creator_raven | OOM: Sometimes, Raven is a little less than kin and more than kind

Even as sunk in her own thoughts as she is at the moment, it is still difficult to miss an obstacle such as this.

"Raven."

Her voice is tightly, carefully controlled, as is her manner.

"I am going upstairs; let me pass."

"No."

His voice is very quiet.

"I do not think you are meant for burrowing, Moiraine."

There is a half a beat of silence.

"And I have said before, I think, that I would prefer you not unravel."

Her head jerks up in shock, and her gaze meets his for a long, frozen moment.

"I have no intention of unraveling."

This is even more tightly said than before.

"Snapping, then."

He is not smiling.

"Or possibly exploding messily. It is a thing I have seen before, so."

Her chin rises a little further, almost defiantly.

"And just recently, perhaps? If so, then you know that you are too late."

His smile is slight and almost sad.

"You were not so much bleeding before, I do not think."

The small jerk that runs through her form at his words is all too visible, she knows. Her hands clench convulsively in the folds of her skirts, and she presses her lips together tightly, fighting to retain control.

"No, perhaps not."

The admission, in itself, is telling.

"But there is nothing to be done about it now, is there? It has happened, and is done."

He huffs out a quiet breath.

"So it is, in its way."

He shifts to rest one hand very carefully on her shoulder.

It is, after a fashion, barely a touch at all.

"But you are, I think, not always so good at healing yourself, yes?"

Again there is a bare moment of silence.

"It is not always necessity, alone."

That, too, he has said before.

She remains still under the touch of his hand, and does not pull away.

Her head bows, very slightly, and her gaze drops.

Moiraine says nothing.

He does not tilt her face up to meet his, he does not even try.

But he does take another step closer, touch settling more heavily on her shoulder, voice quiet but oddly firm.

"It is a thing I have promised, here and elsewhere. And there is the feather, too."

Again there is that quick, fleeting silence.

"I have said before that there are things I will not hurt you with."

"I remember," she says, finally, and looks up to meet his gaze once more.

She cannot quite smile, although the faintest hint of an attempt curves the corners of her lips.

"And I believe you, as it happens."

"Good."

He is not smiling, either, though there is nothing in his expression that might be called sharp.

"Will you, perhaps, believe me in one other thing?"

"What thing is this?"

She tilts her head slightly, searching his face.

Raven is very solemn at this moment.

It is nothing like a mask at all.

"Ace is very good at comfort, I have found. And the TARDIS, I think, is more real than this place."

He blinks, considering.

"Also there is the puppy, yes?"

He is not quite tugging her down the stairs.

Not yet.

"I would not disagree, I do not think," she murmurs.

"But I have no wish to trouble her, Raven. She has burdens enough of her own at present, as you well know."

"So do we all, I think."

This time Raven does nudge at her, just a little.

"But she is fond of you. Also distraction is often helpful."

He does smile, then, if a little crookedly.

"I am often finding it so."

"I can see how it might be, for some," she allows, and with one last quick glance upstairs past his shoulder, Moiraine half-turns back toward the bar.

"Very well."

Raven leads from behind, steering Moiraine gently as they both walk down the stairs toward the back door.

Or at least he tries.

"There is a tree, I think. Outside. Ace is also very tricky."

There have always been reasons that she is his sister.

Shared affection is only one of them.

"I have seen it before," she tells him-- but all the same, her steps slow as they draw nearer the dark shadows of trees.

Almost unconsciously, Moiraine is searching the spaces between them, looking for any sign of white napthalot and black claws.

"He is not here, I do not think."

Raven's voice is almost absent as he steps forward and tugs her with him, searching the nearby trees for a particular carved shape.

Four aces, as it were.

"I, at least, was farther in."

Ah, yes. This one.

He knocks twice, sharply.

Hurry up, Ace, before Moiraine bolts.

Raven is not a very good sheepdog.

The door opens when a third knock would have come, had he kept the same beat. A rather discheveled Ace, with a black streak of engine grease down her nose, peers out, blinking.
"Bird? ... Moiraine? Don't tell me he dragged y'out here in the cold, I would've come in, y'featherbrain. Come in, nevermind the mess, I was tryin' t'redecorate." She says as she ducks back inside, leaving the door open for them.

'Redecorating', in this case, means half of the console room looks like something out of a Gothic church, and the other half like a woodsy cottage.

Someone has been playing the the interior design controls.

"I do not wish to disturb you," she begins, even as Raven pulls her gently through the door and into the TARDIS.

"Especially if you are busy--"

Raven snorts quietly as Moiraine speaks, but busies himself in looking about the console room.

"It is pretty, I think."

Beat.

"Possibly you are having hot chocolate? And alcohol?"

And cookies, of course.

"Yeah, because, y'know, there's that chance I'll run out of time." Ace remarks drily to Moiraine as she carefully steps across the patch of floor that still hasn't figured out if it wants to be smooth stone or hard wood just yet.
"I've both, an' you well know it. I'd have t'be crazy t'take off without them." She pauses, and shrugs. "Crazier. Why?"

At this question, Moiraine flicks a quick, unreadable glance at Raven, and turns her attention to examining the line where Gothic scene meets cottage wall.

"Someone was insistent, as it happens," she replies, but she is not looking at Ace.

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