There was something about a masquerade ball. The intrigue. The...no, in retrospect, that was really about all there was to it. The masks were just to hide the true intent, and Stephen Strange was detecting a very large amount of the hiding of true intent. It wasn't magical, at least not so far as he could tell, but something about it just rubbed him the wrong way. Something was rotten about this, and he was determined to find out just what it was.
Besides. He couldn't remember the last time he and Clea had gone out that didn't involve fighting some cosmic monstrosity.
Of course, this was technically still some sort of monstrosity. He was almost certain. Stephen told himself that as he fixed the adjustment of his bowtie...and then, realizing fine motor functions were needed for such a thing, he twisted his fingers in the appropriate motions...and the tie fixed itself.
"Clea?" He called out to the adjoining room where he knew Clea was preparing. "We're going to be late!" He said, picking up the domino mask that served as a nice contrast to the black threads of his suit. He walked over, knocking on the door. "Clea? Darling?" He called again.