3349/Heavenly Skies

Heavenly Skies
Date of Scene:	13 September 2020
Location:	Sanctum Santorum
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Meggan Puceanu

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Stephen Strange has posed:
The Sanctum Sanctorum has the benefit of serving as almost anything its proprietor wishes it to. It can move throughout the multiverse, all while remaining in Greenwich Village. The influence of Agamotto's Orb allows the Sorcerer Supreme to gaze at far places, and currently the attic ceiling has faded away to reveal strange stars many millions of light years away across the universe. He drifts one hand through the air, parting an ancient nebula as the view approaches what looks to be a great, grizzled planet suspended in the void of space with no star to nourish it.

"Hm."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Once upon a time, a young woman decided a bubble tea would be a good idea. But to choose between boba or tapioca? What about going for a smoothie, frozen, or simply tea? These are all thrilling alternatives, but crippling for Meggan. She takes far too long to choose whatever may impassion her, stirring up her palate, and eventually it takes quite a bit of time for her to decide. So, as it is, the boba place around the corner from Bleecker Street sees her drop ten bucks on a drink that takes seconds to put together.

And then, she's left with her acquisition, dancing over the streets on her tiptoes, following the cobbles and humming as she stirs the straw through the sealed plastic lid. The wonders of modern mechanization!

"Hm," she repeats, staring down into the clouded concoction and lazily swirling it around. "Now what?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
No matter where the Sorcerer Supreme's attention may wander, he always has his third eye affixed on his domain - Earth. The green, ethereal outline at his brow opens, moving to fix on a familiar aura through walls of plaster, stone, and wood. The great, rogue planetoid vanishes to be replaced with the vaulted rafters of the ceiling once again. The Doctor rises to his feet, moving towards the stairs as his cloak affixes itself about his shoulders at a gesture.

"No goblin bites this time?" he asks from the doorway a moment later, looking down towards the familiar face with her bubble tea, "I'd rather deal with extradimensional despots than an irate AMA for practicing without a license."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
She is green and blue to the Sight, shot by countless ethereal shades. All twinkles and sparkles, for all that a fitted green shirt and slim, knee-length capris give little indication of that. She burns like a lighthouse, wrapped up in an infuriating glow.

One that sucks on the thick straw wide enough to pull on the boba. Something worthy of drowning in, the flavours bombarding her, leaving her floating on her toes. She should know better, here, but...

"Goblins? Oh, the Unseelie like to avoid roundabout here. I've been singing to the naiads and the ondines more readily," she replies with a cheerful beam to Strange, tilting her head up, considering him at the distance of too long.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Are you on your way somewhere?" Strange asks, raising an eyebrow. To those inducted into the aspects of the wyrd and magical, he is resplendent in the vestments of the Sorcerer Supreme with flowing cloak and blue tabard. To common passers-by, he is simply wearing a heavy coat and turtleneck that might be unseasonable around this time of year.

"Do you have time for tea?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
She has to think about that one. "Aren't we always on our way somewhere?" Meggan plies a faint, amused smile at this, her lips arcing in a widened smile all the same. Tilting her head, she brushes a thick wave of dark golden hair shot by silver from her face, the trailling waves undulating in lazy motion. "Forward, backward. You know, it's the funny thing. For all people stand still and worry about going nowhere, the Earth keeps flying through space and past that. Sorry, caught me on a night where I'm waxing awful lyrical. Sounds like all the courses got caught up in my head."

The boba tea cup lofted in salute to Strange, she at least tries to reset, concealing the tips of her ears only for a moment. "Of course. Always that. You're absolutely the best of partners, so why should I turn that down?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I'm not sure I should take that as a compliment or a sign that you don't get out very often," Strange offers, stepping aside to let her pass up the stairs and through the door, "I'll choose the former for now."

The inside of the Sanctum is as oddly peaceful as ever. The many artefacts taken from different places and times hang on display, some moving of their own accord. A wizened arm like that of a pale demon emerges from a hole in reality itself, sporting a tea tray which it sets afloat between a pair of high-backed lounge chairs.

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave the physics talk to you. I don't have much to do with all that."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
A compliment will be it, the dancing lights in emerald eyes matched by the uplift of a smile. "You may be getting the point," replies the blonde Englishwoman. "Good company, gentleman, stellar dancer? I recall we're very good at that." The easy flick of her wrist offers up some modicum of a greeting while offering it to him, at least something they can join upon, if Strange cares to pirouette around in his own foyer.

It is, after all, a very large place and her tethers to the ground are weak at best. Nothing so much like swirling around, though the elegant shapes ever on display for their pleasure. How not to be fascinated?

Those chairs really are pretty but... well. She's sort of busy admiring the odd arm, eyes widening. "Rather not. How... what's /that/?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Oh, the house comes with a number of ... helpers," the Doctor offers by way of explanation, letting the tea steep in the pot for a few moments, "A neighboring dimension I aided once as a novice in exchange for several decades of domestic servitude. It's not a great look if you're a fan of labor laws, but I'm told they don't much mind."

The arms retreat through those strange knotholes in reality that close immediately after, leaving the room still and quiet once again.

"I can't remember how you take your tea. I'm not sure we got to that part last time."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
It takes her a little longer to figure out the ins-and-outs of those mysterious creations, trying to place their whereabouts and whether they can be trusted. A bit of a smile lingers, though her eyes remain wide, focused on anything among the unexpected visitors and denizens. "Rather like spirits and such. Roma has her own, and Saturnyne too," her nose wrinkles at this mention, such as she cannot really avoid it. They're beings of her world, titanic shadows thrown over the ground, best avoided.

Off the arms go again; she cannot help herself from laughing, dipping her head to sip her drink. Meggan can't hide her mirth or curiosity but coming off like a naif isn't anyone's idea of fun.

"No, Doctor, labour laws are a bit tricky. Trust me, I came from the place where we happily indentured children in mines and then learned 'twas a bit of a bad idea." Going prim and proper, as best she can, she resembles an English suffragette from a BBC telly program on historical mores of Victorian times. "Ghastly to leave them working endlessly. Twelve hours a day for six shillings is plenty."

With a sigh, she weaves around one of the chairs and gestures. "Sit, sit. I can make it for you just fine." Bubble tea put on the table, she points. "Splash of cream, sometimes a sugar. Depends on the tea. If black, two and two."

Stephen Strange has posed:
Satisfied, the Doctor settles down in one of the chairs and crosses his legs at the knee. Even leaning back, he seems to not be entirely relaxed - his mind always on things, his third eye always watching other the other planes. It is a simple fact of his remit. He must always be ready, always be alert.

"That sounds good."

A pause as he takes his tea once its prepared, drawing it up to his mouth to sip and relishing the taste before he speaks at last.

"And how is your lighthouse? I admit I've always wanted to live by the sea. I suppose I still could, but we wouldn't be so close to all the good Korean barbecue restaurants."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Third eye turned elsewhere, and what might the Doctor see? What shadows shift in the deeps, beyond knowledge of cities gathered on the cusp of the continent or bubbling away in its thriving heartland?

Slender fingertips splay out as Meggan takes up the pot. He very well knows how to make tea, that isn't in question. Therefore for her, the ritual is merely the ability to earn a smile and the ongoing weight of the conversation. Hooking a finger around the handle, she tilts it forward and fills up her cup and his, should he want it refreshed in level. "It smells heavenly."

The words spoke in truth come with delight and satisfaction, parsed as she slips into the seat herself. Padding supports the curve of her back, the tilt of her knees. "Lonely. Summer always brings a retreat and an awareness of the wait of long decline ahead, when storms brew. I'm told the city gets dreary and dark, but they forget where I come from. Less Korean; more Indian takeaways, but still."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I know about Gotham," Strange answers, rolling his shoulders and taking another sip of tea, "I tend to stay out. It has its share of extradimensional trouble - things from the darker dimensions seem drawn to it - but it has its own protectors, too. And now that you're there watching over it, I feel I can rest a little easier."

A pause, and then cup is settled on the saucer again: "Still, I do think I might visit again sometime."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Endlessly dark, thrillingly corrupt, a place bereft of a soul. I've heard all of that, though the action calls to me," admits Meggan. She can't help but break into a playful sort of grin. "Something about the place appeals. Cheap rent? New York's got none of that. I don't know how anyone can afford those prices."

Lighthouse or not. She raises the cup to her lips and pauses on a sip, her eyes going wide a little. "Troubles go everywhere, that's so. Running afoul of the wrong people, even with the best of intentions, can be a problem, can't it?" Something to make a footnote of; the dangers implicit there cause certain thoughts to rise, shoved aside.

Important, then, to break into that sunny beaming smile leaving nothing to the imagination, no doubt able to withstand it. "You know I'd like that very much. You being my guest, not being in trouble."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Well, it helps that the Sanctum is wholly owned by me and the neighborhood committee shares the property rates," Strange explains, gesturing around, "Otherwise I'd have to base myself out of Yonkers or something, and who ever thought of a wizard living in Yonkers?"

"Then it's settled," he offers with a nod, "I'll come visit. Maybe stay a few days. You can show me Gotham."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Is that so? A wizard in Yonkers has an odd ring to it, I won't lie about that. Yonkers being somewhere round here, I have to assume?" Blonde bangs brushed from her face, Meggan tries to grasp the topic and a sense of geography. New York's a vast, tangled sprawl and no easier to grasp with aid of a map than experience.

A suggestion of a smile deepens as she sips the tea finally. "Certainly no Yonkers, though I need to restock the pantry and tidy up a little. Coil up those ropes and care for the garden. Wouldn't want you to think that it was all intended to be dirty, just..." A hint of a lopsided smile forms, settling in. "A wizard in a tower by the beach? I think that sounds better."

Stephen Strange has posed:
The Doctor reaches out to pat her momentarily on the knee as he sets his now-empty teacup and saucer down on the trait, prompting it to vanish with a wisp of blue smoke.

"It does sound a bit more fitting, though don't sell it to me too hard or you'll have a struggle on your hands getting me to leave. I'll bring a crystal ball and start growing my beard just to complete the look. I'm sure I have a pointy blue hat around here somewhere ... "

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Do you?" Those words tumble forth from Meggan's lips with disbelief. "Black, surely. Decorated in moons and stars? We would look quite the pair. Though you have no broom and I have no vacuum to spare for you to ride upon, so whatever shall we do under the circumstances? For behold, the far jaunt from here to there." Oh, Meg will sell it.

STrange wants to play the game, so be it, she joins him with a witty mirth and unrelenting purpose in the chase of advantages. "Tell me, would it please you better to admire the view from the tower or realize how modest the proportions of those archaic places are? I have naught such as this." A gesture comes gently, "Though I love it dearly, and treasure every moment together, if only to realize how far I've come from having none at all."

Stephen Strange has posed:
Strange can't help but smirk slightly at those words: "My education happened in an ashram in the Himalayas. I spent most of my time when I wasn't in training cloistered away in a freezing, stone cell. While I'm accustomed to comforts, I won't say that I'm not unused to roughing it a little bit."

There's a faint sigh as he leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers before his face and peering over the top of them.

"Besides, the company is good."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
She wrinkles her nose at the thought of those hurdles, difficulties accepted with a tidy shrug of her shoulders and a winsome grin. "I'm not playing such a game with you, knowing how it is. My own comforts were simple. A roof, food most days. Gladness for power when it was on, which wasn't always."

Humble as beginnings are, they represent something more significant, an element more provocative by half. The slow upturn of a smile meetins Strange's regard, perhaps, her knowing gaze in phosphorescence softened considerably. Meg can't hide what she is, who, how.

"The company is the best if I daresay so myself. Though you make it rather difficult to ever want to leave," she says, cheeks pink.