2012-09-03 Chance Date

Evening is falling over the city that never sleeps, and the Phobia that rarely sleeps is walking from her apartment toward a little deli across the way. Fashionable as always, the brit is in black skinny jeans and a rich emerald silk blouse. She pauses at the cross walk, waiting for the light to change.

Kurt in a tuxedo? A strange sight, to be certain. It's a .. standard tux, black, white shirt, black bowtie that is currently tied and tidy, and his tail swings free, though he does carry it tucked up, just so it doesn't gain //too// much attention. He's on his way to ducking into a small art gallery, his hand on the door, ready to pull it open when he pauses, yellow eyes focusing on the area of street just beyond. "Wo..?" Oh boy.. and his hand drops from the handle.

This light takes forever. Angela, however, seems to be calming waiting on the sidewalk. She's got her large purse on her shoulder, eyes flicking from person to person as they walk on the opposite side of the street from her. She's alone. There's no one else near her. She glances to her left, slightly up, then giggles lightly and resumes people-watching as she waits.

Kurt's tail dips a little, and his shoulders slouch a bit before he turns away from the gallery. Champagne, cheese, crackers.. dinner! (Okay, not the best, but..) He begins to cross the street, dodging the cars gracefully as he does so, though not without some cursing from drivers. "Angel.."

The sound of cursing drivers draws Phobia's gaze. Her eyes flicker inhuman for less than a heartbeat, and the driver behind the cursing one starts cursing too. A light giggle drifts from Angela's throat as she shifts her gaze to the man dodging traffic, and a sudden bright smile blooms to her face. It's a relaxed and truly happy expression. Her eyes are more clear and untroubled than they've ever been. There's a touch of mischief to her gaze.

"Hi," Angela chimes, stepping away from the curb so Kurt has room to step out of the street. She's quiet a moment, looking over Kurt with that soft smile. "You... never showed up," she says tone soft, but unangry. "It's so good to see you."

Kurt takes the final few feet with something of a flourish when he catches the expression on Angela's face, a forward flip with a couple of rotations (in a tux!) and lands near. Stepping onto the curb, he offers a smile, and bows slightly, "I'm sorry.. something came up that took me.. some distance." He cants his head, and reaches to kiss her hand, "It is good to see you.. looking so well, fraulein."

Wonder dances across Angela's face as Kurt gymnasts himself to her. She's bringing her hands up to clap when Kurt takes her hand to kiss it. A blush dances to life instantly, and the british noblewoman straightens up to proper. She dips her head, almost curtseying.

"It's alright. I understand. I refound family so, it worked out," Angela replies, the smile never fading is she lets Kurt hold her hand as long as he likes.

"But, welcome back. You seem.. really dressed up."

"You did? Das ist wunderbar.." Kurt enthuses, and he nods his head in encouragement, "And you are well, ja? I see you are looking.. radiant." Calm. He looks where he is, and makes to drop her hand, "I am not keeping you from something?" If so..

Angela blinkblinks quickly at the German, not really understanding it fully. But if Kurt's enthusiastic, Angela's happy. Her smile rebrightens, her blush coming back to life as she nods to him.

"I'm much better, yes. Much better. Things are better between Father and I. I guess, I just... forgot. Teenaged rebellion, maybe. But, he reminded me that he's always nearby, so I don't feel so alone anymore," Angela explains, or tries to away. She's unconcerned that she's holding the blue elf's hand, and when he moves to drop hers, her smile fades slightly.

"No, no. I was just going to get some dinner, maybe people watch for a few hours while I knit. You're the one that seems smartly dressed for an occassion, so... am I keeping you from something?" Angela's cheeks remain touched with that pink, hand quite relunctant in wanting to be let go. While the voice in her head that keeps up a running conversation of jokes with her when she's alone is good, having another living breathing person is better.

"Your father? That is gut, denn.. if it makes you this.. calm." Composed.

The expression in regards to his hand brings the elf's head to quirk. Kurt doesn't drop it, then, but rather turns slightly to the side towards the gallery. "I was attending a small gallery.. opening. Young artists trying to make it.." and it doesn't hurt the artist is a mutant. "If you wish to come there with me instead? I can't promise you dinner will be served, but it will be all-you-can-eat crackers?"

Angela giggles, nodding about her Father. "It's definitely a good thing. I don't know what I was thinking, hating him for so long," she comments, voice dreamy and light. Like a psychiatric ward patient on a fresh hit of happy drugs reciting the doctor provided line that life is all butterflies, rainbows, and little kitties with bright green eyes. Seeming very happy that Kurt keeps a hold of her hand, Angela's gaze moves to settle on the gallery.

"Oh! I'm not dressed for a formal art gallery. I could, that is, my apartment is near by; I have some formal wear. I could change," Angela's voice comes out a bit squeaky as Kurt invites her to the art gallery. It's that squeak of really wanting to go but her experience telling her that art events are /always/ high society and thus are requiring of formal ballgowns and teh fine jewels and so forth. The comment of food seems, for the brit, very inconsequential in comparison to the possible faux pas of her attire.

Alarm bells are ringing? Straightening a little, his tail dips and he raises her hand to 'guide' her away from the busstop. "If you would like to accompany me, I would be honored." He casts a slightly concerned eye towards his 'date', and inclines his head. "I would love to meet your father one day, if he is around, so I can express my gratitude for aiding you."

Moving where led, Angela's sudden anxiety over her dress seems soothed by something. Her eyes half close, and her head tilts toward one side in a motion very much like someone leaning to a hand cupping one's cheek - only there's nothing there. A soft giggle and a calm smile pulls Angela's lips up and her eyes open. She nods to Kurt.

"I'd love to go," is Angela's reply, sounding like she's all but forgotten her worry over her clothes. She's utterly calm again, that dreamy smile back on her face. She turns to look at Kurt again, easily following wherever he would lead with an eerie sense that she might just follow the teleporter right off a cliff.

"I'm sure he'd like to meet you, too. Especially since you've always ever been so kind to me. He's been fairly busy lately, since someone tried to assassinate him, but I'm sure that will be done soon enough. I'll see if I can schedule dinner, maybe? The three of us? Maybe four, if his Lady wants to join us as well," Angela says, chattering slightly, almost rambling. And not once did anxiety or concern drift across her, not once did the smile fade. Rather, she just dreamily says all that, more focused on the happiness of introducing a friend to her Family and someone new to her Father, who is hands down the single greatest person /ever/.

Kurt looks beside him, his brows rising, yellow eyes peering briefly into the middle distance, trying to figure out of whom she may be referring. //Recent assassination attempt?// His Lady? Not 'mother'.. so.. he does let her ramble, and he walks with her back to the apartment complex. Once getting there, he does offer her a toothy smile, "Would you like to go up the quick way?"

Angela blinks slowly as she spies her apartment complex. Quick way? Her smile blossoms to life, and she nods. "Oh, yes! Please," says she, giggling back to his toothy grin. "Flying, or magicking or portalling," she asks, green eyes dancing with an air of mischief as she asks for clues as to the quick way up.

"Ja, quick way.." Kurt looks at Angela with a questioning expression; she's been teleported by him before. More than once.. but perhaps because she was in the throes of whatever entity had taken her over? He squeezes her hand and offers, "Don't let go.." and suddenly, they are no longer where they had been, but now in her living room. It's instantaneous, with the sound of air erupting around them with a *bamf*, and the lingering scent of brimstone hanging in the air. "Teleportation," is finally given with a broad smile.

Angela sways the moment they are in her living room, her hand tightening and her body seeking to pull itself close to Kurt to steady herself. The first time she'd been teleported, she had been freaking out too badly to really comprehend. The second time she was indeed in the middle of another loss of control. This time, this time with the calming presence of someone in her mind, what comes from Angela's lips now is a bright, airy, and very michievous sounding laugh. There's a slight inhuman quality to it, however, as her eyes seek to focus upon Kurt's face.

"That was... awesome," Angela bubbles, green eyes dancing. "Teleportation. Wonderful." There's a michievious twinkle to her eyes, the wink almost out of character for her, but it slides away as she turns toward her bedroom.

"I'll be right out! Make yourself comfortable," Angela calls out, happily, eagerly, turning away from Kurt to move unescourted into her empty bedroom where her empty closet awaits. The boy that was with her the last time? No where to be seen. Hadn't she called saying she wanted to get out of that house and 'he' wouldn't let her? Hadn't she been afraid of what 'he' would say or do if she left? And now, where is he?

Kurt squeezes her hand again, offering some support for her when they come to a complete halt, as it were. He barks a laugh at hers, in echo, and takes a step back. "I am glad you enjoyed it. I won't do it often because it can become taxing.. and make you very tired." He does look around the apartment, once she departs from him, and he begins to wander the place slowly. "Where is your friend?" The furtive phonecall is certainly recalled, and he picks up the phone.. and hangs it up once again.

"I don't know. After I called you, and a day or two passed I just couldn't take it anymore. I waited for him to get in the shower and then I left. I was so scared, at the time. He could get very angry, murderously so, but I just couldn't be alone in this apartment anymore. I'm really glad I did, though, because I'm not sure I would have found Father if I hadn't," Angela calls out from her bedroom, voice muffled by walls and the changing of clothes.

There's no trace of Angela's friend. In fact, there's little reason to believe anyone even lives here any more. The apartment is that museum clean of a professional cleaning service that comes in daily to care for an all but abandoned living space. There are no dirty dishes in the sink, and no clean dishes waiting to be put away. The morning's paper sits on the coffee table untouched. The white lace doillies and curtains are the only signs of a personal touch to the apartment, a macabre touch at best. One curtian looks like a man burning at the stake. Another, of hundreds of snakes. The table runner is of a hideous face laughing between the broken bodies of two women, spiders on their webs running around the edges like a border. Each doilly, a new nightmare, ripped from the mind's of Phobia's victims. There's even a doily with a domino mask broken in half under a capital S emblazened on a shielf motiff that looks to be dripping blood. People watching and knitting, huh?

Kurt does wander and he stops at the curtains, reaching out to touch them before pulling a hand back. His eyes narrow, his expression turns pained as he turns about to look at the others as they hang. And the doilies? He exhales softly and puts his hand on the one with the domino mask, his thumb running over the picture. His heart drops into his stomach, and he calls out in response, keeping his tones even, "May I ask your father's name?"

"Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Jotunheim," Angela replies from the doorway of the bedroom, voice a touch dreamy. Because papa Loki is truly the most awesome father in the world, so says her inner Loki - which she believes completely. She is wearing in a ravishing green and black formal gown. It's designer, a few seasons old but still high-end. Velvet and organiza, the dress hugs her slight curves revealing nothing, exsentuating everything. Sweetheart neckline exposes a tiny emerald pendent set in a gold chain that match her earrings and tiny tennis bracelet around her right wrist. On the pinky of her right hand is a beautiful gold signet ring, a stylized L etched into it, set with a single emerald chip at the end of hte L's scrollwork. Her tiny height is made a bit taller by the black high heels she wears. Makeup touched up, hair neatly brushed, Angela is now ready for the art gallery, smiling lightly. Because absolutely nothing is wrong when the Ancient Norse God of Evil and Mischief is your 'father'.

"Loki Laufeyson," Kurt repeats the name softly, trying to make sure he remembers it. He raises his voice again in conversation, "I have not had the pleasure." Looking back now towards the hall where the bedroom lies, he takes a breath at the sight of her, and it catches in his throat. He smiles broadly, though it doesn't quite reach those yellow eyes, and bows before he holds out a hand, "You will be the most lovely there." Taking a step forward, it's a troubled elf certainly that offers an escort. Still, he doesn't let on, too badly, and his brows rise in question, "Would you like the quick way down?"

A light blush touches the psychic's cheeks as Kurt's breath catches in his throat. It's clear that it's rare for the noble to be looked at in such a manner. Angela nods as she steps toward Kurt, right hand reaching out before her to take her escourt's hand.

"If it doesn't overtax you," she beams. "It tickled a bit," Angela adds.

Noble? Well, there's nothing wrong appreciating a lovely sight, and he follows it up with, "You do look lovely." A pair, he in his tuxedo, and she dressed for the occasion. He squeezes her hand and steps in so that he's a little closer, "It doesn't overtax me. If anything, it will take a little out of you." A chuckle comes from her "confession" and his response begins with a soft barked laugh, "I have never heard that before.

"Ready?" No sooner is the word out that the pair disappears, leaving behind that quiet *bamf* as the air rushes in to fill the void, a creeping of brimstone scenting the air. And again, downstairs, in the main foyer, the pair appear with that same fanfare.. the *bamf* and the smell of sulfur. Kurt puts a steadying hand out, his free one, before he suggests, "We can cross the street ourselves."

Angela barely has a chance to nod when she's bamf'd away. The giggle drifts free, the sudden displacement making her light-headed and dizzy. Angela leans into the steadying hand before she nods fully and and turns to wrap her arm about Kurt's.

"Lead the way," Angela almsot coos. It's like being tipsy.