sorcerersupreme: (.do not want)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Those of you who have spoken to Dr. Strange via the network before are probably familiar with the sight of his cluttered kitchen, and vintage looking table cloth with that one old antique blue china tea cup sitting precariously on it, shoved between this, that, and the other. Well, uhh, the table cloth is presumably still around, but it's been covered, hidden really, by everything that you would possibly think to find in an old wizard's house and probably more. There's even a crystal ball and a chalice that looks remarkably like a recreation of the Holy Grail from the last Indiana Jones movie that actually counts for something.

Stephen is perched, nonchalantly leaning up the kitchen counter with his hands in his pants pockets. His dark green turtleneck has what looks like a giant dust smudge mucking up the front of it, and there might be one on his left cheek to match. Overall, he looks tired more than anything else. The communicator is, apparently, floating around him.]

I'm afraid I've always been something of a hoarder. A very wise man once suggested that I look for permanence in things rather than people and that until I divest myself of my more materialistic impulses, my relationships would continue to suffer. I don't know about that. I think I've done pretty well. Here, anyway.

[He's far more of a hermit back home, but hey, who's really going to correct him.]

Nevertheless, there are things I find I truly don't need. Things that I, quite frankly, had forgotten were even in my possession.

[He crosses the kitchen and the comm follows, watching him reach into what would usually be a dish-cupbard and dig out a box that really doesn't look like it should fit in there. On it are the words "Weasley's Don't Touch!!!" in scrawling, hand-written permanent marker.]

Some of you might remember Misters Weasley the Former and Weasley the Identical. They-- [He catches himself and just narrowly avoids looking sad. Instead, when Stephen looks back at the camera, his grey eyes are more detached than ever. They're an odd compliment to his mild, but not-unpleasant expression.] When they left, they left a great deal of their belongings in my care. I'd hoped, foolishly, that they might return and that I could give them back. Well, I think it's safe to say now that such will not be happening.

[He sets the box down on the counter and removes what looks to be a board game. If there are tribal drums playing in the background, Stephen certainly doesn't seem to notice.]

Even if they did return, I can't imagine why they'd need six copies of a game, and I don't think I'd get very much for them at a yardsale. So, network, help me do a bit of spring cleaning, and take one. Perhaps it will provide a pleasant distraction from the political dramas of late.

[The comm moves in to show the logo of the game clearly, just before Stephen's hand covers it and the video goes blank.]

((ooc: This is related to the Jumanji plot that will be going down next week! If you have any questions, or want to sign up to get one of the games, hit up that post. Stephen will only actually be giving copies out to characters who are having game nights for the plot. Thanks!))
sorcerersupreme: (.hand model)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Stephen's in his usual dusty, poorly-lit kitchen. There's a kettle on the stove and several boxes of tea on the counter next to it. More immediately, he's floating (yes, floating) over the table which is covered, rather atypically, in notes and large. In addition to the notes, which are written in small, abysmally messy handwriting, the table seems like it might actually break (or at least bow) under the weight of several thick, academic-looking books with such titles as Epidemics of 19th Century New England, and The History of Tuberculosis. Only one title seems notably out of place. Somehow Vampires of Fact and Fiction just sticks in the mass of medical and historical texts.

The communicator itself must also be floating, at least from the angle of the video. Stephen eyes it before clearing his throat and assuming a passive, rehearsed sort of tone.]

There's a curiosity I've been pondering of late. You see, vampires and other similar creatures of the night are as old as time itself. Ironically, despite the realness of the threat, we've often, as a culture or multiple cultures, dismissed their presence a purely fictitious. Moreover, we've cheated ourselves by blaming any number of easily explained diseases on the presence of these predators. In actuality, of course, it was simply that the scientific or medical knowledge of the locals was lacking or insufficient.

One practice I am particularly and morbidly fascinated with, I have to say, is exhumation. The fact that often it out be the surviving family, neighbors, or clergy who would be the ones to well... Dig the accused vampire up and do whatever the local custom dictated to the body is, suffice it to say, impressive. My own experience with these creatures being unfortunately family related, I have to ask myself if I would have the fortitude, if I thought it might help.

... Tuberculosis was a common factor in vampirism, particularly in North America. It's ridiculous, of course, but I've always thought death by tuberculosis to be rather romantic, particularly in women. A lot of it had to do with the manner of dress back in that period and the inability of the lungs to properly develop. Yes, ridiculous... [His mustache quirks in a slightly rueful smile.] Naturally, I suppose Vivien Leigh falling victim to it didn't help my perception. She was never believed to be a vampire, though, from what I recall.

Other diseases which were linked to vampire scares both in America and in Europe were the bubonic plague, or Black Death, small pox, and typhus. Porphyria, a hereditary condition that often resulted anemia, mental instability and other neurological issues, loss of pigmentation in the skin, and photosensitivity has also been linked, but it's incredibly rare and I personally can't believe that it would've resulted in all that many exhumations. Moreover, as a hereditary illness, it wouldn't have been contagious like any of the other diseases I've listed, which each resulted in multiple historical epidemics. The anemia, photosensitivity, and loss of pigmentation however, do seem evocative of what we generally think of as vampire-traits, though, don't they?

Anyway, the long and short of this tirade-- And I apologize that it's become a tirade-- is that I wonder if our generation will have any great "vampire scares". You can take that literally, or perhaps in the broader sense. I wonder if there will be any great discoveries which change our perception of something we've previously considered to be a very reasonably explained phenomenon.

Oh, and before I let you go... Remember, it's flu season and we are overdue for another great epidemic. Don't forget to take your vitamins lest you die under mysterious circumstances and your loved ones are forced to burn and consume your heart. Stay healthy if only to spare them that.

[And with that Stephen nods politely and the feed cuts itself.]
sorcerersupreme: (.vanish in a flash of light)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Stephen's levitating high above his typically cluttered desk. It's surprisingly clean, for once. In fact, the entire visible living room seems surprisingly clean and there's far more natural light than usual. His expression is neutral and his eyes are closed. This is true even when he starts speaking. The communicator itself seems to be hovering at somewhere around his eye-level, lilting and swaying as if he's not paying all that much attention to it, not really.]

Perhaps it's the change in seasons, but today I've been acting as a man possessed. The stagnation of my life has suddenly hit me in a way that hasn't happened in a great many years. I've cleaned, I've cataloged my belongings and, more importantly, I've begun to take inventory of my accomplishments here. June marked a year an a half since my arrival and I'm disappointed to say that other than contribute to the pest problem in the subways, I've done relatively little with my time here. I'd like to change that.

[He pauses, swaying slightly, not unlike the communicator.]

Of course, there's the chance that I've simply become enchanted by the autumn air and the fresh, effervescent aura of the students returning to their studies. We shall see how I feel about all of this nonsense in the morning, I suppose.

In the meantime, network, I have one of those questions which you love so much. Do you believe in magic? And if so, in what capacity? Personal anecdotes and extrapolations on your position are, as always, appreciated.

[The communicator sways again, dips slightly, and then abruptly turns off. Up to the last second, Stephen remains tranquil and meditative.]
sorcerersupreme: (.glowing eye)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The feed clicks on abruptly. The communicator is spinning along with various other pots, pans, shrunken heads, and fancy looking perfume bottles, all around a very cluttered, very interesting looking study. In the background is Dr. Zoidberg, dusting some shelf and looking pretty unaffected. This is just business as usual in Dr. Strange's house, apparently.

And as for Strange himself... The good doctor is swaying animatedly to a beat that has appeared out of no where. He sashays over to Zoidberg and stops abruptly, clapping his friend (?) on the shoulder.]

You remind me of the babe.

[Zoidberg looks completely lost.]What babe?

The babe with the power.

What power?! What?

The power of voodoo. Who do? You do.

Do what?! Remind me of the babe.

[Strange continues swaying, and the Cloak of Levitation abruptly joins them, locking arms (or hems and claws) with Zoidberg and waltzing. There's still magical and completely mundane household objects flying all over the place.]

I saw my baby, crying hard as babe could cry
What could I do
My baby's love had gone
And left my baby blue
Nobody knew

[And Strange catches a shrunken head, holding it in a very Hamlet-esque pose]

What kind of magic spell to use?

Slime or snails or puppy dog tails! [Zoidberg scuttles happily and the Cloak nods its collar in agreement.]

Thunder or lightning
Then baby said

[The shrunken head animates itself for a moment:] Dance magic dance!

[The music swells and everything starts spinning around faster. Zoidberg, Strange and the skull continue chanting "dance magic dance", and the skull starts flying. The last thing captured by the camera is a very nice tea cup with two young men playing leapfrog in china blue color flying at the viewfinder before there's a clinking crash and the feed cuts off entirely.]
sorcerersupreme: (.unimpressed)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Stephen is nursing a cup of tea in his dusty old kitchen. It's poorly lit, but the discerning viewer can still make out that everything has been removed from the pantry and placed willy-nilly on top of all the counters and even on the floor. The door is ajar, and even one of the shelves is missing.]

It is my sincere suspicion that Fred and George Weasley have been ported out. My apologies to anyone who knew them. In regards to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, any completed orders that I find will be shipped. Anyone with a pending order can contact me here, or privately, and I will do my best to sort everything out. I apologize, but the fabrication end of the business never held much interest to me, and thus, I believe that it will officially close its doors once these transactions are complete.

[He sighs. This is why he doesn't do sidekicks, alright? They invariably leave and that's sad.]

[Private to Angelica Jones and Calvin]
I believe I have something for Calvin, if one of you would like to retrieve it.

14; video

Feb. 20th, 2012 06:15 pm
sorcerersupreme: (Default)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Oh hey. It's Stephen hanging out in the back of what appears to be a small dessert shop or cafe. Spoilers, it is. He's chilling in at a quiet table in his PinkBerry. The discerning ear may hear Zoidberg scuttling around in the background ("What?! You wanted a sample flavor?"), but other than that, it seems like a typical quiet day in the village.]

You know this Skrull business has never sat well with me. There are any number of things that can alter appearances. Mutant ability, magical inclinations... The means of achieving such are really quite numerous. The fact that we are all so fixated -and inevitably become fixated upon- throwing around wild accusations seems tasteless quite irregardless of its effectiveness or lack thereof.

Of course there will be counter arguments. Human nature feeds nicely into a mob mentality, which in turn quickly becomes a witch hunt. Hence their many occurrences historically. However we are a small, and relatively subjugated group in this world. I would think that solidarity should be seen as prudent if not out and out necessary. Lest some bureaucrat decide it necessary to begin registering us for our protection, or some such rubbish.

[He sighs, reshuffling a small stack of papers in font of him. On the outside, they look like invoices.]

I realize with recent events claims of being able to detect Skrulls should be taken with a grain of salt. Even powers which have worked quite well in the past seem to be... Acting up, shall we say? [Around then, Zoidberg's attention seems to refocus. His off-camera cries turn to "Doctor Strange! They want to lynch me, they do!". Stephen tosses him a look.] However, I have, since the beginning on my training, had a certain natural insight into souls and the origins thereof. I cannot promise to tell if you are an alien, but I can reveal what you believe yourself to be. There would be no opportunity to lie, and I'm afraid that it could potentially be awkward if you are not entirely comfortable with who you are, as such internal views would be broadcast publicly for a period of around ten minutes.

If anyone wishes to alleviated concerns regarding a loved one, housemate, or even [another look] family pet, I'd be happy to do so, if you stop by my shop within normal business hours.

[And with that (and some other random yelling from Zoidberg), Stephen cuts the feed.]

[Private to Clint Barton, Bobbi Morse, Tony Stark, Carol Danvers, Jen Walters, Spider-Man, and Namor]
It's time we all sat down for a chat, don't you think?

[Private to Fred and George Weasley]
Perhaps something to take our minds off the current events is in order. Free your calendars for this Friday.
sorcerersupreme: (.mmmur?)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Oh hey look, it's Dr. Strange. But he's not hanging out in his dusty old kitchen this time. Instead he's in a well-lit little Yogurt Shop. In the background, one Dr. Zoidberg can be seen, all bundled up in a winter coat.]

It's come to my attention rather recently that there's been some miscommunication involving our delivery policy. Pinkberry delivers to addresses within a ten block radius in any direction. Orders over $10 will receive free delivery. Free delivery does not excuse you from tipping your delivery boy. Let's not be stingy. We unfortunately cannot deliver to any location outside of that ten block radius, no exceptions. I'm sorry, but on that policy in particular, we must be very strict. Dr. Zoidberg's insurance plan is quite specific.

[At that, Zoidberg scuttles up to the camera, claws waving wildly in his puff coat.]

The blisters! Oh the blisters! It's only the 15th and I can't get anymore lanced this month!

There you have it. I hope this has been informative and, remember, Pinkberry delivers.

[And with that, the feed cuts.]
sorcerersupreme: (gendowned)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The feed flashes on not to Doctor Strange's dusty kitchen, but rather to a dark, dank room with a concrete floor. A single candle slightly toward the right of the frame provides a slightly eerie and definitely unhelpful light. Strange's sorcerer's robes reflect yellow and gold in the candle light. In his gold silk covered palm, the fake Eye of Agamotto he created is glistening and gleaming, even in the dull light.]

For quite some time now, I have held this symbol as the giver of all that is true. To the everlasting Vishanti lay all my devotion and praise, for it was through their power that I had been blessed with my own. The truth is that magic is only so powerful as the creature it can invoke, only so dangerous as its inspiration and fuel. For decades I have bound myself, restricted my spells and my practice because that is what was good and pious in my realm. My place was to serve and to maintain the balance. I could not myself become a threat to that balance, or so I believed.

[He tosses the fake Eye up into the air and catches it, fingers closing easily, almost bitterly around it when it lands. There are no visible shakes or trimmers.]

The truth is actually quite ironic. Any mortal creature which is called "supreme", will, in its hubris, upset the balance. Surely one who on whom Eternity itself has bestowed the title "All-Knowing" would see that. Prepare for it. Moreover, this is not my realm. I have no such restrictions. And I find that my boredom in this realm can no longer be contained.

[He tosses the Eye up and suddenly the entire room is bathed in a pale, yellow light. At his feet there's a spellcaster's circle with a what looks like a pool of blood and other unpleasant things off to one side.]

By the seven rings of Raggadorr,
may my future actions be visible
only to the evil ones before me!
Heed my incantation, O shades
of the shadowy demons! Reveal
thyselves to the blackhearted
mortals who stand before thee!
Thus speaks thy master!
Thus speaks Dr. Strange!

[As he's speaking, the pool of blood has spontaneously caught fire. Strange doesn't seem to notice, merely speaks louder. As he finishes, Strange cackles and the flames expand to consume the comm. Replies will be kind of spotty because Strange is still actively trying to bring hellfire down on his brownstone. It's actually just going to burn up his kitchen. The poor china.]
sorcerersupreme: (.put a spell on you)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The comm sort of bounces up and bobs as it clicks on. Stephen is in his usual dusty kitchen which looks a little more cluttered than usual. There are boxes of cereal, oatmeal, a loaf of bread and other miscellaneous food items on the counter, along with a few canned items. All in all, it looks like someone cleared out their pantry in a rush and really wasn't paying much attention to keeping it organized. Strange himself is pacing, randomly picking up items and staring at them with way more interest than is typically merited by a can of asparagus. The comm follows his movements, obviously guided by someone (or something) else.]

In over fifty years, I have seen a vast variety of magic. While all of it has been tinged and flavored by the sorcerers which employ it, there is always a rhyme and reason to it. A logic and common rules which interconnect every spell, every channeling of another entity's power.

[He sets the asparagus down on one of the few empty spaces and turns to investigate a box of Twinnings Earl Grey. His brow is furrowed for a moment until he closes his eyes and sets that down to, satisfied that it is not at all remarkable, but annoyed that he clearly hasn't found what he's looking for.]

I suppose a more patient man than I would speak to the wonder in uncertainty, the chance that I might have found something new to which I can aspire and learn. After 80 years, I'm afraid my patience has thinned.

[He sighs and turns, walking into another area of the kitchen. The comm follows, but behind him (and definitely outside his view), the pantry door is still visible. Further, there's an odd dull yellow light coming from under the door.]

[OOC: So the Weasley twins have built a portal between their pantry and Stephen's and basically the magic is dissimilar to anything in the Marvel U (IE - doesn't borrow from another deity/demon and isn't supplemented by a mutant or other innate power) that he's having problems figuring out what the hell is up with this nonsense and how they keep getting in. So uhh. Yeah.]
sorcerersupreme: (Default)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Strange is sitting in some kind of dank-looking bar. In the background, there's music from some terribly outdated jukebox. Half-visible to the comm (and partially obscuring the view of his face) is a tall glass of something alcoholic and cheap. What better way to celebrate your birthday, no?]

In another hour I'll be 81, or rather, two thousand and eighty-one, depending on how one looks at it. [His mustache quirks ruefully.] It doesn't damn well matter if you ask me. Wong would probably have some words of wisdom about aging and experience and things that an old man can know, but a young man can only dream of experiencing. Maybe it's petty, but I'd take my addle-brained inexperience over the growing stiffness in my joints right now. Maybe it's petty. It's probably petty...

[He trails off, looking a little sad. Wong would also have something encouraging to say and would probably convince him to go home and sober up. Welp.]

Oh, but while I've got you, my PinkBerry is looking for part-time, seasonal help. It would be inconsiderate of me to not first alert anyone on this network who might be looking for a job. The pay is decent, though not outrageous, but I'd recommend it for someone young and looking to keep himself out of trouble after school. Please direct all applications to Dr. Zoidberg at the 177 Bleecker Street location.

[He fumbles slightly for the comm. His hands are shaking and not behaving themselves at all, meaning that any glamours or magic he's put on them is being strained. Or maybe it's just the alcohol and fear of growing older. Who really knows.]
sorcerersupreme: (.cigarette in my hand)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The feed cuts on to show Strange, sitting at a desk in a poorly lit room. There's an old-looking lamp that's just barely in view, he eyes the camera and then waves a gloved hand over the paper. It floats up and on the paper very visibly are the words "proof of insurance", "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes", "witnessed by Stephen Strange, MD." and "notarized by Matthew Murdock."]

Misters Weasley the former, and Weasley the identical - I have a contribution to your business efforts. Perhaps you would be willing to discuss my further assistance in your ventures over tea.

[He nods and waves a gloved hand again and the paper vanishes into a very sparkly cloud of nothingness.]

Along with my cut, of course. I look forward to hearing from you.

[And there ends the feed.]
sorcerersupreme: (.through the fire and the flames)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Have a video of Strange looking remarkably sheepish. An observant onlooker might notice his cape looks annoyed. It's kind of huffing at him from the corner.]

I've found a pack of cigarettes, two empty bottles of liquor and a collection of match books from various local bars, French, and Italian restaurants. My memory is thankfully clouded regarding the last week, but I'll nonetheless apologize to anyone who feels they merit it.

Especially, [And he might be sort of cringing at this.] to any young women who might feel I've offended them. There's a good chance that I did.

06; [video]

May. 7th, 2011 09:51 pm
sorcerersupreme: (.pb - young badass)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[Hello, network. Peering at you through one very dashing grey-blue eye is a young Stephen Strange. He pulls away from the camera, enough for everyone to catch a glimpse of a very nice, wrinkle free forehead, and less extremely arched eyebrows. Actually the Doc looks a lot more normal. And about 25. Huh, weird.]

This will seem rather juvenile a question, but would anyone mind telling me how I ended up in this rather large old house? Granted, it quite close to campus and I'm not sure I mind that the mail here seems to be intended for me.

But, god -- I don't think Devon and I had that much to drink last night. And with my student loans, I don't know where he'd find a bank to approve me anyway. At least not one in Manhattan.

So yes, an explanation. I look forward to hearing it.
sorcerersupreme: (.facepalm)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[If anyone's paying attention to the room behind Strange, they might notice that it's dusty, poorly lit, with a spell caster's circle and a dead pigeon in the center of it. The Doctor himself seems... Tired. And slightly annoyed. Might have something to do with the dead pigeon. Or just... Pigeons. Pigeons.]

Two things of note.

Firstly, I would very much like to know the name of the person responsible for placing a sign for ten dollar palm readings on my stoop. I have a number of would be customer complaints to relate to them.

Secondly, I know the origin of our pest problem.

[He looks like he's about to say something, but thinks better of it and cuts the feed.]

04; [video]

Apr. 1st, 2011 02:30 pm
sorcerersupreme: (glowing eye)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The video starts up to show Stephen standing in what appears to be a very sparsely decorated living room. If anyone's familiar with New York architecture, it appears to be in an older brownstone. The high ceilings, cracked sheet rock, and slightly skewed crown moldings are a pretty dead give away. The place looks more or less clean, but there's a few piles of boxes headed off into a hallway.]

... I had hoped to extend this invitation to certain individuals first, but in light of recent events it seems I won't be given the chance.

As some of you know, my name is Dr. Stephen Strange. For those of you I haven't met, hello. In my world, I am a (mildly accomplished) student of the occult. For no less than thirty years, I've attempted to help my friends and neighbors deal with any circumstances regarding the supernatural that they may find troubling. The loss of my home and sanctum in this would proved a setback in performing the same duties here, but it was hardly permanent and I am proud to again offer my services in these tasks.

Thus, if there is an issue about which you wish to speak further, please do not hesitate to contact me here. Further, if it's something that requires more privacy, you may come to my Sanctum at 152 West 3rd Street. As you can see, not everything has been sufficiently decorated, but I'm sure I can find space to work somewhere.

[And with that, Stephen smiles slightly ruefully, gives the camera a little nod and off goes the feed. What this means ooc wise is that The Doctor is in and will answer any ridiculous questions your kids might have regarding magical stuff to the best of his abilities. He'll also unwittingly enchant your pigeons. :|]

03; video

Jan. 15th, 2011 12:11 pm
sorcerersupreme: (pb - wait what)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The feed flickers on to show Stephen's gloved hand pulling away from the comm. He doesn't seem to be in his usual good spirits today. In fact, his usually perfect hair is kind of ruffled, and he might be sweating slightly. Overall, not the picture of the calm mystic he usually portrays.]

Ah-- Hello. I'm always so surprised when this thing works properly for me, I--

[A stack of books crashes in the background. There's a puff of dust where they land and in the rising dust, the shape of a teenage girl is visible. She's petite, pale, with blue hair and glasses. Stephen turns to look back at her and though his tone is scolding, it's also very fond and slightly sad.]

Casey, I asked you not to touch those. You may not be tangible, but there's really no telling how ancient tomes will react to the less than living. [A pause.] I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that.

[He turns back to face the feed, trying valiantly not to look quite so frazzled.]

I've sensed many interesting things in the past week, but I thought the most by far would be a rather stimulating conversation with my bathwater regarding Vivaldi. However, I do have a question for you, network, how many of you have been visited by spirits recently. And, perhaps more importantly, what was the last known status of these individuals?

[Ghost!Casey floats up behind Stephen, leaning over his shoulder to look into the camera. Closer up, she's notably translucent and kind of desaturated. He tries to hold up his arm to signal her to back up, but it just ends up floating awkwardly through Casey's shoulder. Strange doesn't seem surprised, but he's definitely disappointed.]

Casey, you need to move away from the comm now. Was there something you wanted to read about in those books? I'll turn the pages for you...

[She doesn't really reply but floats back over to them. Strange reaches forward to turn off the feed. There's no need to broadcast eerie ghost story time over the network now that his question has been asked.]

02; video

Dec. 11th, 2010 02:24 pm
sorcerersupreme: (vanish in a flash of light)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[The camera is a heck of a lot steadier this time, although every so often floats up and down, as if hovering. More odd than that, though, are the purple and yellow lights that seem to dance around an otherwise poorly lit room. After a few seconds, a pair of black gloved hands are visible. The fingers are fanned out but the still seem to be holding a very simple, handwritten note. It also seems to be glowing and reads...]

[After about a minute, the right hand waves and then the fingers snap. The note seemingly dissolves into a swarm of tiny purple and yellow butterflies and the feed cuts.]

01; video

Dec. 6th, 2010 06:09 pm
sorcerersupreme: (:|)
[personal profile] sorcerersupreme
[There’s a sound like someone is shuffling around with the comm. A gloved fingertip covers the camera before a man’s torso is visible for a split second. It vanishes into darkness again, probably the result of another finger blocking the lens. After a few muffled curses and some added shuffling, the picture shows the face of Stephen Strange. His usual immaculately groomed hair is just a little tousled and he seems slightly miffed over something. Maybe the episode with the camera, or maybe the trip over… Whatever it is, he shrugs it off quickly. No use dwelling.]

-- Well, let it never be said that I don’t make a token effort to keep up with the technology of the day.

Good afternoon to all, or evening, actually. It was afternoon when I left. It seems I've been captured by some unknown entity. While for all intents and purposes this might appear to be my New York, I have a sneaking suspicion that assumption would be incorrect.

[His mustache gives a delicate little quirk. Something that might be the hint of a smile.]

... Though I've probably not told you anything you didn't already know. So, is there someone out there willing to tell an old man what to make of all this madness? Or should I simply hail a cab and see what's become of my home.

[Strange offers a courteous nod of his head before the image gets blocked by another gloved hand and the feed cuts out abruptly.]


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