9054/Tiki Torches, Touchy Topics

Tiki Torches, Touchy Topics
Date of Scene:	12 December 2021
Location:	Bar With No Doors
Synopsis:	Brunnhilde, Amanda, Illyana, and Strange meet at a mystical tiki bar to plan just how they'll lure Amora out from hiding. 'If you dangle it, she will come.' (Take that as you will.)
Cast of Characters:	Stephen Strange, Illyana Rasputina, Brunnhilde, Amanda Sefton

---

Stephen Strange has posed:
It has been some time since the chance meeting at the book and wine club brought together a Daytripper, a disgruntled Valkyrie, and two Sorcerers Supreme (depending on what dimension one is looking at.) And, for what it was worth, that chance meeting did end rather...peacefully. It could have been worse. One of the last items exchanged...was contact information. Because it is always better to give a sorcerer some warning rather than just trying to track he or she down. 'Shorter this way' was the parting commentary from Stephen, before the four parted ways.

And...contact was made. This time, the option was Strange's. And, the arraignments were set. This time, the venue is a little more catered to those of the mystical nature. Less chance of muggles (not that Stephen will ever call them that...to their faces) overhearing. More of an opportunity to relax. And...100 percent more tiki torches and retro 70's ambiance.

Because everything is better with tiki torches and wood paneling. It is a proven fact.

And...Strange has claimed a table already. With him, at his side, is his paramour, the always-lovely Illyana. And...as they wait, it seems that they might be in the middle of a conversation.

"What? You assume that I have ulterior motives for arraigning to meet here? Why....that is absurd. It is merely that this is a more conducive environment for such discussions."

A pause...then...a confession. "Okay. Maybe I did pick here for my own personal amusement. But, the other points are still valid."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Contacting a mistress of the winding ways or a Valkyrie by conventional means seems a bit of a waste. They could be anywhere. What's Illyana to do, send a raven? Such options, if credible, lack a certain panache. Let Stephen worry about the particulars while she quite shamelessly resides in an air of comfort, lounging as only someone of indeterminate youth can do. In a damn tiki bar.

In the water? Alas not. They have to get a few drinks before that.

"What do you want?" The menu, such as it is, involves a man with his head in a jar and a disturbingly capable finesse with mixology, matched by few, and therefore tolerated by all the varied mystics, magicians, mages, sorcerers, and wizards not of a Maiar variety who opt to gather within the curiously decorated space. She hasn't even bothered to look. "Is it meet to have drinks delivered in coconut shells? They will not assume we think them cowardly?"

The sharp black smirk in its cool confines makes perfect work of underlining she knows exactly what movie she cites. Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Film is probably kin in a roundabout way. The Rasputina prepares to uncross her legs and saunter up there, shedding her coat but not the corseted drama of her shirt and flaring trousers, subtle stylings probably influenced by one E. Frost.

Brunnhilde has posed:
"What the bloody Hel?" Brunnhilde sputters, as the portal opens to their meeting place. The torches, the glinting firelight, the scowling faces -- she could almost be reminded of Asgard. Except there are no Hawaiian shirts in Asgard. Not even Thor has discovered such strange apparel.

"At least there's booze," she mutters to Amanda. Because she's not drunk enough for a Tiki Bar.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda is, for a sorceress, remarkably sanguine about the use of mundane communication. Really, why reinvent the wheel... erm... phone, as the case may be? Or, more accurately, why expend the energy on a communication spell when the 'muggles' have handled it so artfully? Amanda likes cities. She likes technology. Remarkable, really, given her background.

Regardless, it means that getting to the bar is easy enough. *Portals*, in NYC, are a perfectly valid use of arcane energy. Because muggle transportation is, thus far, nowhere near as easy, elegant, or efficient. She steps into the bar, the Valkyrie just ahead of her, and looks around. "A lot of it, I reckon," she says with an amused smile. She suspects this is the couple's idea of baiting the bear... or, in this case, the Brunnhilde.

Illyana, moving gracefully across the room, catches her attention first. It's easy to backtrack from there to the bearded man with the cheeky cloak. She weaves her way among the tables towards him. "Good evening, Doctor."

Stephen Strange has posed:
If the Cloak of Levitation could talk....it will have you know that it is not cheeky in the slightly. Spirited, maybe, but certainly not cheeky.

Of course, if the Cloak could talk, Strange will never hear the end of it. So, thank the Three for small favors.

There might have been a smile at Brunnhilde's first gut reaction to the environment. Fortunately, the moment that his presence is known, Stephen has that slight smirk under control. Presenting, instead, a more pleasant (and sterile) expression, he stands up from the claimed table, first greeting Illyana back from her trip to the bar while claiming the drink in the coconut shell. Why a coconut? Well...when in Rome. Or, in this case, when in a tiki bar....lean into the theme as hard as you can.

Then, the greetings are given to the other two newcomers. "Good evening, Ms Sefton. And to you, Brunnehilde." See? Perfectly innocuous. Nothing to see here. "I trust that the night finds you well?" Small talk aside, Strange takes a sip from that coconut shell...and somehow doesn't crack. Though he looks completely out of place...which is perhaps the intention.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The cellars must be deep. Benefits of having access to an interdimensional space perhaps! No need to languish in frustration for no rum or whiskey or something violently green, herbaceous, and certain to create drunkenness. They have most of it, if not it all. Asgardian mead is still hard to find.

Brunnhilde announces herself in morose dissatisfaction that almost might be charming, if the Demon Queen of Limbo ever felt the need to smile. She no longer waits upon a coconut beverage, glancing askance at Strange as the tray is set down. For all she could just bring the lot along by other means, the mechanical act of transporting from A to B proves perfectly sufficient. "The swords are sharp as your tongue," she says, not quite a warning at all. Make of that as one will.

Two easy corrections group a pair of coconuts together, and the fourth she takes for herself. The contents of that drink steam in a way, smelling particularly caramel-lashed, though no evidence of that remains. The straw glows a bit like a lightsaber. "Da, hello. All going well?" she asks, idly stirring up the straw in lazy swirls. Strange's hair doesn't turn blue from sipping his drink so it mustn't be poisonous. Neither are the sirens wailing anywhere, so this is good.

Small talk where she's involved? Small.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde consumes the contents of one coconut as fast as Asgardianly possible. Which is to say too quickly and with less effect than one would hope. Still, it helps dull the glaring pineapples. "Interesting choice," she mutters. Especially as now she's armed with an empty coconut, should certain wizards press their luck. And there could easily be more where that came from.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda doesn't do kitsch often. But sometimes it's amusing. As long as the scowling faces on the coconuts don't start talking to them, they should be good. (Hey, it's a magical bar. It *could* happen. Statler and Waldorf, tropical style.) She sips at her drink, rather enjoying the rum. After all... tiki bar. Has to happen.

"Well enough," she replies to both Illyana and Strange. "Shall we spare the less loquacious among us the trial of smalltalk and move on to meat of the evening? Or do we need more rum, yet." There's a smile on her lips as she speaks, her British accent more pronounced than the German that lurks faintly underneath. The glint in her eye is more reminiscent of her foster brother at his Captain Fuzzytail best, than anything dour and mission-focussed. She's not above having fun along the way. More rum wouldn't go amiss -- depending on how sharp their wits need to be before the end of the night. Regardless... she's content to wade through more smalltalk as needs be. Has Amora arrived yet? Is she expected?

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Well, we certainly wouldn't want to make things awkward for everyone."

Liar. Strange isn't goint to admit it, though. Especially now that the Valkyrie is armed with a coconut. Not that it will actually hit him, but let's not give the morose Asgardian a reason.

"But, yes, certainly. We can get down to business, if you wish." The sorcerer does takes his seat, after everyone else as taken theirs.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
One coconut, and another drink coming complete with cherry and paper umbrella to open up protective should the need arise. The magical bar will make good on a sorcerer's tab, especially when that tab can be taken up with Agamotto or such.

"Is there ever enough rum?" A Russian asking this question could be the start of the War of the Seventh Coalition -- or maybe Eighth, they might reach that point. "What do you think?" This of Brunnhilde is an important inquiry, serious enough, for it's likely of them all the Asgardian captain of the Valkyrie would know. Fuzzypants swashbucklers aside, they have to make do with what they have.

She eases into a comfortable state, if comfortable ever applies to someone wearing a corset fashionably or a Hell Lord. The latter not being top of aura or mind, though she still sets off unhappy wards here or there as personal protections probably flare up readily.

A gesture invites the continuation of the conversation.

Brunnhilde has posed:
"Never enough," Brunnhilde assures Illyana. "Never enough rum. Never enough mead. Never enough whiskey." She acquires another coconut as proof of point.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda has become accustomed to the auras of Hell Lords, lately. Hanging out with Lucifer will do that for a girl. She chuckles softly at Brunnhilde's assertions. "It's true," she opines. "I've had to cast a replenishment spell on my cellars." The Valkyrie has certainly ensured she's had to keep her stocks fresh. "What, then, do we now know about our challenge?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
Strange places the coconut down. He doesn't bother to do anything truly amazing...but simply just gives a glance to Amanda and then Brunnhilde with those grey eyes. "Well, the challenge is to get your quarry to appear. With Amora, that will be tricky for me. I do not have anything that she is necessarily attracted to, other than forbidden knowledge that she knows full well I won't offer, because, well, it is forbidden for a reason." A momentary pause to take a drink from that straw. "And...I am not a blonde, long-haired, nor Asgardian."

Yes...Strange knows the type.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The drink is pleasant enough; for the sip Illyana takes of it, you might never know. She is perfunctory about enjoyment of minor vices as she is of the major ones, apparently. Fighting, drinking, enslaving entire races; one thing leads to another if you're not careful.

"Amora has been absent. I have not heard of her presence from usual sorts I ask. Some say they heard of her, looking for components or a potion." Her shoulders rise. She tips her blonde head, tapping against the side of the coconut. "Two of three, da?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
"So we get it first, then," Brunnhilde says. "Whatever it is." She drains her second coconut, starting a little collection of possible missiles. "Do we know what it is?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Like Illyana, Amanda is both blonde and long-haired. She's not, however, Asgardian. Nor, one might suspect, is she likely the Asgardian sorceress' type for other reasons. That's just the way it goes, sometimes.

"I do have a friend who offered to procure something the sorceress might find enticing. I just don't know if it's necessarily wise to let her have it. Though I do know he's prone to placing a time limit on such things when he gives them out -- usually in the form of a blowback curse."

That's what happens when you make deals with the Devil.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
They have two blondes and one Asgardian; that will have to do. "Enticing but rebounding on her? I like this." She would. Takes one devil to know the Other, even without knowing personally. Illyana crosses one leg over the other as she sinks back into her seat, ignoring the leering masks over her head.

Amanda and Brunnhilde hold equal interest for her, and she watches them through those icy-pale eyes, holding the sum of a Russian winter and about as many of its charms. "A secondary option. We have no sign of her activity on Earth of late. No communication or letters, da? That makes for a rather boring hunt."

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde shrugs, looking surly. She hasn't been the most communicative and social creature since she took up residence on Earth. She still wants very much to be left alone, to drown her sorrows in liquor and violence. She just wants her sword back too.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
They'll get her sword back. It's simply taking longer than the drunken warrior would prefer. And there's little Amanda can do about that. She watches Illyana and Strange with easily as much keeness as they observe her, sipping her drink slowly. Unlike the Valkyrie, she doesn't have the tolerance of a god and would prefer not to have to down an antitoxin potion later to clear her head.

"You're suggesting we changing hunting grounds?" she asks Illyana. "Where to? Asgard?" She glances to Brunnhilde as she says it, uncertain the woman is overly interested in that. She seems to want to avoid Asgard, generally.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Watching intently, Stephen was more than content to let the three hash out ideas. But, he has to comment. After all, he has opinions. On occasion, people actually listen to them.

"To be perfectly frank, I sense that Amora would be more likely to make an appearance in Asgard than not. Home turf and all." Does that mean that Strange wants to go to Asgard? Most likely not.

It is more that Strange is all for letting Asgardians deal with their own business. He is only involved because he feels loosely obligated. Very loosely.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"We could suggest there is someone more beautiful than her. Different goddess of beauty. Buy in a little agreement, pride would demand an answer, da?"

To be perfectly frank, Illyana is not a nice person. The days when she achieved absolute kindness and sweetness originated about the time she was knee-high to a bio-organic steel grasshopper, and those are (not very) long gone. Brunnhilde might find the two of them share very real wishes. "She will not be happy, a good mood being a bad thing." The idea springs anew, her eyes narrowing. "Maybe I go about this wrong. Maybe we make something for her. She wants to be a goddess, seen as very important? We make it." Since no one else is going to be all that concerned in /this/ vicinity, since the Bar With No Doors is a mystical location, it's hardly all that problematic for her to be opening a portal.

Space bends, twisting into the winnowed between-spaces of realms, and she reaches in to rustle around a bit in what looks like a layered set of brass coffers, if anyone really wants to peer past her arm. She falls into one of the High Demonic languages, a crackling edge anchoring it to more earthbound terrors. As opposed to Earthbound. A difference, there. <<No. The green one -- or the blue auroral. The Muvaffakiyetsizlestirici.>>

It takes a few seconds for this nonsense to end, with a pair of four iridescent blue hands with six fingers dropping a necklace into her awaiting palm. The central gem strobes a bit like the moon. "Something worthy of her, da? Like this. Spin a story around it. Wait."

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde grabs another coconut of alcohol, trying to hide her surprise. But she can't help stare at the necklace that appears in Illyana's hand. She glances away, feigning disinterest. "That could work." And once Amora shows her face, Brunnhilde can punch her in it.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda spins her coconut slowly around in her fingers, inspecting the leering faces on the side. Do they change expressions? They do kind of remind her of the imps she recently discovered infesting the Ice Palace in the Bronx.

"If you dangle it, she will come?" she says archly, mangling the movie quote. She gives a small shrug of assent. "If you think it will work, I'll support it." It's less of a declaration of war than loosing Lucifer's magic on the woman.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"So, it is agreed then?" Stephen certainly does appreciate the little bauble that Illyana has pulled out. "It certainly has merit. If the appropriate story is stirred up, then Amora could not possibly resist. Especially if we make it a little difficult. I have no doubt part of the reason she invaded my Sanctum was merely for the rush of it. We give her something similar...and she will certainly try for it."

A beat. Then, a summation. "I believe this will work. Once we get her out in the open, then I would suggest you two talk it out." That little bit is for Brunnhilde. "Though, I am a surgeon, not a psychotherapist, so take my suggestion as you wish."