1964-12-04 - The Star Party
Summary: The Inhumans are out to catch a Skrull.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
medusa maximus strange rogue gorgon chloe triton 

Rogue dropped Star Party Sign.

Star Party. 10:05 PM. Hall of Science, World's Fair.

The Philharmonic quartet is blitzing through Brenda Lee's "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." Violins and a cello duel through the classic. <ref: https://open.spotify.com/track/61lyhMVhuGEANQW9ty4QDL>

Servers slink around everyone dressed to the nines, trays depleted of anchovy-cheese canapes and beluga caviar in toast cups. Power seethes under the watch of a space station and the banana yellow ship docking in the great hall. Over there, a state senator rubs shoulders with two movie stars, a prima ballerina, and a one-star general. Over here, the president of the nation's third largest bank and his wife entertain the Swedish consul-general, a UN translator, two Congressmen, a member of the press, and the assistant director at the Met Opera. Champagne flutes and sherry cups accentuate animated gestures.

"The revolt of UNESCO changed everything. A veto won't stop the general assembly from discussing a fully fledged scientific mission," says the consul.

A Congressman in a blue suit frowns. "It's an outrage. Who sends scientists into a hotbed of terrorism?"

"Wouldn't you want to go take a look? A proper archaeological survey seems imperative if what we're hearing is true," the newsman adds.

The president and his wife nod. She crows, "Oh, go on! All this fuss has to be about something."

"It is," the newsman sips his sherry. "Think, a city down there. More impressive than the pyramids, and I've seen the pictures of Penglai. It could revolutionize what we know about our history."

It's difficult to enjoy a party when the low disruption of wrongness pervading the atmosphere. Cheery, yes — jovial, spot on, especially with the amount of champagne flowing, sparkling like the stars honored by the gathering — even the quartet is holding its own against the fluctuating tide of side-talk.

An art, to nurse the same flute for hours on end, but he's had years of practice at it now, the Sorcerer Supreme. Normally, he would enjoy the best offered. Here? Now? No, not with the sense of slippery distrust and intrigue haunting his Mystical senses. It steps with care, so slinkity-sly, and wants to get by him — by others here.

Strange, in his pristine suit cut to his frame, raises the glass to his lips again and simply…continues to observe. He's off to one side, blending as best he can with the crowd, watching more for the other reactions of the family present. Utterly aloof, his air, approachable as a bird of prey with talons on full display. Only those familiar might get a word out of the tense Sorcerer.

Gorgon does not like suits.

But there he is, blending in with the crowd as best he can..though his feet are -real- big if one looks at the shoes he's wearing, which are just really large combat boots that don't match his attire at all. But it's good that he at least tried. It you're going to find a Skrull, look unnoticeable as best you can.

But, Gorgon is standing near one of the columns of the place, his eyes and ears on full auto and peered to catch even the slightest strange act. (not looking at you Strange). With a small sigh, he glances about the place to see if he can spot any of his Inhuman allies.

Maximus is here, dressed super snazzy, with Chloe! For the past two hours, the 'power couple' that they are pretending to be, have been bragging about their company's newest 'power suit' designs. Maximus does seem to know what he's talking about, generally speaking, even if the suits don't technically exist, his theory would sound good enough to be possible. He is BAIT, just like Chloe. They are saying HERE WE ARE, SKRULLS, with being such a tempting target to replace for the little bastards. If the Skrulls got this lovely couple, not only could they wear the latest human fashions, but, they'd have access to powered suits and the ability to take over the human tech and angle it any way they want. After some socializing, it seems like Maximus gets dragged to a dance floor to do his best. There's a hint of reluctance there, but…Chloe is the hellstabber, so, he dare not refuse her only request!

On the edge of the periphery was the one man not noticed (and the other that didn't care for suits) and that was Triton. A longer coat covered his gear well enough and there were accessory being swapped out here and there to leave him as innocuous as inhumanly possible. It was his element. There were elements of conversation that his adept hearing was able to pick up not the least of which was the word 'Penglai'. The place he discovered at the bottom of the ocean on the top secret mission that only the Inhumans knew about so how was it it fell from human tongue? Right. Thumbtack in that later. He noted whom the parties were on a small scrap of paper and wrote it in Tibetian and slipped onto a tray under a glass inbound for Gorgon and one for Maximus in this case. Thankfully he debriefed the servers in their employ, and kept an eye on those messages in the interim.

It may not be quite clear, how Medusa got here. She's somebody's sister, or maybe such and such ambassador's attache, but she's glamorous and has enough way about her to give every appearance of belonging. Her hair is bound in as compact a fashion as she can manage without completely restricting it or sacrificing appearances. In such a crowd, it's everything.

She holds a champagne flute in her hand, occasionally trading conversation with this or that plenipotentiary, likewise similar brief conversations with the artists and celebrities enjoying themselves. Game face is on, and the Inhuman royal smiles and nods assent as some dandy asks for her hand out onto the floor.

Chloe leaves most of the bragging to Maximus, though she plays every bit the supportive woman to his boastful man. She defers to him in conversation, though it's clear she too knows just how great these powersuits are and is happy to discuss the completely made up ins and outs. She's not just arm candy. Though she is dressed for the part. Slender, almost fey in her long sapphire blue dress with Swarovski crystals to make it sparkle in the light. Her hair is done up in jeweled pins, and her clutch purse is the same silver as her high-heeled shoes. Hell-stabber has a Disney Princess side to her, and it's out in force tonight. The dancing leaves her laughing with delight and hanging on Maximus' arm like she was born to it. Never mind that her gaze constantly cases the room, looking for anything out of place.

"Hmph! Nothing but a load of hogswash to distract from the real problems in the world. I don't begrudge our allies and smaller nations from wishing to have an impact, but this is not the way to do it," snaps the New York Congressman representing Westchester County and surroundings.

"Paul, we understand your loyalties, but a global perspective…" tries the bank president.

"It could be good for the country." The newsman sips sherry.

"Pah, whatever sells headlines." The other congressman nods to the Swede. "Sven, you can't be telling me Sweden wants a part in this. The Nobel Committee won't issue an award in a year for archaeology on this?"

"Sadly we have no Nobel Prize for that discipline." The Swedish consul smiles, and the conversation melts back into a general thread.

To add to his unease, Strange can catch snippits time and time again about the attacks at Rockefeller Centre. Yes, that had been horrifying to learn about, seeing as he'd planned to take family members there for that very tree lighting. Fate had indeed been in his favor taking him elsewhere on that evening, to another dimension entirely. No one's content about the War and its continuation in nervy stalemate.

Penglai, however? The Sorcerer's bright eyes come to rest upon the speaker, a member of the brigade of news-folk here to collect the gossip and spatter it across tomorrow's pages. Penglai…hmm. He's not got any recent memories of it, nor is anything coming to fruition in the pages of a past-read tone. Marking the speaker, his attention shifts to Maximus and his date, an Inhuman he hasn't met.

Just maybe…just maybe this is it. His concern trips up another notch.

Gorgon just stood there watching….waiting, for any sign of trouble. Though his eyes fall upon Maximus and Chloe, apparently happy to see the two having fun, as well as Medusa having fun dancing as well…it's a night of mixed feelings. But he does catch the letter that Triton sends his way via glass, and he nods a few times. tucking the note in his dress suit.

A woman comes up to flirt with him, but he somehow expertly plays it off….but then Penglai catches his attention…then just as quickly as it caught it, it is released from his mind. Hm.

Dr. Strange catches Gorgon's eye.

|ROLL| Maximus +rolls 1d20 for: 18

Maximus pulls Chloe off to the side, when the drink and a note come for him. He reads it softly, so that Chloe can also be informed. "The underwater city has been mentioned. Who could know of this, besides us? Who could have pictures…? Its impossible." Steel eyes flow to the newsman and he smiiiiiles and cups his hand under the lady's arm as he tries to get closer to the man, "I say…did you mention something about a place underwater? Do you think us all to be fools?" STARE. He is sharp as a knife this evening.

Triton watched the reactions to those around the people Max was speaking to. The target of conversation had enough attention. Triton's expert eye was on the those who had too much peripheral interest in certain things. Only the Inhumans were in Penglai, and he had a feeling what he next covert op was about to be: 86 Penglai. He was, however, grateful they'd moved anything pertinent but that wasn't going to help them Skrull-hunt tonight. When Maximus rolls closer with the 'human political in-crowd' they seem to clam up just slightly, but more as a general take than something that rings to the fish as 'cobra ready to strike'. It was time to look up and double check staff from the shadows with his head on a swivel.

Medusa chats amenably with her dance partner, but when occasion provides the opportunity, her eyes track the room for potentials of interest. The truth is, there's no way she can tell for certain that there's a Skrull in the room, or rather, which one of these august personalities it is, but there's an ambience that she can't quite put her finger on, one that is vaguely unsettled. She's certain the rest of the room feels it, too.

Chloe nods once to Maximus and murmurs to him, "I overheard mention of it, too." All business when they're aside, away from the gathering, but when Maximus draws her along with him to the newsman, she's all smiles again. "Now, dear, hear him out," she says with a soft laugh. The look she gives the newsman is all open and attentive. It's okay, he can trust her not to laugh or mock if he tells her, say, everything he knows.

An outsider's approach brings the general swirl of conversation betwixt diplomats, bankers, and the media to a hushed halt. The signs are there; the wife averts her gaze and puts her hand on her husband's arm. Translator and Met assistant director cease to speak up, the former detaching to follow the Swedish consul, Sven. Polite party faces for strangers go back on, the social rules to be followed to a tee. See the faint smiles in place, nothing different than any other outsider dropping into a conversation without invitation.

"Is this customary? Barging in, as you say?" the newsman asides to the other quieter Congressman, who shakes his head slightly. Signal for the elite tribe of socialites, someone is breaking the rules. Politicos are probably sniffing the air; social scandal or blood at the watering hole? Has a lion shown up?

Paul, the Westchester Congressman, downs his flute of champagne and drops the glass on a passing tray. "Son, a word of advice. You might want to ease up a little. You're causing a scene in this nice party." A noteworthy look for any alcohol in the place, or if Maximus carries any. "Pardon, ma'am. May you have a fine evening," this to Chloe.

"It's hardly a secret with fifteen ships scanning the place for UNESCO." This, from another diplomat.

Mrs. Bank President pulls her husband's arm. "Is that Sophia? I want to talk to her and find out how Rodman is doing. The Rockefellers must be beside themselves. Such a hero. He shielded a boy with his own body!"

In his quick scan around the room, Strange realizes he's been singled out by another in the room. Gorgon is given an eyebrow and a little lift of a champagne glass; cheers, let's not let this devolve into madness.

To Maximus, his gaze flicks back and brightens to a nearly neon-violet by hue. The air about the Sorcerer draws closer briefly as he throws out a line of thought towards the Inhuman royal: The news-man spoke of this Penglai. He confirms the note shifted to Maximus beforehand. I am here should things get out of hand. A reminder with a subtle impress of power. That pocket square in crimson probably isn't just a hankie, is it?

Gorgon gives a small nod to Strange when he lifts his glass to him. But seeing Medusa alone starts to worry him…seeing as the person she's dancing with could be a Skrull…hell, even the conversation that Maximus and Chloe are having with the gentlemen starts to worry him. With a deep sigh, he moves out into the scene, towards Medusa. Giving her a look as if everything is okay but his words fit the scene. "Mind if I have the next dance my lady?" he asks as if they were strangers. Best not to cause any kind of scene.

He looks up as if to look for Triton to see where he is for the briefest of moments. His eyes scan the room, then his eyes fall upon Medusa and company once more.

Maximus glances over when he notices his cousins are going to dance together. Does he look…worried? Possibly. Gorgon dancing is a potentially dangerous idea, but dancing with a stunning woman like Medusa? He's pretty sure Gorgon is going to literally bring the house down, on accident. He tilts his head strangely at the sudden voice in it, and distractedly catches just the tail end of Chloe's words to him, and NONE of the other guy being curt at him. He blinks his steel eyes slowly. Max, though, does have some sore points, in his life, and being belittled and demeaned, is definitely one of them. Pettiness charges in and the US Congressman gets two paces away before Maximus tries to mind control him to wave his hands around in the air like a complete idiot.

Hands in the air like he just don't care! Congressman Paul throws his hands high, arms swaying this way and that, even if a spark shows in those grey-blue eyes of rage, horror, confusion.

Medusa inclines her head to her partner in thanks. "Of course." she says affably to Gorgon, transitioning into partner position with him. From her smile, she trusts him not to step those mighty hooves on her oh-so-elegant feet. "Any luck?" she asks softly as she lets the tall man lead. And if they're turning a few heads by being a white woman and a black man dancing together? She also pays the matter no mind. "Our friend seems to be causing a ruckus." she remarks casually, keeping the volume very low. "Should we interfere, or trust his escort to keep him from getting too deep into trouble?"

Oh, dear. Has something gone amiss? Suddenly the Congressman is doing some kind of crazy groovy beatnik dance move. It's quite unlike him. Her gaze strays to Strange. Is this you? her gaze seems to ask, baffled.

Triton kept one eye on Gorgon and Medusa. There was an upnod in return and really the political end of things out in the open with Max, Chloe, and the federals? Well… typical eccentrics and their sensibilities…and a congressman possibly having a stroke. He left that to them. Seeing nothing else of immediate nature the gesture was subtle and given to Gorgon: an upward tilt of his chin, a faint side nod, and then a scant look in the other direction. It roughly translated into their unit speak of: I'm going to check our periphery. And with that was just absent from view all together while he went about and checked external exits: the doors that went out, and also those grates and vents that went to any sub floors.

Chloe offers the Congressman a gracious nod, though her posture is a little stiff. Clearly, she is standing by her man, though 'her man' gets an odd look as he raises his hands, then she clamps her hand over her mouth when the Congressman starts getting down with his funky groove. Her shoulders tremble with laughter she doesn't dare utter, and when she can control herself, there's a squeak in her voice as she whispers to Maximus, "Is this part of the plan?"

The shock registers on faces all around, ranging from confounded to baffled. See the interruptions in the talk. Hear the soft whispers. A few of the media badge wearers are jotting notes down furiously. Mrs. and Mr. Bank President are sailing off for sanctuary among socialites in the Rockefeller set, vaguely ignorant of what goes on. The other Congressman, Bob, suffers immensely trying to make sense of what he sees. His colleague clearly is not known for spontaneous outbursts like doing the Mashed Potato.

One of the servers smoothly glides in to offer assistance. "Would you like to know the location of the dance floor, sir?" No batting eyelashes here at odd behaviour.

"Mother of God," mutters the Swedish consul, barely audible. He defers to the server. The translator nods. They head back into the screen of concerned individuals scenting oddity, or returning to their conversations and those neat scientific displays with a vengeance. The newsman shakes his head and heads off for the back of the hall.

Strange is in the middle of rubbing both temples with fingers spread across his face. Oh gods below, not this madness, not now. While his demesne is the Mystical, he can appreciate politics and if anyone finds out that a sudden instinct to do the Monster Mash was anything more than…say…the drinks?

He's not thinking about it, nope. Not his problem.

That the attention is all upon the Congressman behooves those attempting to flush out the game in question. He mets Medusa's eyes and tilts his head, nodding towards the departing newsman. Not me, flies to the red-head. Maximus, the reporter. The thought flits off towards the Inhuman royal as he too begins to make his way through the throng, using the shield of his most serious expression and stride to imply that folks should step aside.

Maximus lets it linger a moment, then looks back to Chloe, "Well…he isn't one." he says softly to her, then starts moving to follow the pissant reporter, dragging Chloe along with a clasp of her hand. Once there's a little distance, he lets go of his control of the man and feigns looking as aghast as everyone else about it. "If there are boats and reporters around Penglai…this means that once they are on to a location like that…they will not cease their meddling probing. We must keep our city safe, whatever the cost of it." He knows his family has his back on that part, at least! reporter would know he's being followed.

Gorgon gives Medusa a warm smile as she agrees to dance with him. Contrary to popular belief, Gorgon is actually a really good dancer. He just never dances because it messes with his 'badass guard' persona. So he gives Medusa a small nod. "Sadly, I haven't been able to find anything. You?" he speaks just soft enough for those two to hear before he looks to where Maximus was causing a scene by messing with the poor sod.

"Looks like it…I think our friends can handle it well enough." He looks back to his dance partner, though Triton gets a nod of complete understanding, which in there speak is 'got it, go.' "I am afraid I have not danced in some time. Forgive me if I am just a tad rusty." a chuckle then.

Power knows, and doesn't always respect, power. A few resolutely stay exactly where they are as though moving indicates a conquest by an external power. Others shift out of the way to spare their tails, their gowns, or their finely polished shoes. When pardons aren't spoken, the guests glare or make mental notes to utterly demolish reputations. Given the calibre of the socialites, if not the scientists, they absolutely can make good on those bookmarks.

Servers come and go. The alarmed Congressman mutters sudden words to the one assisting him and shakes him off, immediately veering off for the front of the hall. A detachment of a few nice people in nice dark suits are off to meet him.

"Such behaviour," opines the one-star general with his celebrity friends. "For a man on the Intelligence Committee!"

Triton was keeping an eye on other people entering late and those taking up too much surveillance. Honestly the place was huge and their numbers were few. Was the situation ideal? No. Was it what they had to work with? Yes and it kept Max from having to be a lifelong pariah for what turned out to be actually not his fault. 1964 was a strange strange year. Still he continued to circle the room like a shark now that the wheat was being pulled from the chaff and the unnecessary 'bloat' was being removed. It narrowed down their options and also removed potential collateral damage. This was one of those blessings in disguise.

Chloe lets Maximus draw her along after the newsman. She's got her silver clutch purse with her, and inside are her elegant demon knives, along with a compact and some lipstick. "Of course, my Prince," she whispers. Her heels click on the floor as she moves, surprisingly quickly given how high they are. She's got a bead on the reporter. If he tries dashing this way or that, she'll be on him.

"You're fine." Medusa reassures Gorgon. "It's not as if dancing was the highest of priorities to your education, and you manage quite well." Leaning in close, she softly murmurs, "I have no idea how to prove how any of these people could be anything other than who they appear to be." Her gaze swings around the room once more, as if hoping something will standing out and appear not quite right. That one star general certainly gets a few measures of her attention.

It doesn't do to run through the party. Pass through and stop briefly to talk to a colleague in passing. Then circle around the central display of atomic structure — though any educated Inhuman eye recognizes the electron cloud isn't quite right, how charmingly primitive. Use the interposing sign where the volunteer from NASA explains things to an attentive clutch as better screening.

The Pravda newsman is certainly good at avoiding a straight line, stepping on any toes, and stoppages. He uses the metal rails and undulating walls of the Hall to his advantage against clear lines of sight. He is slippery as an eel, making it hard to catch up with fully. Flushing out the quarry is not always difficult. Keeping up with the quarry when a seasoned operator at chasing a lead can be. He's moving for the back, maybe to an elevator, slipping through the mamba line of Secret Service off to rescue a congressman from apparently being drunk. The speedy lifts are arranged in four, a fire exit adjacent.

When one of the hunters can literally inflict his will upon reality, escape becomes full of less convenient options. Lifts? Doors? …what are these things when the walls suddenly melt like a watercolor left out in the rain?

Add in the sidestep through a quickly-cast Gate and then another expanding with a gunpowder crackle-sizzle of glittering golden light not ten steps in front of the retreating reporter?

Well, if you're not the newsman, you might be drunk and seeing things. Silly, go sit down. Strange holds out a palm as he steps outwards from the rift upon reality and even indulges in shaking a finger back and forth. Tick-tock.

"Tsk," he clicks his tongue. "Someone wants to have a word with you. Do me a favor. Don't be an idiot."

Gorgon smiles warmly to Medusa, giving her the smallest nod of his head. "As always, your words humble me, Medusa. Though you are a far more graceful dancer than I. Form is beautiful." he says mostly for appearances, but there was truth in his words. Though he speaks softer. "Never fear…we may have found our man." he looks to see the guards moving and those like Dr. Strange moving in for the capture.

"Though there seems to be quite the racket now. Shall we?" he smiles to Medusa then.

Stalled by Strange, Maximus catches up to the news reporter and arches a brow. If he can just distract and stall the guy long enough, the others can figure it out if he's the one or not. "Wait. we are just interested in Penglai."

Triton kept tabs on everything. Part of being an excellent operative wasn't knowing when to dive it, it was denial of your opponent's next move. That said he sent someone off in delegation to secure the doors in the back so he could deny the fire escape out if the 'bird got loose'. He unhitched the safety straps on his kukri and waited to see where interception might need to be run if the 'newsman' managed to break through the front line of Gorgon and Hell-stabber- and rightly if he did? Well Triton had all the more reason to descend upon them. Still, he stuck to the damn plan and let those closest secure him, and assist in removing him off property for a minimal scene.

With so many people on the newsman, Chloe steps back so as not to be in the way. Plus, it gives her a chance to do some interrogation of her own. She finds a quiet place, and she starts to sing a little song. Her voice is a beautiful, fluid soprano that could grace the halls of any opera house, but the rich and powerful aren't her audience, not tonight. One by one, rats come out of their hidey-holes, a handful of them, approaching her with awe on their little ratty faces. She smiles gently for them and kneels so she can address them. "Have you or your friends seen anyone tonight who doesn't smell quite right?" she asks. "Who doesn't smell or act human?"

"Let's." Medusa lets Gorgon swing her out and settle into escort duty. With her hand on his arm, she keeps the pace ever-so-casual as they drift in the direction of the inevitable altercation. Medusa seems intent on taking her time. A smile here. A quick brush of a compliment offered there. No reason to think they're doing anything but moving with the party's flow, even though their route will guide her and Gorgon into adding themselves to the perimeter now surrounding their maybe-Skrull.

The good time to run is right now, honestly. The newsman was doing just fine taking a lift up to the higher levels, exploring space or organic chemistry. Not so much when brought up short by the crackling fire-ember light and the wall where smooth metal doors waited for him. He frowns and turns, looking flat at Strange. "What is this? I have a press pass." The hint of an accent wells up, there as it was all along. Russian, Slavic, somewhere east of Poznan. He frowns at the others, Maximus pressing in an irritation. "You were rude and butted in a conversation. I really don't care to speak to you."

New York has rats. The World's Fair has rats. Queens has rats. Maybe there's even an assassin rat waiting to off a hero rat somewhere in this very building. The little beady-eyed creatures called up by the hellstabbing Inhuman are the smaller, skinnier sort. Noses peek out, sniff. Too much perfume, too much oil. Tails flick, quiver. Squeaks respond, high and chirpy.

"Respectfully…I doubt they care," replies the Sorcerer to the newsman, smoothly and coolly as the underbelly of a snake. "And neither do I. You didn't jump three feet into the air when I appeared. Is this an old trick in your book?"

Broad-shouldered in his suit, Strange simply folds his arms. At his breast-pocket, the square of crimson shifts in antsy-pantsy intentions. "Tell me more of this Penglai. In fact, tell us all."

Gorgon follows Medusa, walking arm in arm to where they can be most useful in blocking off the newsmans possible escape. "Be ready, Medusa. Skrulls are tricky creatures." he warns what she likely already knows, but he's a worrying creature.

"be careful…." he whispers to himself, worry evident even when the otehrs surely have the likely-skrull cornered.

The others in the hall are most definitely conscious of oddities at the fringes, though they have yet to really react. Those nearest the elevators, interested in going up, might get the impression this is not the time to see the chemistry exhibit after all.

Triton saw this one coming two moves ago. With three of theirs close? Triton opted to fall back to make certain only those taht needed to could get out. Part of having a good trap was making certain the bait didn't get eaten unless it needed to be. Good exfiltrartion keps as many alive as did stabbing the 'bad guy'. Sometimes more.

Chloe is quite patient with the rats as they tell her their ratty things. "What about that one right there," she says, pointing at the newsman. "What does he smell like to you?" She then tells them in a low tone, "Owls aren't nearly so clever as rats."

A chorus of squeaks has differing opinions: he smells like alcohol. He smells like soap, ew. He smells like people. He smells like a rock. Or a sausage. Too much like a sausage. Not stinky flowers. The little ears perk up. Noses sweep around. Soapy and /not/ like big hairy-musk-man beside him, Gorgon identified as such. No musk, no oil.

"No." Another comment, flat out from the newsman. "I'm not permitted to name my sources. I am certainly not going to risk a headline."

"No? That's a shame." Strange continues giving the man a flat, unimpressed look. "Because insofar as I'm aware, that's information that few should know and you," he points, " — are not suppposed to be privy to it."

His gaze shifts to the others completing the rest of the circle about the newsman. "I suggest you escort this man elsewhere and have your discussion. This isn't the time and place for a…disagreement."

Gorgon cracks his knuckles a moment, looking uneasy as he looks at the newsman….he could break at anytime. Never underestimate a skrull. He learned this early when they faced off the first time.

"I'd listen to the gentleman if I were you, newsman." he smiles faintly, though like Strange, ultimately unimpressed with the act.

Chloe sighs. It was too much to hope that even some of the best smellers on Earth could help her. She wanders up to where the newsman is being interrogated, just in case he needs hell-stabbed. Before she goes, she dismisses the rats and wishes them a fruitful evening.

One of the rats scampers after Chloe anyways and chirps after her. «Soapy stink. Only soap stink.»

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