10806/Something Sketchy Going On At The Sanctum

Something Sketchy Going On At The Sanctum
Date of Scene:	21 January 2020
Location:	Sanctum Santorum - Base Floor
Synopsis:	Sketchy business going on here.
Cast of Characters:	Phantasm (Drago), Magik, Hogarth Hart

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Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
There is an energy about the Sanctum. A location that is so closely tied to the world of magic, it would have to be. And it calls for a sense of reverence. Quiet study. A formal respect for the surroundings where one sits up, back straight. Hands in lap or upon the arm rests, and looking forwards, prim and proper.

.

.

.

And then there's Nick.

With the coffee table slid over, Nick slouches in his chosen chair, feet resting on the table, allowing for his upper legs to act as an easel for a sketchpad. A fold of his grey t-shirt keeps the pad from sliding forward, allowing for him to sketch away. One arm rest has been commandered with pencil and eraser duty with only two of the pencils not being with its bretheren. One in his hand, and the other one being held in his teeth. His ears are also taking part in the affair, doing their darndest to keep his long hair out of his face.

With the jacket and knitcap tossed onto a nearby chair, it is apparent that Nick DOES have more than one shirt in his clothing collection as this one is slightly lighter and also devoid of a pattern.

Magik has posed:
The Sanctum has a wellspring of power. It also shares at least a few of the spiderwebbed networks of power that Illyana occasionally taps for breakfast. The last one of those is an inkling of power, wholly intended for a different purpose, but explaining how that magic ended up imploding a secondhand blender is best not discussed. The faint hint of a berry fragrance matches the citrus on her hands, despite repeated washings. Some things cannot be helped.

When she alights on the doorstep, the building clearly doesn't seem to be too angry with her. For it lets her in, citing good or ill, and she shrugs off an oversized coat probably meant for her colossal brother instead of herself. A mistaken impression to think her a waif, but it works. <Hello to you, too,> she tells the empty air for no evident reason. Carried in, she takes in the foyer. Simply walking wherever she likes? Hardly, but she beelines for somewhere not bound to be run over in the event of the next minor or major mystical emergency. Which brings her to Nick's neck of the reverent woods, as it were. His missing pen holds up the bun at the back of her head. "Hi."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
"HMMr." Nick replies, pencil muffling the sound coming from his mouth. His head turns, one ear failing in its job to keep the hair at bay, covering up one of his eyes.

The sketching stops, dropping the drawing pencil on to the stomach before going up to fish the wooden bit out of the musician's mouth. "Hi."

On the paper, the beggings of a sketch are in place. Just basic outlines, wall shapes, floors but there is a promise of more detail to come.

Magik has posed:
Illyana's ears have no hope of keeping her hair back. The pen doesn't either. Add a dozen little bobbypins and an elastic, she still might face it all falling out. The fringe of pale bangs falls over her eyes and she shoves them back. "Is the Doctor here?" she asks, looking around. The Katz's deli sandwich hopefully wandered its way into a vault or a stomach or a fridge, but she doesn't run off to peer at it yet.

"No signs of escaped projects on the loose, da?" This, an icebreaker to conversation; the musician might have more lifting to do.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick blinks, craning his head to look to the doorway as if just reminded who actually lives here. "I- don't know." He admits, giving an apologetic smile, "I wasn't reallly paying attention after I started sketching. But he was here..." He frowns shaking his head, looking back to the sketchpad.

"Haven't heard any stories of any komodo dragon cobra hybrids running about." Nick sets the mouth pencil down, before bringing a hand up to tuck the hair back again. "So I think we're good still. Might as well use the time to get some rest."

Magik has posed:
"No arachnid parrot with viper fangs," Illyana adds, checking in with a report no one likely asked for. Her movements are sparing and precise, measured like a dance across the floor as she takes a seat opposite the musician. Peering at his sketchpad is rude; glimpsing it in passing, helpful. She drops into the chair, crossing one leg over the other as she does, all sinuous motion retained in a black obsidian profile.

"Mm." A look lifted from Nick to the surrounding Sanctum, she scours the empty spaces with no real sense of what she seeks. "More people come here than I thought. Office, not a home, not exactly."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
A hand grabs the pencil he had been drawing with, cradling it beteween the fingers as he looks to for the spot he left off at.

"Being I have a roommate it seemed the best place to work on the sketch without getting questions about it," Nick replies, bringing the tip of the lead to paper, "I think this is the first time I've ever consciously sought out the place."

The pencil strokes in a few more lines, "Pardon how the next question sounds but, do you come here often?"

Magik has posed:
"Roommates, da," she says with total understanding for a moment, her brow furrowed and mouth straightening out. For her, that counts as expressive. The range tends to be subdued, perhaps. Illyana blows her bangs from her face, tucking the longest strand behind her ears. "Space and privacy are so valuable."

She sinks into the seat, not even bouncing her foot once. Nick is studied with blunt assessment, though in that direct look lies a certain truthfulness, honesty couched in ice pale hues. The slightest hint of a smile shows. "No apology required. It would be strange to lead with that, not knowing me other than the girl who fought a dragon. Sometimes. He makes it open. Here is quieter than home."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
"Quiet is good. But so is noise at times." Nick murmurs, making a few more strokes of the pencil.

"So, big family at home?" Nick asks, leaning his head in closer to the page as the pencil's movements become more focused.

Magik has posed:
"Quiet is welcome," Illyana replies. "Clearer to work. Less pressure. This city has so many people, and they make so much noise, making it difficult to do any work. To think your thoughts." Appreciative glimmerings of a smile are quenched before reaching her lips, but it hides away in her eyes. Nick's scratches are something of a soothing note, dull and quiet.

"New York is very large," she explains. "You from here?"

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
"Mostly here." Nick answers, scritching away. "Mom moved us to Gotham when I was really young. I came back to the kitchen when I was ten."

The pencil stops its dance, shifting sideways as a thumb lowers against the paper, rubbing at the lead. "It is a large place. But it has its advantages."

Magik has posed:
Illyana sits across from Nick where he partakes of the artistic joys of sketching. No such paper rests in her lap. Neither is there any kind of indication she is languishing about with a purpose, other than conversation. Cross-legged in the chair, she has only a single implement of interest: a pen holding up her bun, a stolen one at that.

"Big city to big city," she murmurs. "Advantages, but it is never dark here. Never quiet."

Hogarth Hart has posed:
     A flash of light opens to the foyer of the Sanctum, out tumbles a young mage, right to the ground, and soon after, the clank of a wooden staff echoes through the hall. The brown haired man rests on his knees and palms, coughing.

  The portal closes and after some seconds, Hogarth stands, with the assistance of the staff, using it as a walking stick. Some coughs echo through the foyer, before the mage composes himself. "I'm home!" He calls out, not that some nice young wife was expecting him, another one of his sacrifices.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick shrugs, "You go where there's someone to raise you. Usually it's not something you get to pick yourself. So, you adapt." He shrugs, "Well, eventually."

The bright light appearing in the side of his vision causes for Nick to lift his thumb away from the paper, turning to look towards the general source of the interruption. Hearing the voice, Nick cracks a slight smile, "Oh! There you are, Hogarth. It's about time. We've been waiting for you."

Magik has posed:
Illyana's expression holds an uncanny stillness that goes right along with her sinuous bearing. There are sharks with equal emotive power, and coiled serpents or raptors perching on high precipices more bound to movement. All that falls into distinct focus when the blaze parts the atmosphere within the regal building.

Her pupils shrink a fraction, all focus on the mystic disturbance. Almost immediately she is on her feet, rather than lazily reclining in a chair. Hogarth might be on his hands and knees still by the time she is in motion, headed for the source of the interruption. Nick's pen falls from her hair, skittering across the floor in a plastic cadence of notes. Perhaps fate is messing with him, someone nice, young, and female falling into his path like that.

She holds out her hand. No incandescent light blooms, no suggestion of worse spells at the ready. "Take it." A handkerchief?

Hogarth Hart has posed:
     The young Order Sorcerer takes the offered handkerchief, wiping at his brow, the man was dabbled with sweat.

  Hogarth keeps the staff at his left side, placing weight on it and his leg at the same time, arriving at the source of the chatter. "Sorry, I was...you wouldn't understand." Hogarth says with a wave, looking to Nick and...Illyana. There had been a slight pause there. "Waiting for me? for how long? What's the date?" He asks, having left his phone in this plane of existence.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick does not get up. Considering how he's sitting, leaned back in the chair, feet on the coffee table, sketchbook on his legs and drawing utensils balanced upon the chair arm and on his stomach, it'd be a feat. And unecessary considering Hogarth already identified himself.

Instead Nick just tilts his head upwards, looking as far back behind him as his eyes will physically allow towards the older male, "The 20th. And not THAT long. Something came up yesterday."

Magik has posed:
"Try me," replies the Russian. Her accent is not an easy one to place in that vast nation, far from the clipped edges of a Muscovite or the polished sophistication of their arrogant St. Petersburg peers. No, this belongs entirely to the heart of winter. But English comes perfectly to her tongue, better than most New York natives, and tellingly, peculiarly rooted somewhere in the Home Counties. It makes little sense.

"I was unaware time was of consequence. Should I leave?" This is offered as an olive branch of sorts. As one must.

Hogarth Hart has posed:
     Hogarth looked time weary, and his robes were dirty from wear. "I was stuck near the inner circle of thought." The concept of such was difficult for most to grasp, but most likely not for Illyana. "Spasibo." He offered, that was near the only piece of Russian he knew, but all the same he offered the handkerchief back to her.

  The studying Sorcerer sat down on a nearby chair, the staff remaining standing straight up as he sat, even though it had rounded edges. "Three days...I was there for three days. No, you don't need to leave, I guess." He offered to both of them. "What's the something?" He asks Nick, concerned that something had gone more wrong than his latest expedition to the plane of thought.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
"You're fine Illyana. It's just Hogarth's name was brought up as a suggestion for that field trip we were planning." Nick assures.

A pencil rolls off the armrest as the chair shakes, a consequence of Nick moving some more to get a better look to the pair. A move that turned out not necessary as they move back in view.

"Well, while practicing, I stumbled across a lab that is most definitely not legal and having the worst day imaginable. And inside were-" He pauses, recalling the word "Chimera. So, basic plan is to sketch up what I remember, and a group of us goes there to make sure there's nothing population ending still there."

Magik has posed:
"Hello," will do, English practiced even though the use of native Russian earns a sliver crescent of a smile on those winter-pale lips. Not much colour ever comes to her complexion without some kind of aid. It's simply too difficult to turn a blonde to sunset shades when they are formed of tundra and endless nights, low sun and ancient memory. Taking her handkerchief from Hogarth, she folds it in twain and banishes it to a pocket. A pocket that leather pants really shouldn't have.

Back to her seat, then, tossing herself into the space with a precision rarely found. She sits up perfectly straight, watching them both. "Identify the means of their creation, end it. Clean up those responsible for the profanity."

Hogarth Hart has posed:
     "Chimera, the amalgamation of two or more animals into one. That's sick." Hogarth sinks into the chair, trying to fix his hair back to its middle parting. "But why is this meant for us? Genetic manipulation is not a new concept, nor a magical one." Yep, that was the biggest question there. "Why are -we-" He gestures to Illyana and himself. "needed for this?" The Mainer didn't have much of an accent left, having been away for so long, but he was obviously American, at the least. "I need to get my strength back." He sniffs at himself, slightly repulsed. "And a shower. Apparently you still get smelly on a different plane of reality."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
"Yep. What she said." Nick responds in agreement. "And if you can tell me how they got the dinosaur, octopus, shark combo to shoot off lightning by just combining the three types of creatures, by all means, tell me."

He gestures to himself, "Saw it." He points to Illyana, "Can get us there." He points to Hogarth, "And I think you're playing the part of Jiminy Cricket." He pauses cracking a smirk, "Also, should I be the one looking around going 'yup that's magic' or 'no that isn't '?"

Magik has posed:
"People possibly dying in the streets with an arcane element is rather a need for us," Illyana replies without any hint of emotion to her voice except business professionalism down to the quick. No smirk, no smile. "Jiminy what?"

Hogarth Hart has posed:
     Hogarth's face goes blank, looking to Nick. "If you need someone else to be your conscience, you are way beyond my help, Nick."

  He glances towards Illyana, the Jiminy what question just causing him to gasp a little. "It's a cricket, he is Pinocchio's conscience. From the cartoon, Disney. Real old."

  Though the addition of lightning to all this makes Hoagie nod. "Okay, that's different, jeez, why didn't you mention that first?"

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick gives Hoagie a blank stare. "Thunderbolt and Lightning, very very Frightning, Hoagie!" He singsongs briefly before looking over to Illyana.

"See the movie." He suggests, sliding down in his seat in order to reach the pencil that fell to the floor earlier, "It has a more pleasant ending for the cricket."

Magik has posed:
Queen, that she at least knows. Not Disney movies, but even a sheltered demon-queen sure as hell knows about Queen. She sweeps in with a short, abbreviated stanza soaring on those midnight wings, tapping out the notes sharply with her fingertips. "Galileo," pausing briefly for the call-and-reply portion. "Galileo Figaro." Cut the losses, that voice of hers can soar if it has to. "Magnifico," and rounding out that O for a respectably long run as called on.

"They're just poor monsters going out hunting." She flicks her finger at Nick. "He's just a poor man, but that lab won't scare me. Spare New York City from monstrosities?"

Maybe it works. "Tell me when you are ready. Best go sooner, not later," she says deadpan as she rises.

Hogarth Hart has posed:
     Hogarth looks to the two, that face of his going blank again. "Really? Hoagie? Haven't heard that since the seventh grade." The mage stands, slowly, wincing at the stretching of muscles that were weary. "I think I'm gonna grab that shower." His worn boots creaked in protest with every step. "You know where the kitchen is, just don't let Doc see you make a mess." He warns before continuing out of the room. "I'll be back in a little bit."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick says, "Remember, It's better than Moldemort."

Nick's brow raises as Illyana contributes to the lyrics. "Very nice." He admits before he's reminded of the task at hand. "Oh right!"

The musician grabs the pencil off the floor and starts to shift back into position, "Working on that now. Will call you when it's ready."

Magik has posed:
"Good. I will see the Doctor when he is in. I need suggestions for refining cross-galactic portals with shielding to avoid detection." Illyana looks around in case the wards might be listening, and then makes her own departure with a wave. And the instant it's complete she heads out into the street.