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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[ The wind chimes, the ever-present observers in the witch's home, begin to frantically sing once the stranger and the monster crash into the living room through the magic portal.

Combined with the loud sounds of her walls and furniture being knocked over and destroyed, Amelia Eva Steinbeck's gut feeling plunges even deeper than she ever thought possible. The impact nearly makes her fall face forward, spilling the contents in her wine glass while she was reading on her e-reader device. Swearing under her breath, she sets the glass down, the device still in her hand. After prepping for post-winter-break assignments, she was ready to settle down and just read for fun before her focus was forced elsewhere.

She closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. ]

Alright. Guess my winter break isn't going to happen.

[ SNAP!

With a snap of her fingers, the wind chimes fall silent and instinctively, Amelia grabs the open wine bottle she has just opened, swiftly exiting the library and towards the source of the disturbance. It's the guttural growls of an otherworldly creature and the hurried steps of another stranger, hopefully human, that lead her down the hall and out to her poor, poor living room and kitchen. Some of the wind chimes have fallen from the ceiling, tingling weakly on the floor.

It's the man in blue robes that catches her eyes first, but the dark and disgusting tendrils trying to make their way through what can only be a magical gateway is probably the first priority. ]

YOU!

[ The redheaded woman with thick spectacles calls to the man, gesturing with her wine bottle. ]

Behind me and don't argue.

Edited 2021-12-27 09:28 (UTC)

[The magic inherent in this place is clear; it reminds him of the Sanctum, though maybe less pronounced in scope, the residence of someone who lives and breathes the arcane, the mystical. Though his wondering (however little he allows himself of it in a moment like this) is cut short when, after darting after the creature, Stephen stumbles into what he assumes is a living area. The nightmare entity is already tearing into the fabric of reality of its own accord, creating its own gateway through brute force itself, as though it has split a tear in the middle of the room, and pushing itself through.

That enough is alarming. The fact that there's a stranger brandishing a wine bottle at him and shouting commands is just the icing on the cake. Stephen scoffs almost indignantly, planted in place, but calling forth magic which gleams at his fingertips in sparking amber.]

I don't know who you are, but you don't know what you're dealing with.

[His magic forms into a searing bright whip. Stephen lashes out with it, and it snaps and curls around the monster's shadow-like form, yanking it away from the gateway. It clings and hisses, lashes its limbs stubbornly, not quite pulled off.]

Get out of here! Unless you want to start reliving your worst nightmares in real-time!

[There is a reason this creature exudes the night, why it ekes with the horror of disturbed sleep. A reason why Stephen has had a hell of a time pinning it down. He doesn't need collateral damage piled up along the way.]

[ Some sort of headache begins to creep in the back of her head the longer Amelia keeps her eyes off of the nightmarish beast. She flinches slightly, but doesn't look away.

(Around her neck a small rose pendant glows lightly in response to its owner's distress...)

Amelia wrinkles her nose at the bearded man who has revealed himself to be some sort of magician or wizard, displaying his unfamiliar magic. ]

What did I just say?

[ Muttering to herself, Amelia takes a huge swig from the wine bottle. It takes one, two, and then three impressive chugs.

And then after finishing the last of its contents, the witch unceremoniously smashes the bottle against the wall. ]

My remaining vacation is ruined thanks to you two so I'm already in a nightmare as far as I'm concerned. Anyway...!

[ Brandishing her new weapon, emerald green magic begins to swirl around her, emerging as runic script. The jagged glass bottle glows, reinforced with the energy and Amelia moves quickly, dodging a stray tendril meant to pin her to the ground. She throws her e-reader at one of its eyes. It does nothing, but it serves as a distraction as her next projectile, the broken bottle crackling with green magic, lands properly into a larger eyeball.

As the monster tries to shake off the pain that was caused, more emerald green arcane runes fly towards the creature and wrap around it to bind it further.

They need to work fast; Amelia calls to Stephen: ]

I can tie it down further! Any plans on sealing the gateway?

[ Her voice is unwavering in the face of the danger and she looks expectantly at the sorcerer as more of her magic ties it up. ]

Tell me what I can do next and I'll make it happen.

[Her magic is unfamiliar to him, but it’s effective, enchanting shards of glass and weaponizing them against the creature. It writhes and hisses with pain, eyes temporarily blinded, and it gives them both just enough time to reinforce the bindings. The green and amber intermingle, buzzing with energy.

A sight he can appreciate better at a later time (and maybe apologize for intruding, since she's taken such offense). For now, the gateway is of least concern; if they can’t keep it tied up, he would rather it escape once more than to ravage the home and mind of a stranger.]

We need something to contain it! Got any more wine bottles?

[It sounds like a a joke, sharp and cutting, but… honestly, anything will do at this point. One hand still gripping the magical restraints, his other makes a few gestures and casts again, sending sealing magic the creature’s way. It flies in a circular mandala before falling over the monster like a net, stinging and burning and restraining.]

Just give me something to enchant!

Um...

[ Her brow furrows, but unfurrows just as immediately when she thinks she catches onto what he's planning. With enough magic piled onto the monster, she ceases her casting and makes her way to her ravaged kitchen.

One of the monster's thrashing movements shakes the floor and on cue a dark wine bottle, still half full rolls to her feet. Amelia grabs it and for a half-second she pauses because... there's some perfectly good merlot left and...!

Oh wait, monster shrieking; that snaps her back to the present real quick and the witch regretfully empties the contents into a random cookie jar. ]

Heads up!

[ Tossing the bottle upwards, it becomes enveloped in her energy and it flies to Stephen so that it floats in his view between him and the creature. ]

There! Big enough?

[You know, he didn’t expect for her to really unearth a wine bottle. Though maybe it has more flair to it than a jar of pickles, and Stephen’s in no position to make a witty remark about it when it floats over to them, caught mid-air via magic and ready for the taking.]

Keep it held down!

[He needs both hands for this, and his own restraint is released — the whip coils around the rest of the monster on its own accord, but that’s the most it’ll manage without Stephen’s direct control. Instead, the sorcerer casts another spell—a massive mandala with intricate runes spinning amongst its ridges—glowing so bright that anything caught in its light casts an impossibly stark shadow. The spell spins and wheels in the air, then shrinks, cementing itself onto the wine bottle’s side like a brand. A label, wrought of raw radiance.

The wine bottle tilts. And, with its enchantment burning bright on its side, it tugs on the monster in like it were a vortex, like a plug had been pulled on an ocean, and it pulls, and pulls, and pulls the thing in, wisp by wisp. Its shrieks fill the air, rattles the very foundations of Amelia’s home.

Please work. Stephen is so done with this.]

[ Amelia doesn't waste time by replying and focuses her attention on keeping her magic that's already on the monster tightly bound. The mystical green runes shine even brighter as she increases the strength from afar, working in tandem with the sorcerer's mandala as it spins in the air.

As the creature is pulled into the bottle, some of the green energy around it swirls off of its body and begins to embed itself onto the outer surface of the container. Amelia tries not to lose her balance as her surroundings tremor all around them.

Her brain races when she sees that they don't have a way to close the bottle. Despite the man's effective spellcasting in trapping it within, they're going to need a lock of sorts. She quickly remembers the owl-shaped wine cork in her hand. Working fast, the cork is released into the air and her energy guides it to the mouth of the bottle, plugging it up. Though her own magic is working to lock it in, it may not be enough and even if it was, for the time being, Amelia wasn't taking any chances. ]

Reinforce it! Now!

[The chaos of an angry creature, its energy threatening to spill from the confines of the bottle, is enough to throw lesser men off-kilter. But Stephen is nothing but stubborn, nothing but focused when he needs to be. Throughout the commotion, he remains focused on the containment spell — and it seems as though this woman has read his mind, and when the owl-shaped cork plugs the bottle, Stephen flings one final spell its way.

A seal, a lock, the same sort he applied to the Eye of Agamotto when he was forced to protect the Time Stone. Though this time, the spell will act as a jailor, the bottle itself the jail, and with one exerting effort, a ring of light tightens around the neck and cork of the bottle.

It tightens. Clamps. Disappears.

All grows quiet, and the bottle… falls to the ground, with no magic to keep it afloat, no angry energy to levitate it, and Stephen curses beneath his breath.

His cloak flies out, catching it in a swath of red cloth before it can hit the ground.]

[ Her gut would have plunged to new depths as the bottle fell to the ground had it not been for the enchanted cloak that made the save. Amelia releases a heavy breath of instant relief and leans against a wall in exhaustion... Only to almost fall over since a large crater in it made her lose balance. But she catches herself and summons enough poise to look as if she meant to do that.

For a full solid minute, Amelia says nothing and takes in the damage made to her home. Various books are strewn across the floor, the sofa chairs and couch have been decimated, and she doesn't want to even think of what's past the crumbling walls and the results of her poor outdoor flowerbed.

Sniffing loudly, the witch walks over to Stephen and holds out her hands to the cloak. ]

Before I yell at the two of you, let me give this a once over. Might as well before the rest of my break is shot.

[ The woman's voice is full of dry candor as if what they've experienced is akin to experiencing a flat tire rather than a world-bending horror that may have threatened more than just their lives and her home.

Look, one has to cope somehow. ]

Edited 2021-12-27 19:53 (UTC)

[The Cloak of Levitation has already made its way to Stephen, cradling the wine bottle, which now looks to be filled with a murky, viscous black. He looks up at Amelia — up, because he had sunk to the ground to sit on the floor, his bones worn, his muscles like jelly. He’d been chasing after the damn thing for far too long, been through the wringer mentally and physically. Sitting down just feels like a blessing at this point, even if it’s in the middle of a stranger’s wrecked home.

Exhaustion comes to him in one giant wave. He gestures dismissively, indicating for the cloak to hand Amelia the bottle.]

Sorry to be such an inconvenience, but getting that creature back under lock and key was the priority.

[Okay, no, he has just enough energy to be a little snarky.]

Look it over if you want. The seal’s impeccable. And also — who are you, again?

I should hope it's impeccable. Though I'm not familiar with your spellcasting, I think we've managed an impressive amount of layering to lock this thing down.

[ She takes the bottle from the Cloak of Levitation tracing the surface with one finger and traces of emerald sparks follow its trail. The murky contents recoils from the effect. Without breaking her gaze from it, the redhead frees one hand. She makes a gesture with her palm and beneath Stephen, a newly created sofa chair emerges with a comfortable cushion to boot. ]

Funny you should ask who I am when you're the one who brought the party to my house.

[ Amelia gives a few taps to the cork and it switches back and forth between gold and green several times. Pursing her lips, she shrugs and concludes it's a job well done, however messy it was to get there. ]

If you must know, I'm Amelia Steinbeck. And to get it out of the way, I'm a witch, I live on my own, and hopefully, my non-magical neighbors won't catch onto that after I do some damage control.

[ Adjusting her large glasses, her green eyes look at the man critically. ]

My turn — who are you exactly?

[The sofa rises from nothing, and Stephen jostles a little as he finds himself seated upon new furniture. Now that he’s not exactly ground-level, his brows lift in vague surprise, but he waves a hand to summon the bottle. It floats towards him and he grabs hold of it by the neck, while his cloak moves to settle back around his shoulders, pooling across the back of the sofa.]

A witch? Explains the magic, though green is a new one.

[If there’s something to be jokingly said about magical color schemes, he bypasses it for now. Stephen doesn’t answer her question immediately, finally taking the time to track his look around the house. A hole in the wall, overturned furniture, all manner of things clattered on the ground. A party, indeed.]

I’m guessing this is some version of Earth? Correct me if I’m wrong. [Stephen rubs at a temple, his cheek still stinging and oozing a little red, but relief supersedes all else for now.]

My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, and I’m a sorcerer. I’ve been chasing down this— [A shake of the wine bottle] —for a lot longer than I ever hoped to or wanted. Sorry the mess ended up in your lap, but it worked out in the end. I can help with the clean-up.

[ With the bottle out of her hands, her fingers curl and uncurl at its absence before she internally just lets it go.]

Doctor Stephen Strange. Got it.

[ It feels like one of those obvious things that have been pointed out and beaten like a dead horse so there's no further comment on it. Amelia sighs and takes notice of the sorcerer's outer state. She frowns and moves over to her kitchen counter, opening up a drawer to get out a basic first aid kit and a clean kitchen towel. ]

I'd be grateful for the help.

[ He does owe her that much and she's long since learned how to gracefully accept help when needed. She could have taken care of her house by herself, but there's no sin in lightening the burden.

Making her way over to Stephen, she offers him the items. ]

You are definitely on some type of Earth, yes.

[ Fortunately, she's more than aware of the infinite nature of other worlds and realities outside of her small life in her quaint Californian town. The Witch King's existence forced that kind of knowledge on anyone deep enough into the supernatural and clandestine arts. ]

It's unfortunate, but I am not entirely shocked at what happened here. The fabric of this reality is rather... Tenuous. Though there's plenty of effort to keep it sewn up so I'd optimistically say that we have more normal days than most other places.

[It’s too late to tell her not to bother, that he’s been in much worse states than this one, unfortunately. But she’s already there with a first-aid kit and a rag to wipe off his cut, and there’s nothing to do but to take it, setting the kit down in his lap while he dabs at his cheekbone. It stings a little and he winces.]

Tenuous? You mean that you get inter-dimensional visitors tumbling into your home all the time? Must be difficult if you’re trying to keep things hush-hush with the neighbors.

[An inconvenience that Stephen is grateful he doesn’t have to worry about. Doctor Strange is a name known well enough in his world, though rarely does he have to worry about nosy neighbors, either. The Sanctum doesn’t just open up to anyone.]

Well, you know what they say. C'est la vie, and all that.

[ Amelia summons a sofa chair for herself, across from Stephen, and collapses on it, staring up at the ceiling. ]

For once, I do wish outside visitors would just ring the front doorbell, as intended.

[ Instead of staring into space or even worse, awkwardly staring at him while he fixes himself up, she decides to get some work started. The wind chimes on the floor are first and they float one after another to her so that she can make some quick fixes before they return to the ceiling that's patching itself up. She'll continue to converse in the meanwhile. ]

So is a doctorate needed to become a sorcerer in your world, or is it just for flair?

[Stephen’s moved on to the antiseptic, which really stings, but there’s no need to do much more than that. He can tend to the rest on his own time, and one can’t do much to fix bruises that’ll show in the morning with a first-aid kit.

He watches idly as a wind chime hitches itself to a newly patched-up portion of the ceiling, towel still pressed to a cheek. He scoffs.]

The doctorate’s not for show. I was a neurosurgeon before I was a sorcerer.

[A statement that carries a story with it, no doubt — too bad he doesn’t seem keen on sharing it just now, especially with someone he doesn’t know, and moves on just as swiftly.]

You know it’s going to take forever at that rate. [The clean-up. Which sounds acerbic, and maybe a little full of himself, but he intends for it to be a preamble to his assistance.] Let me do it.

[ Though her expression doesn't show it, Amelia is amused that the explanation for his title is actually normal. Her face remains unchanged as he tells her she would be taking too long and she replies in a curt voice. ]

Forgive me, but I'm a woman who's fairly set in her ways. I like to be thorough when it comes to this particular collection. The wind chimes are highly customized.

[ As if to make a point, she plucks one of her red hair strands and ties it around the suspension cord of one before it sails gracefully into its corner. The strand glimmers with pure magic energy as it settles into the cord. ]

... You can take care of the books. Those won't take as much time. Though really, you ought to make sure you're not about bleed out on the pages or fall headfirst after the endeavor you've put yourself through.

“Bleed out”… Believe me, I’ve been in worse shape than this. I’m tired, but I’m not dying.

[As if to prove his point, Stephen waves a hand towards a pile of books that had fallen off their shelving and strewn on the floor. All at once, they lift into the air and circle about, then situate themselves in the same order in which they sat before a nightmare monster barreled through.

It’s a secondary motion, though, just a basic level spell that’s barely worth the whole of his concentration. Instead, Stephen’s focus is drawn to the tinkling of the wind chimes, and the personal care she’s put into it via a strand of hair.]

What’s so special about the wind chimes?

[He feels the magic imbued in them—can see a portion of it thanks to her display—but this witch’s spellcraft is foreign to him. He can’t quite figure its purpose.]

I should hope not. I'm a witch and a high school teacher, but I'm not looking to add mortician to my repertoire.

[ "Showoff," is what she wants to call him when he collects all the books and sets them back in their place, but holds back saying anything sharp. The sensation of his craft does set off more than one bell of intellectual curiosity.

Most of the wind chimes are mostly unscathed, some looking chipped and scratched, but with a wave of her hand and some extra hair to strengthen its defenses, they're good as new. ]

They're kind of like custom ringtones. [ She points some out. ]

Like that one will let me know if my friend is in town. Another will let me know if it's one of my students and so on and so forth. If it's an unknown, the black wind chime gives me the heads up. It really just depends if the individuals in question visit me enough to have a chime assigned to them.

They will all panic in the case of an emergency though, just like today.

[ She says this last part dryly as the last wind chime is hung up. ]

Though if I were to be honest, I just like collecting them. Wind chimes are nice.

[Look he’s not saying he could get this whole room done for her in a few passing moments, but since she wants to be meticulous about it…]

No need for a mortician this time. I’ve had my fair share of death and dying, and it’ll take a little more than a nightmare demon to do the trick.

[Books done, he’s going to work on the hole in the wall, which he starts with a wave of the hand—plaster and pieces of it carefully slotting itself together—but allows it to run its course automatically without any further intervention.]

Okay. [He supposes it’s as good of a reason to have wind chimes around.] A witch has to have her enchanted items, after all.

[Spoken like the Sanctum doesn’t have a gazillion of them.]

So if you’re a witch, that means there’s a coven — or some kind of magical community?

Yes and no.

[ Amelia stands up to glance over at the work being done by the Doctor before going to work on the kitchen. Dust and debris are lifted and disappear into thin air and cracks on countertops are sealed.

As for the dishes... She actually just starts turning on the water, grabs a sponge, and starts scrubbing some dirt off of it manually. Everything else around her is being repaired magically, but she's keen on doing this one task hands-on. ]

The ones that are awake and thriving aren't the coziest with one another and if they are, they're fairly insular. I've been told that the oldest ones who haven't perished put themselves into an everlasting sleep.

[ The lukewarm water kind of helps her center her focus and settle down from the destructive incident that just occurred. Though she had not shown any fear outwardly, Amelia was truly shaken once it was all over. The conversation with her guest is helping too. ]

... We also have a Witch King. Not human, absolutely not of the natural world of this reality, but he is what he is.

[ Though she tried to keep a neutral tone when mentioning the Witch King, there is the slightest tenseness in her voice and harshness in her scrubbing. ]

It's more accurate to say, he's the reason why there's magic here in the first place. So he's not really a 'ruler' despite the name, but you can have fun guessing the implications if you want.

Edited 2021-12-27 22:52 (UTC)

[The running water is white noise, the sound of being kept busy. He wonders how much the abnormal lands on her doorstep like it did today, that she’s taking this all so causally; if she’s like him, despite playing the part of a “normal” person in a non-magical community, so entrenched in oddities and mysticism that the abnormal has become mundane.

Still, at the mention of a Witch King? He frowns. That sounds… oddly ominous, and her tone gives away something uneasy.]

What do you mean he’s the reason why? Is he a source, a conduit? Did he teach all the witches of this world their magic?

[ He asks a lot of questions; though Amelia thinks that if their positions were reversed, she'd be doing the same thing so, in that sense, that's why she feels accommodating enough to answer as best and as concisely as she can. ]

It's a little of Column A, B, and C. And in Column D, the first of the magickind originated from his body, and from there, they mixed with humans. That's why magic and various phenomena can differ across many cultures in how it appears and is practiced. It's also an explanation of why we're so scattered.

[ Without looking up from washing the dishes, she changes the subject abruptly. ]

Do you need any ibuprofen?

If you have any Tylenol, that’d be great. [Please tell him that’s a thing on this Earth.] Otherwise, the ibuprofen’ll be fine.

[Did you try to change the subject, Amelia? Stephen’s innate curiosity so rarely lets that come to pass.]

You sounded wary when you spoke of him just now. Not exactly like he’s an entity you’ve come to revere. Have you actually met him?

Let's see...

[ She turns off the water, dries her hands, and proceeds to rummage through a nearby cupboard. When she finds the familiar red bottle, Amelia is about to toss it to him before acutely remembering a certain detail about his hands.

So instead she walks over to hand it to him normally instead. ]

Here.

[ Looking down at the newly repaired floors and walls, Amelia replies to Stephen while making sure her books are arranged the way she likes them. ]

He's my mentor. Though that was more in the early days when I first encountered him back in the 50s. I hardly rely on him these days if I can...

[ Looking at the books has struck Amelia with the realization of... ]

... Shit. [ She groans and runs her face, making a swerve to look around the living room. ]

Where's the Kindle?!

Edited 2021-12-28 15:58 (UTC)

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