(semi-closed) far out past the astral plane

[rehandle]

Who: Stephen Strange (rehandle) & others
What: currently just closed starters for all things event & event-adjacent, may do something open later!
When: Late July through August.
Where: Excelsior & elsewhere
Content Warnings: will update as needed/add in comment subjects



starters in the comments this was a fake cut for the lyric aesthetic

( if anybody wants to plot things pls do hit me up via pm/miscreates/sculpts @ disco. )

Comments

for tony / ingeniar.

[rehandle]

[ At some point in a brief and even match, Stephen has the bright idea to turn the tide with something other than magic. An advantage, he thinks, to have hidden power. Only it turns out running neural interference on a thing that simultaneously has no mind and has yours if the flimsy containment of your sanity had finally collapsed isn't, in fact, an advantageous move.

And so when Stephen Strange emerges from around the heap of rubble where he's left the slack, singed but breathing body of a man who looks remarkably like him to be found and preyed upon by other lesser creatures, he looks a little - changed. Off: beard too long, robes too worn, hair too limp.

He takes a seat on a nearby chunk of concrete and sighs his satisfaction, his disappointment, both. And past him, before he has a chance to stop it, there darts a red blur.

The Cloak goes in search of the familiar. What it finds first is a suit in combat and dives it, racing around Tony twice before snatching at his arm with a wrap of fabric and yanking the way it'd just come. It only waits as long as it takes to be confident its meaning is clear before twisting in the air and flying back to where a strange man waits for the reinforcements his old turncloak of a friend is calling in to patch up the mess he's just made. ]

[ingeniar]

[ If it's chaos, at least it's the sort of chaos Tony is more-or-less familiar with. His personal battles with the weird and wacky haven't been on this sort of scale -- yet -- but he's a quick learner and it doesn't take long before he's taking care of business, running a director's commentary for F.R.I.D.A.Y. and whoever else is unfortunate enough to be tuned in to his frequency.

With the fight in the rubble of the city somewhat under control, he concentrates on the flying monsters, arcing back and forth across the battlefield in pursuit and takedown. A burst of repulsor fire evaporates two in a single sweep, a third popping like a soap bubble when its hit with a missile. Iron Man twists mid-air and pauses, hovering, to survey the ground below. ]

-- starting to think that we're just dealing with the distraction crew here, we might have to --

[ That's when he gets hit with the cloak, thrusters stuttering to keep him in the air as he's tugged back and forth. ]

Whoa, hey! Hey! Whoa, Lassie. [ It's clear what the cloak wants; a pit opens up in Tony's stomach at the implication that Stephen has been taken out and what that means for their potential for survival. He turns to follow it, already running a biometrics scan over the rubble below. ] Don't tell me little Timmy has fallen down the well again.

[ He follows the cloak down to where his HUD indicates Strange is -- sitting? For some reason -- landing amid the debris in a cloud of dust, thrusters melting rebar to slag and cracking the concrete underneath. The helmet of his suit slides back as he walks over, eyes narrowing as he notes some weird little details in the man in front of him. ]

Hey, pal. Your cravat seems to think you need backup. What's going on?

[rehandle]

[ The lift of his head is slow and considered as the Iron Man touches down, corners of his mouth drawn downward, demeanour oddly withdrawn. But as his gaze lands on a familiar face his eyes widen in clear surprise. An involuntary little breath tugged in, expression faltering, jaw going slack. ]

Tony Stark.

[ There's something to his voice too, some hesitant breathy quality, a lift in the pitch and a croak in the words ... damage? or - disuse. He cants his head as he raises himself to his feet, smooth but slow, life in .75 speed. ]

It's you, isn't it? You you, not...

[ A faint twitch of fingers at his side discounts the relevance of millions of other Starks as he treads carefully down over the uneven terrain of his concrete perch, closing some of the space between them with steady steps. His attention leaves Tony's face only to trace down over the suit, take in the detail, confirm what he suspects.

His expression is tremulous, open, the slightest helpless uptick pulling at the corner of his mouth as he comes to a halt maybe a metre and a half away.

He's right there... and yet the cloak hangs back with Tony, hovering resolutely at his shoulder. ]

This place sure is something.