1845/Staying In With Knives Out

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Staying In With Knives Out
Date of Scene: 25 May 2020
Location: Penthouse - Latverian Embassy
Synopsis: It's an adorable movie night with a supervillain. Captain America plays a bad guy!
Cast of Characters: Clea, Victor Von Doom

Clea has posed:
** Scene is based on the movie "Knives Out." If you haven't seen it, don't read this log or you're gonna get spoilers!

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Let's be clear about one thing. Victor von Doom does not typically bother with movies. Most of them are drivel and inane, and he hates wasting his time.

That being said, watching My Little Pony with Valeria is high art and engaging her in opening her mind to arcane scholarship.

Ahem. In any case, Doom heard enough things about this 'Knives Out' movie that he was intrigued. And well, he wanted to watch it with Clea, so... a quiet evening. Wine. Appetizers. A rather comfortable couch to curl up on. And a very large monitor to watch the movie.

Not only because Doom enjoys a good mystery, even if it's a movie... but he's also curious as to Clea's reaction to the show.

Clea has posed:
Let's be clear about one thing. Clea has little time for 'moving pictures' when movies are, in general, a distraction from more important things. Documentaries narrated by David Attenborough are a treasure, however, and she might just be responsible for casting warding spells to protect him from the ravages of age, the rigors of illness, and losing that majestic voice.

Face it, if he disappears into the milieu to preserve him eternally, put the blame fair and square on someone who floats on the edge of her seat watching young mouflons and ibexes leap over precarious cliffs to escape predators. And watches through her fingers when baby grey whales attempt to outmaneuver a herd of hungry orcas, though she cannot deny the orcas. And rages (oh how she rages) when global warming causes walruses to leap to their inevitable dooms out of desperation for the sea. Some things are enough to turn her totally aflame.

But none of that is likely here, though she is particularly and peculiarly focused. "Why does this man own so many *dolls*?" she asks. "Look at the clutter. If our home were so busy with statues and bric-a-brac, I would imagine you half dead before morning's end. Cluttered house, those terribly steep stairs!" Just imagine, Doom failing to take a stair right, clocking his head on a statue, and tumbling to the ground! She has a blanket lightly pulled around her shoulders, though it's so warm they barely need it. Appetizers receive a curious surveying, though she cuddles in next to humanity's greatest hope and greatest doom. "I would be just as happy living in a small house with you. What do they call it? A bengal? Bungalei?" Languages are not helping her.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor chuckles very softly, "A bungalow, my love. But yes, it would be nice. I do need some places for work, but this is a bit... overly complicated. Of course, he is a murder mystery writer."

A brief pause, and then he chuckles a bit dryly, "Well. /Was/ a mystery writer?" He looks a bit amused, as he did know this much from the trailers, but... well, there it is.

Really, Doom does share her love of Attenborough, as well as her rage about the damage done to the environment by humanity's excess. A reason why he should really conquer the world, just to stop that nonsense. At least with Clea, there's someone who shares his rage and pain. And other emotions, far less negative.

Clea has posed:
"Bungalow!" Clea nods, affirming that lapse in English she could overcome by cheating, but why? "Yes, that's it. Though your work would command the yard and fill a garage, too outsized for such a thing, I would be happy there with you. Such consummate accumulation of countless things, no matter his profession, is unnecessary. Excessive. But for that library, which I admire. Though so much, look at it all. Every last piece, a weapon or an accessory to his demise. I would suspect the cleaning staff frustrated by having to maintain all that without aid of spells."

Clea is totally aware that most of the world does function without spells, and most of them without a staff for that matter, honest! Her small joke is brought with a smile as she leans on to put her head on Victor's shoulder while the projection begins. She seeks his hand to hold, pulling it over a little, one of those concessions that might be seen as a test for the balance in a relationship if it weren't earnestly intended.

"That display of knives. What is that for? Strange."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor hmms, "Uncertain, I think... a personal affectation?" He smiles and places his hand with hers, linking fingers with her without thinking about it as it does feel rather... right.

Sitting here, with a woman that he respects and (dare one say) loves. He smiles over at her, "Personally, I can see it... particularly as one like him is obsessed with death. As one would be, when delving about murder mysteries." Oddly enough, he doesn't say too much, as he is intrigued by the various subtle touches of the movie, as if trying to discern which are important, and which are simply foibles.

Clea has posed:
"It would be expected for a mystery writer, and murder? Like me and an assortment of crystal balls or floating candles?" Clea's smile widens broadly and she snuggles in a little nearer. "I promise not to spoil it with talking too much."

This she means to uphold though some things will go over her head, and others will stick out more detailed than they should. Pressing in a little closer, she turns her gaze to the movie being spun out of scarlet and cognac leather, green carpets and so many knick-knacks stuffed into the library or the study. Curling up beside Victor a bit more, she pulls her feet onto the couch. Bare, of course. No fear of shoes on a couch!

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor chuckles, "You spoil nothing, Clea." He smiles cheerfully, then snorts a bit at some of the interviews as the family members are revealed...

Well, look, they are villains of the sense that Doom would look on with disdain. So mundane and petty, these people. One can empathize quite well with the patriarch of the family easily enough. Meanwhile, he draws Clea close, looking quite comfortable with the snuggling as he smiles absently, enjoying the intellectual puzzle that this movie presents.

Clea has posed:
"Talking over them would," Clea points out, comfortably situated in a way that melts her into Victor's side without leaning so hard that it would bruise or tip him over. Unfair advantage there if it came down to it. "But they are all such terrible people so far."

A measured opinion from an interdimensional visitor, already pulled up. Still, the cake that someone keeps dropping off with a decrepit woman holds prospective delights. It's frosted! She winces when they spin through the various phases of suspects. "Oh, poor Meg. Her mother and that dubious situation. Stealing tuition! No doubt we'll all find out he was robbed blind by ambitious, angry relatives. Nothing at all like that in the Dark Dimension." Of course there are.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor snorts a bit, "Indeed. Though that one young man reminds me of someone... it's escaping me at the present, though." He frowns, looking thoughtful, but seems to be enjoying the movie. As well as the woman curled up at his side.

He hmms, "Yes, I can't imagine things like this happening in the Dark Dimension at /all/ in their family relationships. Truly, it seems like such a nice and lovely place." Who says Doom can't be sarcastic? Certainly not Doom!

Clea has posed:
The platinum-haired woman watches the parade of people coming and going, Daniel Craig and his weird southern accent all kinds of yowling. Joanie and her weird meditative measures aren't acknowledged as an affinity, though she watches with interest. "Which young man? The one with his nose in the phone or the one whose name sounds like Ransom? I hope that isn't it. Anson, that might be better. I would never put a name like that on my child. To hold them hostage to the idea." The emphatic truth there is almost murmured, as if future things are too precious to tiptoe around. "It's as bad as Chastity or Baron, you condemn them to a sorry history. Something better than that. Mark me, he's up to no good."

Ransom. Right, strike that off the list. "I'll have to return and sit in splendour for you to listen to the court cases brought before me for judgment. The legal system is a shambles." Her hand squeezes his, even as she jumps when something hits a ceiling or a floor.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor laughs softly, "Ransom, yes. And I agree, I would never name a child such a thing. It's just terribly bad karma as both a parent, in addition to saddling a child with such a burden." Clea gets a wry look, "And it's not that... it's just that Ransom looks dreadfully familiar. I'm not sure from where..."

Clea has posed:
"What would you name one? Did you ever think of that when you were growing up?" Okay, so much for not interrupting the movie but it's a quieter interlude of snapshots and falling medicine, falling game pieces. The clatter and the soft monotonous voice explaining highs and lows of a family patriarch cutting the cords blend in around them. "He does look a bit? Hmm." She leans forward to see a bit more.

"Children always have a bit of a burden, but blessings too. There must be something to put on their shoulder, a warm hand or a name or a legacy," she murmurs softly. "

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor considers, "I think I would name a son after my father, Werner. As far as a daughter is concerned... well, I would have named her Valeria, but that has been done already." At Doom's insistence, no less. "Elizabeth, perhaps, or Sophia, for wisdom. That has a certain appeal to me, though I suspect you have your own thoughts on the subject, hmmm?" Since, well, it's not just a decision he'd make alone, after all.

Clea has posed:
Oh no, it's an act of morphine death by way of a vial switched and Clea winces at discovering it. Marta's tears and the spilled pieces under a poised leopard floating off the ground hold her rapt for several seconds, haunted by pressing into Victor. "Oh, that is a terrible turn! It thickens. This writer, he is not a bad man. Or he is manipulative and his kindness is all a show." It's hard not to grimace or grin at the same time, even as his ludicrous directions play out. What person in a frisson of fear could possibly remember it all? Her eyes narrow a little as she watches striped robes and hats become part of their masquerade. "Has it? Your own, though?" It is a matter of curiosity, rather than prying at the Latverian genius watching the film play its course out. "But too much like someone already an adult, already established, yes? Like how one cannot always use the same name without bestowing an expectation of the living on them. There are cultures where it is not done, you never name the child after a living person or it condemns them both to a spiral of misery or death. I have found that unkind, myself. But... ah, I had centuries confined to imagine what could never be mine. Lives forbidden, much less the question whether we could...? But my mother could, so it stands I might as well. Sometimes I had favourites, but nothing like your people's names. The Mhuruuk names are descriptive, a hope wrapped in the spell-shape you give them. But Faltines, they resonate with something -bright-. And I wanted that much, at least. Something hinting at light, at being bright."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor smiles and raises a glass of wine towards Clea, "To the light, burning bright." Spontaneous, perhaps, as he hrms, "Obviously there's more here than is going on... seems a bit odd that a nurse this competent would make such a blatant mistake, but assuming she's incapable of lying..." He pauses, looking thoughtful, then he smirks, "Ah. I see."

And of course, he doesn't share. Because, well, spoilers, for one. And secondly, he doesn't want to ruin it for Clea. With half the joy of a mystery being the feeling of how it plays out. Now, granted, he /might/ be wrong...

But he probably isn't. Besides, knowing the how is not the same as knowing the who. Or the why.

Clea has posed:
"This whole concept -- no! To think that there is pure dispassion in review of a situation. He cannot think that is so. Self-delusion. To be separated from that rainbow, he calls it." Clea points an accusing finger at Daniel Craig in that herringbone coat, yapping about gravity's rainbow. Rifling through the appetizer plate isn't like a truffle pig, but she comes back with a small tart filled by a cheesy cream. "Observation of fact without bias of the head? There is no one born like that. For the distraction and deviation from the norms are unlikely, contrary to sentience unless someone is a robot. Or stripped of a soul. The psyche, the self."

Her full lips curve, giving a bit of a smile. Mysteries abound, of course. Maybe she has worked it out. Maybe she has her own harboured thoughts, or cheated to look forward. Not likely, though, as she turns her head and pecks Victor on the cheek. Distraction for a vital clue! "Luca, I always liked. A very literal direction, but it can be both light or the wolf. Chiara, Italian taken from the Latin, for the same. Sophia reminds me of the Hagia Sophia, and it is an incredible building. Have you been to Constan... Istanbul?"

She pointedly glares at Mr. Questionable Detective, not approving of his dubious methods. "But yours are Slavic, aren't they? Something that crosses a bridge or a path. Classical ones, right to the ear. You have time. Going back and going back around."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor chuckles, "I suspect he's being deliberately obtuse to lure her in, but that's just my observation." He hmms, and gives Clea a sly look, "Luca would be a delightful name."

He considers, then nods, "I have been to Istanbul. It was very delightful, when I was there... and I made it a point to visit the Hagia Sophia. And yes, Slavic names are those that appeal to me, with my own heritage. But I'm not closed minded on the subject."

Clea has posed:
"It is not so far from Latveria. The Turks are hospitable people, and their kindness is legendary. I went through the city once with nothing but a desire to watch them go about their lives, and had six lunches that day." Clea shakes her head, laughing softly as she watches the girl tramp through the mud and winces. "Oh, he is a terrible detective. That man would be incompetent on any force, and not hired I am sure."

Popping the tart-like thing into her mouth, she takes a bite and savours the flavour. Her hands rest playfully atop his. "Tell me then whatever crosses your mind and we can pin it for sooner or later."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor grins, "Did I ever tell you about the time I imitated a Doombot to deceive some people?" He gives Clea a wry look, "The look on their faces when they realized... 'You see, my Doombots pretend to be me all the time, I thought it past time I returned the favor!'" He then laughs, then looks at Clea, giving her a sly grin, "Never take someone at face value, particularly someone who is known as a renowned detective. If his reputation is so high, but he is acting like the fool... it is an act to put you off guard."

Clea has posed:
"I do not want to dislike him, but driving away in the BMW is terrific. Look at him -- he sets her up to purge in front of him, asking that question!" Clea cannot help but cringe and laugh all at the same time, though she curls tighter into the couch, rather than hanging in anticipation on the edge of the cushion. She points. "That sweater. Get yourself one. It's perfect."

Victor's words have penetrated her thoughts, never doubt, though she rounds her mouth and stifles a laugh. "You would return the favour, would you? Your friends, guests, and opponents should know how to tell them apart. But that means seeing beyond what they want to see. Not to be fooled in this way, no?" For there are ways of seeing and /seeing, and she doesn't further explain how it would work with him. Only that sly grin tapped by a fingertip and then given a fleeting kiss. "This man has so high a reputation. It may be unearned. It may be too well earned."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor chuckles, "That is truly inspired, particularly... and..." He pauses, then laughs loudly, unable to help himself as it hits him. "THAT IS WHY HE LOOKS SO FAMILIAR!"

He then flashes Clea an amused grin, "He looks just like Captain America. It's uncanny! Though I do suspect that he would rather die than tell everyone 'eat shit.'" He looks truly entertained, moreso than the entire movie to this point, as clearly now he has the image of Captain America telling the other Avengers to eat shit stuck in his head.

Clea has posed:
"He is darker than Captain America, yes. Though the jaw is not the same, you see? It is more angled than squared off, and the line of the actor's nose looks like it's been broken. Not likely that Captain America failed to heal other than perfectly if he ever got punched." Clea puzzles over the comparisons of the restaurant and Ransom cheapening the goodwill by demanding his cut. "Particularly?"

A prompt for Victor to continue. If he intends to, anyway. This entirety of questionable Captain America is evidently worth encouraging with a stifled sigh. "More wine for you. You look delighted with yourself. You owe me a kiss then."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Victor smiles, "More wine? That might be dangerous..." He chuckles, then, and leans in and kisses Clea, as demanded. Then he hmms, breaking the kiss, "Ah, the sweater, I'll make a note to acquire a similar one. It does look surprisingly comfortable. If baggy enough I could probably wear it over my armor." A wry expression at that, as he nods slightly in agreement with Clea, not quite clarifying the particularly... at least, not yet. But then, he has other things he's processing right now.

Both with the movie, as well as the lady he's watching it with.

Clea has posed:
"More wine, absolutely. Let's see what we can make of it," the sorceress says with a softened laugh again. Evidence shines through and she follows the breadcrumbs, trying not to show too much delight. "Comfortable. Stylish. It is a fisherman's sweater, you know? I should make myself one. It looks comfortable, something good to wear on a cold night. Not many of those lately."

Her heel bounces lightly as she watches that business with the destruction fo evidence, the rise of possibility and collaborating evidence. So many things to contend with.

Teasing, she says, "You are a bad influence."