5151/That's NOT how one goes 'clubbing'!

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That's NOT how one goes 'clubbing'!
Date of Scene: 13 February 2021
Location: The Empire Club - Lounge
Synopsis: Mistakes do happen at times, but in this case, mistakes can lead to benefits. Nothing like 3 sorceresses getting together!
Cast of Characters: Amora, Meggan Puceanu, Wanda Maximoff

Amora has posed:
Amora has never been the type to get too attached to places. And one could argue if she gets attached to people (to the exception of a certain handsome Prince who likes to hammer things for a living), but here she was spending time at the Empire Club. It was high-end enough, even if not the top she had ever seen, and most of the patrons were mundane enough yet she always found one thing or another to keep her entertained. Specially the ones that had been forming the so-called league of extraordinary gentlemen, or something loosely associated with it. They amused her, and an amused Amora was an entertained Amora so she had found a nice spot for herself on one corner of the club. And by a nice spot one means she had about one fourth of the club for herself and her entourage of admirers. She does enjoy all the attention afterall..

Tonight she was dressed in a long, deep red gown, one that went far past her feet, shoulders bare and a tiara with a ruby encrusted on it. Valuable? Very much so. She was lounging on a large sofa, almost like a queen surveying her domain, crystal blue eyes watching the comings and goings, a glass of a clear liquid in hand.

One of the men nearby leans to whisper something to her. A something she replies with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Clearly the luster of the place was starting to fail tonight for her.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The Empire Club boasts its following among expatriate Brits and Commonwealth members, though conventional bars and refined pubs modelled after whatever popular trend rages will always gain more. The line-ups here almost don't exist. Something of that has to do with knowing where the place is, convincing security to let anyone past. They need not feel the urge to extend entry to just anyone. Perhaps being comfortable in its own skin differs substantially from the British Empire, which chases dreams and suffers mightily in the diminished importance its rump state carries through the world. Lessons learned?

A slender blonde emerges, yawning discreetly behind her palm, from one of those booths that leads somewhere other than a booth. Her hand moves up to brush golden hair from her face. The world is wide awake under the icy veneer of winter, stirring to the electric pulse of New York. Meggan's visage may still be softened by slumber or meditative practice, but it's an energy plucked from the ambient atmosphere with every step that buoys her up. People speaking quietly or admiring regal Asgardians tug on the hazy pastel emotional palette around her. By the time she reaches the bar, the initial skim of a smile is widened and bright. No searching for a stool here. No casual lean.

"Evening, Leo." The bartender looks over at her, doesn't question it. See, she has right to be there, plucking down a black apron from a hook and wrapping the ties around her waist. Uni ain't free.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
In stark contrast with within, the cold and snow that had fallen on the City is already turning grey with soot and just dirt. Even here on the Upper East Side! The chill of the snows has turned to bone-chilling, crisp freezing temperatures. It is this blast of arctic air that is felt as doors open with a forceful push, revealing a petite red head in long red leather coat, grey sweater beneath with a pair of trendy jeans ending in a pair of leather, calf-length boots. Green eyes search the room, seemingly unseeing, or at least not looking in the 'here and now', but rather, in some distant part to where most are blind.

Moments before her entrance, a subtle temperature drop had appeared, causing little discomfort, but making one, two patrons roll their shoulders and lift an arm to rub at the sudden bit of hair rise. It's there, gone, and nothing more remarkable than, perhaps, the furnace and vents need to be checked for uneven heating of the room.

For a long moment, Wanda stands there, her head canted to the side, and steps in, ignoring most everyone's stares, whether obvious or 'tsked' behind lifted glasses. The doors close behind her in a light breeze, and in the next second, she seems.. briefly puzzled, as if coming to that realization that her path has taken her somewhere that...


Nothing. Nothing to see.

Wanda blinks in brief confusion before her entire manner and mien shifts to something more.. human? More Wanda. More..


Amora has posed:
"Be a dear and go fill this back at the bar, dear." Amora is saying to one of her sycophants, elegant fingertips delivering the glass and offering one of her heart-melting smiles to the man. She enjoyed this currency on earth, a smile for a glass of wine. But was it so different anywhere else? Maybe not. She does note the shift on bartenders and raises a brow. Finally. "Actually, I will do it myself." long legs swing out of the sofa she was lounging on, the tall woman getting up fully, almost like a languid cat getting up after a nice nap. "Do not let anyone take my seat, will you?"

The woman is just about half-way to the bar when the 'disturbance' happens, the opening of the door, the lowering temperature. Cues that might go unperceived for mere mortals. But for Amora? Something is going on. Curious.

An half-smile comes to her lips, eyes trailing to the woman at the entrance before she arrives at the bar. "Mmmm, such a familiar face, is it not?" she asks of Meggan, "And good evening, Gloriana." of course that she recognized Wanda. She had made sure to memorize the faces of all those that hanged with Prince Thor.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Drink orders come at a sedate pace on a Friday night. Leo, at least, can manage most of them. When Meggan eases in behind the long stretch of the bar, she dips her hands into the sink to quickly wash them under a stream of hot water. Quick and efficient, she dries them off on a fresh towel. The first task at hand remains gathering up a few supplies to start preparing a Cosmopolitan, citrus bitters and flavoured vodka to go with a small bottle of cranberry juice. Humming to herself, she lightly starts measuring out the components in a metal container first. No noisy shaking here, though the occasional soft hiss of the espresso maker or the whirl of a blender might interrupt the desirably muted intimacy of the place.

She pauses long enough to mark Amora's approach, eyes widening a fraction. Leo is only mortal, prepared to inquire after her order. The confluence then is really in concert: "What can we get for you?"

The cold air shifting on the backs of bare necks, the interruptive tingle to their thoughts takes a second to ripple away from the entrance. Meggan's gaze lifts first to mark the redhead in her chic attire. The stilled metal container remains in hand, liquor swirled with the citrusy infusion. Eventually she'll need to shake that up a bit. Wanda earns that friendly smile as bright as a lantern on a misty night.

"Pardon. Where are my thoughts? Yes, good evening, Amora." The habit of attaching a title to that goes skipping off down the road. "Oh, are you acquainted?"

Not everyone hangs out with Avengers. But Wanda could be wearing a sandwich board, at least one of the Brits here is going to be inviting.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda stands there for what seems to be a loooong moment for her, in reality only a couple of heartbeats, and pulls herself together, the front of her coat pulled closer together as if to stave off a chill that no one else may feel. A hint of an embarrassed smile tinging her lips once more, and she takes a step back, to the side as the sudden stares return to their previous conversations.

Once in a spot of what she sees as 'relative safety', there are quite possibly familiar faces. At least one, anyway. The young woman, Meggan, that she'd met earlier. The other? So lovely.. it's hard not to notice her.

And lit up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center in December.

Like will attract like, and Wanda sidesteps towards that port in a storm, an apology on her lips, veiled of course, to those who may understand.

"I am sorry," the softly lilted Eastern European accent is quiet in the room, "I thought I saw.."

Amora has posed:
"Don't worry your mind with it, darling." Amora replies to Leo, giving him one of her smoldering looks and reaching under his chin to close his hanging mouth. Oh, she could still get so amused with these mortals. "Gloriana is already preparing my drink. Could you make it be two cosmopolitans, dear?" the cosmopolitan. But she had to be careful, wouldn't want to become known as a creature of habit! For growing habits was to get old. Brrrr. Never that.

Yet it does seem both Megs and Amora's attention are drawn to the same thing. The newcomer. So Amora will forgive how her title was not used! "Not acquainted. But what kind of an Enchantress would I be if I didn't know the famous ones of your society? Or at least the so-called heroes." a faint grin offered at Meggan, "But something that I expect will be sorted soon enough."

For indeed magic calls to magic, and Amora makes no effort to hide her aura, perhaps even intensifying it. "... where you were meant to be." the Asgardian finishing the redhead's sentence and gestures. "Please, join us. I am Amora, the Enchantress." she introducing herself with a lilting tone, "It is certainly my pleasure." crystal blue eyes inspecting the woman's own aura, thoughtful.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Pouring the Cosmo out into a shallow glass, Meggan manages not to spill all of the contents on the bar. A successful pour with only a few drops splashed down contradicts the idea of her paying total attention to what acts she performs. Reaching for a towel, she soaks up the sunset-shaded liquid and glances over at Leo. He's not salivating -- thank the genetic predisposition to a stiff upper lip for that one! But interested, dying inside a little under the wave of attention when it turns away?

One pretty drink made, the second comes together with light-fingered expertise under the blonde Englishwoman's efforts. "Two will be no trouble, of course." Lighter on the cranberry, a bit heavier on the orange undertones, it wouldn't pay to be a drink of habit. Twists are important! "I can only imagine the company you keep." It's quite truthful in that sense, a smile to match the radiant warmth in her voice.

Only when Wanda gets closer does she pitch her voice that way. Lake Country has an accent unlike the rest of England, remembering those Celtic tigers prowling around the Irish Sea with effervescent clarity. "Anything we might assist with? Perhaps someone who came in?"

Auras are a strange thing. Hers is as mutable as the tide, endlessly shifting hues like light reflecting off and through an opal.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda shakes her head, not quite dismissive of the ending of the sentence for her, but more in an attempt to dislodge those spider webs that attempt to form in her mind, weaving patterns that draw her attentions, ultimately to catch her tightly within. "I thought I saw.. something." An illusion, perhaps? Whatever darkness, whatever shade she'd followed, it's not here now. She'd know.

The redhead truly takes in the room once more, fully aware of her surroundings before returing to the brightness that is the lights that shine, and the delicately hued, more subtle tones of the other. It's an overlay in her life, something she's learned to live with.. and once the initial 'shock' is over, Wanda handles the rest with a certain aplomb.

The cross is finished to the bar where the other two stand, and she exhales in a soft puff of air before she finds her manners.

"Amora.. please call me Wanda." She knows she's recognized everywhere, or virtually everywhere she goes, and her demeanor is one of tired resignation about it. She's not one of the flashy ones, or rather, never wants to be.

Lowering her voice to the three, Wanda sounds as if the question she asks is probably fantastical and simply, well, dumb. "There was some//thing// that ran to here. It felt.." there's a moment when she draws a breath, and then releases it slowly, "as if Loki had created it." But, there's no sign of it anywhere!

Amora has posed:
When Meggan speaks of the company she keeps Amora lets out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, I have tales. Asgardians can be quite obnoxious when they want to. I could tell you of the Warrior Three, or even the valkyries." a roll of her eyes, "Always getting on my nerves. They do not understand notions of subtlety like I and Loki do." a shame. "No wonder I find myself on earth so much." there's quite a few more reasons, but that's the one she is rolling with right now!

The Cosmo prepared for her receives quite the radiant smile from Amora, one that is sincere enough at least. The young woman was starting to grow on her afterall. Which could always be a dangerous thing!

The gesture is then made towards the other Cosmo being prepared. "That one is for you." she offers even as a finely-trimmed brow arches at the talk of something having ran here. "Was this .., thing.., something you were hunting?" She then questions. And then she goes and mentions Loki. Ah, yes. They had problems with him a couple of years back.

But illusions, that's the name of the game for her. The Asgardian focuses, looking around more attentively. "There was a noticeable lowering of the temperature for a few moments. It could mean a wraith of some kind but I am not seeing anything."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"All stories are worth hearing." So would speak a bartender under the confessional of that sacred office, the highest calling, where an audience may be presumed and the sworn oath not to reveal what is spoken under the influence. Meggan presumes on nothing but the welcome offered and the alchemical rhythms to establish the perfect drink.

Mixologists come in all shades. Some more talented artists than others, some preferring to be chemists in measuring everything precisely so. Beakers and flasks aren't so different from shot glasses and flagons! Meg, though, cheats. An instinctive reading of the balance of citrates to liquor and how much water displaces the harder alcohol. After giving a good look at the glass, she plunks a twist of orange sliced paper-thin into it. The pour comes after, light and smooth. "You're well?" comes as a soft aside when pushing over the second glass to Wanda on a neat coaster.

That's the other half of the confessional, the outpouring of concerns to someone neither frocked or subject to a church's whims. Only measured to be polite.

Unbothered, though. Mention Loki twice in so many lines, she doesn't bridle or hiss. "Did it move on?" She's not looking under the bar!

Then again... those kind of invisible things don't always escape her notice, or make themselves known. The mercurial mutability of what she is casts a brief look of balefire over her shoulder on the excuse of checking if any more orders are coming in.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
A drink?

Wanda shakes her head, following it up with a soft, "No, but thank you." She offers up a ghost of a smile, to lessen any sting to the rejection. "I do not drink. It would not be good for me."

The mention of the Warriors Three, the valkyries gains a tilt of her head; casual mentions of stories apparently lost on the Sokovian, if her expression is to be read correctly. Wanda leans lightly on the bar, her hands before her, delicate fingers laced. She may not know them, but she does completely understand now the company Amora keeps, her magics read correctly.

Wanda seconds Meggan's words, however, after giving response in the inquiry after her health. "I am well, thank you." If there's one thing Roma love are their stories, their legends, their oral histories. "In stories, lessons are learned." Looking between the ladies, she returns to Amora, if only briefly. "One day, you will tell them? Should I ask Thor of them?"

It's the question of the 'thing' that Wanda had tracked in, or believed she had. Wanda nods in the information, her already soft tones turning to something of a murmur, "Then it came in," is determined. A quick look about the room, however, reveals nothing. Nothing to her, anyway. "I do not see anything either. Even wraith, I see." The redhead pauses, takes another look at the patrons before she glances at the drink. It is tempting; the scent of the light citrus is offering up a delicate, fresh feeling, and it's hard to resist. A hand rises, then falls; not giving in to temptation. Instead?

"It is gone." She'll take the fact others felt the presence as proof. "It does not linger here." No one is possessed, that she can see anyway. "I.. I should go."

Amora has posed:
"So they are." Amora admits, this about stories being worth hearing, "and not many close enough to my skill in spinning them." maybe Loki, but lets not mention the man thrice in the same talk. Or else he may just pop from inside the Cosmopolitan or something. One never knows. "In due time it shall be shared." she says in ways of promise. Asking Thor to share them though? "Only if you invite me to hear along." never losing a chance to be near her Prince. Talk about obsession, eh?

The temptation of that drink is noted, the way Wanda refuses but appears to want to. Amora doesn't make it easy, lifting her own glass to lips and taking a sip. Mmmmm, she murmurs. Quite delicious it seems to say. But no words are given to tempt Wanda further towards it. She already offered it earlier afterall.

A look to Meggan, "Gloriana has the eye of an hawk where it comes to these kind of phenomena. If she's not seeing it than it must be truly gone." she says. "Which only means you should sit and stay awhile. You do seem as if you could use a rest. A time to relax and just let go." tone gentle and inviting.

There is a reason for her to be the Enchantress afterall.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Something poured to the gods, then. It happens at bars high and low. Drinks turned back or applied elsewhere. Meggan waits until Amora looks the other way to nudge the Cosmopolitan into arm's reach, should that prove a necessary libation after the first is diminished to a puddled level at the bottom of a glass.

Casual stories and vibrant possibilities beg to be told in this, a place of authors and imagination. Literary greats prowl among the drink lists. Their creators have ghostly afterimages in portraiture or the corner, set up with a laptop and a pair of earbuds to blot out the others. Empires have sprawled and capsized in the space of an afternoon. Myths tease looks from the corners.

"-That- Thor? Just imagine, you would spend a whole day being regaled," the blonde empath enthuses. She puts her hand to the bar, chasing a glint of water. "Wherever you walk, road rise to meet your feet."

The road has a funny way of doing that, when grass and flowers and snow, whispers from a residing elemental plunged deep below the thin concrete core set over the bedrock and hard earth. The corner of her eyes crinkle. She exudes that certainty that perhaps isn't shared.

"Too kind, Lady Enchantress. Sometimes a work in progress. At least Dorian Gray wasn't wandering around tonight." Brushing that off with a laugh, her cheeks a bit pink, the absolutely human, completely mundane girl beams at Wanda.

Nothing in common with the girl who ripped into an eldritch horror of Pearl Harbour, not at all. Just everything but the pointy ears and blue skin.