What happened

The room waited in reptilian darkness. Grotesque figurines on particle board shelves and laserjet demons coiled patiently in preparation for attack, and the circle drawn in charcoal on the grimy linoleum floor in the center of the room welcomed arrivals with open arms. Little wax candles, frozen to their cracked plastic holders with their own blood, suddenly popped to life in expectaion of the return of the sorceror. Hanging censers began to sway and book pages turned, and in a brief flash of daylight, Two robed men appeared in the room.

The larger man clapped twice and cheap desk lamps around the room turned on, revealing the scene in all its bizarre, anachronistic splendor. He was helping to prop up the thinner man, but now let him slide to the floor in exhaustion.

"I mean you no harm at this time, Doctor Strange," spoke the large man, striding to a corner. "I believe you will concur that the defeat of the recent arrival to this plane requires more power or strategy than either of us posesses seperately, or perhaps even combined." He leaned into an ornate mirror draped with silks and painted on the surface with arcane, yellow symbols, and began grooming his beard. "This room is a part of the business establishment of a man by the name of Midnite. Beyond that door we will likely find some mortal or demon or other variety of being who will gladly rally to our cause. When you are ready, you may join me without and mingle with these folk."

He walked over to this door and opened it. Infernal cackling, strange music, and more than ten varieties of smoke wafted through the crack. He turned back to the other man. "Oh, and Stephen," he smiled darkly, "I believe this rescue constitutes a favor."

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The small spots of blood were nearly impossible to see against the dark fabric of her Salem inspired coat. She'd been tricked. Although Willow had succeeded in ripping the skin from her still living victim's flesh, insuring an unimaginably painful death, the victory was sullied.

Warren had won even in his death.

The scream that followed would have made the ears of surrounding bystanders bleed if there had been any. It was a furies' cry and Willow only lacked talons and snakes for hair. The tantrum that followed made the ground quiver in unease while the air became frigid and sharp.

Wherever she'd been sent, it was claustrophobic. If she wasn't released soon...
Tags: stephen strange, willow rosenberg, baron mordo

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The dimensions were shifting. And with their shifting came the pain of a concussive force against his mystical barriers that jerked him out of bed.

Then it was quiet.

Doctor Strange placed a hand to his forehead. The skin was moist and clammy. He was cold but running a small fever. He'd thought it had been a dream, but then the pain returned. Like a violent migraine stabbing into the foremost part of his brain. But it wasn't physical. Once he caught his breath, calming down his erratic heart beat, he realized it wasn't a physical pain. It was something else. Something entirely different.

Something unsettling.

This had happened before. At times, when a great surge of mystical power and energy erupted in a dimension not far from his own, he could feel the effects. A sort of tremor in the magical frequencies, not unlike a mini mystical earthquake blipping on the richter scale.

But this was much more powerful.

And being that he was the Sorceror Supreme, whose soul purpose it was to guard the gates between the various worlds, he automatically took the responsibility for discovering the starting point of this possible disaster. But it wasn't close enough for him to get his own telepathic reading on it. And spells and incantations would only produce obscure results. And since The City prevented him from escaping this dimension to scout out the others, a problem of which he was still trying to to work out, that left him with little choice for who to go to.

All was not lost, however. For there was one man that he could call upon to assist him in his troubles. So without further delay, Strange slipped into his bath robe and called upon The Oracle.

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With the opening statements out of the way, the judge took a deep breath and decided to proceed. He knew it wasn't going to go very well, already it had started going badly. Jack Napier was all too glad to be here, and the amount of people who had showed up were only making it worse.

Sensationalism at it's best.

"We will hear from the witnesses. One at a time, please, and no interruptions from the others in the room. Each lawyer will have their time with the witnesses. Please, let's just try to do this in an orderly way."

McRiley sat back in his chair, tired already. Wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Mr. Dent, your witness."

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Delirium popped into a slightly off-putting material form and hovered delicately just above a piece of broken space ship. So far it's occupant(s?) were no where to be seen, most likely in search of a bathroom or rascally varmints to scare. She considered its metally-ness with a slight frown.

"hMmmsS. tHis bEd is ToO hARD!"

With a pleasant bubble gum snapping sound, Delirium once again ignored the laws of physics and appeared in the bedroom of a mansion. It was a very fine looking thing with plenty of fancy thing-a-majiggers. Delirium scratched at her nose with the pinky toe of her left foot, while her shadow flopped on top of the expensive covers.

"hMmmsSSSs. tHIS BEd iS Too soFTss!"

Once again, Delirium was in search of the perfect place to take a nap. She found it in a more modest home which smelled pleasantly of cosmic things and the youngest of the Endless felt right at home and she crawled into the strange bed sheets.

"oHhhhss. THis bED is juuuuSt ri--"

The tiny red head started to snore loudly.


ooc: I'm not trying to take over the boards, I promise! >.>

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Dr. Stephen Strange, M.D.
177A Bleecker Street
Greenwich Village, The City

Doctor Strange didn't realize he had a mailbox until the letter came for him. It was postmarked from The City Council building, and looked ominously like something he didn't want to read. He'd seen similar letters to this one from his college years. All official on the outside, informative on the inside, and always leaving the reader with a begrudging sense of dread for what would come in the following weeks. But it was illegal not to read them, correct? And the last thing Strange wanted was to be imprisoned in a bizarre new world for not opening a document from the local government.

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Green Goblin. An asylum.

Things weren’t changing for the best here in The City. He didn’t approve. However, he now had a regular paying job. That was something he did approve. So much of his life had been making sure Peter Parker came first. To believe that he and MJ finally separated on what would have brought on a divorce because he had forgot that… that tore him up inside. That pain intensified when he was alone in the costume.

What did superheroes do when they were feeling blue? They consulted other superheroes. Spidey had a feeling that Bleecker Street was somewhere in this labyrinth. When he finally did find it, it was every bit worth the search. Sanctum Sanctorum appeared as it had throughout his career.

Spidey swung himself on to the rooftop and stared into the large glass window, his eyes looking in through the huge eye.

[ Doctor Strange ]

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In some dusty text that existed outside the twisting reality of the City, a prophecy was being broken. Lives were being twisted. The City snagged a hole in a dimension it had no right to know and pulled from it a vampire with a soul.

With care, a new structure was formed on the west side of the City. It was surrounded by a large yard and dark trees. A mansion was built with stone and high windows covered by thick curtains inside and bars on the outside. In the Great Hall, the very center of it, a blinding light flared and a portal opened just above the floor. From it fell the vampire, Angel, stripped of clothes or anything that would identify him for who he was in the past. He hit the floor hard and curled in on himself.

Angel could still feel the heat of the dimension he'd called Hell on his skin. The change in worlds didn't register in his eyes, which were blank. His soul had withdrawn and hid in the darkest part of his pupils. There was a brief attempt to push himself up, but he had no strength. Angel collapsed and stared at the cold floor.

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The culture shock did not frighten the elf nearly so much as it annoyed him. His first desire was to learn how to drive one of those... wheel things. It had to be better than a camel, and it certainly looked faster. Par could have at least given him that bit of useful information.

Or any useful information. This place had a lot of cool shit and weird shit and fucked up shit but so far he couldn't figure out how to make any of it work. And with a city full of humans Luse was more likely to get stares than useful contacts or work.

Not knowing what to do with himself in this place quickly became boring. That didn't mean he was entirely useless. He could still navigate through just about any city, even a city which he suspected moved. More magical bullshit probably created by a constipated wizard or something. There were plenty of things the elf mused about.

Like what sort of valuable things the rich people had.

Luse found himself crawling through a window he happened to jimmy open. The house was dark. No one home as far as he could tell. Crow, these people didn't even have tall fences or dogs or armored guards or anything. In a place like this, a forcefully opened window was practically an invitation.

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Jesse,
I found something on one of the security cameras the people I'm living with have installed around. I was looking around for Didi, trying to maybe help her find the man who took that ankh she was looking for yesterday. Well, I found him and now I'm really scared.

I have the tape, and I was wondering if I could bring it to you to show you? I'm pretty sure about who it is, but you'd probably better confirm it, because you'd know what the Saint would look like better than I would, right? I don't know why he took her ankh, I can't tell from the tape, but it didn't look likehe hurt her other than that.

If you email me back, I'll head down to you as soon as I can get out of here.

-Max
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It was getting stuffy in the Sanctum Sanctorum; even without the company of his right-hand man, Wong, and his disciple, Clea. Night after night of research, spell incantations, conjuring this and that and with little to no avail. And Dr. Strange was beginning to feel the effects of weariness and cabin fever. That and half of his spells blew up, fizzled out, or just plain didn't work; a tragedy he was beginning to associate with the bizarre magical workings of the City.

Or perhaps it had just been that he was trying to accomplish a task in the wrong area? More than likely he was just in need of a break.

But for Strange, a break was like giving up, and since he had a duty passed down to him, an obligation to the dimensional realms that he swore to uphold, even his breaks were working on finding a means to an escape. Which was why he was standing in the rank alley outside of the building that made a near perfect replica of his home on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village.

He'd taken up smoking again; not a very positive habit for a former physician but there was little else to calm his nerves short of stabbing his brain with a mystical sedative every few hours. He was staring at the brick wall across from him, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and wafting the smoky cloud above his head. It was damp. And the water from a broken downspout was trickling along the alley floor catching dirt and trash along its way and dragging it out to the sewer gutters.

He could pull it apart. Separate the dimensional wall. The barrier. See what was on the other side. Maybe it was different. Maybe it had more answers.

Or he could continue to stand there and get his cloak dirty.

Sadly, neither option appealed to him at this point.

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Across the City, a thousand sleeping souls suddenly cried out as a blackness filled their dreams. The disruption was violent, but short-lived, and most of the dreamers dreamed on, waking up the next morning with no recollection of what had happened. Some were startled to full waking, and drifted back to sleep not long after. A handful resigned themselves to what sleep they had already gotten, and remained awake for the remainder of the night.

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Backtracking down what Sam thought were the same streets he'd just traveled wasn't helping. Especially since the streets kept shifting, as if mocking him, taunting him with the fact that he'd managed to lose his brother so easily. It had taken only a moment to look over and realize Dean wasn't there any more. Gun at the small of his back, and God [and Dean] only knew how many more in the backpack he carried, he still didn't feel a bit safe walking down the streets, trying to avoid any passageway that sounded as though the gunfire was getting louder.

There were a lot of bodies. It didn't bother Sam that much. He'd seen victims of supernatural attacks come off looking a lot worse that a gunshot wound to the face could do. The only one that got to him was the blonde woman lying crumpled at the entrance to an alley. She probably didn't look at all like Jessica, but Sam saw her face imprinted on the dead woman's anyway. He hurried off in the other direction, completely unsure of where he was going, only knowing he had to find his brother.

He pused at a movement nearby. Person? Animal? Instinctively his hand went for the small of his back and he waited to see who or what it was.

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Ah the taste of freedom. Sweet fresh air. Glorious beautiful day. Night. He realized it was night. The hospital had deemed him fit and healthy at some point during the afternoon. Discharge had taken a few hours, it seemed. He'd given them an address somewhere in Texas, to send the bill. More than likely, they'd get that mail back. Some time ago, he'd stopped hearing the gunfire. Or he was just used to hearing it now, and it didn't register as anything strange anymore.

As soon as Jesse stepped outside, he lit up a cigarette.

The delicious tobacco gave him a slight head rush on the first drag. A sure sign that it'd been entirely too long since his last smoke. The nicotine filled his lungs and his eyes involuntarily rolled back in his head. This is why he smoked. Moments like this. Remembering the flavor and the feeling. Ah. Beautiful.

A shadowy figure fell across him and spilled onto the ground at his feet. Jesse's smoke haloed it's head. The shadow smoke moved with the breath of the form. he didn't turn to see who it was, he already knew.

"What now, Pilgrim?" The voice itself was a swagger. The tone that could only belong to one man.

"Now what? I guess it's time to explore. I arrived here, or was sent here, for a reason." Jesse turned now and looked on the face of his childhood hero.

"And that fella, that Saint?" Thumbs hung in a gun belt. Hip canted. Hat forward.

"I don't know if he's here. I don't know if he even can be. But I suspect we'll find out sooner rather than later if he is. " Jesse enjoyed another drag before speaking again and turning to look at the dark city. "Don't think I'll just sit around and wait for him to show. Didi made the city seem pretty interesting, and I think I'd like to take a look around."

He could hear the shifting of spurs when the Duke moved. "Well then, what's first?"

"First. I need a drink." Jesse put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and realized then just what a mess he looked. "Maybe first I need to find some new clothes." He chuckled and shook his head. "No. Definitely a drink first."

It was a matter of trusting instinct and following the suggestions that came from Genesis that got Jesse to a bar. And before long, he'd settled in with a bourbon. The drink warmed his insides and let him have some time with his thoughts.
Already he was finding himself too comfortable. Too willing to stay here and forget what it was he was looking for. From what he could tell, the city wasn't the normal sort. There was something absolutely alive about it.

Every city has a pulse, but this one seemed to breathe.

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Who: Death and Strange
What: Chance Meeting
Where: On the streets

[Death]: The little walks around the city were enjoyable. Walking in the world always made her feel like she could pretend to be a part of it. A living part. And people were just so nice to talk to. Why wouldn't she want to just be around them?

The fact that no one could leave this city was a little unnerving. She knew it wasn't a major issue, but while she was here, she was having major difficulty with her own plane, and - worse - she couldn't communicate with her siblings. Especially her little brother - he worried about her.

She knew that her function was still being completed outside this city. But the fact that she wasn't there to oversee things...

Oh well. Just the universe throwing another wrench in the whole thing. She paused at a street corner, checking her pockets for the set of keys the universe had provided for her apartment. People continued to pass by, and she smiled at each one of them.

[Strange]: Despite the reputation and the wealth Strange had before his inevitable 'fall', he lived in what looked to be a hole-in-the-wall apartment whose only entrance was a shabby door in an alleyway that no one ever took notice of. In fact, the first time he'd seen it he couldn't recall that it had ever existed. He'd soon come to realize though that the world was not always what it appeared to be, and neither were the people in it.

He had a strange demeanor about him as he left his alley abode and began his walk through the city streets. He was an older man, about middle-aged, with eyes that were passed down with the knowledge of centuries of sorcerors that existed before him. Most people thought he was just an eccentric. A crazy old obsessor of the occult who hung around strange Tibetan monks. Though, why there were monks in the city no one ever seemed to question. There just were .. just like everyone else was there. Seemingly stuck.

He stopped at the street corner across from her, his long maroon colored coat rustling at the passing of a bus. Public transportation at its finest. Stood. Watching. And waiting. Until the street sign began flashing the white 'walk' symbol, and he started to cross.

[Death]: Searching, searching, searching... then, "A-ha! Success!" She pulled a keyring from her pocket, with a large metal smiley-face keychain. But shen she turned, she ended up stepping directly into the path of a man in a rather impressive maroon coat. "Oops!" she said, looking at him with a bright smile. "Sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

[Strange]: Strange was surprised. And surprises, though customary, were never appreciated in his line of work. Or in this case, whilst trying to cross a busy intersection in the middle of the city.

He stared at her with a curious suspicion, right hand reaching up to rest upon a bright yellow-hued medallion that hung on his chest. Hung used in the most abstract sense of the word because it was neither attached to a chain nor the ornate vest that was beneath it.

"Not a problem, miss. Happens all the time.."

Was it odd that he thought her smile was a little .. misplaced?

[Death]: She caught the bright flash of yellow under his figners and her eyes lit up. "Hey! The Amamoto!" She looked up at him, laughing in her delight. "I haven't seen that in years!"

[Strange]: Blink.

Strange shifted his vision in a sidelong direction, before taking the few steps forward to get out of the middle of the street. The light was flashing red afterall. Then he returned his attention back to the girl.

"Excuse me?" he said, in more of a 'how do you know what this is?' sort of manner as opposed to the normal 'who are you, why are you bothering me?' approach.

Now his guard was turned on.

[Death]: She stepped back from the traffic as well. No point in frightening the pedestrians. Or the poor drivers. Besides, he was still conversing with her. "The Amamoto. I last saw it.... oh, must have been seventy, eighty years back? I was wondering where it had ended up." She caught the expression in his eyes, the guarded stance, and blinked. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

[Strange]: She confused him. He didn't normally run into casual conversation about the medallion he'd inherited when he took the alternative path in his life. The more peculiar fork in the road decision, one could say. And normally, whenever he came into contact with someone who had knowledge about such mystical items, it ended rather badly.

You know, with a tear in the fabric of worlds and Strange waking up with a headache.

"What do you want?" he said impatiently. He didn't like beating around the bush. If she was going to challenge him to some sort of battle for power between the many realms, he'd rather her just tell him and not make him play guessing games.

[Death]: She gave him an odd look. "Want?" Then she thought it over. "I could probably go for an apple. Apples are great. The way they crunch and the juice just hits your mouth?" She sighed. "Yes, I like apples. But no, I don't want anything from you. I was just curious because it's been a long time since I've seen it." She gave him another smile. "At least it's in good hands."

[Strange]: Strange just stared at her. She was too perky to be evil, but she had a vague naivete about her that didn't seem like it fit properly. His wild black eyebrows creased near the center of his forehead.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She didn't feel like she belonged. In fact she felt to him much the same way he felt to the creatures on the 'other side'. Like he wasn't supposed to be there.

"And how do you know I am 'good hands'?"

It was a funny choice in words, he thought. Hands. It was his hands afterall that had brought him to this existence. The accident. The not-so-coincidental meetings. The end of his human profession.

[Death]: She tilted her head lightly. "Don't you know who I am, Dr. Strange?" The ankh she always wore glittered in the light of the sun as she smiled again. It was a familiar smile, the smile of an old and dear friend. "I know you. We've met before."

[Strange]: "Have we?" Strange asked, somewhat haphazardly. His light blue eyed gaze falling to the glimmering ankh as the sun hit it at a bright angle. Vision narrowed again. Unnerving was the word for this situation. Unnerving because she was right. There was something familiar about her smile. But at the same time unwelcomed. "When..?"

[Death]: She sighed a bit, a sigh of expected disappointment. "No one ever remembers. But I was there the day you were born. I held you and I kissed you, and you lived." Her eyes met his. "And I'll be there on the day that you die." She shrugged lightly, playfully. "You know who I am."

[Strange]: Strange had the expression of someone who didn't believe. Or didn't want to believe. Which was curious considering who he was and where he existed in the plane of reality.

"If you are who you claim to be, then why are you here in corporeal form? You wouldn't need to be.."

He scratched an index finger along his chin, pulling a few moments at his goatee in contemplative intrigue.

"I hope you're not here for me. I know it's not my time."

He had to exist at least until he trained a replacement. If he were to perish the doors between the worlds would open and chaos would ensue. He'd put up a good fight not to let that happen.

[Death]: "Why wouldn't I be? I mean, sure, the concept is incorporeal. But someone has to actually do the work. Concepts don't exactly cut it on their own." She smiled reassuringly at his concern. "No, it's not your time. You have other things to do first. I was just passing by and almost bumped into you."

She looked up at him, curious. "You sound like you don't believe me, Doctor."

[Strange]: "There are many things in this universe to believe. This is one of the ones that warrants a certain amount of skepticism."

And that was one of the reasons why the Ancient One had passed down the sacred duties to him. Because he wasn't a diehard believer in everything he heard. There were times in life when one had to be strong and not so willing to bend.

He'd referred to Strange as a 'straight line'. Straight, narrow, but with the potential to flexibility when necessary.

This, however...

"If you are who you say you are then you shouldn't be surprised. And you can give me the old 'I told you so' when it's my turn. Forgive me though if I am reluctant to pick my number so quickly just so that I can determine if you speak the truth. I'm a patient man. I can wait."

[Death]: "Don't be so sure about that. Humanity always finds a way to surprise me. I'm sure sometimes, it surprises even you."

She gave him another smile, warmer this time than before. "Good hands. Like I said." She glanced up at the street lights. "Whoops. Sorry. I have to keep an appointment."

As she spoke, there was a screech of tires behind him, and a shout. She placed her hands back in the pockets of her jeans and started walking in the direction of the noise. "See you around!"

[Strange]: The screeching of the tires drew his attention away before she mentioned her comment about keeping an appointment, although he was sure he heard it at a subconscious level. Eyes widened as he turned to see the crash of an accident, and for a split second his physician sense kicked in and he felt the insistent drive to help. But he knew there really wasn't anything he could do.

He'd sacrificed one world for another. The ability to help the common man from everyday trials, traumas, and pain for the strength to hold together the world in which that common man existed. It had been a difficult choice. One good for another. Each intertwined at some cosmic level. Each just as important.

But this was the choice he'd made. And with it came the pangs of not being able to help everyone.

[Death]: She walked through the gathering crown with ease, though most people didn't even seem to notice her. Up in the center of the growing crowd, a young man was getting to his feet, brushing off his pants and shaking his head. "Hey, Franklin!" she called to him.

Franklin looked up at her. "Wow, did you see that?" he asked. "I didn't think I'd make it past the car in time! And then it..." He trailed off, frowning, and glanced at the ground where his physical body still lay. "Wait. Is that... am I...?"

"As a dodo," she said, nodding. "But it was a good try. You almost made it."

"Yeah..." Franklin scratched his head. "Weird. I thought I'd, you know. Be upset or something. I just wish I could have had a little more time." He sighed, and looked at her. "Now what?"

"Now's when you find out." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his forehead. On another place of existence, dark wings unfurled from her back and encirled them both. There was the sound of wings beating in the wind, and then there was just her, calmly walking away from the accident, back to the sidewalks.

[Strange]: And Strange? Well, Strange watched the entire ordeal pan out as though he were watching it at a moving picture show. He watched the man stand up, but he instantly knew it wasn't the man in his normal material form. Through Strange's vision he had a pale opaque appearance.

And then came the dark wings and the finishing kiss, and if Strange had any doubts they were partly pushed aside. Whether or not he believed she was actually death incarnate was yet to be seen. But he did believe that she was something. And that something had a great power.

When she began to walk away from the scene and continue her travels down the sidewalk, Strange hurried out into the halted traffic, crossing back to the other side so that he could catch up with her. He took a steady gait at her side. Oddly enough, he fell into cliche respectability and walked on the street side.

He didn't know what question to ask first.

[Death]: She looked up at him, smiling lightly when he moved to the street side of her and matched her pace. "Still a skeptic," she said. It wasn't a question. "What do you want to say, Doctor Strange?"

While she was pleased that he'd followed, it was also a little worrysome. He wasskeptical, since he clearly was unafraid. But that he was persuing her meant there was some element of belief. Did he want something?

[Strange]: Were he any other man he might have been afraid. And were he the man he was before his life change, yes, most definitely fearful. Then again, he probably wouldn't have seen her then. As it was now, he simply want to know.

He didn't know how to put his thoughts into question form.

"I didn't realize," or maybe he didn't try to conceptualize, "that an idea, such as yourself, existed in actual form."

And she wasn't what he would have expected either. Then again, he was young compared to her. He was still imposed with the imagery created by artists and storytellers of black cloaks and 'grim reaper' features.

He had a little bit of trouble with the notion of a concept taking a body of flesh.

[Death]: "Well, now you do." She looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Didn't the Ancient One tell you about us? I'm surprised he didn't. It's not exactly one of the high secrets of the multiverse, but it's not something the general population is consciously aware of."

[Strange]: "The Ancient One believes in following one's own path to knowledge. To learn from others what is necessary in order to succeed in continuing on your own."

Strange had been taught many things. But most of it was to strengthen his belief in the cause and to help him not stray from the path. Because he could have. He could have followed the temptations to the dark side and acted as their liasion to this world. But thankfully he had the good sense not to.

"Perhaps you are just a lesson I have not gotten to. Or one in which he hoped I'd never have to face."

[Death]: She laughed. "Everyone faces me, Stephen. Everyone and everything." But she liked his explaination, and so she figured she could answer a few things. "I'm considered an anthropomorphic personification. My siblings and I carry out our functions, as we have since before the creation of the multiverses." She raised her hands. "As for what form I have, the answer is simpler that you think. You're human. So I'm human, or human-shaped, to you."

[Strange]: Simple answers. Weren't they always? A disadvantage of years of scholarly study before being introduced to this world of magic; where make-believe was far more than just the imagination and monsters under the bed came with very sharp teeth.

"I suppose so," he said in reply to her comment that everyone would eventually face her. He didn't want to be one of them. Not yet, at least. "Ahh. That makes a bit more sense."

No less comforting. But more sense.

"So why are you still here? The world is a big place. Surely you have others to attend to .."

[Death]: "I do attend to them. I'm with them right now. Just as I'm talking to you." She paused in her walk, arms raising to indicate the world at large. "I'm there for old and young, innocent and guilty, those who die together and those who die alone. I'm in cars and boats and planes; in hospitals and forests and abbatoirs. For some folks death is a release, and for others death is an abomination, a terrible thing. But in the end, I'm there for all of them."

[Strange]: Strange halted his pace for a moment and just stared at her. His expression was drawn into tight concern. For what, he was unsure. But he was definitely displaying a signature look of troublesome worry. Lips pursed together in a thin line and he twitched his nose. Then he looked away and continued his walk alongside her.

"That was very well rehearsed."

[Death]: "Not the first time I've been questioned." She stuck her hands back in her pockets. "You're still uneasy. What else do you want to know?"

[Strange]: "I'm not quite sure," he said. Which was honesty at its finest. But then he paused. No, no. He did think he had at least one more query to pose for her. "Why are you so cheerful..?"

She was the harbinger for the end of life itself. It seemed paradoxical that she'd be a bubbly, skipping young girl.

[Death]: She glanced up at him. "Would you honestly rather I carry a scythe and wear a robe?" Her nose wrinkled slightly at the idea.

[Strange]: Strange lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, as though it weren't his place to have an opinion on the matter one way or another.

"I'm rather fond of robes."

He had a very nice one waiting for him at home when he returned from his day's involvements. Warm. Cozy. But still very Masterpiece Theatre.

"Although I suppose if I was going to die I'd want it to be at the hands of an attractive young woman, and not something reminiscent of a character in a Stephen King novel."

[Death]: She frowned suddenly, glancing at him. "You make it sound like I kill people."

[Strange]: "I apologize. What I meant to say was when you escort souls to their new plane of existence."

If that was indeed how it actually panned out. He didn't know. It wasn't his area of expertise. Everything he'd read on this subject had never been actually verified by eyewitness. There weren't exactly formal documented accounts of Death, because, well -- for obvious reasons those who experienced the meeting weren't around to say much.

[Death]: She gave him a light smile. "Sorry. It just... it gets me down sometimes. How people see me. I used to be cold. Unfeeling. Intimidating. It just made things harder. And it upset people. I'd rather at least be a friendly face." She shrugged. "It doesn't take any more effort to be nice than to be cruel. And being nice is a lot more fun."

[Strange]: "Well, if it's any consolation, I appreciate your transition to a more congenial disposition when leading people to their afterlife," Strange replied. "I'm sure it has aided in calming some of the tormented casualties that exist between the realms."

Which was really more along his line of knowledge. The concept of death, though mentioned through some of his ancient texts, had never been something he'd focused too long upon. Perhaps it was the morbidness of the notion, and perhaps it was his belief on its irrelevance. Afterall, he was working to protect the living. What happened afterwards was not in his control.

Either way, it was safe to say that when he returned to his Sanctum that evening he'd be reviewing the section on afterlife in the Book of Vishanti. If she was here in the city, in a physical incarnation, perhaps he should have been prepared for those like her as well.

[Death]: "Well, thank you," she said, giving him a smile. "It's nice to know my efforts are appreciated by some, at least."

She glanced around, noting the changes in the skyline as the City began to change again. "You should probably head back home. Before it moves somewhere you can't find it." Then she gave him a smile. "But, I'm sure I'll see you again. At least once."

[Strange]: Strange followed her glance towards the sky. That was something else he needed to figure out in this perplexing city; the constant shifting, the many changes. The oddness of worlds combining, overlapping, and blurring the lines that previously existed.

"Of that I have no doubt," he said with the light makings of a grin.

Just don't blame him for hoping it wasn't anytime too soon.

A week of existence in this new, yet strangely familiar city, and Dr. Stephen Strange had yet to make contact with anyone be it within or outside the realm of the city's construction. But it wasn't in his nature to immediately freak out and worry. He was a man of structure and reason. And until he managed to make some sort of communication with either Wong or Clea, then he would retain his calm composure.

Of course, that didn't prevent him from being cautious. There was no saying what realm this mysterious city teetered on. And until he was proof-positive of the dangers that might have been lurking out in those streets, he stuck to his safety-net astral form.

For reasons he had yet to explain, which seemed to go hand-in-hand with his sudden appearance in this peculiar location, his alley hidden abode which normally resided at 177A Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, New York -- had somehow materialized in this new location along with him. And though he had yet to determine whether or not it still upheld the same mystical force fields that he had in place back home, he figured that the familiar construction of his Sanctum Sanctorum would be the safest place for his body.

And that's where he was physically. Sitting amongst a few brightly-colored pillows with Tibetan design, the Book of Vishanti opened before him. Eyes glazed over to emptiness.

As for his mind, it was composed in a purple-glowing astral illusion that was currently hovering through a section of the city he had yet to survey. A long maroon hued cloak draped over his shoulders, adding to his already unmistakable sorceror appearance. Alright, so he'd never been one for keeping a low profile amongst his semi-transparent mental configuration. But what he lacked in contemporary fashion, he made up with -- well, strangeness.