Post by Doctor Strange on Nov 20, 2014 16:39:14 GMT
( June 12th. Mid-to-late evening - about 10 PM. )
One of the greatest dreams of man is to fly. It's the idea of doing what can't be done and conquering the sky itself that has driven mankind to try and fly since time immemorial.
For Stephen Strange, it was usually just a means to an end. He flew because he had to get somewhere or to flee from something. It was transportation, nothing more, not unlike a car or a bicycle. But in times when he wasn't being chased by a demonic overlord or racing against time, in those rare moments when he had a sliver of a moment to himself, Stephen embraced the gift of flight. So often he flew in times of stress and panic that he couldn't remember the last time he was able to just...fly. To just enjoy the sensation of defying gravity and allowing the wind to wisp through his hair.
High over Manhattan he soared, propelled by the power of the crimson trenchcoat that had become his signature piece of clothing. Greenwich Village, Midtown, Harlem - it lay before him like a sea of lights in the night, as if it existed purely for him to gaze upon and appreciate. The Orb of Agamotto was dim, Wong wasn't calling, and for just this moment, the world was at peace. For now, he could just...
"I wanna fly!" The eleven-year-old shouted, running through the fresh cut fields that had been previously occupied by corn stalks. He was a boy with a shaggy head of brown hair and all of the signs of youth: cuts and scrapes from hours of roughhousing, a front tooth missing and its replacement on its way in, dirt and grime covering his flesh in patches. Soaring high above him toward the horizon was a state-of-the-art jet, no doubt from the military air base not too far from the farm.
"You can't fly! Ma won't let you!" The eight-year-old girl ran right behind him, sporting an equal amount of evidence as to her outdoor play. Her pigtails whipped around her as she desperately tried to catch up with her brother. That was Donna: always trying to keep him grounded.
"Yeah, right! One day I'm gonna be a famous doctor and I'm gonna fly everywhere!" By now, the jet was leaving their sight. Defeated for now, young Steve came to a stop, finally allowing his sister to catch up to him.
"You gotta get good grades first, which means you gotta start sleeping at night!" Despite only being eight years old, Donna was more like a mother to Stephen than even his own. As the little girl spoke like a doting parent, the taller boy reached down to whip one of her pigtails around with a grin.
"I'm gonna take you with me! And Victor! We're gonna be the Amazing Stranges!" With a grin, he started running again, with Donna right behind him.
As the feeling of nostalgia washed over him, Stephen had stopped in mid-air, allowing the random memory to flow through his mind. There was a glimmer of liquid in his eye as he recalled, thinking of how wrong he had been about their future. He'd be a famous doctor, sure, but he'd also become an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a complete and utter asshole, one who couldn't bother to show up for the funerals of his own family members. But Donna...his sister. That's how he would always remember her: the pigtails and the far-too-early maturity.
Once again, he took up his flight, though this time he took it a bit slower. He prayed that wherever the afterlife had taken his late sister, she saw that he was still that hopeful little boy.
One of the greatest dreams of man is to fly. It's the idea of doing what can't be done and conquering the sky itself that has driven mankind to try and fly since time immemorial.
For Stephen Strange, it was usually just a means to an end. He flew because he had to get somewhere or to flee from something. It was transportation, nothing more, not unlike a car or a bicycle. But in times when he wasn't being chased by a demonic overlord or racing against time, in those rare moments when he had a sliver of a moment to himself, Stephen embraced the gift of flight. So often he flew in times of stress and panic that he couldn't remember the last time he was able to just...fly. To just enjoy the sensation of defying gravity and allowing the wind to wisp through his hair.
High over Manhattan he soared, propelled by the power of the crimson trenchcoat that had become his signature piece of clothing. Greenwich Village, Midtown, Harlem - it lay before him like a sea of lights in the night, as if it existed purely for him to gaze upon and appreciate. The Orb of Agamotto was dim, Wong wasn't calling, and for just this moment, the world was at peace. For now, he could just...
"I wanna fly!" The eleven-year-old shouted, running through the fresh cut fields that had been previously occupied by corn stalks. He was a boy with a shaggy head of brown hair and all of the signs of youth: cuts and scrapes from hours of roughhousing, a front tooth missing and its replacement on its way in, dirt and grime covering his flesh in patches. Soaring high above him toward the horizon was a state-of-the-art jet, no doubt from the military air base not too far from the farm.
"You can't fly! Ma won't let you!" The eight-year-old girl ran right behind him, sporting an equal amount of evidence as to her outdoor play. Her pigtails whipped around her as she desperately tried to catch up with her brother. That was Donna: always trying to keep him grounded.
"Yeah, right! One day I'm gonna be a famous doctor and I'm gonna fly everywhere!" By now, the jet was leaving their sight. Defeated for now, young Steve came to a stop, finally allowing his sister to catch up to him.
"You gotta get good grades first, which means you gotta start sleeping at night!" Despite only being eight years old, Donna was more like a mother to Stephen than even his own. As the little girl spoke like a doting parent, the taller boy reached down to whip one of her pigtails around with a grin.
"I'm gonna take you with me! And Victor! We're gonna be the Amazing Stranges!" With a grin, he started running again, with Donna right behind him.
As the feeling of nostalgia washed over him, Stephen had stopped in mid-air, allowing the random memory to flow through his mind. There was a glimmer of liquid in his eye as he recalled, thinking of how wrong he had been about their future. He'd be a famous doctor, sure, but he'd also become an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a complete and utter asshole, one who couldn't bother to show up for the funerals of his own family members. But Donna...his sister. That's how he would always remember her: the pigtails and the far-too-early maturity.
Once again, he took up his flight, though this time he took it a bit slower. He prayed that wherever the afterlife had taken his late sister, she saw that he was still that hopeful little boy.
