The Guardian of Greenwich Village

The Unbelievable Gwenpool #3 (2016)

    𝓦earisome had his efforts become, day in and day out occupied by endeavors which would prove fruitless. The fact of the matter was that he was far too tired– a candle worn down to the wick, if you will. He wasn’t making any progress as he was now; much in need of a fresh pair of eyes to problem-solve in his stead.

    A change of scenery would have to suffice.

    So to a local pub had he ventured with a select clump of papers in hand. Recent altercations wracked his mind, echoing words of caution he intended to drown out with a tumbler of whiskey. As his drink arrived so was a seat beside him occupied in spite of the apparent emptiness of the bar. And, irritably, Ford began to sweep his papers from where they spilled out across polished oak into the stranger’s space.

    Only– a short glance availed him that this was no stranger at all.

    “Strange…?” Blue eyes turned to regard the other’s features more closely, almost believing that his eyes were playing tricks on him for a second. Of course– it was very well possible…after all, he had had the (mis)fortune to cross paths with Rick Sanchez himself in this hellhole. The odds against encountering any other interdimensional acquaintances was shrinking by the second.

    “I never thought I’d catch the likes of you in a place like this. It’s…good to see you.”

   Of course, it wasn’t uncommon to see a friend, though those who he’s had to shy away from a dimension or seven wasn't a usual thing.

   “ Ah, Stanford. How fitting, you did owe me a drink if you recall. “

  Granted, Stephen was already a few cups in, magically infested organs does wonders for increasing tolerance.    Downing the rest of his mai tai (which wasn’t much), he tapped the counter and reached down to help his friend pick up his misplaced forms.

Regardless, he took the drink into his hands, letting out another puff of air while he decided to take a closer look at his surroundings for the first time since his arrival. Truly, the sight was awe-inspiring, though the storm prevented him from looking as far into the distance as he would have liked. Sipping from his drink, he managed to follow the other with surprisingly little effort, neither talking nor looking at him, staying a couple of inches behind. Few people would have guessed that the youngest brother had experience in mountain climbing, though he would have never expected to need said skills in such a way. Following a strange wizard who could probably teach him magic. Part of him questioned his sanity, and what the hell he was thinking. 

By the time they had reached what Todomatsu figured was their goal, the snow had lifted, leaving the two of them in a surprisingly calming scenery of white. Finally, he decided to catch up with the sorcerer, letting out an exhausted sigh by the time he was next to him.

   As he neared the stone temple, quiet mutterings left his lips, and he performed a number of curious hand gestures, much like a maestro conducting an orchestra.         Once dark, the pagoda became bright from the inside, torches lifting from the ground to     h   o   v   e   r                 in a circle around the plot of land occupied by the structure.

   What was most interesting was that past the torches, the snow seemed to...stop.  It was a contrasting scene of green grass and colorful flora; even the sky seemed clearer around it. An impressive gatehouse, adorned with odd etchings and statues of otherworldly beings seemed to “guard” the entrance, a large steel door.    Stephen seemed to briefly note the gate’s protectors by giving the lot of them a solemn nod before opening the door with a forceful push.

The courtyard beyond was a beautiful zen garden. Carefully manicured plants sat beside green ponds, lotus flowers basking in the sunlight. Trees towered over the square, weeping willows and maples, leaves glowing while they kissed the sun’s rays. More statuettes dotted the serene plaza, promoting a sense of spirituality.    In its center was a thick, shale slab with intricate carvings. The sorcerer carefully went through the garden and stepped onto the slab, sitting on the stone floor with his legs placed in a lotus position.

He had his own informal room in the mansion, or rather, a bed to sleep in that bettered the ones he was dealt with. Tony repaid his friendship with materialistic items – a pack of beer, a bed, a new suit. 

John drinks himself to sleep - it’s the only way he CAN sleep. Slowly but surely, he wakes, surprisingly early that morning and makes his way down into the kitchen to grab his morning snack, which was a cold can of beans. The second he takes it into his hand and turns around he hears the voice of the sorcerer and frowns INSTANTLY. 

  “ I can’t eat any of it anyways. My body is more or less infested with magic. It’s like trying to feed a lion a chopped salad. “ He was a bit silent after that, finding something to do by drinking more coffee. His cup sat on the table, a sigh escaping his lips.

“L-Lamda…”, he repeated, barely loud enough to be audible between the storms howling. Not once had he set foot into one of the districts, let alone left to a place so abandoned and dangerous. If Strange wished to leave him here to die, in what position was he to protest? Regret began to wrap around his chest, constricting his breathing like a tight rope. 

“ If I wished to just take us to the Sanctum, I could.    But you would learn nothing.        And I would miss this beautiful weather.      Stay on the path, boy, or you’ll find yourself neck deep in snow again. “ These words were dripping in a lack of care for Totty’s state. He kept the torch close to warm him up, making sure to keep his pupil on the relative safety of the boulders instead of the icy surprise that he found himself in moments ago.

“ You are the sadist, Todomatsu Matsuno. “

“ You take pleasure in your own weakness and find false comfort. Do not allow yourself to become the victim of this storm. You must persevere.

          Without this, you are hopeless. “    Strange nudged the thermos into his hands.  “ Drink, or you really will freeze. “

One after another, he pulled out clothes, and even if he decided to ignore their weird scent, he couldn’t pry his eyes off of the odd colours and the sordid workmanship. Here he thought magic was impressive.  “You really want me to put this on? Here?” The fact that they were standing in the middle of a diner didn’t go past him yet, but he didn’t wait for the obvious response until he got to work. Pulling on the boots and coat, he decided to pull his beanie over his ears, cheeks heating up as he waited for the inevitable freeze to chill him to his bones. No coldness in the world could justify just how little his clothes went together. How big the coat was on his 5′3 tall figure. How much regret rushed through his veins as he reached forward to take the magicians hand, and taking a step forward. 

The wind hit him harder than expected, and suddenly he was glad for the ridiculously furry collar this coat possessed. The sextuplet puffed out his cheeks, watching as his breath escaped as a small cloud of smoke, ascending and disappearing into naught. 

  Without the obstruction of the large gateway, the setting was much more visible. It was quite chilly, with a solid breeze blowing against them. The mountainside was quite pristine, save for colorful prayer flags which Stephen decorated certain points with. The line of flags closest to them seemed to lead in a path, which was dotted with lit braziers. Sets of stones composed a path through the winding mountainside, may of which seemed quite precarious.

“ This is District Lambda. A harsh and unforgiving place.“ Stephen started upon the path, passing the thermos of tea to his disciple.  “ Few paths down exist and all of them are quite dangerous. That’s why I choose to fly. “

“ We will walk to my Sanctum. There you will begin your training. “ The sorcerer saw who he used to be in this young boy, though he would never dare mention that. He understood more than anyone that the role of a master and their pupil is a deep one, which requires a special kind of rearing. The Ancient One would be dying of laughter if he could see this.

“ You will not freeze to death. I can provide medical assistance if something happens, but our walk will be a brief one. “ His feet touched the floor and he crossed to the other side of the doorway, putting his hands in his pockets. It was pretty chilly, but years of this kind of environment (and plenty of warm tea) helped him adapt. He took a thermos of it from his cloak pocket and started drinking, already feeling the need to warm up.

this post was used for reference.

His fingers clenched, eyes trailing toward the ground in order to find something, really anything else to focus on. His face heat up, heart racing as he struggled to get out the words lingering on the tip of his tongue. They were so easy, so simple too. 

 It is true that all of his old magic had more or less been negated by this place. But Stephen Strange was the sorcerer supreme for a reason. New spells must be made. Magic cannot die.

  He opened the contents of the bag, a fine powder, and tossed it into the air. Bricks and cushions and metal pipes, all various detritus from the diner seemed to mesh together to create a large doorway, leading to what appeared to be a snowy mountaintop. He ignored the complaints of one of the waitresses, who threatened to call some sort of authority.    It’s just a magic trick.

 “ It won’t be easy, Todomatsu.           But if you agree to this, I promise you, “ He began, sitting cross-legged in the air.

His shoulders were tense, and he couldn’t find it in himself to relax. With his arms crossed, he dug his fingers into his sleeves, taking a deep breath before replying. “W-well I…”, finding the answer was tougher than expected. Or rather, he didn’t know how to put it that wouldn’t make him sound like a selfish coward.

In countless years past, when Stephen asked for tutelage, he came for the most selfish reasons. Indeed, few seek to better themselves for others at first. It takes rigorous training, a forming of the soul if you will, for one to truly master the mystic arts. This he had to learn the hard way.

 “ Incorrect. “ Strange said sternly, eyes looking up from his mug.                 “ I require total honesty. “

    “ I won’t teach you if that is your reason. “

  Strange didn’t know this completely, granted. The golden amulet which sat on his sternum was, apart from very gaudy stylish, an excellent lie detector. An eye from a god, able to peer into souls. Unfortunately, such a mighty boon was snatched away by the powers that be. Although he probably won’t be able to tell every time Romanov told a lie, he was trained quite well in the art of counter-deception.