15882/A is for Avengers Tower

A is for Avengers Tower
Date of Scene:	18 September 2023
Location:	Avengers Mansion - Rooftop Pool
Synopsis:	It is what it is.
Cast of Characters:	Wanda Maximoff, Brunnhilde, Stephen Strange

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Wanda Maximoff has posed:
La Belle Rouge ascends the stairs from the lower floors of a fancy mansion she really has no business living at, under normal circumstances. Broke girls from Transia without two coins to rub together don't live in the most desirable neighbourhood in Manhattan. Not when their parents are separated, a criminal record haunts them, and worse besides. Every day in New York is a gift for Wanda, and one she cherishes.

Her enormous red sunhat and sunglasses defy the fact autumn is nearly upon them here. Not with the sweltering temperatures in September, the comfortable one-piece bathing suit under a flowy caftan as suitable for Miami Beach as Avengers Beach. And this /is/ Avengers Beach.

Too early for her to float along a bottle of anything except sunscreen, which plentiful amounts are in the cabinet hiding by the bar. SPF factor 100 for her fair skin!

Brunnhilde has posed:
The weather today is the kind where being on a pool is the best place to be. And when one has access to a rooftop pool courtesy of Tony and a few other millionaires part of the Avengers? Borderline criminal! Maybe that's why Wanda is here today. She isn't a criminal, is she? The water is quiet enough and the sun rays reflecting on the pool give an idyllic enough aspect to the place.

It's good to be an Avenger.

Or at least one might think so until the first disturbance is noted. A flicker on magical senses that defy logic. Something /is/ coming. And it's looking for /her/. Or for what power she has.

A small dot appears over the pool. Fiery. Starting to expand to what looks like a portal.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The pool offers a respite from the rigors of Witch Things. Those concerns swirl around in her thoughts as she glissades through the massive space, her gaze turned to the expanse of teal water and tile that inevitably will host her for a swim. Laps without thinking are excellent for meditative purposes, disconnecting anxiety from physical form. Or keeping in shape, which is always key for an Avenger.

The soft trembling A minor note doesn't fit the softer murmurs of a C major tune that New York vibrates with. In fact, it stands out to her as a sequence of jarring arpeggios different from the background noise that exists for her perpetually, and that's reason enough to plant her feet on the deck instead of running for the water. Not Atlantean; the water is no advantage.

Her hands come up instinctively, pulling on those threads fo fortune trailing after her the way a planet's magnetosphere wanders around after it. They start to get her into a lancé point invisibly around her; a counterspell in the making that pins on the ragged edges of the portal. "Oh no, you don't."

Brunnhilde has posed:
While the spell isn't being done /here/ there's something to be said about Wanda's powers and her ability to bend the limitations of magic for while it'd be nigh impossible to cut down the formation of that portal what happens is that slowly, but surely, the portal's hold to this reality starts to break, it's connection becoming unstable, weakening.

A screech is heard from the other side. Otherworldly. A gnawed hand makes it's way through yet that's right when Wanda plucks the last remaining thread on the portal and it abruptly closes.

Leaving a sliced forearm behind, claw attached.

There's a moment of silence that follows. Is it all over? Another portal pops. Then another. And another. Too many to counter effectively. Wanda bought some time with countering that first portal, time to prepare for what is coming, but has also called attention upon her!

Stephen Strange has posed:
Yet another portal opens. However, this portal sparks, golden showers of eldritch energy that orbit in the air a single turn before forming a doorway. Within, for but a moment, images of a well-kept foyer, with a grand staircase, before a shadow obscures the view. The shadow gains the dimensions of a human form, with most certainly some sort of flowing cloak attaches at the neck.

Then, the form steps through, the portal cutting off to non-existence the moment boots set foot upon poolside. The grey eyes of the Sorcerer Supreme take stock in the multiple attempts of breaches, following with a final glance over towards the chaos mage responsible for the severed arm sitting at Strange's feet. "I hope you do not mind the intrusion, Ms. Maximoff. I had sensed an incursion attempt and thought to come to assist."

Truly, Stephen came to deal with it himself, but with Wanda here, he wasn't about to state that directly. And, considering Wanda is present, there may be a suspicion that she might be a target. And, well, Stephen did like playing the hero. Not that he will admit it.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The witch's shears proverbially snip the strands coming through reality, cautious at first. Someone who needs help might be attempting to come through, the primary worry overriding her substantive efforts to shut off the portal. Worry puckers her brow and softens the cadence of syllables that trip off her tongue. Only until the arm emerging isn't human - - that, however, is not enough to verify this is an enemy. Short of Sauron announcing he's not solving cancer, her careful approach reveals itself to be wise....

Until it doesn't and another breach in reality becomes a checkerboard of damnation. Small tears grow into larger ones and she halts the counterspell a beat slower than she should, maybe significantly more than that. Somewhere Agatha's voice castigates her for bad choices, bad ideas.

The best part about swearing in Transian is that no one but a Transian (all nine of them) understands what she spits out. Quickly she snaps a gesture down and spills a bubble around herself, warding off a generous area that fortunately leaves the pool /alone/. By metaphysical standards, the hasty application lacks the artistry that a ritual would. As quick and dirty goes, she's a speedster's twin. A roiling scarlet wall only a few atoms thick winks up, fully transparent, glimmering only when bumped. If it so happens to enclose one Stephen Strange, that bodes well. Whatever's coming through isn't barred from reaching them, it's locked in. For as much as it's ever locked in with the Sorcerer Supreme.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"I," a breathless invocation away from a different spell becomes a proper statement, "truly regret the interruption. They never knock, do they?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
There is little chance that this is someone calling for help. The magic feels /wrong/. Tainted. And there was nothing friendly about that outstreched arm that was ripping through the portal before it was countered. Certainly not the eldritch magic emanating from Strange's own portal.

As those portals open a few creatures step out. Perhaps with a touch of familiarity to Strange and a certain Queen of Limbo but /wrong/ enough to not be a part of Limbo itself yet perhaps something similar. Or somewhere. There's a screech out of that first one. Head too large, bulgy black eyes, row of sharp teeth, wings and claws.

And then they are flying towards the two mages, screeching their throats out just as a last one of those creatures emerges from the last portal, sans one arm and looking angry as hell.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"No, they never do."

It would seem that Stephen stepped in just as the hex bubble sealed itself, trapping the insurgents in within with the Scarlet Witch and the Master of the Mystic Arts, should anyone care about titles. That alone should be enough to send dread through whatever is trying to force their way in, provided they have any common sense at all.

Seeing how the breachers force their way in, including a certain recently-dearmed demon, common sense would not a valued trait in the invasion party.

"Well, that feels somewhat familiar." Strange would know. With a fragment of a demon-touched soul nestled within him, Stephen would certainly be able to sense demonic influence better than most. And...this particular flavor of demon is not under the domain of the Queen of whom he is consort of. "Infernal. I will freely admit that my better half is more experienced with all thing demonic and certainly would have enjoyed quelling this tide with extreme prejudice. Alas, I fear she will just have to settle for the story."

Attention shifts from Wanda to the nearest hellspawn. "Unless you want me to summon the Demon Queen. I recommend, for your sakes, to not. I am kinder." Which....he isn't wrong. Even as he speaks, Stephen shifts, fingers tracing a circle before him before he slams his palm forward, conjuring a shield of mystical energy that suddenly becomes a battering ram, intent on shoving the beast back through its own portal before it snaps shut.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Too many eyes, too many teeth to be friendly. Wanda has plenty of experience to recoil from such entities, not to cast aspersions on those lacking conventional beauty. But nasty claws and great horrible snappy maws usually spell no friendly intent.

She backs up, still in her open flowing robe and bathing suit, not entirely too different from her costume -- once. When she was younger, more foolish, more insecure. In her fabulous sunhat and shades, the tables have turned!

Notably by pulling the hat from her head and flinging it like a Frisbee at two of those monstrous infernal beasts bearing down at her. Even in her brother's hands, the hat might be a friction weapon at best. But when is a hat not a hat? When thrown for love and justice.

The swiveling disk carries sheer bad luck and volume enough to hopefully get in their way, being a nuisance and barrier to sight. Punching a hex behind the brim is only fair as she runs -- barefoot, naturally -- several steps to the side to make targeting her a bit tougher. "Why would they come here? I don't expect they knew the danger. Tracking someone, maybe?"

Theories that Stephen might consider are probably short-lived, given his focus moving to pushing monsters back from whence they came. She raises her eyebrows a bit. "I'm not sure I want to meet your better half if the solution is extreme prejudice. Enough of that in the world. This simply won't do."

Brunnhilde has posed:
The armless creature is angry. Very angry! In fact it might just snap it's maw on ---

The sudden battering ram forming pushes the creature right back through the portal with a surprised screech just before it closes up. Can it get even angrier? The answer is yes but doesn't seem like it will be returning any time soon. Maybe it will just have to find a fashionable hook for it's arm for next time..

The hat wouldn't be too much a problem for those creatures for they seem rather rabid, stronger than a man for sure, yet the push of bad luck behind it does the trick as one of them gets entangled with the hat, swipes it away and /unfortunately/ hits the other creature in the face, the two tumbling to the ground with a jamble of wings and claws. They snarl, struggling to get up.

It leaves only a last one unchecked for which jumps towards Stephen, maw wide open!

Stephen Strange has posed:
With the armless wonder gone, the shield dissipates into nothingness, even as the hat provides entertainment with taking down two creatures at once. Yet, even as the pair tumble down, Stephen is on the move.

Or, rather, his cloak is. The sorcerer doesn't flinch. The cloak, however, swiftly detaches from the man's collar, enveloping the leaping attacker and depositing it neatly upon the other two, though none too lightly, only complicating matters with getting up.

Stephen, however, engages in conversation as if he is on nothing more than a casual walk. "Well, the breach did seem to be pointed specifically here. I would imagine you were alone?" There is no imagination involved. It is quite apparent that Wanda was alone.

"Because, if I didn't know any better, I would say you was their target, Wanda. Though I cannot possibly imagine why."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
One down, two tangled, and one troublesome monster to go. Wanda loses her sunglasses after swiveling away to line up for a better shot, though losing the shields against the brighter glare off the water is no problem for her. Rapid blinking spares her the overall discomfort of her vision adjusting to the brighter space.

Stephen's cloak saving the day again gets a brief grin, and she nod to his question. The smile fades some. "Nothing new there, though we have higher value targets. Why wouldn't they go after Cap or Stark? Thor? I shall have to ask."

No longer is the witch in a one-piece fleeing for the water so much as whispering another incantation. The screeches don't mean anything to her most of the time, not without help. Force bubbles up and pushes one of the knocked over demons away, hoisting it up, at least as long as she isn't under direct attack. "You! Why are you here?"

This may be pointless as an effort, but it won't stop her from trying!

Brunnhilde has posed:
The three poor creatures get cloak-handled by Mr. Cloak itself, sent reeling back and across the side of the pool. Thankfully none of them falls in or else they might need to spend a while cleaning it considering the scent of sulphur surrounding them. They do get up to their feet after a bit though and do not charge...

Instead one sniffs the air, looking at Wanda before it's row of teeth turns into what passes for a smile. Not a friendly smile for sure. Effort comes out of the creature's throat, almost as if it was ready to regurgitate something but eventually it forms a word.

"N-Nexus."

It's followed by a hiss, the other two screeching in a choir as they retreat back to their portals apparently satisfied with what they found, fading and leaving the two sorcerers to enjoy the quietness of the rooftop pool. With more questions than answers.