THE GROUNDS
Somehow, impossibly, the Himalayas press into the skyline. The buildings are tall and silent, of sturdy stonework and slanted rooftops. The space between them is ample, as though theyāve drifted slowly apart through the ages ā but the clearance is calm, quiet, cool. It is ancient here. It is
peaceful here. The air invites meditation, reflection, and a sense of knowing that you can push past your limits and improve yourself. That you can learn.
THE EXTERIOR
The building sits amid the open area surrounding it, demanding focus upon the bold, upward-chasing lines of its Western architecture. It looks like a townhouse, singular because it lacks any neighbors to match. How many stories is it? Two? Three? Itās hard to tell at first glance, even if the circular skylight adorning its facade never wavers, but trying to suss it out is a pointless endeavor, anyway. The sidewalk leading to the porch stairs leading to the door is positively metropolitan. The door is open if youāre expected, or maybe even if you aren't. The interior inspires curiosity even in the disinterested.
THE FOYER
A large staircase is a centerpiece, but there are places to sit, end tables with scattered books, a fireplace unused unless someone wills it to life; then, it casts a warm light across the dark, earthen tones of the foyer, somehow accentuating the depth of space. The flooring shines, its odd patterns bordering (but not
quite) on non-Euclidean. This place looks lived in, and planks of sunlight sneak in through a hole in the roof thatā
No, wait, there's no such thing. Eyes playing tricks, probably.
THE LIBRARYBooks. So many
books. The shelves are myriad, and they are lined up neatly like soldiers ready to march off to war. Reach out to one and pull out a tome by its spine. Itās any title you want, itās knowledge thatās been tucked away somewhere deep in your (or maybe Stephenās) memory. The subject matter is aplenty, but upon closer inspection thereās a clear inclination towards magic, or medicine, orā¦ music? Wait, is that a book or vinyl in an old slipcase? Well, it doesnāt matter.
Somedays, the books canāt stay put ā literally. Grasping one is a feat of physicality, for how they fly about like birds flitting from branch to branch. It adds to the novelty.
THE OTHER PLACES AND SPACESThis domain changes when you arenāt looking, rooms moving, doorways switching places, corridors winding for far too long. But one never feels trapped, only as though if they are taking the scenic route from point A to point B.
The upper floors, though itās impossible to tell which, harbor strange old relics. Carved from stone or wrought from metal, oddly warm to touch, placed on pedestals or behind glass or just in a corner, lying sideways. Glance up, and the strange, circular skylight hovers above in places where it makes no sense to put a skylight. But the sun refracts through it all the same. The warping design of lines across its face move, sometimes, indefinable.
THE CITY STREETSometimes, youāll hear the bustle of people from outside, and they always sound like theyāre in a hurry. A car horn honks, a siren blares by. How does that even make sense? Look out any old window and when you hear these noises, the outside has changed into a city. One particular street. Itās alive, and it has a pulse, and there are so many places you could go visit if you walked even just a block down.
The
Metro is always in sight, no matter where you stand, like itās been nailed into the horizon line. It looks too far to visit any longer, but you know itāll always be there.
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no subject
As it stands now, that isn't the case.]
Waiting what out? The mages in Thorne didn't say this was a normal occurrence, unlike the Dimming. And even barring that-
[He gestures harshly at Peter.]
You're doing just fine, aren't you? [He doesn't hide the resentment underpinning his words.] By now you should be able to cast a basic incantation after everything I've taught you. So let's see it. Compare and contrast.
[Prove to him that this isn't a universal issue between the Summoned; he knows that from what he's seen in the castle.]
no subject
thereās a lot that passes along his face in the count of moments as he looks at stephen, as those words lash out and settle back in a proverbial sting; concern, confusion, and hurt, as much as he would want to disavow the latter.
his hands curl and uncurl. he isnāt sure he knows what to do when dr strange pitches the challenge (and it certainly feels like a gauntlet thrown, sounds that way in the abruptness of each syllable). because the scramble of the mind was in between solutions. in between keeping stephen in his sights and determining if thereās anything he can do. he wasnāt thinking about practice anymore, or magic, the tinnitus of over-sharp senses creeping up to consistency in his ears, so when he hears so letās see it, he frowns. thereās a spike of nerves. compare and contrast. he doesnāt want to prove him right, or wrong or anything at all. ] I ā why would they tell you everything they know? [ is countered, a fast tumble, realization that this can be perceived in a thousand different ways. ] Theyāre messing around with the multiverse, Stephen, something you said you shouldnāt do, right? [ damn it, if he is starting to sound a little desperate fumbling around for whatever appeal at pragmatism he can offer, half concepts and half knowledge shoved out there, messy. he sees dr strangeās proverbial fractures. just enough of them to understand thereās a chance all of this falls on ears that donāt want to hear him. ] So doesnāt that kind of imply somethings?? Like ā like they might have messed something up, or, or the Singularity is doing something they donāt know about!
[ he huffs a breath out, trying not to start pacing. a shake of his head, feet firm on the created floor. ] I donāt know what youāre looking at me to prove, but Iām not trying that right now. [ finality to his tone; boundary, his eyes a tight at the corners.
Any other day he would leap at a chance to show stephen anything heās come close to learning. prove to him the time spent was worth it.
but this wasnāt about that at all. he doesnāt want to believe that, doesnāt want to think itās simply because heās come to strange with one too many questions, or showed up at the wrong time. so peter searches for another compromise, still unwilling to give up, unsure if he can, if he should or at what point to realize heās just not enough of a help for whatever this is. but for now, he doesnāt relent; heād been taught better than that. ] What if we ā go to my horizon instead, just to get a little break?
[ another wave of what-ifs. he doesnāt know if it will help but if it distracts him from the torn up books? the ruined shelving? something more ā unfamiliar? Peter is sorely ill-equipped, with nothing but brimming ideals to cling to like lifelines. ]
no subject
A little break? Does it look to you like I can relax right now?
[His tone slides right into patronizing -- as though that wasn't where it was already headed.]
You're just proving my point. Telling me the mages don't know everything isn't news, Peter, but it reinforces that what's happening here and now? It's an unknown. And standing around talking about it doesn't help anyone.
[Sharply, he raises his hand again; his magic flares for the umpteenth time and amber portals open up, a myriad of them, far too many along the ground. They each have one to swallow them up, gravity pulling them downwards, and suddenly the hard flooring of his outer domain greets them. The cool breeze of the Himalayas rush by.]
So show me your magic. I need to know if this is on a universal scale, or an individual one.