PSL; [ pump it up ]

[sorser]

[A portal opens, unleashing its contents into a stranger’s home: the once-Sorcerer Supreme, and a creature.

A dark, murky thing, with long tendrils that might be called limbs were they not constantly fluctuating in a state of obscured shadow. They twist and snarl with an ill-defined face marked by glowing eyes, untangling itself from the sorcerer who has given it chase for an unknown amount of time, but for so long it feels like an age. But the sorcerer—none other than Stephen Strange—slams into the ground hard enough to dizzy him for a few precious seconds, and the creature flings itself away. It rises up, rushes along the walls, knocking over furniture and picture frames, and rushes out the nearest doorway.]

Damn it.

[Stephen pushes himself to his feet, eyes barely taking the time to cast around and register where he is. The answer: he has no clue. It hardly matters, though — a creature like that, the very embodiment of nightmares, needs to be corralled as soon as possible. Away from this reality, or any other.

He exhales, ignoring the stinging cut across a cheekbone and the unsteadiness to his step, and gives chase.]

Comments

[sorser]

[Stephen exhales. It isn’t a bad idea, though he does think it’s perhaps a bit unnecessary — he did mean it when he said this demon possesses no more danger, confident in the magical seal he’s encased it within.]

And what are you going to tell people? ‘Hello, I’ve just caged up a nightmare entity and I was just wondering if you’ve been feeling any adverse effects during your noontime napping sessions’?

[recluserose]

[ Shooting him a look with narrowed eyes, she replies back. ]

Believe it or not, and by some miracle, I'm well-liked enough around town. It's not out of the question for me to just ask people how they've been. You know.

[ Amelia waves her mug around to punctuate her point. ]

Like a good neighbor? That's absolutely normal.

[sorser]

[Skepticism rising, rising—]

I’ve been in this world for, what? Forty-five minutes if we’re being generous. Do you really think my magic is full of so many holes that people are already writhing in their waking hours with sleep-related trauma?

[It pokes at his pride, a creature unto itself he’s learned to tame over the years, but Stephen is tired. Offense comes more easily when the implication is that he’s doing a poor job at his, well, job.]

I know what I’m doing.

[recluserose]

You'd be surprised at how keen people's senses are here even if they're not magically inclined.

[ There are the espers to contend with and sometimes a big event can awaken sleeping abilities. Amelia leans against the wall, stubbornly crossing her arms. ]

It's not so much the aftermath as the arrival that might have caused a ripple effect. Normally if that was entirely contained in my house, I wouldn't have concerns.

Anyways, I'm not making you walk around with me. Once you rest up and return, I'll contact you somehow about whether we're in the clear or not.

[sorser]

[This time, he can’t quite hold back the sigh. Offense or otherwise, it’s hard to make the argument that she’s being unreasonable; only cautious, which is not a trait that he can look down upon with any real sincerity.]

Fine. I’ll be here, and so will this.

[He sets the bottle down on the nightstand close to the bed, once he crosses into the room. It might be strange to sleep with a nightmare fiend bottled up right next to where he’s going to rest his head, but proximity won’t matter in an enclosed space like a bedroom. If there are consequences, he’s at least prepared to deal with them.]

If for some reason you do run into trouble, come get me first. If it’s related to my presence, I may know how to better deal with it.

[recluserose]

Right.

[ And suddenly Amelia flashes a smile at Stephen though it's gone just as quickly. ]

I'll blame you for everything then. Got it.

[ She will quickly exit the hallway before he can reply and she calls over her shoulder. ]

Now get some rest!

[sorser]

Yes, ma’am.

[And off she goes, leaving Stephen alone in his temporary room, with the expectation that he actually does get a few precious hours of shut-eye. Though he’s a man keen on overworking himself, on conflating “rest” and “meditation” into one singular concept, he does settle into bed at some point — on top of the covers, not making himself the most comfortable, but it’ll do.

Eventually, sleep claims him.

And his dreams, as expected after a tangle with a nightmare demon, are not wholly pleasant. He dreams of the Dark Dimension, and Dormammu’s wrath tearing him apart again and again. He dreams of being annihilated in a more quiet way, turning into dust with half of the known universe, and met only with a void of black. Of his gamble never producing results, only failure. He dreams of dull pain, shooting through the dull nerves of dull fingers.

(He dreams of his sister, and her body lost beneath rippling water, deeper than he can ever hope to reach, no matter how hard he swims, until his lungs ache for air and choke on chlorine.)

But these are dreams that he’s had before, and though they are vivid in the presence of a creature who thrives on pain amid sleep, they have lost their rawness with the passage of time and unfortunate familiarity. And waking always dulls their edges. Even if he feels like shit when he finally stirs, his body more rested, but his mind still subjected to an exhausting marathon. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Stephen glances at the wine bottle, still churning dark.]

You’re an asshole, you know that?

[Before glancing up at a clock ticking softly on the wall. What time is it?]

[recluserose]

[ During that time the Sorcerer Supreme was asleep, Amelia had thrown on a jacket, tucking her rose pendant under the collar before going outside. Her walk around town to check up on the residents had proven to be somewhat fruitful. She gave another few strands of her magically embued hair to a murder of crows as payment, instructing them to find signs of distress from people who were in places she did not have time to cover.

From her own investigation and the report from the birds, the most noticeable effects were on young children such as infants and toddlers and anyone who was asleep between the time Stephen arrived and the containment of the monster. Many teens, who had been sleeping in during their break had woken up screaming in a cold sweat, while some of the elderly had tears in their eyes upon being shaken out of their thrashing slumber.

Those were just the aftereffects, just as Amelia surmised. Any lingering consequences, she would have to keep an observant and diligent eye on for the next month until the witch was completely certain there were no traces of the nightmarish presence left to continue staining the minds of the innocents. That's the rough thing about monsters from outer dimensions; it's hard to pin down a clear visual sign of their stink until much later.

It's early evening by the time Amelia returns, coming through the front door while humming the song, Winter Things to herself. One of the wind chimes rings jingles the same tune in return, welcoming her back.

She moves to the hallway, knocking on Stephen's door. ]

Still here?

[sorser]

[By the time Amelia knocks, Stephen had fallen into a short-lived meditation to clear his mind. His eyes open, brows wrinkling at the door.]

Still here. Come in.

[And once she does, his look is expectant. He has the same tiredness about him as before, but at least his voice sounds a little steadier, a little more strength in its low tones.]

You took your time. I’m going to assume that’s good news, and the whole town isn’t riddled with tears in reality.

[recluserose]

[ She opens the door, jacket draped across her arm. Giving Stephen a once over, she takes a chair and sits down.

Not the whole town. I'm still waiting to hear back from a few crows, but probably nothing wholly dramatic like you said.

For now anyway.

[ Stephen Strange had some airs about him, but Amelia had carefully sorted out her assessment of him so far; he's willing to take responsibility on a whole different level than most people she knows even herself. ]

The most affected were the young and old who had been asleep when you and the monster crashed through to our side of this world.

[ She rubs her forehead, recalling some of her neighbor's children clinging to her for comfort, tired adults who couldn't verbalize what their dreams had been inflicted with, and some of the elderly, grasping her hand as they told her what had happened.

The best she could do for the people she came into contact with was a comforting spell, passed on surreptitiously through her touch. ]

So I don't think reality has been affected per se but I do think dust can build up. Does that make sense?

[sorser]

It makes sense in the way that you’re telling me things are good now, but they may not be later.

[Casting nightmares into this realm, even without meaning to, settles wrongly in Stephen. He can only imagine how he might feel if something worse would happen days, weeks, or months for now.

Obligated, perhaps, to make sure he cleaned up any mess he left behind.]

So is your plan really “wait and see”?

[recluserose]

I mean... Basically, yes.

[ After running her fingers through her hair, she sets both hands on her lap and leans forward to look at the floor. The gears in her mind are spinning as she tries to think of a long-term plan. ]

I'm not saying that I'm sitting back and watching to see if anything unfolds. There will be preventative measures, such as casting charms, reinforcing key locations in the town, or various purifying spells. I can get creative. I might be the only witch in town, but if I focus down hard enough, I'll cover all of it.

[ Like Stephen, she's attempting to put everything on her shoulders. Blackgale has always been her self-imposed responsibility even when inconvenient. Other witches and warlocks and not to mention the espers, only put so much focus on covering up and obscuring their side instead of actually caring for the communities they mingle or stay a cool and stoic distance from. ]

When it comes to outer forces, they usually prefer time and stealth. This is just speaking from experience, of course.

[sorser]

[Stephen’s already fighting back another wave of fresh exhaustion just hearing about all she plans on doing around down, shoring up magical defenses and making sure nothing’s gone pear-shaped between now and then.]

Do you always do this kind of thing on your own?

[Is she the only magic user in town? Does this often happen, visitors from other worlds causing a ripple effect in her reality? Even though she’s correct about Stephen—his sense of duty runs deep, entrenched in his very spirit—even he cannot imagine performing his responsibilities without help. From Wong, from the other sorcerers of Kamar-Taj. Even an ex-Avenger on occasion.]

[recluserose]

Riveting, I know.

[ Amelia takes off her glasses to run one eye. ]

But yes, to a degree I'm the only one covering the town. This isn't the first time a huge disruption has happened and I'm never relaxed enough to think it's going to be the last.

[ And when it comes to delegating tasks and outsourcing... ]

There are some people I can call in to make up for what I may miss, but I... don't trust a lot of other witches.

[ Because they don't really care much for her for one reason or another. ]

[sorser]

[This is all building up to Stephen’s inevitable offer to help—as a portion of this was his fault, even if he didn’t mean to come tumbling into any world with a monster in tow—but his trademark curiosity gets the best of him, as it often does. Amelia just makes it too easy for him.]

Why not? If witches are untrustworthy, then you should’ve let me know ahead of time.

[A joke, sort of. Amelia seems trustworthy, and he doubts if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t out herself like that; but they are, for now, mostly strangers.]

[recluserose]

Well. You've experienced firsthand how personable I am already.

[ She jokes in return with a light scoff. ]

I'm on the younger side compared to the ones who are still active and they think I get preferential treatment from the Witch King.

[ She holds up two fingers. ]

So in total, two sticks up the backside.

[ There's a pause and then another finger is unfurled. ]

And they're scared of me to a degree because I can outmatch a lot of them despite their age and experience. Make that three sticks up the backside.

[sorser]

[Her description seems to amuse him a little, and her willingness to answer his questions only encourages him further — and derails the point that he was going to offer to help for a few strands of conversation more. It’s fine, they’ll get to it.

For now, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, lacing scarred hands together as he considers Amelia.]

How old are you, exactly?

[Stephen you do not ask a lady that…AND YET… she made it a sticking point]

[recluserose]

Hm. That's right, I didn't give you the exact date and year this was.

[ And any implications about her age has been in passing.

Seeing as how her guest might be staying for at least another hour or two, he should probably eat something. She stands up ready to make her way back to the kitchen, but she does answer back. ]

I'm in my late 60s.

[sorser]

[He watches as she departs, brow quirking—Really?—but since he has little choice but to follow if he wants to continue this conversation, Stephen sighs and pushes himself up to his feet. The bottle’s safe in the guest room for now, and he won’t forget it when he does leave after his promised clean-up.

Her age would be more surprising if he hadn’t once been mentored by the Ancient One, who was centuries-old herself.]

So your level of power is unusual for a witch your age? How long have you been practicing?

[She must be clever, or at least a fast learner — much like himself, though there was little to no pushback when he was granted the title of Sorcerer Supreme before the blip. Even Mordo, who had left disgusted with the state of sorcerers and their “disregard” for the natural order of things, had not uttered a word of discontent when the Ancient One named him Master.

What does that easy acceptance say about them? About himself? Wong had stated that he was born for the arts, but it isn’t until exchanges like his that he wonders just how tethered to the fate he really was.]

To think that makes you my elder.

[recluserose]

I started my studies as a child after I met the Witch King. I'm not a natural with magic despite what you just saw.

[ When they enter the living room and she heads straight for the kitchen, the wind chimes are initially silent. With Stephen following behind her, a glass wind chime jingles at him with a melody that signaled curiosity. Amelia shushed it with a single glance before opening the fridge. ]

Well, if I'm your elder, that means you're actually your age. Interesting... Anyway.

[ A glass of iced sparkling water and a tray of cut up sandwiches, crackers, deli meats, and small vegetables magically assemble themselves onto the kitchen counter. She directs Stephen to it by pointing. ]

Eat. I don't know if traversing between different worlds or just conversing should be done on an empty stomach.

[sorser]

Wrong, actually. I should be five years older, but...

[The correction isn’t that committed, trailing off, his interest temporarily sidelined to the tinkling glass windchime, giving it a quizzical look. When Amelia hushes it, he watches as she wanders into the kitchen, and follows only long enough to stand at the entrance with his arms crossed.]

I’ve already humored you by sleeping in your bed. [hm.] A bed in your house. Now you’re going to feed me?

I appreciate the effort, but this isn’t a social visit.

[recluserose]

No it isn't, but the fact of the matter is, you haven't eaten yet.

[ Though the tray does move closer to him, Amelia doesn't push any further on that front. ]

If you are planning to leave soon, then as I've said before I should contact you to let you know if my world is clear or not of any of the demon's influence. Though I can't say I've played multi-dimensional telephone...

[ She glances at the wind chime that reacted to the sorcerer. Though there is no force of wind or breeze, its moving back and forth on it's own volition. ]

Well. That one might be worth a try.

[sorser]

I’ll eat after I return to the Sanctum.

[Stephen’s stubbornness flares. She’s helped enough, and a small part of him refuses to feel indebted even further with simple conscientiousness — even if that means declining a plate of warm food for someone who hasn’t eaten close to a whole day.

Eyes flick back to the wind chimes.]

Whatever you decide on as communication, I should make something clear: you're going to do more than just report back.

[This is non-negotiable.]

You’re going to let me return and help. This has become part my responsibility, too, and I prefer two sets of eyes on any problems that could crop up.

[recluserose]

[ She senses her own stubborn arrogance about to flare up. His next steps are logical and sound, but the tone of it is presumptuous, as if this was a war table and not just her abode.

That and she's rarely liked anyone telling her what to do, especially while they're on her turf.

So while she doesn't immediately reply (sorry Stephen, she'll take her time drinking this tall glass of water), from the ceiling the wind chime suddenky lurches and flies in an arch, and lands on Stephen' head. ]

[sorser]

[Glass chimes, something arches in the corner of his eye, and Stephen is unceremoniously bonked on the head with a windchime-projectile.]

Ow— hey!

[Instinct is all that forces him to reach out and grasp at the item before it clatters to the ground. He steadies it with a tinge of magic, not caring if it clashes with her own, forcing it to float mid-air.]

If that’s supposed to be a ‘no’, I’m not taking it for an answer. Don’t you want the help?

[Presumptuous tone… still present. But he’s trying to take responsibility for his own actions; problem is, old habits die hard. Arrogance has still left its shards in his soul, even if it’s no longer the monolith it once was.]