9719/One Winter Night

One Winter Night
Date of Scene:	19 January 2022
Location:	Sanctum Santorum
Synopsis:	This.
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Stephen Strange
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Tea heralds arrival from a desolate corner somewhere beneath the Sanctum's bulk, a place where a blonde soldier snicker-snacking troublesome fiends takes a much-needed nap. Naps that are never long, snatched in moments when convenient, end with that distinct necessity. A good drink spiked by glorious caffeine earns a reckoning from the hollow-eyed sorceress.

Her cup in one hand probably had a teabag in it. It still might. The empty state of affairs is intolerable, and she pads across the floor, having not even bothered to banish her usual black, glossy attire that marks her as the mutant Magik instead of 'Nice lady who lives here.'

Stephen Strange has posed:
Depending on the day, the 'Nice Lady" appellation may not necessarily match, with or without the black attire. Today? It seems that the nice part may be appropriate. It could be the caffeine that has a hand in that.

And the source of said caffeine? It might have been provided wordlessly after a nap was taken, fresh and hot upon the sorceress' awakening. No, it couldn't possibly be the doing of the master of the house. People know that Doctor Stephen Strange does nothing without expectations. It is a reputation that he does little to sway one way or another. It keeps everyone except the truly curious away, which suits him just fine.

It is also a misconception. At least, for a certain few...of which Magik is part of.

Speaking of Strange, he appears in a doorway, leaning against the frame, as he watches the blonde cross the floor, that cup with its precious elixir in her hand. "Good evening, dear."

Did Strange just call Illyana a dear? Yes, yes he did. Intentionally.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Lady at least counts as a descriptor. She can be called that, by a measure, adult female of some sort. Nice would at least be true, had they come from the eponymous city in France.

The shuffled footsteps break in their cadence as Illyana scrubs her face with the back of her hand. The glove slides back to her wrist to avoid leaving a litany of uncomfortable scratches; no one wants that. Two blinks, then three.

"Mnngngnnnn." Strange has probably heard similar from the many enemies of reality he vanquished, faced, or bought off. The rolling guttural tones are those of someone who probably had their cheek squashed to their forearm or a pillow skewed at a bad angle. Her mechanical acceptance of his presence is one thing, though she holds out the empty cup with its sorry tag stuck to the side, evidence there was once a teabag and is no longer. Where oh where?

"Too early," she adds. It is. By some measure of late.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A missing teabag? That is a problem that has a rather easy remedy. Strange just chuckles lightly as the sleepy blonde awakens more, then reaches out slightly with a flick of the fingers. The small gesture has a more profound effect...as the missing teabag seems to reform. Though, Illy would know (if she cared) that it was just a simple teleportation spell, with the pantry finding itself one teabag less. However, while he is at it, the cup refills with hot water, steeping the tea in the progress.

Then, the matter of the comment. "Too early? To be awake, or something else?" Oh, Stephen has some ideas as to what the something else may be, but, for the moment, he is too amused with the sight of awakening Russians to elaborate.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
With luck, Stephen isn't plowed into a wall by a woman wearing spikes and drawn facefirst into his shoulder with all the perceptive talents of an owl in the daytime, blinded by the light. Revved up like a demon, another runner in the night, that she most certainly cannot claim to be.

For the doctor possesses many secrets, and one of them is that his blonde dear wouldn't be a morning person if she tried. Her lashes curl on her cheek and she huffs out her grumbling opinion of time, misbegotten and little liked. "Mrnnng. Mmmhmm."

Fine, his transgression weighed against his aid means she mostly thumps into him unless he dodges, faster and smarter, her chin on his shoulder while holding up the teacup in a way not to scald them both. One trial too far. "Halfway decent for once."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"I see...."

It may very well be that Stephen sees something. He may have understood the half-spoken sentiment of just how early morning may be...or the Rasputin's dislike of any hour that might involve sunlight to contend with. He certainly knows that mornings and the Demon Queen of Limbo do not mix well under the best of circumstances. And still, he finds amusement in that.

Stephen does manage to dodge most of the half wakeful and gradual charge of Illyana. But, only most...as she does manage to catch him enough to lean upon him, that chin upon his shoulder, with the tea in the perfect position to not spill upon either of them. Not that Strange would let it at all, for he knows the contents are more precious than gold to the person that now uses him as a leaning post.

"Halfway decent. Well....I should strive to do better." What would Stephen do? That...is not spoken.

Though....it is what Stephen doesn't do that is more important. He doesn't move...allowing his counterpart to take her time waking to a semblance of normalcy. He also doesn't hurry things along. Best to let these sort of things take their own course. Especially when it involve Illyana.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
A doctor went to see, see, see,
To See what he could see, see, see,
And all that he could See (see? See!)
Was the bottom of the deep blonde--

"Tea," she announces after taking a long, long sip. The kind that drains a cup whole and forgets the flavours, messy as they are, convoluted and imperious innovations burnt out for the sheer heat. It can go down nearly molten. "Mm. Good."

Her blink wakes her to the world a little more, and she holds out the cup when not swallowing the contents whole. He may be a leaning post, but he is /her/ leaning post, and no one else is the wiser. Wong, if he's about, wisely shuffles off before his time. Or hides around the corner to tell the other Masters. "My sleep is your duty now? Bad dreams are normal. I live with what I am." She might even lean back.

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Yes....but bad dreams should not be normal."

At least...not to most. For the two of them? Dreaming at all might be welcomed, bad or no, for it provides insight at times that wakefulness does not. However....it is not the sleep, nor the dreams, that actually captures Stephen's thoughts, for the moment. No. For the moment, it is merely Illyana herself that steals Stephen away. "Your sleep is not my duty, dear." Oh, there is that 'dear' again. Maybe she is awake enough to catch him using it this time. "Rather, your happiness. Sleep just so happens to make you happy."

Especially when Stephen doesn't take aim to awaken the blonde too early.

And...speaking of happiness. "Have you spoken to your brother yet? I do seem to remember that he was a bit surprised at the commentary you gave him. Something about a brother-in-law...." Oh, Stephen knows exactly what was said. It isn't like him to divulge information...but the fact that he brought up a conversation that was completely in Russian? Yeah...he knows. "He did seem rather surprised by the notion..."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Always a fact," Illyana replies with a roll of her shoulder. For her? There may be wards and protections, but the broken pieces of her soul serve a dark master not of her making. They are not at hand, so it's not as though she can very well expect to have roses and sugar plum faeries. Strange dreams surely of better things, magical equations and surgeries past or future, and none of the decadent horrors spilled over the skein of life.

She lowers her cup. Just for a moment, anyway. "Sleep makes us survive." The distinct intent to stick her tongue out at the Sorcerer Supreme rises and passes, since she very well hears what he says and musters an answer for Stephen. "You like lounging in bed. It is forbidden when working and busy in the morning." Yes, so very busy. Those hidden joys of sleeping in a little more or just lounging, when none are right to complain.

"Piotr? Nyet." Shifting to Russian is only momentary; both of them speak perfectly well when needed. "He must worry about his students first. Is it good to surprise him with little sister business? His heart must be strong. He must be for them. When this business in the city goes, we can have borscht and pierogi and tell him what he missed."

Stephen Strange has posed:
Oh...there is a shrug. It is faint...but for the blonde that might still be resting her chin upon a shoulder, it is certainly noticeable. "Nothing wrong with lounging when one can. Or a little extra sleep. We are of the same accord in that regard." What other things do they share a similar opinion on? Besides the benefits of silk smoking jackets and the usefulness of micro-portals to keep the caffeine flowing, that is. There are a great many things, no doubt.

And...one of them is the topic of the elder Rasputin. "Ah. Yes. A little distraction may not be the best, at the present time certainly. I see your point. He does need to be focused. Though certainly....once this business is resolved, we can sit down and answer any questions he may have."

Stephen, willing to answer questions? What is the world coming to?

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Tea. Smoking jackets. Demons are bad. Blue is a good colour. Fire as an offensive, defensive, and warming mechanism.

Her lips part. The sound is amused, a black laugh that rasps its way up. "Already he worries. I am his little sister. He sees trouble, yes? Then greater troubles, and he may turn his eyes the wrong way. Do not need big steel brother looking out for me, but he never sees it this way." She shrugs, the eloquence gracefully mined as she steps back to assess him. "My brother is good, too good, and noble in ways I will never be. You will see that better than me, surely. The two of you can do your man thing and I will pretend not to listen."

It's a concession. A small one, but important. "Maybe he will have some news too."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Our man thing. You make it sound so tedious."

Yet, there is a lilt to those words. Humour is there. Just what would the two talk about? Would Piotr threaten to hurt Stephen if he ever hurt Illyana, not knowing what Stephen is willing to do to keep her whole? Yes....that is amusing. The big brother being overtly protective. It would be interesting to see just how that would be handled.

But not today. Today, there is tea to be had...and smoking jackets to break out of the closet later. "You don't need to pretend. Most likely it will be him talking and me listening,anyways. In any case..it will be an event, I would imagine."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Without a preamble, Illyana points a slender finger into Strange's chest. Then she leans in, invading his space in a way that is hardly fair, hardly acceptable. He can sidestep or retreat with the wisdom of ages, harbouring no particular need to linger all that close.

Though if he doesn't, she brushes her cheek to his, her mouth a brand to his skin for a moment. Two. "It will. He is polite."

To suggest Strange is not?: Never.