8914/I spy mith my little eye... a LOT of illusion

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I spy mith my little eye... a LOT of illusion
Date of Scene: 22 August 2019
Location: Sanctum Santorum - Third Floor
Synopsis: An angry Felicia deals with a lot of illusions.
Cast of Characters: Black Cat, Loki




Black Cat has posed:
With Stephen having been recovered (and still recovering) from his sojourn throughout the city, it leaves Felicia with less to freet about and more to address in action. Reconnaisance is an old habit and an easy mindset to slip into. Where else to reconn but the Sanctum? After all, god -- or gods -- only know what has happened to it in her absence.

And what about the numbskull who somehow managed to bargain her out of it? Is he still trapped in that would-be hell with his dog? It warrants checking.

Across the street, in the shadow of a raised ventilation system atop one of the old brownstone apartments, jade-green eyes narrow at the many windows of the Sanctum. The biggest and gaudiest one, the Window on the Worlds, seems to afford the best view internally. She knows the room beyond anyways...or did, at least. Her catsuit aids in blending her into the heavily-cast shade, but a sharp eye might also catch the white accents of fur at her wrists, ankles, and the deep vee of her suit.

Felicia lets out a slow, low, irritated sigh as she keeps up her crouch, ignoring the beginnings of a burn of stress in her thighs. She's //just// nervous enough to have to track her pulse in the back of her mind. It would do no one any good to be startled enough to lash out, after all.

Loki has posed:
There isn't any sound to betray any arrival. It's just quiet. And for the moment, the trickster is patient. He doesn't seek to jump-scare her.

Yet.

Settled on a raised concrete edge of the roof perhaps few yards away at most, Loki reclines, phone in one hand. Loki is dressed in a modern tone, one suitable for sitting outdoors: trim, tight black pants, boots, black v-neck, under a fashion-forward white leather jacket, the collar lifted, asymmetrical. His hair is half-ponytailed, the top back, the lower section down. In a manner, he has echoed her costume, without it being a costume.

Loki texts with one thumb sliding over the device's face, as if bored, long piano-fingers dexterous in the light emitted from the phone. A smile is half-mast on his lips: a quirk of amusement.

Black Cat has posed:
So subtly filling into existence doesn't bring Loki to immediate attention. It's the glow of the cellphone's screen which brings Felicia to glance over. Adrenaline brings her to react in a superhuman time-frame. Rooftop kicks up as she throws herself to one side in a smooth side-roll through her shoulder and into another crouch, now facing the Trickster God.

Silvery nails showing at the tips of her white gloves catch the ambient city light and she would be hard-pressed to deny, later, that the sound slipping from her lips was something just this side of an enraged hiss. Then, with a sharp, remonstrating 'tssst!' of sound at...herself? Loki? -- she slowly rises up from her crouch at a sinuous, deliberate speed.

"...nice jacket," she volunteers, her tone dripping with disdain. "You're missing a glove."

Loki has posed:
"I know you mean that as a slight, but I didn't mind his music," Loki comments, shrugging a little bit. He doesn't move from where he is, just stays there, lifting one finger in a 'hold on' motion, smile liquid cool, as he finishes with his text. It takes a little time.

Finally his eyes flick to her, without much emotion to them.

Black Cat has posed:
"More like he's more of a god than you are," the Cat mutters. "You still need a fedora for the full effect." Daring to take up a more relaxed pose, she eyebrows behind the outline of her domino mask at his preemptory gesture. Jade-green eyes roll from horizon to horizon as she folds her arms beneath her chest. Those silvery nails are left extended from the gloves, in case another swat is needed.

The silvery tip of one bounces off the suit at her bicep, making mockery of patience, and then she takes to eyeing them, as if they had some coat of varnish that would dare chip. A spread of long fingers, back up in the glove, allows her to check and see that all five nails are functional. She glances up at Loki again after a second.

Her heart skips to find his focus upon her once more. "So. How's the new digs?" With such venomous sweetness does she ask this.

Loki has posed:
"Mmmmm," Loki answers, entirely disinterested in her comment about him needing a hat. He really does not appear to give any shits. Zero. There's a nonchalance to all of his behavior: he's gotten what he wanted, it appears. "I don't /stay/ here," Loki says, as if that were silly. He has palaces for a god, silly girl.

"You know, your spiteful comments aren't going to get you your room back. What's the point? What do you hope to gain here?" The gaze he settles on her is focused, but it isn't tight or dangerous: he's not in a vicious mood, but appears reasonably mellow.

That's probably worse, in a way: he's a well fed predator. Which means... he ate.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia slowly smiles. She even tilts her head, unconscious of how her loose hair falls about her shoulders and shifts to slip forwards to half-drape.

"You know me, MJ, I'm purely motivated by spite. Such a petty wittle human, I know...but...I know something you don't -- "

She lifts a single finger of her own and shakes it at him, tsk-tsk. " -- and that's...I'm gonna get my room back. One way or another, I'm getting it back. So, that being said, whatcha been up to? Any guests over I should know about? I didn't get my deposit back anyways," she adds nonchalantly.

Loki has posed:
Loki grins suddenly, and moves, to stand up. "So, just wasting your time. And your human life is so LIMITED on time as is. Sad, really, but. Suit yourself. Enjoy your sad little stakeout, then," Loki observes. His eyes go to his phone again - to disrespect her, or just to bother her, or maybe he just has a great conversation - and he shrugs a little, and starts to turn away.

Black Cat has posed:
The turn of his shoulders nets him the sound of deliberate clapping...and a wolf whistle.

"Woooooooooow, shortest monologue in existence, and man, you need some new material. So what if you live longer? Good job, you'll still be lonely in the end, given you don't give anybody a scrap of respect." Felicia narrows her jade-green eyes. Her chin lifts in challenge.

"I found him." Another parry leveled at the Trickster God.

Loki has posed:
"Ahhh, here we go. Then you're here to ask me to come heal him? Something like that?" Loki asks serenely in answer, liquidly turning to look towards her, lofty. "Bring him to the front door, then, don't sit up here, peeking in windows. It's...." Loki squints, looks around, as if there might be a word for it. "...pathetic. Not that I mind a few obessive stalkers."

"/I/ didn't even kick him out of the sanctum. You though, you, I did kick out," Loki smiles.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia's nose wrinkles. "Yeah, well, we discussed me leaving earlier, remember? I'll be back. Shammy misses the magical...woozy-rat-things." A flicking fan of fingers lifted from her bicep dismisses the temporary line of thought.

"I know you like doing things in a grandoise manner, but if you keep thinking big, you're going to miss the little things. Might bite you in the ass later -- protip," and she finger-guns at the Trickster God. "Such as...I think it'll be a cold day in hell when the Doctor shows up on that doorstep for any sort of 'help' from you." Air-quotes via fingers absolutely present. She pauses a moment, squinting at him. "Oh, right, the guy with the dog. Did you screw him over too then?"

Loki has posed:
"Him? No. I gave him your room," Loki answers, in an open, and somewhat surprised voice. Obviously he was given Felicia's space. "He's entertaining, and for now, has my favor." There's no sound of snideness in it, just a pleased tone.

"Ask him. I saved his life another time." Smugness suggests that that is actually very true. "It /would/ be rather pleasing to banish Stephen from the sanctum the way he did me," Loki adds. "Rather beneath me bothering, with him in such bad shape, though. No need to step on someone when they're down. Unless they arrive on a roof next door and shove their neck under your heel while you're just trying to WALK, I suppose."

Black Cat has posed:
By the minute tuck of her chin, Felicia's dubious about her room being handed out just as easily as a sandwich in the lunchline -- that, and for the well-being of the once-Winter Soldier, who showed up in a ballcap and a smile and was last seen bending knee to the Asgardian standing before her.

"Yeeeeeeah, not going to hand-deliver the Sorcerer Supreme to you, buddy," she says, low and cold. "I bet you've been entertaining guests though. Anybody else stop by? You know me, just curious?" Her smile doesn't reach her kohl-lined eyes.

Loki has posed:
Loki laughs softly, putting his phone away into an interior pocket of the long white coat. It's alsmost glowing in the moonlight and lights of the city. He moves towards her, but not very close: not enough to alarm.

"Oh, yes. Gathering mages to me. World takeover. The usual," Loki mocks her dryly. "Dr. Doom next, I think," he rolls his eyes.

"You'll need to come up with another title, other than 'Sorcerer Supreme,'" Loki says suddenly, cutting. "Or everyone will be confused."

With a simple shift, Loki pulls on his Dr. Strange mask. "Copperfield, maybe?" Loki baits.

Black Cat has posed:
Bait taken.

If Jeremy was a sore spot, any imitation of the previous Sorcerer Supreme is like digging a knuckle into a purpled bruise. The idle toss of the beloved nickname is like twisting the knuckle in further.

Felicia pales a shade before simply throwing herself bodily -- and shockingly silently -- at the illusory form of Stephen. Silvery talons glint at the tips of her gloves and in her snap-temper, she's very, very certain she's going to take the cocky Asgardian mage straight to the roof like a barncat savaging a rooster.

Unfortunately, she goes //through// the image of the blue-clad Doctor and ends up tumbling to the rooftop. She takes the discrepency between spell and reality well enough, rolling to her feet. A snarl leaves her and she flips off the Sanctum.

"Fuck you, you COWARD!!!" It echoes off the brownstone mansion's front facade.

Loki has posed:
The illusion goes loopy, as she passes through it, and the spell gets bent by the Black Cat's particular ability. It twists, into a mixture of random nonsense: an extremely large apple, the smell of a chlorine, then chocolate, a patch of wall and some whispy lights in pink and gray -- and then it restabilizes once she's fully through it.

"You didn't really think this chat was worth me walking up here onto a roof? To be screamed at? You're really convincing," 'Dr. Strange' says sarcastically.

Black Cat has posed:
The illusion is momentarily ignored. Felicia paces away farther down the rooftop, fingers curled into claws at her sides, squinting as if she might suddenly attain laser-eyes and start burning a hole in the Sanctum's outer walls.

"You're a goddamn coward, Loki Odinson -- you won't come out of your rat-hole to talk to little old me -- a human. You're afraid of a human. Your brother's going to love that one. You think you can tell a good lie? You just //wait// until I'm through telling him," she hisses. The illusion of 'Dr. Strange' is given another gimlet look now. "And you keep forgetting he's got a beard now. Keep up with the times, asshat."

Loki has posed:
"That's true. He doesn't look like this anymore. He's /broken/," Loki says, simply, staring at her from Dr. Strange's illusionary face, eyes. There's no real anger there, but a darkness.

He adjusts the illusion, adding a 'second' Dr. Strange in front of him: a close approximation of the broken down, muddy, lost Dr. Strange. The hands shake, the dirt clings.

"Shall I visit /him/? I was going to let him be, but if you want to play, we can play."

Black Cat has posed:
Breath sucks in through bared teeth. Despite inaccuries, the haggard secondary illusion is close enough to knock some of Felicia's moxy to the side. Not only that, but the threat to follow is something to make anger flare in her eyes, turning them hard as gemstones.

"Good luck with that," she whispers back, red lips peeled back from her teeth. "I wouldn't bet on getting out of it unscathed. Fine. Clearly, you're too busy entertaining guests to be a good host. We'll see how that sits with my cohorts." Straightening in place, the Cat then smoothes down the front of the fur-lining as if it might be a shame to find a hair out of place. She visibly works to regain her composure as she does this, eyes briefly averted to the working of her hands.

"Any word you want to pass on to them?" Her eyebrows lift as she struggles to remain cool in sight of the illusionary Stephen.

Loki has posed:
Loki orients a little bit, reacting, but then his attention flows back to her. There's a godly sense of tolerance. "What? No."

How infuriating: he's distracted...

"I have something more important to do. Seems 'duty calls' for the Sorceror Supreme." He gives her an elusive little smirk.

"Like it or not, I /am/ protecting your city, your /realm/, with you in it," Loki informs her, in a dignified way. He purses his lips (well, the Dr. Strange ones, since he's borrowed the likeness), allows the broken Dr. Strange in front of him to collapse on the ground with a very, very believable wheeze.

"Nice girlfriend you have, Stephen, thinking you're illusion," Loki says, bending towards the broken guy near his feet. He tut-tuts at Felicia, and fades away.

The broken Dr. Strange remains, prone, on the roof.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia narrows her eyes at the body sprawled out on the rooftop. The shine of a nearby street light cuts across the lower back and casts a thin shadow beyond. Her regard slides over to the Sanctum, accompanied by degrees of head's turn, and then she pulls her phone from inside her suit.

Yes, precisely where one expected it to be.

A flick of her thumb on the screen pulls something to refresh and a brief moment of waiting, lips pursed, and then a silent ping. Her red lips rise into a cold smirk.

"Nice try, MJ," she murmurs before putting the phone back into its place. In what appears to be utter callousness, she then turns and takes off at a run to begin parkouring her way back across the city.

After all, Stephen's right where she left him...

...tracking device and all.

Loki has posed:
No, that's not acceptable.

Loki gets petty.

Illusion fluxes out from the sanctum, enough to cause some yells and loud honks from traffic below, as the local buildings are drenched with illusion. Modifying heights, location, just a little.

Why? To make travel extremely dangerous, and near impossible.

It's petty, sure. But funny.