2014-02-20 Chelsea Chittering
Players: Doctor Strange, Phantasm
GMed by NA
Title: Chelsea Chittering


Chelsea is a neighborhood on the West Side of the borough of Manhattan in New York City. The district's boundaries are roughly 14th Street to the south, 30th Street to the north, the western boundary of the Ladies' Mile Historic District which lies between the Avenue of the Americas (Sixth Avenue) and Seventh Avenue to the east, and the Hudson River and West Street to the west. To the north of Chelsea is the neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen, also known as "Clinton," to the northeast is the Garment District, to the east are NoMad and the Flatiron District, to the southwest is the Meatpacking District and to the southeast is the West Village.

The neighborhood is primarily residential, with a mix of tenements, apartment blocks, city housing projects, townhouses and renovated rowhouses, and its many retail businesses reflect the ethnic and social diversity of the population. The western part of Chelsea has become a center of the New York art world, with many art galleries located in both new buildings and rehabilitated warehouses.

As with most introductions, there tends to be commentary to how many people are around, the weather, and what not. And quite frankly they take a long time getting to the point. I mean, come on. Just how long does it take to say if it's raining or if it's sunny, or if it's cold, or if it's hot? A simple sentence could accomplish this task.

So let us contemplate the inefficiency of the opening passage of most books. Just why do we need so many words to say something so simple? Why do we need more than a sentence to state the weather? Why do we need more than one to state how busy it is? And WHY all of this rambling?

Because I'm setting. And I CAN. MWAH HA HA HA HA HA!

A bolt of lightning lights up the New York Sky. The effects are not as notable with all of the light pollution down below, courtousy of the human concept of progress. But what it lacks for in visual, it makes up for in audial as the deep rumble of the accompanying thunder soon comes in. This appears to be the only bolt that occurs, likely the offshoot of some Asgardian hijinks elsewhere. But that is it for Chelsea. Instead, this center of the New York art world gets the depressing atmosphere of scattered showers, or as an artist may call it, The Muse of Melancholy. Not many are about on the street. A number of the 'starving artists' having gone home to their postage stamp apartments to paint the next month's rent's worth of artwork. One could even say tonight is quite shitty. And yet, despite the reasons not to be out, there will always be those who ignore the reasons and tempt the fates.

Ignoring the rain completely, as in not a single drop drips onto a single strand of his clothing, Strange walks down the Chelsea street with his hands buried into the pockets of his slacks. His feet carry him with little noise as they clap on the wet sidewalk but any displaced water from his footfall is sent away from him. Everytime. The wizard's mind is lost in thought, considering the role he has played in Asgard only a few days ago, and the role he may be playing in the future of mutant kind. He has to tread carefully and deliberately with every step and every word.

With the wizard's mind lost in thought, the going ons around him are likely just as gone from his observation. This is quite unfortunate. For off behind the conveniently placed plot device of an alleyway, a figure lurks, readying his gun to rob the incoming doctor.

And with lost in thought and distractions go, the one with the gun is no better than the odd doctor. As he focuses on what he's about to do, he fails to take notice of a purplish black figure perched on a nearby dumpster, watching him.

Distracted and unobservant are two different things. While Doctor Strange may have many things on his mind, his five senses are still working. This isn't the sorcerer's first stroll into the city. He does spot the shadowed man, but he doesn't think too much about him, but his body does prepare for confrontation.

And the preparation is a good thing, for the man in the alley is not aware of Steven's awareness and soon steps out, holding up the gun to point at Stephen. "Wallet. Now."

Perhaps it is the man's first time trying this, or perhaps he's just not good at it. But one would think the movement of the raven spreading the wings would at least register something as the peripheral vision would likely have picked it up. And yet, here the two men are. With a two foot long bird spreading it's wings out and hopping off a dumpster to take a low level flight towards them.

With a move of his wrist, Strange uses his magic to lift the man in the air, freezing every muscle at once. "I think you're a little too dangerous with this in your hand." And the man is lifted from the ground and is levitated over towards the dumpster where he hands in mid air. Strange does note the raven and asks aloud, "A message from Asgard?" Thinking the bird to be from a different realm, or at least has news for him to hear.

Not expecting the response of Strange's the wannabe Mugger is quite surprised. "B-" He freezes still

The Raven turns in flight seemingly getting ready to kick the assailent in the back of the head with his claw only to flap the wings harder to abort the move upon the man already being taken care of by Strange. He flies back over to the dumpster, landing on the edge but looking over to the doctor curiously. Head tilting as he looks at the floating man above him.

Turning to face the crook square, the magician lifts his remaining hand and the lid to the dumpster lifts up, before the man drops his gun into the filthy depths of the receptacle. "That goes there along with this." Strange says with a small grin. The criminal slowly slips in after the gun and the lid then closes back to its starting position. Strange lowers his hands, his spells no longer needed and then looks to the black bird. "I am talking to you, Raven."

The bird watches the show, seeing the man being deposited into the dumpster after his gun, looks over to Stephen, and then back to the dumpster "Did you just-" He pauses, head tilting once more in confusion as he looks back to the doctor, "-give him his gun back?"

"I'm no villain such as he." Strange says, turning back and walking in the original direction he was moments ago. His posture is such that it's open enough to allow the bird to follow him should it desire. If not, oh well. Asgard can get in touch with him when they absolutely must.

The bird spreads out his wings in frustration, bending one to basically facewing in reaction. "So, confiscate the gun. Turn it in to police. Don't GIVE it back to the guy who is looking to MUG people. Are you an idiot?"

"I am no authoritative figure in regards to the laws of men, however, the police will find him, still in the bin, still looking for his illegal weapon." Strange notes, even as he is walking away seemingly having done nothing. He's informed Wong of the events and sealed the top of the dumpster with magic that should fade in a few minutes.

Hop. Hop. The wings spread and soon the bird flies over to close the distance between him and Stephen. Perching on his shoulder. But oddly having no weight to him at all, despite being a bird that's two feet in length. "So you're going to call in a tip, then." The bird surmises, eyeing Strange, "So, magic user…"

"Yes." Stephen says simply to allow the bird to move onto it's next train of thought. He continues to walk, waiting for the bird to speak once more. Obviously he isn't surprised or shocked by the situation, even seems at home with it.

"Huh." The bird grows quiet for a moment, looking at him, "You know a bartender named Leo by any chance?"

"Cant say that I do ebony avian." Strange says, pushing a single eyebrow upwards on his forehead. "I'm going to hazard a guess you don't have any relation to Asgardian ravens, do you?"

Phantasm looks at his wing, "I'd say I'm a bit more purplish than full out black." He shakes his head, "Yeah, you'd be right. Hell, I'm not even a bird."

"Fair enough, violet flyer." Stephen says, hoping to pester the non-bird just a touch. "Then what are you?" Choosing to let the being continue to talk instead of showing his Agamotto card.

"Phantasm." The bird corrects, "More or less."

"For a talking non-bird ghost, you're not very talkative." Strange notes the rain no longer falling on the phantasm since he perched upon Stephen's shoulder. Strange seems to wander aimlessly, only there is a goal. He intends to get back to his house only he'll wait for the bird to leave, one way or another, before he does so.

The perfectly dry bird shrugs, "It takes two to hold a conversation. And conversation tends to have give on both sides. So, why the question about Asgardian ravens?"

"I've had recent dealings with them." Strange replies almost as curtly as the bird has been.

"Ah." The bird pauses, "Annnnd we're done."

He doesn't fly off, nor is there any sensation of the bird leaving. Being that he didn't have any weight to him to begin with. He just, vanishes.

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