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Doctor Stephen Strange (supremed) wrote in snapthread,

Two geniuses. Right. One for technology and one for magic.

"In another dimension, I could still be New York's highest paid neurosurgeon, still have working hands, and still be a douchebag without a clue on how to cast the most basic spells. Or," he tipped a shoulder to Tony, "like in your reality, I could be dead. Makes you think the grass isn't always greener. Even if you get to be thirty years younger."

Stephen's steps were wide and lackadaisical as he moved out onto the cobbled street. The sun had started to sink out of the sky, casting long shadows between the buildings onto the stones. Out of idle curiosity, he tapped his foot to test the acoustics. Good echo.

"Suppose I ought to set up shop. Take a nap. Find something to eat. My bodega is going to go out of business without me visiting it every day." Had Tony ever set foot inside a bodega? The thought made Stephen snort. "Two down from you, you said? We've spent all these years with a good fifty five blocks between our headquarters. Now we're neighbors. That's funny."