fledermaus
LadyRunic
Crimson Flame
Theyra
Zweit
pandapolio
Magik, Strange, Wong
Location: ... all over the place
Location: ... all over the place
Wong had never realized how much bureaucracy the Sorcerer Supreme had to deal with until he held the title himself. He already dealt with a lot when he was working under Strange, being more methodical and detail oriented than his former boss and used to dealing with things that Strange avoided, now he retained all of those duties along with a whole host of new ones. He was in some kind of Séance-discussion about the latest tricks in warding spells when Ilyana came to the door. Wong was trying to actually pay attention because this meeting involved some very ancient wizards who seldom bothered to even join these things, making it a rare opportunity to learn from them. The magic of the Sanctum alerted him that someone was at the door, but Wong was fine with letting them wait. Perhaps they didn’t know about his newly implemented policy of official visiting hours and scheduling consultations, something he had implemented after being tired of Stephen’s irregular approach. Of course, emergency requests were still welcome, but it was on the visitor to draw more attention to themselves
The greatest reminder of her fate was that of the city around her. The smell was a thick, complex thing that filled her nostrils with bewilderment compared to the crisp, cool, air of paradise that was most of Krakoa. Where there was just a man in a uniform with a little yakyak box for him to mutter into, now there were two more people behind him, on the sidewalk, staring at her.
When the only sound she heard was that man’s yakyak box muttering something back to him, Illyana Rasputin balled her fist in the cool spring air of New York City, and assaulted the door of the Sanctum with a furious rap of the bottom of her balled fist.
"RUSSIAN MAIL ORDER BRIDE, HELLLOOOO!”
When silence greeted her, her head turned to it’s left…to the man with his yakyak box and his gun, and the two behind him. Old man, old woman. 40s, 50s…was old, either way. Clothes expensive, woman’s purse around her shoulder, expensive. Locals gawking. She snorted out a chuckle, pointing to the door. “Rich old perverts.”
She nearly smiled at them, but the thought of it was enough to make her temper flare in a short burst, as the business end of her booted foot went slamming into the bottom of the door, as mystical black boiled leather armor studded with thick steel took turns defiling the wooden door physical, tangible, exterior.
It did nothing to the metaphysical, intangible, bits of the door…but it made her feel momentarily better. "STEPHEN! STEPHEN STRANGE! YOUR NEIGHBORS ARE STARING AT THE YOUNG BLONDE GIRL TRYING TO GET YOU TO THE ANSWER THE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!"
It was only a heavy roll of her eyes, and an even heavier layer of irritated sarca
sm, that her head tilted to the side, sharply, and straight blonde hair fell down off her shoulder and into the air as she side-eyed the sky. “…Wong’s the father.”
“…Mr. Wong?” The woman with the expensive clothes and the even more expensive handbag suddenly spoke up, bringing an absolutely glowing smile to Illyana’s face.
“Da. You know of baby daddy Wong, yes?”
Wong could hear everything happening at the door and his face immediately turned to a frown. He didn’t remember the last time he’d met Ilyana, but he did remember they didn’t exactly get along. Antics like this weren’t exactly helping, especially because he had been frustrated by the persistent rumors that (and patently false) rumors among the neighbors that Strange had died and the current owner of the Sanctum Sanctorum was a reclusive Chinese billionaire. Those bothered Wong on many levels, not the least of which being that he had taken a vow of poverty when he first became a monk and lived a lifestyle very far removed from that of a billionaire.
Wong let the Séance continue without him; they got distracted when they overheard Ilyana and one of the old hands had to get about a thousand years of history explained to him to help him understand that “Russia” is now a thing related to but not the same as Kievan Rus, which was what was around the last time he was on Earth. He walked downstairs to the door in his sorceor’s robes, thinking about what to say, wanting something with the right level of gravitas. He’d been on the job for several months but there were still many people he hadn’t gotten the chance to meet up with after assuming the title.
“Hello Miss Rasputin, and welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. What is the nature of the inquiry that Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme may assist you with? I apologize if I don’t quite recall your official title, I’m not familiar with the customs surrounding addressing the reigning Queen and Sorceress Supreme of Limbo”
Illyana blinked, turning her head to the three humans off to her left, a nervous chuckle of performative art for them, “This man and his craaaazy pet names,” before stepping inside, letting Wong close the door, or not, behind her. Magik listened to her footsteps echo, as blue irised eyes became pools of neon-bright blue…she was looking at the inner Sanctum with different eyes.
Almost reluctantly, she gave a nod and a shrug, “Eh, yeah, okay. It is impressive.” As if by magic, the young mutant returned her gaze back to Wong, and folded her arms over her chest, eyes dimming back to a natural iris. “I am here for Strange. He is invited to Krakoa by the Quiet Council…well, really by the big blue one, Apocalypse, but no one is crazy enough to tell this one no,” she paused, thinking about it, before continuing with a roll of her armored shoulders, “…other than Jean Grey.”
It helped to be eternally tied to an omniversal force of nature, Illyana thought to herself, with a smirk. “Where is this Doctor?” Her faint accent seemed to only get more pronounced when her nose wrinkled in visible irritation, eyes suddenly focused on Wong. Not the man, himself, but his appearance…in particular, “Nice robes. For a monk.”
The tone was hard to nail down, but it was there, and it definitely meant something…
Seeing Ilyana reminded Wong that he should probably find more time in his schedule for trips to the gym. He suspected she had that effect on many people. He also wasn’t looking forward to the next batch of rumors that would come out of this. He sighed and said
“I don’t know if you’ve been aware of recent events, but Strange has been absent for the last several months, he was off fighting some kind of interdimensional magical war. He returned to Earth less than a week ago. I’ll contact him. You’re sure your council wants to speak with him specifically?” As he spoke, he sent Strange a message, letting him know Magik was there to see him.
Wong’s telepathic message reached Strange when he was in the middle of making a complicated sigil out of sand in his hotel room, calming down after his escapades earlier in the day; hair still wet from a shower. It was frustrating to be interrupted, but Strange was ultimately doing it as bit of exploratory magic, nothing urgent, and he trusted Wong not to bother him with trivial matters. With a wave of his hand he opened a magic portal to the Sanctum, smiling subtly as he found that he was still trusted by the wards enough to be allowed to do so. Strange stepped out into the middle of the room, roughly equal distance from Wong and Ilyana. He looked around for a bit and simply said “Hello?”, also trying to not to draw attention to the fact that he had brought a hotel towel with him by accident, still clutching it in one of his hands.
Illyana shrugged, the hint of exasperation at his questions coming in the way of what was almost certainly a sigh under her breath, “I don’t know. I stab people and make portals, Supreme Wong.“
When Strange appeared, she arched a dark brow at the hotel towel in his possession, “Stephen Strange, the Quiet Council would like to invite you to Krakoa. Apocalypse would like to speak with you, personally. No, he did not tell me why.” She looked from Strange to Wong, “And, no, we were unaware of interdimensional magical war.” She paused, before adding well under her breath, “…you think they’d have better things to do, honestly…”
She nodded to him, and more specifically, to the towel in his hand. “Take that. Might need it.” Their towels were grown, some newcomers had complained about chaffing. Illyana thought them in need of a season in Limbo for…perspective. “I’ve been asked to take you through a gate, Washington Square Park is the closest. You will be wary of the crowd around; spies, Cult of X crazies, cape-chasers, NYPD…”
Wong sent another telepathic message to Strange when he showed up “You’re way faster responding to messages than you were before you left.”
Strange answered back “I have a lot less responsibilities thanks to you. Also, sorry about leaving the state of communications a mess before I left, didn’t exactly have time for succession planning.”
Wong sent one more message “I managed. I finally have things the way I want them.”
Not wanting to ignore Ilyana, Strange spoke
“I thought they would have better things to do than have a war also, but there was no getting away from it. I tried. You know far better than I how it goes when something from another plane really wants to join them. If you ever end up establishing a support group, let me know, it might help me and others process the experience a bit. Maybe before we go to the gate we can talk a little. You up for a quick round of real-life Geoguessr?”
He made a gesture with his hand and another portal appeared, ready for them to step through
“I’m uncomfortable sitting in chair-circles,” the Russian born New Mutant said it, flatly, as her blue eyes regarded his portal with a gentle expression of reserved pain, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Not drawing the Soulblade took some effort; Rahne had called it her ‘safety blanket.’ Illyana called it a literal piece of her soul, a manifestation of all the skill and knowledge she had gained during her time under Belasco and Storm…but Rahne’s point was taken. Instead, she stepped through Strange’s portal with arms crossed over her chest, hoping where ever it was, it had coffee.
She liked coffee.
Once they were on the other side of the portal they could see trees all around, plants of all varieties, a colorful vista arranged neatly with a walking path that cut through it all. There were people around, startled, talking amongst themselves but not venturing too close. Wherever it was, the afternoon sun was out, and there was a house with Japanese writing on it in the distance.
Strange didn’t miss a beat when talking “So, like Edwinn Starr said, War is good for absolutely nothing.” He chuckled at his own joke and then stopped himself. “I’ve tried to put it out of my mind, and I’ve also been trying to catch up on all of these changes, but they did give one thing before I left, a vision of the future, and it’s the kind that is hard for me to forget. Forgive me if I’m rambling a bit, I am curious about what Apocalypse wants to talk to me about. I haven’t heard about him in a while.”
Illyana’s chest tightened, and her nostrils flared, her face scrunching tight and uncomfortable…right before the sneeze blasted it’s way through her sinuses. The blonde rattled off a series of curses, some Russian, some Krakoan, before flipping her hair back behind her after it flung itself forward with the sudden sneeze.
“Japan always makes me sneeze. I don’t have allergies, until I come here…and this isn't even Japan.”
Her body straightened as she became aware of people in the distance. The Soulblade came to her as seamlessly as most breathed air, her right hand slashing out in the sky, slicing through space and time, the orange haze of Limbo with the electric blue light of her ability framing it, a sister portal just steps away from the current one…even if those few steps were through hell.
“After you, Doctor.”
The difference in the air was immediate; thick and heavy with heat and humidity, gone was the sweet crisp air of the faux-Japanese (actually English) country. In was the immediate wall of noise and light, restaurants and stores and bars framed in glass and neon and intricate signage on the ground floor opened up all around them, floors above painted white and decorated in stucco, their windows with open wood white shudders, their architecture British colonial, and all the buildings and people under a great canopy of steel bathed in bright blue.
They started with a bar just to their left, tables and chairs on the outside unique; the patrons drank from IVs, and sat in wheelchairs around their tables. Those that noticed gawked, some drew phones and tried to capture the portal that was gone before any of them could react quickly enough.
“He wants to create mutant magic.” She hadn’t lied to Wong. Apocalypse hadn’t told her, but she was no idiot, and Meggan had spilled Apocalypse’s beans nights before in the Green Lagoon to Magik after a few of Blob’s stronger cocktails. Everyone came to her about magic on the island. She would complain, but given her mutant was name was Magik…
“How you factor into that…” Again, Illy shrugged, before helping herself to snatching a full beer mug from a man sitting at an outside table of another, more normally styled, bar they passed. It was done before they fully walked past the bar, allowing her to leave the empty at a table where a man and woman on a date stopped their conversion in Malay to stare.
Strange smiled at the chance to see Earth again. He had missed it so much, and every little jaunt brought new sensations that made him grateful to be back. Even if he stuck out like a sore thumb in a modern cityscape and would prefer to be almost anywhere other than a trendy bar, it was still a joyous occasion. This is what he had fought to protect for so many years.
“I don’t know either. There is certainly no shortage of failed schemes to create new magic systems in this world. Is he more…pleasant than he’s been in the past? I can’t say he’s on a list of people I trust, and his approach doesn’t strike me as one willing to do what it takes to master magic, but I don’t know any more. Maybe it’ll turn into something. I had planned on talking to you before you came, but not about Krakoan or mutant business. Or at least I don’t think my reason is related to it, anyway.”
When Magik finished her drink Strange opened another portal and stepped through. He was now bathed in the sunlight of dawn, rising over the mountains in the east, reflecting off the ocean to the west. He was on top of a hill, staring at the surroundings, a busy highway full of traffic, a cruiseship terminal and cargo port flush with activity, and an inclined railway that slowly trundled down the hill, it’s ancient cab painted with a bright work of civic art.
Magik shrugged, "Is he the same Apocalypse at his core? Yes. Is he an evil blue jerk? No. He seems to have found a sense of purpose and peace, like the strict parent that softens as they grow older, seeing their children mature into what they've hoped for."
If there was one, truly, shocking thing it was that—Apocalypse, the Shadow King, Exodus, even Sebastian Shaw—becoming productive and useful members of their nation. Magik had held her doubts, but Xavier and Magneto had held firm. She had been part of the Phoenix Force, she had been part of the last band of mutants fighting for their kind when all hope seemed lost, she had fought the Avengers to a stand-still next to their captain, Cyclops.
Cyclops and Dani being such big believers had been enough for her to give a genuine chance. "He is older than even you know. Older than we knew." She spoke as her eyes surveyed the horizon. The air was thinner, but she had traveled enough to know what Chile looked like.
There were long, deep, moments of silence until he looked her direction, only to find Illyana Rasputin staring at him. "...it is an ominous thing, hearing Dr. Strange say he was planning to talk to you." The blade may have been actually part of her, but in a more practical sense, the blade seemed an extension of her arm in the way a master swordsman's weapon was always an extension of them, no wasted motion, no awkward pause...just a blue blade that sliced through the air, and unleashed a portal via Limbo once more.
"We go," she said, nodding to the portal, motioning for him to go through first.
There, he waited, hands folded uniformly behind his back, his pure white eyes trained on the pair as they emerged, dressed in little more than ceremonnial robes that left his massive blue chest bare, a voice that sounded like the deep rumbling of an ancient, powerful, being coming from his lips to fill the otherwise background noise of small waterfalls falling into the hidden grove, drifting off behind rock.
The scent of incense, and far more mystical things, filled the air.
"Thank you, Magik. Doctor Stephen Strange, welcome to Krakoa, and to my personal labratory, the Grove of Theorhetical Gates. I require your assistance," he paused, white eyes flickering to the woman beside Strange, "and, as I understand my visions regarding our Great Captain, I may be of service to you, as well."
While Strange was stepping through the portal, he spoke again.
“That’s the thing about us, about people. Purpose is something we have to find. A knife is made to cut, a sewing needle is made to mend; even wild beasts, though they are alive, have an innate sense to spend their days grazing on grass or hunting prey, but for us it begins as an open question. It’s a burden we all live with, and whether we find the right one matters deeply. I don’t need to tell you how awful it is when someone goes searching and comes back with an unsound answer. “
Once he was throught it became clear that Krakoa was unlike any other country that Strange had ever seen. Even from just the grove, it was different, all was alive, pulsing, and weaved together so finely that even the densest jungles on earth looked barren by comparison. Dozens of species of flora he had never seen before surrounded him, more brilliant, more wild than the most exotic specimens found anywhere else on the planet. It felt more like another plane than it did a piece of the mundane world.
Apocalypse looked different from Strange’s memories of him. Gone was the metal shell, the combat armor he had always worn in past encounters, now he looked like he was trying to prioritize culture over raw power. It wasn’t the side of him Strange had seen before. Strange stopped looking around to address him
“Hello. I’m not sure how I should greet you since I assume one as old as you has had many names over the years. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken under friendly circumstances until this moment, but it seems that fate have placed all three of us here for a reason. What exactly are you trying to do with your work? “ Strange knew that the answer to that last question wouldn't be short, and already got to work looking at the material laid out. Even for an experienced sorcerer, it took time to understand the work of other hands.
