Owner	Pose
Glamour	The problem with never needing to sleep, even in the city that supposedly never does, is that you wind up with a lot of spare time to kill. That's why the soft, blue-glowing, six inch tall resevoir of faerie magic is hanging out above a street corner, perched upon a fire escape, blending into the ambient background light and just sort of... people watching. Surely, something has to happen at some point which requires a HERO, right? Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all. "What I wouldn't give for, like, a police scanner," she grumbles. Life's hard when your default size is on par with a barbie doll.
Stephen Strange	Even in a city as teeming with life as New York it is still possible to find those individual, gossamer threads that tell of more unusual 'energies'. The wild magic of the Fae is one such reservoir of power, and it is unfamiliar enough in this place of glass and steel that the Sorcerer Supreme can zero in on it. As Glamour perches on the fire escape, the air before her seems to coalesce. What was the ambient corona of a streetlamp seems to take shape if not substance, presenting the image of a man in a high-collared cloak. He is largely translucent with an odd glow about him, but perhaps the most notable fact of his appearance is that he is little bigger than the fairy herself. His image floats cross-legged in the air, slender hands folded neatly in his lap. "Or senses more attuned to the unnatural."
Glamour	"...ahhhhh!" Glamour tumbles end over end of the perch she was on and lands om the platform of the fire escape. She does realize all she had to do to stop tht was flap her wings, right? Apparently not. She does burst back upwards, up right, clearly embarassed. "...r-right! Th-those too," she stammers. "AH... hi?" Her voice is, well... Clearly, a little musical. A little...bell-like, if one would *really* have to reach for an instrument to describe it. Because /of course/ it is.
Stephen Strange	"Hello," the apparition answers, his tone pleasant enough though distracted - as if focusing on something else, "I am Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. Are you familiar?" It's not up to him to know who is aware of the mystical hierarchy and who isn't. It's not as if there's a website for all of this (there could be, but he hasn't seen it). The image of Doctor Strange floats closer, or at least appears to be closer, to stay within conversational distance with Glamour. "My apologies for startling you. I'd come in person, but I have ... business."
Glamour	"I've heard of you, yeah," says Glamour, blinking big blue eyes at him. "Wow. I wasn't sure I'd ever actually meet you but I figured it was probably inevitable because... Clea," she gives her wings a little flutter, spinning around in the air once and leaving a trail of ridiculous sparkles behind her. "SOoooooo, uh, nice t omeet you. What can I help the master of the mystic arts with?" she asks, her expression going from wary to warm to almost excited in a rapid sequence.
Stephen Strange	"Ah," Strange says, his voice strangely stilted for a second, "Clea. Yes." He trails off, and for a second the lambent image of him flickers and threatens to fade away. But he somehow recaptures it, once more taking definitive form there in the mental image that only Glamour can see. "To put it plainly, yours is an unusual power. I understand you've yet to properly grasp it's uses, but the power is there regardless, and the City will have need of it shortly."
Glamour	"Rrrreaallllly?!" Glamour squeaks. The Master of the Mystic arts. Is here. Telling her the city will have NEED of her. "Y-Yes! I'll do whatever I can to help, Mister Strange! DOctor. Doctor strange! I am here and ready to help. Yes! Totally ready." A pause. "....what are we teaming up for? I mean... beyond the obvious. Unless it is the obvious! In which case I am utterly, obviously ready to help!" She's /thrilled/. It did not take much to elate the faerie.
Stephen Strange	"You may have heard the reference to the heart and soul of cities," the Doctor explains, still hovering there, "These are distorted retellings of the truth. Every city, if it is inhabited long enough, develops a life of its own. This life essence could be described as a soul." The image of Doctor Strange gestures vaguely eastward, towards Brooklyn, Queens, and Long Island beyond. "The taking of Bushwick has grievously wounded the City's soul. There is work to be done to help heal it. All you need to know for now is that you must be ready."
Glamour	"Ready... how? Is there something I can do to /get/ ready? I can help. Just tell me how." She claps her hands together in front of her. Then she looks at her hands. SHe is a faerie. Clapping. This has connotations shje is aware of. She quickly places her hands together behind her back. Wings flutter. Sparkles! "I'm gonna be ready as ready ever was."
Stephen Strange	There are stories about Doctor Strange. Those stories talk about how infuriatingly vague he can be. How he will reveal only the pieces of the puzzle that need revealing, often leaving those he works with even more confused than they were originally. Tonight, seems to be no exception as the phantom image of the Sorcerer Supreme begins to fade. "I'm sure you will be. Just stay in the City and when you see my sign, be there." Slowly, the light loses its definition and once more becomes a simple shifting splash of sulphur yellow upon the brickwork. Though he's gone, something about his presence still lingers in the air. The palm of the fairy's hand clasped behind her back itches briefly, and should it be drawn away will show a circle with strangely curving lines at odd angles. The Seal of the Vishanti. For a second it is black like a fresh tattoo, and then it is gone.
Glamour	She's caught off guard by all of this, of course, but it's clearly very exciting. She stares down at her hand as the image appears upon it now that the Doctor himself is gone. "...the heck," she mutters. "What'd he do? Aw, fuck it. This is the best day *ever*." A pause. "Best day since I became a faerie. Maybe I'll even get to do something USEFUL for once!" She spins in the air and then soars up into the sky, positively delighted with her good fortune. At least, what she thinks is her good fortune.