1964-11-17 - Strange, do teh voices!
Summary: Friends, feasts, and Strange tells a story (he should really do the voices too…)
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
strange kai sif thor 

The saying "one's ears are burning" doesn't quite ring true here, but there's an aspect of it, to be sure. Maybe it's more like the winds of Fate puffed in his ear while he was stirring honey into his tea. Not ten minutes before, Strange straightened and looked over his shoulder, off towards the upper east end of New York City proper.

"Well, I'll be damned." Not bound to hell, no, but bound to follow that suspicion because the curiosity is strong with this one and always will be. It's a familiar signature, one known moreso than the average visitor from another world, considering he'd had a hand in locating it as well as calling it from beyond.

The Gate opens upon the front steps of the Asgardian Empbassy and clad in his storm-blue battle-leathers, wearing the crimson Cloak, the Sorcerer knocks on the front door because…propriety. If it takes longer than 30 seconds for anyone to respond, well, he's going to attempt to walk right on into that foyer, magnificent as it is.

A familiar voice was heard as well. It was as impatient and forthright as any woman's tone could carry without trying to be rude. "I do not care for a book of phones. Tell Master Phones to summon Kai Alfsson, Heir of Solva. I have need to speak with-" She paused hearing soft boots on tile and her anger ebbed into a wry grin. "him." She said quieter. Her head tilted back as the light above warmed her teak skin catching the amusement in her eyes as Strange showed. "You cantankerous caster, you-" was it a threat? There were power in words but a chuckle followed, "You have been missed. How fare thee?"

After entering the foyer, Strange can indeed pick up the familiar voice. He frowns, pausing to figure out precisely what had gotten under the warrior's skin. Ah, modern Midgardian technology. Upon realizing she's noticed him, he gives Sif a big grin, charming in a vaguely boyish way. Gods below, this is one Asgardian he's got a soft spot for — so sue him.

"Cantankerous? You've been talking to the wrong people, Lady Sif. I fare well, thank you," he replies as he walks over, extending out a hand intended for a wrist-grasp of greeting. "If I may suggest eschewing phones entirely. Simply Gating into places is far easier than attempting to connect via the land lines." His laugh is a warm one, twinkling in his eyes. "It's good to see you again, m'lady. You seem hale and whole, no worse for the wear. What brings you to Midgard?"

Cantankerous AND nosey, this Sorcerer.

Sif was all joy as her hand wrapped around Strange's arm and her hand met his shoulder. "Good. I'm glad the days have kept you well. You've earned them." She could in theory just teleport to his apartment, but she may have tried that so far. She rest her weight back into heel as she answered her friend with a tone of gratitude, "I've come to pay forward the kindness you've done for me. You've aided me in escaping my stalemate so I've been trying to help an old friend do the same. Kai's mother, actually. Your world though seems… troubled right now though."

"I won't stand here and claim that it's in any way peaceful," the Sorcerer replies, some of the good-natured light draining from his expression. Folding his arms before his chest, he allows himself a sigh, proof of perpetual guardianship from the Mystical wearing and tearing on him. "If it did suddenly lack troubles, however, I would be deeply suspicious as to interference. Midgardians are…a spirited sort." A wry smile for her now.

"It was no hardship on my part to return your spirit, Lady Sif, and done with a great deal of selfishness. I would be a liar if I went about claiming that it didn't do my heart some good to remind the others that we Midgardians are anything but powerless."

Sif was pleased. There was battle, but there were also friends. Friends avenge you, good friends put your spirit back into your body so you don't miss out on teh fight. Strange was a very excellent friend in that regard. There was an easy laugh that warmed her mood, "Well as I am here, and as you have done much for me, really if I can be of any assistance to you ask. Think of it as not being stingy with the fun." Because either of them were generally too prideful to ask for aid on any given day. Perspective could be healthy on that so she was told.

The assessment of Midgardians amsued her, "Any who think the people of Midgard will idly stand by deserve what they have coming to them. Besides, I have heard from a companion that there is cream that is iced. I will tell you I am curious but also skeptical. I was in Jotenheim. Everything past that feels lax in the 'is iced' definition. Tell me your tales though, how have you been?"

Prideful as the gods themselves, yes, this Sorcerer. Sif can count herself as one of the few he may ask for aid. Thus he replies firstly, "I will gladly call upon you if I find a source of fun that you would enjoy. Lately, I have been able to handle all that Fate has dished out on my plate. Iced cream, however? Ice cream, the dessert? Nothing akin to it can be found in Jotenheim. It's a Midgardian delicacy. I haven't had it in years," and Strange shrugs. "The curse of magic, Lady Sif: it ruins one's appetite after a time. But still — I highly recommend it. Start with vanilla. Sweet, but not overly so. If you like it, try a sherbet next — or perhaps chocolate."

He looks beyond Sif's shoulder, to the dining room generally with long table fully displayed in foodstuffs and various drinks and back to her. "If I'm not imposing, I'll tell you of my latest adventure over a cup of tea?" He gestures towards it on a paused half-step in that direction.

Sif tilted her head and thought of it for a moment to give him an honest answer. "I have the time and would love to hear of your latest tribulations and triumphs. Come, we will break bread, you will do the talking." The receptionist though? Ooooh she got a look like Tell him. Tell Master Phones he's on my list. Her stride was patient and just enjoyed being among good company. "If nothing else, I enjoy your perspective, Strange. Come, we break bread."

Nodding to the Lady Sif, he eyes the receptionist as they leave the foyer. The woman receives a wink full of insinuation that all will end well, even if it leaves her bewildered and wondering at the oddities of Asgardian warriors.

"Let me see…what to regale the finest swordswoman of the Golden City," Strange muses aloud as he meanders over to the kettle set about midway down the table. It's a standard dark blend, nothing fancy, and it will do in a pinch once more honey's spooned into it. Steam rises from the hot water poured into a mug collected from the nearby grouping and he hums to himself thoughtfully. "You might appreciate the troubles a friend and I got into over the undead. They were on par with the Draugr, those fiends enchanted to undeath." He glances up at Sif and then beyond, hearing movement in the foyer beyond the dining room.

Sif would have one note flattery will get someone everywhere. Sif was not immune to finding the laurels agreeable, she jsut didn't bost as many of her counterparts did, nor feel the need to. Still, most agreeable. Undead? Oh yes this had her interest as she murmured with a slight grunt, "You are never to allow this to happen to me. Agreed? Go on? How did this come about?" Her sword never left her person but was set in the chair beside her as she eased to a sit and proceeded to help herself to the spoils of the dinging room. There was something to be said for toast and honey that she would never turn down.

Kai comes into the embassy in his best beatnik chic. The beat generation is on its way out, but he's holding onto it for as long as he can, mixing it up with the occasional bout of tie-dye. Today, though, it's a black turtleneck, black chinos, a white scarf at his neck and a beret atop his curls. He's got a long cigarette holder in one hand and his sunglasses perched upon his brow. He looks around, dissatisfied, and he follows the sound of voices until he reaches the pair.

"Lady Sif, you called for me, yeah?" He looks then to Strange and says, "Hey there, Daddy-O, what's shaking?" He flashes a toothy smile, then drops into a seat, stretching out his legs.

"I'd say speak of the devil, but you're far too innocent for that." Still, Strange smirks and lifts his mug of tea to the arrival of the Alfheimian. "You're just in time for me to share a tale with Lady Sif." Pulling out a chair at the table, he sits down with a grateful sigh and sips at his drink.

"However, business first and pleasure later. Indeed, the Lady Sif was…very wroth with the receptionist earlier." He's wearing an eat-shit grin now, more than happy to poke the swordswoman with a metaphorical stick as friends may do. "It must be important, whatever you need to discuss."

Sif slid a flat glance to teh direction of front reception. "I have faith in her that she will do the right thing and find the needful be done." Kai won a warm smile and her hands went inthe air ever so pleased. "See, did I not tell you she could come through. Kai, the herald found you. Good good. In brief, we have two moons to wait, but in two moons we can be in Alfheim for the reassessment. I heard back from this early this day." Sif looked to the Sorcerer Supreme shaking her ehad, "They asked if I wanted to leave a message as if bading someone to join us was not sufficient enough."

Kai perks up and says, "That's great!" To Strange, he says, "I might get to see my mum." He gets up so he can throw his arms around Lady Sif. "I knew I could count on you," he says. "You've never let me down." He's latched on like a limpet for a little bit before he gradually lets go and returns to his seat. To Strange, he says, "Lady Sif has been a friend of the family since I was just a little one." Like he's such a big one now, but hey, technically an adult! He bounces a little where he sits, all sorts of energized now that he's heard the news. "But you were going to tell a story?" This to Strange.

A flickering of lights and a *hum* of power— raw, astral power that surely rings against Strange's skull like a tuning fork to the teeth— floods the building. Overhead, the rainbow cascaded of the Bifrost shatters into a million tiny fragments and dissipates into the night.

The rear doors of the grand hall blow open and Thor strides in, wearing his cape and a winged helmet with Mjolnir in hand. "Crack me but a small flagon of mead, 'for 'twas but the smallest of victories," he booms, even as warriors rise and courtiers bow out of his way. "Barely worth the toasting, which will take longer than the doing, no doubt!"

With mouth open to reply to Kai's inquiry as to the tale to be told, Strange is indeed acutely aware of the arrival of the Prince. It's abrupt enough to cut off words briefly. A hard blink, as if reorganizing scattered thoughts, and he too rises from his chair, though it's delayed slightly for the buzzing in his molars.

"Your highness, welcome back." Remaining standing, the Sorcerer looks back to Kai and Sif. "I'll make it short, if the Prince is inclined to listen. Otherwise, I defer to the…more ribald and rip-roaring tale of his recent victory, insubstantial as claimed." Inclining his head in a subtle nod to Thor, he then sits again, getting comfortable in his chair. He's at ease here, in this company, less closed in expression and air in general.

Sif looped an arm around Kai in a hug, one of the few familial-ish ties she kept. "Indeed! Our friend was just regaling me of tales locked in battle against scores of undead." The Bifrost touched down and she knew the thrumm of her brother's bridge anywhere. Could be anyone truly but Thor showing up seemed to hold her good mood. "You are just in time. We are being told a take of ballt wrought with the dead returned." She looked to Strange and lifted her mug for him to continue, "Do the voices too." Story time! Yaaaaaaas!

Kai looks up, and he raises a fist to Thor in greeting, since he lacks a mug or tankard. "Prince Thor!" he says. "Tonight's a night for telling tales. Come sit with us! Dr. Strange is just telling us about…" He looks to Sif, then Strange. "The undead? What?" He hasn't been here long enough to gather the topic just now, and he looks morbidly interested. "What was this? Are there more zombies? Can I go after them?"

"Please, friends— sit," Thor tells the assembled throng, handing his helmet off to an attendant. He flicks Mjolnir in an underhanded toss towards a heavy rock in one corner of the room, well-pitted in service to that weapon. It lands with a *WHUMPF*, irrevocably rooted as constnatly as the sun rises in the east.

"Friend Strange," Thor says, moving to offer Strange a boisterous clasp of the wrist. "Welcome to the Halls of Asgard, such as they are. Please! Sit, all, and let us be regaled by a tale of the undead," the Thunder God says. He brushes his fingers through his shaggy shoulder-length hair and moves to his seat at the head of the table, and drops into it heavily, throwing one leg over the chair's arm. Almost by the time he's seated, a stein of ale is in his hands.

With a grunt, Strange returns that strong warrior's grip of greeting as best he can and lifts his tea to the general audience.

"Thank you, your highness. I didn't expect as many listening ears and I am no Skald, but it is a tale of battle-blood and prowess in the name of Asgard and Midgard combined. No need to chase down zombies, Kai, these being have long been dealt with. They aren't coming back any time soon," he adds, grinning quickly at the Elf. The man is a stickler for perfection; if it's gone, it's gone.

Clearing his throat, Strange lifts a single hand. Above his upturned palm, a sudden appearance of auroral lights, all the possible hues in a crystal's spectrum. "I cannot do justice to the Kineseeker's voice, Lady Sif, but perhaps a visual instead." A strand in glittering jet-black wends out to take the lined form of a Dire Varg, the design scrolling in honor of Norse iconography. Another strand etches out a familiar blue-and-crimson humanoid shape, hovering in active motion.

"When a sorceress out of her time chose to endanger the world of Midgard and its people with a curse upon the deceased, I led the charge. Abuse of magic is not something taken lightly by my kind. At my side, the fearsome Skali Kineseeker, Dire Varg and great warrior, if not bloodthirsty as are her ilk. The battle came to be upon the green expanses of Central Park and there were many, a veritable hoard." The tableau in the air above the table takes on neon designs, the two original creations beside one another against a swirling miasm in sickly beige and rust-blood, rushing towards them.

"Oh, we clashed, my friends." The demonstration is a small cataclysm, and the outwards rush of air from the bright central node of light blows loose items, tosses hair. "Skali was a blur in black and red, her teeth flashing and her battle-bellows a thing to hear. The Jotuns would tremble for how she held her ground and wound through the staggering Draugr with the grace of a weasel in a hen-house." Hey, he's from the Midwest, okay? "With my spells, gravity was inverted, the emptiness of space at my beck and whim, and the might of the Vishanti was but a breath away. How they howled and trembled before us." Skali's design whips through the beige cloud and erases it as it goes, the silver of teeth flashing in precise angles. Magic shows as vibrant violet and brilliant chartreuse. "In the end, we were triumphant. Skali was coated in the grime of her enemies and I was able to seal away any malingering magics, thus enabling safety to return to Midgard — and with the aid of Asgard." The crimson-and-celestine as well as jet-glitter images swirl in upon themselves and it seems that the shadows in the room recede, allowing in natural lighting again. A lift of his mug and Strange wets his throat.

"And I am not mimicking Skali," he adds, pointing specifically at Sif and then laughing.

Kai watches the story unfold, and his eyes brighten. This? This is the stuff. He rests his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. "Skali was so cool, man," he says. "She was hip. We used to have coffee." The same fearsome Dire Varg, kicking it with the beatnik at a coffee shop. "We dined and dashed once. It was groovy." He leans back and raps his knuckles on the table, rapraprap. "Well done, Doctor. I couldn't top that story for anything, I think."

At the concluson of Strange's story, Thor joins in the roar of approval and bangs his stein on the table until the handle breaks. He throws back what remains of the drink and a new stein is in his hands almost before the mead is gone.

"A story for the ages, friend Strange!" Thor bellows, hoisting his flagon in salute to the Sorceror Supreme. "And Skali would relish the echo of that voice, that we might all have shared in the story as if it unfurled before us!" he shouts, to a roar of approbation from the assembly.

Sif hung on every word, eyes delighted. Stories?? Yes Asgardians cut their teeth on many a tale and revered them highly. "Yes! Let them tremble before you!" Looking to Thor and Kai she gestured with the honied bread roll, "We can say he does, in fact, have more power in his little finger to smite foes with and not be at all wrong. This is a likable trait, Strange. Don't lose that." At the protest of not doing the voices she laughed, "But you would do so well at them! Besides, it's amusing for the rest of us."

Wincing and laughing at the outburst of appreciation, Strange makes himself heard above the uproar.

"You're buttering me rather thickly for such a tale. I barely spoke for five minutes! Still…" And beware the Sorcerous bemusement, the draw of fingertips down the lines of his goatee, and the curl of a smirk. "If you're looking for a near-literal imitation, I'm certainly able to grant you one. It turns out that the spell is stable in this realm after all."

Kai takes the honied bread roll and tears off a piece to nibble on. "You should tell us stories more often," he tells Strange. He looks to Thor, deferring to the Asgardian, lest he want to tell his tale. "I have a few war stories," he mentions, "but none that impressive." He devours another piece of the roll. Hungry elf!

Thor laughs and surges to his feet. "Well, I shall not try to top such a grand tale this eve!" he booms, slopping back his mead and tossing the container aside. "'tis a welcome tale, from a hall that welcomes such grandeur. I thank you, friend Strange, for your contribution! May our hospitality never wax thin," he promises.

"But 'tis time for me to take my leave from your company, friends. Nay, do not rise— stay and enjoy the evening," he says, bidding everyone take their ease as he departs from the hall.

Sif warmed a wry grin as Thor gave his approval. She shook her head and eased back in her chair. "Were it to come again you should absolutely come with us, Alfsson. You, your blades, your wit, and your good will. When the Three and I last traveled? Believe me the myrth was appreciated!" She licked the honey off her thumb before finding another roll. "We have two moons before we are needed back in Alfheim, and good company here. I would like to see this city of yours. I don't think I can simply 'sit' consecutive days in a row. I jsut did that for two months and my leathers have met their quota for being idle and sitting."

The display of Sorcerous prowess will wait for another time. Strange salutes the Prince as he exits the dining room and turns his attention back to both Sif and Kai, his eyes shifting between the pair.

"Kai — I nominate you as Midgardian tour guide for the Lady Sif. You've spent some time here. She hasn't tried ice cream yet." Lifting the same hand used to direct the earlier visuals, he wends a thin stream of magic about the tea pot and curls a finger towards himself. Come hither, kettle. As he pours himself more tea, he continues: "I would show her myself, but ice cream doesn't agree with me and I may have Mystical duties to attend to at any given moment."

Kai waves to Thor as he leaves, and then he stuffs more bread into his mouth. He nods to Strange solemnly, then chews, swallows, and says, "Of course. I know all the good spots, too." To Sif, he says, "Remember when I tried to show you around Sctoland and we ended up stuck in that bog? And those sheep attacked us? I promise you, this tour will be almost entirely bog and sheep-free." To Strange, he adds, "I was just barely a young man," like he isn't now, "and the bog almost did me in."

Sif grinned at this idea and tilted her head to teh side. "Those sheep put up a good fight." As if to wonder the outcome she told Strange, "Sheep taht taste of victory are quite a thing. Kai at some point we should go back with more bread."

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