Owner	Pose
Illyana Rasputina	Portals conveniently opening up wherever they like is a hallmark of Illyana, but the truth is, she has feet. She has the ability to walk and open doors as well as anyone. Unsurprisingly, the doors to the Sanctum may certainly open if prompted, unless warded in a distinct message to keep out, stay out, be out. Her fingertips brush over the door handle in introduction, then push inward to allow her past the snakes and books and glorious, vaulted entryway. Her typical way of announcing "Honey, I'm home!" might just be walking audibly along, though in this case, she eyes one of the snakes making comments about her black pants slung low on her hips. "You know I hear you," she comments askance. English, because doubtful the talking snakes with aspersions to cast know Russian. "You keep your forked tongue behind your teeth or I barbecue you and leave you listening to a chorus of harpies, da? Hungry harpies. Who like fat little snake tummies." Hello to you too, Strange.
Stephen Strange	If it was possible for a snake to look bashful....well, this one would be it. Whatever conversation that there might have been silences quickly...and eye contact is avoided. Actively and aggressively avoid. Seems that Illyana might have struck a nerve...perhaps some ancient fear deep dark down within the former gossip. Or, it could very well be that something doesn't want to be eaten. Fear is a powerful motivator. Something that the sorceress with low-slung pants knows all too well. Stephen, for his part, watches the exchange with just a hint of amusement. Oh, he knew perfectly well when Illyana entered the Sanctum. The Sanctum itself is very good at keeping him alert....and keeping him abreast of the latest gossip as well, should he care for it. Usually, he doesn't. That isn't the same for the blonde threatening culinary torture, however. "Hello to you as well, my dear." The soft baritone intones from somewhere over Illyana's left shoulder, from a door that wasn't there before. As Stephen steps through, the seemingly wooden aperture remains in place...until eyesight is broken from it, and it just isn't there anymore. Cheeky thing, that door. "Shall I break out the grilling supplies now?" That slight smirk grows into a smile. Yes, he certainly heard the exchange, as his own grey eyes shift to cast a glance over to the offending creature. That glance, short as it may be, has a definite message. It says, 'You're on your own.' But, then the eyes return to the blonde, as the smile remains. "I imagine your day goes well?" Yes, it seems that Stephen knows the trick of when in doubt, regroup and focus on small talk. Time-honoured doctor diversion, executed perfectly.
Illyana Rasputina	Never mind the actual danger lies in the harpies singing off-key, as immortal beings can, instead of ripping into skinny little snakes. Since snakes are all belly up to their face, however, the danger could be assumed to be predatory in nature. The swinging blonde hair and confident stride are fairly normal for Illyana, though she's bothered to bunch up her bangs using a couple barrettes to gather the heavy fringe to the sides. She carries a bag of oranges, considering upending them into a nearby bowl if she doesn't reach the kitchen before interruption. And naturally, there's the interruption emerging from a space inside the greatest enchanted house this side of London. Bigger on the inside, naturally. A turn of her head puts her face in profile, slanting frozen-blue eyes seeking the Sorcerer Supreme. "Is it not the grilling holiday on Monday? We could. Do you need practice? The way people carry on, it's like all American men know how to grill as soon as they are born. Small babies, waving around spatulas. Toddlers and their lighter fluid." Her mouth curls up, and she turns to face him, tossing the resolve to wander into the kitchen to the wind. Stephen has roughly eight seconds to run. "I defend my thesis this afternoon. Rescued some teenagers yesterday. Banished evil ravens to Gotham -- very sneaky of me. Tell me why it is not a good day?" Danger, danger, danger. If a hug is danger, falling a step forward to be caught.
Stephen Strange	Harpies with dissonant harmonies. Invisible extra-dimensional invaders with too many arms and teeth. Blonde Hell-Lords offering hugs. All of these are crises in and of themselves. And yet, Stephen doesn't seem to be dissuaded. It could be that his ego carries him through. Or, rather, the hazard provides its own excitement. Regardless of the reason, the eight second window dwindles as Stephen remains steadfast. And...talks about grilling. "Oh, you mean Memorial Day. Honestly, I am one of the few that do not grill. Though, to be perfectly frank, any holiday is an excuse for most of the American male persuasion to grill. I have heard of those who have the unfortunate disposition of living in the upper Midwest grilling in sub-zero temperatures....just because it was a Saturday. Do not doubt the tenacity of a less-educated prejudice male raised by even less-educated prejudice parents." That window of escape is desperately thin. "Banishing ravens to Gotham. Would anyone even notice?" Most likely not...
Illyana Rasputina	All the dangers in the world, and the one he's bound to face is the simplest of them: a Russian blonde hazarding a crash-landing. No crash, is there? Or maybe there is, since he doesn't seem to open his arms too much to capture her when worried far more about grilling. The male persuasion grilling anything at all while Minnesota is still a frozen wasteland is something a Siberian would chuckle at, but the hell mouths opening in the tundra as global warming accelerates might put the idea of grilling out to pasture. They have to worry about massive wildfires now. "Your people are strange," she announces right before they connect, collisions scored lightly on shoulder to shoulder, arms enveloping the taller man and Stephen used as an anchor. She might have to contemplate, later, if this too is a step too far, but frankly, she doesn't care while in the moment. A peck to his cheek conveys warmth. "How do you do?"
Stephen Strange	Crashing is adverted as the arms open just in time to take in the Russian. And, the sentiment is heard...and responded to just as the pair connects. "All people are strange. My people are just stranger than most." As Illyana's arms wrap about Stephen, so too does his take her in. The taller of the two is certainly willing to be the leaning post, remaining still for Illyana. Even the light kiss is received with no misgivings. Apparently, Illyana has not yet crossed over to impertinence, if such is possible with Stephen. A moment of silent contemplating, stretching almost to the point of uncomfortableness. Then, a response. "I do well. Particularly in this moment, better than expected. Though, you certainly have been busy." Master of the mystic arts, yes...but also master of the understatement. "You should not stress yourself so." That...is said with a straight face and unwavering voice. And...that is, in itself, highly hilarious. For they both know Stephen's proclivity of working. And stressing. It is practically second nature to him.
Illyana Rasputina	"Our people, Stephen. My drivers license says so." The drivers license she shouldn't actually have for another several years, but beggars from Limbo can't be choosers in who in the X-Men cadre dabbles her records around. She is quite the content leaning post, forgetting about the bag of oranges. It lands on the ground with a rather tissue-heavy thud, a bit like organs rolling around in a knit container. Too bad, and there can be nothing for it. Too late for her to save them. The most she can do is help Stephen avoid stepping on them. A moment of contemplation with her chin on his shoulder and cheek to his jaw, that makes his statement all the sillier in some ways. "What was that they say about idle hands?" Hers, calloused; his, scarred. One is easy enough to catch while she turns while they remain embraced, a dance of a kind. "What keeps you so busy, Doctor? I should have you lounging in Tahiti, da?"
Stephen Strange	"What keeps me busy? Well, now that is a topic that is certainly less exciting than what one might think." Of course, Stephen doesn't actually mention what exactly keeps him busy. Monitoring known reality as this dimension sees it? Child's play, right?? Sealing cracks between realms? Just need a trowel and some spackle. Piece of cake. Then...the thought of tropical locales, and the former surgeon offers a response, with tongue placed firmly in cheek. "Though, lounging on an island, wearing Bermuda shorts and sipping a drink? Sounds absolutely dreadful." Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Stephen Strange knows how to crack a joke or two.
Illyana Rasputina	"I will be the judge of excitement. Did you surprise SHIELD? Steal books from bad people? Replace a gem in a museum with one that does not eat people emotions?" Illyana rapidly fires off the many possibilities with a consummate ease, having probably pondered them at one point or another. "Did you fix the sink? It drains slow. I am sure there is something not crawling up the pipes." These wisdoms she shares easily, leaning back to catch his eye and frowning at the good doctor. "Why would you wear a Bermuda short? You would wear a grass skirt. It is appropriate, like the French do." She's a terrible person.