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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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Unfortunately it is one of those things you don't tend to know about until you've encountered it, and then it's too late.
But... I should back up. Presumably, also, you're not aware of a Time War; I certainly wasn't before I encountered the idea. At some point in a future, several centuries out from when you last spoke with Thor and the Loki from your timeline, a man discovered how to travel across branches in the timeline. Alternate realities. Somewhat simultaneously, so did multiple versions of himself, primarily with the same goal as I understand it: to rule them. For all time, always.
Needless to say it was not a pleasant exchange at the end of the day.
But... I should back up. Presumably, also, you're not aware of a Time War; I certainly wasn't before I encountered the idea. At some point in a future, several centuries out from when you last spoke with Thor and the Loki from your timeline, a man discovered how to travel across branches in the timeline. Alternate realities. Somewhat simultaneously, so did multiple versions of himself, primarily with the same goal as I understand it: to rule them. For all time, always.
Needless to say it was not a pleasant exchange at the end of the day.
Druid? Like the guys with the standing stones, shaved heads, funny robes?
( Pot, kettle, black. The comment is flippant, but he follows it up with more sobriety: ) That would be excellent, actually: the infirmary always needs more curative herbs and we’ve been intending to grow our own this season, once the winter warms up a bit. But I have the opposite of a green thumb. Kept accidentally killing the rooftop garden back home.
Do you have any experience with growing elfroot?
( Pot, kettle, black. The comment is flippant, but he follows it up with more sobriety: ) That would be excellent, actually: the infirmary always needs more curative herbs and we’ve been intending to grow our own this season, once the winter warms up a bit. But I have the opposite of a green thumb. Kept accidentally killing the rooftop garden back home.
Do you have any experience with growing elfroot?
[Tav takes the jibe in turn with a chuckle.] Something like that, yes. We also dress primarily in leaves and spend most of our time talking to animals.
[Back to business, though,] I’ve recently grown some jasmine and crystal grace from provided seeds. I’d be happy to try elfroot.
[Back to business, though,] I’ve recently grown some jasmine and crystal grace from provided seeds. I’d be happy to try elfroot.
Fantastic. Do you have some time now? I can meet you down by the garden, such as it is; see what we’re working with.
( The infirmary has — thankfully, knock on wood — been quiet lately, so it’s easy enough for Doctor Strange to cut loose from his work and go meet their new arrival in the herb garden. It’s a fairly large space, closer to the old mages’ tower than the templar tower: plots of empty earth squared in by walls, with five trees ringing its edges, their branches barren for the season.
The month of late Wintermarch leading into early Guardian means the weather is wet and cold, and the garden is still empty. But Strange has a couple pouches of seeds hanging from his belt, standing with arms crossed, surveying that earth and envisioning what it could become.
Noticing movement on his periphery, he turns and looks. Does a mild double-take, an arched eyebrow at the shock of white hair, the milky-white eye, the notably pointed ears. He’s polite, however: )
Tav, I presume?
The month of late Wintermarch leading into early Guardian means the weather is wet and cold, and the garden is still empty. But Strange has a couple pouches of seeds hanging from his belt, standing with arms crossed, surveying that earth and envisioning what it could become.
Noticing movement on his periphery, he turns and looks. Does a mild double-take, an arched eyebrow at the shock of white hair, the milky-white eye, the notably pointed ears. He’s polite, however: )
Tav, I presume?
[Tav looks up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, fingers glowing a bright green as he tries to reach into the ground for any dying plants. One sprig seems to have some hope with further nurturing, but the moment Tav turns away, the little sprig falls back to the ground.]
Doctor?
[He climbs to his feet and offers a smile.] Sorry, I left my leaves back home.
[He knows he looks strange with his mismatched eyes, his scars, his “knife ears”, and the half-braided hair.]
Doctor?
[He climbs to his feet and offers a smile.] Sorry, I left my leaves back home.
[He knows he looks strange with his mismatched eyes, his scars, his “knife ears”, and the half-braided hair.]
( Loki’s words are a faint reminder that this isn’t the same version of Loki he’d once met — for all he knows, perhaps this one is more closely-aligned with putting his boot on Earth’s neck — and perhaps Strange ought to be more aloof, more careful and mistrustful of this man.
But Thedas, too, is a second chance. And Gwenaëlle’s mention of Loki had seemed cordial, and it helps that Stephen’s so desperately interested in this topic. Even if the topic stokes a kind of professional indignation: )
A Time War? Travelled across realities? To rule them? What, like their own universes weren’t enough? Jesus, that’s just greedy.
But Thedas, too, is a second chance. And Gwenaëlle’s mention of Loki had seemed cordial, and it helps that Stephen’s so desperately interested in this topic. Even if the topic stokes a kind of professional indignation: )
A Time War? Travelled across realities? To rule them? What, like their own universes weren’t enough? Jesus, that’s just greedy.
There’s an equally skeptical pause, Strange staring blankly back at him. (His gaze lingers a little on the details he’s now noticing: greasy hair, dirt under the fingernails. Maybe this is not the right target audience.)
“Because it’s… good?” Adding, concerned, “You should be washing your hands, Mr. Edgard.”
“Because it’s… good?” Adding, concerned, “You should be washing your hands, Mr. Edgard.”
( Strange has met literal aliens and been strangled by a few, so after that initial beat of surprise, he manages to smooth over his reaction: it’s not the most unusual appearance he’s ever seen, but he wasn’t expecting it. He chuckles at the joke, then holds out a hand for a professional handshake: the fingers gnarled, scarred, shaky. )
Yeah, I can imagine they’re out-of-season this time of year, fashion-wise. Bit too breezy round the, y’know.
( There’s an amiable affableness to his demeanour, that constant lurking dry humour even when he’s in working mode. But he’s looking at the other (man? elf?)’s fingertips, which had just been glowing green a moment ago. Not shard magic; he would’ve recognised that. )
So, what does being a druid entail, for you?
Yeah, I can imagine they’re out-of-season this time of year, fashion-wise. Bit too breezy round the, y’know.
( There’s an amiable affableness to his demeanour, that constant lurking dry humour even when he’s in working mode. But he’s looking at the other (man? elf?)’s fingertips, which had just been glowing green a moment ago. Not shard magic; he would’ve recognised that. )
So, what does being a druid entail, for you?
[Tav laughs for what may be the first time since he's arrived and perhaps he chuckles for a beat too long, but oh it feels so good to simply laugh about his situation.]
Ah, yes. For me, it's about balance; we use nature as much as it uses us in turn. I restore plants and herbs to their healthier forms and they join me whenever I need defending.
Though, I would rather do more of the growing than the battling. Seen enough of that for one lifetime.
Ah, yes. For me, it's about balance; we use nature as much as it uses us in turn. I restore plants and herbs to their healthier forms and they join me whenever I need defending.
Though, I would rather do more of the growing than the battling. Seen enough of that for one lifetime.
Oh, I know the feeling. As a doctor, I technically swore an oath to do no harm, but— the universe keeps having other ideas. ( The corner of his mouth flickers in a rueful smile, and then he continues musing over Tav’s description of those abilities. One in particular stands out: )
When you say “join” you… does that mean, like, a gigantic moving plant uprooting itself? Fighting by your side and eating your enemies?
( Strange is picturing Little Shop of Horrors. He desperately wants to reference Little Shop of Horrors. In a feat of Herculean self-control, he does not drop the pop culture reference. )
When you say “join” you… does that mean, like, a gigantic moving plant uprooting itself? Fighting by your side and eating your enemies?
( Strange is picturing Little Shop of Horrors. He desperately wants to reference Little Shop of Horrors. In a feat of Herculean self-control, he does not drop the pop culture reference. )
Oh, like that.
The Master of Works probably won’t be a fan, ( Strange remarks, bemused, as he moves a little closer to the statue: taking in the vine where it slithers and uncurls, and surveying the damage itself. There’s a professorial air to the way he assesses it, sizing up the magic expended. )
I usually try to save my arcane demonstrations for outside the Gallows for this reason. You don’t happen to have one of those neat bibbity boppity boo spells which can magically fix stuff, can you?
The Master of Works probably won’t be a fan, ( Strange remarks, bemused, as he moves a little closer to the statue: taking in the vine where it slithers and uncurls, and surveying the damage itself. There’s a professorial air to the way he assesses it, sizing up the magic expended. )
I usually try to save my arcane demonstrations for outside the Gallows for this reason. You don’t happen to have one of those neat bibbity boppity boo spells which can magically fix stuff, can you?
Yes, it’s—
( Strange fishes distractedly around at his belt, fumbling a little — his fingers seem a little too clumsy to untie the cords — but then he eventually detaches the two pouches. Tosses them in Tav’s direction, a slow underhanded volley. )
Elfroot and Spindleweed, to start with. We’d also be able to make use of Crystal Grace, but you mentioned you’d already started on some of that.
There are other plants which would come in handy for curative potions: Arbor Blessing especially, although it’s supposed to be very difficult to grow. We just want to get the herb garden started for spring, and broaden its selection. There hasn’t really been the manpower to tend to it lately.
( Strange fishes distractedly around at his belt, fumbling a little — his fingers seem a little too clumsy to untie the cords — but then he eventually detaches the two pouches. Tosses them in Tav’s direction, a slow underhanded volley. )
Elfroot and Spindleweed, to start with. We’d also be able to make use of Crystal Grace, but you mentioned you’d already started on some of that.
There are other plants which would come in handy for curative potions: Arbor Blessing especially, although it’s supposed to be very difficult to grow. We just want to get the herb garden started for spring, and broaden its selection. There hasn’t really been the manpower to tend to it lately.
[Tav catches them successfully and pulls out one of the seeds to inspect them. Shouldn't be too complicated to grow in good soil.]
The Crystal Grace is currently around the pigeonholes, but I can work it to produce more flowers and hence more seeds.
[Listening thoughtfully,] I'd be happy to tend it. I'm not allowed to go on missions overnight anywhere.
The Crystal Grace is currently around the pigeonholes, but I can work it to produce more flowers and hence more seeds.
[Listening thoughtfully,] I'd be happy to tend it. I'm not allowed to go on missions overnight anywhere.
Why not? Night blindness? ( he quips, blithe,
and entirely, utterly oblivious to what the answer actually is. Oops. )
and entirely, utterly oblivious to what the answer actually is. Oops. )
At his window, a tapping.
It echoes strangely, on an odd delay, Gwenaëlle's crystal held up to where she is rapping on the window of the room Stephen occupies in their hostess's home — with any luck, delivering her urgent plea to get inside directly to him, even at so late the hour. And it is a late hour indeed, which is probably something to do with why the window she had intended to climb back in is now locked, and probably somewhere Coupe must be so smug that her gift would truly have come in useful if only Gwenaëlle had bothered to make even the slightest use of it.
Rather than regifting it twice.
Seeing as she did regift the lockpicking tools — twice — she is instead reduced to clutching her cloak around herself, tightly, and hissing, “Stephen, I know you aren't that deep a sleeper,” into her crystal, obscuring its glow with her hood and her hair.
It echoes strangely, on an odd delay, Gwenaëlle's crystal held up to where she is rapping on the window of the room Stephen occupies in their hostess's home — with any luck, delivering her urgent plea to get inside directly to him, even at so late the hour. And it is a late hour indeed, which is probably something to do with why the window she had intended to climb back in is now locked, and probably somewhere Coupe must be so smug that her gift would truly have come in useful if only Gwenaëlle had bothered to make even the slightest use of it.
Rather than regifting it twice.
Seeing as she did regift the lockpicking tools — twice — she is instead reduced to clutching her cloak around herself, tightly, and hissing, “Stephen, I know you aren't that deep a sleeper,” into her crystal, obscuring its glow with her hood and her hair.
[Tav goes fidgets with the seeds as he tries to come up with an answer other than "I'm the son of the god of murder."]
I have a condition that can make me dangerous at night. I am required to return to my room at least two hours before the last ferry, and essentially before nightfall.
I have a condition that can make me dangerous at night. I am required to return to my room at least two hours before the last ferry, and essentially before nightfall.
( Strange blinks. Scrutinises the elf with a steady, level expression, turning that piece of information over in his head— and perhaps it’s the word condition which ticks him over into clinician mode, more intellectual than alarmed. )
Oh, a nighttime transformation? Like a… ( Werewolf, he thinks, but for certain reasons he buries that word. Selects another option: ) Vampire or something?
Oh, a nighttime transformation? Like a… ( Werewolf, he thinks, but for certain reasons he buries that word. Selects another option: ) Vampire or something?
It’s true, he’s a light sleeper —
The tapping alone would have roused him, but the crystal activating on his nightstand is like a sudden jolt kicking him immediately awake. Stephen rolls out of bed, fumbling for an oil lamp then cursing as he almost knocks it over, giving up on it, muttering, “Tony should’ve installed a Do Not Disturb setting on the crystals,” but then he’s maneuvering through the darkness toward the window. The real delay was due to the brief disorientation on waking (where is he?), then accidentally stubbing his toe on inopportunely-located ottomans, a chaise, good god, why there so much furniture in this guestroom?
He eventually yanks the curtains the rest of the way open, which lets moonlight illuminate the room, and shows Gwenaëlle perched improbably on the rooftop outside, balanced against his windowsill. For his part, Stephen’s looking rumpled, barefoot in the equivalent of pyjamas here: comfortable long braies, and a loose shirt hanging open at the neck (he’s terrible at tying the laces, and so never really bothers at night).
As she looks at him through the glass, he stares owlishly back at her, trying to make the scene compute — it doesn’t — but then he flips the latch and swings the window open, inward.
“Gwenaëlle,” he says, slow, “you do know people use doors here, right?”
Then, because Stephen Strange remains hopelessly paranoid even when he’s not being unexpectedly woken in the middle of the night: “Is something wrong? Do we need to make a rooftop escape before people come to kill us, or…”
The tapping alone would have roused him, but the crystal activating on his nightstand is like a sudden jolt kicking him immediately awake. Stephen rolls out of bed, fumbling for an oil lamp then cursing as he almost knocks it over, giving up on it, muttering, “Tony should’ve installed a Do Not Disturb setting on the crystals,” but then he’s maneuvering through the darkness toward the window. The real delay was due to the brief disorientation on waking (where is he?), then accidentally stubbing his toe on inopportunely-located ottomans, a chaise, good god, why there so much furniture in this guestroom?
He eventually yanks the curtains the rest of the way open, which lets moonlight illuminate the room, and shows Gwenaëlle perched improbably on the rooftop outside, balanced against his windowsill. For his part, Stephen’s looking rumpled, barefoot in the equivalent of pyjamas here: comfortable long braies, and a loose shirt hanging open at the neck (he’s terrible at tying the laces, and so never really bothers at night).
As she looks at him through the glass, he stares owlishly back at her, trying to make the scene compute — it doesn’t — but then he flips the latch and swings the window open, inward.
“Gwenaëlle,” he says, slow, “you do know people use doors here, right?”
Then, because Stephen Strange remains hopelessly paranoid even when he’s not being unexpectedly woken in the middle of the night: “Is something wrong? Do we need to make a rooftop escape before people come to kill us, or…”
Edited 2024-02-21 04:52 (UTC)
He is asking questions, but Gwenaëlle — who has been out in the cold, perched on a rooftop — is already grasping the sill as soon as the window swings open and her most immediate concern is bracing herself in. The fact he is still so near to the window and her skirts are so full (she had not, really, packed for illicit elven gatherings; she'd compromised on a heavy cloak and her sleekest gown, the fabric heavy for the winter's chill) means she can't get much further than just perching closer without physically bearing him to the floor of the room,
which is not completely off the table, but she doesn't.
She says, “I didn't want to be seen leaving by the door, so I didn't want to be seen returning by one, either,” definitely means she had climbed out a window at some point tonight. “But mine is locked, and I didn't want to wake anyone else—”
Importantly, it's not that she couldn't have. But who would she have woken? Explained the whole of it to Wysteria at this hour? Risked finding some combination of Loki, Alexandrie, Rutyer and Bastien fucking? Risked Rowntree hearing she'd been knocking at Julius's window at some late hour and misconstruing it wildly?
No. Stephen was the obvious choice. Obviously.
“There's an artist— I was meeting with an artist. Some of his associates knew my sister, a little. I think I might have made some useful friends, all the more useful if it stays between us.”
which is not completely off the table, but she doesn't.
She says, “I didn't want to be seen leaving by the door, so I didn't want to be seen returning by one, either,” definitely means she had climbed out a window at some point tonight. “But mine is locked, and I didn't want to wake anyone else—”
Importantly, it's not that she couldn't have. But who would she have woken? Explained the whole of it to Wysteria at this hour? Risked finding some combination of Loki, Alexandrie, Rutyer and Bastien fucking? Risked Rowntree hearing she'd been knocking at Julius's window at some late hour and misconstruing it wildly?
No. Stephen was the obvious choice. Obviously.
“There's an artist— I was meeting with an artist. Some of his associates knew my sister, a little. I think I might have made some useful friends, all the more useful if it stays between us.”
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