(OPEN) I left my body with the old landlady

[rehandle]

WHO: Stephen Strange et toi
WHAT: Getting settled in Cadens, regaining his portals, accessing the Horizon and beyond, ft. some open prompts. Anybody welcome!
WHERE: Cadens and the Horizon for now, Aquila also but currently off-screen
WHEN: Post-Thorne. Please see the timeline indicators in subject headings for more specific info!
NOTES: I've got a handful of open Cadens prompts and a wide open Horizon top level in here, but I'm also more than happy to write up closed starters or accept wildcards! Please hit me up at miscreates or sculpts#6553 if you'd like to plot anything specific.
WARNINGS: Some prompts/threads may feature encroaching sickness.


As a brief overview of events, Stephen spends his first week post-escape in Cadens, then spends his second week travelling to Aquila where he sources a viable sling ring and enchants it, then heads back to Cadens at the end of that 2nd week after which he's free to jet around with his portals to wherever he likes in the Free Cities. It's after enchanting his sling ring, a.k.a week 3 onwards, that he'll start to get unwell due to his Horizon alteration.

If your character is moving (or just travelling!) to Libertas or Aquila, I'm happy to do things with them there any time after he's got his portals back!

Comments

for jon,

[rehandle]

He's inside until close to the last second, keeping an eye on proceedings, available as back-up for anyone trying to ensure no significant harm comes to any of the frozen Thorneans in the execution yard - or to one another. When the final minutes come around and he's as sure as he can be that the people he knows who wanted to step through the Free Cities portal have done so, he follows in after.

His list of immediate priorities is short. He's been keeping an eye on the space beyond the portal, remaining conscious of any disruption the other side, but there doesn't seem to have been much. The danger was worse in Thorne than outside of it, at least through this avenue. In the absence of immediate threats, attention turns to checking in with allies before branching off to establish a better understanding of the situation. That means Sam Wilson and Peter Parker, both of whom he's caught up with recently, and it also means Jonathan Sims and crew. Recently almost executed Jonathan Sims, to be precise, whose airways could do with a once over for peace of mind if nothing else, not to mention whatever other mistreatment he's suffered in the run up to the late cancellation. There won't be anything he can do straight away, but he can at least make a more informed supply run once he knows what he's working with.

Following the rest of them past the guards and into the city, Stephen allows the flow of people to bustle him where they will, on the assumption that the current will eventually wash him up wherever the rest of them have wandered.

Lo and behold, it does.

"Sims."

Called loudly in a bid to get his attention as Stephen weaves through the final throng of people to reach him. Still alive, so that's a start.

[the_archive]

Still alive, still standing. Visibly grey with fatigue, but standing all the same. He looks back, and then with a word for Kiryu and Coraline, redirects their path into a space out of the flow of foot traffic. He looks, if anything, more disheveled than he did on the gallows, mostly because he's pulled his hair forward to hide the extra eyes winking in his face.

"Looks like we've made it."

[rehandle]

It's a grim state of affairs. Freedom from tyranny can't feel like much when the outcome is wandering exhausted through unfamiliar streets, afraid of the consequences of your own appearance. The once-over he gives Sims says about all it needs to. Extra eyes aside, he doesn't look great.

"Yeah."

A stack of crates wedged up against the wall of a nearby building looks as good a place as any for an on-the-fly examination. Stephen cants his head that way in indication and sets off toward them, ancitipating his patient will follow.

[the_archive]

He nods, parting from his fellows to join him, rubbing a hand down his face. The limp he had before seems to have worked itself out - there's no sign of it now.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with me at this point that some sleep won't fix." He still takes a seat, though he's not sure it's wise. Getting up again sounds like a feat. "With my powers back, I'm more durable than I look."

[rehandle]

"No offence, but that's not saying much."

He looks like shit. But at least the only way from there is up, and a supernaturally enhanced tendency not to stay down when you're kicked there is a handy trait to have when you're as out of your depth as they all are by default of the situation.

And Sims is humouring him, so that's another point in his favour.

"Did you put much weight on the rope?"

[the_archive]

Jon lifts his bad hand immediately, shielding his throat and the bloodshot eye there. He glances back at where Coraline and Kiryu wait, and keeps his voice low, makes himself relax again. Lower that hand. "Just a little, there at the end of Ambrose's little performance."

He had been ready, after all.

[rehandle]

Ah. Stephen ducks the smallest nod of understanding, expression a little more careful, the softer end of a frown. Still a little raw to be asking questions about the rope, noted.

"How does it feel?"

His throat.

[the_archive]

The question makes him clear his throat out of reflex. The eye squints - it's large enough it should be an obstruction there. By all outside appearances, it's replaced his adam's apple. But it doesn't interfere.

"It's fine. Feels clear, nothing hurts when I swallow or talk. I- I am in better shape than I deserve to be. Had a chance to... feed my patron, on our way out, and I took it."

[rehandle]

He's not sure he likes the sound of that. But then again, he's not sure Sims does either, and the more important thing here is that they managed to get out at all. Sometimes, it takes what it takes.

"Let's not start throwing 'deserve' around." It's too large of a concept to quantify, and they have bigger things to worry about than establishing the premises for an ensuing discussion on ends justifying means. "No pain is good for now. Any acute pain anywhere else?"

[the_archive]

He shakes his head. "I had my face introduced to a wall and a boot to the knee first thing this morning too, but that's been taken care of as well. He rubs his forehead - there's a trace of dried blood at the hairline, but no wound. Not even a scar, though among Jon's many, a new one might be hard to determine.

"It's a- a benefit. No NHS here, but at least I still have the Ceaseless Watcher," he says with a grin that is not happy. "If Ambrose didn't have that spell to depower us, I'm not sure even the noose would have done much more than hurt."

[rehandle]

Unsettling but not unheard of. That this entity has enough power over Sims' physiology to spare him from death and long-standing injury is just going to have to be looked on as a blessing.

He's also going to have to admit defeat over trying to administer rudimentary doctoring on a vessel of fear itself. No significant pain, no lasting wounds. The slant to his expression says he isn't happy to let it go, but...

"When you find somewhere to stay, I want you to clean anything that hasn't closed over and watch out for any sign of infection. Do you know Sam Wilson?"

He's fairly sure everyone at this point knows Sam Wilson, but it's worth checking before he starts rattling off an instruction without context.

[the_archive]

He nods, propping his elbows on his knees, hands in his hair for a moment. He is so tired.

"He helped me... down." He'd almost collapsed on the man.

[rehandle]

Of course he had. He's about to carry on down that line when Jon sinks into himself, clearly beyond spent for the day, and it occurs to Stephen that while grilling him on potential injury he hasn't checked him for shock. Something tells him he's immune to that too, but it doesn't mean his body couldn't do with some assistance away from the brink.

Stephen reaches out and a moment later there's a small tin mug in his hand, liquid inside hot and sweet with honey.

"Hey." He waits until he has the other man's attention, then holds out the offering. "Drink this."

[the_archive]

Jon scrapes his hair back before looking up, and stares at the mug for a second before he takes it. Even here in the heat of the desert, suddenly having something warm in his hands is welcome. He just holds it for a moment, willing himself to rally.

"Where did this come from?"

[rehandle]

"The cup's from a table a few streets back, I'll return it when you're done. The tea's home-made."

By which he means he conjured the liquid himself, long since practiced in magicking up a decent brew, but the cup he borrowed. Stephen watches, waiting.

"The only special ingredient is honey. I try not to poison or curse my patients. I think it might've been in the oath."

[the_archive]

“Has to ask.” But his eyes shut when he takes a sip because it is tea, tea from Earth.

“They don’t grow the right plant here. It’s always just off.”

[rehandle]

"The perils of extra-universal travel."

Tea just doesn't taste like it should. There's no doubt they'll find an ever growing list of things like that, adjacent things that are almost there but not quite. Another world's wares, recognisable but other.

"Well. If you ever need a hit, you know who to ask."

[the_archive]

That makes him laugh a little too hard as he rubs his face, straightening up a little.

"Sorry, Doctor, I'm in a relationship."

[rehandle]

A little scoff of surprise at the response. Okay there, Mr. Energy, he sees you rallying for a quick retort.

"And when your boyfriend learns to make tea from the cosmic energy of the multiverse, he can be your dealer. Until then..."

Until then, he's got the market cornered. On a more serious note -

"I imagine Wilson will tell everyone where he's ended up as soon as he can. Anything gets worse and you can't find me, let him know. He'll pass on the word."

[the_archive]

Jon nods, shoulders still hitching at his own joke as he drinks the rest of his cosmic energy tea. The last mouthful is thick with honey, perfect, and he sighs a little.

"Wouldn't surprise me if Martin does."

He offers the borrowed cup back.

"I- expect I won't have trouble finding you, or Wilson."

[rehandle]

Oh, right. The Knowing. Accepting the cup back, Stephen draws his palm absentmindedly over the top and it covers itself in an amber glow. Wouldn't be polite to send it back without a clean.

"Great. In that case, send someone to me direct if things go south. I'll be headed into the city to gather some supplies, so I should be better equipped to help."