Fall, fail, climb, get up, try again. Fuck up again. Try again. Again. It's the way of things here, and no one knows it better than Strange.
When the windows open, he tilts his head backwards and takes a deep breath. The wind is refreshing and nice, sweeping away some of the stuffiness inherent in an aged old building with history steeped into each plank of wood, each tapestry, each mural.
"There's always tomorrow for finding Atlantis," Strange says with a wink. He straightens his soggy collar, then snaps his fingers and all of his clothes dry out in moments. The cloak flicks a coattail, satisfied with the change, no longer looking quite so downtrodden. He swipes distractedly at his forehead where the mindflayer had lashed him, and the cut seals itself up too.
Damage reversed. Summer's on its way, and tomorrow's another day and another, and— dare he think it?— things seem okay.
He exhales. "So. How about that celebratory drink?"
no subject
When the windows open, he tilts his head backwards and takes a deep breath. The wind is refreshing and nice, sweeping away some of the stuffiness inherent in an aged old building with history steeped into each plank of wood, each tapestry, each mural.
"There's always tomorrow for finding Atlantis," Strange says with a wink. He straightens his soggy collar, then snaps his fingers and all of his clothes dry out in moments. The cloak flicks a coattail, satisfied with the change, no longer looking quite so downtrodden. He swipes distractedly at his forehead where the mindflayer had lashed him, and the cut seals itself up too.
Damage reversed. Summer's on its way, and tomorrow's another day and another, and— dare he think it?— things seem okay.
He exhales. "So. How about that celebratory drink?"