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

[recluserose]

[ The factoids about that song and the band shake her out of whatever funk she was just in and Amelia looks amused. ]

That is extremely encyclopedic Doctor. And thank you.

[ She taps the wind chime, giving it an order along the lines of, "Just go hang out where you usually are," and it concedes, moving back to its space in the Sanctum. But not without a tingling of one last song. ]

Pff. Now that track shows my age.

[sorser]

[Now that’s not a song one hears often, and it’s definitely beyond the time period of his own experiences — thanks to the magic of recording, however, even Stephen can sometimes dip his encyclopedic knowledge into the true oldies.]

Something tells me you have a bias towards songs about rain.

[recluserose]

I've actually been slowly growing a fondness for rap music? Not all of them are about rain.

[ She may not get it all the time, but she gets the spirit! ]

Though people chalk up some of my preferences as just someone who appreciates "vintage" it's best if my tastes reflect some current trends so others don't suspect that I'm... You know.

Old.

[sorser]

Okay. Sure. [That’s some logic.] But if someone walked up to me and said they enjoyed music from the 30’s or 40’s, my immediate thought isn’t, ‘It’s a centuries-old witch; this is the only kind of music one would listen to’.

[For instance—]

My favorite music is from the 70s. I wasn’t even alive for most of that decade.

[recluserose]

Well, practicing caution is simply a habit at this point.

[ Amelia does appear to be more self-conscious than she lets on initially doesn't she? ]

70s music... What was I doing at the time...?

[ Well. She was studying. But her early studies were isolated, to say the least. ]

Mm. Well, that decade flew by me before I even realized it. Though I wouldn't be surprised if one of the rooms at my house had some old records from that era.

[sorser]

[Color him tangentially, politely interested. Any LPs worth owning, he’s probably added to his collection long ago, when he had the doctor’s freedom to throw money at every single indulgence that struck him. But that penthouse apartment in New York, looking out over the skyline, with its obscene, monthly rent?

Once his bank account was drained in the desperate bid to heal his hands, let’s just say repossession swept away most of his belongings of any worth. Anything he couldn’t toss into a rucksack or a backpack at the time are things of the past.

Music collection of yore included.]

Maybe I can swing by and take a look sometime. My collection isn’t what it once was.

[Now Spotify just has to do.]

[recluserose]

I wouldn't mind as long as a demon doesn't accompany you.

[ Before slipping another book into her tote bag, she snaps her fingers after remembering something. ]

Wait. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac from the Rumors album. That's pretty 70s.

[sorser]

[A scoff.]

Believe it or not, I don’t usually come with demonic creatures in-tow as a housewarming gift.

Not a bad choice, though. How about… Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain? 1975, Willie Nelson. Less appreciated these days, I think.

[recluserose]

Willie Nelson?

[ She hums lightly under her breath to recall the memory and raises a brow at Stephen. ]

Not a bad one. Rather low-key and gentle if you ask me.