Strange hadn’t really stopped to consider it, but yep, that’ll definitely be a question for later.
But he’s standing ready on that landing now, his hand splayed against the door. “For the record: same,” he says, and then shoves that door open.
And inside is… yes, just a comfortable living room. There are curtains drawn over the windows, a long studded-button leather sofa, an older model of flatscreen TV, and Wong sprawled comfortably in his robes. Sometimes there’s a woman named Madisynn joining for the watch parties, but she’s not here tonight; there is, however, a novice in the background doing some dull re-shelving.
“Wong— did we catch you at a bad time? Can you pause? The fate of a world depends on it.”
“You always say the fate of the world depends on it,” Wong grouses, popping more buttered popcorn in his mouth, then straightening from his ungainly sprawl. It would look very undignified, the Sorcerer Supreme dozing off on the sofa.
“Yes, well. That’s because it’s usually the case. This is Mobius, by the way, I think you’ve met in passing.”
Wong does pause the stream. And he’s looking up at the both of them now: mild, unfussed, unbothered and with no urgency in his expression at all.
(He has always looked strangely unfussed about the Theodosians’ multiversal predicament. Maybe that’s the problem.)
“We have a globe, a crystal, a string, and a gem,” Strange continues. “I’d like your assistance, pooling our magical abilities together to scry for the Sealing Stone. It’s been weeks and—”
It’s like a shutter slams down, Wong’s expression turning even stiffer than before. “No, I don’t think I can,” he says, crisply, frostily, and Strange exchanges a Look™ with Mobius.
“Maybe try,” Strange says, and there’s a building irritation buzzing in his voice — and wariness.
no subject
But he’s standing ready on that landing now, his hand splayed against the door. “For the record: same,” he says, and then shoves that door open.
And inside is… yes, just a comfortable living room. There are curtains drawn over the windows, a long studded-button leather sofa, an older model of flatscreen TV, and Wong sprawled comfortably in his robes. Sometimes there’s a woman named Madisynn joining for the watch parties, but she’s not here tonight; there is, however, a novice in the background doing some dull re-shelving.
“Wong— did we catch you at a bad time? Can you pause? The fate of a world depends on it.”
“You always say the fate of the world depends on it,” Wong grouses, popping more buttered popcorn in his mouth, then straightening from his ungainly sprawl. It would look very undignified, the Sorcerer Supreme dozing off on the sofa.
“Yes, well. That’s because it’s usually the case. This is Mobius, by the way, I think you’ve met in passing.”
Wong does pause the stream. And he’s looking up at the both of them now: mild, unfussed, unbothered and with no urgency in his expression at all.
(He has always looked strangely unfussed about the Theodosians’ multiversal predicament. Maybe that’s the problem.)
“We have a globe, a crystal, a string, and a gem,” Strange continues. “I’d like your assistance, pooling our magical abilities together to scry for the Sealing Stone. It’s been weeks and—”
It’s like a shutter slams down, Wong’s expression turning even stiffer than before. “No, I don’t think I can,” he says, crisply, frostily, and Strange exchanges a Look™ with Mobius.
“Maybe try,” Strange says, and there’s a building irritation buzzing in his voice — and wariness.