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

[grindset]

Viktor is rapt, his attention fixed and toggling between the doctor's hands and the decimated fruit. He's chewing, chewing, then his molars come together with nothing in between—and he's never been so pleased to have food taken away from him.

"Heh!"

Off this single note of delight, he gives the nooks and ridges between his gums and teeth a quick pass with his tongue—lips closed, of course—to confirm that no part of the apple has lingered in any of the usual places. Not a grain of pulp. Not a shred of skin.

"Not a fluke," he confirms. Now might be an appropriate time to give the doctor a little clap on the shoulder, or some such thing—and this cold breeze of a notion, it passes straight through him, calms his enthusiasm in a way that oughtn't resemble anything but fatigue stepping on his heels. What he does offer, in tired, sweaty, clammy solidarity, is, "That deserves a breather, I think."

slaps a bow on it 🎀

[portalling]

As always, there’s that initial defiant little urge to say no, I’m fine, I can keep going. It’s that asinine stubbornness of a physician who doesn’t like to take his own advice— who would prefer to run himself ragged against all sense—

But Stephen Strange has gotten marginally better at knowing his own limits, and so after a moment of pursed lips and self-assessment, he seems to relent.

“You might have a point,” he says, and pushes his chair back. Stands up. A little wobbly on his feet like a newborn fawn, and so he winds up having to brace his palm against the tabletop. The dizziness passes after a moment, eyes flickering closed, before they snap open again and Strange looks at Viktor. “A break, then,” he says,

and they’ll eat some proper food and bring these findings to Wysteria and Tony, and they’ll manage something with it and build the stupid machine to roll back time and then everything, surely, will be fine.