Owner	Pose
Blackagar Boltagon	The slow smile that appears could be considered chilling in many environments, here, it is a mere possibility. Arrogance is the overvaluation of oneself; confidence is the accurate valuation of oneself and it is in the latter Blackagar resides at the moment, or so he would tell himself. <<I carry many weights, far more than most of your ... guests ... to this place. But there is a price to be borne by this being that I will be collecting. Consider it payment. For our safe passage from this place, I will deal with the one that you cannot for your reasons. And if I find some personal retribution in the process, then so be it, hmm?>>
Jane Foster	<<*Retribution can be just. Certainly within the purview of this realm and its facets.*>> The even tone delivers that acknowledgment in a frisson of nebulous flame glazing the rim of his sight. Blackagar stands alone and absolutely not alone at all, that presence beyond his shoulder ringing in the multitudinal voice and the shattered fragments of varied sizes spilled at his feet. <<*Just and fair are not interchangeable. Here, **fair** holds no bearing whatsoever. Concern yourself with the tasks set before you and your hands should be amply busy.*>> Arrogance and confidence may be the same feature measured by a different meter stick. Perhaps being doused by the Styx and dumped into a strange building far from home inures a person to the fabulous, the unbelievable. Another shudder trills through the stained glass windows and upsets a few small shards, scattering them widely. After a pause, a clarification. <<*Passage is already confirmed. We turned the key and you opened the door. Return may be the least of your concerns.**>> Something draws nearer, a shiver in the warp and weft of reality. Or unreality as this may be.
Blackagar Boltagon	<<I think you may misconstrue my intentions.>> Blackagar points out after a moment, <<I do not mean to simply address the being. I will be removing them. From all realms. From all existence. There will be nothing left when I am concluded.>> Ice. Cold. Hatred and rage that is contained within those shells in order to ensure they do not lash out at others. Oh, how close to losing control has come these past days, weeks, and months? All of it has blended together. But two realities sit. Absolution. Vengeance. And both are within hand reach as it were. It is such a savoring thought that bare acknowledgement of the shifting occurs, but enough does play at his mind to draw attention.
Jane Foster	Cold as the vast stretches of yawning emptiness where no light lies, icy as the chill where light no longer shines. His companion is of that darkness but not dark, birthed from the cosmic void but not static. A broken laugh crackles. Timbre and pitch weave through resonating ionized particles that produce an audible cascade. <<*He reaps what he sowed. If any show him mercy, we shall not.*>>
Blackagar Boltagon	<<Good. Then we are at an understanding.>> Blackagar pauses then adds as an afterthought, <<As for your denizens that take orders from you. I will avoid them, if they avoid me. But should we cross paths, know that I do not intend to deviate from my task.>> Looking down at himself, he frowns, pondering. Just what does one wear in the realm of Death? A change of clothes, it feels important, as if he should. Some duty of this gravity demanding appropriate demeanor. Not a shirt, jeans, the look of someone who is walking in off the street. Authority. That is the word he is looking for.
Jane Foster	The flickering of gilded flame forms a thin barrier that slides across space, a swirl of nebulous plasma adding another trickle of radiance through the room.Razor edges ignite on the broken glass heap, casting fractal reflections across the mosaic and high as the open oculus in the roof. Footsteps echo down a hallway branching off the hub. The long shadow forewarns someone else's arrival, a silhouette painted in physical detail. No spectre gliding along in silent regard or a frightened shade ever produced such a sound. **Authority**. He certainly holds it over the subject of his approaching him, one Daisy Johnson.