1964-07-30 - Deep Pockets
Summary: Strange, Tony, and a leggy brunette in red named Max attend a charity gala.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
tony strange maximus 

In he sweeps, no one on his arm as of this evening, and that speaks to the current mask he adopts. The mantle, Strange has left behind in all but a perfectly folded crimson silk pocketsquare in his jacket. The continental-style of his suit, single-breasted with piped and narrow lapels, is clearly fitted to his body. The man is lean, mean, resplendent in silver and glossy obsidian, and ready to socialize with the sharks at this evening's gala.

A waiter takes his order and the Sorcerer Supreme, in guise of retired neurosurgeon, makes his way towards one of the nearby windows. The black-tie gala is a charity for a foundation focused on bringing the burgeoning sciences of technology to the needs of a world rapidly growing and dealing with newly-discovered diseases as well as ways to treat them. He smiles to the few familiar faces he sees, but makes no immediate move to approach. First, an appreciation of the view of the city beyond and below. Many stories up, the nightlife glitters like the light from the crystalline glasswear and various jewelries worn by the ladies on the arms of the gentlemen.

With the practice of long-ease, the waiter finds Strange again and hands off the glass. Highball, large round icecube, three fingers fine whiskey. He can call himself content…for now. Movement at the entry doors makes him glance over again and smile faintly to himself. Well now…who do we have here?

|ROLL| Maximus +rolls 1d20 for: 1

Tony has no one an his arm tonight either, oddly enough. He's dressed to the nines, and he cleans up so well. He takes in the crowd like it were there just for him. Isn't it? Oh ho! There's Dr. Strange. Someone important. He inclines his head to the man and makes his way over. The waiter stops him on the way, and he tells him what he wants: single malt scotch, straight up. Then he makes his way to the window, because the view is amazing.

"Strange, isn't it?" he asks the good doctor. He recognizes him from other talks not to mention word of mouth. "Fancy meeting you here. Tony Stark." He offers his hand to shake.

There are women here. There are beautiful women, dressed in elegant clothing, gorgeous dresses handmade by the poshest designers of the day, with high necks and no sleeves, slits, rhinestones. They average in heights, and shades, in every height and shade imaginable. And so many are attractive that its honestly hard for one of them to stand out among the others. Until the woman in red walks in. She…is different. She has a red slice of fabric draped backwards across her neck, the tails of it hanging down her back like ribbons of a cloak. Her dress is glued to an athletic frame from shoulders to hips, then it flares out with a sparkling ripple, and a silver lining that peeks through when she walks. She is taller than most of the women in the room, particularly with the addition of the black heels that make her silken calves more pronounced. She has on silver gloves that go from fingertip to her biceps. Her face is made up with 1950s style mascara and eyeliner, and her lips are the exact shade of her dress. Her black hair is pulled tight on one side with an ornate silver clip with little diamonds, but the other side is a wild tangle of curls. The most impressive part of the dress is the back, which drops very nearly to the top of her ass. But, honestly, it is the look in her steel grey eyes that is the most striking, for she looks like she might just as soon suck a dick as eat one for breakfast whilst sitting in the throne of a Russian Czar. She swaaaays through the room like a pin-up poster for why even aliens might need neurosurgery to fix whatever crazy is making her possess it like she owns it.

Strange gives Tony a grin just on this side of friendly rather than professional as he returns the handshake.

"Can't keep the neurosurgeons out of these fundraisers. It's like they draw us as moths to a flame. Tinkerers too, it appears," he adds before sipping at his drink. "I want to say we crossed paths a few years back…oh gods, more than a few years." He laughs, truly amused at this revelation. "Still wowing the world with your creations?"

The good Doctor asks this and then glances over again towards the entryway doors. Whoa. That's a lot of red. His eyebrows rise as he watches the woman take control of the space around her. That one's not going home alone tonight, he muses to himself, returning his attention back to Stark with some effort.

Tony shakes Strange's hand and says, "That's right, it's been awhile. The waiter comes with his scotch, which he accepts with a courteous nod. Must be his first of the evening. No quips. "I've made a few innovations," he says glibly. "Wowing is just sort of what I do. Still enjoying early retirement?"

He follows Strange's gaze, then does a double-take. He whistles low and asides to Strange, "How is it I don't know who that is." He's trying to be good. He really is. But there's nothing wrong with looking, right?

Maximus seems to be made for no good, really. The lady spots them, and recognition lights in her stormy eyes. As she walks, a man with champagne just hands her his glass and she takes it in silver fingertips without even looking at him. As she approaches the pair of well-dressed men, she smiles with closed lips, faintly. "Boys…" drifts out an elegant voice. He's lifted up his normal timber, but its still on the husky side for a lady. Definitely sings alto…and probably moans in a tenor. "You are both looking fine tonight. /Stephen/…Mr. Stark. I suppose you are going to impress everyone with a new triumph or sizable donation?"

"I suppose you can call it 'enjoying'," Strange murmurs, even as he follows Tony's attentive look and finds the woman in red approaching them. Why is there something familiar about her? He's having the damnedest time putting a finger on it — tip of his tongue, if you will.

And he holds back the immediate response on it when he's addressed by first name rather than surname or doctoral title. His steel-blue eyes narrow in suspicion. He's not so old that his memory is failing him and immortality wouldn't let such a thing degrade regardless of the passing years.

"I figured my presence was impressive enough, but if they're still expecting tales, I can grant that, at least," he finally says, lifting his glass in a vaguely bemused manner. He can't take it anymore and levels his full attention on the woman. It's crisp, keen, distant in only the manner a neurosurgeon can grant - emotionally bereft beside the curiosity. "Do I know you?"

Tony inclines his head to the woman, not surprised he knows his name Who here doesn't? He lifts his glass to her before he takes a drink. The sweet burn of booze makes everything better. "A well-placed anecdote beats a technical lecture any time for these sorts of things. Deep pockets rarely have deep minds." He smiles winningly.

He then turns his attention to the woman. "I'm sorry, have we met? If not, why not? I thought I might start with a donation and see where the evening takes me." It wouldn't be the first time he came up with a revolutionary idea between drinks and podium.

"We have worked together, yes. I agree, on all accounts, though I dare say, the room hardly deserves such rich anecdotes as the two of you may deliver." She sips the champagne, "I…will stay silent. I prefer it in a situation like this. Now, Mr. Stark, it seems I finally know how to get your attention. How often I have tried. Apparently, all I needed was a nicer dress. So, the two of you know each other? I hope that's all you share. The world cannot fathom a sorceror in a suit of armor, or an armor full of spells." She holds out her hand for Tony and introduces herself. "You can call me Max."

The good Doctor seems to lean away a heartbeat's worth as he listens to the woman. Gosh, curiosity and self-preservation war strongly in this one; suspicion always rides him so hard and makes him generally unapproachable in public. He has to shove it aside again simply to keep from glowering up a storm at this point.

It's the name given to Tony that jolts him mentally; it shows in the sudden thinning of his mouth. The Inhuman prince gets the dastardly golden kewpie doll tonight for managing to surprise Strange.

"I'm sorry, but sorceror?" The silver-templed man laughs faintly, his lips rising in a mild curl that could be read as a snarl. "This is a convention in science and technology. The only magic here comes of one too many drinks and those deep pockets Mr. Stark mentioned earlier," and he points towards Tony with one finger uncurled from about his drink. The other hand remains in his pocket as he adopts a loose stance, weight on one foot, decidedly angled away from the woman in red.

"Max," Tony says. He offers his hand to the woman. Strange is given a sidelong glance, lightning-quick, and his smile is smooth as fine scotch. "Why, I think she's saying you're going to be reaching deep tonight, Doctor. Generous of you, making so much magic." He winks.

After another drink, he adds, "And I hope you don't think I'm so unapproachable, Max." He can't help giving her another once over. "You can approach me any time, day or night. Leave me your number, we'll be in touch."

"Leave my number? I will, but…maybe you will not need it." Max offers her hand to Tony, palm down, sheathed in silver. Max looks over to Strange and smiiillllles and lids his eyes. Yeah…he's totally flirting with Tony in front of the other human he had a crush on for a while, which just makes the whole thing sweeter. "Yes…magical. MMmmhmm. Is this thing going to have dancing?" She sips her champagne again. "You know, I too am an inventor. I have made several things for Strange here. I don't think he recognized me at first. Its the dress."

Strange's answer is not forthcoming, not at first. There's something very interesting in the far distance overtop the city skyscrapers and their row upon rows of light. Plus, he's got to reach the bottom of his drink — or at least attempt it, though it seems a shame to feel the need to rush through it.

"Indeed. It's the dress," he mutters, finally looking back to Max. "I don't think it will have dancing unless someone's drunk enough to start it." The whiskey is settling in his system and those scarred hands tremble finer for it.

Tony glances at Strange again, one brow arching. Then he takes Max's hand and delicately brings the silverclad knuckles to his lips, looking her(?) in the eyes, and then smiling radiantly. He's not trying to flirt, honest. It's just in his DNA. Maybe the neurologists can make a study of him someday. "We should discuss all the things we could make together," he says.

He releases Max's hand and finishes off his scotch. "Do you want dancing? We can have dancing later. Right now I suspect the deep pockets are supposed to be getting drunk on-" a waiter passes, and Tony gestures to his glass and holds up a finger, another one of theses, please "-complimentary good cheer so those magical pockets will open deeper."

The lady in rest turns, showing off her low back of the dress, though she also backs up to be in line with the boys. "And how much…do you think…/that/ person will donate? Did I overhear you saying that you two know each other from other galas for the wealthy? What a small world it is." Faint smile and Max points her hand at some old, white dude with a bald head.

"Mr. Stark and I have crossed paths before. The world of neurosciences and biotechnology does collide and these gatherings are for the cream of the crop, after all," he murmurs, finishing off the rest of his whiskey. A passing waiter nods at his expressive lifting of his empty glass and Strange then sighs.

"That man there? I've been away from the field of neurosurgery for some time. I don't know him personally, but what, he'll donate…$50,000?" He throws out the random number and looks to Tony for his input, arching a brow slightly.

Tony inclines his head to Strange agreeably when he describes their acquaintance. "And Dr. Strange is one of the more interesting people who runs in these circles, so I decided to come over here and be spared conversations with guys like him." He nods to the man Max has indicated.

He gives Strange so-so waggle of his hand when he guesses $50,000. "Maybe not quite that much," he says, "but close enough for government work." Maybe a little dig on the fact that the man they're discussing works in government. Whereas Tony contracts to them and that's sooo much different.

"Me, I'd rather invent the device that streamlines the production of the tech going to these countries to make that 50K stretch a whole lot further." He plucks his scotch from a passing waiter. "And donate seventy-five."

Maximus lids her eyes and smiles faintly. "I look forward to hearing all about it. If you gentlemen will excuse me. Oh…here." She pulls her lipstick out of her tiny little bag and writes her number on a napkin, tucking that into Tony's hand. Then, with a sway, she drifts to go speak to another little copse of people, but before TOO long, she disappears into the crowd and slips off down a hallway. Perhaps Max needed to be able to utilize something in this building…dun dun DUN. She will eventually reappear, unless she gets busted.

Strange watches Max go and he finally lets out a full breath of air, the sound not too unlike a cornered snake curling up tighter still.

"Be careful with that one, Stark. She's not what she seems. Though me, the more interesting of the people here? What about old Helvar over there?" The man points from his glass again towards a guy wearing a BRIGHT blue suit, powder-blue, the you-really-can't-miss-me shade of blue. Helvar laughs overly loudly at something someone said and tosses back his champagne.

"I heard through the grapevine that he's got big money riding on a new vaccine. It's all very hush-hush, of course," and the good Doctor rolls his eyes mildly here, his smirk knowing and deriding all at once.

"Oh, I've got an eye on her," Tony says as he watches the way Max sways as 'she' leaves them. "Hate to see her go, but I like watching her leave." His attention is drawn to Helvar, and he says, "He's trying too hard," he says. "Under the fun-loving life of the party facade is a man who can't tell bionic implant theory to robotics." Pass.

Ah, but when Strange mentions a new vaccine, that does get Tony's interest. "Of course," he echoes. Then he laughs. Clapping Strange on the shoulder he says, "I just can't wait to see it change the world."

Strange shrugs, the motion possibly shifting Tony's hand if it lingered there.

"I'm always dubious of claims spread without the science to back it up. Show me the results of the trials — multiple trials — and then I'll make up my mind on the matter. Ah, thank you," he adds as he swaps glasses with the waiter. Once again, whiskey, orb of ice, happy Doctor as best he can be as such. "I should have brought the W — ahem, Wanda with me. She has the most scathing commentary of anyone I've ever known when it comes to functions such as these. Eastern European," the good Doctor explains, his grin…rather relaxed now due to the alcohol.

There's no lingering. Timing is important. Just a clasp and release. "It's too bad she's not here. It's a target-rich environment. We could have switched off. Oh, my God, is that old Dr. Franklin? I thought he was dead." Tony pulls a face as he looks at the old doctor doddering among his peers, holding forth on some topic they can't hear from here. "I'm not sure he's not. Do you have anyone on your end working on reanimation?"

The pfft of a laugh riffles the surface of his whiskey. Oh, if Tony had been but a few seconds later on that question, the good Doctor might have coughed into his drink.

"Not if I have my say in the matter. Dead is dead and should remain dead unless — " He pauses and then shuts his mouth, shaking his head. "No, not on my end of things." Strange busies himself with his drink now. Yeesh, that was kind of close to breaking his own Rule of Shadow.

Tony's lip curls at one corner, the only indication he gives of pride at his sense of humor. Don't milk it, Stark, let it flow. "Especially if they look like that when you bring them back." Poor Dr. Franklin doesn't have the greatest of tailors despite his deep pockets. It's hard to fit that squat form.

Tony tilts his head as he regards Strange. There's a frankness in his gaze, making no attempt to hide the fact he's caught Strange up in that 'unless.' He merely levels a look on the Sorcerer. Then he smiles and says, "I'll ask around on my end. It might a horrible advance in biotech."

Strange glances over from old Franklin (poor turtle-ish thing) to the genius inventor in time to acknowledge the look and then return it with one of his own, classically enigmatic and somehow knowing in how his steel-blues half-lid. His lips curve faintly. Tony might have seen a similar expression on the Mona Lisa. Smiling or not? That is the question.

"You'd play around with Death so lightly, Mr. Stark?" Subtle emphasis on that state of un-being.

Tony takes a drink of his scotch, muting whatever expression might otherwise surface. A knowing glance shared, and really, nothing need be said. Besides, this scotch is delicious. At the question, both brows lift, and he says "Me? No. Well, it depends on who you talk to. I think some of our less popular government projects give us an edge, safeguarding life."

He gestures to old Franklin with his scotch. "I have no part in this. I want no part in this. Good Lord, did he shrink?" There's nothing personally cruel in the banter. It's not like Dr. Franklin ever did anything to Tony to earn his enmity.

A 'hmph' from Strange is actually another muted laugh, given how one dimple appears to break the line of his goatee.

"The weight of the ages upon his shoulders, no doubt. I don't think you've shrunk since last we met." The good Doctor glances at Tony, the smile held in check. "You'll have to elaborate on these projects sometime, if they dance the fine line between life and lack thereof. I'd be curious to know more." He takes another healthy sip of his whiskey and pops his lips quietly afterwards. "Now is not the time or place, I think. Too many ears, even if they're taking advantage of the complimetary good cheer."

"Ages, try eons," Tony says. "We'll have to get together sometime soon," he says, and he takes a business card from his inner breast pocket, offering it to Strange from between two fingertips. He gives him one last knowing glance, seeming more amused than anything.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I see some associates I'd better make nice with if I want to get through this evening with more time for drinking. It was good to see you again, Strange."

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