Owner	Pose
Natasha Romanova	It was about seven or eight pm at night. Natasha Romanoff had taken herself to one of the quieter areas of Central Park. For now, she was wearing a hoodie and on a jog, staying to the darker lit areas and making a show of being alone. And of course attracting some level of attention from those going by. And hidden over at her side was a set of perfecly balanced Peruvian throwing knives carved from bone that had been gifted to her by a Faltine of good reputation. And so Natasha was going through Central Park at night, waiting for some idiots of ill repute to come after her..     To get a chance to practice some of her knife fighting techniques with the gift.
Stephen Strange	Is it late? Or, is it early? Does it really matter to those that sleep rarely, if at all? There was a tugging along the fabric of reality. Something was attempting to sneak through to this particular dimension. It was faint...but noticeable. And, given somewhat recent events, it could have been something that could have snuck past most. Most certainly not anything biblical or literally earth-shattering....but subtle. Dark. And certainly unbidden. Just the sort of circumstances that causes a certain sorcerer to want to go take a look. Holding a paper cup in hand, Stephen takes a sip as he walks (yes, walks) along the somewhat darker paths. "Yes, it does seem that there is a trace here. It would make sense to have an incursion here. Considering how large the Park is, it would be rather easy to breach here and not have others think too much about it." He certainly is talking to someone, though his attention is out ahead of him. Those late night patrons of the park will certainly see that there is a pair...but may not necessarily pay much more attention than that. Could it be a little magical suggestion to just ignore the pair sipping tea from plain paper cups? Could be.
Illyana Rasputina	Night means the obligatory transition point, day's end and no more work. Not exactly true for someone who doesn't keep a standard schedule. Although enrollment in courses at Columbia keeps Illyana vaguely tied to the usual routines of people her own age, she isn't thinking of dinner or looking forward to a movie or a good monster-slaying before bed. "Stupid email server," her threats instead are aimed at the digital ether. She walks behind Stephen, stewing over how a reasonably small file cannot be properly uploaded to an email server belonging to a professor. The website, if it were human, would be hugging itself and crying softly in the name of England. Instead it proves basically immune to the iterative uploads, scowls, bargains, and finally outright wrath of a Hell Lord. Her hair is pulled up, threatening to fall out of twisted buns pierced by a few plastic drink rapiers. Don't ask how those got there, they just did. Teeth grit, her jaw flexing. Technology is bound to be on fire in a few more seconds while she studiously avoids that puddle, a tree over there, and stepping on Stephen's pant leg twice. Fault her, but she at least does not likely trip over a knife-wielding, smartly dressed Russian assassin. The tea starts to steam of its own accord. Maybe it was all along. "Fine. I will do this /yesterday/."
Natasha Romanova	Going to take a curve, Natasha pauses a moment to look over a shoulder. One man would be coming up from behind her, and further up ahead two more would be coming along surreptitiously on an intercept path. Interesting. They were moving in a coordinated fashion which was irregular for muggers, but they weren't taking the kind of care that indicated they were professionals. Perhaps veteran street thieves? No matter what, it would make the night's theatrics interesting. Which was what she was after. Jogging along, palms lightly flashing to let her fingers quickly go over the hilt of the precious gifts of daggers given to her to ensure they were ready for a quick yank out. Slowing her pace now and moving to pause like she was catching her breath, going to take some water while letting the men get over into position. Starting her own mental countdown.. And unaware in the distance of the approach of the good Doctor. And there goes Illyana, whom does get Natasha's attention in passing. The low sound of the tea steaming, ever so slight in the evening has her pinpointing the location. Well.. Even more interesting now. The men make their move, and go in towards Natasha as she has her hand right over on the water bottle, miming at them as they would surround her, "HEy, where did you guys come from?" Playing up the 'damsel' side of things.
Stephen Strange	"The server is giving you issues, Illyana?" It seems that Stephen is at least marginally aware of Illyana's technological woes. Though, he is certainly more aware of the rising anger of his companion. And...smartly, does little to have that anger shift his way. He does, however, offer an unbidden comment. "It may be better to just print the file and deliver it personally at this point." Which...makes sense. Master of the Mystic Arts, Stephen may be. SysAdmin of an apparently irksome email server? He is most definitely not. As the pair approach the redhead jogger and her trio of unwanted attention, Stephen pauses ever so slightly. A stutter-step, as Stephen's head turns on a swivel, apparently in search of something that pinged his magic sense. "Did you sense that, Illy?" Oh, so informal with the young blonde, this one. "That...was not expected. Certainly not what I was looking for." And...just what sent the senses a tingling? Grey eyes center in on the redhead in question....in particular her thigh, where a little gift is hidden. Then, a glance upwards...and realization dawns upon the sorcerer's expression. Yes, he recognizes just who the damsel in seemingly distress is. And...Stephen stops walking. Not because he found his initial reason for venturing into the Park at night. No...a show is about to start and the good doctor doesn't want to interfere. Plus, it is prime viewing.
Illyana Rasputina	The anger gets a pointy new target, one much more impervious to the temperamental pique of the Russian blonde. She looks up from the haloed blue glow cast from the glass of the phone in one hand. Her tea in the other cannot be overlooked. Brutal she may be, but not a savage. The mechanical rise of her hand marks a precise arc, and refreshment banishes the complaints of Columbia's benighted upload function. "You feel disruption here?" The rim muffles the question a bit, though still properly audible. "The air is scratchy. So many scars from the past, all roughed up. Sometimes hard to tell what is new and what is an old wound." Put in terms that a doctor will probably grasp well, Illyana makes a face when the loose-leaf dregs escaping from a disintegrating teabag hit her palate. Distaste overcomes displeasure and she avoids spitting them out, though strongly considering licking the cup lasts for a second. "You think Vegas is city of sin? New York is a whole bakery to Vegas cake. Lucky I am not so hungry." Her toothsome smile answers the good Doctor, and probably in a very bad way. All this while poor unfortunate souls close on a path to Natasha through Central Park, home to all things unlucky or foolish, their schemes passing under frosty eyes. She's the equation of a sin, face of an angel with the jaded eyes of a nightmare. The callous look flashed back into the trees might make even those sylvan shepherds recoil, roots sinking in to await something going awry again around the redhead. "Can't save them from themselves." Well... /they/ can. She won't.
Natasha Romanova	No immediate threats are present beyond the would-be muggers that Natasha can identify. The others don't seem to be approaching and have stilled themselves. Even magicians apparently do occasionally go on walks. The men would approach her. Two in front, one behind. One drawing out a gun to point at her. Natasha estimating distance..     Presence of the other voyeurs.. Then goes to hold up her hands as she 'sees' the gun. "Oh gods, what do you want!?" Even as the one behind her would approach to grab at her. Normally the way this routine went was while the target's attention was on the immediate threat, they would be flanked and grabbed at and immobilized.     The uneasiness in the air not just her. The men going to threaten her.. Flanking one behind her going in for the grab has her yank him by the collar of the shirt. Twisting and slamming him to the ground hard. Shoulder broken. Stomp at his chest, bruised rib. Man with the gun goes to try and get a clear target at her.. Natasha goes to snap up with one of the Peruvian throwing knives that were a gift from the Lady Clea. Blade launched and then with precision only something so fine crafted could manage would be launched into the shoulder of the attacker before he could react. The third man staring, and then breaking to run.     There were things scarier out there in the night. As anything might shudder away from the approaching Illyana.. Things scarier than any mere assassin could hope to be.
Stephen Strange	Illyana's commentary is meant with a simple nod. They do not need to be magic users to know that the threesome are in over their heads. They just didn't know it yet. The attempted mugging is over almost before it began. With one on the ground with a broken shoulder and another with a blade sticking out of the opposite shoulder, there is little really that needed to happen. However, there is a third that attempts to run. And...it is that third person that Strange decides to play with. As the would-be thief starts to sprint, a quick flick of the wrists from Strange betrays an even quicker conjuration of a portal, a dark hole opening on the ground just before the sprinter, faster than he can react to it. In goes the sprinter, disappearing from view. Another twist of the fingers and a companion portal opens, about 5 feet above the second person, nursing that dagger to the shoulder. And...out comes the sprinter, crying out in surprise as he falls down on top of his compatriot in a rather comical, but nasty fall. Like he ran full tilt into his own partner. Which is exactly what he did. And...betrays the fact that Strange is at least passingly familiar with video game physics. The sorcerer then walks up, offering a nod to the redhead as Strange takes a moment to examine the knife. "Good evening, Ms Romanoff." Got to appreciate those SHIELD connections. It is how Strange recognized Natasha in the first place. "I do apologize in interfering with your...fun. I could not help but notice that the knife you threw is particularly well-crafted. And...carrying a mystical residue that is most unusual. I hope you didn't mind me taking a closer look at it." He doesn't remove the dagger from the shoulder, but he does examine it. Perhaps that is why he threw a person on top of the current sheath of the knife in question. "Might I ask how you obtained it?" Yes, forget about the intrusion, for just a moment. This seems to be more interesting at the present time.
Illyana Rasputina	To Illyana's calculating eye, things look a touch different, segmenting the targets into weak points. Some debilitating, others disabling, and yet fewer fatal. Precision strikes write a tale in cold artistry, inked in the bruised flesh and the bleeding wounds. That scrawl of pain eliciting a grunt where Natasha's first strike connects tells its own story. The man replying by falling from the portal gives another insight. Her gaze thinning into incandescent arctic witchfire flicks after Strange, taking him in in a new light. Reminders for things to recall later. The demon inside sits up very tall indeed. While the situation remains to shake itself out, she stalks closer to the sorcerer and the redhead, by far the least imposing in a way for them. Unfortunately victims possibly considering squirming out of the way aren't going to find it easy for long, considering she plants her booted sole right onto the uninjured man's back and steps up onto him -- and the pile. Bending forward threatens balance, but with her arms out, she manages quite well. "Maybe you think 'now I run.' You think about doing something stupid, da?" The black-lipped smile widens, pearly teeth so bright. The glimmer in her eyes is wild. "I think you should try. See what will happen." All this while the perfectly plain business between Avenger and Sorcerer Supreme takes place, a matter their victims can clearly be distracted from. Or they might just find themselves at the ringside for a brawl between someone stabbed, someone with a broken shoulder, and someone scared witless. Forget about the intrusion for a minute, really. They can have a proper chat while the girl in the dark clothes stands atop the heap. All in a day's work, honest.
Natasha Romanova	Natasha Romanoff would watch over with interest as Strange played with the man and the laws of physics. Disorienting even from the perspective of an outsider. Her attention would be on that for a few moments as she would allow.. "Useful ability. Not something I would ever wish to undergo." She would dip her head to Strange. "Doctor, a pleasure." Giving a nod to Illyana, "Miss Rasputina." She would offer in proper Russian. "I take it that even sorcerors go on walks it seems. And of course. Just do give me a moment.." She would take the knife out from the man, and go to gingerly clean it and then offer it over, along with the one in her other sleeve. "They were a gift from the proprietess of Rococco's Bookstore and Wine Club. She was far too nice, I did nothing to earn such fine things as these." They would be freely offered up to Strange, by the hilts gingerly. She would watch at Illyana, "And you do lovely work." She would offer while Strange took the daggers.
Stephen Strange	"Another matter brought us here." An answer is given, even if the question wasn't asked, as Stephen takes the throwing knives just as carefully as they were handed to him. "I will admit that I wasn't expecting to be witnessing a thwarted mugging attempt, though my attention was admittedly drawn more to these implements here." A hand runs over the top of the hilts as Stephen's head tilts to the side...a classic tell that he is interested. "Traces of....Faltine, I would say? Dark Dimension, certainly, though not initially the incursion that I originally sensed. Still...a most intriguing situation." The daggers are handed back, as Stephen shifts to look up to the Queen of the mountain of would-be criminals. "Enjoying yourself?" There is actually a bit of laughter in those words. There is amusement there, certainly. "I am sorry I took the initiative. Should any of them move, you have free reign to do as you will. Just as long as they remain intact and whole." No maiming while Stephen is around. It will just end up making a mess...
Illyana Rasputina	"Rococo is very good. We went there for drinks." And Illyana has a fondness for bookstores, surprise! She surfs atop the squirming mound of humanity, quite nonplussed about physically standing on actual injured persons, even if they should happen to be criminals. Lowlifes who get what comes to them, at least in the somewhat shifty trouble crowning them. "How are Ms. Warrior and her friend?" she asides, in case either Natasha or Stephen have remotely a clue of who she might be talking about. The blonde's clarification is utterly faded by the fact the ground she's on moves a good deal and they definitely /don't/ appreciate her on them. Or having a bleeding shoulder that she does absolutely nothing to fix, though at least she could probably staunch it by squishing it with a boot. "Smell like steel and smoke. The incursion was motor oil and burnt sage." Up goes her chin, and she avoids being knocked off, her smirk nothing stronger. "You carry fancy knives all day?" she asides to Natasha. Intent upon her conquest, she rolls her heel a bit when someone tries to knock her off again with an arm. "They are your quarry. You can have them." A hand stretches out, fingers curled in glimmering black, tea warmed still to Stephen. In case he wants to bring her down.
Natasha Romanova	Natasha Romanoff would dip her head, "Of course Doctor. Thank you." Her taking them back and going to slide them up into the position in her sleeves they had been previously. "And I don't think they'll be causing any further trouble." She would nod politely to Illyana, "We should exchange notes sometime. You do excellent work." She would watch the duo, "Do appreciate the rest of your evening together. I hope you have a pleasant walk." She would give each of them a bow and fold her hands together. "I'll be taking another run and seeing if I can get some exercises in."