For the most part, Strange prefers the direct approach. Hard facts, diagnoses, no sugarcoating. People had tried handling him with kid gloves after his accident and he had torn into them for it. The truth could be brutal, but at least it’s the truth.
And so he listens to Gwenaëlle’s more detailed rundown. And he laughs, and it’s small and short and curt and bleak, but there’s a rueful kind of humour in his voice as he responds: “Funny, how much you can take that heroic moment from the ballads for granted. Never realised how spoiled we were until now.”
For all that the Battle for Earth had been terrible, at least they had not faced it alone. When Earth’s Mightiest put out the call, they’d been practically overflowing with plucky do-gooder heroes who didn’t hesitate to throw themselves into the meatgrinder alongside them. Handy, that. They hadn’t had to execute trade agreements and nebulous politics and pulling strings from the shadows just to convince people to join the fight or serve as reinforcements.
He shakes his head. Letting the reality of the situation sink in, like ducking his head under cold water; letting it settle and testing the weight of that new knowledge, the one he’s been slowly coming to accept. You’re here. You’re not, actually, going home. You’re in a different kind of war now. Congratulations, doctor.
“This sort of fight isn’t my forté,” he says, “but I suppose it’s never too late to pick up new skills. I’ve pivoted before, I can pivot again. Thank you for being honest.”
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And so he listens to Gwenaëlle’s more detailed rundown. And he laughs, and it’s small and short and curt and bleak, but there’s a rueful kind of humour in his voice as he responds: “Funny, how much you can take that heroic moment from the ballads for granted. Never realised how spoiled we were until now.”
For all that the Battle for Earth had been terrible, at least they had not faced it alone. When Earth’s Mightiest put out the call, they’d been practically overflowing with plucky do-gooder heroes who didn’t hesitate to throw themselves into the meatgrinder alongside them. Handy, that. They hadn’t had to execute trade agreements and nebulous politics and pulling strings from the shadows just to convince people to join the fight or serve as reinforcements.
He shakes his head. Letting the reality of the situation sink in, like ducking his head under cold water; letting it settle and testing the weight of that new knowledge, the one he’s been slowly coming to accept. You’re here. You’re not, actually, going home. You’re in a different kind of war now. Congratulations, doctor.
“This sort of fight isn’t my forté,” he says, “but I suppose it’s never too late to pick up new skills. I’ve pivoted before, I can pivot again. Thank you for being honest.”