14982/Chaos in Lagos

Chaos in Lagos
Date of Scene:	22 May 2023
Location:	Lagos, Nigeria
Synopsis:	You rang?
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Stephen Strange

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Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Wandering all over reality patching up holes and fending off interdimensional problems comes with the territory of being Sorcerer Supreme. When it's not a cult of sorcerers foolishly using a cribbed copy of Cagliostro's Shroud to call monstrous shadows, it's a ward falling around a sacred crypt or some social media savant trying to perform magic under the guise of doing normal stuff. All that must keep a man or woman busy. The Windows on the World surely assist in reducing the workload, since dialing into trouble or peering afar is perfectly possible.

Illyana isn't using those, however, and her own concerns sometimes use alternate, less tasteful methods. Like stumbling out from a belch of hot air in one of the practice rooms in a stepping disk, assuming the wards permit her in. She coughs from the sudden change in air temperature and grit, absolutely stained by the toils of roaming around in a desert-like location. Dirty patches on her loose tunic and pants attest to marching around somewhere. She gets a few steps forward and drops a bag that wiggles, smelling of sulphur and frankincense. Glyphs blaze on the leather bag's surface, creeping, crawling in foul orange light.

She isn't one to stumble or warn loudly with a shout when offal strikes the rotating disk of life. She instead pats her sides and grimaces at her clothes, then smartly wanders out into the hall. He's around here somewhere.

Applying a hint of a mystic tug to the soul shard hanging around in her broken stained glass aura helps too.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Busy may not adequately describe the potential workload of a Sorcerer Supreme. An on-call surgeon may be able to describe his or her life as 'busy'. But a mystical protector of reality? 'Busy' doesn't lend enough gravitas to the situation. Still, there is a support system in place, which certainly helps. Both magical and mundane.

Also, it helps to associate with only the best. And occasionally Stark. But only occasionally.

Stephen doesn't wander, though yes, his paramour has it correct. He is certainly within the Sanctum somewhere. The wards do their job, allowing the mistress of Limbo access within, yet giving the master of the Sanctum just a twinge of recognition. Of course he knows that Illyana has arrived, though not exactly where within the Sanctum. Just as he knows that if he is needed, she will inform as such.

Oh, that's a unique sensation. The slight tug upon the shard, his gift to her, is more than enough to signal that his presence is requested. Strange stands from the reading desk he was at...and walks through a door. It doesn't matter what door...any door will do. They will all lead to where he is needed.

They will all lead to Illyana.

"It would seem you had an adventure." The soft baritone intones from somewhere just over Illyana's left shoulder. "I am sure the story behind it will be fascinating."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
He signed up. The Vishanti chose him as a champion, price is right for never having a day off or a holiday. Slumber is no excuse for a man who wrestled with Death at one point or another. Alas, he's saddled with a permanent pager or work-issued cell phone and no excuse to escape.

Illyana might possess a certain degree of sympathy, since Stephen paid a different price for rulership. /She/ merely gave up her independence, childhood, innocence, and good night's sleep so they're about even. He got a cool cloak. She got a cool sword.

Her feet leave dusty prints behind, no helping that, though the dust bunnies of the Sanctum never last for long. A cleaning ward or spell does the trick, though she spends little time wiggling her fingers. Rule one of being the drudge for Belasco: learn to keep things tidy and cover your tracks. One of those is rule one. The other is like rule nineteen.

Her padding steps convey her up the hallway past a row of doors and one very scowly mask. If it rattles in dismay, blame her toothy smirk. Ah, behind her?

That's why it rattled then. She raises a brow. "I have to work on my entrances." Teeth flash, sharp and white. "I had good information. Bad tourists decided to have a bite of people and see the sights. Or burn the sites. The explanation was not so clear with two inches of knife in someone, da?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
Sleep is a waste of time anyways. There is so much more than can be done once one is no longer saddled with the need for sleeping for however many hours. Just as long as as one doesn't mind slow onset of insanity. Which, given the sort of situations that both sorcerers find themselves in, how can one really tell? Insanity for one is just normalcy for another.

Still, the perks of the job are premier. Cool cloaks, prime real estate in Greenwich Village, and a closet infinitely full of smoking jackets. It's a win-win, overall.

The dusty passage of Illyana truly does not linger long. One of the many spells in the Sanctum is the self-cleaning enchantment. Wong has stated it was necessary for the maintenance of the Sanctum. Strange has long suspected it was merely there as a convenience for Wong himself. Not that Strange could fault him. He wouldn't want to vacuum the seemingly endless hallways either. So, as dust falls, so to does dust disappear, spirited away to the nearest rubbish bin or alternate dimension, whichever is closest.

A glance to the mask for betraying his position, then a slight smile for Illyana as she turns to regard Strange. "No need for that, my dear. I just happened to be in the area." Blatant lies, but playful enough to not earn him a reproachful stare. He does not speak again until after Illyana has relayed her information. "A bite of people, you say? Now, that is intriguing. And...judging from the soot, I would be inclined to believe in the incineration rather than observation of the environs. Though, no doubt the foreign object within said informant made it difficult to discern."

There is a singular moment, in which Stephen glances back in the general direction of where Illyana walked from. Even with the ashen footfalls dissipating into nothingness, it doesn't take much for Strange to determine where exactly she stepped into the Sanctum. "And...it seems you left a present for me? Considering the warding enchantment centered around a small object back there. Hmm...you brought a carry-on." That slight smile widens somewhat. "Oh, you shouldn't have. And here, I didn't think to get you anything."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Perks for sorcerous talents, and only the occasional downside like all sorts of people gunning for you. Who can resist that kind of thrilling excitement? Life would be so terribly dull, all in all. Who wants to deal with the side effects of living a quiet, unremarkable life, stressing over the bills and workouts, grocery pickup and when to get that upstate cabin?

Cabins are no issue when they can create their own palaces, and transportation with the world's finest teleporter absolutely becomes a non-issue. Illyana certainly looks odd, dressed like a bedraggled Bedouin as imagined by Hollywood, or some kind of cast-off trader from the medieval Crusades era. She doesn't look bloody at least, but the riveting consequences for passing among others requires wearing clothes that work for them. Her scarf wrapped around her head exists more to protect her than anything else. Colours in dull ecru, worn red, and brown all blend together.

"Hmph. This one," she nods at the mask, "should fear me. They get uppity if they forget, da? We may be mortal but we do not fear the spirit or the monster inside. You heal, but I am monstrous enough." Her thinned eyes flash as she looks back to make sure the artefact is properly chastened. It leers. Of course it it isn't too concerned about her with the master of the house present.

"A bite of people," she repeats. "A door opened casually to let out monsters from another layer of Hell. Not mine, of course." Her smirk lifts. "I would only do that if you were particularly bored. Keep you sharp on your toes, da?"

Innocent is not her flavour, but oh, she's happy to amuse herself with it, glittering wickedness and an angelic expression come together. "I paid for that token. A fair enough bargain, da? It should lead me to where Belasco is. Ultimately. A trade for a trade for a trade, until he suffers." The cold, sparkling weight of her words can't be overly ignored, hot air around the hallway or not.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A finger is wagged at the chattering mask. "That's enough. Or I may decide to let her have her way with you." That should quiet down the spirit within for at least a little while.

But...back to the doorway mentioned. "Doors from Hell do not open casually. Unless, of course, it is from Limbo and you was feeling particularly saucy." A wink is given to Illyana. Just who is feeling saucy now? "But yes, I understand now. Here I thought you might have stumbled into a Sweeney Todd sort of situation. Almost disappointed it is just a normal demonic intrusion."

Strange really has a peculiar sense of 'normal'.

A follow up question is given. "So, I take it that we need to determine the why? Why someone would take it upon themselves to open a door to this realm, knowing perfectly well that it is protected?"

The why, however, falls away as Strange realizes what is in the bag. "Oh...well, that is a sizeable token. It does depend on what you paid for it, but, if it does lead to Belasco..." Stephen doesn't finish the sentence. Perhaps he doesn't want to know what it might have cost her.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The mask will stew, but the snakes chortle in their habitat and the grimoires surely grumble at their callous mistreatment, unable to tempt anyone except Wong.

The mutant woman waits, still looking over her shoulder. "Demons and devils powerful enough can open the doors." She shrugs her shoulders. "Mine know I feel them, da? They come, they go, I am aware. It is why Dormammu is not so stupid to push the Mindless Ones through Limbo so often, maybe. He has his Dark Dimension, of course, but on my home ground, bad idea. Besides, we would come and fight together. Beautiful thing for married people to do: slaughter demons, face your great enemy, watch a movie afterward. Not that Sweeney Todd one. Ugh, I like sausages."

And she doesn't eat people, so there's always that. She shrugs her shoulders to the questions. "Informant was bragging over the Onyx Pact table. I hear, I ask. They thought I was a slave and I disabused them of that notion. Maybe it's not that important, but gossip makes for a nice lunch break. Why, were you defeating demons or working on a ritual?"

Her grin becomes a wickedly bright, brief thing. "They come to get souls. Even a few minutes and a successful claim is worth it. They come and go. Now somewhere is afraid, maybe they will make deals. Maybe they are stupid and bored. Most demons are."

She's the Demon Queen. What about that?

Stephen Strange has posed:
Ah....that brings a chuckle to the former surgeon. "Yes, nothing brings a couple together more than the decimation of demonic forces and a little tete a tete with arch nemeses, followed by Netflix. Though, yes, we can skip the Stephen Sondheim experience." The other question, about what Stephen was working on, is answered with a single word. "Ritual." But, with it be Stephen, he elaborates. "Reinforcement of the protective barriers around this dimension. It is quite apparent that it is needed, since I did not sense this latest breach, regardless of how minor or not it was."

A pause...always a welcomed relief when Strange gets verbose, before he picks up again. "Though, a demon hunt may be a welcomed distraction, while still adhering to my appointed role as protector of the realm. Did you wish to go? I will even let you pick the movie."

Never mind the fact that Illyana just came from a battle. There's always time for a hunt. Especially if it entails tracking down her arch nemesis and reclaiming that which was stolen from her.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"And chill," interjects the blonde with precision of a swordswoman used to dueling with everything short of Lucifer Morningstar. One does not duel with the boss, absconded even as he is.

Trust Stephen to know the best way around that particular brand of humour, dry and arrogant though he is. "You do not fail, da? Just a visitor dropping off unwanted parcels. Good opportunity to try to make a new spell like the Ring doorbells. Just all big brother, less creepy Lex Luthor company." She is wise ont hat matter, at least, humour applied with a lavish sweep.

Her mouth quirks up again when he agrees to the demon hunt, since little appeals as much as that to the black-crown'd queen. If you can't have regular work, why not slaughter infernal monsters?

"It is better than the alternative. The heart I took needs to be traded and the best trade will need time to figure out. This way we can let things steep." Is it a battle when she went with intent to hear gossip and mosey around? Probably not. Still, a wink and a nudge send her sword flashing into her hand. Subtlety? Not exactly.

" They said somewhere.... hm. Market, near the oil refinery. You need Google Maps on your phone." Does he /have/ a phone? "Faster for me to..." Pinpricks of space bloom and collapse s she opens windows of her own onto the world, albeit one with a bustling waterfront, enormous collections of ghettos and shantytowns, a glimpse of spires, and then over there, the raging Atlantic on the Gulf of Guinea gnawing at the beaches around a lagoon rimed in black oil. Tinubu Square and the huge slew of docks, cranes, and people fleeing down a street choked in autobuses, cars, scooters, and bikes makes for /quite/ the scene.

"That would be it," she announces dryly.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"And chill. Yes. That, too." Followed shortly by "Of course I fail. Agamotto is quite fond of pointing out my failures. Repeatedly."

Stephen does seem to loosen up just a touch at mention of trying to make a surveillance spell. "Well, maybe not to that extreme. However, adding an enchantment to alert of breaches, packaged to the Ring doorbell programming? That may be a possibility."

Still, it is a solution for another time. It is not often that he offers to join the demon hunt and Stephen knows it. He also knows that it is one of her favorite pastimes. "I did think that you might like the diversion. I do need a little exercise myself." Besides, even Strange will admit that a little physical action works as an effective deterrent. If the Sorcerer Supreme is seen out actively hunting breachers, then those that feel so inclined may think otherwise. Especially if it is a tag team and one of them is wielding a sword that looks straight out of an anime.

And, perhaps not for the first time and definitely not for the last time, there may be a slight twinge of regret that Stephen doesn't have a flashy sword.

"Market, hmm? Is that something that Google has mapped, really?" To answer the unspoken question, Strange does produce a smartphone from seemingly nowhere. And it is even an Android, complete with Google Maps. Not that it is needed, since Illyana is certainly better than any smartphone app. Stephen returns the phone from whence it came, betraying the subtle use of a portal of his own to place it in another room, out of the way.

"Show-off."

The word is given with amusement. Oh, he is enjoying their interaction. "Shall we journey forth, then? No doubt we shall make quite an entrance."