1963-09-20 - Where is Pepper Potts?!
Summary: Bucky Barnes demands Stephen Strange help him find the missing Pepper Potts.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
strange bucky 

There's a hammering at Strange's shop door. Loud, to the point that it sounds like the knocker is on the verge of breaking the glass. He's hammering away on the door and battering it against the frame. It's past business hours, but not quite pitch black out. On the other side of a glass is a stocky, thickset man with a haggard expresson on his lean features.


The Sanctum's wards flare with minor alarm and with more alacrity than usual. Strange was about to retire for the evening and pauses in placing his tome back in its usual place in the broadly-shelved library room.

"What on Earth…?" he murmurs as he strides swiftly into the hallway and down the stairs with soft-soled booted thuds. The wards ring of caution once more before falling eerily silent, much like an attack dog ready to lunge at its handler's command. Strange reaches for the front door's handle during the one last knock and feels the hammering vibration in the wood. His eyebrows rise high, but then he schools his expression to neutrality and opens the door.

A stranger, of course, but this time, a man - and not the Trickster God. This one is purely human to his Mystical senses, no odd aura about him. The once-over glance is given to the stranger before the good doctor offers a professional, thin smile. "The shop is closed, you'll need to come back at another time."


"You're the wizard?"

The man's eyes are hard— and there's a countenance of extreme violence, barely restrained. Strange doesn't even need to look to see the man's hands are trembling with fury. "The wizard, Strange?"

He bulls past Strange a beat later, face set and flinty. "My girlfriend's been kidnapped. By one of those demons. I need weapons— knives and silver bullets— and I need you to tell me /how to find Pepper Potts/," he growls, nose to nose with Strange and with a peculiar expression on his face.

Fearlessness. Absolute fearlessness.


"If I had a dime for every person this week who came in asking about finding a lost girlfriend," Strange replies back rather coolly. Is he joking or not? Perhaps not - many innocent folk have gone missing with the opening of the Hellmouth and between him counseling grief-driven lovers from behind his shop's counter and attempting to research a way to close the hellish portal, he's hard-pressed to grant sympathy to such a pushy visitor.

The wards close in about them and to Strange, it feels like the looming presence of a familiar guardian. To anyone else, it's the feeling of lightning zeroing in on you, save for the acutely-uncomfortable nerve-tingling sensation goes on and on…and on.

"And I'm not a 'wizard'," the good doctor adds with some tartness. "My title is 'Sorcerer Supreme' - and with sorcery comes a cost. A tracking spell…" he muses quietly, perfectly comfortable within the webbing of the wards around them. Ignoring the front put on by the stranger is likely the best way to defuse the tense situation. "When was she taken?"


Bucky grits his teeth. "Fine. Whatever you want. I'll pay it." He unslings a duffel bag and darts his hand into it— but instead of a weapon, he reveals several close bundles of $100s. It's easily five thousand dollars.

"Cash. Plenty of it, and more if this isn't enough. You want— weapons? Someone killed? I'll do whatever it takes. Anything," he snarls, dropping the duffel bag at their feet, money spilling out.

"She was taken sometime last night. I've spent the day searching for her. I found her shoes in the alley near the apartment— and the place stank of sulfur."


Strange's eyebrows quirk high. His gaze, resting on the bundles of bills now strewn about his entryway, rises back to the man's face. It's quite the offer, along with everything else - and it gives him an idea of whom exactly he's dealing with. This man likely has a dark, dark skill set.

"Though the offer of…killing someone is admittedly tempting from time to time, there's nothing like a good curse to do the job." His thin smile has darkened and then slips away. "Anything?" It's a very serious offer and he isn't certain that the man understands how deeply into trouble he could get with the sorcerous folk with what he's giving with open hands.

Finally, with a gentle flick of his wrist, Strange charms the wads of cash back into the duffel bag and the quick zipping sound echoes in the still entryway. The wards are reassured, lulled back into still watchfulness, and no longer hover like a guillotine.

"I'll take the cash and your word as a potential ally in the near future…especially if you wish to deal with demons." He extends a scarred hand towards the man that doesn't shiver in the least; it remains controlled because of the magic surging through it. To the layman, it seems as if there's a subtle corona, sunflower-orange in color, which weaves about his extended palm. "Once you shake my head, a deal is a deal, and then I can aid you." His steel-blue eyes never waver from Bucky's face.


"Anything," Bucky agrees, his voice an angry, low rasp. "I'll aid you the next time you call." He grabs Strange's hand in a bone-crushing grip.


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