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|ROLL| Maximus +rolls 1d20 for: 13
*
Strange is at the tea shop. Maybe..he thinks he's safe there. Its nice. Its quiet. Demons don't sit around drinking tea. But, he's not safe. He is in great peril. Just the worst. Maximus has stalked him here. He has his more commonly seen eye make-up on, but a modern, mandarin collared suit, and his steel eyes are fierce with predatory tea-drinking. He comes into the place with a flick open of the door and a swagger of growing self-confidence that is getting worse every day. "Steee-phan…" he greets, singsong, and comes right up to the man's table. He leans on it with one hand, "You have been avoiding me…"
*
The tea shop is generally safe, this is true. No one expects the place to be unspoken neutral ground within the Mystical community, where it's all talk and no action. The good Doctor himself is musing his way through a small diary in Etruscan — he'd been recently interrupted reading it not a day back by a friendly visitor to the Sanctum. The curl of steam from his black tea wreathes his face as he sips at it, a pensive frown on his face.
The jingle of the bells overtop the shop's door is enough to bring his attention up from the cramped handwriting in a delayed manner. The voice — that's enough to make him momentarily freeze with the demi-tasse hovering above the table. He sets it down with a slow sigh even as that hand lands on the table top. A swallow and then a remarkably composed Sorcerer looks up at Maximus. The smile is polite, genial if not distant.
"Maximus. I've been doing some research on the stone." The diary is shook once to draw attention to it as source of material. "I haven't discovered anything new yet, hence my not contacting you in regards to it." So cool. Coolest delivery ever. Bluff while you can. Inside, he's rapidly attempting to figure out why his heart-rate just leapt a few numbers.
*
Maximus just seats himself at the table without asking, as ex-Kings can tend to do. Once he's settled, he rests his left hand on the table and tiptaps one finger there as he stares at the Sorcerer Supreme. "There is…no need for you to research it. I certainly did not ask you to. Have you heard of any great tragic events that would be related to it? Of course not…for I have not used it. Not even when such a thing would be of great benefit to me." His lips jump into an overbroad smile.
*
That teeth-flashing grin is returned with a faintly-amused smile from Strange, lips a curved line. No teeth shown on his part. The faintest dimples emerge. He indulges in another sip of his tea and just when it might be suspected that he isn't going to reply, he does so.
"You didn't need to ask me nor do you have any right to do so. I believe in continued education, especially when I'm dealing in relics with potentially tragic powers." His breath stirs the steam rising from the tea before he takes another sip and sets it down with a quiet thump. He tilts his head towards the counter before murmuring, "I'd suggest getting a cup of tea unless you want Mrs. O'Riley at your elbow asking you questions."
Indeed, the old woman is standing there at the register, waiting patiently, all the while giving Maximus a gimleted if not somewhat clouded green-eyed look. The nerve of sitting down without ordering first. Pssht-tush.
*
Maximus lifts his voice, while staring at Strange. "I will have a cup of earl grey…" Because it sounds the most pretentious. He arches his dark brows as if to ask Strange if he's happy now. "I fear that you may tell me that I can't have it. And then you'll try to take it away." Maximus looks at his nails, curving his fingers so that he can look at them with his palm towards himself. "And this is what I will say to you. When I am done with it…you can have it."
*
A little 'hmph' from Mrs. O'Riley means the order was heard, even delivered as it was. It earns Maximus an arched brow from Strange and then the rest earns him a rather narrow look. It shuts off but a thin slice of irises bleeding faintly amaranthine.
"Really now." The Sorcerer might as well have purred the words. The diary shuts with a faint snap of pages colliding, one-handed in action. "And what do you intend to do, Maximus? Something tragic?"
He really shouldn't be fencing like this with the Inhuman, but how else to counter the faint feeling of uncertainty in his stomach?
"Never mind." Strange sets down the little book and holds out a hand. "I can take it away, Maximus, have utter faith in this. I expected you to behave with it. You might as well hand it over right now if it's on your person." Statues have more expressive nuances to their face. He's completely within his mantle now, confident that this will end how he wishes. Well, mostly confident. He's ready to pull that hand back at a moment's notice.
*
Maximus wets his lips and looks at Strange, trying to see if this is his way of bluffing or not. Tiptap, tiptap go his fingertips. "I like having something that you want." Then he grins softly and holds out his hand, trying to slip his fingers over the palm, as if he thought Strange was asking to hold his hand. Awwww.
*
Fingertips trace along his palm before Strange yanks his hand back, frowning thunderously at the Inhuman. The resulting fist hovering above the table is white-knuckled and the air around the table swishes sharply around once, a brief cyclone that settles almost immediately as it started. This, to one without the Sight, signals a sharp rise in emotions and equally sharp rein in of control. No need to take apart the tea shop over such a thing, even if he hates being tested like this.
Mrs. O'Riley spares Maximus the initial response by dropping off his cup of tea and giving his table-mate a lingering, questioning look. A subtle shake of his head imparts enough that the old woman knows better than to linger, though it's one hell of curious glare thrown over her shoulder as she departs.
"Your tea is on my tab," Strange announces coolly before sipping at his own. "It's a standing rule here. Maximus. I am not to be trifled with. Please do not test me." The irises that stare dead into the Inhuman's eyes are bright now, possibly excused by a trick of the light and some serious denial by anyone who doesn't know of his mantle.
*
Maximus lifts his chin and stretches his neck as he rubs his fingers down it. Maximus really does know how to shave close. Its a perfection of shaving. Sometimes he sports a goatee, but today its baby smooth. Then he picks up his teacup, "First some uncomfortable hand-holding and now buying me a drink. I feel practically swept off my feet, Stephen. I am not trifling with you. A trifle is something small…insignificant, unimportant. You are, instead…quite important. With the stone I seek only knowledge…I promise. There shall be no tragedies on my account."
*
Those bright eyes narrow further. If a look could had an edge, this one is a metaphorical scalpel.
He draws dignity about himself and ignores the insinuation of a date entirely. Another mouthful of tea once again and tea cup set down. Strange doesn't normally drink his brews this quickly. It's set to warm him inside-out and for once, he needs to slip off the black blazer on his person. This is done dispassionately and the coat is slung across the back of his own chair. About his neck, that self-same crimson scarf that might be recognized as Cloak in disguise. It manages to work with the polo shirt worn, stretched slightly as it is for the Sorcerer's broad shoulders of his build. Ultramarine blue, this fabric, with a sheen to suggest silk. Settling back into his chair again, he sniffs once.
"If I'm so….important…promise me, Maximus Boltagon. Promise me that nothing tragic will come of this. Nothing that would unsettle the direction of humanity's growth. Nothing that will give me reason to intervene as Sorcerer Supreme." The weight of his stare is a heavy one.
*
Maximus slides his fingers across the table, then fiddles with the rim of the teacup. "I promise you, Stephen Strange, that nothing tragic will come of this. This has nothing to do with humanity at all…rather..Inhumanity. I promise this, even though I know you are using your own importance to me as a tool for compliance. I am surprised. But, that is what you ought to do, I suppose. Surely you know what you are doing to me…hmmm?" Maximus tilts his head as he looks at the serious sorcerer.
*
"Regale me."
The flat delivery ensures the understanding that Strange is patently unamused and ready for a straight answer in regards to…just about everything Maximus does, in all honesty. As to utilizing what's available to him, including personal connections…that happens to be the ploy of the cosmic chess player.
Prickly Sorcerer is prickly.
*
"I am a King…fallen or not, so it is perfect that you have no idea what I could be speaking about. If you did, it would be terribly inconvenient for all my plans, for such a distraction is the undoing of the calculating mind. Still…" Maximus takes a sip of his tea and his brows flick up, briefly, as he gathers his thoughts, "A sound rejection might do well for me, to cure this incessant desire for someone I cannot win." He clips it all out conversationally, lidding his eyes as he sips.
*
His heart jumps visibly, thrumming at the lines of his throat. So it did happen after all! …son of a bitch. WAIT. Confirm it, don't be making ridiculous jumps in logic due to emotion.
Strange sits very still in his chair in comparison to the animation in the Inhuman across the table from him. He inhales and exhales slowly. "Wanda has no interest in you, Maximus." It's a deliberately mis-aimed thrust in the dark and he folds his hands in his lap, canting his head slightly to one side to observe what pans out from it.
*
Maximus leans forwards, curving his arm around his drink so that he can balance further across the table. His black curls sway and….it doesn't look like he believes Strange for one moment, far too brilliant for that. If Mad. He tilts his head and one side of his lips quriks, "I am certain that she does not, beyond the delightful time we always seem to have when we are together. Demons…and all. At least do me the courtesy of not ignoring what I am saying to you. I've fallen…against my will. It is very inconvenient. But, that is how I know its more than a play."
*
A swallow and Strange rolls his lips inwards for a fleeting second, a fidget shown despite his inclinations to remain un-flustered by it all. The Inhuman isn't quite in his space, but the Sorcerer wouldn't lean back an iota even if he was. Between the steel spine of his over-weaned confidence and that length of crimson scarf, he has little fear. Emphasis on 'over-weaned'.
"I'm not ignoring it," he finally bites out. " — and neither will she." A touch of color at his high cheekbones is another sign of a rapid oscillation of blood pressure. He's having an awfully time finding a good mental footing to getting truly mad at the Inhuman and that in itself is confusing.
*
Maximus parts his lips, though he waits to speak for a few more moments, steel blue eyes moving about the man's features, that touch of color the most telling. It's like blood in the water. "So, you do feel a connection…I think that makes it worse. You were supposed to snort and dismiss me, gruffly. Or call me names…or tell me what a fool you are, Maximus." He draws in a deep breath, "You are not free…not free to do as you please or free here, I think." He draws back a hand to touch his own chest, drawing attention there, and drifts his fingertips downwards before they fall away. Then, suddenly, he straightens and rallies a flash of a grin. "Well? Do it then. If you can. But if you cannot wreck my hopes entirely, then you will not be rid of me." He makes a casual gesture in the air.
*
Maximus gets the stoniest look yet from Strange, regardless of the pink of blood pressure. Whatever sweet lullabies sung to his subconscious in the moment are snuffed out as totally as a candle between a pinched finger.
"My will is my own, Maximus Boltagon…and you are a fool." The Sorcerer spits it out, temper finally beginning to fray. The air shifts around them again, gaining a heaviness not too unlike the mugginess before a thunderstorm in the deep South. "This is neutral ground as decreed. I suggest you get out of my sight." His baritone drops to a lower snarl still. Even old Mrs. O'Riley has paused in making her scones behind the counter, giving them a wide-eyed stare.
*
He pushed for it, and he got it, though, he did not expect…it had been so long. There is no way to disguise the gaping wound left behind by the final confirmation. Its written all over his face. Taking several deep breaths, audible, he rises and frowns. Then frowns deeper. Then he bats his teacup off the table and his whole face scrunches up with his mental struggles. "Well. Done." The first word is lower pitched and husky, but the last is higher and louder, and he shoves his chair back under the table and is definitely about to do a classic 'Storm out' maneuver.
*
This man and swatting or throwing things. The demi-tasse shatters on the floor, leaving white ceramic and spilt tea all over the pristine tiles. There's the sound of a gasp from behind the counter and Strange raises a hand before rising to his feet. It freezes up old Mrs. O'Riley. Maybe it gives Maximus pause as well.
"Apologize to her. Now." His voice is graveled out, irises bright, the air around them closer still and attempting to crawl along skin with the faintest touch of static.
*
Maximus spins around, his expression fierce and his eyes…there's no way to pin down what that is in there, other than…unpredictable. "Don't." He points at Strange. "Try to humble me right now and you will have a battle on your hands, Stephen…" he points in the Sorcerer's direction with a sharp jab.
*
"I dare you to try anything," the Sorcerer barks back, walking around the table and stopping most definitely within Maximus's personal space. He's taller, broader, and that crimson scarf is most definitely looking rather animated suddenly. It ripples before both ends rise up, as if conducting invisible energy. There's a distant roll of thunder that echoes about the tea shop, making old Mrs. O'Riley look around in confusion.
*
Maximus takes a smaller step to challenge that personal space even more, like a samurai crawling up a sword. "Do you really dare?" His heart races and adrenaline rushes through his veins. "You would rather be my enemy than acknowledge anything!" Though it's totally normal for those inside the shop to be looking, as the air hums with energy, it's a little less normal that a couple passersby have also stopped, looking through the window.
*
"There is nothing to acknowledge! You are delusional!" Strange has dropped the volume his voice, though not the steely twang, and also not retreated a single inch. He draws up taller, hands fisted at his sides. "Do not make yourself my enemy, Maximus. I am no trifle." He says this slowly, enunciated with terribly-precise diction.
Who cares if people stare? He's got a point to make.
*
"Yes, yes…brought home so well, how can I possibly forget? It hurts but it's the cure." Maximus attempts to step in and just thumb a bit of Strange's clothing, before he starts retreating again, taking a few steps backwards and then to turn around.
*
|ROLL| Strange +rolls 1d100 for: 71
*
Maximus is barely saved from the sharp flick of the scarf's hems by Strange slapping a hand across the fabric. The tassels still wave out at him like Inhuman-seeking cilia before a hissed command makes the relic drop to flat inanimation again.
This allows the royal a proper retreat. "If I catch you misbehaving with that stone again, Maximus, you will give me no choice." It's no threat — it's a promise, an unfortunately true one. The Sorcerer's mouth then forms a hard, unyielding line to compliment his deep frown.
*
Maximus makes his way to the door, well and truly told what he needed, but hated, to hear. He lifts his hand and slices it down in a dismissive gesture, unafraid, though he's still leaving anyway.
*