Doctor Stephen Strange (supremed) wrote in planetmarvel, @ 2016-06-06 10:03:00 |
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Brooklyn was such a long ways away from the West Village. Well, it wasn't, per se, but the good Doctor rarely left the familiar blocks of the Greenwich neighborhood of Manhattan. He had not taken the subway since that first year of returning to New York, which made it, what, two years? Funny, considering how the train was the veritable jugular of the Big Apple. Nothing so unified it, the way it equalized all its riders. As he rode the train, standing as one man in a packed train car, Stephen supposed that was a rather romantic and declarative statement. Walking up the steps from the station, the Doctor removed a crumpled piece of paper from the back pocket of his red jeans. It was raining, today of all days, which was absolutely brilliant for long walks through unfamiliar boroughs. Ah, but it was of little consequence to a sorcerer, who within a moment had banished water from clinging onto his person. He had absolutely no desire to catch a cold. Alas, Stephen's spell did not extend the same courtesy to his little paper, whereupon was written...something. The penmanship was godawful, and even Stephen himself was required to take a little more time to translate his own scrawl. All the while, his hand trembled. That did not help. Within twenty minutes, Doctor Strange had arrived at the correct building indicated by last night's dowsing. Noble sorcery wasn't all magical circles and incense; a common tourist map would do. Not exactly the glamorous Hollywood style, no. Stephen ducked beneath the awning, now twice-shielded from the rain. He was wearing a simple rain jacket, only halfway zipped to reveal a black v-neck shirt below that was neatly tucked into belted red jeans. A pair of black suede ankle boots were laced onto his feet. Forgive him, please, when one lives in a place like Greenwich, one cannot help but pick up the local fashion. Stephen ran a hand through his combed hair, brushed back as it was, and the along his mustache and sculpted goatee. He looked fine, he assured himself, though he supposed he certainly looked like no superhero. With that confident thought, Stephen raised his hand and knocked sharply upon the door thrice before returning it to his pocket. As the following wait ensued, he stared with a certain amount of unease at the golden address numbers nailed onto the door. The door of Steven Rogers, Captain America. Was that...nervousness he felt? By God. |