The Proper Care of a Sorceror Supreme
Feb. 2nd, 2017 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Dr. Strange Genderbend
Summary: The Cloak just wants their master to take better care of herself (and uses 'they' pronouns because they have no gender and 'it' is just insulting).
Word Count: 690
Rating: Gen
Dr. Strange Genderbend
Summary: The Cloak just wants their master to take better care of herself (and uses 'they' pronouns because they have no gender and 'it' is just insulting).
Word Count: 690
Rating: Gen
One day, the Cloak disappears.
They’ve chosen their timing excellently. Strange has been pushing herself—again—and is thus exhausted. She’s had three dizzy spells today, which means she’s spending most of her time reading spellbooks and filing them in her mind. Consequently, she’s not in the frame of mind to notice the Cloak, hovering behind her chair like some type of protective butler, has left the room, let alone the Sanctum.
They also were very careful with using magic to predict routes of travel to find the one time Dr. Christopher Palmer happens to be close enough that not everyone in New York City will notice that he’s being kidnapped by a magic cloak. They wait, cliché-like, in a back alley and swoop out of nowhere, covering his back. It’s less likely to draw unnecessary attention than grabbing his hands and leading him there, even though that’s what they want to do.
They had tried to get Strange to answer the frantic emails. Of course that fails. Their newest master is stubborn, and while they’re doing decent on communication in battle it’s a different matter to get her to respond to less obvious threats than ones on her own life or the lives of others. If they dragged Strange there, she’d only make a portal and leave, or refuse to talk, or some other stupid choice the Doctor seems to think is somehow appropriate. No, the only real approach is to get someone else to confront her, and given that she’s ignored Wang’s scolding, that won’t work.
No, they have to get the doctor she respects and cares for to act. Because sooner or later, their master is going to get herself killed, and that’s completely unacceptable.
Chris swallows a scream, then, under his breath, asks a perceptive question. “Uh. Steph mentioned that you were alive. Is your master all right?”
They move as frantically as they can without drawing too much attention, hoping that will get the point across. Fortunately, Palmer is no idiot. His stride lengthens.
When they reach the Sanctum, the Cloak stops still. Chris side-eyes them, staring in shock at the Sanctum, which would be pleasing if this wasn’t an emergency. A creeping, slow emergency, yes, but still as important. He lifts a hand to knock, but the Cloak shrugs itself off and pulls a key out of their folds.
Dr. Palmer blinks, and there’s a swallowed…something. Still, he follows despite his fear. All the way to the library on the second floor, where Strange appears to be nodding off in a chair, on the verge of resorting to astral projection again, shivering a little, hands shaking as she still attempts to read.
It takes snatching the book out of their master’s hands before the Cloak can get attention.
“Are you five? I realize I’ve been neglecting you a little, but study is an important part of—”
The Cloak shuffles, their best attempt at clearing their throat, and point one corner toward Chris standing, upset and awed and oh-so caring.
The Doctor is speechless, too shocked to glare. If the Cloak wasn’t still worried, this would count as a success. “I…um. Chris. Hello.”
He bites his lip, anger twisting his features. “It’s good to see you alive. Since it seems like you weren’t going to email and tell me that yourself.”
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just wasn’t sure how to—” And then she’s shooting from her seat, seemingly energized again. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? The seats are very comfortable; I’d recommend them.” With a gesture, she pulls one across the room, which Chris watches wide-eyed. “I could…possibly…”
And there’s another moment of dizziness. Cloak has been seeing this reaction a lot recently. They turn toward the male doctor to make sure he’s registered it too.
She forces a smile. “Tea?”
Chris’s jaw clenches. “Sit.”
To the Cloak’s surprise, she does, still shivering a little. Palmer grabs a chair and sits closer and takes her shaky hand tenderly. The Cloak can’t smile, but they rush off. Surely they can manage to make tea on their own.
They’ve chosen their timing excellently. Strange has been pushing herself—again—and is thus exhausted. She’s had three dizzy spells today, which means she’s spending most of her time reading spellbooks and filing them in her mind. Consequently, she’s not in the frame of mind to notice the Cloak, hovering behind her chair like some type of protective butler, has left the room, let alone the Sanctum.
They also were very careful with using magic to predict routes of travel to find the one time Dr. Christopher Palmer happens to be close enough that not everyone in New York City will notice that he’s being kidnapped by a magic cloak. They wait, cliché-like, in a back alley and swoop out of nowhere, covering his back. It’s less likely to draw unnecessary attention than grabbing his hands and leading him there, even though that’s what they want to do.
They had tried to get Strange to answer the frantic emails. Of course that fails. Their newest master is stubborn, and while they’re doing decent on communication in battle it’s a different matter to get her to respond to less obvious threats than ones on her own life or the lives of others. If they dragged Strange there, she’d only make a portal and leave, or refuse to talk, or some other stupid choice the Doctor seems to think is somehow appropriate. No, the only real approach is to get someone else to confront her, and given that she’s ignored Wang’s scolding, that won’t work.
No, they have to get the doctor she respects and cares for to act. Because sooner or later, their master is going to get herself killed, and that’s completely unacceptable.
Chris swallows a scream, then, under his breath, asks a perceptive question. “Uh. Steph mentioned that you were alive. Is your master all right?”
They move as frantically as they can without drawing too much attention, hoping that will get the point across. Fortunately, Palmer is no idiot. His stride lengthens.
When they reach the Sanctum, the Cloak stops still. Chris side-eyes them, staring in shock at the Sanctum, which would be pleasing if this wasn’t an emergency. A creeping, slow emergency, yes, but still as important. He lifts a hand to knock, but the Cloak shrugs itself off and pulls a key out of their folds.
Dr. Palmer blinks, and there’s a swallowed…something. Still, he follows despite his fear. All the way to the library on the second floor, where Strange appears to be nodding off in a chair, on the verge of resorting to astral projection again, shivering a little, hands shaking as she still attempts to read.
It takes snatching the book out of their master’s hands before the Cloak can get attention.
“Are you five? I realize I’ve been neglecting you a little, but study is an important part of—”
The Cloak shuffles, their best attempt at clearing their throat, and point one corner toward Chris standing, upset and awed and oh-so caring.
The Doctor is speechless, too shocked to glare. If the Cloak wasn’t still worried, this would count as a success. “I…um. Chris. Hello.”
He bites his lip, anger twisting his features. “It’s good to see you alive. Since it seems like you weren’t going to email and tell me that yourself.”
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just wasn’t sure how to—” And then she’s shooting from her seat, seemingly energized again. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? The seats are very comfortable; I’d recommend them.” With a gesture, she pulls one across the room, which Chris watches wide-eyed. “I could…possibly…”
And there’s another moment of dizziness. Cloak has been seeing this reaction a lot recently. They turn toward the male doctor to make sure he’s registered it too.
She forces a smile. “Tea?”
Chris’s jaw clenches. “Sit.”
To the Cloak’s surprise, she does, still shivering a little. Palmer grabs a chair and sits closer and takes her shaky hand tenderly. The Cloak can’t smile, but they rush off. Surely they can manage to make tea on their own.
