Dr. Strange

Posts from the last thread, consolidated

Posts from previous thread:

"Jean, my thanks on your promptness, I hope I have not disturbed your plans too greatly." Erik's response to Jean's arrival was much in the manner of her greeting. Unlike her communication with Charles, and perhaps others of her more long term allegiance, it remained spoken, in the clipped politeness of humanity rather than the freeflow of mutant telepathic thought. In this instance in particular the latter would have been impossible, the cold metal of Magneto's helm placed upon his features. A sure sign these days that Eric whished to keep his thoughts from straying into the minds of those who might wish to listen. "I would offer refreshments as a good host, but I imagine the selection and the celebration I have taken you from would be far superior, so we shall be direct." Eric's hands met behind his back, his eyes drifting from the form she struck, having just touched down on the structure of his home. His focus settled on the view of the island, and the celebrants, even as he spoke again.

"I am sure you well understand the fragility of this, even as we celebrate. What Charles and I have had to become to ensure it, among the work of others, has necessitated a pragmatism that is far from his first vision, as much as it was my own." As the man spoke, he extended one hand, a trio of metallic orbs floating from within the chamber he had been waiting in, beginning to turn and rotate in perfect even synchronicity around his hand. A form of meditation, but also no doubt, demonstration. "It could not have been done without it, but I also believe we have lost something important, and equally necessary." Once again his eyes settled on her, a turn of his head to bring her back into focus, all the glimmer of her outfit and the blazing corona of her red hair. The woman who had held creation within her.

"It is necessary for you to take a place on the Quiet Council, to hold Charles to account, myself as well, although I doubt you would ever refrain from that duty, even if you weren't." Time and shared struggle had done much to ease the scars of the past, but the memories of their own terrible power turned on each other was still there. "It has to be you, you are a beacon to them, the people celebrating below, even those who hate you, and more importantly, only you could make us appear trivial, were it to be needed." It was certainly not a question, although it fell short of an order, a statement impressing upon her the importance of what he was saying, and perhaps addressing the need for the wearing of his helmet, to prevent him being convinced otherwise before he could bring the matter to her.

Even for one possessed of great mental control, Jean Grey was distracting. Eric imagined he could stretch the belief that it was a facet of her powers, but in truth that would be giving himself too much credit. It had far more to do with the cascade of red hair, the sing-song of her laugh as the giggle tumbled forth and the way the shimmering emerald of her outfit flared after her waist into her hips than any great telepathic ability.

"I believe there are still grooves." He mused quietly as she turned course on their conversation to discuss the furniture and its unintentional use. A lesser man would have joined the grin, but he prevented such, instead offering a warm smile at her acceptance of the request he had made of her, allowing his previous words instead to suggest that he hadn't quite forgotten either.

The next words which issued forth from her steeled him, allowing the warmth that had been building from her presence to drip away. Matters with Wanda were never easy, and her own children were often even more extreme. He could not blame them, but it was still a complication. They were wounds he one day wished to heal, but for the moment, had kept on cutting.

"Thank you, Jean." The words answered the summation of both her agreement and the news she had passed on, even as she was drifting away, the enclosing hold of his helmet slipped away, allowing the other, less horrifyingly powerful, telepaths of the island to reach him from beyond its restraining hold. She had only just passed the lip of the balcony before Magneto began his own flight. Unlike Jean, he did not drift leisurely, the Master of Magnetism soaring into the air as he twisted the force of the world around him, moving at a speed that was enough to draw attention from the ground below.

The attention only grew more intense as he neared his destination, dropping lower in descent, the exited inhabitants of the Lagoon turning from their revelry to note one of the Quiet Council moving towards them at speed. It wasn't panic, it was just good gossip. He did not land with force, nothing quiet so dramatic, but the magnetic ripple at him suddenly coming to a half a short distance from both Emma Frost and the two boys. Without the helm, the passing wave of energy shuddered through his own grey-white hair as he halted in mid-air, before gently drifting the final foot to touch down deftly.

"Miss Frost, I do hope you are enjoying the festivities." His initial greeting was directed to his fellow council member, before his attention shifted to the forms of Wiccan and Speed. "Welcome Home."

The carousel, despite it being the nexus of the Krakoan community, was not particularly busy at the time, a state of affairs which suited Magneto quite well. Much had been done to establish Mutants in their own nation, a people apart. It had not been the future most had hoped for, but it had been necessary. It was a truth he had known for longer than most, a lesson learned and earned many times over.

Yet here he was, preparing to attend the most human of occasions, a ceremony that, should matters remain as they were for mutantkind, need never again occur for his own people. Before he had been Magneto, however, he had been Max Eisenhardt, born to a people that were bound together tighter than most, across borders jealously guarded by other peoples, but mostly ignored by them. It was a closeness, much like mutantkind, forged by necessity, from the predations of outsiders. It had damned and saved them countless times, and it was not something he could ignore, not forever.

So the helmet had been removed, the white and black of Magneto replaced with a finely tailored suit of the same colouring, a silver chain hanging from the centre of his waistcoat to one pocket. He had been told that this, along with the flat cap position atop his white shock of hair had become fashionable once more, but to him it was simply the style of his choice, from a lifetime of altering tastes among the wider human people. He supposed there were some advantages to being a man out of his era.

He had been preparing to leave for some time, waiting for no particular moment among the sparse spattering of mutants going to and thro. Their presence only amplified the debate within him, these were his people, not those beyond the portal. When he had finally exhaled and taken to cross the threshold, a familiar voice resounded within his head itself.

"Hold a moment."

"I will not be long, Miss Frost, I am sure Krakoa will survive for a day," The sudden thought something had arisen that might prevent him from paying his respects was not a comfortable one, and it was one which convinced him, finally, that is was the right thing to do, even if simply for himself, and those who had been lost along the way. No reply was forthcoming from the telepath, however, and so he did as instructed, pausing, not wishing to risk any ire from a lack of patience.

Then he saw her, the crest of red hair over black and brown, drifting through the air itself. It was a sight many would enjoy, he was sure, but when he beheld her there was more to his understanding. Was that not how the humans depicted their divinities? The song of angels on high, Christ descending among them. As the woman who had been the Phoenix touched down, boot-clad feet onto grass, his mind considered just how much destiny shifted around her, around all mutants. Only her voice, spoken aloud unlike Emma's, snapped him from such considerations.

"Miss Grey, keenly observed as ever, although perhaps knowing the machinations of a certain mutual connection, I believe we may be heading in the same direction." Something of the Head Masterly tone entered his words as he spoke, it was not entirely deliberate, for their times at Xavier's school had never intersected, beyond the somewhat awkward number of times he had been trying to destroy the place. "While I do suspect of the two of us, she considers me the risk that needs managing, I may pretend at least otherwise, and ask if do not mind for me to accompany you?" He tilted one hand towards the portal, as one might have a carriage door, in ages past.

Although quiet drives were rare things, he found the pickup of the protectee from the small airport just north of the Capital District of New York, and the subsequent drive into Albany, to be a landscape of gentle, green rolling foot hills that seemed to melt into the Hudson River valley, with the Catskills Mountains hazy in the distance.

It would have been downright relaxing, if not for the protectee, and the reason for their presence. The handheld encrypted radio bleeped into activity, breaking the quiet drive.

“We have a problem.”

The man seated behind the driver of the large, black, General Motors SUV gave a wry smile, and brought the radio closer to his mouth to answer, “What problem?”

“She’s here, but she isn’t alone. Fucking Magneto came with her.”

Greg Joseph found his eyebrows perk at both the mention of the man, and the way in which the Agency analyst on the other end of the radio said it. Fucking Magneto, the senior analyst said, and he found himself not blaming them for it.

Joseph found himself pausing before responding, exchanging a look from the Special Agent in the front passenger seat, before turning his head to the right, to the man seated quietly in the seat behind the front passenger seat, eyes perking at the protectee, “News to you?”

“I had no idea, no. I just knew she was coming.”

Everything about Paul Bailey told the former US Army Intelligence and Law Enforcement turned CIA Mutant Desk Chief that he was being honest. A soft sigh escaped him before the radio went back to his mouth, Joseph taking another pause as his mind raked across the files and reports in his mind. “…we don’t normally see her alone, do we?”

Even the Special Agent in the front passenger seat looked back at his boss, a curious look on the Agent’s face. What are you getting at? Their senior analyst’s feminine tone softened, as her mind played catch-up, “Jean Grey?”

He didn’t have the patience for them to find it, themselves, “Think about every time we’ve seen her go through a Krakoan Gate. Is she ever alone?...no, right? Never? Meanwhile, Ororo Munroe sneaks out and surprises our analysts on the subway, or pops into Wakanda, or Kitty Pryde is boating around the world's oceans, or Emma Frost is strolling through gates solo like she owns the world…why is this woman different? Why is she never alone?”

“Could be coincidence,” the tall, blonde, former college athlete Special Agent in the front passenger seat offered.

The senior analyst came back over the radio, ”…she’s either always with teammates, family, or children. Or…”

“Or the woman who zapped an entire star and killed an entire solar system of people because she got godly levels of bitchy isn’t someone they want walking around the world alone.”

A surprise voice chimed in, the man next to Joseph, the woman’s former brother-in-law, “She’s not like that.” Even the driver peeked back in the rear-view when Bailey spoke up, as the thin man with the crown of brown hair on a quickly balding head shifted slightly, realizing every eye in the vehicle was on him, now, before continuing, “…I lost the love of my life, my wife. I lost my children.”

There was a knife’s edge of emotion deep enough for Paul Bailey to lose himself in, but Bailey took a slow breath before speaking more, “I knew her parents. I knew every sister and brother. I knew every member of that family. None of them ever spoke of her like that—not even remotely. And I knew her, myself. She’s not like that, Deputy Director. I would have told those Shi’ar aliens the same thing when they murdered my family, and her’s, adult and child alike. I would have died too, had I not been working late that night. Whatever this Phoenix did, it wasn’t Jean Grey. My wife and our babies bet their lives on that. They killed them all anyway. Justice, they called it, I was told…I don’t know about this Shi’ar Empire, Deputy Director, but I should hope MY government, THEIR government, wouldn’t be so quick to assume the same horrible thing.”

The car slowed to a stop outside the four-story over-a-century-old red-brown brick building that shared the entire city block with the cement parking garage that acted as secondary parking for New York State government buildings in the area. The corner space of the old red-brown brick building was The Hollow, a bar and restaurant popular with both the state government employees from their state buildings surrounding the street and the lawyers from the US District Court just a block down the street, across the 797 Interstate that divided Albany from the riverfront of the Hudson. They stood outside on the sidewalk, staring into the backseat of the long, black, American-made SUV.

“…okay,” Greg Joseph said, nodding, “Let’s do this.” The tall, youthful, former college athlete of a Special Agent was out of the car, first, not saying a word, just opening the back passenger seat to let Paul Bailey out.

Bailey got out, immediately embracing the sister of his late-wife, and aunt of his late-children, Jean Grey. Joseph watched for a second, until he looked past the two, and saw the man still staring at him. The mutant, Greg Joseph corrected himself in his thoughts as he got out, putting on his best Sunday morning church of a smile. “Greg Joseph, Mutant Desk Chief,” he walked right up to Erik Lensherr, offering his hand, same as he always did, same as his daddy always taught him to do when meeting someone for the first time. Friendly, but respectful, firm. Same as he taught his son, he thought, as he looked at Paul Bailey and the woman, again.

“It’s okay.” Jean smiled at Paul, doubtless telepathic words passed between them as they stared at one another, Jean slipping her arm into Paul’s, pointing them down the sidewalk and heels clicking on pavement as the two started walking, towards the end of the city block, towards the car park, casting bright green eyes over her shoulder, at Magneto, then, to him. “Hello, Mr. Joseph. I hope we’re not keeping you too busy? Thank you for bringing Paul.”

He nodded, that Sunday church steps smile cemented on his features, the Texas in his accent as clear as the sunshine of the day, “Yes, Ma’am, one of the few times the Mutant Desk gets to do something so wholesome. We’ve been busy the past year since the uh…what do you call it? Birth of your nation?” He asked, not wanting to just call it ‘that Krakoa thing’, looking to the man keeping pace with Bailey and Grey next to him to answer the question, to Lensherr.

In the brief moments that existed before the arrival of the spattering of humans, the brief moments where there was still a possibility the day could have been a quiet, but solemn one, Magneto had asked the question that had niggled at him for the last few interactions he had with Jean Grey.

"Even Charles does not call me Max, not to suggest there are not differences between him and me, and you, but he knows those times of my life better than most." It was an unusual number of words for the usually precise Magento, and he would have to admit to himself that despite his experience of years, there was something about her that made him grasp for words in a way he had not for a long time. Equally, while the implication was otherwise, he avoided 'better than you' when you spoke with telepaths like Xavier and Jean Grey, they could know your own history better than you. "Why the change?" A simple question, for a complicated issue, interrupted by the arrival of the sort of blacked out vehicle which usually meant you were either meeting the Federal Government or the local cartel. In his experience on this continent, the distinction had always eluded him.

If there was another present with similar gifts to the finely, if slightly old fashioned, dressed mutant, the slight hum in the air would no doubt notice the subtle change in the air. All around them small metallic objects buzzed with the slight force of his attention, their focus trained gently to move through the air should he need them. The firearms in the possession of those stepping forth onto the street would be found to be most inoperable should they be drawn, only temporarily, but that's all that mattered.

He clasped the man's hand in greeting and decided roughly in that moment he would likely prove to be one of his preferred representatives of the United States various agencies he had met. This meant little in his evaluation of the man along lines that mattered, he had murdered people he had loved and spared those he hated when the cause was involved, but it would at least make the walk a more pleasant experience.

"Mr Joseph," It was a simple enough greeting, but the nod of polite respect he gave the man did much to suggest he simply wished to not insult his intelligence by feeling the need to give his own introduction. "The Birth of Krakoa is an apt name for it, if future communications to your government should be run through yourself I will be happy to inform our Council, although you may forgive our hesitation with divisions named as yours's is." The 'Mutant Desk' was never normally a pleasant term, not for those it had been created to monitor.

The formal meeting of state representatives, however different in their roles, was put aside for the moment as Magneto turned his attention to Paul Bailey, offering him another nod and smile of greeting, that was several degrees less political and several degrees more conversational, even as he walked ahead with Jean "Mr Bailey, pleased to meet you." In other circumstances he would likely allude to some support should he need against the government that had propelled him here, but that seemed a little unnecessary given the situation.

"Do forgive me if I am straight to business, but I had hoped to pay respects to a departed family friend on this day, what matter brings federal agents to attend us? I do so hope it is something a little more interesting than fear of our presence."

_{Magik, Strange, Wong
Location: ... all over the place}

Wong had never realized how much bureaucracy the Sorcerer Supreme had to deal with until he held the title himself. He already dealt with a lot when he was working under Strange, being more methodical and detail oriented than his former boss and used to dealing with things that Strange avoided, now he retained all of those duties along with a whole host of new ones. He was in some kind of Séance-discussion about the latest tricks in warding spells when Ilyana came to the door. Wong was trying to actually pay attention because this meeting involved some very ancient wizards who seldom bothered to even join these things, making it a rare opportunity to learn from them. The magic of the Sanctum alerted him that someone was at the door, but Wong was fine with letting them wait. Perhaps they didn’t know about his newly implemented policy of official visiting hours and scheduling consultations, something he had implemented after being tired of Stephen’s irregular approach. Of course, emergency requests were still welcome, but it was on the visitor to draw more attention to themselves

The greatest reminder of her fate was that of the city around her. The smell was a thick, complex thing that filled her nostrils with bewilderment compared to the crisp, cool, air of paradise that was most of Krakoa. Where there was just a man in a uniform with a little yakyak box for him to mutter into, now there were two more people behind him, on the sidewalk, staring at her.

When the only sound she heard was that man’s yakyak box muttering something back to him, Illyana Rasputin balled her fist in the cool spring air of New York City, and assaulted the door of the Sanctum with a furious rap of the bottom of her balled fist.
"RUSSIAN MAIL ORDER BRIDE, HELLLOOOO!”

When silence greeted her, her head turned to it’s left…to the man with his yakyak box and his gun, and the two behind him. Old man, old woman. 40s, 50s…was old, either way. Clothes expensive, woman’s purse around her shoulder, expensive. Locals gawking. She snorted out a chuckle, pointing to the door. “Rich old perverts.”

She nearly smiled at them, but the thought of it was enough to make her temper flare in a short burst, as the business end of her booted foot went slamming into the bottom of the door, as mystical black boiled leather armor studded with thick steel took turns defiling the wooden door physical, tangible, exterior.

It did nothing to the metaphysical, intangible, bits of the door…but it made her feel momentarily better. "STEPHEN! STEPHEN STRANGE! YOUR NEIGHBORS ARE STARING AT THE YOUNG BLONDE GIRL TRYING TO GET YOU TO THE ANSWER THE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!"

It was only a heavy roll of her eyes, and an even heavier layer of irritated sarca
sm, that her head tilted to the side, sharply, and straight blonde hair fell down off her shoulder and into the air as she side-eyed the sky. “…Wong’s the father.”

“…Mr. Wong?” The woman with the expensive clothes and the even more expensive handbag suddenly spoke up, bringing an absolutely glowing smile to Illyana’s face.

“Da. You know of baby daddy Wong, yes?”

Wong could hear everything happening at the door and his face immediately turned to a frown. He didn’t remember the last time he’d met Ilyana, but he did remember they didn’t exactly get along. Antics like this weren’t exactly helping, especially because he had been frustrated by the persistent rumors that (and patently false) rumors among the neighbors that Strange had died and the current owner of the Sanctum Sanctorum was a reclusive Chinese billionaire. Those bothered Wong on many levels, not the least of which being that he had taken a vow of poverty when he first became a monk and lived a lifestyle very far removed from that of a billionaire.

Wong let the Séance continue without him; they got distracted when they overheard Ilyana and one of the old hands had to get about a thousand years of history explained to him to help him understand that “Russia” is now a thing related to but not the same as Kievan Rus, which was what was around the last time he was on Earth. He walked downstairs to the door in his sorceor’s robes, thinking about what to say, wanting something with the right level of gravitas. He’d been on the job for several months but there were still many people he hadn’t gotten the chance to meet up with after assuming the title.

“Hello Miss Rasputin, and welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. What is the nature of the inquiry that Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme may assist you with? I apologize if I don’t quite recall your official title, I’m not familiar with the customs surrounding addressing the reigning Queen and Sorceress Supreme of Limbo”

Illyana blinked, turning her head to the three humans off to her left, a nervous chuckle of performative art for them, “This man and his craaaazy pet names,” before stepping inside, letting Wong close the door, or not, behind her. Magik listened to her footsteps echo, as blue irised eyes became pools of neon-bright blue…she was looking at the inner Sanctum with different eyes.

Almost reluctantly, she gave a nod and a shrug, “Eh, yeah, okay. It is impressive.” As if by magic, the young mutant returned her gaze back to Wong, and folded her arms over her chest, eyes dimming back to a natural iris. “I am here for Strange. He is invited to Krakoa by the Quiet Council…well, really by the big blue one, Apocalypse, but no one is crazy enough to tell this one no,” she paused, thinking about it, before continuing with a roll of her armored shoulders, “…other than Jean Grey.”

It helped to be eternally tied to an omniversal force of nature, Illyana thought to herself, with a smirk. “Where is this Doctor?” Her faint accent seemed to only get more pronounced when her nose wrinkled in visible irritation, eyes suddenly focused on Wong. Not the man, himself, but his appearance…in particular, “Nice robes. For a monk.”

The tone was hard to nail down, but it was there, and it definitely meant something…

Seeing Ilyana reminded Wong that he should probably find more time in his schedule for trips to the gym. He suspected she had that effect on many people. He also wasn’t looking forward to the next batch of rumors that would come out of this. He sighed and said

“I don’t know if you’ve been aware of recent events, but Strange has been absent for the last several months, he was off fighting some kind of interdimensional magical war. He returned to Earth less than a week ago. I’ll contact him. You’re sure your council wants to speak with him specifically?” As he spoke, he sent Strange a message, letting him know Magik was there to see him.

Wong’s telepathic message reached Strange when he was in the middle of making a complicated sigil out of sand in his hotel room, calming down after his escapades earlier in the day; hair still wet from a shower. It was frustrating to be interrupted, but Strange was ultimately doing it as bit of exploratory magic, nothing urgent, and he trusted Wong not to bother him with trivial matters. With a wave of his hand he opened a magic portal to the Sanctum, smiling subtly as he found that he was still trusted by the wards enough to be allowed to do so. Strange stepped out into the middle of the room, roughly equal distance from Wong and Ilyana. He looked around for a bit and simply said “Hello?”, also trying to not to draw attention to the fact that he had brought a hotel towel with him by accident, still clutching it in one of his hands.

Illyana shrugged, the hint of exasperation at his questions coming in the way of what was almost certainly a sigh under her breath, “I don’t know. I stab people and make portals, Supreme Wong.“

When Strange appeared, she arched a dark brow at the hotel towel in his possession, “Stephen Strange, the Quiet Council would like to invite you to Krakoa. Apocalypse would like to speak with you, personally. No, he did not tell me why.” She looked from Strange to Wong, “And, no, we were unaware of interdimensional magical war.” She paused, before adding well under her breath, “…you think they’d have better things to do, honestly…”

She nodded to him, and more specifically, to the towel in his hand. “Take that. Might need it.” Their towels were grown, some newcomers had complained about chaffing. Illyana thought them in need of a season in Limbo for…perspective. “I’ve been asked to take you through a gate, Washington Square Park is the closest. You will be wary of the crowd around; spies, Cult of X crazies, cape-chasers, NYPD…”

Wong sent another telepathic message to Strange when he showed up “You’re way faster responding to messages than you were before you left.”

Strange answered back “I have a lot less responsibilities thanks to you. Also, sorry about leaving the state of communications a mess before I left, didn’t exactly have time for succession planning.”

Wong sent one more message “I managed. I finally have things the way I want them.”
Not wanting to ignore Ilyana, Strange spoke

“I thought they would have better things to do than have a war also, but there was no getting away from it. I tried. You know far better than I how it goes when something from another plane really wants to join them. If you ever end up establishing a support group, let me know, it might help me and others process the experience a bit. Maybe before we go to the gate we can talk a little. You up for a quick round of real-life Geoguessr?”

He made a gesture with his hand and another portal appeared, ready for them to step through

“I’m uncomfortable sitting in chair-circles,” the Russian born New Mutant said it, flatly, as her blue eyes regarded his portal with a gentle expression of reserved pain, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Not drawing the Soulblade took some effort; Rahne had called it her ‘safety blanket.’ Illyana called it a literal piece of her soul, a manifestation of all the skill and knowledge she had gained during her time under Belasco and Storm…but Rahne’s point was taken. Instead, she stepped through Strange’s portal with arms crossed over her chest, hoping where ever it was, it had coffee.

She liked coffee.



Once they were on the other side of the portal they could see trees all around, plants of all varieties, a colorful vista arranged neatly with a walking path that cut through it all. There were people around, startled, talking amongst themselves but not venturing too close. Wherever it was, the afternoon sun was out, and there was a house with Japanese writing on it in the distance.

Strange didn’t miss a beat when talking “So, like Edwinn Starr said, War is good for absolutely nothing.” He chuckled at his own joke and then stopped himself. “I’ve tried to put it out of my mind, and I’ve also been trying to catch up on all of these changes, but they did give one thing before I left, a vision of the future, and it’s the kind that is hard for me to forget. Forgive me if I’m rambling a bit, I am curious about what Apocalypse wants to talk to me about. I haven’t heard about him in a while.”



Illyana’s chest tightened, and her nostrils flared, her face scrunching tight and uncomfortable…right before the sneeze blasted it’s way through her sinuses. The blonde rattled off a series of curses, some Russian, some Krakoan, before flipping her hair back behind her after it flung itself forward with the sudden sneeze.

“Japan always makes me sneeze. I don’t have allergies, until I come here…and this isn't even Japan.”

Her body straightened as she became aware of people in the distance. The Soulblade came to her as seamlessly as most breathed air, her right hand slashing out in the sky, slicing through space and time, the orange haze of Limbo with the electric blue light of her ability framing it, a sister portal just steps away from the current one…even if those few steps were through hell.

“After you, Doctor.”

The difference in the air was immediate; thick and heavy with heat and humidity, gone was the sweet crisp air of the faux-Japanese (actually English) country. In was the immediate wall of noise and light, restaurants and stores and bars framed in glass and neon and intricate signage on the ground floor opened up all around them, floors above painted white and decorated in stucco, their windows with open wood white shudders, their architecture British colonial, and all the buildings and people under a great canopy of steel bathed in bright blue.

They started with a bar just to their left, tables and chairs on the outside unique; the patrons drank from IVs, and sat in wheelchairs around their tables. Those that noticed gawked, some drew phones and tried to capture the portal that was gone before any of them could react quickly enough.

“He wants to create mutant magic.” She hadn’t lied to Wong. Apocalypse hadn’t told her, but she was no idiot, and Meggan had spilled Apocalypse’s beans nights before in the Green Lagoon to Magik after a few of Blob’s stronger cocktails. Everyone came to her about magic on the island. She would complain, but given her mutant was name was Magik…

“How you factor into that…” Again, Illy shrugged, before helping herself to snatching a full beer mug from a man sitting at an outside table of another, more normally styled, bar they passed. It was done before they fully walked past the bar, allowing her to leave the empty at a table where a man and woman on a date stopped their conversion in Malay to stare.

Strange smiled at the chance to see Earth again. He had missed it so much, and every little jaunt brought new sensations that made him grateful to be back. Even if he stuck out like a sore thumb in a modern cityscape and would prefer to be almost anywhere other than a trendy bar, it was still a joyous occasion. This is what he had fought to protect for so many years.
“I don’t know either. There is certainly no shortage of failed schemes to create new magic systems in this world. Is he more…pleasant than he’s been in the past? I can’t say he’s on a list of people I trust, and his approach doesn’t strike me as one willing to do what it takes to master magic, but I don’t know any more. Maybe it’ll turn into something. I had planned on talking to you before you came, but not about Krakoan or mutant business. Or at least I don’t think my reason is related to it, anyway.”



When Magik finished her drink Strange opened another portal and stepped through. He was now bathed in the sunlight of dawn, rising over the mountains in the east, reflecting off the ocean to the west. He was on top of a hill, staring at the surroundings, a busy highway full of traffic, a cruiseship terminal and cargo port flush with activity, and an inclined railway that slowly trundled down the hill, it’s ancient cab painted with a bright work of civic art.

Magik shrugged, "Is he the same Apocalypse at his core? Yes. Is he an evil blue jerk? No. He seems to have found a sense of purpose and peace, like the strict parent that softens as they grow older, seeing their children mature into what they've hoped for."

If there was one, truly, shocking thing it was that—Apocalypse, the Shadow King, Exodus, even Sebastian Shaw—becoming productive and useful members of their nation. Magik had held her doubts, but Xavier and Magneto had held firm. She had been part of the Phoenix Force, she had been part of the last band of mutants fighting for their kind when all hope seemed lost, she had fought the Avengers to a stand-still next to their captain, Cyclops.

Cyclops and Dani being such big believers had been enough for her to give a genuine chance. "He is older than even you know. Older than we knew." She spoke as her eyes surveyed the horizon. The air was thinner, but she had traveled enough to know what Chile looked like.

There were long, deep, moments of silence until he looked her direction, only to find Illyana Rasputin staring at him. "...it is an ominous thing, hearing Dr. Strange say he was planning to talk to you." The blade may have been actually part of her, but in a more practical sense, the blade seemed an extension of her arm in the way a master swordsman's weapon was always an extension of them, no wasted motion, no awkward pause...just a blue blade that sliced through the air, and unleashed a portal via Limbo once more.

"We go," she said, nodding to the portal, motioning for him to go through first.



There, he waited, hands folded uniformly behind his back, his pure white eyes trained on the pair as they emerged, dressed in little more than ceremonnial robes that left his massive blue chest bare, a voice that sounded like the deep rumbling of an ancient, powerful, being coming from his lips to fill the otherwise background noise of small waterfalls falling into the hidden grove, drifting off behind rock.

The scent of incense, and far more mystical things, filled the air.

"Thank you, Magik. Doctor Stephen Strange, welcome to Krakoa, and to my personal labratory, the Grove of Theorhetical Gates. I require your assistance," he paused, white eyes flickering to the woman beside Strange, "and, as I understand my visions regarding our Great Captain, I may be of service to you, as well."

While Strange was stepping through the portal, he spoke again.

“That’s the thing about us, about people. Purpose is something we have to find. A knife is made to cut, a sewing needle is made to mend; even wild beasts, though they are alive, have an innate sense to spend their days grazing on grass or hunting prey, but for us it begins as an open question. It’s a burden we all live with, and whether we find the right one matters deeply. I don’t need to tell you how awful it is when someone goes searching and comes back with an unsound answer. “

Once he was throught it became clear that Krakoa was unlike any other country that Strange had ever seen. Even from just the grove, it was different, all was alive, pulsing, and weaved together so finely that even the densest jungles on earth looked barren by comparison. Dozens of species of flora he had never seen before surrounded him, more brilliant, more wild than the most exotic specimens found anywhere else on the planet. It felt more like another plane than it did a piece of the mundane world.

Apocalypse looked different from Strange’s memories of him. Gone was the metal shell, the combat armor he had always worn in past encounters, now he looked like he was trying to prioritize culture over raw power. It wasn’t the side of him Strange had seen before. Strange stopped looking around to address him

“Hello. I’m not sure how I should greet you since I assume one as old as you has had many names over the years. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken under friendly circumstances until this moment, but it seems that fate have placed all three of us here for a reason. What exactly are you trying to do with your work? “ Strange knew that the answer to that last question wouldn't be short, and already got to work looking at the material laid out. Even for an experienced sorcerer, it took time to understand the work of other hands.

@Fiber

Ashley Johannes Williams

Ashley arrived in New York a few hours ago after her search had led her to the big apple. She had hitchhiked here from Providence. There was a place called the Sanctum Sanctorum where she could possibly find some answers. She had not been to New York before so she was on guard at all times. Really this was her first time being in such a big city. Even though Providence is a city, it’s not nearly as big as New York. From the corner of her eye, she could see figures in the alleyway. Hearing muttering and mumblings of things like looking to score dope or looking to spend a night with her. Ashley squeezes her grimoire close to her body. She hated being here already, this place was making her very anxious. Fast walking down the street she could see some of the people’s faces morphing into grotesque smiles.

Finally arriving in front of the building, she thought it was quite impressive looking. It reminded her of some of the old victorian homes in Providence. She wondered if the person living here could give her some answers. Knocking on the door rapping her knuckles onto the wooden door to the tune of Shave And A Haircut. “Hello my name is Ashley Williams, I was told the owner of this place knew how to deal with supernatural problems.” She waited for the door to be answered. She didn’t think her request would be met. But perhaps someone would open the door, and let her in to help her out.

She started feeling more anxious as she waited for the door to open. Hearing a voice or rather multiple voices speaking to her. These voices were chanting together, "JOIN US. JOIN US. JOIN US." But she ignored these voices and focusing on the here and now.

---

---

The rush never got old. Swinging from building to building, feeling the wind flow by, waving at bystanders, webbing up crooks, being the one and only Spider-man. One moment, Peter Parker was just an average New Yorker, late for dates, a fan of good pizza, selling photos for a quick buck. But with the mask on? He was spiraling through the air, diving past office windows, running on walls, and leaping off skyscrapers, ready to save the day. And today was just another day. After hearing a police siren in the distance, Peter Parker raced through the air to be on the scene. Who was it this time? A small-time thief or someone big? Rhino? Scorpion? But as he found himself outside a bank, he saw the police arriving at a scene already covered in webs.

“Hey there Spidey!” One of the police officers smiled up at him and waved. “You’re late buddy.”

“Afternoon officer! How’s the—”

“One of your smaller spider-bros just managed to clean up a couple of bozos and webbed them up good. I guess he’s like Spider-boy or somethin’? Arachne-kid?”

Peter nodded, it must have been Miles. Peter's not really the only Spider-man... A few months back, he’d met Miles, a bright kid from Brooklyn who’d also gained spider powers. Peter had been trying his best to teach Miles all that he’d learned over the years, but at some point, the kid had to spread his wings and do what he had to do, and that seemed to be being a hero. Ever since then, Peter had felt a bit less alone, and the Big Apple seemed to feel a little smaller—for better and for worse, as Miles began to take his share of rescues and criminal shut downs. Sometimes Peter wondered if he himself was growing too old for the job, if it was time to fully pass down the torch… “Just Spider-man.” Peter corrected.“We’re both Spider-man, officer!”

Seeing he wasn’t needed so much anymore, Peter got ready to swing away once more, but before he left, he saw the officer reach out to pull out a phone. “Wait a sec Spidey. Could I get a quick photo? The other guy seemed great, but my daughter’s a big fan of you too. And her head’s gonna blow when she sees that her pops met you.” Peter smiled softly and hopped down to stand beside the officer. “Sure thing sir!” He felt a bit guilty thinking this, but Peter couldn’t help but enjoy being needed and admired every now and then. He was still needed.



The city was surprisingly peaceful today. Besides that robbery handled by Miles earlier, and a few minor incidents, Peter wasn’t seeing much crime. He sat on top of a light post, looking down at a busy city street. A group of teens bustled over toward an internet cafe, an old man was being helped cross the street by a young businesswoman, and a pleasant shopkeeper was painting a new sign for their cafe. Things seemed to be just right—

“HEY MUTIE! We don’t want your kind here! Buzz off!”

Peter’s spider sense tingled ever so slightly, and he craned around, trying to find the source of this angry voice. Was there some bigot about to assault an innocent mutant? As he turned around on the top of his light post, he squinted and saw a man holding a beer bottle in one hand, pointing his other hand right at Spidey. “Me?” Peter asked. At this point, Spider-man was more confused than worried.

“Yeahhhh, you! Mister fuckin’ Webhead, mask-wearing, mutie. I know you’ve been swinging around this fuckin’ city, but I’ve seen the truth, I know who you really are… Get your mutant ass out of my country! Go back to Krakatoa!” The man’s speech was slurred and he seemed to be vehemently drunk… at two in the afternoon. Peter rolled his eyes under his mask and stood up from his crouching position.

“Look man, first of all, it’s Krakoa, not Krakatoa. Second of all, I’m not even a mutant! And even if I was, that is a terrible way to greet a stranger, like at least a hello—” Peter tensed as he watched the man reach to chuck his bottle at Spidey, and Peter reflexively shot a rapid-fire of webs, one to stick the man’s hand to the bottle, one to stick his other hand to the wall, and a last one to cover his mouth. The man writhed in tipsy, muffled rage, and Spidey gave a little salute. “This is for your own good, and for the good of everyone else who definitely does not wanna hear your voice!” Peter then began to swing away through the city. “So much for peaceful…” he muttered.

What was the whole deal with mutant hate? It was never something he understood, even with all the controversy around Krakoa recently. When people like him or the Avengers put on their masks, they were revered (most of the time) as heroes. Yet when everyday people happened to get superpowers, the world seemed to twist against them. But mutant or not, hero or human, if they were here in this city, they all were New Yorkers in Peter’s eyes. Was that so hard to understand?

As the sun began to set, Peter swung up towards the top of an apartment building, running across the glass windows, then shooting a web towards the roof and pulling himself up to the very top. The city looked so small from up here, millions of people, real honest people living their lives, working towards their dreams, all here in the greatest city in the world. The relative peace was strangely getting him a bit too sentimental. He needed to get busy. What else was there to be done?

Suddenly, Peter felt his Spider-sense tingle once again, yet not that aggressively. Something potentially dangerous was behind him, hopefully not another bigot with a bottle.“Spider? I swear, it’s like you’re stalking me.” Peter turned towards that familiar playful voice and saw none other than Black Cat, his… enemy? Friend? Situationship? The woman was someone he’d tussled with time and time again, sometimes trying to put her in jail for her elaborate crimes, sometimes fighting alongside her against a greater evil. No matter what the situation was, she always managed to catch him off guard.

“Black Cat, I did not mean to run into you… What are you doing up here?” Peter eyed her suspiciously, looking at a black bag in her grasp, and seeing that she’d just crawled out from the fire escape.

“Always questions with you isn’t? Well, I’ll have you know, that it’s none of your business Spider, just a little personal project.”

“Thieving again? T’was hoping you’d get tired of the whole petty theft thing.” Peter said. Although he said it jokingly, he did genuinely mean it. He wondered if there was a chance she would ever give up her criminal ways. Despite her antics, the two of them had had moments in the past where it felt like they had something more… More than just hero and villain, but perhaps something as equals, as partners, as more.

“This time’s not just petty theft, I have a legit purpose right now.” She replied with a scoff, then swung the black bag over her shoulder. “I don’t see you giving up the mask anytime soon, why should I?” Black Cat walked over to Peter and placed a single finger on his chest.

“Felicia. Is this all you’ll ever do? Is that all the future holds?” Peter looked at her, and an expression of genuine concern seemed to take hold on his face, surprising her and even himself.

“Future? Awfully dramatic aren’t you this sunset? What, Spider? Worried about me? High-and-mighty Avenger wanting to help a corrupted villainess out of a wrong path towards danger?” She snickered and walked her fingers up his chest towards his collarbone, and up to pat his shoulder. Something in her expression softened when Peter didn’t retort back.

“You’re so quiet suddenly… Are you… genuinely worried?” Peter backed up from her reach but nodded. “Is it wrong? Wrong, that I am worried about you? That I wished you’d give up crime and try out being good?” he said. Whenever he met the Cat, he always felt so tangled up inside, caught in her own webs. Black Cat’s hand dropped to her side.

“You really are a hero aren’t you?” she whispered. Before Peter could respond, she began to walk away briskly. “I’m fine Spider. Don’t worry, this kitty can take care of herself… But I’ll see you around… Maybe we can talk again… about the future.” And just like that, she lept away, from one rooftop to the next, disappearing into the shadows cast by the sunset.

Peter Parker was left alone watching the moon rise. As much as it had been a quiet day, there had been big moments throughout it. He looked over the New York skyline and just took a deep breath. He had no idea what the future held in store, but he knew that as long as he could, he’d keep being Spider-man.

@Eviledd1984

This was the second unexpected visitor of the morning for Wong, but this one at least wasn't creating as much of an incident with the neighbors. He opened the door and saw someone he didn't recognize, nor was Ashley one of the people who had scheduled an appointment. However, he had some sympathy, it sounded like this might be something that needed rapid attention.

When he answered the door he was wearing his full Sorceror Supreme robes, different from Strange, not as colorful but a more scholarly look than he had when was only the right hand man. He talked to Ashley "You have come to right place. My name is Wong, and I'm the current Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Rest assured, I have plenty of experience with supernatural matters. I'm curious as to how you heard about me, was it one of the flyers I left around the neighborhood?"
The flyers had been Wong's idea of advertising, since he didn't have the budget for anything other than that or an extremely low budget internet campaign, and the internet was far from his strongsuit. He hadn't heard much on if the flyers worked, which was a shame because he was particularly proud of the slogan he came up with: "When it comes to magical problems, don't choose wrong, choose Wong!" While he waited for Ashley's reply he looked at her aura, seeing if he could notice anything obvious.

@Fiber

Ashley Johannes Williams

“Well, I’m really sorry to bother you, Mr.Wong. Is it okay if I call you Mister Wong? Or do you prefer Sorcerer Supreme? I heard about you from a witch in Boston. She said you knew alot about the supernatural.” She nervously tapped her finger on her grimoire, which was pressed against her chest. Her aura was would be quite strange, to say the least. It was red with a small tint of green. Something that was probably quite different than most people’s aura. Most peculiar was the book she had with her. For someone knowledgeable in magic, Wong could tell she was carrying a spell book of some kind. “I have been having hallucinations for well most of my life. Recently I’ve been seeing a shadowy looking man in my dreams. He doesn’t really talk to me in the dreams, just takes me to very weird places. Or sometimes back to the past to some ancient city.”

She stopped speaking nervously looking around at the people walking behind her. “Would it be okay if I come in? I don’t feel safe being out here.” She could see the faces of the passersby starting to morph once again. She could hear a voice speaking to her behind Wong. “I’m here, come and find me.” The voice spoke in a jovial manner like it wanted Ashley to find them.

"Fuck." Kate held onto the helm of the ship she had uh...commandeered back in San Diego. She took a swig from her bottle, letting half the rum drip down her face. How many days had she been at sea again? Five? No...six? Eh, who cared anyway.

She honestly should have made it to Krakoa by now, however she may have made a slight navigation error while drinking away her boredom. She was really bigging to understand why sailors liked to drink now, there was fuck all to do while on a boat.

At least Lockheed was having fun, the small dragon had really taken to sushi it seemed. He was happily munching on a fish he had caught while on top of a crate. He cocked his head at the mutant when she looked at him.

Kate gave him a frown. "Don't judge me." She stated, before taking another long swing from her bottle. "I never snitched on you when the squirrel population at the school drastically dropped." Not that anyone would care too much, besides Squirrel Girl perhaps if she ever came to visit.

Kate shook her head before bringing her attention back to her steering of the ship, she was about to grab a new bottle when she noticed something in the distance. "Oh?" As they got closer it became apparent that it was an island.

"Finally." Being drunk could only entertain Kate so much, what she really wanted to do was get the hell off the boat and onto land for once. She kept her course as straight as she could, looking for a decent spot to anchor. "Land ho and all that."

========

Kate stumbled out of the water as she made her way further into the beach. It was already apparent that Krakoa was quite different from the rest of the world, almost alien. Strangly appropriate for a mutant nation.

"Now if I could only figure out what your problem is with me..." She complained to the island as she dragged a crate of rum behind her. She looked around for well...anyone.

"I know I'm late to the party but I figured at least someone would be around to greet me." Being drunk really made her snarky.

Zah, as his comrades often called him, dipped back into his home, located near the southern coast of the living island of Krakoa. The fact that the nation of mutants is also on an island whose ecosystem that acts as singular hivemind consciousness still hasn't escaped him. When he first came here through a portal, he remembered how Krakoa used to be a hostile entity. Alas, Krakoa allowing them to settle on its was perhaps due to the fact that the governments of the world fear mutants and those like them, and a living island certainly is in the list of entities that the ignorant and fearful baseline humans thought of as a threat.

And so, what they have here is a delicate symbiosis; Krakoa and the mutants defend one another.

Part of that defense is assessing and taking out threats, and as a member of X-Force, Zahariel had done exactly just that. Sometimes he only needed to ask nicely; sometimes, he had to gaslight them; and on a few occasions, he needed to resort to measures that he was, admittedly, not proud of. But it's not like the CIA and Dora Milaje doesn't do the same thing, don't they?

"You are home early," Grudge, his… well, talking cat, grumbled. "My food box has not been filled for six hours."

"You know you can tap the button to get yourself more, yeah?" Zah answered the talking cat. He wasn't sure why the cat even talked. Maybe it was his imagination? No, no, visitors already noted that the cat could talk. Maybe the cat was also mutated? Yeah, that's right.

"I want you to put it there," Grudge answered.

"... Why?"

"Because I want to."

Zah shook his head. Sighing, he took off his glasses and tapped the feeder, allowing it to disgorge more cat food. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," the cat answered, and began to gorge herself.

With that little incident done, Zah let himself out of the door, finding one of the few true friends he ever had, the empathic mutant Johannes Brahms, waiting at the railing.

"You called for me, Zah?" Johannes asked. "What is it?"

"The voices, they're… rather persistent," Zahariel confided. "They're annoying."

"Oh, much more than that, so it would seem," Johannes scoffed as his empathy went to work. "You're afraid, yes?"

Zah slowly nodded. "Admittedly, yeah," Zah replied, looking down towards the other buildings below. "I know that I pull power from another dimension, just like… a few others. Well, we both know that. But the voices seem to know my most personal… things. I'll have to take a break, first. I need to get this sorted."

"Excellent life choice," Johannes nodded in return. "Who are you going to?

"Someone who's familiar with things like parallel dimensions, especially seemingly malevolent ones," Zah replied. He thought for a moment, and then found his answer.

"Of course… the former Sorcerer Supreme. Doctor Strange. He'd know everything about this, hopefully…"

_{Emma Frost - NPC, Kate Pryde - @Abillioncats
Location: Krakoa's Western Shore}

Kate was expected. A day ago, at Hellfire Bay, neither of which happened to have come to pass. Logan was likely to forget about the delay, just happy to have his delivery having arrived. Her, on the other hand? It seemed unlikely, given the look on Emma Frost’s face resembled something as warm and cuddly as an actual diamond.

And she wasn’t even in her diamond form.

Emma watched from higher elevation, where grassy ridge met the thin, tall, grass coming out of the sand dunes that separated the low, rolling, hills region from the actual white sand beaches on the western coast of Krakoa. It was Krakoa’s own underwater vegetation that first spotted the vessel; leading to a quick message from Sage. Emma asked the Cuckoos to gave it a telepathic peek. When they responded with a positive identification of Kate Pryde, Emma excused herself from her current spot at the Green Lagoon and made the trip.

She waited wearing an ice white Prada silk pants suit, heels to match, with what appeared diamond heels on the otherwise ice white leather pumps. Under the white jacket was the kind of white corset that clung and pushed on various parts of the blonde billionaire’s sun-kissed tan body.

”You are late, Ms. Pryde.” The telepathic voice echoed Kate, with a subconscious suggestion of where Emma was. The moment Kate raised her drunken eyes and found the white silhouette perched upon the short grassy cliff above the beach, Emma continued, ”Forge is working on your issue with the gates. You will have to stop by and speak to him about that, but first, walk with me back to the Lagoon. The night is strange, and I would make it stranger for you.”