|
  |
It's Friday afternoon in New York City and with a high of only 71 degrees Fahrenheit, Greer Nelson has her window open to enjoy the crisp breeze. She's currently in her human form, though also wearing her normal bikini, as she does some push-ups on the floor of her living room. In human form, she's the same height and build as when en feline, though with black hair.
*
Oh, thank the gods, an open window. It's nearly impossible to miss the flash of broadly-spread primaries, bringing the magpie to an abrupt halt upon the sill. A flash of pale scuts signals a full settling of flight feathers and the bird draws up tall. Proud, almost, and owner of a pair of bright violet eyes, absolutely unnatural — supernatural, perhaps.
If the sudden appearance and abnormal coloration wasn't enough, the voice to follow is surely enough to send all wonderments at normalcy scattering: "I don't believe my memory has failed me, but there used to be a young female with tiger stripes and a tail living here. Anthromorph. Are you she? Tigra?" It's the baritone of the Sorcerer Supreme, clipped and precise from that black bill, and the bird eyes the woman with the self-same circumspection as previously in said apartment.
*
She grunts very softly as she continues her push-ups, her senses duller in human form, else she would have likely heard or smelled the visiting avian. It's not until it flashes paler feathers that notices it, stopping at the top of a push-up to look at it curiously. She rises quickly to her feet when it actually speaks, eyes narrowing a bit. "Don't know who you mean," she says in a voice recognizably hers, if slightly less husky. Of course, she's still got her cat's head amulet on. "Seems a little…less than prudent for a bird to visit an apartment where it expects to find a tiger, though."
*
"Prudent?" A bright laugh escapes the bird even as it eyes the apartment's layout with marked interest. "I see no tiger. I'm not concerned." Those off-colored irises fixate upon the young woman again, bikini and…amulet and all. "What a pretty bauble on your person. Er…oh gods below." The magpie shakes it head in a quick corkscrewing blur before sighing. "Forgive me, I'm still separating the human logic from the avian biological impulses. Your amulet. You're absolutely certain there's no anthropomorphic tigress here…?"
The broad brush of amusement lurking beneath his words should be inference enough that he doesn't believe her. Not one little bit.
*
If she were in feline form, her tail would have started twitching mischeviously now. She steps to the side a bit, to stand in the light better, and absently pulls her shoulders back, then rolls them alternatingly a little, to let the light glitter on her amulet, which also shows off the anatomy it rides near. "No, we're the only…people right now. Assuming a bird counts," she amends, lips twitching lightly. "Although, if you are someone I believe who's visited before, a certain….what was it…strange sorcerer? I think I have something for you."
*
Shiny. It's a shiny, look at the shiny — bird brain, stop!
Blinking obviously, the magpie then narrows its eyes at the woman. It's more than aware of the plumage being yanked, to twist a turn of phrase. Suddenly crouching, it hops once into the apartment. In mid-air comes the atmosphere-disrupting cyclone of the Arts being utilized and dispersed, leaving behind the scent of high-altitude air and the tall, lean form of the Sorcerer Supreme in tunic and battle-leathers.
"It must be the amulet then that allows you human form," Strange comments, looking with a scholar's interest at the trinket and then back up at Tigra's face. "You're quick enough to put two and two together. While you fetch whatever it is you have for me, tell me of the Sword." He's all brisk business now that the feathers are shed. Not a single one remains.
*
The woman pauses, watching as the bird turns into the impressive sorcerer. and he certainly is that, whatever else she may think of him. A quick going over of him as he glances at the amulet. When he surmises, correctly, its purpose, she smiles a very brief smile, and then turns away, stepping over to a shelf. She pulls out a book, opens it and removes a piece of paper, offering it to him. If he looks at it he'll see it's a pawn ticket. "Here you go," she says. "Avenue of the Americas at 45th Street. I couldn't use it, so I pawned it. You can pick it up." And then she reaches up to touch her amulet, shifting into the feline and furred form he saw her as previously.
*
The stub is held in fingers that go from minutely trembling per nerve damage to utterly still. Tigra, now the recognizable tigress form, is gifted a patently unamused glare from the Sorcerer.
A huff of a laugh and his eyes narrow again, still that lambent lightning-touched amaranthine. "You must be joking, milady. Be truthful with me." Is that the faint smell of smoke?
…is the pawn ticket beginning to smoke between his fingers?!
*
Tigra, adn quite clearly this is Tigra, leans against the wall by the shelf. "Might want to be careful with that," she says, catching the hint of smoke in the air. "They're pretty strict about not handing anything over without a pawn ticket. That's one reason I thought it'd be pretty safe there, after all. Oh, and they gave me thirty dollars for it, which I blew on hats."
*
Realizing that he's the source of the sudden wisp of charcoal, Strange hisses a curse under his breath and quickly reins in his temper. The stub stops smoldering, but not without the odd half-moon of black, nearly-charred paper at one corner. That might be hard to explain.
"You cannot have pawned that sword!" He snaps, cheekbones high and articulated for the checked emotions. "Thirty dollars — and hats?! This is not amusing. Where. Is. The. Sword?"
*
And now she can't fight it anymore. The twitching of her lips turns into a full blown grin. "I could have, but no, I didn't." She pushes lightly away from the wall and practically saunters into her bedroom, kneeling down, then rolling onto her back and wriggling under the box spring of her bed. After a moment, she wriggles back out and stands up, holding the Sword respectfully. "It's here. No one's been in see it besides you."
*
Tigra is privy to something very few folks get to see: the full facepalm. Strange mutters a few words behind his hand as he massages at both temples briefly before revealing the dignified expression. Like the diplomat he is, he tries very hard to keep patently unimpressed with the whole…shenanigan.
"Very good, milady." Walking up to the tigress, he takes his jolly good time looking over the relic with both Sight and sight. It seems whole, hale, prone as it is to responding to the brighter emotions with a distant knell of interest. "I…appreciate your tactful guarding of the Sword." There it is! There it is — the ghosting gamboling of amusement behind the serious expression, appearing too with the phantoms of dimples. Rueful and still somewhat offended, mind you. Rarely does anyone catch him off-guard like this.
*
While the good doctor facepalms, Tigra lets her grin widen, indulging in the moment. She has the courtesy to get it under control before he lowers his hand again, though. She's had her fun, got him good, but no need to rub his nose in it. She holds the Sword out for him politely, letting him study it. Lips twitch to a small smile as she detects a hint of amusement from him, or at least a return jesting. "I'm sorry," she surprises herself by saying, perhaps spurred on by the graciousness in which he accepts being had. "I couldn't help myself. Admittedly, I didn't -try- to help myself," she admits. "The idea came to me one night, and the next day I went out to get a pawn ticket."
*
"It was well-played," Strange admits even as he takes a step back. Out is held the pawn ticket, singed corner and all, and he exhales sharply. Was that a muted laugh? "Still, is this some unconscious ploy for me to take the Sword into my possession? Would you rather not worry about extra-dimensional beings possibly attempting to steal it from you?" Himself — not included. He's an intra-dimensional being anyways.
*
The small smile turns to a smirk, now. "There you go again. I think that's why I didn't try to stop myself. Certainly I'm worried, but I'm tougher than I look, and I have some very impressive friends. And to tell the truth, I'm hoping to have their help in protecting it soon. And as for you taking it, I don't know you. I don't know that it would be safe with you. Obviously you know magic, but that doesn't mean you should be trusted with it. I'm not handing this over to someone I'm not sure of."
*
"Ah, right. You're unaware of what the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme entails." Another snort and Strange backs up another few steps, placing himself more squarely in the room. "I think you know me better than you suspect, milady. Would you be more comfortable handing off the sword to, say…Taliesin?"
The air around him suddenly cyclones up in a blur and indeed, there stands an exact mimicry of the Bardd in question, down to the scarlet shepherd's hood about his shoulders. A lazy shift in stance, as if dream muscle memory translates over easily, and there's the equally-indolent grin.
"My powers do not wane between dimensions or spates of time. Your aura is too singular to miss…Sir Gareth." Another precise wiggling of his fingers means dismissing the illusory spell and back to the present is he. "If your friends will help you guard the Sword, then I suppose it should remain with you."
*
Tigra watches curiously as Strange moves, and then tilts his head at the sound of a name both strange (ahem) and familiar. She tenses briefly at the cycloning effect, and then eyes open wide when she sees, and recognizes, the Bardd. When addressed as Sir Gareth, her body language shifts for a moment, her stance more square, posture more martial, more…manly, and then it fades as his illusion does. "Taliesin…" she says, trailing off. "You know, i wondered. Those…more than a dream, but…" she shakes her head a bit. "So, it's real, then?" A slow shake of her head. She's going to have a lot to process. "Taliesin I trust. Or at least, Gareth does, and he seems to be me." A glance down at her bosom, and a glance back up with a smirk. "To a point." The smirk fades. "I honestly don't know," she admits for the first time. "I feel like since I was the one that drew it, it ought to stay with me, but I feel no ownership over it. As for my friends, well, we're led by Captain America. I'll let that speak for itself."
*
Strange, in turn, watches the minute changes in Tigra's body language. Excellent, a confirmation that indeed, it isn't some odd flight of fantasy.
"I don't know the Captain personally, but I know of his actions through the papers and others within my chain of…gossip," he allows with a curl of a smirk. All-knowing because people seem to natter on over cups of tea. The wonders of how it loosens tongues. "If you have his assistance, I see no reason to worry. Fate appears to be on his side more often than not. As far as the reality of what we've both experienced…" He nods to the Sword. "You're holding tangible proof of it."
*
"I'll have to tell the Captain what power this has. I can't ask people to help protect it without understanding the risks. If he says no, how can I contact you?" Tigra gently slides a finger along the flat of the Sword. "I found this as myself, not as Gareth, though in what seemed a different realm. I've seen enough in my life to know not to dismiss anything lightly, but those memories…well, I didn't know what to make of them." She smiles a bit. "Perhaps we should find the others, sometime? Hoist a flagon together?" she asks, the smile turning a bit impish.
*
The tigress's tentative inquiry gains her a curl of a smirk, full Barddic charm flashing through the formality of his mantle for all of a fleeting second.
"I've no issue with returning once the issues there are fully settled. I believe there's a Grail to pin down." Strange's frown imparts even more gravity to him. "Be ready to return there at any time, milady. What controls the strings of that reality has no issue with removing us rudely from this reality at a whim."
He paces over to the open window and leans down to measure the activity of the neighborhood beyond it. "You can find me in Greenwich Village. The Sanctum Sanctorum. Knock on the door, I'll answer…or my Consort will and she'll know to contact me immediately. If you can't travel there," and he turns to face Tigra again, arms tightly crossed, " — put a full measure of your willpower behind my name and think as hard as you can. Consider it projecting, as if you had the ability to do so. Think hard enough and I'll sense it if not hear it across the planes of reality."
*
Tigra nods, a touch grimly, a touch firmly at mention of the grail. "I'll be ready. And for what it's worth, I find I hope that we won't see the end of that realm, even after we've pinned it down." As he paces to the window, she lowers herself to the floor to slip the sword back up into the box spring. "Greenwich Village," she repeats from underneath, before wiggling back out. "Or think it very loudly," she repeats, sitting up, one knee drawn up to drape an arm over it. "I have to apologize, again, for being…prickly when we first met…met here that is."
*
Strange shakes his head. "I'll accept your apology, but I understand that someone opening a Gate into a room without warning is more than enough to startle most people, even if one has an idea of the Arts beyond that of the general public. I'm very used to getting my way." There's the wisp of self-deprication, but of the sort known well to those of vast self-confidence in turn. The Sorcerer can make fun of himself after all.
"Even as Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, I can't guarantee that the spatial integrity of the other dimension will remain intact once we resolve the difficulty of its impress upon this reality. The undead are contained, fewer these days, but…that they still exist tells me of the tear still being present. That must be shut." He almost seems to be reminding himself of this.
*
"I've experience with the arts, obviously," Tigra says, gesturing at herself. "I'm no practioner, but if I can help in any way, just let me know," she offers. "Even if it's just keeping undead off your back while you work a spell." A quick grin. "Or a song. Tell me, do you have Taliesin's skills?"
*
The sudden unintentional dagger-twist of the question takes him off-guard and Strange's returning smile contains a wistfulness also rarely seen. It colors him with humanity in ways that the mantle denies.
"Not here, in this dimension. I used to play the piano, but not anymore." Unless Tigra's been particularly attentive, the scarring bright on his hands remain hidden away within the folded arms. "I would, however, appreciate help in the Park at any time. Is this permission for me to summon you as necessary?" There's a weight to the question, as if it should be considered carefully.
*
That smile is as reassuring as anything else. As for his scars, she noticed them earlier, but didn't think about them. Nonetheless, she senses dicussion of playing music is a subject best left alone. "It is," she says firmly, knowing summon has a different context here than normal. "Hopefully not while I'm in the bath, but if so, well, it will be a cheap thrill for someone, I'm sure."
*
"I cannot give you any guarantees as to when I may need your assistance, milady, but yes — hopefully when you're clothed rather than sudsy." Give the man a cookie for saying this with the straightest face possible and calm delivery. "Well then…very good. The summoning, should you be called as such, won't be terribly disturbing. You might have some vertigo afterwards and maybe a craving for something random, but you'll be fine given some time. Hand-to-hand combat clears the system of it quickly enough. Until we meet again, milady."
No shifting to a magpie this time, not with the tail and stripes in full view. He was blatantly tempting Fate before. Circumspect leads him to behave otherwise…this time. Instead, a Gate opening upon the Loft in crackling golden frame. He steps through and it collapses, leaving Tigra to her devices…including the pawn stub that flutters to the coffee table's surface.
*