that is /far/ too small poking out of the collar. A small raven head. With a little straw hat. The creature's legs are covered by pants that are too large as well, and a very large tail swings out from a hole in the back of the pants- a /green/ tail. Which could potentially be a bird's tail, but it's also... well... it also kind of looks like it's been cobbled together with leaves. The creature ambles up to the guards, which zoom in on it right away as it winds and weaves its way to them, for some reason having a hard time /seeing/ even though its head is right out in the open. One guard raises a hand and a metallic voice booms from within the bucket: "Stop. What is your purpose?"
Michael Hannigan	The raven head even has a monocle upon its right beady eye. How it is staying up there, no one knows. But considering the oddly flexible nature of the neck area, the monocle might be the least of their concerns. The bird's head tilts as the guard asks for the reason for his approach. The beak opens to take a deep breath. Before the answer starts out in a rather rhythmic manner 'Why it's simple my purpose here Hear my song and I'll make it clear You seem bored and tired here So relax and I tickle your eaaaaaaaaarrrrrr....'
Terry O'Neil	The guards both tilt their bucket heads one way, then the other. Then they look at each other and put their heads together *Clang* bsss bsss bsss bsss Then they look back at the strange apparition. Both of them take a step forward, and they answer, trading lines back and forth. "That will just not do -see us closely, allay our fears 1Tickling simply can't come from you -for we are both rather lacking in ears!" Indeed, there are no ears on the bucket surfaces, what a conundrum.
Michael Hannigan	The raven head bobs foward, squinting as they display their heads 'I see what you mean You don't have ears I do not intend to churn up fears. I entertain you see as I walk this land. I dance, I sing, I'm a one bird baaaaaaaannnnnd!'
Terry O'Neil	The two guards lean forward, their curiosity clearly piqued by the unusual raven. Of course, in Wonderland, the unusual is the familiar. Their hodgepodge bodies are moving, letting out a rattling that gives the impression of a marching band rolling downhill after a serious misstep. The din is quite a bit, and it's a wonder that Nick's voice can be heard. But it is. Vorpa's somewhat... unorthodox dancing somehow manages to complement things, as the arms and hands do a distinctly Wonderlandish impression of vogue-ing. Only the arms, though, as a death drop could very literally squash a bird here. There is a blur, as a small figure darts from out of the woods and starts moving towards the house from the side. The guards, too busy dancing, do not notice the girl as she slips through the front door. "Keep going!" Vorpal whispers quietly to NIck, watching from one of the holes between the shirt buttons.
Michael Hannigan	Even as a dream raven, Nick knows how to project his voice. The hardest part is keeping everything underneath the outfit still. What a rhythm! 'I've seen many things over the years The wow and the plain that bores to tears I share my stories to those like you so while you work you enjoy them TooooOOOOOOOO....'
Terry O'Neil	As the distraction is successful, bird and cat's dog-and-pony show draws the attention of the guards, allowing the girl to slip in, unnotice- no The landscape becomes very dark, as if the lights on a stage had dimmed. Time passes, certainly, as bird and cat continue their show, but it is slow, hazy, distant. The inside of the house lights up like a festival, and the interior is clearly seen by Nick, even Vorpal. no Inside, the girl walks up to a workbench that is arrayed with a multitude of different elements, but she seems to know exactly what to grab. A wand, of sorts. It looks smooth and polished, but the designs along its body have not been finished- the carvings leave off after half its legnth, some symbols clearly unfinished. no-no! The girl places the wand on a surface, precariously balanced but pointing in a specific direction, and she comes back a few seconds later with the shattered remnants of the pot in her hands, beaming widely. There is something in the air, outside. SOmething suddenly is paying attention. A lot more attention. Nick and Vorpal can feel it, almost breathing down their backs. She mouths words that do not carry, her hands moving up at chest height, in line with the tip of the wand. The wand flashes one spark of white-red light, which impacts the girl's hands. And the pot is restored, brilliantly, beautifully. It, indeed, has some lovely detailing, hand-painted, along its surface. Ailys laughs-r And then the wand, unexpectily, flashes again. This time, the shout is heard clear across the house and outside, and everything stops. The girl is halted in mid-air, reeling back from the backfire that impacted the pot and sent its shards flying everywhere. One of them impacted a nearby wooden table, sinking itself into it. There is blood on her garments, a flower of red droplets erupting from her chest and suspended in mid-air in the wake of the enormous silence and inactivity. NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOO! It isn't a scream that is heard, but it's one that is /felt/. A man's voice, raw and on the verge of grief and madness. The light inside the house vanishes. The guards clatter to the ground. The dream memory becomes ffaint. And then there is that /presence/, manifesting somewhere near them. Boiling with anger. Boiling with hatred and madness. And coming for them. Vorpal hastily tears the shirt open with his claws, "Nick, we have to get out of here, /now/!"
Michael Hannigan	'Once there was a time when I came upon a white rabbit's-' The raven's voice dies away as the sense of being watched is felt even stronger. As the backfire occurs, the monocle falls from the raven's eyes, vanishing as it separates from him. The raven bends down, clinging to the cat. "Close your eyes and run!" The raven barks to Terry. With the intent of triggering the exodus from the dream once it is safe to do so.
Terry O'Neil	And they run. They run for their lives. Even with eyes closed, though, they have the very distinct impression of the jaws that bite- the claws that catch. Although they have no sense of smell, they know its breath is putrid, the smell of wretched dreams. They are running, running out of this dream! But- There's a cross stream. This dreamer's dream, this memory, is also tied to a more recent one. They are being carried. Asleep, carried. Jostled. There is the scent of pine and disturbed underbrush as the one who is carrying them runs, and pants. "Oh my paws and whiskers! My paws and whiskers!" The voice is /so/ familiar to Terry. "Don't worry, Your Highness!" the voice says. A branch hits the speaker, who almost topples over with them, but then he rights himself and continues, "He won't find you here, no siree, not if he doesn't know what you're called!" And then there is the dreadful sense of oblivion, of /forgetting/ that suddenly starts to wash over them in the dream-memory, and Vorpal realizes they have to run, run past /this/ memory or they will also be struck by it. RUN! Run twice as fast! And the next thing they know, Vorpal crashes into a table. There's food everywhere and voices that had been raised in song suddenly scream in alarm as a cat-man wearing massive clothes over his uniform, with a raven on top of his head, slides across a large table at Planet Herowood, sending food flying everywhere. Nick almost ends up taking a dive into a large birthday cake, decorated with the Titans Tower in fondant, and letters spelling out the word H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y B I L L Y! along the base. The birthday party goes completely /silent/, and Vorpal blinks a couple of times. He's stained with mustard and ketchup, and there's a stray hot dog in his hair. Taking in the cake, the wide eyed and open-mouthed children, and the parents who look competely astonished, does the only thing he /can/ do. "... Happy Birthday, from the Titans to you!" K~Oh god kill me now~ he thinks.