Tu Casa Es Mi Casa

July 30, 2014: Illyana drops by with a warning for Roberto. He's… entertaining.

Roberto da Costa's Penthouse, NYC



  • Gina

Mood Music:

Roberto da Costa's penthouse apartment is lit only by the night sky, moonlight showing through dozens of skylights and the grand windows that make up nearly every exterior wall. Nonetheless, the structure is definitely not empty and still. To spare any delicate sensibilities, let's simply say that Berto is entertaining. In the sleeping area. His sterling efforts as a host are interrupted, however, when a crackle of energy and a brilliant blue light burst into being at the center of his sitting area.

There's a decidedly unmanly shriek from beneath the rumpled bedsheets, and a harshly lit figure goes stumbling for a cocktail dress that, a moment ago, was the farthest thing from her mind.

"Wait, hold on — relax!" A warm voice with a slight accent calls after her. "It's a stepping disc! It's —" But the unnamed girl is unmoved. Except, of course, by her legs, which carry her swiftly to the express elevator to bang on the call button, barely preserving her modesty from the harsh light of limbo by plastering the dress against the front of her body.

A bare, dark torso pops up with a sigh, turning to stare into the light, unafraid. "Porra. As usual, 'Yana, your timing could be better."

The blonde steps through and then stands, letting the disk continue to blaze behind her to shed that' eldritch light across the room. And let her watch 'Berto's current conquest go skittering for the door. She turns her smirk over to the man with the cocoa skin as the woman disappears into the elevator and the disk behind her finally winks out. "One of those 'five minutes earlier or five minutes later' kinda things?" Illyana asks with her usual mocking undertones.

The sorceress is dressed in the knee-high boots she's fond of, and even in the dark Roberto knows the glint of silver is off of skull-shaped buckles and that arcane symbols are worked, black-on-black, into the leather. She's wearing low-riding bluejeans, faded with age and a Warlock T-shirt from their 1987 album 'Triump and Agony'. She walks over towards his bed, stooping to pick up a scrap of undergarment with the very tips of two fingers and arches a brow at him. "You and your hobbies."

Roberto shrugs and smiles, unfazed by the teasing. "More than five minutes earlier and I would have still been out. Five minutes later and this would have been REALLY embarrassing." He runs a hand back through his unruly hair and grins a bit sloppily at his old classmate. "Fortunately for all concerned, I know to ring the doorbell before just bursting in — unlike some people."

Drunk, then. Normally Roberto's double entendres are at least classier than that. He scoots to the edge of his bed, which takes a minute, and then (with total immodesty) pads over to the closet to get himself a plush white robe. "I'm getting coffee. Do you want coffee?"

"One day you'll learn stamina, Bobby." Illyana remarks with a chuckle and then tosses the scrap of lace over towards him as he scoots to the end of the bed. It's his now. He can wear it. "Where's the fun in giving you warning? You know how I love to torture you." Too true. It may not always be this particular approach but… yeah. Illyana's always liked to put people in awkward, embarrassing, or sticky situations.

As she's standing near the edge of the bed by now, his standing puts him fairly close to her. Her gaze slides off to the side and away but she tilts her head and taps her cheek, expecting a friendly greeting from the Brazilian even if she did run off his date. "I live for coffee."

Roberto fumbles the catch — drunkenness combined with the peculiar aerodynamic qualities of lingerie can foil even his athletic instincts, it seems. The garment is immediately lost in the bedsheets, to be discovered at a moment of maximum awkwardness later, no doubt. Once his feet are on the floor, he smirks and obligingly gives Illyana a warm peck, lifting one of her hands in a gesture that is either mock romantic or a lingering holdover from his interrupted amorous efforts. Then he goes to tug that robe on and lead her into the kitchen.

"So, what brings you to Casa da Costa, menina Rasputina?" the Brazilian asks as he fills the pot to the brim with hot water. Sweet Christo Redentor, he's so drunk he's amused by rhymes. "Do the X-men need me to punch somebody? Have you wrecked something expensive and need a loan? Are you just jonesing that badly for the really good imported stuff?" He shakes the bag of whole coffee beans before dumping them into the grinder.

Illyana follows after Roberto in a lazy amble, fingers hooking into her back pockets as she follows the slow almost stumbling gait of Roberto. "Why are you drunk tonight, anyway? Pretending to be Warren?" She slides onto one of the stools around the kitchen island, waiting for him to start dumping the beans in before answering.


Illyana's tone is grim and… maybe a bit tired. "I wanted to give you a heads-up. Someone's poking at me personally and that means they might come after my friends." And most of Limbo is familiar with her classmates from her years at Xavier's. "On this side of things." She clarifies. Normally her Limbo problems can't get over to Earth, just making it less of an issue. She bites back a yawn as she waits for the coffee to brew.

"I was out celebrating. Some big acquisitions in Gotham; you know, boring business stuff. Went to the club, got acquainted with Gina — who you just missed — and decided to make a night of it. So much for that!" His glance at Illyana is more amused than reproachful; there's really not a whole lot that Roberto will begrudge setting aside when one of his close friends is in need.

Her explanation clearly indicates that 'in need' is exactly what Illyana is, which causes Roberto's amusement to evaporate. "So, are these your demons getting rebellious? Or someone else's demons invading? You don't think Belasco might be making another play…?" He takes a second to concentrate on getting the right settings punched into the coffee maker before turning a trifle unsteadily and fixing her with a concerned look. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you. Whatever I can do."

"Not mine." Illyana says without hesitation. "And… Maybe." She says, the grudging tone mostly because she doesn't *want* it to be true. "But I don't have enough information yet."

She gives him a small smile. "I appreciate that, 'Berto. But I'm mostly here to give you a heads-up so you're not surprised if… weird shit happens." And people you think were dead suddenly pop back up. Like daisies! She gestures with her chin towards him. "How are you doing, anyhow? Alright? No weirdness?"

Berto dips his head and looks at Illyana with what he probably assumes is a very sly, conspiratorial look. "I just got cockblocked by a demon queen teleporting into my living room, and now she wants to know whether I'm dealing with any weirdness." The room fills with the scent of brewing coffee, which starts to trickle into the pot at a tantalizingly slow rate.

Roberto's brain works equally slowly through his past week, before he finally answers, "Nothing comes to mind that squeaks past the ordinary background weirdness of my life. Business is good. Personal is good. Haven't done much superheroing lately, though." Believe it or not, with the heroic profile he cuts in his half-off bathrobe. "I appreciate the warning, anyway. You're sure there's nothing I can do, though? I'm rich and, like, super strong." He scrunches up his face. "Wait. That's the line I used on Gina." Fortunately, the coffee maker pings at that moment, and soon he's busy serving the pair rather than, you know, talking.

Illyana gives Roberto a pained look. "Tell me you didn't. Especially the part about being super strong." He's rich enough that a lot of New Yorker's probably recognize him. Especially those that like to troll for the rich and famous.

As for something he can do? She looks thoughtful. "You could put me up for the summer. 'Mara and I graduated, so we had to move out of NYU. She went back to Xavier's but you know me." She's not partial to staying around all the students. And all the people. Jericho's offered her his places as her own but… she knows she should spend less time around him. Should be the operative word.

"And remember, your lines don't work on me." Illyana reminds him.

"I think I did," the Brazilian heir answers, starting to look a little pained himself. He passes his guest a mug of sweet and light coffee, keeping an unmixed mug for himself. "That's… wow, that was terrible. I can't believe I said that. Never mind what I said earlier: to answer your question, it is deeply weird how bad my game was tonight." They have been friends long enough that Illyana can probably tell that he's playing up his self-deprecating jokes to take both of their minds off the demonic problems that have always vexed her and disturbed him.

"My lines don't work, she says, as she asks to move in," he adds, still playing the jokes for all they're worth. "Something must have worked. Was it my moves?" He grins, takes a sip of his coffee, then settles down with a deep breath. "Seriously, though: you're welcome to stay as long as you want. I've got couches and a guest bed — whatever you're comfortable with. The floor plan means not a ton of privacy, but still a hell of a lot more than we had as students, right?"

Illyana's dorm room door had signs on them warning people away. It was best not to startle her, lest you get eaten. "I'll just plan to sleep when you're likely to be out." Read as: at work. Illyana has this thing about sleeping. She doesn't do it very often. Probably one of the contributing factors to her often bitchy attitude. If she sleeps once a week, she's doing well.

"You need a chaperone." Illyana says as she drags her mug over and takes a sip, mmmming happily at it. "So you don't do silly stuff like that." She takes the time to sip again, wrapping both hands around the warmth of the cup.

His comment about her moving in gets a chuckle and she flutters her lashes at him. "You ready to commit to me, baby?"

"With you awake at all hours, prowling around the house? Sounds like I've got a chaperone all lined up," Roberto answers with a broad grin. "You know I'm ready. What's mine is yours, bonita, whenever you want it." He quirks his eyebrows upward. "Are you going to want to move anything in? Not that I'm worried about it taking too long, what with, y'know…" He approximates a whooshing, magical noise with his mouth, then makes a rising ring of his thumbs and forefingers. "…but I can clear out some space for you if you want."

Illyana chuckles as 'Berto continues the game. "I'll get you a pretty ring. Chase off the other girls." It's not really flirting, because she tends to play the game like one plays chicken. Such as the remark about the other girls. She doesn't expect 'Berto to even allude to giving up his ways. Especially to one with demonic leanings. Careful who you make promises to!

The imitation of her stepping disk has her pursing her lips and squinting at him. "Drink more coffee. You're still obviously waaaaay too drunk." She notes. "And nah. I'll keep all my stuff on the other side. It's only a step away."

Berto doesn't need to be told twice to keep his caffeine intake up. He sips at the warm beverage and lets the heat rise against his skin. But something Illyana says leaves him unable to continue drinking. "A ring? What the hell you need a ring for?" he asks with genuine laughter, gesturing at the elevator poor Gina used to flee. "We both know you've got much better ways of chasing girls away from me if you really want to." He smiles and shakes his head knowingly. "Nah, you like it this way. No lines, no turning on the charm, definitely no rings. Just a couch to crash on when you need it and an occasional peep show." He flashes her an impish grin, then returns his attention to his dwindling supply of coffee.

Illyana slips off of the stool she's been sitting on, coming around him to press against his back and leans in to smooch his cheek noisily. "Well. You're worth looking at." She says, feeding his ego before turning to open his 'fridge and invite herself to anything tasty he might happen to have in there. He's actually short enough she can do that with them both standing.

"And how am I supposed to chase them off when I'm not here? I could always have a demon follow you everywhere." His boardroom meetings would be *hilarious*. While she has, perhaps, dropped a demon into his bed while he was… entertaining, she's never infringed on the business side of his life. And yes. She did think it was freakin' hilarious when she did it.

Roberto can't help but wear a goofy, smitten grin. Compliments and a smooch, from Illyana? Rare treats indeed. His fridge is well stocked: although some of the contents are specific to a native Brazilian's taste in snacks, almost all of it is tailored to entertaining friends. After all, the man of the house only really needs sunlight, a protein supplement, and a multivitamin, if he wants to rough it.

The thought of a visit from one of Illyana's demons, however, wipes the contented expression right off of Roberto's face. No doubt he's thinking back to exactly that incident. "Noooo, no no no nonono," he protests, waving his hands over his coffee mug. "No demon visits or bodyguards, muito muito obrigado." Taking a breath to calm himself, he continues, "Besides, you wouldn't want to always chase them off. That would be too predictable. If it doesn't take me by surprise, you won't enjoy it as much."

At least Illyana recognizes most of the stuff, having known Roberto for so long, and starts to pull out foodstuffs. While she can conjure anything she wants in Limbo, the way her magic twists stuff it's not always terribly palatable if you're not a demon. Since she doesn't have any kind of job, she doesn't have a lot of money so raiding Roberto's 'fridge? Totally on the list of things to do!

Helping herself to his home, she starts to go through cupboards to find plate and flatware. The blonde is going to drive his housekeeper nuts.

Illyana pauses to look back over her shoulder and grins at Roberto. "True enough. Besides, I try to limit myself to the plastic blow-up dolls you bring home." She leans over to pat his cheek. "It's for your own good."

"Oh, of course any girl who shows interest in me must be shallow and vain," Roberto answers, waggling his hands dramatically as he turns to watch Illyana put her snack tray together. "For your information, they all have rich inner lives in addition to hot bodies and healthy sex drives," he insists, half defending his companions and half egging her on. "You just don't like them because they're scared of you. Well, I used to be terrified of you, remember? That was a thing!"

"What did she do for a living?" Illyana asks, without turning away from her foodage. The plate gets slid into the microwave that beeps cheerfully at her as she puts things away. Finally, she turns back towards him, crossing her arms and smirking his way. "What color were her eyes?" Her own icy blue ones sparkle with humor as she pins him with the questions. "And honestly, she had more plastic in her than most cyborgs I know."

"She was a college student!" Roberto answers triumphantly, leaping on the first question because he actually does know the answer. His follow-up is much weaker: "And, um… merda, it was dark. Consistently! Lasers in the club and, uh, romantic moonlight here." He sinks downward into his coffee cup, whose warmth is offering him less comfort now. "Until the whole hellish glare thing, of course. Still not great for picking out fine detail, though." He rallies right at the end, with a proud sniff: "It's none of my business to judge what a lady does with her body."

Illyana doesn't look terribly convinced. Robert's saved by the beeping of the microwave though, and she pulls out her plate and retakes her seat so she can eat. "We missed you on the trip to Nova Roma last month. Did Amara tell you a company tried to take the place by force while we were there?" Such a bad idea.

"I was unavoidably detained," Roberto intones, reciting a line he uses frequently to apologize to… well, basically everyone in his life, for basically everything in his life. He has the decency to use the phrase ironically, exaggerating its uninformative banality and usually following up with a real explanation. "Pai dragged me to a meeting of these European venture firms… Deus, it was boring. But it sounds like you had a bit of fun." Roberto never doubts for a second that the Xavierites rebuffed the aggressors. "Any company in particular? I bet I can make them even more miserable than you guys did, in the long run."

"Eh, I don't recall." Illyana says, waving it off. "I'm sure Amara does. They tried with contracts first, then with tanks, so I'm sure she got their name from the former.

Leaning over, Illyana snags hold of Roberto's belt to drag him closer. Turning towards him on the stool, she pulls him in until his hips brush her knees. "Speaking of being unavoidably detained, you have been every time I've gone out recently. I've had to find new friends to take me dancing."

"I'll have to a— whoa!" Berto's wearing a robe, the belt to which is not exactly tightly secured. Illyana's tugging quickly sets the whole thing to unraveling. Mustering as much coordination as he can, he sets his coffee down quickly on a convenient countertop and grabs the edge of one of the front panels with one hand, just barely keeping his center covered while one hip goes bare. And immediately knocks into her boot. The Brazilian swallows, glancing downward. "That's… that really does suck. We always have a lot of fun dancing," he answers as he rediscovers his voice. "We should make a point of going out together as soon as we can."

"I'll have to a— whoa!" Berto's wearing a robe, the belt to which is not exactly tightly secured. Illyana's tugging quickly sets the whole thing to unraveling. Mustering as much coordination as he can, he sets his coffee down quickly on a convenient countertop and grabs the edge of one of the front panels with one hand, just barely keeping his center covered while one hip goes bare. And immediately knocks into her boot. The Brazilian swallows, glancing downward. "That's… that really does suck. We always have a lot of fun dancing," he answers as he rediscovers his voice. "We should make a point of going out together as soon as we can."

Illyana's eyes glint with amusement as he swallows like that. It used to amuse her when he was afraid of her too. Well, most of the time. When it didn't cut like glass. Illyana's emotional health has always been something of a mess. As the belt comes loose and he scrambles to resettle it, she folds one end over the other and cinches it tight around his waist for him. How she loves to wind him up. Of course, he puts up with it. So that probably only encourages her.

"You're the one with the busy schedule. How about this weekend? We'll drag 'Mara and whoever else out. You can pick up the bar tab." Nice of her to volunteer him, isn't it?

Roberto raises one eyebrow, relief and disappointment warring in his expression as his modesty is secured. If Illyana has one skill above all others, it's confounding his attempts to read what she wants, even after all these years. As ever, he's just going to have to go with her most recent and most obvious moves. He looks down approvingly at her knot work, then back up as he replies, "My treat, my pleasure. It will be great to see the old crowd again. I know just the place, too."

Illyana flashes Roberto once of those feral sort of grins and stands. Which, briefly, puts her flush up against him from chest to knees. "Good. Make it happen." Then she's moving away, collecting her plate and her coffee and sauntering away. "I'm gonna go eat on the terrace." She says, like it's an FYI and not a dismissal. She might be more aggravating if Roberto didn't know she'd go to the mat for him.

Honestly? The aggravation is part of the appeal of their dynamic. Not that he would ever admit that to her. "Feel free to take a dip in the jacuzzi if you need to relax," he calls after her. Now he had better head to bed, and think as hard as he can about sports and freezing rain. He sighs as he washes out his mug, and reflects that with Illyana around, at the very least he's bound to get pulled away from business deals and into something a little more exciting. That alone is worth the guest bed.

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