Who: Dr Strange and Open! When: 4/30 Where: Gotham park What: Stephen doesn't go to the park to jog, but ends up doing so anyways. That's magic for you.
Stephen kept to a different set of time than most people; usually, this was meant metaphorically, especially when he lost track of what the hour was when he was busy in his workroom or his library, and emerged blinking and trying to figure out how it was dawn when he'd gone into his workroom just after breakfast. But magic kept its own rhythms, even more than the scholarly compulsion he fell into far too easily. Much of magic was the right object being at the right place at the right time, and certain times and places were naturally full of humming magic.
May 1st was one of those dates, when certain borders between dimension were thinned, and in certain places - along certain ley lines, for example - vanished entirely. He could not patrol the entire expanse of the East Coast, even in the narrow sweep of the line. But there were places that were even more likely than most to have something unfortunate happen, and those, at least, he could keep an eye on.
Gotham, for example, seemed to absorb magic into its very stones and warp it around before spitting it back as something worse. His experience with the Lazarus Pit was more than enough warning for him to take a healthy interest in the city come one of the major magical upheavals in the calendar.
Gotham, it seemed, didn't care much about the actual date on the calendar, which left him with a coffee in one hand, staring down at the clever-faced little man with delicate horns jutting out of his curly dark hair, kicking up his cloven hooves as he danced a jig under the little copse of trees in the Gotham park.
"Damn," Stephen said on a sigh, and took a long sip of his coffee for fortitude. First he would send the faun back through the portal it had come from, and then he would close it, and if he was very lucky, it would be fast enough no one would notice.
It was a good plan. He told himself that, later. He set the coffee on a bench and stepped off the path, under the trees, extending his hand towards the dancing faun. Whether he heard something or sensed the intent, the faun whirled around and regarded him with big, terrified eyes. Before he could say or do anything, the faun gave a goatish bleat of terror, and bolted.
It was a small park, as they went. There wasn't anywhere for the faun to go, except out to things of iron that he would not find comfortable, but there were still people in it. Stephen thought all this as he tore off after the faun, off the path and onto the grass, after something smaller than him, faster than him, more nimble than him, and with a distinct advantage of hooves that could grip the grass better than flat shoes. It didn't matter. The faun had to get back to where it belonged, and if that meant he had to chase it and look like a fool, so be it.