ᴅᴀʀᴋᴄʜɪʟᴅᴇ (magiks) wrote in avengers_logs, @ 2021-06-25 13:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | -complete, illyana rasputin, stephen strange |
WHO: Illyana & Dr. Strange
WHAT: Visting 177A, taming the demon fridge, a rice krispy treat
WHERE: New York Sanctum, then a deli
STATUS: Complete
177A Bleeker Street. Greenwich Village. Illyana had written down the address and studied it a few times - she wanted to get her bearings (and try the venti coffee with iced cubes) first, figure out what she would do. She liked having a plan, it helped her maintain control over a situation - and ever since she’d been relocated to the Tower place she’d learned she could have her own apartment there. A Starbucks in the lobby and another cafe or two on Floor 22 - she’d poked around on other floors as well, perhaps being a bit nosy but if there was something bad about the building, she needed to know. So far it seemed safer than where she’d ever been, which was jarring to think about - she could even go to school. She probably wasn’t going to give up the retro ‘punk’ vibe she had going on - it was her preferred way to express herself with clothing and now that she wasn’t constantly being told what was best for her, (as if anyone else would know), wasn’t locked away because she was dangerous or someone else’s experimental toy so she had certain freedoms to look forward to. A black top paired with jean shorts, tights that plunged into boots, and a chain collar - she blended in well enough as she made her way to Greenwich Village; the only difference was, not every other punk had a toy puppet tucked into their back pocket, a purple dragon who - for a time - had been her only friend. Taking something of the long way, she rode the subway and wandered the small Village streets, past hole-in-the-wall cafes and other shops that exuded bohemian charm; she liked looking at the architecture, the brownstones with beautiful windows and some others with low-hanged hipped rooftops. A lot of it smelled like old fish, and when she passed a candy store she caught a whiff of watermelon and strawberry - then leather from the fetish shop across the way. It was an interesting mix. She didn’t have any money on her so she didn’t stop - but by the time she got to 177A she wished she had, because she was hungry and her boots weren’t broken in enough for this much traveling. But she pressed on - and lifted the knocker at the door to rap it ominously, already liking the creepy vibe this townhouse gave off. The door latch popped open slowly on the double doors and they swung open to let her in in what was surely a spell. The interior of the Sanctum was dimly lit, the furnishings old Victorian pieces, threadbear velveteen along chair seams or wood stain worn around a table's edges. Every piece seemed to be both well loved and well used. The floor around the grand staircase was a marble inlay with a radiating design, warm in color despite the cold that radiated outward from within. It was like walking into a tomb, but a tomb filled with many powerful sorcerers and all of their forbidden knowledge. With just one problem.... The sorcerer guarding said tomb wasn't in view. Not yet. There was, however, the sounds of life from inside the old house. This was in the form of crashing noises from somewhere slightly left off the foyer. "The Bolts of Balthakk will drive you back, demon!" a stern voice commanded, followed by a loud electrical buzz and a door slamming shut repeatedly and angirly. "Cough up the tikka masala and I'll let you off easy this time!" There was a mighty crash, this time it ended with a sloppy splat. "...I didn't mean literally cough it up. Just...behave for a second. We'll pick this up later." Not more than five seconds later, Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, walked into view. He was dressed in his mystics garb, but the toe of one boot had what looked like curry splattered all over it. Lunch was obviously hard to get in this part of the Village. "Hello, Illyana," he said, quickly moving his hands so the sauce disappeared with a few fiery looking embers floating upward. That didn't stop the aroma of curry from hanging in the air, unfortunately for them both. "Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum." If there was disaster afoot, that’s where Illyana headed - it was in her nature to do so, you see. She was something of a trouble magnet and always had been, picked up by the authorities after an unfortunate (ha, not really) incident where she’d killed more than a dozen dirty men - that’s what led to her ‘extended stay’ on Genosha, but apparently now she was rid of that place with its exterior injected with beach weather and sunshine to make a pretty postcard picture; when you looked past all of that, you saw more filth. A shame, really - but when one had enough money, they too could turn an island into their own personal science experiment. She slipped Lockheed onto her hand so he could investigate too - they both headed toward the sounds of the clanging and banging, and that’s when she saw the doctor-sorcerer in all of his fancy magic glory. Her interest was piqued, because magic sought out other magic - this was different from her sorcery, which she had a tremulous grasp on. Maybe other people would find a place like this to be off-putting but she found it warm and comforting almost immediately. Then again, she was never what could be considered ‘normal.’ “Lockheed says not the curry for lunch today,” she replied, after she’d lifted the dragon to her ear so he could ‘speak’ to her. “But something else, maybe.” She stepped forward, eager to have a look around, and tried to peer past the doctor’s rippling red cloak into the kitchen. “Can I see?” The cloak rippled off to the side to try to block the view of the old kitchen, which had an even more ominous aura to it. The sorcerer wearing the cloak didn't look very amused, but he did stare at that hand puppet with a squint, like he recognized something that was more than what it seemed too. When it occurred to him, he gently batted the cloak down with one hand. "That puppet is a fetish to house a familiar," he deduced out loud. It wasn't a question but a definitive statement. "It's a magical construct." The fridge, which had been slamming the door and rattling it's contents, seemed to be listening...or sensing something familiar. The house was full of cursed or possessed objects, and the refrigerator demon had been a long time foe that he had given up trying to make peace with. That led to threats and more lost leftovers than he cared to remember. If she had powers too, he wanted to test her sensitivity to spirits and magic. Stephen guided the cape downward more with one hand, almost like one would pet a hyperactive dog to calm it down. "Let her though," he told the cloak, stepping aside so she could pass. He nodded to Illyana, leaving that hand out to gesture into the kitchen, knowing she could find the fridge immediately. It was on the left, just inside the open entryway. "Go ahead." “Fetish? I like that word choice, doctor,” Illyana complimented, with a grin that exposed her teeth. She did not confirm or deny yet, though she was certain he knew he was correct anyway - instead, she held up the puppet so he could do the answering. “What is it that you think, Lockheed? Are you a magical construct?” Her head tilted a bit to the side, eyes dark sorrel - the color of gravedirt, and she had plenty of secrets buried. Her wrist flexed, and she let the puppet give a nod - yes. Got it in one, doctor. Her grin didn’t dissipate either, only seemed to broaden when she was granted access to the kitchen - the fridge caught her attention immediately when she went inside, gently brushing past Dr. Strange’s cloak and taking a look around. “Oh - “ That fridge beckoned and she stepped closer - at first she was tentative but then she placed Lockheed in her back pocket again so she’d have both hands free to lay on the door of the fridge; it was like a switch was flipped and her eyes flooded with electric blue, striking cyan, erasing any sliver of pupil or iris - the mystical energy was summoned and transferred, flowing through her fingertips. She wanted whatever was in that fridge to feel it - to be comforted by it, perhaps. Then it was quiet in the kitchen - the fridge was still, and she carefully opened the door to peek inside. “There is cheese, if you want this instead.” He smirked wryly at the fetish joke, but Stephen hung back otherwise, watching the exchange from the doorway. He didn't think she was harmful, but anyone that communed so easily with demons could be a threat if left unchecked. If she knew what it was she was doing, which he wasn't entirely sure she knew the extent of such a capability. He was hungry, but he preferred knowledge to food. His stomach would have to wait. "I'll pass and get some takeout," he replied, slowly, weighing out his next words before uttering them. "Demonic control is risky. There was none of the inherent backlash associated with encountering hellborn entities. Who trained you to imbue items with a spirit and commune with demonic forces?" Illyana shrugged, reaching for the cheese (was it munster cheese? Looked that way) and decided she’d eat a slice or two because it seemed safe and she was used to snacking on small things to sustain herself rather than sitting down for big meals - something of a bottomless pit, really, but that could hardly be helped. Then she let Lockheed rest beside her as she hopped up onto the counter like any bad kitty who enjoyed putting their butt on surfaces where other people ate off of - except she was covered, so it was different. “No one showed me this,” she replied, tucking one knee over the other. One piece of cheese was broken into pieces, and she worked at it gradually. “I had no training. Unless you count what happened in the white coat lab on the island but they were not so interested in teaching. Only place I learned was my special place. I made it.” All magic required sustenance as well as strength of will, and a power pool to pull from. It existed in some places more than others, and the Sanctum was rich with it. It hung thick in the air like it could be reached out and touched, something tangible to be grasped hold of. Illyana's special place was of interest. Self-taught, he wondered if she stumbled across a way to train in the Mirror Dimension. After seeing her interact with the feisty fridge, he suspected her special place was probably an opening into a place that most people would probably run screaming from. Under the circumstances she found herself in, it was probably a case of out of the pan and into the fire. "No, he doesn't count. I doubt he knows magic at all, only science. What is the special place that you made?" He came in, resting a hand on the fridge, which seemed strangely placated right now. For how long that might last, he wasn't certain. "You've got an impressive amount of power for being self-taught, Illyana." Power that could either do a lot of good or a lot of evil. Maybe a little of both. It wasn't like he was perfect either, considering he brought people back from the dead with the Time Stone. Damn the consequences. "I'm going to the deli on the corner," he offered. "I'll buy you something if you want to join me. That cheese isn't going to last long." Not only that, but he wasn't sure when he last put that cheese in there. But he was pretty sure it wasn't munster at the time. Whenever that was. Impressive amount of power. That was flattering to hear - even a bit surprising, and Illyana blinked feather-duster lashes as she munched on cheese. That may potentially give her food poisoning - well, there were worse ways to die. And she would know (because she’d been directly responsible for her fair share of shuffling nasties off the mortal coil). “I will tell you about my special place,” she decided, accent curling around the words - heavy, Russian, invoking images of endless snow banks and architecture spiraling upward in the shape of a candle’s flame. Some found her accent to be dark and mysterious, others thought she was always flirting with them given the way it sounded - but whatever it was, she didn’t plan to erase it even while in America. It was part of who she was. “At the deli.” Her stomach growled as if recognizing the brilliance of that plan - and she quickly polished off that ancient cheese with no trepidation whatsoever, then jumped down off the counter. Lockheed was placed back on her hand, and she went to go stand by Dr. Strange. “We will walk there?” Different areas often had different schools of magic, even at its barest rudimentary levels it still existed. Regional folklore playing a large part, passed on disguised as fairy tales from parents to their children and their children after them. He would need to look into any Russian magic books to see if anything useful might be gleaned. If anything, he wanted to know more. He was really going to need to clean out that fridge now that it was temporarily tamed. He was pretty sure that it was only spitting out the food that was still good, and leaving the rest to percolate in the hopes that he would get sick after forcing it open. Every day was a battle with the fridge, if he didn't end up grabbing some street food in exotic locations. There was something about basic American foods that was comforting. In an instant, the cloak lifted away and his clothing seemed to shift from blue, to grey and khaki. It was standard street clothes, the sort of comfortable worn in pieces that doctors and surgeons wore after they finished a shift. "We can walk there," he said, nodding toward the front doors. "I could open a portal, but it's so close it's not even worth it. How do you usually get around?" Oh, good - Illyana’s next question after ‘we will walk there?’ was going to be ‘and are you wearing that?’ but it seemed as if Dr. Strange answered it for her. Not that she would have minded if he looked like a magician - it seemed to suit him. “I walk,” she said, fingers doing a little dance in the air that was supposed to represent two legs zipping along. “I do not care for the bus.” Or driving but she didn’t have a license and didn’t really know how to drive anyway - details. However, she suspected Dr. Strange meant something else, especially since he mentioned portals. “Or I say the magic words and I open a portal too.” The deli really was on the corner, at the end of Bleeker Street - and they had iced coffee, which she noticed when she popped up to the window to look at the menu that was posted there before going inside. “Cheeseburger,” was what she chose. This place had the deli smell - like wet socks left in the rain, both appetizing and unpleasant all at once. “Lockheed, no - “ She moved her hand to and fro. “You can’t have the french fries.” He very nearly said that wasn't what he meant, and didn't seem too surprised that she knew how to use portals. She was what would be called an adept, like he was, and while he usually seemed too busy to help with training like Wong and the others were, he was certain that Illyana wouldn't require too much help. She seemed to learn things on her own, like he did, and was just as impulsive as he could be. If anything, they both seemed to suffer from chronic over competence. They had stopped to look at the menu sign, full of the standard fare. A tuscan panini didn't sound too bad, and he'd definitely have to get a tuna sandwich for Wong, who wouldn't be able to pay for it. Wong usually brought things like curry fishballs back for him, so it was an equal trade. And the stinky tofu with chili sauce wasn't half as bad as he initially thought it was. It grew on him quickly. For now, though, things were a little more tame. Despite the fact two sorcerers were standing outside of a deli, deciding what to eat. "Magical constructs need offerings too," Stephen said, eyeing the puppet. He opened the door, holding it open for her to go inside. Almost everyone in the neighborhood had seen him around, and knew that odd things seemed to happen around him. However, no one seemed to mind when a lot of those odd things ended up fixing the neighborhood, or protecting the area from crime. "A familiar can grow stronger outside of whatever element or dimension they were drawn from. If they're given offerings. Let's get Lockheed some french fries." There was no telling how she came across the creature, or created him as a form of coping mechanism. If he had been young and in Genosha and had such an ability, he probably would have done the same. Or astral projected out to avoid the worst of any situation, if the portals failed to work. There was a brief look of delight that flashed in her eyes, molten honey, but Illyana tended to play her cards close to her chest - and play it cool (or crass) more often than not. However, the delight over getting Lockheed fries was definitely genuine. She went inside and waited, letting him do the ordering while she contemplated stealing some of the bubblegum or candy or a rice krispie treat from the display at the front counter - but then decided against it, since she thought maybe she should behave for at least forty-eight hours. Maybe. But while they were waiting for paninis and burgers to be grilled, she scooted closer to Dr. Strange and leaned against the counter, propped on her elbows. “When I was young things were...not good for me,” she started. “I would escape to my special place with Lockheed when I wanted to feel safe. Then one day it just - became real, because we went there so much. It is a place called Limbo, this place I made up in my head. It is a magical place.” While they waited, he picked up a few things nearby. Some iced coffee drinks, some snacks that he knew Wong liked, along with a pack of bubblegum and that rice crispy treat he saw Illyana eyeing. He paid for everything, his fingers still fumbling more than he liked when taking out some money from a wallet that he only looked like he drew out of his back pocket. It was quickly tucked back into the pocket space that it came out of. "Limbo." His mouth formed the word as he remembered reading in one of the old texts about such a place. One of the splinter dimensions that split off from the Dark Dimension. It could be reached by the Winding Road which once reached all the way to Nornheim, before Asgard fell. "You found your own safe place to hide in, and Lockheed's been with you for a while then. I've read about it, but haven't yet been there. Limbo's a real place. It's exceedingly difficult to get there without opening a doorway. It's likely that you have developed a natural access point between this reality and that one." Which she did, likely, by teleportation. He nudged over the treats and drink to her, and waited until no one was looking before using a spell to open his own. Sure, he could conjure drinks, but nothing could rival the flavor of coffee in a can on the go. Illyana, not used to people doing things for her (like buying her food - she was what we would call a scrounge and would often fend for herself), was not so ungrateful that she couldn’t react properly. She was a bit surprised, yes, but not ungrateful - hence why she murmured a silky spasibo (‘thank you’ in Russian) before taking the rice krispy treat and pulling some of the plastic off so she could bite into it. Though she noticed Dr. Strange used magic to open a drink, a canned one - interesting. “You have heard of Limbo?” This also surprised her - though not in a bad way. “I can get there very easy. I just say the magic words - when I move around I use Limbo as a middle point. Sometimes. There is...much I do not know yet,” she admitted, popping the top of her own drink and taking a swig of sweet, sweet life-giving coffee. It was one of her favorite things, now that she was free from the island and its prisons. “But you will help me?” Maybe that wasn’t why he asked her to come over. That wasn’t going to stop her from trying to find a kindred spirit - she hadn’t found one yet, ever. And she had trouble keeping track of time in Limbo - she didn’t even know how old she really was (older than she thought, perhaps) or how long she had truly spent there when she and Lockheed would escape to be safe. "I've read about it," he said, "in books about other dimensions and how to reach them. Limbo has been cut off for a very long time. It's almost impossible for sorcerers to reach that place, after Ragnarok. It's thought to be as far as any mortal wizard could travel without sleeping, dying, or being subjected to some sort of mystical transformation." He thought these things over, but it didn't take him long to see that they were - he suspected - like two sarcastic square pegs that didn't fit into the world's standardized round holes. That included their magic. He could be inventive with spellcasting on the fly, but it was only because he had a wealth of knowledge instantly memorized. Illyana hadn't had that benefit and was self trained. Seeing here now, he found that he didn't want her to get stuck in Limbo without some way of protecting herself or being able to come back from it. If she knew the way already, then she could likely benefit from using a sling ring if she was blocked from teleporting somehow. Limbo was said to be full of demons, and not all of them might as easy to placate as his refrigerator was. After he was handed the bag of food, he looked over and said, "I'll help you. The only thing I want in return is that you won't use what you learn to kill. You can use it to defend yourself and others who can't defend themselves. Do that, and I'll gather the first pile of books for you about dimensional and astral travel." He watched her closely, waiting for her answer. Books. Reading and study - maybe this would be like school after all. And the stipulation about not killing anyone, using the new knowledge she would learn - Illyana could agree to that. True, she puffed her chest out and acted proud about the way she had killed the men, the scum, who had used her ever since she was a girl - and she was proud - but she didn’t particularly have a taste for murder. Even if being so intricately connected to a dimension chock-full of demons meant that she was swathed in darkness anyway - always a little out of step with everyone else on the Earthy plane, always different. Limbo called to her, and she was still trying to figure out why. She took a long, leisurely sip of her coffee - watched Dr. Strange too. Complete with that creepy little head tilt and copper penny irises, an echo of blood - metallic warmth - rushing to the surface of skin, shining right back at him. Sluuuuuuuuuuuuurp on the coffee. “I will give you what you want,” she agreed. “No killing.” Maybe one day she would tell him about the bad men she had killed, but he likely wouldn’t find it as impressive as she did - granted, much of that was part of her story. An unfortunate fact. He would listen whens he told him. He would treat criminals, civilians, anyone that needed his help. He was about preserving human life. Even the lives of those he didn't like. But he wasn't about to preach if she opened up to tell him more about what she did to survive. Which he guessed, considering a place like Limbo was her safe space to escape to. "Then we have a deal. We'll start tomorrow around noon." Illyana could probably use some more rest while settling in and he needed time to ask Wong where certain books were. "I'll have the books by then." He looked at the bag with their lunch in it and asked her, "Want to have lunch in the relics room?" Why not? Some of the relics got bored without some conversation going on. “I will come back at noon tomorrow,” Illyana promised. “And yes, I would like to see all of the relics too.” The creepier, the better - and if she could make friends with them, that was a bonus. It didn’t take her much longer to work on that rice krispie treat - ooey gooey marshmallow, it was sticky and delicious and she’d been hungry so she packed it away. Plus that coffee gave her a nice buzz through her veins on the walk back. She was probably going to become addicted to the stuff but that was alright, wasn’t it? Lots of people were. At least it wasn’t hardcore drugs. Or alcohol. Once she was within the walls of the Sanctum (and those walls thrummed with mystical energy, like the whole place was built on a nerve center of magic too - it was fascinating) she spoke up with a, “Wait,” and another of those toothy grins. Then, with a ripple of electric blue energy, Lockheed became a real dragon. Purple skin and a scaly tail and wings - he couldn’t look this way in public (for the safety of them both), he had to remain in his toy form, but here it was alright. “I know what you want,” she told the dragon, who flapped his wings impatiently - she rummaged in the bag and handed him the container of fries, which he snatched up in his claws. Nom nom, fries. Stephen watched as the puppet changed into its true form, set loose from the physical confines of cloth and thread. He expected it to be a beast, he could sense it, but to actually see it made him all the more impressed that Illyana had managed that much already all on her own. In some ways, being self taught meant that one was only limited by their own imagination. His new student was going to keep him on his toes. Which was what he needed, since the Sanctum was quiet, save for music, the demon fridge, and the occasional plink of a relic trying to break out of magically enhanced glass. "Hello, Lockheed. Nice to meet you," he said with a nod of acknowledgement. He began to walk upstairs, knowing she was probably interested enough by the mention of relics to follow. Plenty had spirits housed in them, and someday she'd probably root out every single one and tell him what she sensed from them. "You two will like it upstairs." There was a second staircase to the top floor, and dark hallways to unknown rooms on either side. Before they got there, he had to give them another warning. "Don't touch anything that has a warning sign, and don't let anything out of the display cases. The books are safe, unless there's a lock on it. Those ones bite." Or worse, in some cases. Some books were dangerous, just with the knowledge they contained. He didn't expect that Illyana wouldn't be able to handle it though, if she was familiar with demonic entities. This was going to be an adventure for the three of them, and Stephen was looking forward to it. |