8805/Vishanti Stew

Vishanti Stew
Date of Scene:	14 August 2019
Location:	Sanctum Santorum - Base Floor
Synopsis:	Felicia learns what Stephen lost, and what Loki's set to gain.
Cast of Characters:	Black Cat, Loki

---

Black Cat has posed:
Nothing like sleeping the sleep of the one-and-a-half wine bottles consumed. The Cat is dead to the world through her beau's Astral conversation with the triumvate who judge his mantle and even through his departure. She wakes hours later with a squeaky, gritty-eyed sound of discomfort.

"Stephen...?" Emerging from the blanket flushed of cheek, Felicia blearily scans her living room. The man's not present and, as such, she assumes he went home -- home, the Sanctum. "Fine...be that way," she grumbles to herself as she pads towards her master bedroom for a shower.

After a rinse-off, hair-wash, hair-dry, and general sprucing, the thief then hails an Uber to Greenwich Village. She wears a t-shirt with "I NEED COFFEE" emblazoned on its white surface in grey lettering and a pair of black crop-yoga pants along with a pair of slip-on sneakers in baby-pink and grey. Her hair is half pulled-up, its loose platinum-blonde waves left to fall before and behind her shoulders. Walking up the steps to the Sanctum, she reaches into her small satchel slung across her body to find her keys. One particular chit is picked and she goes to unlock the front door, calling out softly as she does, "Copperfield, it's me."

Loki has posed:
The key is inserted. It just doesn't turn, or respond at all. And the sanctum just remains as it is, as if entirely unfeeling or uncaring to her arrival. Something is clearly wrong. Another test of the key will get the same result.

Then, suddenly the door opens away from her, with a calm and collected looking 'Cooperfield' on the other side. "I didn't mean to alarm you; we just need to update your access, there's been some necessary security changes," he says fondly, but his smile for her will seem good enough. He's happy to see her, and moves towards her, as if to greet her on the doorstep, probably with a hug.

Black Cat has posed:
Something is wrong. The key doesn't engage any portion of the lock itself. Felicia frowns at it. "Uh..." she breathes to herself before pulling it out and looking at it. She hasn't broken or bent any of the tines, has she? A small corner of her heart goes cold with dread -- oh god, she wasn't banished from the Sanctum too, was she...?

Startling back and almost down a step as the door opens, the thief blinks owlishly at what appears to be Stephen on the other side. Her hands, clutched up before her chest, linger there as she too lingers on the front porch. Her smile is tentative. "Got it," she replies. "You scared me," Felicia then continues, frowning at him briefly as she puts the keys away into her purse. "Don't do that." It's nothing more than a gentle chide at most as she past him and into the foyer, patpatting his lapel as she goes by him.

Once inside, she turns and gives him a tremulous half-smile yet again. "You okay?"

Loki has posed:
"Yes, though your concern isn't misplaced: it hasn't been smooth sailing here," says the apparent image of Dr. Strange, as he smiles wryly and closes the door, letting her inside.

The inside of the sanctum FEELS a little different, as if the former heartbeat of the place just had a slightly different timbre: like as if one was used to hearing a grandfather clock ticking away, and it has been slightly restrung. It's the same, but something about the pitch is new. Not bad, just new.

"I haven't been myself, have I?" the doctor asks with some dismay, eyes dropping, and then moving to the side, before slightly tiredly coming back to her vicinity. He approaches her and lifts a hand to gently touch her shoulder, but he doesn't direct her anywhere. Perhaps the keys were changed on more than one entryway, but that doesn't mean the door isn't open...

Black Cat has posed:
"No...you haven't," Felicia agrees quietly. The very first inklings of true concern bleed into her posture and into the wariness of her gaze upon him. As if scenting something in the air, she does hazard a glance away towards the grand staircase and the stained-glass window of the All-Seeing Eye above the first landing. When the light pressure of his palm falls to her shoulder, she twitches as if pulled rapidly back to the present, but doesn't move away. Instead, she reaches up and places her own hand over his so very gently, mindful of the scarring.

"I hope things went well...? I mean, if you ended up talking to your bosses." Her voice is small if even. Jade-green eyes consider him through her lashes before she steps into his space to hug him. "It'll be okay, Stephen, I promise," she murmurs into his chest. "Even if I have to fix it myself."

Loki has posed:
The door closes with a soft finality of the sanctum, empty in appearance save for them.
The shapeshift to his own form is easy and subtle.

Loki's magic, alone, is exactly aimed at things like this, his finesse in soft manipulation of form and psyche rarely matched. He doesn't need any extra or additional power to slip guises in a matter of moments, and in such a way to not alarm: at least, not until he means to.

Intentionally, the first clue of the reversion to Loki will be the texture of the weave of his black poet shirt on her murmuring lips and cheek.

"I do not think anything needs to be fixed, but pray, what will you do, pet?" Loki asks, lifting one hand to attempt to brush her hair back from one side of her face. His expression is serene, powerful, godly: not gloating. Not yet, that is.

Black Cat has posed:
With eyes shut, it falls upon her skin to report the subtle change in fabric texture. Felicia's lids have only just lifted and her brain noted the darkened weave -- not the familiar, well-worn storm-blue she knows so well -- and then come the refined words in a voice not cultured Midwest in the least.

With a sharp exhale of horror, she stumbles back a step, her pupils gone pinpoint. There's a hanging eternity of a second wherein her heart tries to climb up and out of her throat before red takes over her entire field of vision.

Her hand arcs, swift and sure and faster than any standard human can track with their senses --

-- aimed directly at Loki's refined face.

//CRACK//

Her words are shredded even before they leave her lips. "Where is Stephen?! WHERE IS HE?!"

Loki has posed:
Loki was busy looking at her, glowing in his victory and pleasure of /someone/ being aware of his victory. It must feel like a thirsty, scavenging crow, finding relief in pecking the tears from her cheeks.

The slap lands hard and accurately, and Loki stumbles from it sideways. He didn't anticipate the strength she was going to put behind that, and he took a slamming. That will be the one slap she gets, though: he knows her strength, now.

At first there's a hooked, surprised snarl on his lips, but it then releases into a deep laugh. He straightens back up, one hand lifting to his jawline, and simply looks at her, fingers brushing the edge of his chin.

"How should I know?" Petty? Well, he did just get smacked.

Black Cat has posed:
In his defense, her palm aches now; it was like slapping a redwood tree, sturdy and yielding only through temper, not skill. Felicia clasps her hand against her chest, fingers about her wrist, and grimaces back at him. Of course there's a frightened tear to glimmer as it falls.

"Because this is //his// home! He should be //here//!!!" she manages to spit, near-literally, through gritted teeth. She backs away one step...and then another, clearly looking to bolt at this point. "Haven't you done enough?!" Interestingly, it's not towards the front door she's retreating: it's towards a side hallway, as if some form of trickery known to her might exist along its length.

Loki has posed:
"Does your poor hand need healing?" Loki asks her, with only the slightest edge of menace under the 'pleasant' question. "I heal hands, you know." That was aimed at far more than just Felicia's hand. That was a slap of another kind. Loki doesn't need to attack physically.

"This," Loki says informationally, "Is the home of the current Sorcerer Supreme, and those they choose to grant entry to. Not people that are fired from the position."

He watches her strange little step pattern. "Do you need a bankers' box to remove your toothbrush, deodorant and other sundries?" Loki asks her, now certainly not withholding the dry mock.

Black Cat has posed:
The commentary about hands hits home. Felicia winces and continues to retreat, never looking away from the Asgardian mage. She uncrosses her arms and flexes her fingers at her side now, readying herself.

At least, until Loki's advisement about home ownership dumps on her like a bucket of ice water. He can see it land and set her temper to smoking coals as she freezes. "No...!" comes the breath while her face pales, leaving splotchy redness at her cheeks. Her throat works to swallow past the lump suddenly blocking it up.

"I want to get my things, yes." It is with tattered dignity that the thief draws herself up, her eyes still shining and fists balled at her hips.

Loki has posed:
"Go ahead, then," Loki offers. He even produces a cardboard box out of nowhere, that collapses with a soft thud at her feet. "You /have/ helped me substantially: more than many in fact, that I'm willing to be generous about that," and the slap. He decided, though, not to bring it up. Better to just brush over that she managed to land that on him. Loki moves to one edge of the banister, and sets a palm on the rounded, carved wooden end.

"Accompany her," Loki instructs to the floating red cloak that glides in from one of the side rooms. "But if she touches things not her own, smother her slowly." Loki stares at her a few moments longer, and then dismissively starts towards the kitchen, as if unconcerned with what she might do.

Black Cat has posed:
Flinching away at the cardboard box, Felicia looks from it to Loki once more, jaw set. Her red-red lips tremble. The foyer feels huge and empty -- very lonely despite the presences. Just for a gleaming second, the presence of the Cloak makes her heart leap.

To see the Cloak having changed sides, just like that? That hurts -- on par with Jeremy. Hands come up over her mouth and linger as she watches it approach, wondering if it really would kill her on command.

And to think, it might still smell faintly of her perfume at its collars, sweetly golden in vanilla and caramel.

"Why, Loki...?" It's barely more than a whisper, her question. "He did nothing to you."

Loki has posed:
Loki stops, pausing, and then comes to a full stop. He turns to stare at her, hand automatically coming up to the same spot he'd favored of his jaw when she slapped him. Unconsciously, maybe. He doesn't answer right away, he considers her there.

The Cloak just waits, it doesn't leap to smother or help or do anything else. Maybe it's illusion. Or maybe it's not...

"Why what? What do you think I did?" Loki asks her, reasonably. "What is it I did that caused the /attempt/ to banish me from the sanctum?"

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia swallows again. Her eyes flick nervously from the Cloak and back to the man standing by the staircase, favoring his jaw if only in passing. With a mirrored brush of her knuckles beneath her eyes and quick, cat-like flick of fingers, her face is devoid of tears but for the shine. Her sniffle is quick and final, indicative of stamping down the wretched amount of guilt she's dealing with. It sits like an oily lump in her stomach.

"Why everything? Orbs, no Orbs, two Orbs..." All of the Orbs, she realizes silently. Her arms fold, each palm perched over an opposing bicep. She's hugging herself now. "You got banished because you were a..." No, don't insult the Trickster God, not after landing that slap, common sense whispers in the back of her mind.

"What's it about, power? Gotta make a name for yourself?" Her lips tremble into a painful hint of a smile. "Didn't get enough love as kid?"

Loki has posed:
"Mewling, pitiful little human, listen here," Loki says, his voice sharpening, like a rod lashing across an exposed back. "I have bent over backwards to assist 'Doctor' Stephen Strange. I saved him from ridiculous folly fighting the Shadow King, both during /and/ afterwards, to rebuild his shattered mind. I protected, and then /restored/ this world when his idiotic absence left a gaping void for nightmares to creep in. I have kept my hand on the pulse of magic here, and abated the explosion that was coming from the orbs of Seasons."

Loki is in an oratory mode: if she's never seen a villain do a righteous monologue, she's now getting one. Loki's on a roll. And perhaps worse, he's charismatic. "I expected to use the Sanctum as a focal area to /save millions of lives/, and you both moved to cut me off? You deserve far worse. Of course the Vishanti turned to me. There is no comparison."

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia listens; what other option does she have? His voice rises and echoes upon itself in the Sanctum's lofty foyer. She blinks, squinting at its volume and the verbal hits landing again and again, proof laid out in spades from his perspective as to reasoning.

The last remnants of his response are still fading when she speaks again, far more quietly. "I wasn't around to see any of that stuff you claim, and given how you've treated ME...how am I supposed to trust that? And who are you saving? Millions? Millions of lives where?" A weary tenacity keeps her standing there, still holding herself. The cardboard box, for now, is ignored.

Loki has posed:
"You don't have to trust me. That ship has sailed; I'm forced to do this myself," Loki says, shrugging his shoulders, and settling his arms to cross over his chest. "The Vishanti have favored me. It doesn't matter what you trust, any more, does it?" he wonders, with a tint of disgust. "Your failed attempts to /fuck with me/ mean you do not earn my favor."

"Who am I saving? I'm not going to give you opportunity to murder them by giving you more information," retorts the god. "Your ability to cause things to go awry is entertaining, but not when I have others to protect."

Loki blanches. "I sounded like father. Hmh." He seems to get distracted by his own self-reflection. That was a little creepy, and threw him off his own game.

Black Cat has posed:
"Why would I kill anyone...?" Her nose wrinkles to precede her scowl. "I haven't killed anybody. Ever. What I have tried is to talk to you both in my language and in yours -- apparently, playing your game is unfair and insulting when it's aimed at you. Name another person, outside of your //brother//, who's tried to keep even with you."

She brings up a single index finger. "Name //ONE//. You can and you know what? It's me: little un-magical me." Her hand goes away as does her jewel-tone glare in his direction. Her regard slides to the floor, off to one side. Her shoulders slump.

"Look...if it was about saving people...why didn't you ask for help?" Felicia looks up at the Trickster God again.

Loki has posed:
Loki seems to ignore most of her comments, even to laugh and roll his eyes, his smile sly and impenetrable. No attacks hit if you just laugh them off. He does rolls his gaze back to her as she dares lift an index finger at him, and the way he looks at the finger might make most people wonder if it was about to be cut off for the affront.

"The one person that trusts what I say or my motives was already mentioned, everyone else moves to block me or ban me from places," Loki retorts. Thor is the trusting one.

"I /was/ going to return those orbs. Until you both were awful about it." Then that had to change, because pride.

"And I don't need help." Not from pitiful humans. The pride screams obvious on his expression. It had not /occurred to him/. "I'll save them all on my own." There's an almost heroic glint of intensity there. Loki isn't one thing: he's chaotic, and that includes positive acts.

Black Cat has posed:
"So. You're going to assume that your brother's going to be cool with you upseating the one guy he's worked with more than once to save this world, here," and Felicia points at the floor as if to indicate the entire globe itself. "Which your brother protects too, //by the way// -- and you're going to save a bunch of people at what cost?"

A glitter of hard anger fills her eyes again. "What. Cost. Because everything's got a cost, Loki Odinson, and you know it. If there was one thing I learned living here, it's all got a cost, all of this magic. I never ONCE saw Stephen abuse it, not even for me...and he'd pull down a star for me," she then whispers, throat closing off for a second.

Loki has posed:
"Stop comparing me to a human," Loki says dryly. "My rules are different. My power sources, /different/," Loki informs her, but then narrows his eyes on her. "You think my brother will be upset if I restore Asgard? Priorities." He shakes his head, aware he maybe gave more than he meant to: or perhaps he gave exactly the amount he intended to. It's Loki. His smile is elusive.

"This realm will be just fine," Loki says, as if that wasn't important overall. Maybe to Loki, it isn't. "Or it will pay the cost."

Loki moves towards her, but only to kick her box at her. "Pack up. Don't continue to antagonize me, and I'll consider /allowing/ Stephen to come back here when I'm finished."

Black Cat has posed:
The cardboard box bounces off her shins. Felicia ignores it, tensed up once more at his close proximity. Is it possible to do a slap-and-run?

She calculates, looking between his eyes.

Nope, not worth it, even if she could warp whatever he threw at her all to hell within her tychokinetic aura.

"You're not a hero if you end up killing a world to restore another," she informs him before stooping to pick up the box. It weights nothing and she nearly, accidentally, crumples it in her own grip. "I'm getting my stuff." Biting these words out, she then turns to walk instead towards the grand staircase. After all, her bedroom was upstairs. It means braving a pass-by of the Trickster God and she steels her spine.

Loki has posed:
"Lift a hand to me again, and I'll count that as touching something that doesn't belong to you," Loki says slyly, with a small gesture towards the flying cloak. The red cloak ripples gently nearby, where it has been waiting. To smother her.

"And you can blame me all you like, it amuses me really, but the TRUTH, the core that hurts? It's the Vishanti that made the judgement, on dear Stephen's failures. I spoke in his /favor/, all this time. But clearly he cannot handle this, and it goes to a generous god. That the Vishanti trust to not destroy this realm. Because unalike others, that allow nightmares in, I'm going to rebuild." Loki speaks of himself, of course as the generous god. He flits his hand some, and strides off, leaving her to pick up what's left of her life from the Sanctum.