Owner	Pose
Illyana Rasputina	It's not often that Illyana bothers visiting Bushwick for any particular stopping-over point. She just doesn't have a good reason to hang out in a mutant ghetto. Or what passes as such in the modern age, not that many people would ever admit to it. Though occasions call for her to actually bother poking her nose in, and nothing like a cold case or a serial killer to do that. The blonde sips her tea and wanders past the kitchen. A few flyers are set out on the table, along with a paper map, and a scrying ball. Yes, it's a diviner's ball about the size of a softball but instead of being made of nice clear glass or even a bundle of quartz, it's a bloody black ammonite shell.
Stephen Strange	The kitchen holds its own secrets. In this case, it contains the ambling form of one Steven Strange, who seems to have taken the more mundane approach of procuring caffeination. Which is to say...he walked to the kitchen and brewed his own cup of tea, rather than employing any mystical shortcuts to obtain his perfect cup. He steps out, just as Illyana passes by. An eyebrow is raised....and Strange falls in line, following Illyana. The table receives its own gaze. Flyers, a paper map, and a dark scrying ball. "Interesting choice of decor." The inevitable smirk is conveniently covered by the teacup as he takes a sip. "Who is the lucky individual that I can only assume is about to receive a surprise visit? Unless I am interpreting the need of map and scrying stone incorrectly..."
Illyana Rasputina	The kitchen's secrets may be many but probably well-known to the cleaning spells and dust bunnies who dare to congregate. Few they may be, bold too, but worthy of mention. Caffeine by way of tea warrants a second look as Illyana returns to the paperwork procured from a police detective mashing his way through a case. She examines them for a moment, and then looks up to Stephen. "Before bed? You must plan for a long night." Her fingers planted on the edge of the table act as a steeple, supporting her leaning over. "I am not sure yet. Someone murdered people before I was born; people who were like me. They were marked unusually. The police think it has happened again, the same killer or a copy-cat."
Stephen Strange	Grey eyes level upon Illyana. "You assume I intend to sleep." Another sip is taken as those eyes then resume their focus upon the gathering of evidence upon the table. "So, it is a case of late-night sleuthing, then." Stephen steps up to the table. "People like you. You mean mutants." It is rather matter-of-fact. Stephen is not known to mince words. "So, a hate crime. And the police fear a return? Intriguing. That does explain the scrying stone." A pause. "So we intend to use divination." He said 'we', not 'you'. It seems that the doctor is going to help, unbidden.
Illyana Rasputina	"I assume you enjoy our bed," Illyana fires back, trademark black-lipped smirk actually executed in a soft plum. That's not the point. The point is she can. Her icy hair spills over her shoulders, knocked idly aside as she tilts her head up from the paper. "They have a consultant. Emma Frost was there. Thor. Others. Strange bedmates for a crime but we are tired of being massacred again and again." Mutants. Mystics. Anyone, really. "I mean mutants, yes. Russian aristocrats or serfs are a long way from being any target." Again, that sharp smirk. "I thought it a good idea to divine. Death has a way of revealing connections. But it is cheating, of a sort."
Stephen Strange	"I do enjoy our bed. The act of sleeping has little bearing upon that enjoyment." Oh..spoken without batting an eye. Or, rather, just a quick fluttering of a wink. Cheeky thing. "A consultant. A telepath and the Odinson? Rather high profile witnesses to a cold case." Sip taken. "People fear what they cannot understand. And they lash out. It is reprehensible and vile...the responsible party should be brought to justice." Is Strange just speaking in platitudes? No. He truly means what he says. Especially in private, behind closed doors, to the lovely individual that deems him worthy enough to share a bed with. "I am surprised that there isn't more detailed information. And, given the individuals you mention being present, I find it rather intriguing that is the case."
Illyana Rasputina	"Sleep is for the dull. We, the wicked, know better ways to occupy our time. Are you offering?" Illyana glances at the paperwork and the ball; none of them are particularly exciting or as enthralling as the dark-haired sorcerer who is most definitely not a wizard. Her smile widens slightly. Dangerously bright eyes lift and she flicks her wrist, banishing the paper in a shove to the side. "They can wait. The deaths that did not come yesterday will hold another day. Police are slow. Emma can deal with the man I pointed out for her - the one who wasn't bothered at all." She rolls her shoulders. "The data they hold they will not just share with me, so we find out where the murders most recently happened and ask the dead."
Stephen Strange	A tilt of the head is given as the cup lowers. Upon doing so, that slight smirk can finally be seen. "Indeed, I am." What exactly does the sorcerer offer? That remains unspoken. Such is the way of sorcerers. Keeping mysteries is a cornerstone. As well as a decidedly disappointing lack of pointy or floppy hats. Ask the dead, hmm? That comment draws the smirk out into a full smile as Stephen chuckles. "Necromantic inclinations. You certainly know how to enthrall a person." Is that a tease? Maybe. Is it the truth? Oh, most definitely.