17224/So About That...

So About That...
Date of Scene:	19 February 2024
Location:	Limbo - Other Dimensions
Synopsis:	It was something.
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Illyana Rasputina

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Stephen Strange has posed:
Being a consort to a queen has certain benefits. None of the headaches of royalty, some of the perks, and one gets to say he or she knows a queen in the personal sense. It is really quite nice.

Being the consort to a Demon Queen? Strangely similar, actually. With the extra benefit of being able to take walks in another dimension and seeing sights that most others will never see. At least without going mad. And the royal hunts? Hugely entertaining, and extremely dangerous...which is probably why they are hugely entertaining.

No hunt at the present time. However, strolling to survey Illyana's kingdom, side by side? That is certainly possible. It gets Strange out of the house. Even if that house is the Sanctum Santorum. And, Stephen is in a talkative mood, for once. Perhaps the sights inspire him. Or...it could be one sight in particular, who happens to be walking beside him.

"I have been thinking. We should do more things together. And not just open meetings where we invite all and maybe we get some time together in between all the political maneuvering." There's a beat, as grey eyes shift from the chaotic landscape towards the blonde besides him. "I mean that there are situations that we could and probably should look into. Out of the several usual requests for the Sorcerers Supreme, there has been some that have came from rather...unique sources, shall we say...."

Does Strange actually say? No, that would be too easy. It would seem that he is purposely being obtuse. Most likely to drag out the pleasant walk, with equally pleasant company, through questionably pleasant surroundings.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Being the wife of the Sorcerer Supreme brings certain benefits. None of the headaches of dealing with the Vishanti, some of the perfects, and one gets to say he or she has protections in a personal sense. It really is quite helpful.

Like a plump pillow and grandiose wards. A house worth a pretty penny in a tight real estate market. A cloak that never curls up like a dog in a basket to sleep, but boasts its own peg on the wall, probably. Take walks on the parapets when hellfire rains down, and the hunts through the library? Phenomenal reading materials that might just bite back, extremely dangerous and hugely entertaining, which is probably why they are so entertaining. (And banned.)

No hunt at the present time. The sunset bloodying the sky signals an hour when Illyana's legions in their grotesque multitudes decide to fly, their vast clouds clotting the western rim of the sky to go wage war on something. Probably sentient kohl rabi, possibly brassicas that gained sentience in the blood-watered meres that weep with the white-fleshed dead of the last adventure when someone attempted invasion of Limbo's borders. Her multitudes know no rest, and their trumpeting cries and haranguing songs do not generally improve the evening's quality.

They can't sing worth a damn.

The demon queen maintains her dachas here, that is certain, and likewise the pinnacle of her sorcerous might not in the sword on her back. Nor the armour she usually wears. No, it's in the fact the alders and aspens maintain their foliage in gold and copper, tarnished by a few speckled blue spots indicative of some plague bothering them. Or maybe a better human soul buried in hers.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"We should," she agrees, eyes traveling away from the horizon to find Stephen's face. "I have not been best at the Institute. I barely go back there now, only for Piotr or other immediate matters. They may think I forsake them, but it's more my work lies with your mission too. Ours."

Strange thought, isn't it? But Nikolaevna Rasputina-Strangeya is not an idle acquisition. "What has come around this time?"

Her eyebrows arch, a question made plain. He wanted an audience.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"How often do you get a request for assistance from any of the denizens of Gotham? In particular, it's protectors?" Stephen doesn't wait for an answer. His question is rhetorical...and the reason for it will be made known soon enough. "In my experience, it is not often that those of the Bat persuasion seek assistance of the mystical kind from me. Usually, they turn to the considerable talents of Ms. Zatara, if I am not mistaken. So, consider my surprise when I found a rather directed message, via digital means, for me from the individual known as Batgirl."

The revelation is given rather manner-of-factly. Apparently, it wasn't really that much of a shock. "Now, I know there are several that use that particular nom de plume in that city. But, given the way in which the digital message was sent, to a specific IP address that was only accessible from within the Sanctum, I would have reason to believe that it was the original." So....translation. Someone who really knows what they are doing sent a message that managed to get to Stephen's personal computer that never leaves the Sanctum, through the (non-magical) firewalls in place. "And the fact that the issue in which the missive dealt with was enough to send inquiries to *both* Zatanna and I was rather eye-opening, to say the least."

Yet....Strange didn't actually get to the message yet. Sometimes....he really likes to hear himself talk.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Gotham is not known for its love of magic." Illyana offers a thin hint of a smile there, but from the realm where her demonic side lives strongest, the expression lasts only for a matter of seconds instead of minutes. "Its protectors seem to be happiest relying on other things, yes? Technology and intelligence. Ms. Zatara would be a useful contact."

But others, they are thinner on the ground, sharper or more subtle. This much is acknowledged as she blithely flicks her wrist, straightening out her sleeve and leaning a little past Stephen to take in the landscape in all its torturous sheen. Leaves rustle. Another blobby shape drops from the sky. Orange, flaming, a speck about to be pinched out. She knows it the way she knows of the masses in all directions. "Batgirl sent you a message. You have digital messages?"

Oh, now she's just poking fun. Strange without email is unlikely.

Still. Her gaze flickers. "We should protect the sanctum better against digital things. Kitty knows them very, very well. I have insight of magic on it at least." Her teeth show for that dangerous, curling smile. "She CCed Ms. Zatara? Fascinating. I am sure that was appreciated."

As opposed to stabbing it.

Stephen Strange has posed:
There might have been a flat look given back at the crack about emails. But...only for a moment, before a smile breaks through. For yes, the dark side might be strong for Illyana here, so it is up to Stephen to counter with the light. Or, at least acknowledge joke with joke. "Well, I know it is rather a shock. But, after the last carrier pigeon flew away, we needed to upgrade." That smile doesn't dissipate, even if the words were delivered rather conversationally. "But yes, Batgirl sent me a message."

As for the message? He finally gets around to it. "According to Batgirl, she encountered what she believes to be a demon possessed statue in a home where a murdered home owner was found. Preliminary research indicated that it is a rather dangerous totem that is cursing people to madness if touched. The home is under lock down with the statue in the master bedroom, surrounded by ritualistic paraphernalia. I do believe that Batgirl stated that, due to the nature of the totem, she has drones posted around it for 24 hour surveillance. It is this particular artifact that prompted Batgirl to get a second opinion, as it were."

Stephen pauses, not deterred in the least by the song of demons. "While it is certain that really only one of us could quite possibly handle such a totem, I would venture to say that two heads are better than one, in this case. Quite possibly three, if you feel we should include another."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Wound a man's pride with a vibranium pin and it may not blow out softly but explode.

A man with an ego sufficient to hold up against the gods might blow out half the realm, and though Limbo is Illyana, Illyana is not Limbo alone. That would surely bruise. A lot.

"Network security and protocols require work." Here her Russian is hardly a problem. It's easily understood. "They can be improved. Problem is asking someone like that, they can leave a back door and how would we know? Maybe we add a pocket dimension. The data goes into the dimension, whirls around until you retrieve it. Then whatever else comes out..."

Wobbling her hand left-to-right gives an impression of possibilities. "Batgirl. Funny to hear anyone called 'girl' when so many codenames are 'man' this, 'mighty' that. Batwoman is another person though. They must have limited choices. Marvel Girl, Marvel Woman, Marvel Person. Just a thing I've noticed."

Still, that's because the laser-focus of the representation on a demon-possessed statue holds all consideration after that. She can push it away, only so much. "Cursed to madness. Ritualizing. Mm, sounds particularly standard for the course. Dangerous. Might have something /inhabiting/ it, if not a direct conduit to one of the layers of hell. An abjurative ward would be useful to deflect or minimise its effects. More problematic that it lets your hand be seen." His hand, of course. "Da, useful on this. I probably know who it is, eventually, first hand."

A smirk spreads, and the unholy pale fire in her eyes is her realm singing, speaking. "Maybe this is a good opportunity to remind them not all the lords are demons, and we do not invite them into our realm happily."