Owner	Pose
Doctor Strange	The dark night in Manhattan had already long rollen in. In fact, it's in the AM hours of the night, most people are either a sleep or the night shift at their respective workplaces. On a particular rooftop, Stephen Strange seems to have defeated what looks to be a rogue angelic being. "Human! You do not know what you do!" It calls out to him, though Strange narrows his eyes as he lands on his feet from a levitated position. "I know that you do not belong here. You belong with the forces of heaven, and the Lord you serve will see to your desertion." Strange seems to mutter an incantation, a circle of runes appearing around the poor Angel as it seems to vanish in a beam of holy light before it can finish saying 'No' in all of his terror and fear. Then there is only Strange...and a singed circle in front of him. "Hm. Maybe he'll owe -me- this time around." Strange tells himself as he turns away from his work.
Askante	There are calibres of fear in the world. The run of the mill has a tenancy to give a body a headache if it's a whole lot of concentrated, but some -- like those that are rare on earth, deserve to be investigated. It arrives on the edge of the rooftop like one of those graffiti images of a bloke peering over the edge of a wall; just the nose and eyes visible at first, along with four sets of five fingers clinging to the brickwork. It looks up, it looks at the space where celestial being had occupied and slithers quietly over the top of the roof railing to crouch and ascertain just what it witnessed. A pigeon startles nearby it, but it pays it no mind, a certain measure of observation necessary to see if it needs to dive off the side of a roof again. That's part of its purpose, after all, is knowing the risk involved. "Not normal. Nope. Definitely not normal..." fishing in one of the many pockets of its long and faded leather coat, it picks out a stone. An ordinary stone, but one painted it seems with an image of thoth in gold. "Ah. Oh dear. Big magic."
Doctor Strange	Askante -almost- was free from the consequences of Strange. In the sense of his notice, anyways. But the rune manages to tingle Strange's magical senses and he Sorceror Supreme turns on his heel, arms out in hand gestures as rings of eldritch magic surrounds his arms and he stares at Askante for a moment, even as this seemingly normal thing rises to the feet. A third eye appears in between his eyes, as if the skin peeled away for it to appear, and he sees Askante for what it actually is and his eyes seem to narrow. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Of course, the assumption is that it's here to fight or kill Dr. Strange. But that is just an assumption...
Askante	Askante turns the little stone about so the symbol of thoth in the shape of an Ibis can be seen. "Big magic is you, yes?" Another hand points up at the space where the angel had occupied not that long ago. "Smelled it. Came to see what was going on. I see everything is how you are saying this... ticketty boo?" -- of note, it is not speaking English, but some very old dialect of something that sounds like it might be a tribal language. But if so, that language is long, long dead. The mystical sense can pick up that the words are actually coming from the pendant at its throat; the aboriginal artwork of Crow. It radiates magic and old magic at that. The thing points a finger at its chest too. "Askante. You might know me. Or wizard before wizard might know. I'm probably in a book somewhere, I pop up from time to time, no matter how many times I ask them not to write me down someplace."
Doctor Strange	Strange sees the symbol of Thoth, one of the -many- times he's seen the symbol in his longer than natural life, and his eyes narrow. "You show to me the Egyptian god of messengers and expect me to lower my guard?" The Egyptians were not exactly...'we come in peace' material. Though Strange -does- manage to slightly lower his hands even as Askante asks if the 'big magic was you' to him. Curious, Strange decides to bite. "That would be a correct diagnosis." Strange only able to understand due to years of study of the mystic arts - and the languages therein. Not all of the spells are in English after all! Though he looks at the pendent on it's throat, showing the artwork of a Crow. -The- Crow. "You serve many masters...yet yu walk independently in the earthly plane." He recognizes the name. Askente. He's read of it. "You are a creature who feasts on fear." Strange tells it with a frown.
Askante	"Feasts on? No. I eat hotdogs. And sometimes, those popcorn things. Occasionally fried locusts, but they are hard to find. I like roast goat, too," Askante replies, crouching down on its haunches, long tail snaking up and over the railing behind it. The rune is pocketted again. "Magician, too. Not just messenger. Got that before the big library burned, from a conjourer who made charms for the dead. I gave a message from his dead wife to him. He was quite happy... Oh, no, I digress." It coughs, clears its throat and wraps two arms about its knees in the crouch. "I sense fear. I eat food. Lots of things should listen to their fear, it tells them stories and points out dangers. Lots of things don't listen to their fear and get eaten by tigers."
Doctor Strange	Strange does not appear to believe Askante. "You wouldn't appear in the books and folklore of ancient texts if that was all you did." He narrows his eyes at him a moment, even as his hands clench a little tighter, scarred as they are and as tight as they can. He's ready for this to be a fight if it comes down to it, heavy emphasis on -if-. But his eyes remain on Askante, keeping his full attention upon him. Though Strange seems to ponder a long moment as he looks at Askante. "You followed the fear and you thought the deceased would be your food? Why do you follow the sense of fear? Or are you the type who likes to cut deals?"
Askante	Askante shrugs. "Did not say that was all I did," it replies with a sigh, pats its pockets and rummages, coming up with a small bag of gummis. The kind of sample bag you get handed out for free by people trying to get you to buy their candy later. It looks at the bag, sniffs it, then goes about opening it in an awkward manner, ending up ripping to hard and spilling half the sweets on the roof top. It looks a bit dejected at the loss, mumbles to itself and fishes a small salt sachet from its pocket, also. Then, it looks up, offering the non-spilled half of the mini bag toward Strange, nodding at it and leaning forward enough to put it a good few feet infront of itself, like a peace offering. "Tradition used to be sharing food was a peace. Bringing sugar or salt. Here is both." It eases back then, picking up the gummis from the floor where they spilled and dusting them off. One's munched. Five second rule or something of that ilk, right? "I don't eat sentient creatures, either." It says in a grousing sort of tone. "Gods used to do that, sometimes. I am not a god. Older. But I am not a ghoul, either. I am Daemon."