16443/Awaiting Title

Awaiting Title
Date of Scene:	29 November 2023
Location:	Sanctum Sanctorum
Synopsis:	This, that, disrupted.
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Illyana Rasputina

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Stephen Strange has posed:
Within New York, the holiday season is in full effect. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade has passed, sacrificing giant pop culture balloons to ensure the enjoyment and good will of men for another month or so. Does it work? Maybe. Rockefeller Center has its tree up and set to go, the lighting of the pagan symbol only a scant few hours away. Everywhere, the signs of the season are showing. Despite the fact that Christmas music has been playing in stores since November 1st...now it is actually tolerable for most. The holidays are here, for better or for worse.

Within the Sanctum itself, even here, there is evidence of the season. Nothing as trite as a giant tree in the middle of the foyer, but there is some signs. Small, but gradual changes. A bit of garland on a stairwell. Color scheme shift to a white and red. A coat rack with a crown of green holly. Slight edits, but visible. Perhaps in an effort to make the master of the house not notice as much...or merely the mysterious decorator wants to pace him/her/itself. Nevertheless, the holidays are upon the Sanctum.

Even in the study, where Stephen is currently residing, the evidence is there. The particular tome, open upon the end table, speaks of holiday myths and creatures. Creatures that may not be so mythological, but real. As real as any mystical monstrosity. Is it elves that Stephen is reading about? Not the tall, regal Tolkien-esque version, but the short, handy type...a closer relation to gnomes than elves. Or something more dark and foreboding? The book, opened to the tales of Krampus, speak to the latter.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
All the nonsense around the holidays should be familiar to Illyana by now. She's spent enough Christmases stateside to be aware of what it all means, and how Americans love to blow their money on big experiences. The fancy tree in Rockefeller Square. The ice skating rinks, the coffee and cocoa shops everywhere, and the pop-up everything even in places that wouldn't normally be associated with Christmas. The season celebrated at the post office, fine. Why is a gas station festooned in tinsel? Why is a dumpster supply company? These mysteries are not quite as arcane as some.

She isn't the one to complain when the coat rack gets decorated, though, and as long as the doorbell sings a happy tune, it can be whatever tune it wants. Her current issue relates to staring at a pair of long bamboo sticks that would make for a very slow death. She isn't using them for a murderous purpose, unless it means stabbing at a ball of yarn that hasn't been fully turned into anything except a pile of elegant knots. But for her actual achievements, she has about four rows of stitches coming out somewhat lopsided, but more even than some. Her phone manages to provide a video how-to. Mind you, repeating back and forth over the same six steps that last about 30 seconds. Her eyes narrow as she tries to figure out why the neat cables don't match what she produces, but it's not the first merry-go-round.

Still, Stephen is about and busily working. Reading? That's not unsurprising. She sticks her bangs back behind her ear in a place; then, she glances askance to see what he's up to. A coffee cup appears at his shoulder, shoved through by very-much-not-gnome hands.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Grey eyes glance upwards first, catching the cup arriving via portal. With a motion that surely has been practiced several dozens of times, Stephen's arms cross, grasping the cup with his left hand while securing the book with his right. Then, in a smooth, fluid motion, he uncrosses the limbs, sliding the book into his lap as the receptacle of caffeination is placed down upon the end table, where the book once resided. Even a coaster makes an appearance, formed from the aether rather than merely transported through space and (quite possibly) time.

Then, those eyes shift to regard Illyana. Stephen takes note of the bamboo needles, the eyebrow raising slightly in curiosity, but only slight...and the expression dissipates quickly. Still, knitting isn't something he completely expected. No, he doesn't compare the attempt to the phone video. The fact that Illy is knitting at all is intriguing. And the fact that Illy has access to two sharp pointy objects is enough to keep any unseemly inquiry at bay.

Instead, Stephen offers a different question of sorts, breaking the silence. "My dear Illyana, what do you know of central and eastern Alpine folklore of Europe?" It isn't a question that Stephen expects an answer, considering who he is speaking to. He knows she is well versed. "In particular, the particularly darker side of the Advent season." A finger indicates a wood carving of the subject in question. "The Krampus. A half goat, half demon monster sent to punish bad children and scare them into being good for the yuletide season. From the Bavarian word krampn, meaning dead or rotten, or possibly the German word kramp, meaning claw." Indeed, the carving illustration in the book does show a two legged goat figure with a particularly long tongue and nasty disposition. "Modern tellings include loss of faith as an attractant of said creature and certainly the worse the children are with their behavior, the more appealing the Krampus finds them. I trust you know of this."

Not a question. A statement. Just where is Strange taking this, though?

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Whatever Illyana knits isn't very wide, certainly not enough for a blanket or a sweater. Then again, her skills with those needles amount to jab and pull like she's suturing a wound on a bull, so her skills do not even reach the prospect of making something bifurcated or involving sleeves, unless that is simply the sleeve. Yarn flows through her fingers, tugged until taut, the needles making a protesting click-clack. Well; not much to be done about that. She cannot become instantly skillful at something like, say, a certain master of tasks.

Her smirk responds to Strange with all he needs when he looks her way. His wife is up to no good.

Making colourful striped garrotes shall not be beyond her! Not this holiday season. Strangulation by tinsel, merry stripes, or coloured wire are all perfectly acceptable outcomes. She knows this thanks to traditional Christmas movies. Speaking of: "When will we celebrate by watching 'Die Hard?'"

Celebrating one of oh so many things, surely. Her smirk alleviates a little when he asks her a genuine question, and then she raises her eyebrows a fraction. "Ah, him. Very popular in Germany, Serbia, and such. Da, I know these stories well. Do you think there is a problem with folk culture or are you looking for actual problem children about to be eaten?"

She should not grin. She should not, and then she does anyway. "Many reasons Krampus happens. I have gone for a run before. Have you?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
A chuckle escapes Stephen's throat. Yes, he caught the smirk. And knows what it could mean.

Then the question of celebration. "'Die Hard', hmm? I believe that the main actor himself has decried that it is not a Christmas movie. Though, I digress. It most certainly has all the trappings of a Christmas movie. We can watch it whenever you wish."

Now with the important item of business out of the way, back to the research at hand. "The second, regrettably. In my experience, folklore is all too real. And, given the current state of affairs in general, there would be an exorbitant number of non-believers this particular season. A number too great for one that thrives upon punishment to ignore."

A pause. And the reasoning for the reading becomes clear. There is probably going to be an incursion in the very near future...and Strange is going to have to deal with it. "I was considering we go on a hunt, before the children are hunted themselves. However, considering the vast number of children and the hazards that are inherit with combating a demonic entity that only grows stronger the less you believe in it, if the stories are to be believed, I was considering possibly we might would want help."

Wait, help? Since when does Stephen bother asking for that? Sensing that might be the case, the good doctor quips. "I mean, not that we would necessarily need assistance. However, it might be to our considerable advantage if we can isolate the entity...and there is always strength in numbers."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Yes, Die Hard is totally a Christmas movie even if most people of a sane disposition do not agree. They should know better in a testament to American culture and power. Really, anything that bad is good and festive all the way through.

"I do not listen to actors, I listen to sense," Illyana adds in a way that imitates or dead-on mocks most college professors. She went to university! She knows better.

Her smile turns flat in a moment, resting bitch face a thing in most situations. The beginnings of a snarl might be prone to making their way through until checked. "You mean to say that something is coming out to punish atheists? And it is not from one of the other pantheons? This is bound to end well. Archangels never learn, why would a demon?"

Her shoulders lift in a shrug and her back, probably itching, almost yearns to feel the weight of the sword or wings of a bat like variety. She doesn't get the other kind; alas, she's not good enough for that. "Children at risk are reason enough. I have my armour." She has a bit more than that, but him? Her eyes narrow a little. "We could ask. It is always popular, hurting things that hurt children."