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In the center of the room sits an object. It is round on one side…with some words written in ancient greek that are faded and mostly unreadable. It has seamless crafting for about a foot and then it broadens into a base, so that it lays flat on a table on that side, with the rounded part facing up. There are also, /clearly/ buttons, dials, gears and windows where various symbols are visible. But…its /also/ got an inset orb in the middle that swirls with mist and occassionally clears to show scenery. This bit radiates a mystical signature. And it also intermittantly emits a blaring sound. It was found by some fishermen on Hilton Head island, off the coast of South Carolina, apparently washed ashore.
*
Maximus crosses his arms over his chest as he looks across the object towards Strange. "Oh that is just fine…them calling you in for this. I suppose the rest of them are busy…beating up the bad guys."
*
And around the perimeter of safely-defined distance paces a certain Sorcerer. That particularly fascinating central sphere has a siren call that he couldn't ignore any more than the cheery song of a robin in the early morning. Read as: gods below, but he's annoyed as hell that it won't shut up.
"I was called in because I have the appropriate skill-set, Maximus," Strange explains with a note of resigned irritation in tone. His eyes never rise from the object to the Inhuman as he steps a bit closer, hands tucked away behind his back. In stormy-blue battle-leathers and crimson Cloak, he came in full regalia since…well, they called in the Sorcerer Supreme. "Why are you here."
*
Maximus steps closer to the object as well, matching the sorceror pace for pace, "/I/ have the skill set as well, Stephen, for this /thing/ brims with gears and gadgets and not even the Avengers' precious Stark can match me for /genius/ in this regard. All I was told is that they found it…and they don't know what it does or if its dangerous, and that's what we need to find out."
*
"Do not…call me Stephen." Keen, rather cold eyes level at Maximus across the odd object. "I am Doctor Strange to you. Nothing more, nothing less. Let us be crystal clear of this." He's not rude in the delivery of the statement; it's simply unyielding and enuciated. "By all means, you first." A scarred hand emerges to gesture at the thing with gears and buttons and that orb emitting its teeth-tingling signature.
"I wouldn't go about calling yourself more intelligent than Stark around Stark. Let the man have his notions." It's idle conversation now as he waits, considering both the Inhuman and then the object again. About him, the Cloak gently undulates about his frame, managing to give the impression of a faint yet unseen breeze.
*
Maximus wets his lips, "Then…if we are going to be /formal/ about it, you may address me as 'Your Highness', or Prince Boltagon. I would venture that Your Majesty is more accurate, but the Your Highness is without contention." He moves to one side and then bends over to inspect one of the visible gears. Carefully, he touches it, and pushes it only enough to feel the resistance. "This is interconnected to at least 5 other gears, likely layered atop one another rather than a more…linear arrangement."
*
Maximus receives a flat look and no immediate response. Instead, the good Doctor watches him carefully twiddle with the mechanisms and makes no move to approach from where he stands. Still with that respectful distance…or rather wary. After all, who knows what the object does?
"Would you prefer some sort of warding spell about your hands? Or perhaps your face? Explosive damage at close range tends to require moderately-intense medical aid." Still with that faint air of annoyance, as if he's too important to be here and has other places to be. The latter, at least, might be somewhat truthful, but the concept is eternally present within the duties of his mantle. Something's always threatening the dimensional boundaries between realities.
*
"Who knows what other spells you might put on me if I let you. I will take my chances with the device and experiment with the satisfaction that if I blow myself up, I take you with me." He grins crookedly. "Isn't that romantic?"
*
"I think 'suicidal' is the more proper terminology, personally…and as much as I hesitate to inform you…I've already put up wardings about myself." His smile is thin, self-congratulatory. "They're subtle things, empowered by my own life-force. You're certain that you don't want any…Your Highness?" Strange says the title with a delicacy that hinges on mockery.
To his Mystical sense, another blart of a sound and Strange visibly winces before frowning thunderously at the object. "Regardless, let me know when you're done flipping switches. I'd like to see what a Mystical touch does."
*
|ROLL| Maximus +rolls 1d20 for: 3
*
Maximus makes another look at the device and then rather dramatically, looking at Strange, pushes one of the buttons on the side of it. It immediately starts making a horrible, loud, BEEEOOOEEEOOOBEEEOOOOBEEEOOO sound.
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Maximus does seem surprised that it makes noise and widens his eyes like he did not expect it to do that.
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Maximus says, "Well?! Shut it off! Make it stop!""
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Strange's eyes develop a tic for every upwards swing in the pitch of the alarm-like sound.
"If you weren't royalty, Maximus Boltagon," he mutters as he strides over and quickly looks over the machine. A grimace to flash teeth and one gold-gilded hand lands atop the orb emitting the Mystical signature.
"FINIS," he hisses sharply, his eyes also flooding completely of a similar aurate hue, thin rays of pure sunshine emitting from behind squinted lashes. It's the same spell he uses about the Sanctum to stop the relics from misbehaving and it generally works. The air about the immediate area blows outwards for the backlash of the willpower he uses, enough to ruffle loose hair and clothing.
*
Ebony curls brush against Max's cheeks at the wave outwards as Strange makes it stop. "UGH. So…obviously that is not the right button to activate the gear, though, look…pressing it changed the symbol here…to a different one." He frowns. "I do not recognize this…but it is somewhat similar to what the Inhumans used some…500 years ago, when we lived on the island."
*
|ROLL| Strange +rolls 1d100 for: 63
*
Strange's eyes, after the flush of magical reaction recedes, rest on Maximus with barely-veiled annoyance.
"No…it's not that button," he mutters even as he brings his touch away from the orb. It seemed to speak to him in a manner, to attempt to blend its own little aura with his own, but the two speak different languages with the same mother-tongue. "I presume you mean Atlantis…?" His gaze falls to the entire object and observes it purposefully now. "Or what the modern scholars call it."
Wanda spoke of it once, many months back, and how her mentor in the Arts hailed from the perspective time period of said wonderous culture.
*
Maximus casts Strange a dry look. "Atlantis? No. Well. Perhaps it has some basis, except that Attilan has always been a hidden city /without/ trade. Though, we were discovered there…and had to move our city elsewhere. The ocean was no longer safe for us. Are there not actual Atlanteans? I think this could be that language. Surely, we would have had a similar one if we were in contact with them. And our interests for a pure world, align." Maximus does seem to take on a different mania when he's figuring things out. His brilliance shines above the insanity. "Sooo…well, what's that middle orb /doing/ anyway?" Its a distraction. Maximus reaches over and adjusts one of the dials.
*
The Sorcerer considers the information offered up to him with a grain of salt, though have no fear: it gets filed away within the depthless confines of his memory. Time for some research into Attilan vs Atlantis on a rainy day over tea! Twist his arm.
"The world is just fine," he opines tartly before sighing. "The orb is…" He fades out when he sees Maximus twiddle with another part of the mechanism and glares at him. "I believe it's attempting to harmonize with my aura. Perhaps it's a manner of specializing the reaction of the machine to the needs of the individual…who apparently needs to know of the Arts."
Whether or not his thoughts are heard is another matter entirely if that dial adjustment has any sort of bombastic reaction.
*
The dial adjustment does not seem to do much at all, at first. "I believe…" tick tick tick, he adjusts it three more notches. "That this is the symbol for…7…because this…" he messes with another one. There's a whirring sound and then a click. He holds his breath. Nothing happens. "Um…that one may not be working. Oh…wait no…this." Fiddle, fiddle. "The world is /polluted/ beyond measure, by the way."
*
"I remember you mentioning this, yes, when we visited the foothills briefly." Ah yes, that little trip to the base of the Himalayan mountain range, majesty and thin air and blustery snow on the wind. "I'm tasked with preventing otherwordly intervention in current mankind's path. I must hold to the mantle's duties."
Was that a warning? It might have been a small warning.
"Perhaps if I touched the orb and then you continued turning the dials?" Giving Maximus a circumspect look, the Sorcerer then reaches out again to spread his palm across the top of the middly-inset sphere. "Go on," he sighs. "Try it again." The influence within the orb tickles up at his palm, testing, sensing and attempting to find a point of resonance with his aura.
*
"Well, seeing as I am not entirely otherworldly…I suppose that makes my meddling just another part of humanity's stumble towards mediocrity." Max waits until Strange says go and then tries it again, this time causing it to click in and the light in the orb glows brighter, like they changed the brightness setting on it. Maximus frowns and moves around to the other side of the device. "You know…the dials take such force to move…its almost like it was meant to endure some sort of…constant pressure. Like wind, or currents."
*
Strange is doing that look again. The one that Wanda calls "eating a lemon".
"I'm beginning to hate that word…meddling." He leaves his hand atop the orb. With the increase in brightness came the minute increase in ticklish sensation upon his palm. It's not too unlike velvet brushing on his skin and he remains mostly still with effort, though his fidgeting shows in his shift in weight from one foot to another.
"If it's indeed from Atlantis, I would expect it to need to resist currents, as you said. It'd be someone with a wry sense of humor to leave this outside in the water if it made such a damn racket. You'd need to enter the water to turn it off, I presume, even utilizing the Arts. It seems to need the physical contact."