1320/10,000 Masks, One Witch

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10,000 Masks, One Witch
Date of Scene: 23 April 2020
Location: Penthouse - Latverian Embassy
Synopsis: No description
Cast of Characters: Victor Von Doom, Clea




Victor Von Doom has posed:
It's a Thursday morning in the Latverian Embassy, and Doom is... well, one might think he has all sorts of schemes and plots going on to eventually conquer the world.

Well, he does. But that's something that he /always/ has going on. For some heroes, it was the most dramatic plot of their lives. For him, it was Thursday.

However, at the moment he's doing something very particular. He's seated at the small work area in his penthouse at the Embassy, doing some fine soldering work on a mask. HIS mask. He's wearing a rather casual set of clothes, for Doom anyway, as there's no need for his armor here.

Besides, the only people with free run of his penthouse are ones that he allows in, and few that he minds seeing his real face. Instead of the mask he always uses.

Clea has posed:
Conquering the world on Thursday is just the same as conquering the world on Tuesday or Sunday. So much work. The Lord's Day of Rest probably isn't an issue in the 21st century for anyone but the people working for an actual lord and not given a day off. Voila, Doom.

If it's a bot that escorts Clea, she gives it a side-eye the whole time, as though not entirely impressed with its motives and utterly aware it is not human. It's a sense she probably has had since birth, exercised plenty while on the main Terran dimension. If a person, she can hold a much cheerier conversation because presumably they are not asking about grease or spinny things or the discomfort of seeing 280 of your peers consigned to the fire pit after chanting 'the cake is a lie' in response to a chorus of 'cake or death.' One of those little trials of being an upcycled robot.

One must inquire where the incinerators are, after.

She floats in, forgetting to walk, disconcerting to say the least. Flowing ripples of motion give her slashed skirt an impressive effect, watercolour ripples showing off her bare legs because cold is laughable when you're embodied fire. If presented, then so her name is given and the fact she carries a small white box tied by twine and a bit of pretty ribbon. Green, of course, to offset the violet, thinner strand woven like gossamer. A smile touches her lips, even as she effectively pokes her head in. "Doctor," a sonnet for him. Doctor? My lord? Mr. Doctor? The /other/ Mr. Doctor? "I thought you might wish to break your fast."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
For Clea, it would of course be a steward that shows her up, making polite conversation about whatever she would prefer. Very inoffensive, if a bit too eager to ingratiate himself into her good graces. Since well, it's clear the scuttlebutt around the Embassy has made clear Doom's... feelings, towards the lady.

As she floats in to the room, he smiles, the scent of her perfume unmistakable for him as he doesn't look up right away. "One moment, Clea... almost..." He sighs and nods, "There, finished." He sets the mask down on his work desk, rising and facing her, and he smiles broadly.

"As I have yet to have anything this day, I would welcome the opportunity. Well, save for some coffee earlier." He walks over towards her, and if allowed, places a kiss on her cheek. "What would you care for?"

Clea has posed:
Well, ingratiating is unfortunately one of the inescapable things that Clea deals with on a regular basis. Her own people haven't learned that unctuous behaviour is unnecessary for their collective happiness and survival. They see the Flames of Regency, they assume. Her conversation stays bright and friendly, inquiring heavily of Latverian customs and society, whether the steward enjoys New York, any tips or recommendations for the city. She has an easygoing nature to her, undemanding, inherently given to listen.

Let them underestimate what they have. It's a faulty reflex on her part but ingrained, the sort of harbinger of someone watchful and careful, masking it with a pretty smile and charming nature. Far from retiring, though, let the bigger personalities take up the air in the room until timely to go otherwise.

Hence, floating into the room. A mild reminder of not being... normal. Of course, enough humans float around these days she isn't instantly named Kryptonian or alien, but it's a counterpoint to remind the power Doom claims in his company.

The glance to his work on the mask is, above all, thrilling in a strange way. She doesn't wear protective gear, nor needs to, though the smell of hot metal or the flame is enough to generate a bit of distance rather than peering over his shoulder. Standing on tiptoe, though, she can use that distance well. "I interrupt you?" The question hangs in the balance. "I can meditate while you work, and it would be no trouble. Take the time that you need." Easy, when ancient at the time of his birth, to offer time as a gift. "It may be rather sweet. I knew not your tastes, so came with a variety of plunder to satisfy your tastes. Offerings." She holds out the box, which contains a variety of pastries. A few little tarts. Strawberry, custard, a fancy chocolate spilled thing with a swirl of orange peel, candied and bright, atop it. A crème eclair, a millefeuille slice. With that kiss comes a smile, and a light incline of her head. "I am told they are all excellent."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor smiles warmly at Clea, "Well, your gift is most welcome, but my work was mostly finished. Just a few minor upgrades to the mask's sensors, to better handle ley line fluctuations." Apparently he was having some issues with that, which, well, considering his current endeavors, makes some sense.

"But, I would ask that you share these with me, otherwise I might not fit into my armor later." A bit of a joke, as he extends his hand towards her, "Though, I would never wish you to think I was ignoring you in favor of my work... but, well, we both know that duty comes before pleasure, sadly." Though there's always room for the latter, particularly if they can coincide.

Clea has posed:
Leyline fluctuations? Perish the notion. Where most casters have to pull on the energy, Clea is one of her own, and the banishment of any stable forces or undercurrents in the local lines are probably her fault if she's in the vicinity. Her smile builds slightly, a wordless apology for him to consider. Or maybe it's mirth. "Are you intending upon testing it later?" she asks, though not so much as a halo wraps around her white hair or any indication of the mana surging around in her presence. No spells, after all.

"But supposing I can pull you away from your work, shall we?" She raises the box lightly and takes his hand, balancing it with the ease of a waitress. More or less, anyway. A sorcerer's apprentice perhaps. "We must not eat them all at once. It would be too uncomfortable, surely. All that sugar?" A shake of her head follows. "I made the mistake to try and eat too many persimmons once, and learned my lesson well. As many fine fruits as Earth has, always in moderation." Her gaze lifts somewhat, the tip of her chin telltale. "You must surely not think it imperative for me to interrupt you. If it were an emergency, perhaps, but not when you are working with such fine details and concentration. Disrupting that is a fine way to see an explosion. Never."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor grimaces at the mention of explosions disrupting ones' work, "Yes, I'm all... too familiar with that." He pauses, then squeezes her hand in his, "And yes, just a little bit to recover some energy, would be ideal." He follows along with her, letting her lead the way back to the table, where he offers her a chair, then seats himself comfortably next to her.

"Though, well, this is more of preparation for the eventual plan, to make certain that things were accounted for, when I do intend to breach the dimensional portal." Not yet, of course, things aren't ready... but it's best to prepare for all eventualities. Which Doom assuredly does. Not that he always succeeds, but try telling HIM that.

Clea has posed:
Explosions and work. Oh God, Clea, no.

But on the other hand... how would she know? Has he ever said of it? Her expression falters, lips rounded. And then, the brush of her lips to his brow is a benediction. "I'm sorry. It was thoughtless." Even wherever not. Still, the malleable pressure of her mouth to his skin is light, exceedingly gentle, meant to offer a lamentation of the damned. Dragging herself from that precipice of muted regret and mentally kicking herself might take a moment, but Victor leading the way at least makes it simpler.

No Doombot is threatening to fry her dress, so there is that.

"I have been scouring grimoires from top to bottom for any preparations to be made. The foremost concern you need to have is, oddly, contractual," she says once they are settled. This is something she can warm to, the necessity of building. "Mephisto abides by contracts and agreements, more than most. For all his dark powers, he would be tied to that. Nonetheless, you run a great risk in dealing with him on his own ground just as he would with me in the Dark Dimension. To go to him is dangerous indeed. One alternative, though exceedingly difficult, would be convincing him to come out of his own realm. Whether he would do it, though... you would have to lay a trap for him. You would certainly be advised against it, though trapping him /here/? It offers you a chance. I thought on the prospect, though it may not please you."

She draws two circles in the air, one of flame and other blue-tinged light, motes bubbling around one another. The wards probably flex to it. "If Mephisto leaves his realm, that leaves the realm less protected. Someone who went there would be able to potentially secure your mother while his defenses and attention move elsewhere. It would not be so simple as diving in, taking, moving out. But easier. He returns, the matter is marginally completed. He /may/ come after her depending on the terms of agreement... but that still gives her the choice how to proceed. How she wants to go forward. He would find the terms quite done with if she swore allegiance elsewhere, for example, or had been seen to conclude them. But for that, you need an expert on law who can outmaneuver him, someone as slippery as his mind is. To beat a demon, that's no mere feat."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor hmmms, "Well, now that is... interesting." He gives her a smile, as she could not have known, after all. Malice is not something in her nature, at least not towards him, and he's aware enough of that fact.

Though when she converses and explains what she's discovered, he actually smiles, "Well, then I suppose I should be thankful that I currently reside in this city, that has more lawyers than it knows what to do with. Though, then the question is finding one that I can trust to do the work properly, and is clever enough that they might be able to outdo Mephisto at his own game. Because you're right, challenging him in his own domain is folly. We need to force him... out of his comfort zone, away from his home where he is at his most powerful."

A pause, then he smiles, "So, I think we might need to add a lawyer to this mix, as... well, my mind can work in certain manners, I freely admit the arbitration of law is not something that I am terribly familiar with." Much easier when what you say, IS the law. Sadly that would not work here...

Clea has posed:
Malice exists only pushed to the utmost. No matter what her parents might be, she will not be defined by them. Clea checks those intents all the same. The box of pastries is Doom's to rifle through and find what he wants, though she carefully moves through a few sparks of energy to balance out the circles. "Your mother remains in that dimension. I do not think he will draw her out except to extract a bargain, and anyone bargaining with him had best be a master at it. Loopholes to be exploited may be terrible in their cost, or a hair split so thin we are speaking of atoms. Have you considered what you may need or require on that front? A lawyer is one thing, though anyone who can pare down the minutiae is a possibility. At least that might have something that might distract him long enough to be roiled in the details. Going to him and simply demanding your mother doesn't seem as though it would work, unless you had something else to offer. Do you know what conditions he holds her under? Was she simply stolen by him? How did he come to claim her? That's all at the crux of it."

Her pale brows are pinched together, drawn in thought. Trying to find the right explanation or questions aren't easy.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor pauses at that, looking thoughtful. "Indeed. I was but a boy when I discovered what happened to her, and I presumed for so long that it was an injustice." He takes the chocolate spilled tart with orange peel, almost absently, as he frowns.

"Perhaps that was my problem before. I always assumed that it was a simple binding. But what if she..." He pauses, not liking what he's contemplating, as it would mean that his mother was not a victim, but rather a willing participant in some sort of pact.

A frown crosses his features, Victor looking troubled at the notion, as if one of the pillars of his existence has been rocked to the foundation. And also kicking himself a bit for not having even considered it sooner. "Clea, I should work on discovering more, from what sources I can. But, I thank you for pointing out the blind spot in my thinking." And with that, he does kiss her lightly, a touch meant to reassure her, at least.

Clea has posed:
The motionless way Clea holds herself is perhaps concerning. The obvious breaths and blinks show she is a living creature. An attentive one driven by concern, compassion a wellspring almost as deep as the ocean wide. "You know what happened and why. Could that not lead you to an idea of what must be done to retrieve her? What gives you the grounds to stand before Mephisto and make your claim?"

She touches her fingers to her brow and pushes away her pale hair, nodding softly as he comes with his own conclusions driven. It's not clear entirely what drives Victor, what undermines him so. But she can make educated guesses. "In dealing with Mephisto, confidence and calculation are everything. I have read enough to see this is clear. When you deal with him, you must treat it rather like you would an act of gambling. You know where your inviolate price lies. You never stray. You do not let him drag you forth with offers that seem sweet because they conceal a hook. Your mother is your prize. You determine how you will obtain this and what price you have, and it's the best approach perhaps?"

The kiss is met with a gentle rub of her cheek to his. "Do not lose hope, and do not lose the core of you who are. Who she would want you to be. If your mother wished you to be a man of principles, do not surrender them. If she chose a path out of desperation to protect you, do not take a path of desperation for her. She knows what it cost. We will find the path. If an option fails, you can see another. It is like any spell, any of your experiments. When something breaks, or turns out a different way, try anew. There seems to be a weakness in there. Goodness. A true, honest goodness. It must seem a surprise, but it is not really. Consider what would wound a demon. What would wound /darkness/ itself. If a mother's love is complete and whole, such she would do anything and offer anything of herself to keep her child safe, this is a noble act. One so wholesome, it undermines what he is. But that's a hard one to measure. Self-sacrifice is an example, I suppose. It offers an option. Nobility is poisoned by shadow unless it is untarnished."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor smiles over at Clea with that, "Wise words, and ones that I do appreciate, Clea." He nods, "I will not let this quest sacrifice who and what I am, who she would /want/ me to be. I will remain, I must remain, particularly now that I have much more to live for." He looks at Clea and gives her a warm smile.

"To proceed requires the utmost discretion, as this is not something I can brute force. I tried this once, when I was younger, and far more foolish. That, was a mistake... but now, I can attempt to learn from this mistake. Do things the proper way, and ensure the best chance for success." Not that he thinks he will fail, but he also doesn't wish to presume otherwise. That level of arrogance would feed right into Mephisto's hands. No, better to present the demon an offer that it could not refuse. One that doesn't jeopardize everything Doom has built.

Or what he is now able to lose...

Clea has posed:
"Eat the pastry," advises the sorceress. "One should contemplate things clearly on a full stomach, where possible. There is something said for fasting and clarity of the mind but I am not certain that dealing with a being like Mephisto counts as one. I might not eat anything in his realm, either, but choose instead to be more cautious and careful. I see no value in approaching him without three or four plans in mind, ones we can come up to a backup. As for my part, I have no intentions of tipping my hand. Though perhaps if we know of anyone who has to deal with him..."

Here, Ghost Rider, Ghost Rider, Ghost Rider...

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Doctor Doom nods, and eats the pastry, since... well, it does make sense. Plus, it does look very delicious, as he then adds, "Well, since I'm eating your pastry, does that mean I'm bound to you for eternity?" He gets a bit of a wry look, "Not that I object to that prospect..."

He then hmms, "I do have some other... connections, that I can explore for more information. I suspect they might be less than forthcoming about their knowledge, but it is a place to start." Since, well, magic users don't have the same animus towards Doom that typical heroes do, but they still have that pesky ethics and goodness and 'oh no you tried to conquer the world boo that's bad' aspects about their personalities.

Clea has posed:
"Were you not already?" Clea remarks dryly. She crosses one leg over the other slowly, settling back into the seat with a straightened spine and shoulders lowered slightly. "You know, my mother was already many millennia old when she had me. Exceedingly so, she recalled dry Atlantean terraces. I believe I said as much. It does seem reasonable that I should attain at least that long, if not a great deal further. The Faltinians do not age." Her gaze alights with mirth, though there is a crumb of caution in there. "A reason, I think, why the loss of your mother would resonate so. Years are meaningless when one is entangled in those lines of imprisonment. Time imprisoned is not in any sense freedom, Victor. It is not /life/. You make the most of your given allotment within the confinement around you, you try to thrive to the best of your abilities. But it isn't choice nor freedom."

She looks off to the paintings, to the woman there. "Make sure you approach this the right way. The door will be opened, but best it be a blue sky she flies into and not a cement ceiling or a storm raging around her."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor chuckles softly, "I have been, yes... but this has been, well, a long term project. Too many demands occupy my time, too many things that must be done." A bit of a shrug, as the responsibility of rule is something they both share. One of many reasons that they were attracted to each other in the first place.

"Still, you are correct. There's no point in saving her if she is coming into a situation that is not true freedom. Much as there's not much point of bearding the dragon in its den when luring it out has a much greater chance of success." With that, he finishes the pastry, looking over at Clea contemplatively, then he asks her, quite simply.

"But, how has your day been so far? Aside from bringing me such sweet delights, which I do truly appreciate, Clea." His lips curl in a bit of a warm smile, regarding her as he seems to shelve the thornier problems of metaphysics and demonology mentally for a moment, downshifting to something a touch more mundane. Though knowing her... perhaps more of a lateral shift than downwards

Clea has posed:
Clea puzzles over a statement in question. "Dragon-bearding?" She tips her head a fraction. Her eyes narrow in an attempt to suss out what Victor means, but ultimately she confesses to the ignorance of human references there. One can only do so much to master English idioms. It's a language prone to sneaking up on another in an alley and battering it for coins and terms.

Downshifting suits well enough, though she gives him a chance to show off his knowledge. Her feet tuck under her and she sits up tidily. "Me?" A sight to be found, looking rather surprised at the sheer fact anyone would ask. Thornier matters and curious ones, at the least. What more can she say of her day? "I have studied how people come and go through Manhattan. Such purposeful individuals, unaware they broadcast so loudly their desperation for more power and purpose in the world. It's strange to hear them squabble. I heard something of trouble with sounds and noise in another city, which was passing strange. I tasted the magic in the island's west side where they tell me 'Hell' is, a kitchen for it. What harm is meant to be there, the name is overstated. Ah, and that Hellfire Club, it was more intriguing. A very good steak can be found there."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor hmmms, "Really? I do have a VIP membership there at the Club, though I have little occasion to use it. Though, if you like going there... perhaps this can be reconsidered." He grins, making a mental note about the steak.

"Though, I am familiar with the areas of New York, to a degree. Hell's Kitchen has... long been an interesting area, both mystically and in a more mundane sense. A lot of conflict stems from that area." Doom doesn't normally deign to involve himself on that low a level, but that doesn't mean he's unfamiliar with it either.

Clea has posed:
"Do you indeed? I thought about it, to make an advantageous match." After declarations of what, now? Her manner is calm, though Clea swipes a strawberry dipped in chocolate from its tart shell. "To be suitably around those of a given stature, I assume it would be appropriate. How one moves in this world remains unknown and I cannot simply sit on the sidelines awaiting my opportunity. I have been lax, in a sense, to introduce myself."

Because, you know, there's just a requirement for branching out. She makes a slight face.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor smiles, "Well, the next time they have one of their innumerable galas, I shall make an effort to get us both an invitation. I'm certain it would be... quite a stir." A bit of amusement dances in his eyes, as that is something that they would not be ready for, no doubt.

Even moreso given that Doom would actually have a "plus one" along with him. "So yes, I wouldn't mind shaking things up a bit, particularly if you were with me there." Normally Doom likes to sit and research, but occasionally being social has its own benefits.