10839/You Are Cordially Invited ...

You Are Cordially Invited ...
Date of Scene:	21 April 2022
Location:	Latverian Embassy
Synopsis:	Doctor Doom invites Jane Foster on a mysterious scientific expedition to the heart of Latveria.
Cast of Characters:	Victor Von Doom, Jane Foster

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Victor Von Doom has posed:
The invitation had been hand-delivered to Doctor Foster's office at the Hayden Planetarium, and rather than leave it with her mail a diminutive man in spectacles and a fastidious and old-fashioned suit had waited to put it into her hand. He'd said nothing else, simply offering the director a respectful nod and setting out on his way.

The invitation itself was sequestered in an envelope of forest green and written in a neat (if not grandiose) hand on firm cardstock. An invitation to the Latverian Embassy in Union Square, a specific date and time provided. A perfunctory expression of admiration for her work. Little else. No number. No option should the invitation prove unacceptable or incompatible with plans.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane is many things. Daunted by an invitation from the Latverian Embassy? Quite possibly, though other matters weigh more heavily on her mind than seeing both the recipient is her and the sender originates from an exclave belonging to the personal fiefdom of Reed Richards' personal frenemy. Her fingers flick across the cardstock whilst her gaze follows the messenger out. Never shoot the fellow bringing word. He's either on the payroll or unfortunately maneuvered into such a situation, most likely. Or a robot. Never discount robots.

"I'd bloody better study up on theatrical performances," she mutters under her breath. That means one thing and one thing only. Mr. Horse has work to do.

Since the last time she accepted that invitation, it ended in duel via piano and barely escaping with her skin. Now technically she has that, but not quite. Notes are made. Asgardian-Vanir pegasi are consulted -- well, just the one. Word lodged where it matters in two other embassies, a fleeting message to get to Dr. Lewis about her whereabouts, and thus, work extends to walking to sovereign territory to a not-quite-madman.

Could be worse.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
There is no shortage of politeness shown Jane Foster when she steps into the foyer of the Latverian Embassy. She is shown all the respect due a foreign dignitary and well-regarded luminary all rolled into one, with the trimmings of Old World aristocracy festooned about word and action. She is not made to wait long, and she is shown through to the library at the exact time provided on the invitation. The decor cleaves to old Eastern European nobility, run through with a technophilic bent that has been described quite rightly by architects and aesthetes as 'Doomesque'.

The library is windowless, located towards the rear of the Embassy and built with the intention of providing a sanctum. Instead, great frames hang suspended in the air from their own power. Through them can be seen a number of vistas, from black-hearted forests to alien landscapes. They do not seem artificial, and the quality of the image is more refined than any mere projection or video.

Amidst them stands a tall figure clad in armour and hidden beneath a green cloak and cowl."Doctor Foster. Welcome. Or, should I say, welcome back."

Jane Foster has posed:
The brunette comes in a belted coat, dressed for the moment and not entirely for an occasion warranting festivities. That would imply too much, demands unspoken that she refuses to make. Or truly, even be accused of making. It's a fine balance to walk, straddling the expectations and proper behaviour of a guest here at a place known to evoke a fair amount of dread. Not without reason, for Latveria is small and secretive.

Nobility might well be lost on an American, especially a West Coaster. They either tend to be gaga about titles or oblivious; she's presumably the latter, Asgardian ex-boyfriends or not. She isn't duly cowed or bound to prostrate herself to the staff, apparently, though standing on formalities with a crisp precision. "Thank you. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She need not wave around the invitation at Victor von Doom like a waifish newsboy declaring the headlines of the day, but presenting it instead of a calling card will do. Funny how things change and never do. Curious eyes turn to the man so coifed and cloaked against casual suspicion.

Guarded, yes, but curious. "No trouble, I hope?"

Victor Von Doom has posed:
"Trouble implies an insurmountable obstacle, or at least an obstacle to which no immediate solution presents itself. Trouble is a concern for lesser minds."

There is no obvious motion from the Monarch of Latveria, but nevertheless a silver tray with baroque engraving lifts itself from a nearby desk. Present upon it are a number of periodicals and at least one textbook, all familiar in that they were written in part or in full by Doctor Foster herself.

"I had long considered the rest of the world left in the dust of Latveria's progress. Your insights are, however, just that. Insightful. Insightful enough that I would wish to speak on them in detail."

It's then that he turns, clad in the classic armour that is so quintessentially him. Behind the mask, brilliant blue eyes flash and regard the astrophysicist thoughtfully.

"But not here. In Latveria. I have developments that may be of interest to you."

Jane Foster has posed:
So that's how it's to be. Formal and precise, a cut above even the grandiose ambitions of trickster princes, manipulative aliens, and overbearing astronomers. Jane's smashed through her fair share of glass ceilings for some of Doom's tone to become pat, if not outright familiar.

"The scientific community advances through collaboration, observation, and examination," she replies, careful to select each word but not deliberating on them too long. "Progress is built on active participation. A discourse between willing parties makes all the difference to the pace of that progress, as we see when scientists from areas such as your country come to the table. Achievements for mankind steadily improve without overly restrictive processes prohibiting that free exchange." She halts there, finding no need to dissolve into a lecture. If anyone's the expert on pontificating in stentorian tones, it's the man in the viridian cloak and aura of penetrating force that hammers on the psyche of anyone half-way smart or foolhardy enough to stick their head up.

"Which, by that token, means a willingness to travel." Mohammed and the mountain, a neat trap. "Is this location insufficient?"

Victor Von Doom has posed:
"What I have to show you, Doctor Foster, is to the scientific community as Jupiter is to an anthill. This is the reason for my secrecy. They would fear what they do not understand, and Doom wastes no time with the braying of the mundane chaff."

But then she agrees, and there's a faint glimmer in his eyes. A smile? It's impossible to tell, in truth. The mask provides only a furious grimace, betraying little of the emotion beneath the surface.

"No, the Embassy is insufficient. I will give you a day to prepare you belongings, then a chartered service will bring you to Latveria. You will stay two days, or as much as you deem sufficient. You will be granted citizen's rights while within my borders, meaning that there will be no restrictions on where you may or may not go."

He turns back, returning his attention to whatever it was that had engaged him before the meeting.

"Please bring with you your most open mind."

Jane Foster has posed:
Who is she to argue with that? Jane curbs her thoughts wherever they may roam, affording the benefit of silence and arguably assent to the matter. Clearly he has something in mind.

"Two days within Latveria in the springtime." No singing of Hitler, nope! Lending Doom the opportunity to clarify anything beyond that, she gestures slightly. "Beyond the obvious basics, is there anything you would recommend that I bring?" The mask reflects her own visage in distorted detail, bent and subtly altered by the greater gravitas that she makes no claim upon. Still, the opportunity for those small concessions to be woven into a wider diplomatic front prove a useful exercise. Dealing with things far above her weight class is becoming absurdly normal.

"Presumably no special tools." That much, given easily.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
"Formal attire," Doom offers succinctly, "Though it will be provided you should you have nothing that suits the occasion. A ... camera if you wish to make a 'holiday' of it."

The last word is said with a measure of restrained disgust. Victor von Doom has never experienced a holiday in his life, and it's not for lack of opportunity.

"You will leave now, Doctor Foster, and pardon that I cannot indulge you further at this time. Show patience, your questions will be answered in short order."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Black tie, cocktail, or suitable for a lecture?" Not without her own inquisitive habit, Jane's making mental notes and prospectively nixing a placid day of shopping in downtown Doomstadt. One, she has no idea how formalwear applies there and if she might end up in traditional dress among all the glitterati intellectuals of an otherwise closed-off nation. Certain awareness lingers, a mental indexing of anything green summarily banished.

Her brows lift a fraction at camera, though she breaks into a slight smile at that. "Naturally, I would never think of overreaching the hospitality extended to me. Thank you for the clarifications."

Even she knows when she's being banished. Especially that. Hazard of the job, on all fronts.

Her nod to the Latverian monarch accords him proper respect. "The demands on your time are significant. I shall await any further information, as it becomes available. Whenever you are ready, of course." The slightest step back disengages, a detachment executed in what presumably is satisfactory accord. "Half an hour would be sufficient." Meaning either she's got a go back or no concept of what the heck to bring. Or every concept; working in the field means a wide latitude on packing.