Pretty things...
Dr. Strange and his flamboyant arrival was barely an hour old when Nathaniel stood opposite Eva in her reception room. Her peacock gown was stunning and she herself even more stunning within its ruffles. Nate, dressed compatibly but not matching, was befuddled by her radiance. “I have a confession,” the advisor began after he’d temporarily freed himself from her glamour. Caltrops chest rose then fell sharply, arms tucked neatly behind his back. “The forces the Sorcerer Supreme spoke of...” he paused, mostly for effect. “Now that I’m aware of them, I believe I have been benefiting from their presence,” he explained. “Subconsciously, I can sense the darkness seeping from the void,” he stopped only to let a small smirk invade his expression: “without being an actual depressed French nihilist,” Nate added.
Nathaniel's arms slowly untethered themselves and he held them out at waist level for Eva to hold. He didn’t dare muff her dress before the celebration, literal daggers would have been drawn. “Stephen may be correct,” he was, Nate knew that. “But I can’t deny my fascination with my dark impulses... and the things they entice me to do.”