15839/Der Zauberlehrling - Cleaning Day

Der Zauberlehrling - Cleaning Day
Date of Scene:	11 September 2023
Location:	Sanctum Sanctorum - Limbo
Synopsis:	Cleaning!
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Stephen Strange

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Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Eurovision is a peculiarly European predilection. And Israeli. And Turkish, if you consider them non-European.

Not to mention Australia.

The year's contest is over but that doesn't stop Illyana from listening to Conchita, Loreen, Lordi, or ABBA for that matter.

Possibly the news of X-Men turning themselves into the authorities have something to do with it. Nothing like watching the people you grew up with and lived with turning themselves over to a government you have little reason to trust, especially since 'Genetic Improvement Council' tends to irk.

She wields a mop and a bucket with grim determination, hauling them up from some godforsaken corner of the Sanctum. Shorts are stupid for dealing with potentially caustic materials, so leggings and a crop top will do. "What do we attack today? Closet? Room of Inexplicable Horrors?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
"The Rooms of Inexplicable Horrors does not like to be cleaned. Hence why it is the room of horrors." Stephen is there, himself armed with a broom and dustpan. Maybe even a bottle of cleaning spray somewhere on his person. "Normally I would mention here that there is an easier way of doing this sort of thing, but from the determination I see in your expression, I would wager that now is not the time to mention such things."

There might have been a moment put in there that would have been perfect for a laugh. But no...Stephen knows better. Still, that wry little grin of his is present. Just because there isn't a verbal comment doesn't mean that Stephen thought of one anyways.

Still, an answer needs to be given. "Kitchen, perhaps? That should be relatively safe. As long as we either leave the refrigerator alone or tackle it together. Either option is better than attempting to clean it with only one person."

That...sounds ominous.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Is the inexplicable horror because they like to be dirty or because the biological contamination is too great a risk?" Illyana doesn't often want or offer to take her alternate form. Frankly, she'd rather not in any way, shape or form. But push comes to dacha, she'll laugh in the face of mortal illnesses unless they rhyme with Pegasi Iris.

Her brows arch beneath the heavy fringe of blonde bangs. "The wards keep things clean. It is not the same as cleaning. Sometimes to scrub or organize, mm?"

Puns are probably lost on her in a mood to clean, since the mood for war or mood for love are so much better attitudes for humans. Still, she aggressively threatens a corner baseboard with the nozzle of the vacuum in case any dust bunnies have not taken flight. "We mobilize our small legion. They will not see us coming if we use guerilla tactics."

Or Lysol. Lots of Lysol. "Kitchen, da. The fridge has /ideas/ again? Last time it tried to shove the eggs to the back."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"To be honest, it is either or. Depending on the day, even both. Sometimes it is best to not think too hard about that sort of thing." This time, Stephen does breach the silence after his statement with a small laugh. "In either case, the Sanctum usually has its own way of dealing with that particular room."

Usually.

The cleaning force of two. Yes, the kitchen will not see them coming. The broom reaches up into a corner, batting away at a small spiderweb that has formed in the cozy nook. "Yes. The wards do not necessarily organize well. We tried, once. Once was enough to prove that such things are better left to be performed manually." Yes....wards have funny ideas of what 'organized' means.

Back to the fridge. "Oh, it always does. At least last time it only rearraigned the poultry eggs. Before your arrival, the fridge tried to impregnate the stove. Or, rather, what was inside the refrigerator, at least. It was quite....graphic. And messy. Another thing the wards were not capable of handling."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The lofted brow may hitch another few millimeters. Illyana's brilliant gaze sharpens a fraction, and she tugs reality. Out comes a shape, an upright vacuum. Loud hissing noises erupt when she presses the power switch and connects the electrical circuit, feeding into the devouring of bunnies.

"My electric bill," she says dryly, in case he has cares to worry about. Given Stephen no longer practices medicine, maybe he needs to rely on the Limbonic resources of the Demon Queen! Maybe she has to figure out her own income.

A nudge pushes the vacuum forward, its noisy progress slurping hungrily at whatever specks of dirt happen to be around. Back, forth, back, forth. "Much faster than mopping. I will use the mop to attack whatever lives behind the milk. Could be a yoghurt? Do you /regularly/ have appliances trying to make miniature appliances?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
The former surgeon nods. It isn't like he has to worry about finances as it is. Or electricity, really. The vacuum is given an appreciative glance. "I am glad to see that we are not going about bewitching our brooms and vacuums to be on autopilot. Seems we have seen our Disney." Sorcerer's Apprentice is an educational film about the perils of being lazy. Just...with a mouse and brooms.

The procreation attempts are then addressed. "No, not usually. It did help when I exorcised the spirit possessing the fridge. That...and it was determined that the two are just too incompatible. Fire and ice certainly does not mix."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"A spirit interested in propagation through physical items, or required to use such a host to facilitate its ongoing morphosis?" Illyana isn't the doctor that Stephen is. She is scarcely a doctor at all, though the crunch and years of effort could be something she tackles one of these days. A day when her blood isn't cause to hunt her, and the demonic vestiges might be thoroughly controlled. "A phenomenon you must have studied at length before me."

She isn't grinning. Oh no, smirking. "Or such experiments were put on hold for other perils."

The vacuum keeps slurping its way to the kitchen, only interrupted when she has to pull the portal forward and eat up space like a tunnel to avoid interrupting the electrical flow /much/. It is, of course. "It is lazy to use telekinesis on brooms. Many students do this. Cutting corners is usually fatal. You do not identify the mimic at the end of the bed, that way."

Stephen Strange has posed:
There is a pause, long enough to dispose of the stray cobwebs into the nearest garbage receptacle. "I quite honestly did not take the time to consider the exact reasoning for the attempted copulation. And I had not considered it, since. It was one of those instances in which ignorance truly is bliss." Of course, that smirk from Illyana is noted. And Strange does do the courtesy of at least attempting to look chaste. Not that it is very successful.

Stephen does now approach the fridge in question, broom held in a ready stance, with the vacuum behind him as a mechanical wingman, ready to devour whatever cosmic horror has taken residence. The broom is held out, seeking to hook the door...to pull it open.

No time like the present to see what is inside.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The sweep of a magic wand might banish all those dirty cobwebs and gathered dust in the corners, but it doesn't make up for a proper wand with fluffy bits. Nylon or plastic or something natural might do a fine job without the expense of magical energy and focus.

Illyana spares no mercy she might find, scooting along the baseboards and underneath the ledge of the fridge doors. Eventually the vacuum won't be of any further use, and her portal collapses on itself, swallowing up the device after she shuts it off. No need to leave something running until the engine overheats and burns out in her apartment or wherever it is. "Was it merely deranged or serving some other purpose? The spirit world should not be depleted because of mortal causes. Unless you were afraid of small spirits and formless creatures running around outside the Sanctum. Should we reinforce the wards and refresh them? Especially as new troubles are surely to be expected."

Her eyes flick to the doors as they open, and the creak of an appliance visited regularly enough comes with a whoosh of cold air. The frigid whispers spill out with the glimmer of light flicking on, a cool hue glancing off the blue-tinged plastic shelves and crispers. No telling how long the fruit drawer has housed cucumbers, green grapes, kiwis, and a sad container of watermelon that never quite got eaten.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A shrug is given for the initial question. Far be it for Strange to decide the lucidity of a spirit that chose to possess electrical appliances. The intelligence factor is already low to begin with. Even more so when the appliance in question is in possession of the Sorcerer Supreme. 'Deranged' would be putting the situation mildly.

With the door opening, the good Doctor cranes his head around, to see what is inside. And....there seems to be a sign of relief. Not because of the dreaded fruit drawer, with its offerings almost certainly beyond the fresh by date. But for the fact that the contents within the drawer has not gain sentience and attempted to eat the intrepid cleaning duo.

"Ah...no possession. That is a welcomed change. This should be easier than I expected, then."

Easier? So Strange was expecting a demonic horde from the depths of the icebox. Still, no demonic dogs standing sentinel for a long-forgotten Sumarian god of destruction. It's a win, regardless.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The appliance theory needs to be squashed while it is still a fresh topic and less of an equine corpse smashed and slapped beyond recognition. Illyana only inclines her head to stifle the dark laugh, an outright snicker, really.

"Remind me," she offers, poking at the other door and considering the glass containers therein. Leaning over provides an unrestricted view unless, of course, Stephen's shoulder somehow doesn't count. It ought to count, a good shoulder.

"We may need a rag. A bag. What else, a flag?" Rhyming demon she is not, it's actually a comment due to the plethora of cheeses that could be mounded up in a drawer and spontaneously declaring their independence. Her tongue presses to her teeth. No, nothing dangerous...

Except leaning in to nose his ear. Oh dear.