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It's a clear day in New York City, almost on the warm side at the height of the day, though beginning to cool off pleasantly now. In a modest apartment, the windows are open to allow a nice breeze while the woman known as Tigra sits cross-legged on her couch, staring at a magnificent sword on the table in front of her. "'Don't pull strange swords out of rocks,'" she says to herself. "I should write a book with wisdom like that. Things they don't teach you in school."
*
Out of sight, out of mind?
How about 'out of body, out of time?' At least, that's what it's like in Astral form. Strange has been attempting with quiet desperation to find the particular resonance to return to the odd twisted mirror of the current dimension, with its medieval madness and all. Hovering over the Sanctum's rooftop, eyes narrowed, the Sorcerer frankly glares in the direction of Central Park.
"…one good reason, one good reason that I shouldn't banish the whole damn area to the Mirror Dimension permanently," he grouses, arms folded tightly. But…what's this? A very particular and familiar twinkle to his Mystical sight? It's all too easy to fold the Astral space around him and end up outside an apartment window. Oh - oh, it's the sword - the one taken in the first moment where they all realized that there was a foul dark magic at play! That woman, the…tiger-woman, yes, she was the one to remove it.
It's not difficult at all to swish through the open panes. Oh, screw not surprising anyone. Reality parts and the vibrantly-bright, translucent, starlight-brushed Astral form of the Sorcerer Supreme, in his dusky-blue battle-leathers, now hovers on the other side of the table which bears the sword. His voice echoes despite its clarity.
"Do you have any idea what that is?"
*
A tiger person with a sword. Not likely to see many of those around, are you? As for not surprising anyone, well, you know what happens when you surprise a cat? Something not unlike that happens with Tigra. At the appearance of the spectral being before her, Tigra goes from sitting to behind the couch, having leapt and flipped there in a heartbeat. She comes up in a crouch, fingers curl, claws at the ready. When the apparition speaks, she half-rises from the crouch. "Who the hell the what now?" she asks, tail lashing.
*
It's been some time since Strange dealt with the Rakshasi of the hidden temples within the jungles of far India, but the tiger-woman does get the benefit of a reflexive backwards shift on his part of three feet or so. The edges of his form get wispier still, a bit like the mirages in the deserts of the Sahara, for all of a second, a reflection of power drawn forth and then settled back down once again.
Holding up one hand in a symbolic mudra implying relaxation and grace in the moment, he tries again, his tone as patient as possible. "Are you aware of what sword you have on your person?"
*
When he seems to recoil a bit, Tigra stands up fully, standing more easily now. Her tail goes from lashing to a twitch of irritation as she catches the forced patience in his tone, but she fights down the urge to be…catty in response. "Not entirely," she admits, stepping over the back of the couch to sit on it, feet on the seat. "I have suspicions. But why should I share those with you, Mister…whoever you are?"
*
The tail gets a circumspect glance before Strange returns his attention to her face. A flick of both dark eyebrows upwards counter to the narrowed eyes completes his moue of mild annoyance.
"Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. You're welcome to share your suspicions. In fact, please do. I'll let you know if you're wrong."
My my, someone's wearing his sassy pants today.
*
She silent mouths his name, an eyebrow raised as if to say 'Really?' "Well, -doctor-, I'm Tigra, Feline Fantastic." She briefly considers being more coy about what she knows, or suspects, but maybe it's a bit late for that. Plus, well, he probably could have done something already, if he wanted to. She rises from the couch gracefully and picks up the sword. "I pulled it from a stone. I don't know if that makes it -the- sword in the stone, but I think it's too likely for me to be comfortable."
*
The good Doctor in question chews at his cheek for a moment at her cheek — Tigra, then, she's to be called — and eyes the weapon now in her hands again.
"It may have come from a stone, but it's not that particular sword, unfortunately…or fortunately," he muses, drawing a fingertip down one line of his goatee. "You're not the Queen of England now, not by any means. It is magical, however. Can you sense this aspect of it?" He watches her reaction, clearly drawing conclusions by it.
*
The tigress actually seems somewhat relieved to hear that. "I didn't think that I was. I -was- scared that I had…I don't know if changed history is the right way to phrase it, since I don't know if all that actually -is- history or not, but I was worried I had changed…something important by removing it." She holds it respectfully, hand on the hilt, the blade resting against her other hand as she looks over the workmanship of it. "Not really, no. I think I know that it's…special, but I don't know if that's something I'm 'sensing' or if it's just because of how I got it."
*
"It's…incredibly special, if my research is correct." The Sorcerer hovers closer to the table, lightly-pointed boot-toes never touching the floor. He reaches out with a splayed hand and focused squint, the other kept close to his chest in a defensive mudra. Not touching the thing, no, simply stopping short as if the weapon emits a heat and it threatens to burn his palm.
Along the blade, one might catch sight of rippling air above it. Displaced heat…or invisible flames?
Strange's voice takes on an extra timbre as he speaks a Name in a language that Tigra might consider closest to Norwegian were it not for the timelessness of it. The wavering of the air increases and even Tigra might be able to feel a palpable tickling at the hand that supports the blade, as if embers just caught a-flame in another dimension entirely.
*
Somehow Tigra resists the temptation to see if the sword should slice Sorcerer Supreme Strange's spectral self. Instead, she frowns, for she does catch the rippling air. Her fur ripples at the uttering of the Name, and her tail moves with a bit more anxiety. "What is it?" she asks, joking manner gone. "What did you just do?"
*
"Proved something to myself," replies the Sorcerer with a distant tone. He's all eyes for the sword still held oh-so-carefully by Tigra. "Oh, you can set it down," he adds, as if just coming to the realization that she might be uncomfortable with the proceedings. His shimmering form drops a hand towards the coffee table. "The flames are only in within my dimension, currently."
*
A strange man suddenly appears in her home. It's a little late to worry if she's uncomfortable. She does set the sword back down, though, gently and respectfully. It seems it's not Excalibur, but it's still special. "What dimension is that?" she asks. "I can tell you're not completely -here- but I don't know where there is."
*
Maybe he's a little rusty about the definitions of standard social propriety. It probably comes with being able to pop between dimensions whenever he wishes.
"The Astral Plane," he replies, bringing his hands away to hide behind folded arms again. Tigra is given a faint smile. "You're taking this well. Most people have either fainted, run away screaming, or are praying under their breath to whatever god appeals to them most. You'll be a good guardian for this sword then in the meantime, I suppose…" The good Doctor still frowns, as if unconvinced that the sword should be in anyone's care but his own, even if he doesn't say it aloud.
*
"You might have noticed that I'm not like 'most people,'" Tigra says dryly, gesturing vaguely towards herself. "I've never had a magic sword before, let alone been in another world where I got it, but I've seen and been through my share of strange things." She pretends not to notice the frown. "You still haven't said what this sword is."
*
Strange's smile deepens for a moment before retreating as he tilts his head to observe the sword. To the normal plane, it looks like a beautiful antique kept in priceless condition in the hands of a most careful collector. To him…
"Tigra." He says her name with unusual gravity as his eyes, with irises glowing faintly in the color of lightning behind midnight stormclouds, rise to meet hers. "I suspect that this is the Zwielicht. I called it earlier by it true Name," the subtle emphasis gives the word its capitalization, " — but if you're familiar with your Norse mythology, you might know it as the Twilight Sword." He slowly sighs, his frown deepening. "How on earth it managed to be taken from its master in the first place remains to be seen, but…"
He delivers the next few words with the quiet knell of utter seriousness: "If you choose to keep it, Tigra, you guard it from the gods."
*
A twitch of her tail at the way her name is said. Tigra glances down at the sword as he names it, and then shakes her head. "I'm not familiar with it, no. It might sound foolish, but I have no idea what it is," she admits. She leans against an arm of her couch, looking from sword to apparition. "I might not be the best person to have it," she says in one of those understatements that go down in history. "But it came to my care and I'll do my best with it. You can't lightly set something like that aside."
*
Another sigh, shorter and conveying more mild annoyance. "I suppose that's for the best. If anyone comes asking, you can likely convincingly lie as to its origins."
Strange shakes his head slowly, eyes on the weapon. The flames, to his Mystical Sight, have died down since initial calling, but not entirely. It glows sullenly.
"I'm hoping that you'll be circumspect as its current guardian and not go about bragging that you have a sword which can cleave its way between dimensions. You are also perfectly capable of handing it off to me, which ritually transfers ownership of the sword."
*
"I think I can handle obfuscating its origin," Tigra says. "I'm not new to keeping secrets." She lifts an eyebrow as he continues. "Well, I didn't know that it could cleave between dimensions, until now. Maybe I could hand it to you, but I don't know that you're a better guardian for it than I am. As for circumspect…" She trails off as she stands up away from the couch, hands on her hips at a jaunty angle.
*
She might sense a low rumble of distant thunder. From the open window? No — in some dreamlike sense having resounded from the Astral form of the Sorcerer Supreme. Not amused is he.
"Miss Tigra, I suggest you take 'circumspect' to be your new middle name else harm comes to you or others you love. This sword is not some simple enchanted weapon. It has sentience. Handling it without respect or attempting to give it away will result in one hell of an issue. If you aren't going to take its guarding seriously, then hand it over." And one scarred palm extends outwards. It's clear that he has the power to grasp physical objects even within his current form.
*
She shifts her stance, squaring up and resting her fists on her hips. "Mr Strange, you don't know thing one about me. I know the meaning and value of circumspect. I've kept secrets before, and continue to do so. I -am- taking this seriously. More so than you seem to be, Mr 'Giving it away is dangerous so give it to me.'" She takes a quick, deep breath to get herself under control again. "I don't know what this thing is for certain, but I can tell it's important, and I will continue to guard it carefully, as I have been doing. I don't know why it came loose for me, but it's in my hands for a reason. Unless and until I'm convinced that reason is to entrust it to someone else, it stays with me."
*
He is not arguing with a tiger woman.
"I think our definitions of 'taking this matter seriously' deviate dramatically," Strange snarks back.
Kidding, changed his mind.
" — and I expect to be able to return at any time and find the sword here, safely, not being wielded or shown off or even parlayed as some part of some bargain. Prove to me that you're as trustworthy as you claim, Miss Tigra." He huffs before rolling his shoulders and composing himself. "Keep it safe," says the Guardian of this Reality, stressing the words with calm inflections.
*
She rolls her eyes at his snark. "-If- you do return, you will announce yourself next time," Tigra says. "I'm not fond of strange men suddenly appearing in my room, as amusing a concept for a movie as that would be. This sword is in my care, and I will care for it to best of my abilities. If there's nothing else, I think you should see yourself out."
*
Strange narrows his eyes. "I can't ask anything more of you as its guardian. Bear in mind that you write your own Fate, Miss Tigra. That the sword is Named gives it precedence. I won't be the only one who knows if it's mishandled…"
And on that rather eerie comment, he grants her a curt nod and simply sinks backwards through the malleable veil of the Astral Plane. The sword, lying quiet now upon the coffee table, seems to let out a ringing chime, the lowest possible minor triad to reach her ears. It's a dissonance, discomfort made known, and then the weapon is completely inert once again.
*
Tigra flops onto her couch once he's gone, shaking a bit after the confrontation. When the sword rings out, low and eerie, she glares at it. "If you want to go with him, just say so," she tells it. Don't pull swords out of stones, she tells herself again.
*