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It's not often that the Sorcerer Supreme sets out looking for constructive criticism. A thing of rarity, really, it's about as common as a moonbow. Still, who better to ask for such than one who inhabits a similar form?
Up the fire escape stairs he goes, bip-bip-bip-bip, light of feet and nearly entirely silent. Up and up and…up…and…at the top, Strange pauses, panting, and briefly surveils the view of the ciy around him. It's rather pretty if not oddly-colored, missing the essential full palette of colors he usually sees. The Sight is easy enough to access and he blinks it over his eyes; ah, there, an air spirit cavorting by in a gust acknowledges him in passing. Then, at the window above the fire escape stair platform?
A faint thump of something landing on the sill followed by: a soft bap. Bap. Bap bap. Pause. Then repetative squeaky drags of pawpads down the glass, eek-eek-eek-eek-eek. A loud clearing a throat. Should the blinds be open, the sight is not of a man in crimson Cloak at all.
A large tomcat, nearing what could be upwards of 30lbs of muscle beneath a seal-brown coat. On his chest, an esoteric symbol in white fur, possibly the Seal of the Vishanti emblazoned. Steel-blue eyes blink slowly as he lays back his ears and clears his throat loudly again, the sound likely half-muffled by windowpane.
Stretched out on the couch and in line with the window in question is another feline. This one, of course, is a bit more than 30lbs, and certainly is not a tomcat. She's got one leg drawn up, a book propped against her thigh and is reading when she hears the soft thump outside. Her tailtip flicks ever so lightly at the first sound, but she doesn't break from her reading. She does, though, look up at the bapping followed by a scratching at the glass, and she can't help but stare in puzzlement for a moment. The sound of a -cat- clearing its throat doesn't help. She tucks a bookmark in her book,s ets it aside and rises with languid grace to step over and open up the window.
Tensed muscles, braced against a possible threat, relax almost immediately when the buff of outside air brings in a mix of familiar scents. "I cannot -wait- to hear the story behind this," she says with a broad smile.
Somehow, he smiles. It probably makes his silvery whiskers lift. Sunlight catches in the streaks of argent color beneath both ears and inside each delicate triangle. The wash of warm light also reveals the hidden heavy marbing of black striping throughout the dark-brown pelt.
"Miss Tigra," says Strange by way of greeting. He remains sitting on the windowsill, the moderate plush of his tail wrapped about his feet. "No story, unfortunately, unless you're amused by tales of incantations said correctly and the ability to shift out of this form when I wish rather than being stuck within. If you ever see me as a magpie…? That's a bit more complicated." The man is just as dignified as feline as he is when in standard human guise. "May I come in?"
'tis a subtle thing, but to Tigra, his level of dignity is much more suitable to him as a cat. There's not the same impulse to try to poke him and let some air out. "By all means," she says, still smiling in amusement, but not as broadly upon hearing it was a deliberate act and not some curse or accident. "Make yourself comfortable, which I'm sure you'll find is much easier as a cat than human. And what's this about a magpie?"
"I've found that to be relatively true," Strange agrees in terms of comfort as he flows into the apartment. A thump announces him landing on the floor and he pads into the place. It's more interesting as a cat; finer scents waft up to him as he slows and lifts his face, whiskers rutched forwards as he inhales deeply and seems to hum to himself thoughtfully.
A small grunt and he leaps up atop the back of the couch Tigra was resting upon to sit once more, a living statuette a la the MET Museum. "You asked of the magpie. I've found, through experience, that accessing shamanic magics allows a more believable transformation into the bird. The side effects are a set time period stuck within the form — as in, my Astral form within the physically-shifted body — and a noticeable influence by the bird itself. How to put this…" He slides his gaze off to one side as his ears rotate half-backwards. A sigh. "Shiny things are far more distracting," he finishes rather flatly as he looks back to Tigra. One set of whiskers lifts, a feline smirk of minor self-deprication.
Once he's inside, Tigra closes the window again, but doesn't latch it. She watches the tomcat leap into the apartment and pad about, then leap up onto her couch. She resumes her seat thereupon, stretching out her legs once more as she listens to the Sorcerer Supremeow. She snorts amusement at talk of the attraction of shiny things. "Well, I'm much happier feline, than avian, even if flying would be nice. So what's this about, then?" she asks, with a vague gesture to include his form.
"Ah, this, yes." Strange looks down at himself, paws and all, and licks at his chest fur before he can stop himself. The absurdity makes him freeze, ears flat-back for a second, before he clears his throat. No one saw that. "I have managed to fool my apprentice as well as his lover in this guise. It appears to the pedestrians below, I'm naught but an alleycat. Children seem inclined to think that I'm entirely pettable." By the wrinkle of his nose, this is the worst of it all. Ew, sticky hands on his fur. Ew ew ew. "But…" and he considers her lounging on the couch as she is. "If I hadn't said anything — if I had acted entirely cat-like — would you have recognized me for who I am? That's the reason for the visit. Feedback." Those silver-tufted ears perk forwards.
The grin returns, more broad again, when Strange licks at himself, and tries to pretend not to. She nods in understanding at talk of children. "I get that, sometimes. Not as much as I used to, but when I was first changed, well, I'd have total stranges reach out and pet me if we were in line together, and then be completely oblivious as to why I would find that distasteful." She looks him over more thoughtfully now that he's given the reason for being here. "When I saw you there, you certainly seemed like a cat to me. If you hadn't cleared your throat like you had, I probably would've thought you were like any other cat returning home, and having mistaken my window for his own." She pauses a moment before ocntinuing, "Once I opened the window, though, I knew who you were, because of your scent. If it hadn't been for that, I probably would've still be in the dark, just going on looks."
The large tomcat nods and hums again, thoughtfully, to himself. He lies down where he is and folds each front foot under his chest fur, marked in the white sigil as it is.
"That's excellent feedback, Miss Tigra, I thank you for it. Humans forget two very critical things regularly in dealing with the non-human: scents and…looking up. I can't tell you how many times I've been able to sneak upon others by simply being above line of sight. Again, the magpie form. Very useful. So…" He pauses, thinking. "Mask the scent. Not scent-less, but rather, more…cat scent. Hmm." His tail lashes back and forth slowly.
"It's something I have trouble with, even now," Tigra says of looking upwards. "Despite that I take the high road frequently myself." She smiles as he folds his front paws under him. Hard to be more more cozy than a cat. "Well, a domestic cat you'd expect to have scents of its home and surroundings. So it's not unreasonable to have human smells. If you were trying to fool someone else with a sense of smell like mine, and if they didn't know you, they'd be less likely to notice. I got you because I smelled your cologne and incense, and was already looking beyond the surface. If I'd been in my human form, I think I'd probably have felt you were just a peculiar cat."
"I'm quite the peculiar cat," Strange opines before laughing to himself. It's interesting to hear this modulated across a cat's vocal cords, more of a coughing, raspy sound. A slow blink and the inner lining of his irises glow faintly, as if a candle were hidden behind curtains of pale-lavender. "All good points, Miss Tigra. Still…I've given away my trick this time to you. I'll have to assume another form next I visit, perhaps." He turns back towards the window, hearing an odd sound outside, but dismisses it to look back to her. "Anything of interest to report? The sword remains safely hidden?"
He then narrows his eyes and his ears tilt to the sides of his head. "…if you show me another pawn stub, I might consider swatting you," he says, almost murring the R's.
"Every cat is peculiar, in its own way, but even so, peculiar definitely would apply." Tigra grins at the sound of the feline laughing. Her tail twitches with an urge to pet him, but she continues to refrain. Thoughts of a cat's three different names briefly occur to her, before more serious subjects are brought up. the grin fades, though she does snort in amusement about the pawn ticket. "No, it's as safe as I can make it. I keep it with the Avengers these days. Should anyone be able to take it from there, well, I'd have to think they were -meant- to take it."
Almost immediately upon hearing the whereabouts of the sword (and not being presented with a pawn ticket), the minor tension through Strange's body melts away. As of this time, he is most definitely loafing, albeit in the most formal possible manner.
"They do have some formidable security, I'll grant you this. Still…if I can open a Gate into the laboratory to see what Mister Stark is concocting with his manic genius and tools at hand, it may be time to meet with whomever claims themselves to be the head of security and lay down wardings. If they'll accept such a thing," he's quick to add with a slow blink. "I understand if they feel they can adequately defend the place. After all, their purview is that of the mundane world. I have no need to step into their shoes. I have my own boots to fill as is. Besides…" and again, that rusy sound is the oddity of a laugh. "…I'm certain that I've startled Captain Rogers enough as it is. I have no interest in making the man more uncomfortable as things stand."
"I'll speak to them," Tigra promises. "Certainly wouldn't hurt to have protection of a mystical nature, warnings and alarms if nothing else. I'll ask them, raise the subject, and let you know," she promises. On the subject of boots to fill she absently says, "Puss in boots?" She then pauses a moment. "Captain Rogers is not the easiest man to startle. That certainly would be a sight to see."
Another whisker-lifting smirk. "Yes… Puss in boots," the Sorcerer agrees, lazily tossing his tail to one side so it hangs over the back of the couch. "There is no pressure to speak to them, Miss Tigra. If anything, I can deliver the offering myself. It was merely a musing on my part. I agree entirely, however, in regards to Captain Rogers. He is a man of staunch spirit. I can't imagine much brings him up short…save for, apparently, magic. I suspect that his introduction to its existance was one of dark magic…blood magic, even." The deep-brown tomcat rotates his ears nearly flat again in disapproval. "Last we spoke, he was uncomfortable in my presence as is, even over the sacred formality of tea. Would that I could convince him that magic is as any weapon, a tool with its use reflected by its user's actions."
"It doesn't bother me, who brings the idea to them," She says with a casual shrug of strong shoulders. She goes quiet for a moment as she considers the captain. "He comes from a different time than we do," she begins. "Super-powers, fantastic science, casual magic, that was all unheard of then. Rockets were for fireworks, not putting men in space, and even airplanes were still almost brand new. And then to encounter so much of that at the hands of the Nazis…" Another lazy shrug. "I can't blame him for how he feels, and I'm someone who literally wouldn't be here without magic." She looks back to Sir Puss-not-in-boots. "I think a lot of has to do with the fact that magic may just be a tool, but it's a tool that when used for evil often has such very, very…dramatic results."
"Absolutely. In my experience, the Arts itself is free of morals," he agrees quietly. "I won't go about denying that certain practices are forbidden by the edicts of Kamar-Taj and for reasons that don't need explanation…or that certain branches of magic are specifically intended to cause harm through their elicitations…but all in all…? Words and action have equal weight in the field of the Arts."
He's silent for a time, seeming to look through and beyond Tigra, before inhaling and exhaling as he comes back to the present. "I can only imagine what Captain Rogers must think of this world from time to time. He seems to make his way well enough, however, and I admire his tenacity to remain sane." A little huff is most definitely amusment. He rises to his feet suddenly and indulges in a stretch that elongates his spine and lifts his tail into the air. Pale claws only barely extend — he's mindful not to wreck her furniture, that would be very rude — as his long front legs reach forwards and then he pads towards her end of the couch slowly. "Do give him my regards next you see him at the mansion or wherever?" he asks as he then sits within easy reach.
A little sigh, look to one side, and then he seems to stick out his chin. "You were helpful, Miss Tigra, and a good sport for my unexpected arrival. If you have any inclination to…pet me, you are invited at this time. I find that the jawline…and base of ears are…delightful," he hedges almost grudgingly, as if vaguely embarrassed to admit this, stoic gentleman that he usually is.
"Most tools are like that, no argument there," Tigra agrees. "A gun can be used to protect people or to threaten them. A hammer can create or destroy. That's the gift we all have, free will." She smiles at the indulgent stretch. -Nothing- stretches quite like a cat can, and when he sticks out his chin, she holds out a finger, a substitute for the nose-boop cats often give each other. Her smile then widens at his invitation. "Well that is very humble of you, Doctor," she says, and her hands goes from one finger out, to all of them up to lightly scritch back and forth across the base of his ears, lightly with her clawtips.
Rolling his eyes obviously to side and sighing as if this is a most terrible indignity, Strange holds where he is, within easy reach. The projection of disdain is perfect…until the beginnings of a low and rolling purr begins leaking through the front. His eyes half-shutter and then close and he leans the harder into the touch, enough that Tigra might reach about to his other ear if she attempted it.
Eventually, he does realize that he's making said sound and almost hiccups as it stops abruptly. A short sniff and about he turns, mercurial as cats can be, to pad back over to the window. "Thank you again, Miss Tigra, for your thoughts on matters. It could mean the difference in life or death at some point in time. For now, I must go. Duty calls." He's not going to admit that the nearby pigeons are totally fascinating. Nope. Nope, he's got Sorcerous business to attend to. Once let out onto the fire escape, he melts away down it and into the alleyway below, disappearing into the big city on silent paws.