player plot: when my time comes around, pt. 2.5.

[propulsion]

WHO: Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Viktor, Wysteria de Foncé, feat. James Flint, Yseult, and sundry!
WHAT: A sleepless month.
WHEN: First week of August
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Partially open! Within are some closed threads for time travel solutions and geniusing, but feel free to use this post as a catch all if you wish to RP about time travel and sciencing or talking to people about time travel and sciencing.

Something is happening!

And at first, who could possibly say what, with the research workrooms kept closed? But the sounds of other voices muffled on the other side can be picked up at just about any hour. Eventually, this becomes more erratic, but only because there is the sound of metal grinding, clanking, and quiet conversation drifting and pattering up through the lyrium-glowing stone passageways that funnel down into the basement of the Gallows.

Eventually, an announcement is made, and the cause for at least four of the Research division being utterly consumed by work becomes apparent. Do feel free to stop by, whether to register your disapproval, make sure they are eating, or to lavish upon them your tearful gratitude, but don't expect to stay too long regardless.

Comments

[favoriteanalyst]

"Who else is going to?" Frankly. The Seeker could, but--she's already been through suffering. It'd be a lot to ask. Barrow's dead. The number of people around who can actively do the whole severing ties to the Fade thing were already in single digits as far as he knows, and probably low singles at that.

They don't exactly advertise a club here.

"You and Stark believe in this, wholeheartedly. That's not nothing. If anyone knows the power or belief..." Well. It is its own power, just, perhaps, not something that's an energy source for time travel. Not the point. Stark might be a bit mad, but he's absolutely brilliant. Crazy and brilliant both New Yorkers are; it feels like it must go hand in hand.

And hey. If something happens to him, Stephen's already on the shortlist to deal with the fallout. That's on him.

"When-" and there's a brief hesitation after the word, but he pushes onward "-this works and it's done, you give that woman her poetry. Then you can sleep for a week straight."

[portalling]

That careful selection of prhasing — when — means a promise. Means belief. Means trusting in this eventuality. The power of positive thinking, he thinks, bemused and grateful, and simply responds: “That’s the plan.”

There’s the briefest pause, before the sorcerer gets up and walks over to one of the chalkboards which has fallen prey to the imagineers’ notetaking. There’s some incoherent squiggles on it in four different hands and a spot which just says NULLIFICATION?? and so, in his own half-unreadable script, he adds in wavery and trembling blocky letters: MOBIUS.

“There. It’s official.” He stands in front of the board with shoulders squared and tight, jaw wired, staring down the theoretical diagrams. It doesn’t technically mean anything, they still need to crack the fucking magic behind the concept, but at least there’s the sense of all the ingredients starting to come together. They’re gathering their resources and allies. And if Stephen could teach himself time magic in a few months and Tony could invent it overnight, then surely they can do it again in a few weeks. They’ve got so many head starts.

“When we get closer to the practicum, we’ll let you know.” It’s almost a polite dismissal. But then, he adds, “And if you want to help in the meantime, you could head down to the kitchens and bring us back some fresh coffee. Just saying.”