#doktorvondoom

“No. Begone.”

Strange would mourn Victor’s predictability if it wasn’t so convenient. The Eye of Agamotto flashes, and a curled piece of gilded tree bark appears in his hand. The alien text written on it is translated by the golden glow. “Ah, there it is. You may bring one other person. I would like that person to be me. Would it help if I made myself a woman? If you find the unconventionality of our relationship uncomfortable, I have illusions in spades.”

Doom laughs, and it is Stephen’s turn to regroup, find his flub. “You are a neurosurgeon turned Defender, a snobbish socialite turned Sorcerer Supreme,” the king says, “I am a Zefiro wretch turned monarch, an oppressed genius turned liberator, and you find gender the most unconventional aspect of our mismatched, nigh incomprehensible catastrophe of a partnership? Doctor Stephen Strange, you are a fool of the highest order.”

“I would love to be a fly on the wall for a commencement speech you give at the U of L,” the magician says, hating how small his voice sounds, “You’re quite good at that.”

Victor grins. It is the sweetest neurotoxin on earth.

- - -

Strange busts out his best suit for the occasion, but Doom still shows him up. Dismissed are the tunic and cloak. Instead his armor is coated in a look for the twenty-first century absolute ruler, inlaid with gold and a dragon’s hoard of gemstones. He looks razor sharp, deadly, a death too fast to perceive before the soul is dragged away.

And it’s not green, Stephen thinks, trying not to smirk. Back to the task at hand.

“Be mindful,” he says, leaning in to talk directly into a hidden ear, “The people here know all too well who you are. That’s why they invited you, Victor. They want you for their zoo. You’d be their star attraction. Feedings at twelve and four, demonic torture and torment every fifteen minutes.”

Doom lowers his glass. The scents of cloves and brandy on his breath makes the sorcerer shiver. “Strange.”

“Yes?”

He plants the glass in scarred hands. “If you will not be helpful, then retrieve me more wine.”

- - -

“Our deepest gratitude for inviting us. This has been an unforgettable evening. As Sorcerer Supreme and as a man, I have the greatest respect for forging diplomatic liaisons through peaceful measures, and--”

That’s when everything falls apart.

Doom bows. A thousand red flags go off in Stephen’s mind. Doom never bows, and by the time he’s picked up the ulterior motive, it’s too late. Titanium fingers tweak a ruby button, and Strange recalls something Doom told him at some point in time, something about data stored in the molecular planes of crystals, and there is a shotgun bang of space being rendered open, and a blur of orange and black, and screams, and a five hundred pound male Siberian tiger looks back at the doctors and growls, canines soaked in blood.

“I have a zoo as well,” Victor says.

Stephen has no words.

The king snaps his fingers. The tiger pads to his side and rubs up against his touch. “I have had enough entertainment for tonight.” He steps through the portal where an airship is already waiting for him, and only when the hole closes and Strange is alone does the magician find his voice.