finalflight | OPEN POST; [ STEPHEN STRANGE / MCU ]

[if there is one thing that doctor strange should regret in his life, it is confining pietro to the new york sanctum. there are probably good reasons for this decision, but pietro is an impatient man—it's not in his system, see, to sit about and wait. time goes by way too slow for him, and entertainment is a luxury that he sorely lacks on his worst days.

but the sanctum, oh man, it offers a lot of berth despite what it is, hallways and open rooms that likely square back around because of magic or otherwise.]

Heyoldman!

[the words come as pietro zips by in a flurry of motion, a gust behind him as he makes another lap around the place. maybe he's trying to get a rise out of the doctor; it's more fun for pietro if he has (magical) obstacles to avoid (parkour).]

Edited 2021-08-12 17:05 (UTC)

[Pietro is an anomaly, and Stephen means it very literally. He is a figure outside of the usual bounds of time and space, which is perhaps the nicest way of saying that a dead man should not be dashing around the Sanctum in an endless loop, just a blur calling him an old man as though he should be allowed to do even that. And there is only so much energy that he is willing to spare said anomalies who cannot stay still for ten seconds straight, much less get him to have a proper conversation without his attentions drifting (sprinting) elsewhere.

The timing is difficult, but he thinks he can manage it, like catching a minnow in a too-big net flitting around a glass aquarium. A second is all it takes to cast a shield born of light-filled magic, but it’s less a shield and more a…

Well. Not a prison. Not a cage. More like a sphere of Time Out.

A large, magical sphere, enveloping a space wide enough to ensnare Pietro in it if he’s fortunate enough. Talented enough. One of those adjectives will surely pull through.]

Sit and talk for a moment.

[pietro is thinking that the wizard (haha) will summon a series of things for him to have to maneuver his way around—test his speed, as it were—but the one thing he isn't expecting is a simple magical confinement zone. that is more difficult to avoid, and no matter where pietro tries going to avoid it altogether, he ends up meeting more and more resistance from his surroundings.

stubborn as he is, he stops and ends up barreling into the definitely-prison-and-cage of time out.]

Wuoh!

[and suddenly, he's simply suspended in the air, within the sphere, unable to move. it's hard to move, and pietro hates every living second of it.]

Hey, what's the big idea? I can't move!

[if he sounds a little angry it's because he is]

[A brow lifts, head tilted up at an angle as he draws a step or two closer. He can’t help but feel a mote of satisfaction, like a parent who’s managed to latch a child leash onto a rowdy kid.

(Pointedly ignoring he even had to draw parallel to begin with:)]

That’s the point, if you haven’t noticed.

[He gestures up at Pietro, with fingertips still aglow with the tracings of a faint, circular seal of magic. Stephen has no desire to keep him up there permanently, like a specimen in a cage, but there needs to be grounds for understanding. Clarification that he can’t spend all his time zipping around the place, else Stephen would be pushing his luck trying to catch him a second time.]

I need you to stand still long enough so that we can have a proper conversation — I know it’s difficult for you, but I have faith that you can try. Can’t you?

[He’ll let you out if you beHaVE]

[pietro grumbles under his breath, feels the annoyance of not having freedom of movement. but he knows better; he knows that in the face of magic, of all-encompassing powers, he has no real advantage over them.]

If you wanted to talk, you should have said before putting out a trap.

[—through gritted teeth—]

It would be easier if you would let me out of this place to see my sister.

[he'll behave! give him the opportunity to prove himself.]

Not a trap. A speed bump.

[Potato, po-tah-to. The point is that it worked, and he hardly regrets it — it isn’t as though he expected the man to stop if politely asked, and he doesn’t believe that’s an unfair assumption, either.]

And I can’t do that.

[Despite the chance of running-about-retaliation, Stephen lowers the magical sphere, allowing Pietro to at least stand on his feet. The magical bulwark doesn’t raise quite yet, however.]

You aren’t supposed to be here. Do you think I’ll fling you out into the open for a quick visit and leave it at that? You’re the equivalent of a foreign object, with the same potential of upending this universe’s environment. Not exactly a risk I’m willing to take without a bit of clarification first.

I don't like speed bump.

[getting to stand on his feet, at least, is a happy development for him. he extends his arms so that his hands touch the edges of the magical sphere. should he not be released any time soon, pietro is going to try his own magic trick to get himself outta this himself.

he levels his gaze with doctor strange, squinting his eyes as the words come next.]

What clarification do you want?

[The magic warbles a little with Pietro’s touch, like he’s just nudged the surface of still water. Paradoxically, however, the shielding holds — it doesn’t seem like the good Doctor is keen on letting this one dash away just yet. Not mid-conversation, when he’s finally gotten a conversation up and running to begin with. (No pun intended.)]

Basic questions. [A wave of his hand, eyes meeting Pietro’s.] First and foremost, you do know why I can’t let you out?

[The whole, ah. Dead part.]

Beyond what I’ve just explained?

[pietro himself cannot understand why he has "returned from the dead", as he's been so kindly reminded about so many times now. who knows how exactly the world is supposed to work, especially now that he sees that wizards and magic are apparently not just a thing in some kid's book, but is also real—and currently holding him hostage.

('hostage' is too dramatic a term.)]

That is not a clarification, this is you talking to me like I am child.

[and pietro is very much not a child.]

I only wish to see my sister.

[Sometimes, he does that without meaning to — talking with vague patronization cultivated out of pure exasperation. It’s hard, being a master of the mystic arts and making sure the universe doesn’t collapse in on itself because pieces of it decide to fling themselves wide. It’s wearisome.

He says, plainly to one such aforementioned piece—]

Yes, you’ve made that clear. And my answer stays the same: I can’t let you do that. She doesn’t need to know you’re here. Cannot know you’re here.

[And maybe that’s cruel, making such a decision for the both of them, keeping the twins separated for the sake of not muddying up the flow of two universes. But most pressingly—]

She’s gone through enough as it is. I don’t need her focus rent in two the moment she lays eyes on you, not when you aren’t supposed to be here to begin with. You belong in your world, and you’re too volatile to keep in mine.

Therefore, I need you to behave until I can find a solution to this problem.

Listen, old man—

[because pietro doesn't want to hear it, being thus forbidden from seeing his sister at all and being confined to this specific area of the world.]

I do not think you understand.

[he has kept his arms raised, hands touching the magical barrier. he is not moving—not the entirety of him anyway—but his hands are, and they're moving fast.]

I do not know who gave you the authority to make decisions, but I have to see my sister. If you have problem with that, you can figure it out later without me in here.

[his hope is that he can break the spell by causing a sonic vibration with his hands. he stops talking to focus, his eyes locked in a stare with strange, lips a thin line.

this is going to work out and pietro will be free in no time!]

[except this is a magical sphere, and not one made of glass or containing atoms. what he is achieving is, instead, detrimental only to himself. the speed of the vibrations only cause a high-pitched sound to start echoing inside his confinement.

and pietro is all but stopping and putting hands to his ears, toppling on his feet against the wall of the sphere as the ringing becomes shrill and sharp.]

Make it stop!

[HE STARTED IT]

Edited 2021-08-14 00:52 (UTC)

[You know, it would be impressive—is impressive, really—that Pietro’s abilities allow him to have this effect on his magic. Stephen has an idea of what he was trying to achieve, and it would have been possible if he were trapped by matter formed more conventionally. Unfortunate for him that this wasn’t the case.

Little to do but watch as the sound grows loud, louder on the inside than the outside, and Stephen scrunches up his face a little as he watches the comedy of errors unfold before him.

Good lord.

His free hand, not encircled by magic, comes up to scrub his face.]

That won’t work. Credit for trying to be clever, though.

[“trying”

But you see, Stephen isn’t exactly in the business of torturing his captives, and with a movement of his wrist the magic calms itself — the reverberations stop assailing Pietro’s ears.]

…I’m not keeping you in there so you won’t escape. Do you think it’s that simple the leave the Sanctum if I won’t allow it?

[In other words, Stephen has the deepest faith that Pietro is stuck in the building as a whole, not just the little sphere of magic he’s conjured up for him.]

I’m doing this so I can have a conversation with you. So I can get you to understand my stance, and figure out exactly what has brought you to my figurative doorstep. Ans I can release you if you have the sense enough to not zoom around like a madman.

[when the noise stops, pietro looks understandably more disheveled than before. he's not on his feet, but is bracing himself instead the curve of the magical sphere he is confined to. his hands remain on his ears, lowing themselves a bit as he gauges the silence.

though he may not have heard the initial 'clever' comment, at the very least it looks like he's listening to the bit about having a conversation.

honestly? pietro is tired—and not because he's been running around and nearly destroyed his ears permanently.]

—you want me to clarify things to you. To answer questions. I will say, I do not understand how I got here or how I am back. I know I am dead. I just...

[he just what? it's hard to explain to someone who doesn't understand what it's like, to have the twin connection he and his sister both have, and the magic that not only was awakened by the mind stone but which connects them both even before that.]

I heard my sister calling. She needs me, so I follow her voice.

[Stephen watches him quietly for a moment, a part of him understanding the laser-focus of Pietro’s priorities when it comes to his sister. The bond between siblings that had gone through countless together, even if the doctor only knows the story secondhand. What one would do for the other, regardless of circumstance.

Stephen had been there too, once.]

I can’t endanger this timeline by letting you waltz through it haphazardly, even if it is just to see your sister. I wish I could.

[And here, he relinquishes his magic — the shielding dissipates like a curtain of light rising and fading away.]

How about a compromise?

[pietro braces himself as the magic disappears around him, remaining on his feet but finding a nearby wall to lean against. he's tired—not physically, but enough to feel defeated in some way over the current circumstances.

the doctor speaks about how he can't and how his present here alone would endanger something or another. though he's blunt, pietro can hear something genuine in how he 'wishes he could'.

he grumbles something under his breath, huffing after a moment.]

It depends if it is a good offer.

[pietro knows he can't win against magic, so he's just doing this as a matter of pride.]

[westview left wanda with a lot of things: the biggest one of all was the same emptiness she had begun with, but it was accompanied now with growth. an understanding of the love she had and the love lost, and how grief is another part of her—a part that really highlights that love she still has for those who are no longer with her: pietro, vision, her sons...

she's better now, and this understanding has brought to her a new drive, a new passion for the powers within her. thanks to agatha, wanda now knows that there is more to her powers and that she is, in fact, the fabled scarlet witch. she taught wanda that there was still much for her to learn, and how generous of her to give wanda the tools she'd need for it.

learning from the darkhold has unlocked a series of knowledge, a reach further into the void of universes, until the voices of both tommy and billy calling for her gave her another sense of purpose.

to find them.

easier said than done, though, as her spells boast enough magic to work but the wrong employment of them. there's silence—and then a crash—as wanda falls precipitously through a layer of glass and onto hardwood, pulses of her red magic sparkling like static around a portal that blinks out of existence as soon as she lands.]

Argh!

[it's frustrating, all these failed attempts. picking herself up, she sits on her knees and tries dusting off all the glass and splinters from her clothes and hair, her frustration keeping her from being aware of where she really is at.]

Edited 2021-08-12 18:14 (UTC)

[The Sanctum’s skylight is a prominent feature of the building’s sometimes baffling and always curious architecture. The curving, swooping lines that divide its circular shape cut into the swath of light filtering through, casting transient shadows across the creaking, wooden flooring below. It is a sight that a more artistic mind would appreciate in its construction; it is a sight that Stephen sometimes pauses by to check the state of its magical seal, its thrumming energy acting as a safe point, a security measure imbued in the design itself. Appreciation for different means altogether. An assurance that something remains stable, holding in place where many things will not.

Until it doesn’t.

Until something in the air shatters before the glass does — and the air in his lungs constricts for a fleeting moment, as though he had been cast into deep, cold water, lost beneath the sudden wave of something or someone crashing through. The magic aura, of course, is always a herald — warning enough to prepare any sorcerer worth his salt some manner of defense, and there’s already sparking light crackling around graceless fingers in an incomplete halo before he truly registers what’s happened.

He steps forward, frowning and at ready. Glass shards scrape at the toe of his boot, and realizing who now practically sits at his feet has his tone turning…

Lilted with a rare sort of confusion.]

Wanda?

[oh, she really ought to be more careful of being mindful to her surroundings.

thankfully, the voice is familiar, although distant in her memories. with her hair over a shoulder, she turns to face the man calling her by her name. it's the sorcerer—the one who brought them to where thanos was after they had all returned.]

Doctor Strange.

[and her eyes roam about the room, finally, as if taking in her surroundings for the first time. how, exactly, did she end up in this place, is anyone's guess. perhaps all magical entanglement roads will lead to this sanctum, at one point or another.

wanda stands up and looks, at least, a little apologetic for the broken glass around her.]

Sorry. I didn't mean to barge in.

[and yet]

[And yet.

The familiarity is a little more than ghost-like; they had all worked together to save the world from certain peril a second time, and that tends to leave an impression in one’s memories. But beyond sharing that same goal, and fighting beside each other in the chaos of the battlefield, he is only vaguely familiar with Wanda as an individual, nowhere knowledgeable enough to know just why she has deposited herself on the floor, having smashed through the Sanctum skylight in the wake of crackling, warped and heavy, magic.

Stephen stares down at her, as though she might provide an explanation should he grant her a few passing seconds.

None comes.

At the very least, the alarm of an impending threat is gone (even if something settles unwell in him), and he’s mindful enough to lower his hands, magic ebbing away.]

And yet… here you are. Unannounced and crashing through the Sanctum’s window — the one that acts as a seal, mind you.

[Shenanigans. Shenanigans of the magical kind, he feels it in his sorcerer’s bones.]

It was a seal?

[she questions and looks, for all intents and purposes, genuine in her confusion. she looks up at said skylight and wonders about that for a moment. this was not her intended destination.

turning back to the man, wanda isn't sure on how she could go about explaining her arrival.]

I didn't mean to do that. [she meant for something alright.] ...and I don't have money to pay for reparations.

[cuz that's what's amiss here]

[There isn’t something magical imbued in every nook and cranny of the Sanctum, but the skylight fixture, one of the most prominent features of the architecture itself? Of course it harbored a seal; and now it is little more than a hole where the rain’ll get in when the skies cloud over. Bafflingly, impossibly.

…if left in such a state, of course. It certainly won’t be, and Wanda’s clarification of not being able to pay isn’t even considered until she says the words. As though that is the implied question that he’s dangled between them.

A dark brow rises. He tries again, bluntly this time.]

“Reparations” will be taken care of. I won’t ask you to write me a check to cover the damages.

[How torturously… mundane.]

I’m more concerned about the “how” and “why” — how did you arrive here without warning, and why? You’re supposed to call before you drop in.

Edited 2021-08-13 23:39 (UTC)

I don't have a phone.

[is she supposed to feel bad about that? she's not. instead, wanda steps on the glass and around it so that she's no longer standing under what was, supposedly, a seal into the magical sanctum.

she is thankful, however, that she is not to be expected to pay for damages. (poor wong, he'll probably be the one trying to sort it all out.)]

Like I said, it wasn't on purpose. [she keeps her distance, crossing her arms and holding her elbows in her hands.] I was trying out a spell. I might have lost control of it and it dropped me here.

[that's as much an explanation as she's willing to give at this point in time. take it or leave it.]

Can you open a portal for me to return?

It was a joke.

[About ringing him up before dropping in. Not that she couldn’t, though maybe his expectations are set too high if Stephen expects any kind of courtesy from his fellow… hero-types. They always come unannounced.]

That depends. [(It depends on a lot of things. To pretend that it depends on her one answer is a little misleading, but Stephen wants information.)]

What sort of spell, exactly?

[She’s speaking his language now, and he isn’t quite sure what to think about that. Wanda’s powers had been impressive, based on what he had seen in passing, through the throes of violence mid-battle. But “trying out” a spell has a tinge of recklessness to it; and he isn’t just assuming — proof of it is in the shattered glass before them.]

[she asked for a portal as a courtesy. agatha may have been many things, but she taught wanda about what a witch is and how a witch's domain responds to its owner alone. doctor strange may be different from a witch, but his use of the mystical arts does not go unnoticed.

tilting her head, she bears on with patience. besides, she doesn't need anyone trying to stop her; the experience she had had with stark trying to 'ground' her is a reminder of how she was often treated like a misguided child.]

It would take a long time to explain.

[besides, wanda isn't sure that her trying to leap through different parallel words (she can't quite explain it) would be well-received.]

[Not an answer that flies with this sorcerer, unfortunately. It’s not as though Stephen can simply ignore the strange, twisting, almost suffocating magic that had blasted through the skylight first with Wanda dragged in afterwards, like jetsam washed up by the rolling tide. There is a story here, and one that is hesitant to be told is the one that Stephen wants to hear the most.

For the sake of curiosity. For the sake of his job.

He grins. It’s a little facetious because it doesn’t reach his eyes, not completely.]

I’ve all the time in the world.

[There’s an irony in that, what with the Time Stone no longer in the equation, but Stephen spreads his arms wide, only to turn around and start walking.]

Let’s sit and talk. Do you want something to drink? I’ve played the good host more than once in the past.

[Passing rows upon rows of ancient relics, some contained in glass, others sitting freely on stands, or in the corner, like someone’s forgot to put them in their proper place. They are all old and esoteric-looking, seemingly fitting in with the whole of the Sanctum.]

And please don’t touch anything.

[wanda wants to scoff and say something along the lines of how it is very easy to assume that it's stephen's time that is of her concern, except it is her own that she's more concerned about. she has half a mind to turn back around towards the skylight and just brute force her way back to the small cabin she had sequestered in the mountains of sokovia—far away from everyone.

but then comes the offer, to sit and talk. how long has she gone without having another individual to share words with?

so wanda turns back around, following after the doctor and not really taking note of any of the relics he wants her 'not to touch'. like she's some kind of savage without manners. she has more self-restraint than that.]

A drink would be fine.

[there are no pockets to shove her hands into in these pajamas, so wanda does a quick transmutation behind the doctor's back and finds herself in a simple black shirt and jeans, her hands tucked inside the pockets of it.

and before he asks,]

Tea.

Edited 2021-08-20 01:43 (UTC)

Hello,

My recent order is very incorrect. I ordered two Americanos. I’ve received:

3 cafe mochas
2 espressos
1 drink I can’t quantify
1 single slice of black tie cheesecake

Not that I mind the free drinks, but someone out there is going to be disappointed when they get my very unimpressive order instead.

Oh, hello!
Sorry about that! I'll see if I can get that fixed right away.

[ but then a few seconds later... ]

But wait
Since when were we listed under food delivery???

There *is* a directory, though it’s a little… interdimensional. You probably don’t get too many delivery orders.

I would’ve picked it up myself, but I was preoccupied.

Whoa cool!!

Sorry, I just found out the co-owner was the one who set it up.
He doesn't tell me the important stuff sometimes 🙄🙄🙄
Anyhoo, got an address I can slide those Americanos to?

177A Bleecker Street, New York City, NY 10012

And really, I’m the first ever mixed-up order from your cafe?

[ Iona wonders if she's heard of that address before because it feels like one of those things that seem as if she's heard in passing somewhere. Oh well! ]

In the cafe certainly!
Out of it, ehhhh, work in progress on my end now apparently.

Heads up!

[ A small portal that shimmers and crackles with crystalline colors opens up... Above Stephen's head.

And just barely missing his head, two Americanos in their cups drop down unceremoniously onto the ground, spilling everywhere.

Someone... Still needs practice. ]

Oh shoot
I thought I made the portal sideways I mean, that's what it looked like?
????? 😳😳😳

[Um, someone needs plenty of practice. It’s a good thing Stephen’s reflexes aren’t bad; he manages to move out of the way so none of it splatters on his head, instead crashing at his feet and spewing coffee in every direction.

…

A minute passes before a reply, given he has to take a moment to clean this up with a bit of magic.]

Out of practice? You’re lucky you missed the rug.

Okay, proper sideways portal is a go!

[ The portal appears properly on Stephen's left, perfectly horizontal...

And parallel to the floor. There goes two more Americanos. Just barely missed the rug again! ]

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa where's your table?!

[Well, honestly. He should have been prepared this time, but now there’s more drink on his floors.]

Okay, at this point, I’m just going to have to assume you don’t know what you’re doing.

Listen

[ cue dramatic pause that takes about a minute (in truth, Oren is lecturing Iona for her messy spellcasting) before another text appears ]

You are absolutely right, so I think I'll just have to do this the manual way.

[ So with that said, within five to ten minutes... KNOCK KNOCK at the front door, Stephen! Outside, Iona stands on the steps; in her hands are two fresh Americanos in a cupholder and she patiently waits for the owner to open up. ]

OPEN POST; [ STEPHEN STRANGE / MCU ]

the one you'll hate

is that not the default

every parent has a favorite child (it's pietro isn't it)

favorite is one word

i'll take it

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1/2

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wow those typos, you saw nothing

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jk this one too

yells

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midnight grind shenans

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