8362/Bring Me My Sword!

Bring Me My Sword!
Date of Scene:	22 October 2021
Location:	Rococo Bookstore and Wine Club
Synopsis:	A stolen sword brings three sorcerers and Asgardian together in a bookstore without too much disaster. A first!
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Illyana Rasputina, Amanda Sefton, Brunnhilde

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Stephen Strange has posed:
The night is young and full of.....books.

It was a rare offering, for it came from the Sorcerer Supreme to Illyana. "Would you like to go out tonight?" Given Stephen's usual preference of staying in as opposed to going out, it was a surprise, to say the least. And...the offer of going via normal transportation, as opposed to mystical means? Again, a shock. Was the inefficient method of using public transportation just a thinly veiled excuse to spend time together?

Maybe...

A hop on the hyperloop and a jaunt via some forgettable taxi later was all it took to get the two to the rather posh environs of Rococo Bookstore and Wine Club. Which...could be mistaken for a certain Sanctum, though it has something that the magical manse does not.

People.

At least Stephen is trying, there can be no mistake. The lack of magic use could be considered almost quaint. A smile is given to Illyana, as Stephen spreads a hand out, indicating to have her choose where she would like to sit...and what wine to take along with. "I know, it isn't a little used bookstore nor a dance club, but I felt to do just a little more than what we could find in the Village...and honestly, we do not want to see me dance." A solemn shake of the head accentuates the sentiment. "Believe me. It is not a sight for mortal eyes."

Oh, look. Cracking jokes. Stephen really is trying tonight.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
How often does the Sorcerer Supreme decide to hit the town? The novelty of the experience might be reason to agree. Illyana rarely does things on pretext of novelty alone, and the offer raises her pale brows in expectation of something going largely astray. "Do I need a sword?" is probably not the expected response, either, given in the tone one might ask if a coat is a good idea. For a Siberian, the coat won't be necessary until the first true Nor'easter and travel by Hyperloop possibly calls for a very sharp, capable blade. It's Stephen Strange. Anything is very literally possible.

The Rasputin scion makes an attempt on his behalf, actually bothering with a sweater instead of her habitual t-shirt. Worn over a black dress, she both affirms a presentable appearance and one suited for blending in among other literary minds found in such a place as Rococo. When in Gotham, one must take pains to fit in -- especially if they want to avoid a batarang in the back. "This is nice," she says with only a hint of uncertainty, drawn partly by her frosty gaze turned to practically every place for a few seconds. How not to appreciate the assortment of books stacked here and there in all their tempting beauty? "We cannot always go to a club," she states in matter-of-fact tone. How often do they club? Stephen just tearing it up to Berlin techno is probably less likely than resolving an evening over drinks in a jazz club, but Greenwich Village is so full of those he hardly needs to leave his own doorstep. "You dance beautifully."

Disbelieving? It would seem so. "Red or white?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
It's taken a while, but Amanda did promise they'd track Dr. Strange down. Her luck, though, has been that each time she tried the Sanctum, strangely enough, he actually *wasn't* there. So, while a night on the town may seem odd for the man, getting out of the house -- albeit likely into different realms or other cosmic chaos? -- maybe that's not as unusual? Who is Amanda to say?

As it is, she's confident, now, that she's got him in one place and not magically haring off somewhere else.

As her portal opens outside the establishment, she looks up at it. "Eh..." She glances to her companion on this quest. "Maybe we'll try not to make a scene."

With a wave of her hand she lets a light illusion settle over Brunnhilde -- one that simply gives her a more mundane appearance and clothing better befitting the club, rather than actually changing anything about her. She then does the same for herself, though she doesn't particularly mind transforming her own clothing to work better in the elegant surrounds. Not when she can change back into her Daytripper leathers with another quick spell.

"Pretty certain this is where we'll find him," she says to Brunnhilde, her English accent crisp, the German beneath it receding considerably this evening. She reaches for the door. "Shall we?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
Amanda's illusion is much needed as Brunnhilde had not dressed to impress. Before the wave of magic, she'd looked ready to start a bar room brawl. Now she appeared in some thing dark and sleek, and still fully capable of a range of movement.

She slips through the crowd behind Amanda. "Then we'd better stop at the bar first. Don't want look out of place. You need something to hold. I need a drink."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Red, I believe, for tonight. Unless you wish otherwise..."

For his part, Strange is dressed appropriate for the bookstore. Which means no flashy cape, much to its chagrin. No, tonight he is understated but still tasteful, a perfectly serviceable counterpart to Illyana for the evening. It takes really no time at all to select a vintage...and to take the stemmed glasses as they are offered, passing Yana's own to her. "I do hear that, should we dare to risk the prowling feline that patrols the area, there is a cozy alcove at the top of the spiral staircase. Though, I was thinking something a little more open. Still, where else can you go for wine, literature, and the opportunity to pet a cat?"

For the two entering, the sorcerers supreme can be seen at the bar, just receiving their (first) glasses of wine. Despite the casual appearance, there is little mistaking Strange, for those that have seen him before.

Which will include a certain agitated Asgardian in need of a drink of her own.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
As if the Cloak could not appear in an instant. Illyana hasn't a snowball's chance in South Beach to suppress the armour and telltale leathers if reason comes for their appearance. For now, she can assiduously pursue the goal of fitting in. With Stephen's recommendation for the libations secured, she indexes a good portion of the nearest shelf in an assortment of high-brow artistic and musical compositions as he worries about the business of a merlot or a cab sauvignon over a pint noir or Cotes du Rhone.

"We have a preference for heights, da? How curious. A coincidence or something foretelling interest?" Her typical Russian precedes her speech, but the usual hesitating linguistic construction is utterly and completely absent. She takes the glass from him, fingers resting briefly against the sorcerer's wrist as their auras find a brief equilibrium in the exchange of energy between them. A subtle rebalancing but distinguishable all the same, bringing two entirely different signatures into an overlapping well.

"You do not overlook the cat. Let us gain its approval before we seek an open space." The suggestion is merely that, though she already saunters away, for in that dress and those boots, sauntering is the best she can do. The very well-known former surgeon's companion is equally strange as he; any mystic can probably see the utterly shattered state of her soul to some degree. "Shall we?"

An offer that might be an unexpected footnote to the unexpected about to come.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda leads Brunnhilde into the club and toward the bar. The Valkyrie is right. A libation is all but required in this place. Well. It's certainly required for Brunnhilde. For Amanda, it is, indeed, something to hold.

Once she's managed to get a glass of white for herself, she takes a look around. Even as Illyana is suggesting she and Stephen move along, the Romani sorceress' eyes spot them. "Ah. There we go..."

Gesturing lightly to the pair in case Brunnhilde hasn't already picked them out of the crowd, she begins making her way towards them.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Yep. Brunnhilde definitely needs that drink. She swallows her first glass of red with alarming alacrity when Amanda points out Strange. She does not break the glass in her hand. And manages to set the empty glass back on the bar without shattering the stem. "Another," she tells the bartender. "Maybe the whole bottle..."

"Madame would like to purchase the bottle and leave it behind the bar?" He asks her. Brunnhilde just grunts in response.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Wait, was that a cold shiver running down Strange's spine, caused by the baleful gaze of a rather angry Brunnhilde? Or, was it a more mundane reasoning? Regardless of the reasoning, Strange actually pauses, a step frozen as the head tilts. Does he know that he is being tracked? There isn't any clear indication as the step continues, moving to join Illyana on her quest to find the appropriate literature to pair with the glass of red they both hold. "Yes, we certainly should present ourselves to the master of this domain before claiming a space."

Once Illyana is reached, however, Strange dips his head low, murmuring softly into her ear. "I do apologize. It seems that we might have a tail, and it is not feline in nature." Ah, yes...he does know something. "We may wish to delay our search of a cozy corner until after whatever business is about to come is concluded."

Yes, it is rather hard to sneak up on a wizard. Or, sorcerer, in this case. No pointy hat, which is essential for wizards. A casual glance backwards is given, to see what can be seen.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana nurses the wine, letting the rim press to her lips in a sanguine kiss. Punchy berries and black currant texture a dense wine with supple, chewy fruit soaking into the palate, all before she indulges in a sip. Casually pronouncing it satisfactory with a cracked smirk, the lush tannins barely reach her tongue to stain vibrant senses sharpened by a quickened thrill not entirely her own. Frosted eyes narrowed change the quality of her features from incisive to vaguely forbidding, but it doesn't help she embodies the stereotype of Slavic ice queen without much trying. So easy to ghost alongside Stephen, focus elevated.

Her earrings sway like daggers when she tilts her head to favour the banter suitable to a private engagement in a public space. His words aren't lost on her. "I spotted a choice printing of Pushkin, and another Fet bound with the red cover. You have not read him, I assume? Afanasy teaches we are not all fatalistic and phlegmatic in humour." Humours are a concept probably offensive at every level to an educated person. What the heck do they teach in Westchester?

A latter regard for the books in question again aren't nearly so exciting as getting another bottle of wine for the road. Brunnhilde's in for a bit of sticker shock perhaps, the drinks are not cheap.

It's all a pleasant diversion as the Demon Queen curves a smirk. "On their bill, da?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
It's certainly not as if Amanda or Brunnhilde are concealing themselves, sartorial adjustments notwithstanding. The blonde gypsy gives a courteous smile as she approaches the couple. Her aura is as clear to them as theirs are to her. She's no saint, but she does tend to fall on the side of the angels more often than not. Far more often than not -- if one overlooks the occasional fraternization with fallen angels.

"Good evening," she greets the pair cordially. "Sorry to interrupt your evening. You're a difficult man to pin down, Doctor."

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde isn't sneaking! She's stalking self-righteously towards the man who'd managed to lose her sword. It's only Amanda's pleasantries that stops her from attempting to greet Steven's face with her fist. She stands behind the blonde and glowers sulkily.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Yes, well, I have been....out of town, as of late." There is a nod given to Amanda, a light smile accompanying it, while a glance flickers over to Brunnhilde, before returning to Amanda. "I do sincerely apologize for my absence, Ms Sefton. You can imagine that it was not intentional...nor planned, for at least part of it."

A nod is given towards Brunnhilde as well, though the smile is not nearly as freely given. It does not take telepathy to know that it is only the greatest of restraint that prevents an altercation upon the bookstore floor. "Brunnhilde. Lovely to see you, as well." Then...the pair together. "I would imagine this rendezvous is not by chance and that you are here to inquire..." or accuse, the same really..."...about a certain sword?"

Yes...Strange knows. Attention shifts to Illyana. "I do apologize. A bit of unfortunate business involving a break in at the Sanctum...and the quite unforeseen theft of a precious heirloom of our esteemed Asgardian here."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Bury an angelic shard in a blackly corrupt shell, that would be Illyana. Much as her nature recognizes a hunt when she spots one, a fellow predator can play at relaxed lounging when needed. The frosty pallor of her eyes gives an air of archness, almost contempt, when not checked. Brunnhilde's glower awakens the Arctic gale, but they simmer on the edge of polite still.

"Ms. Sefton," she gives a distinct spin of her own by lowering the glass. Stephen's lead is not questioned, his tone straightening out her own. "I am not acquainted." She leaves the open question of Brunnhilde's position in all this unspoken. "Illyana Rasputina." A forlorn book awaits her attention, poems on the cusp of the modern period reflecting in sorrow and small flecks of hope for what that great transformation might mean for a people so often at the whims of cruel fate.

The same is living, breathing, unfolding. "An unsolved theft, da?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"I can imagine," Amanda says genially enough to Strange. Gods know she's had to deal with such interruptions often enough herself. As for the sword, well, yes. That is certainly their purpose. Unlike Brunnhilde, though, Amanda's not upset by any of this. She's really only here to facilitate the meeting... and maybe keep the valkyrie from causing any significant damage.

Her brow arches faintly, though, as the Sorcerer Surpreme admits to a burglary at the Sanctum. Especially of the sword. Her expression tightens, if only because it will mean keeping Brunnhilde calm is about to become a whole helluva lot harder.

Nevertheless, she gives Illyana a polite smile. Because, really, keeping this friendly would be a good idea. "Ms. Rasputina." She turns, "I take it you've not met Brunnhilde?" She dares to lay a hand on the warrior's arm, hoping to prevent an immediate blowout. Her eyes switch between Strange and Illyana. "Any chance it's been found? Or at least that we know where to look?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
"You've done nothing else to warrant my attention," Brunnhilde almost snarls through gritted teeth. But she's not drunk enough to ignore the hand on her arm. Nor the crowd of partygoers who were not pivotal in the loss of her weapon. "So?" She continues to glare.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Nothing else to warrant her attention? If Stephen wasn't so damn assured of himself, that ego of his as big as it could be, he would be hurt. As it is, the commentary just causes him to blink. "Well, I do apologize for my actions not being worthy." He only saved the world from being devoured by an elder god. No biggie.

As far as Amanda's questioning, Strange does have an answer. "We need to look for Amora. She was the one that somehow spirited her way into my home long enough to take the sword. An act that I have apologized for, on multiple occasions. It was...rather unexpected. And, unfortunate. You thought I was hard to track. That particular one....extremely slippery."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Reflex would have Illyana acknowledge Amanda's politeness out of habit, though keeping a fragile peace falls slightly on her efforts. "No," she gives a minor shake of her head. Laconic though her response to Brunnhilde's introduction may be, she raises her chin in a minor upnod. When it comes to a glaring contest, she is more a sheet of ice.

"Good, you have a common enemy to hunt." The solution all but solves itself, though no one else may agree. She swirls the wine again, and puts a hand on Stephen's arm almost idly while contemplating the next drink. "Mark the calendar. He acknowledged regret. Da? A prize, that." What passes for Russian humour may be more in keeping with the gallows than the bon vivant.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda has heard of Amora, though she's had more encounters with Loki than any other Asgardian mystic. She glances to Illyana and recognizes the joke in the dour Russian's comment. A soft snirk escapes her. Evidently, she appreciates gallow's humour.

"Am I going to have to try to track her down like I did you?" she asks Strange now, a pale brow rising. "Or do you have some clue where she might be hiding." Or hanging out. Asgardian mystics, she's found, tend not to be the hiding type so much as the skulking types. And sulking. And really annoyingly arrogant. She considers bringing mechnaical Sir Patrick along with her for the hunt.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde folds her arms across her chest. *Well,* her body language implies, *what are we waiting for?* Still less than gruntled, her ire has at least found a new target: Amora.

Illyana's assessment of the Aesguardian is correct. For all her anger, she's easily pointed in a new direction.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Nothing like hunting or drinking to fix a problem. Brunnhilde's anger in another direction than the Sorcerer Supreme is an unexpected but not unwelcome turn. Proof even a demonic cheetah can sometimes shift spots, and Illyana sometimes manages to avoid violence as the first solution.

She ponders Amanda's question, though it was aimed at Strange. "He moves on her, she will run. You have cause for her to hide." Because honestly, who wouldn't with a slippery enchantress? "What brings her out? Find what she likes, dangle it."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda lets out a brief sigh at Illyana's suggestion. "That would be easier, if I knew her as well as I know Loki." She dislikes Loki. But she's usually polite with him. Because he can still knock her on her ass. Maybe someday, when she's further along in her journey, she'll change that.

Wouldn't her mother be proud?

Brunnhilde has posed:
"I don't *have* another damned sword to dangle," Brunnhilde grumbles. "So I'm open to suggestions."

She glances over to the bar where that bottle sits in reserve. She needs another drink.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"She likes magic swords. She likes magic. We can come up with something, da?" Illyana is absolutely suggesting the obvious, which is plain to anyone who may or may not see her cracked soul. Not like the blazing ember in the middle of it happens to be sword-shaped, not at all... "Maybe Doctor knows what she likes?"

Hint, four letters, and it rhymes with Sore.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"She wants Thor."

It is a quick answer, one that Stephen gives without hesitation. "But, that is not something that we can provide. The second thing that Amora craves would be attention, I believe. Vindication that she has no equal. And...I believe that is something that we can play to."

There is a glance over towards the enraged Valkyrie. Then again, as of late, it is the only emotion that Stephen has seen from Brunnhilde as of late. Again, understandable, considering. After all, he did apologize, rare as that is.

"Perhaps Amora had reason for taking the sword. Have you ever just considered asking for it back?" What...would such a simple solution work. "She likes magic, certainly. But, even Amora should know that there is little use of a magic sword for her if she cannot actually wield it. She most likely has a reason, even if it is twisted and clear only to her."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Yeah, giving Thor over to anyone is a) not in Amanda's powerset and b) not morally acceptable to her, either. "That could be said of any magic user," she says dryly. "Most of us do things for reasons few others understand." Nature of the beast.

Even so, she appreciates the fact both Strange and Illyana seem open to helping with the challenge, not just dropping the info and disappearing. "Is there something else she might be willing to trade?"

Really, she knows, that answer needs to come from Amora herself.

Brunnhilde has posed:
"When was I supposed to have asked her for it back? Since you just told me that she has it," Brunnhilde says sourly. She holds out her hand and says facetiously, "Amora, give me back my sword."

Nothing happens.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
While making Thor do anything he doesn't want to do could fall under the purview of a Hell Lord, Illyana may argue forcing him to action is a terrible plan. Strategically, that produces empty Hell realms and skies cloaked in lightning storms. Not good for business, generally.

The pallid Siberian blonde might be itching for a book to throw at something. She remains behind Strange's arm, but barely, and the position is tactically sound for someone who might feel the need to protect a perfectly capable sorcerer. Likewise the balance neatly managed between her feet is unconsciously poised at any given moment in a way common to a few sorts of people. Most of them are military in some way.

"You ask louder, she might hear," she suggests to Brunnhilde in that utterly deadpan Russian delivery. "I have ideas. We do not know one another so well. What is she like?" Amanda and Brunnhilde are the focus for that question, at least. "Better than guessing she likes potions or forbidden magic. You want me to dangle forbidden grimoire of enchantments at her? /He/ had enough of them."

Stephen Strange has posed:
Oh...the urge to roll his eyes is strong. But, the self-preservation instinct is slightly stronger, bolstered by the feel of the cool blonde behind him. And, therefore Strange does not bat an eye. He does, however, provide a bit more of insight.

"Well, let me tell you this, then. It was no mean feat for Amora to breach the defenses of my home. It must have taken quite a bit of power to do so. And, when she was in, she had quite literally a treasure trove at her disposal. Yet....she only took the sword." A pause. "That...is telling, don't you think?"

Honestly, Strange does not expect an answer. He does, however, provide more information. "Illyana is correct. If I reach out, she will run. However, if one of her own confronts her....one that she feels she has little need to fear...." With that, those grey eyes fall squarely upon Brunnhilde. "Then, she might make an appearance. If only to lord over the fact that she managed to snatch the sword from my domain."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda isn't really surprised that Amora might want to gloat. Loki certainly would. Her mother certainly would. She glances over to Brunnhilde. "It's your call," she tells the Valkyrie. "I'll help however you need. But Asgardian magic isn't my strong suit." She gives a wry smile. "I do better against hellspawn, somehow."

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde grits her teeth. She really, *really,* *REALLY* wants to punch something right now. Or someone. Any smug gloating magician would do. Her fingers twitch and curl reflexively into a fist.

"Fine. Let's track her down. Or whatever you lot do. I don't..." She wiggles her fingers in a sarcastic impression of a mystical gesture. At least she's no longer making a fist?

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Any smug magician might do, but Illyana isn't smug so much as willing to lean a little into the violence inherent in the system. Repressed aims earn a slight smirk in Amanda's direction. "Da, a similar feeling here." Oh, how they know.

Her soul's practically vibrating in its shattered arrangements, flexing like a great slumbering wyrm contemplating waking up or dipping deeper into a dream lit sea.

"Then no grimoire. This doesn't work, my plan B. You need to tell me a bit of her for that to work. Otherwise you have me opening portals everywhere from here to Antarctica looking for her, waste of my time and yours." That's probably a joke.

Except it so very much isn't said so.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Smug? Gloating? Hardly. Stephen has been nothing but cordial and honest this entire time. He has even admitted fault, which demonstrates just now not smug he has been. However, he *is* honest. And, perhaps that is what rankles the Valkyrie presently.

Not that he is going to stop now. "Well, there are a couple of ways we can possibly do that. And, by we, I do mean all of us. Surely Ms. Sefton, with her skills, could certainly try her hand at tracing Amora's footsteps. After all, she found me...and I did not sense the attempt until you two arrived." That is not condemnation by any stretch of the imagination, but praise given. It is not easy to get the drop on the sorcerer when he is aware. "The fact that Amora is not expecting anyone else but me could prove in your favor."

A finger is lifted. "Secondly, it may be possible to not search for Amora's presence...but the sword itself. I am no expert of Asgardian magic but perhaps you can scry for the sword and use that connection to lead you?" It is an earnest question...and yet the Asgardian may still find fault with Strange. Which...deters him little. "That would certainly be an avenue."

Then...as an aside. "Of course, if worse come to worst, then asking a certain god of thunder would be sure to draw your quarry to a place of your choosing." Yes...Strange is not above using others for his goals. Even Thor.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda won't say no to the help. While she's pretty sure not even Amora could be as bad as Loki, she also knows when she's playing out of her league. "Scrying for the sword might work," she says, glancing to Brunnhilde as she does. "It didn't before, but we didn't have any way of narrowing down the intersection of energies, either. With help -- working together -- we may." Not to mention the serious power boost the three sorcerers could provide one another.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde shrugs. "While you all figure this out, I'm going to retrieve that bottle. I need another drink."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana gives the slightest nod, following the logic well enough. "Look for the sword. If she," Brunnhilde that is, "owns it, that would give us some assistance. Put our efforts together, maybe we see where Amora is, or sword, or both. Sounds good to me, da?"