6691/Another Night On The Town

Another Night On The Town
Date of Scene:	25 June 2021
Location:	Sanctum Santorum
Synopsis:	Plans are set. Sorcerers do sorcery things.
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Stephen Strange

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Illyana Rasputina has posed:
An evening, a place in Greenwich Village. Considering the veritable stone's throw between two places in time, it is hardly necessary to teleport anywhere.

Illyana instead walks up to the door and holds out her hand. The magic of her aura rises up in bleeding detail, unfolding like origami laid out beautifully: all sharp edges, all smooth planes. Euclidean math barely applies when the dusky storm of Limbo tilts through her fingers, hints of fire and corrupted shadow wrapped around a brilliant sapphire core that is not inherently hers.

It's the owner of the mansion's after all, and it surely recognizes like to like. She stands there, patient, her ultra-short black wraparound skirt and thigh-high boots practically a single garment, the halter-neck top oozing a certain baroque cool.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Illyana does not have to wait long. The door opens, inviting the guest within the confines of the mansion. There is no person immediately at the door, nor does there need to be. The mansion knows who has come...and accepts with welcoming arms. Or, in this case, open doors.

The foyer is as it always is. Refined. Perfect. Classical yet catering to the master of the house's tastes. The newly arrived Russian will again only need to wait for a moment, maybe two, before Stephen appears. Himself dressed down...with the simple grey t-shirt and black jeans. It is apparent that he was not expecting visitors...and he feels comfortable enough to invite Illy in without making it a fanfare. It is almost quaint, in its own way.

"Well, hello there, Illyana. It is a pleasure to see you, as always."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The door no sooner opens than she crosses, holding her aura tight to her as she can consciously manage. Wards and protective barriers meant to guard the Sorcerer Supreme prickle when another enters the sanctum, and the Hell Queen carries a heavier burden than most. Finding something much less sharp than before gives reason for pause, once within the foyer.

She looks around sharply, almost expecting bogeymen to jump out. Instinct whispers to reach for the sword buried in ehr soul and lay waste to whatever risk awaits, but those violent intentions simmer rather than bubble. One more turn and glacial blue eyes seething with light crackle, shifting, glittering as she takes stock of the host descending.

In a t-shirt.

Cue a secondary appraisal. Outfits mean nothing considering how rapidly they can be exchanged, a red cloak certainly part of that. Then a halted consideration lands on a solution: "Stephen." What will become of that doubt when halved? She sets her palm to her hip. "I come bearing an invitation, da? Something maybe not too dangerous. Few monsters unless humans are worst monsters we have. Or mutants." He knows what she is, after all. "Do you like to dance?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
The cautious entrance is not noticed from Stephen. However, that secondary appraisal? That was caught. The descent down the stairs pauses a half step, as that head, with the grey-touched temples, tilts with amusement. But only a half step, as he continues his descent down, to join the blonde. "An invitation. And not too dangerous? That sounds ominous in and of itself." Smirk finds its way to his lips, as his feet touch ground floor.

A smirk that disappears into confusion as the proverbial second shoe drops. "Do I like to dance?" The question is repeated, almost as if Stephen is making sure he heard it right. "I....am not sure what you mean."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
That secondary appraisal is not without appreciation, for a fairly wide margin belongs solely to that emotion. Her chin rises another fraction, braving inclement responses to meet his gaze. Stephen Strange is not a man to toy with lightly, especially not when he can catch her just as readily as she might with those sharp claws. "All things with us are baited and barbed, da? Full of unspoken risks, even if going to buy milk at the store."

Or tea, the more likely thing. That will stand aside for the greater question that seems to have put him on the back foot, or puzzled him better than she could expect. Her hand remains pressed to her waist, the other held out. "I ask if you like to dance. Do you try it? Waltzing, I can see you doing. Not so much the tango or foxtrot, but maybe you surprise me and hide skill for that beneath that doubtful expression."

Her lips purse. A thought: "You can come dancing with me, is that the way to say it? Would you like to?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I have not danced....in years. At least, in the manner in which you are describing." That confusion gives away to mild amusement once more, though there is still a faint hint of perplexment in that tone. "I mean, besides with you, here, in this very room. But, I sincerely doubt that a private affair is what you are asking for." With that initial surprise over, that slightly cocky smile returns.

"But, far be it for me to refuse such an invitation. Especially when it comes from one such as yourself." The hand outstretched is taken within Stephen's own, his touch surprisingly gentle for how rough looking those digits of his are. "And we should not be afraid of the unknown. Leastwise, we should not let it interfere with what we truly wish to do." He steps in closer, keeping that hand within his own, the other almost upon the hand upon the waist...but not quite.

"Why yes, Miss Rasputina, I would be delighted to go dancing with you." A pause...then a question of his own. "Just to satisfy my curiosity, just where did you intend that we go?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"In any manner will do. The body does not forget what to do, does it?" Illyana is full of a darker mischief, slanted looks under black-swept lashes turned his way. The clash of her intentions spills between them, overturned from a realm of possibilities perhaps. She meets Stephen's supposition with a raised brow, her fingers abandoning their post to lace a little more with his. "I am asking for both, explicitly. Your company now. Your company on the next night. And the third night, we will do whatever you want."

An open-ended choice could have significant consequences, given the carte blanche extended without obvious limits. Maybe that's a wider risk on its own, a test to see what might become of arrogance, pride, and the assertions of affection between them when cards are finally laid out on the table.

"Good, then. We go to a place more familiar to mine. A club." Her fingers curl within his and she circles him, rotating around him like a moon or planet around a star. "Somewhere that will call for drinks. A bit of dancing. Do not have to stay all night, but do not want to go alone either. Some of my friends will dance there, some will go nowhere near it. I would like you take you instead."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"No, I suppose it does not. A benefit for any one of us, but certainly for me, in this case." Those eyes glance downwards toward the newly joined fingers, then back up to catch perhaps a glimpse of the avenues of opportunity that the future holds...in particular the immediate future of the present night. "Oh, both. Well, then, it just so happens that I am rather amiable to this particular proposition and would be happy to fulfill it."

A mention of a club? There might have been a slight flutter in those fingers of his. He was never much into the club scene. However, this is Illyana that is asking...and he was chosen over others. That...certainly is humbling, at least to his mind. "A club. Well, then, I might need to ask for what you may consider to be appropriate wear for such an event. I can honestly say that it will probably be the first visit to a club in quite some time. So, naturally, I do not wish to embarrass you." The words sound rather straight...but the expression. That of bemusement.

Stephen is teasing. But, only a little.

"Perhaps we should retire to a sitting room and plan for this date tomorrow. It is a date, correct?" Again, another jest. Cheeky little thing, he is tonight. "Then you can tell me what you plan on wearing, and then we can take proper care to ensure I do not completely muddle it up with whatever inappropriate ensemble I may deem appropriate."

Oh, Strange isn't wasting any time. With a slight tug, he offers to lead Illyana up the stairs, to where a night of conversation, drinks, and bad fashion choices awaits.