13308/State of the (Mystical) Union

State of the (Mystical) Union
Date of Scene:	08 November 2022
Location:	Sanctum Sanctorum
Synopsis:	Stephen and Illyana catch up on current events.
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Illyana Rasputina

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Stephen Strange has posed:
A typical day for any one person in a relationship may start out with waking up, followed by blurry half conscious walking to the nearest source of caffeine. Then, after that is consumed, perhaps a greeting to the significant other, followed by pleasant conversation. Small talk, to be sure, but pleasant, nonetheless. Perhaps asking what is planned for the day or what they would like for breakfast. Nothing too exciting, but on this side of normal, for excitement belongs to the afternoon, after proper protocols are followed to, well, wake up.

For Stephen Strange, however, 'normal' in the sense of the mere mortal is a unique concept.

For one, the whole waking up routine. That would be nice, provided one was actually asleep. And Strange...certainly was not asleep. He was in his study, using the room for its intended purpose...to study. Notebook to one side. Mystical tomes to the other. And yet...Stephen is not looking at either. For the moment, he is settled in the middle of the room, sitting cross-legged, hands upon his knees, and meditating.

Hardly normal morning procedure.

Except for the caffeination. That ritual is tried and true, judging from the tea sitting just outside of his reach. Some things one just doesn't mess with...and caffeine in the morning is one of them.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
A bleary stumble through the house is a lot easier when said house includes very few animated objects, enchanted relics, and dangerous magical artifacts that shouldn't be in generally anyone's hands. Though Strange and his predecessors were hopefully a whole lot smarter than some, putting the dangerous ones in a vault sealed and warded by Hoggoth's safety-approved sticker.

Moreso because the gateway to the Elder Gods is effectively a permanent resident. Not that her apartment in the Village, a few blocks up and over, isn't somewhere she maintains still. They could sell it. She made proper arrangements so that it wouldn't be an issue of affording it, since her actual income is questionable. But Illyana isn't going to complain about stealing the blankets.

She steals the whole of the bed since its other occupant isn't there. Eventually the awareness of said absence, her flanks freezing cold, insult her sensibilities of sleep. Then the zombie shuffle begins.

The Lady of Limbo isn't actually that good of a morning person. Yes, she can wake up and yes, she can be out the door in a flash. But terribly terrible as a morning person, so she drags herself out of bed after throwing on fresh clothes: a cozy sweater, stretchy canvas pants for crawling up a mountain instead of throwing down cool.

"Mrrrg," she announces her presence somewhere, zigzagging around to find coffee, then Strange, in that order.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Truth be told, Stephen isn't much of a morning person, either. Which is why he tends to avoid it by simply staying awake until he cannot go longer, then just falling asleep for several days. Nothing like Odin and his regenerative Odin-sleep, but it is something to aspire to.

Despite the meditation, there is a soft chuckle that escapes from the sorcerer's throat. He must hear the undead shuffle, punctuated with occasional vocalizations of the monosyllabic variety. All that Stephen seems to do is a minor twitch, a flicker of his fingers on his right hand. Nothing more to the casual observer.

However, for the blonde wandering about the Sanctum in her fugue state, the minor gesture translates to the scent of freshly brewed coffee, wafting through the air. It serves two purposes...one, to awaken the Russian.

And two, to lead her to the study, with the opening of the door and the placement of the elixir just so, next to the doorway, awaiting consumption.

Oh...and there might be a "Good morning" somewhere in there, should the soft baritone of Stephen be able to penetrate the morning fog that Illyana navigates through.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The tinkering in the kitchen or wherever a carafe of coffee happens to be takes a little longer than normal. She's hopeless in pursuit of much else until the liquid black brew is poured into a cup with no additives. Splashes of caramel or sugar and milk come later. She's Russian, black to the core, and so is her preferred beverage.

Never mind if could be scalding, she swallows it down intently. Slurp. The sound might be a bit rude, and honestly, she's mindful of that. Embarrassed? Not quite, but don't judge, if that chuckle is anything to be guessed at.

"Mr." The study gets that truncated noise more appropriate to a cat before drinking; and after, "Morning," a better attempt at words. "Not out cutting up Garganto-giant starfish person monster into pieces are we? Must be..."

A pause.

"Not Wednesday." Wednesday is for Starro-slaying!

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Most definitely not Wednesday."

If Wednesday is meant to be biology day, then yes, it is most certainly not Wednesday. However, as the coffee does its own sort of magic, Magik herself awakens. And that prompts a singular eye to open, rolling a bit around to regard the Demon Queen in all of her comfy glory. Sweater and all. "Rather specific greeting. Have you had experience in dissecting kaiju asterias mid-week before?"

An answer to that is not expected. Instead, that eye closes, though a hand reaches out to procure the teacup to allow for a sip. "I didn't want to wake you. Thought it best to let you sleep." Oh, it would be so sweet if it was true. And it is...partly. He just doesn't mention why he was still up.

Yet...

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Tuesday, not Wednesday, meaning that her usual schedule can be swordplay, slap demons into line, jest with Tabby about something, and possibly glare at passersby. Truly, something to consider. She sips the coffee again, waiting on Strange to finish whatever he does.

In fairness, that's important 'do what he does.'

"Dissect? I bring the proper organs to Wong for that. Or maybe Scott. He is good at deciding if they could be useful or vaporized." Ruby-red eyebeams will do that for a person.

Her arm will sling around him if he isn't overly occupied or cracking open an eye to ward her off. Chin to his shoulder, she says, "I know a cache of black magic scribed in 1906..."

Her tone trails off.

Stephen Strange has posed:
No, Stephen is overly occupied. Or, rather, he seems rather sedated, in his meditative position. Arm about him does not phase him. Nor does the chin upon the shoulder. Not even the sweet promise of eldritch incantations, no doubt transcribed by the light of a full moon in the middle of Samhain or some such enticement, seems to sway the sorcerer.

Which means that either Stephen is really into that meditation...or he has something else on his mind. And...it soon proves to be the latter as he opens his eyes. A scarred hand reaches up and around...with a fingertip finding Illyana's jawline, just under her left ear, and traces slowly along towards the chin. "I have some matters of importance that I need to attend to. A favor has been called in and I am duty-bound to fulfill it." Stephen pauses...as the finger falls back down to his lap. "I have another matter to deal with, as well. And...my hope is that I may be able to combine the two into one effort, though I doubt I should."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Overly occupied, sedated by a premise beyond reach of science. The touch is sufficient to get a smile from her. He dwells beyond reach and so Illyana extracts her arm, not willing to knock him from a state that could tie his soul to his body as he astrally walks. Besides, everyone knows what the Ancient One did to meddlesome busybodies.

She sits opposite him, adopting the lotus position easily enough. Her cup of coffee balances on her knee, held there in place instead of relying on some alternative nonsense like gravitational remediation, floating or the rest.

"Debts and favours you give too freely." Of course, a Hell-Lord would think that. "One day they will call in a price too big for you too pay. Then what? Maybe you should bargain with me to have a prior debt." Maybe, but she's mostly teasing. Mostly.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Grey eyes watch as Illyana settles in front of Strange. They flicker even to the coffee cup, balancing perfectly upon the knee, before they return upwards, to regard the ice blue orbs gazing back at him.

"Well...you do have a point." Yes, Strange concedes the matter with Illyana. He does deal in debts and favours too much of the time. "Such is the nature of business. One cannot ask for assistance without expecting to provide in return." Well...one *could*, but it hardly bodes well. "I daresay, though, that bargaining with you will require nothing more than all of me." A tip of a wink....a jest? No...more like truth. What he is willing to pay for her.

But yes..the price. "Well, this price...yes, I should pay. After all, it was partially my doing that prompted the request as it is." A moment's pause...but only a moment, before Strange continues. "I am being asked to correct the imbalance in the realms of the dead. Persephone has reminded me of my duty to there and I must go restore that which was struck asunder."

So, yeah. Normal day in the office. Greek goddesses calling in favors. No big deal at all.

"Since part of that is to restore Hela to her rightful place, I had thought to take the opportunity to look for the Odinson. He is without his hammer and his whereabouts are unknown. If he has journeyed onward, then Helheim would be a proper place to look while I deal with a little housekeeping."

All of what Stephen conveys is given with a tone of simple intent. Given in much the same tone as would be if one was asking for a bit of sugar for their morning cup.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Baron Mordo's School of Business strangely never took off. Neither have a host of other villainous entities much succeeded except in running themselves fully into the ground. A matter of mild inconvenience, really.

"I would argue with many that my name alone gives me claim to you," Illyana allows after a pause. Her shoulders square and she corrects her posture a little more, watching Stephen and modulating herself a bit more to the master. It is correct his posture is, all in all, quite eminent. Didn't become an expert without obtaining that. "Persephone. Flower goddess, shiny crown, dread underworld lady who keeps pit of monsters in check, da? Funny name. Per-seh-foe-nee." She sounds it out, giving less of its Russian clack and making Greek more audible. "You better come out of those dead realms. No matter how appealing, they are not for us. Too full of life, me."

Her blonde hair sweeps off her shoulder as he mentions /another/ dead realm. "See? You keep going in them! This is because you killed the aloe plant, isn't it? Maybe you can find an aloe ghost and tell it to stop babbling that you help everyone who asks."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I would agree as well, in terms of name. Besides, I daresay anyone would want to object to your claim." Most people would know better than to dispute with a Hell-Lord, especially one with a big shiny Soulsword that doesn't have to cut you physically in order to hurt plenty. At least, in Stephen's mind, it would be foolish to get into an argument over rights with Illyana. Which is why he just moves right along with the conversation. A nod is given as Illy identifies the Greek goddess in question. "Yes, that's her. Has a penchant for pomegranates. She gave me one, you know. In case I needed to visit. I have it sealed and protected." Funny prize, a pomegranate. But still, not many people can claim they have one given from the hand of Persephone herself.

"I intend to come out. It is a nice place to visit, at least when not falling from the Black Bifrost. But no. I have my duties here, not in the dead realms." A beat...then perhaps an explanation is in order. "It is because of those duties that prompts me to correct the balance in the Underworld realms. You do remember that little tiff with the Demogorge, yes? It was because certain deities tried to incorporate the mortal realm into their own dictatorship of the deceased. The aftermath of that is that those involved in this foolishness have been ousted from their positions, which has caused the imbalance. And...they must be restored."

A shrug..."Which is why Helheim is involved. Hela was one of the instigators. And really, the power struggle left behind is real. As much as it displeases me to say it, but Hela is needed in her realm to maintain order. They are all needed. And I have to restore them to their rightful place."

There is another pause...this time as Stephen gives Illyana a most curious glance. "I didn't tell anyone of that aloe plant. Perhaps the ghost spoke to you first." Or, most likely, Illyana just found the remains in the garbage. That's probably it.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
It goes both ways, but the likelihood of an angry Sorcerer Supreme kicking over a door are much lower than Illyana doing the same, probably on a mistaken reason for showing up. Less egg on his face. "Ah. Has the story with Hades about angry mother going after her, sad when she was lost." As her own mother, apparently, was not. She had Colossus instead of Demeter. Maybe the world appreciates that more, not being committed to starving. "Greek myths have so many sad or angry stories. Good that hers is not all sad, then. You maybe should bring her something nice from above. Baklava!"

Everything can be solved by baklava. Shoulda tried it on Malekith.

"Da, I know about the Demogorge. Chthon and Mephisto were so infuriated. Mad they didn't think of it first. Asmodeus laughed at them." A tiny glimpse into a world that's more petty than high school is one she rarely speaks of, but they do have their occasions when they talk to one another.

She lifts her chin and meets his gaze, almost smirking. Coffee brought to her lips stifles the need for a reply. She sips it, imperious as a cat, knee to knee with him. Floating to close the distance, at any rate, to make that possible.