finalflight | PSL; [ pump it up ]

PSL; [ pump it up ]

[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.]

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[ 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?

[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.

Edited 2021-12-28 22:40 (UTC)

[ 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?

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”?

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.

[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.]

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. ]

[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.]

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.

[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]

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.

[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.

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.

Edited 2021-12-29 17:25 (UTC)

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.

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.

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.

[ 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. ]

[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.]

[ There's a pause in her drinking and she points to the wind chime. ]

Bring that back with you. It has about five strands of hair in the cord so that's... Fifteen months' worth of magical energy, give or take. It should be able to make the trip across unscathed.

[ Amelia is pointedly being indirect about answering his question about wanting his help. ]

I think it should suffice as our telephone across realities. Though I'm sure, if it doesn't work you'll be so helpful in letting me know.

So if you're going to make another crater in my living room, warn me ahead of time.

Edited 2021-12-29 19:22 (UTC)

Fifteen months? So this is going to be a particularly long-suffering partnership.

[He can’t help himself, but Stephen possesses enough awareness to tone the sarcasm down as soon as the words leave his lips. It’s an acceptance of his aid, which is all he needed, though the logistics of how this will work between them will have to just, “wait and see”.]

I’m going to trust the scheduling to you. So you call on me, and I’ll refrain from any surprise visits in the future. [A strained smile, but hey, it’s a place to start. For now, though, Stephe lifts up his free hand, and his magic spreads in a wave of amber, coating every piece of out-of-place furniture and righting it. Best to get the clean-up started.]

Don’t interrupt this spell, and your house will clean itself for you. Have you ever seen Fantasia? It’s something like that.

[Which means Stephen is wrapping things up, ready to go. He’s already casting a portal with a circular movement of that same hand, just big enough to stick an arm through — no doubt to grab the bottle in the guest room.]

[ She's helping herself to a triangle of a sandwich as he casts the cleaning spell. Fine with her, she can get straight to work tomorrow instead of worrying about the mess. ]

Well. Thank you.

[ And she can get that out of the way too. ]

... There's one more thing I would like to request though. It doesn't have to be right now, but just another thing to keep in mind.

And what’s that?

[He asks after retrieving the bottle, nightmare creature still tucked safely away inside. The portal closes moments after, leaving sparks which dissipate the moment they hit the carpet.]

Mm. If there are any interesting books you have on your side, I'd like to borrow them.

[ The learning never stops, even when one is on the upper end of the supernatural hierarchy. ]

I may or may not have the same titles from my own collection, but I'm curious about the constants and variables as it were. If you have an objection, I'll just let it go.

[He’s quiet for a moment, surprised by the request but also — not really. They’ve already made her penchant for books clear, though the task of Stephen having to pick and choose based on what limited knowledge he possesses of her magic is a lopsided one.

He thinks of the size of the Sanctum’s library. The even more vast space Kamar-Taj’s encompasses. Hauling recommended reading back isn’t hard, but Stephen never really played the part of librarian. (That, too, was Wong — current Sorcerer Supreme and probably, definitely very impatient by now.)]

Counter-proposal. What are your thoughts on visiting another universe? The multiversal veil is thin enough here for it to go both ways, right? Easier for you to pick out what you think is interesting than for me to presume.

That's... A tempting offer.

[ Amelia scratches her head, perpetual frown still etched across her features. Would there be timezone differences across universes? Is that how it works? It never bothered the Witch King, but hardly anything bothered that man.

While chewing on her sandwich, she points in front of her and the green magic runes emerge creating a calendar in front of her; the weeks seem packed with events though it's written in arcane, near eldritch-style language, as if she's the type of note-taker who likes writing in code... Amelia you nerd. ]

I'll have to make a gap in case we need room for error, but I guess I could spare a visit. No one where you're from should even bat an eye at my presence, right?

PSL; [ pump it up ]

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