Stephen Vincent Strange (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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riverviewlogs2017-10-19 07:53 pm
suckstobestrange) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-10-19 07:53 pm
When I was a child I heard voices
who: Stephen Strange and You
what: Memshare
when: During the Event
where: Anywhere around the city
warnings: Sad small, demons and shitty parenting. Extra big warning for actual happiness TW for suicide attempt in the existing CR toplevel (ie the first comment to the log)
i
It had been hours since the kitchen had been decorated in anticipation of father's birthday and he still wasn't home from work. Donna and Victor were sitting on the sofa entertaining themselves with some small game, and you could hear mother in the kitchen again. She'd ben doing that the last hour, flitting from the kitchen to the living room and back again with a restless sort of energy. You look from where you'd been settled hearing the latch turn on the kitchen door, sharing a glance with your brother and sister before all three of you went running for the room as mother was lighting the candles on the cake.
"Don't bother." His rough voice cut through the excited air, and you felt your mother's hand settle on your shoulder, Donna and Victor stopping short with you.
"But the children worked so hard on this!" Even at her plea, the scowl on his face only deepened as he took in the decorations that had been carefully put up, disapproval practically radiating off of him in a way that had Victor shrinking back against Donna's arm next to you.
"Then they've wasted their valuable time! Life is too short to be squandered on such foolishness!" Hat and coat on the rack by the door, he was already stalking through the kitchen, jabbing an almost accusatory finger at his wife, as if she was to blame for such a heinous crime on his way into the living room. "Where is the profit in a birthday party?"
All of you start at the sound of the door slamming when he retreats to his study, and a glance to your sister shows tears starting to streak her face, and a quiet snuffle from Victor hints that he's not faring much better. Your own face is dry, but you can feel a cold knot of emotion like lead in your gut, especially at the resigned sigh that you catch from mother, as she strokes Donna's hair in an attempt to be reassuring.
"Don't cry children... your father appreciates all your efforts," You can hear it in her voice that she's only lying to save your feelings, to try and smooth over hurt feelings, and that knot of emotion just gets heavier and colder, bitter and harsh. "Really he does..."
"Does he, mother?" Your voice is a little sharper than you intend, and you feel her hand on your shoulder flinch at the tone. the reaction draws conflicted emotions from you, glad to see some reaction other than acceptance and trying to mask the issue, but guilt at snapping at your mother like that. "Sometimes I wonder."
She calls after you when you tug free of her grasp and storm off to your room, but she can't follow yet, not with Donna and Victor both in need of reassurance as well.
ii
It was a strangely nice day. Rolling green fields surrounding a pituresque sort of farmhouse, and the kind of cloudless blue sky that drove most children to play outside, just like the ones behind the house, a small dark-haired boy sitting in the grass watching an older boy standing on a cloth-covered picnic table, holding up a second tablecloth in both hands like a matador's cape. Clearly siblings despite the age difference, the older of the pair wiggling the cloth in a way he clearly thought made the whole thing look more 'mysterious'.
"And look now as I make my assistant disappear!" On the last word the boy dropped the cloth to show nothing behind it, waving a hand to the empty space with a beaming, pleased smile.
The smaller boy however was clearly not pleased with this development, face scrunching as if he wasn't sure if he should start howling his displeasure or not. "Donna?"
"Patience dear audience, I-"
"I want Donna!"
Whatever the boy on the table was going to say was cut off by the sound of giggles from underneath, which just prompted his 'audience' to reach out and... lift the tablecloth to reveal a brunette girl badly stifling laughter behind her hands.
"Honestly, you're the worst assistant!" The older boy huffed, watching her crawling out from under the table.
"Victor liked it better than your act, Stephen!"
"He's five, that- hey get back here!" As the two on the ground took off, the girl shrieking you're it as they did, the boy on the table leapt off to go running after, all three disappearing around the side of the house, laughter echoing in their wake.
iii
You can hear it long before you see it. The rasp of it's heavy wings unfurling in the darkness of the room, the rattle of breath that stirred the blankets you were huddled under as if it could protect you. Mere days before it might have made you feel better, but then you'd gotten a good look at what really went bump in the night and none of the silly childish rituals gave any comfort. All you could do was tuck into the corner by the bed, make yourself as small a target as possible. Maybe it wouldn't look. Maybe it would go away. Even as you hoped you knew it wouldn't. It was toying with you just like it had every other night.
The noises shifted closer, and the urge to shout for your mother for help bubbles up but you stamp it down with difficulty. The creature always vanished when she came to check on you, and it always ran the risk of your father waking too.
All there was left was to wait. Listen to it moving-
Until the blast of breath, hot and stinking of sulfur even through the barrier of a blanket had you biting back a whimper of terror behind a hand. Clearly it had found you, and it was mere seconds later that the blanket was ripped away, and your vision is filled with the thing, a hulking purple monstrosity all claws and shining teeth that just set your stomach to knots as you press yourself back in the corner as if willing yourself to be swallowed up by the wall.
Biting your lip to keep from screaming when you hear the the heavy slide of another's movement, tail moving over the carpet.
It was... going to be a long night.
[ooc: If you would like a character-specific memory feel free to let me know and I'll set up a starter for you!]
what: Memshare
when: During the Event
where: Anywhere around the city
warnings: Sad small, demons and shitty parenting. Extra big warning for actual happiness TW for suicide attempt in the existing CR toplevel (ie the first comment to the log)
i
It had been hours since the kitchen had been decorated in anticipation of father's birthday and he still wasn't home from work. Donna and Victor were sitting on the sofa entertaining themselves with some small game, and you could hear mother in the kitchen again. She'd ben doing that the last hour, flitting from the kitchen to the living room and back again with a restless sort of energy. You look from where you'd been settled hearing the latch turn on the kitchen door, sharing a glance with your brother and sister before all three of you went running for the room as mother was lighting the candles on the cake.
"Don't bother." His rough voice cut through the excited air, and you felt your mother's hand settle on your shoulder, Donna and Victor stopping short with you.
"But the children worked so hard on this!" Even at her plea, the scowl on his face only deepened as he took in the decorations that had been carefully put up, disapproval practically radiating off of him in a way that had Victor shrinking back against Donna's arm next to you.
"Then they've wasted their valuable time! Life is too short to be squandered on such foolishness!" Hat and coat on the rack by the door, he was already stalking through the kitchen, jabbing an almost accusatory finger at his wife, as if she was to blame for such a heinous crime on his way into the living room. "Where is the profit in a birthday party?"
All of you start at the sound of the door slamming when he retreats to his study, and a glance to your sister shows tears starting to streak her face, and a quiet snuffle from Victor hints that he's not faring much better. Your own face is dry, but you can feel a cold knot of emotion like lead in your gut, especially at the resigned sigh that you catch from mother, as she strokes Donna's hair in an attempt to be reassuring.
"Don't cry children... your father appreciates all your efforts," You can hear it in her voice that she's only lying to save your feelings, to try and smooth over hurt feelings, and that knot of emotion just gets heavier and colder, bitter and harsh. "Really he does..."
"Does he, mother?" Your voice is a little sharper than you intend, and you feel her hand on your shoulder flinch at the tone. the reaction draws conflicted emotions from you, glad to see some reaction other than acceptance and trying to mask the issue, but guilt at snapping at your mother like that. "Sometimes I wonder."
She calls after you when you tug free of her grasp and storm off to your room, but she can't follow yet, not with Donna and Victor both in need of reassurance as well.
ii
It was a strangely nice day. Rolling green fields surrounding a pituresque sort of farmhouse, and the kind of cloudless blue sky that drove most children to play outside, just like the ones behind the house, a small dark-haired boy sitting in the grass watching an older boy standing on a cloth-covered picnic table, holding up a second tablecloth in both hands like a matador's cape. Clearly siblings despite the age difference, the older of the pair wiggling the cloth in a way he clearly thought made the whole thing look more 'mysterious'.
"And look now as I make my assistant disappear!" On the last word the boy dropped the cloth to show nothing behind it, waving a hand to the empty space with a beaming, pleased smile.
The smaller boy however was clearly not pleased with this development, face scrunching as if he wasn't sure if he should start howling his displeasure or not. "Donna?"
"Patience dear audience, I-"
"I want Donna!"
Whatever the boy on the table was going to say was cut off by the sound of giggles from underneath, which just prompted his 'audience' to reach out and... lift the tablecloth to reveal a brunette girl badly stifling laughter behind her hands.
"Honestly, you're the worst assistant!" The older boy huffed, watching her crawling out from under the table.
"Victor liked it better than your act, Stephen!"
"He's five, that- hey get back here!" As the two on the ground took off, the girl shrieking you're it as they did, the boy on the table leapt off to go running after, all three disappearing around the side of the house, laughter echoing in their wake.
iii
You can hear it long before you see it. The rasp of it's heavy wings unfurling in the darkness of the room, the rattle of breath that stirred the blankets you were huddled under as if it could protect you. Mere days before it might have made you feel better, but then you'd gotten a good look at what really went bump in the night and none of the silly childish rituals gave any comfort. All you could do was tuck into the corner by the bed, make yourself as small a target as possible. Maybe it wouldn't look. Maybe it would go away. Even as you hoped you knew it wouldn't. It was toying with you just like it had every other night.
The noises shifted closer, and the urge to shout for your mother for help bubbles up but you stamp it down with difficulty. The creature always vanished when she came to check on you, and it always ran the risk of your father waking too.
All there was left was to wait. Listen to it moving-
Until the blast of breath, hot and stinking of sulfur even through the barrier of a blanket had you biting back a whimper of terror behind a hand. Clearly it had found you, and it was mere seconds later that the blanket was ripped away, and your vision is filled with the thing, a hulking purple monstrosity all claws and shining teeth that just set your stomach to knots as you press yourself back in the corner as if willing yourself to be swallowed up by the wall.
Biting your lip to keep from screaming when you hear the the heavy slide of another's movement, tail moving over the carpet.
It was... going to be a long night.
[ooc: If you would like a character-specific memory feel free to let me know and I'll set up a starter for you!]
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[Sam pauses for a moment, and then:]
How old were you when you started having nightmares?
[You know, as long as they're talking about monsters and shit.]
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[Sam you're just lucky he likes you as much as he does.]
I was... nine, I think?
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Did they ever stop?
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[A quiet huff as he allows that shift.]
The demons that accompanied them were thwarted, but the nightmares remain. One of the many perks of the job.
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I mean, I'd have nightmares if I had to eat Cthulhu's babies, too.
[A pause, and then:]
Did the demons just find you because you smelled delicious and magical or something, or did someone set them on you?
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The Ancient One had another apprentice who took offense to the idea that he was getting passed over for the 'big promotion' by a kid who didn't even know magic was a thing beyond backyard parlor tricks. Figured if he could drive me down a path away from magic, that he'd get chosen instead, so basically did everything he could get away with to destroy me.
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Sounds like a real classy guy. [And if Sam's grip on him tightens a little, it definitely doesn't have anything to do with an undercurrent of anger in his voice.] Did the Ancient One know about it and let him do it anyway?
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I'd be all too happy to see the esteemed Baron Mordo get booted into the sun. [He shrugged idly at the second question, tilting his head thoughtfully.] I honestly don't know when he figured it out. He was the one to show up and banish the demons. After that Mordo was more subtle about things. He might've slid by in the Ancient One's blind spot for believing in people's better nature, or he might've seen and decided it needed to happen. Prophecies are weird like that... in trying to push me away from that path, Mordo's efforts pretty much guaranteed I'd wind up on their doorstep.
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[He doesn't sound much happier after Stephen's explanation.]
Especially when they have a kid sneaking into his dad's liquor cabinet to make the nightmares go away.
[yes he saw that one too]
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[Stephen's explanations rarely make anyone happy, so he's used to that.]
...Christ, I'm ready for this memory sharing thing to be done with.
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[He sounds a little apologetic for his inadvertent invasion of Stephen's privacy. Sure, he knows it's the only way he'd ever find out anything about his past, but that still doesn't justify it.]
Okay, but you said you were a hundred, right? What about the memory where you were fighting a war for thousands of years?
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Fighting for... [He wanted to scoff, that it was nuts, but something about it rang true. He furrowed his brows at the idea, thinking about it.
A low, annoyed huff as he figured out just what Sam was talking about.]
The War of the Seven Spheres? I only remember the Vishanti trying to recruit me, renouncing their power to stay out of it, given the Earth being without defense for five thousand years just didn't sit right. Sounds like something came up to convince me otherwise.
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[He's only seen fragments here and there, but he knows it's Stephen's memory. Nearly all of them have been.]
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[It's heavy with sarcasm. He means figurative hitting your head against a wall. Probably.
Although cranial trauma of whatever sort isn't unlikely with the life Stephen lives.]
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[Really, Stephen, he loves you but. Yeah.]
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[He knows.]
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[He can't even.]
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[Yes, he knows it makes sense in a warped sort of way.]
Are there any bones in your body you haven't broken?
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[Sorry Sam did you want more sense because that's not happening.
And pay no attention to him actually thinking about that question.]
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[Spoken like the guy who does most of his fighting from a distance, preferably a distance that is up in the sky and well away from whoever he's shooting at.]
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Besides it's easier for me to punch back if I'm close.
[Says the disaster who should not be punching anything with his hands as they are.]
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Okay, you need your hands to do magic. And they're already real fucked up. Why the hell would you be dumb enough to punch someone and fuck them up some more?
[The answer, he knows, is because he's Stephen Strange.]
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