One Small Step

[Dr. Strange]

(For Sara Pezzini)

The man named Dr. Stephen Strange, master of the mystic arts, sorcerer supreme of earth, was working. That is to say he was sitting in the third floor library of his Greenwich Village home absentmindedly levitating pen a few inches from his desk top and staring drearily at the sixth page of a newly acquired book. It was an interesting tome, and normally the doctor might have been giving it more than this bored glance-over, but the inherent advantages of moving through time by slowing oneself down rather than by speeding oneself back just couldn’t hold his attention. Not tonight. There was a feeling of unformed expectation in the air and it was driving the normally level-headed sorcerer up a wall.

The windows of the library faced the street, and he heard the sound of someone knocking below, not just heard it, of course, because he could feel the essence of a person this close to his Sanctum. On his very doorstep, so to speak. His first inclination, however, was not to get up, “Wong, who’s at…” he started to call out and trailed off, realizing his error. He had sent his servant away on a much deserved night off, so with the man off doing, well, whatever it was that he did, Strange was now to be drawn away from this dull task to something different. “Right.” He sighed and let the pen drop, stood and brushed his clothing off, a white shirt under a scarlet vest and neatly pressed black pants. Abruptly he raised his hand and, like an eager puppy, a gold trimmed, scarlet cape flew from where it lay folded on a bookshelf and draped itself on his shoulders. Properly attired now, the gold Eye of Agamotto glittering on his chest, Strange closed his eyes and fell.

He dropped easily through the floors, into the entrance hall of the old house. This was his home, and he controlled certain aspects of it, he could do things here he could never attempt elsewhere.

The entrance was dark, he waved a hand and the lamps on the wall blazed to life, glowed with warm golden light. Another wave of his hand and the twin doors opened wide on the night, revealing a figure from whom he sensed no hostility. Quite lucky, that, as he had placed enough enchantment on the front doorstep to fry anyone who came to him intending harm. An unfortunate necessity. “Hello there,” He was friendly, there was no real reason for him to be impolite, or even vaguely mysterious, it simply wasn’t necessary. “I am Dr. Strange, can I help you with something?” It was the first, obvious question, so few people came to him for casual chats.

[Sara Pezzini]

Sara stood at the front door of Doctor Strange’s home. Very ironic how she found out about him, it was in Chinatown. She had heard through a very reliable source that he would be able to help her with the witchblade since she herself, the wielder, has yet to discover its full extent. She couldn’t even take the damn thing off! She only knew a little about it but it wasn’t enough for Sara, she had to know more about it. Word had that Steven Strange was the man to see so with a simple call she was able to find about where the man lived.

“I am Dr. Strange, can I help you with something?”

“I was told you could help me with this.”

She told the man pulling up her sleeve revealing the dormant witchblade that was in the guise of a common bracelet. She was going to be blunt and to the point about the whole thing. She found no point in beating around the bush about the witchblade. She knew who the man was.

[Dr. Strange]

Strange raised an eyebrow and peered down at the bracelet, frowning slightly. It didn't look to be a pleasant object but, then again, it wasn't particularly dangerous looking. He stepped aside, "Come in, come in. I can't make any promises, but I think I can find a solution..." He waited until she was within the well lit hall to close the door, magic was best performed behind closed doors after all. He rose his left hand and the closest light flared even brighter, he took hold of her hand and held it so the bracelet caught the light, he didn't touch the bracelet though. It was rather too dangerous.

"Interesting, very interesting." He frowned slightly, held up a hand a mere inch from the bracelet and muttered something under his breath, abruptly the gold amulet seemed to open at his chest, revealing a scarlet eye. It flashed and then closed again, it took barely a moment, but in that moment the wizard saw quite a few things. He saw the object it truly was, saw a piece of its history, but worst of all he saw into its heart. The thing was sentient. Strange's frown grew deeper, he dropped Sara's hand and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't suppose it has been... talking to you? Has it?"

He was thoughtful about the whole thing, trying to decide what this item was. It didn't seem evil, not necessarily, and neither did this young woman. Still, it was the sentience of the thing that worried him, magic items with even a hint of self-awareness could skew things. "I am quite sure we can deal with it, did you want it taken off or are you trying to use it?"

[Sara Pezzini]

"I don't suppose it has been... talking to you? Has it?"

“When it feels like it.”

She replied to him. The witchblade had shown Sara many of its previous hosts, all women and many had included Joan of Arc and Cleopatra. The had even revealed to her that it was the offspring of the Darkness and the Angelus long ago were they decided to have a truce to bring a balance between good and evil. Also, revealed to her was that it had to have a female host to be used, if a male decided to try the witchblade on the man would lose their arm.

"I am quite sure we can deal with it, did you want it taken off or are you trying to use it?"

“Taking it off would be nice on occasion. I’m mainly here to find out more about it… and I should warn you, it doesn’t take kindly to man that well.”

She replied. Deep down Dr. Strange’s frown seemed to worry her. Usually when a person had a look on their face like his it meant they had no clue what it was or they didn’t like the thing very much.

[Dr. Strange]

Strange’s frown slipped away slightly, “Yes, I got that impression. Still, it is nothing that cannot be worked around. If you would come this way please.” He started up the stairs, trying to decide how best to deal with this particular anomaly. The best thing to do was go to the library, and if there wasn’t a book on it perhaps he could get into contact with another sorcerer, one who was more knowledgeable about such artifacts. Symbiotic weapons weren’t exactly his forte, nor was there a reason they should have been. He almost jumped when they reached the third floor, only half aware that he had been moving at all.

He went to the first door on the left and turned the knob, the lights were still on and there was a warm fire glowing in the fireplace, however, this was not the immediate impression one would get from entering. The immediate impression would revolve around the sheer number of books in the room. From floor to ceiling there were shelves crammed full of them, they formed neat stacks on the floor, covered the desk, lay haphazardly on the window sill, or, as was the case with two books, sat on pedestals in corners of the room. These were not exactly normal books either, for those sat (In a similar state of disarray) in the library downstairs, this room was devoted exclusively to texts on magic and such otherworldly pursuits. Many bore no name at all, whole rows of similarly bound, similarly sized books without name or number, others were labeled in languages that didn’t seem at all human, still others were bound with string or latched closed. It was an odd collection, and the scraps of paper that littered the floor, along with half used candles and wood scraps, didn’t make it seem any more normal.

“Pardon the mess, I haven’t gotten around to cleaning in a while… Ah, here, you may have a seat if you’d prefer it to standing…” The doctor was gazing at one of the intimidating shelves without looking back, but the chair behind the desk shot back a foot and remained there, as if it were waiting. “Now, you said the object in question had spoken to you, did it tell you its name and… actually…” He turned around to face her, “I haven’t asked your name either. I’m very sorry for that, I must have gotten distracted.”

[Sara Pezzini]

(Sorry this is so short I'm having bad writer's block.)

Sara looked about the room in awe. They were obviously books you wouldn’t find in a library. The books all seemed very ancient and filled with information about supernaturals and magicks. Sara jumped a little bit as the chair moved by itself seemingly begging her to seat down. Being polite she took a seat. Looking up at Dr. Strange she gave him a smile. It was rare to find a man that was polite and a gentlemen.

“Sara. Sara Pezzini. Also, I believe the name of what I came to talk to you about is witchblade.” She replied.

[Dr. Strange]

OOC: No worries! I know how that is

“That’s a lovely name… Sara, it’s very fitting for you.” He was half talking to himself as he swept to the other side of the room and selected a book seemingly at random from the shelf, a rather narrow looking one with binding that bordered on ancient. It had been printed, but the words were nearly faded, and one could tell from the spelling, if not from the awkward set of the type that the book was quite old. Strange might have guessed it at about 1500, but he wasn’t exactly the authority on such things. He simply knew what it was about, not when it had been written.

He set it down on the desk, opened it neatly and began to turn the pages delicately. “I found this recently, I would say that it was luck but the world is never than simple is it?” Strange didn’t believe in luck, things happened for a reason, or so he had found, luck was the simplest answer and rarely the correct one, no matter what Occam said. “In any case, I recognize the name, even if it’s just in passing… Ah, here it is… lame de sorciere, the blade of Joan of Arc…” He ran a finger over the lines, frowning, there was a drawn image of a blade off to the side but it looked as if it had been added later, scrawled on the side by someone with a pen. He ignored it, continued on with the reading, “The blade which is itself… I assume that means that it is sentient… there’s a list of people the writer seems to think owned it, but I don’t think he’s certain himself, and as the book is so old it’s not exactly the most useful… oh, here we are… It is at once itself and its wielder, both darkness and light… Armor and sword…” Strange trailed off, shook his head slightly, and offered Sara a nonplussed smile. A short and unenlightening bit of text from someone who had likely never laid an eye on the thing.

“Not very helpful I suppose, but we can glean at least a little from…” He flipped to the front of the book, to the title page which chose not to bear its author’s name, “Well, from whoever elected to write this lovely prose. The first thing is that the chances of me getting that off of you are rather slim, assuming you want to keep your arm…” He smiled, the sort of joke one makes when one’s been cooped up inside for a little too long. “This line here… ‘Itself and its wielder’ seems to imply that it’s symbiotic, and once it chooses a host it stays. So, I’m sorry for that. But!” And here he endeavored to look marginally more cheerful, “It looks as though the blade can alter aspects of itself, become armor and things of that nature, so, well, looking on the bright side it’s at least useful, yes? And with a little prying I should be able to figure out what precisely makes it work… I think the first option, though, is going to be a need to defend itself and its host, namely you Ms. Pezzini. Has it reacted before? Formed a weapon or armor around you?”

[Sara Pezzini]

Dr. Strange’s words that he read from the book were very familiar. Whoever the writer was seemed to be very familiar with the witchblade but never seemed to have been a host of it. Sara wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if the author was Irons. She nodded at Dr. Strange when he asked her if the witchblade protected her by turning into armour when she was in danger and basically had a mind of its own. It had even formed into weapons to defend herself and wings to give her the ability to fly when needed. However because the witchblade had a mind of its own it didn’t like a few people in this world and it would literally go wild on her to point where she wasn’t able to control it.

“It’s saved my life more than once.” She replied. “It’s been an armour, a sword, hell even it shoot energy blasts.”

[Dr. Strange]

Strange nodded, that sounded about right, it could probably do a good deal more if forced to, but to actually understand it he would have to really look at it, force it to submit to his comprehension. He was relatively sure he could do it, but that didn’t mean it was the right thing to do, he wasn’t the one who had to understand it, anyway. He just had to figure out a way for her to understand it. That would be a lot less straightforward and much less likely to result in something horrid happening. Really that was all one could ask.

He walked around the desk and sat down, reached back and grabbed the book, flipping through it more to have something to do than to garner any more information from it. “So, when this happens, when it forms armor or shoots energy or something to that effect, do you have any conscious control over it happening? The key to controlling it could be as simple as controlling your breathing or heartbeat, sometimes sentient items are less aware of their surroundings than of their possessor’s reactions.” As Strange was speaking he pulled his cape off, intending to drape it off to the side and finding it alive in his hand, it floated a few inches from the ground, seemed as though it were inspecting the woman and then draped itself over the back of the chair, Strange simply sighed.

“Unfortunately, some sentient objects are more aware of their surroundings than any human can honestly comprehend. But, we shall see…” He brought his legs up, sitting crosslegged on his desk and resting his right elbow on his knee, dropped his chin on it. "Does this Witchblade wait to form a weapon until you tell it to, or is it reacting to an unconscious necessity, to fear or pain?"