It’s like one of those ‘spot the five differences’ pictures. Two snapshots of the Sanctum Sanctorum set side-by-side, lined up to each other with minor errata. And for a man with photographic memory, the awareness of it stands out: Strange stares at their surroundings, annoyingly aware of those little shifts from just a few minutes ago. That tapestry on the wall is the one his predecessor had chosen for the foyer, not the one he’d replaced it with after. One of the chairs is now missing. The cabinet which used to have wooden doors is now fronted with glass.
Strange shakes off the disorientation like water, and then he’s shoving open the massive front doors, and they’re emerging blinking into that crisp daylight and an entirely, suspiciously normal NYC day. He can feel the unease curdling down his spine.
“That was not,” the sorcerer says, pinpoint-precise, “enjoyable. Any of it. The sooner we can get that artifact and get the hell out of here, the better.”
A little sharp, his tone more acerbic than usual. He had been enjoying himself here in this world. He had grown too complacent, too content to swallow the Kool-Aid. That knowledge rankles.
(And even if he had known better, had rationally known to be suspicious and mistrustful of a thing too good to be true— some part of him had still hoped he was home.)
So, north they go, back towards Stark Tower—
“And hopefully Jarvis won’t try to kill us with a laserbeam or anything,” he mutters, but his shoulder bumps companionably against Mobius’ while they walk.
At least they still have allies; at least they aren’t alone.
thaaaat’s a wrap
Strange shakes off the disorientation like water, and then he’s shoving open the massive front doors, and they’re emerging blinking into that crisp daylight and an entirely, suspiciously normal NYC day. He can feel the unease curdling down his spine.
“That was not,” the sorcerer says, pinpoint-precise, “enjoyable. Any of it. The sooner we can get that artifact and get the hell out of here, the better.”
A little sharp, his tone more acerbic than usual. He had been enjoying himself here in this world. He had grown too complacent, too content to swallow the Kool-Aid. That knowledge rankles.
(And even if he had known better, had rationally known to be suspicious and mistrustful of a thing too good to be true— some part of him had still hoped he was home.)
So, north they go, back towards Stark Tower—
“And hopefully Jarvis won’t try to kill us with a laserbeam or anything,” he mutters, but his shoulder bumps companionably against Mobius’ while they walk.
At least they still have allies; at least they aren’t alone.