1964-03-03 - Fresh Air and Incoming Storms
Summary: After inhaling poisoned air, Maximus comes to find Dr. Strange on his doorstep and both pay a visit to Tibet's high altitudes, storms and all.
Related: Salsa with the Schutzstaffel, Mob Mentality
Theme Song: None
strange maximus 


Maximus is bundled up in a fur coat…that might be a woman's coat. Its not really clear. And he knows where he wants to go, to the abode of one Dr. Strange. He knows also about where the place should be. After all, from the Baxter Building, he does have a fantastic vantage on the city. But either because of magic, or just because it looks less interesting from the street, he seems to not have located the actual door. He also doesn't look well, favoring the wan side.

*

Leaving the Sanctum on a perfectly mundane errand that involves perfectly mundane black coat (and less than mundane unmistakeable crimson scarf), the good Doctor looks, well…perfectly mundane. What a great cover, +10 to Dexterity were he some sort of assassin. The darkwood doors lock behind him as his hand leaves the brass handle and he turns to immediately find someone standing basically one step beneath him on the short set that lead down to the sidewalk. Drawing up short, with eyebrows high, it takes Strange a moment to recognize the person — man — in question.

"Maximus. Hello." He tends towards succinct when startled. "Can I…help you?" Indeed, the Inhuman isn't looking very well.

*

Maximus turns towards Strange and then draws in a deep breath, the opposite of the usual exhale of relief. "You. I need your help. I am desperate. I feel I will fade away and die, gasping." Drama much?

*

Color the Sorcerer intrigued. Sure, Maximus does look a bit green around the gills. He even sounds like he can't inhale a true lungful of air.

"I see. Well, I can't let a man die on my doorstep. It would look very bad for my record." Shifting to one side, he descends a few steps if only to bring the other man to eye-level instead of looking down on him. "What do you need?"

*

"I need air. I need clean air. And I think I may need some sort of…anti-demon bath for my brain. I feel…terrible." Maximus complains, putting his hand out to the side of the steps as Strange joins him. "Its…" he rolls his eyes. "We Inhumans are not used to this air."

*

The man is looked upon with quiet sympathy. Strange remembers all too well the reasoning for bringing the clout of his mantle to a manor in Argentina; the screams slip too easily from impeccable memory and he winces minutely as he forces the echoes of them from his thoughts. With hands stuffed in coat pockets, he considers options even as he steps with marked pauses down to the sidewalk.

"Hmm. I certainly…have an idea," the good Doctor says as he glances back over his shoulder at Maximus. "If you don't mind following along, I can, at the very least, offer you much cleaner air." The hint of a smile is connected to the flicker of a far more treasured recollection. Turning about, Strange walks backwards a few paces away from the Inhuman, watching him with interest. "Coming?"

*

Perhaps Maximus thought that Strange might carry him. But, he does start walking after a moment of hesitation. "Yes…coming. There was an incident at the bank, with some poison gas that has…really…I am not recovering so swiftly from that." More complaints, but there's a hopefulness of getting some cleaner air.

*

Nope, no carrying. After proving that he can still walk of his own volition, he's expected to follow. Not necessarily mean, but a subtle test of how much Maximus is affected by the poison gas he mentions as well as any other woes infringing upon his usual state. Who knows what the Inhuman assumes as far as where Strange is leading him, but it might be a good bet that the nearest alley isn't the first thing on the list.

Stepping into the shadows of the space between building, the good Doctor continues deeper into it until he's beyond immediate notice by anyone passing by. Maximus might note how his irises begin to glow faintly, proof of the power he's summoning to his person.

"We'll start with some fresh air and then I'll see what I can do from there." A hand oustretched gestures in a concentrated circle and with silent presence, the Gate opens up to reveal…

A flat granite outcropping, extending out into very open space. Cool air, perhaps a bit thin, rushes through and smells of…clouds; ice; sunlight breaking into high-altitude fractals. The shrubs sprouting up between the scattering of small boulders about the ledge are low, hardy things, probably succulents or grass of some sort. Strange tilts his head wordlessly and steps through the rift in reality.

*

Maximus arches his brows at the teleporting and he hurries after, not wanting to get cut off. "This is far better than the teleporting egg I used before." Whatever THAT crazy means! "I'm coming." And he draws in a deep breath and falls to his knees on the other end of this transport to just sit there, sucking in the air, before even bothering to wonder where he is.

*

"Teleporting eggs. Hmm." A thoughtful hum. Off to one side of the grey-stone ledge, Strange glances away from the kneeling Inhuman to flick a hand idly towards the Gate. It swirls in upon itself in a condenscing of sparkler-orange and vanishes entirely. The closure leaves both men standing on what might seem to be the edge of the world itself…at least, until one glances behind them.

Ahead of them is a valley, broad and spreading out eventually into a flat river-plane. Snow covers swatches of it and where the sun has melted away the white, struggling greenery shows through. Behind them…behind them rises the Himalayas, crown of the continent in silvery-blue and foreboding glacial-pales with nevermelting ice and storms of massive power. They aren't high enough to suffer a loss of breath, merely the appreciation for each total lungful drawn in with the chill soothing rather than causing shivers.

His exhale fogs in the passing breeze and Strange murmurs, trying not to disturb the stillness, "This is as close as I can find to the purity of air you might need without needing to placate the gods. Good enough for you?"

*

Maximus turns his head from the open space, the middle of nothingness, to the mountains. His dark curls whip in the thin air up here, almost immediately blasting his cheeks from pale to ruddy. The darkness around his eyes is more apparent, here, but the air is so familiar that despite his state of health, he has a genuinely pleasant gratitude in his eyes. "You've brought me home, though you do not know it." His lips spread out into an overwide smile, and he laughs. "Attilan…I can practically taste you." He stays on his knees, and sits back on his legs, his arms wrapped over his chest.

He turns his steel eyes up to Strange, and he stares, seeing the man in such pristine light that he can take in far more details than usual.

*

A faintly-pleased smile turns the corners of the good Doctor's lips up and he finally pulls himself from appreciating the magnificent sprawl of the Tibetan foothills around him.

"Yes, Wanda told me about Attilan. I learned quite a bit after I asked her about your brother. Turns out she spent some time there, acting as your brother's…voice, if I'm remembering correctly. Old friends…" And he frowns for a moment down at Maximus. "Fate is a fickle thing." An odd addendum, but something well-known to its Shepherd. "You mentioned being poisoned — and the touch of demon still within your mind." The wind blowing past catches in the crimson scarf and it billows, momentarily with more volume than plausible, as if appreciating the tickle of the air caught beneath it. It settles down once more in time for a patient little glare from its master. "I can banish the poison from your system, but it will take touch and a spell." It seems only fair to warn the man, especially after he was demon-handled.

*

A sneer flicks across his face at the mention of Wanda being his brother's voice. "Yes, she made herself a party to all of that. You know it is very rare that someone can speak with him, through the mind. I can do it. He must be very in tune with the person. You should keep an eye on her around him. Not that you will lose your girlfriend, I suppose." Maximus groans and then puts one foot down, then the other, to rise. He runs his hand through his hair, then, pressing it back from his face. A couple choking sounds comes from him and then he can't help coughing, inelegantly. "Do whatever you want to me. At least someone cares."

*

Pity. Maximus probably doesn't want it, and so Strange schools his face to professional coolness. It's rather easy to do, given the reminder of how one must apparently be knowledgeable of the mind they meld with. No matter. That particular discussion has been had and resolved to his satisfaction. Still — nothing like the prickle of a knife-point between the ribs.

"I take great satisfaction in knowing that it likely annoys you that you might owe me some kindness in the future," he informs the Inhuman Royal, a hint of a grin breaking the lines of his goatee. "You might as well sit. If you're unfamiliar with the process of spell-healing, it can be startling." There's a nearby boulder that the Sorcerer motions to. Already, his aura has shifted lighter, brighter, readying the specific thread of power needed for the single-Word healing incantation. It brings his irises to full-shine, frosted-violet in the refined face.

*

Maximus moves towards the bolder to have a seat, but he looks at the Sorceror Supreme with suspicion. "You are not going to make me lose all sense of my…bodily functions, are you? I will be content to cough a few more times before being interested in a humiliation like that, on a mountainside." He perches with his hands on the rock as well, to keep himself steady. Then he frowns, "When you say…spell healing, are you going to heal specific things?"

*

"No, I'll leave you your ability to swallow." Delivered with utter gravity, it's meant as Saharan-dry humor; Wanda's sense of bleak commentary is clearly rubbing off on him. Strange makes his way calmly over to stand before him, not intending to startle or cause any further discomfort for the other man.

"Just as human medicine can incise a nerve from a muscle or dilute all pain with morphine, a spell can be governed by will. I can focus on your lungs alone. I can attempt to neutralize whatever toxins remain in your system, be they deposited by gas or by demon. Both at once, even, though the risks do increase as you get more complicated in your casting." Tall and dignified, he sighs, never dropping Maximus's gaze. "I won't do anything more than you would wish upon yourself."

*

Maximus has to think about that, looking down. But, in the end, his pride will not let him admit, even to himself, that his brain is fucked up. He just can't do it. Its the WORLD that's messed up, not him. He's fine. He's Maximus the Magnificent, no matter how many people say he's Mad instead. "I have no other problems. My genetics are flawless. It is the world that is polluted and must be removed from my system." Max flashes a smile upwards, overbroad. "And the demon? Maybe I can deal with that…on my own. I would hate for you to accidentally erase something important in my mind."

*

Strange nods. "Just remember that one learns to live above their demons. They never go away." There's a world-weariness to his words and expression alike that lingers in a passing shadow. It moves on, shifting instead to concentrating on bringing forth the Mystical energy needed. The hand used to denote said boulder now shines with sky-blue light, misty auroral swirls that make one think of spring mornings and refreshing streams of water glittering with reflected sunlight.

"I'm going to touch you on the shoulder and leave my touch there for a bit. This might tingle." The word choice helpfully narrows down what Maximus might feel as he curls his grip around the nearest shoulder. The whispered Word isn't lost to the wind, but echoes around instead in silvery resonance of his baritone as if they stood in glass chambers: "Changa."

The magic should feel to flow with tendrils of melting ice through his pectorals, weaving into his lungs and then evaporating to dissolve into each breath Maximus inhales and exhales. Other seeking threads slip through his bloodstream, finding molecules of toxins and eating them into nothingness, Mystical white blood cells on the offense. All the while, Strange appears to be in a mild trance, eyes half-lidded and his own cycling of breathing steady as the day is long.

*

The former king is no stranger to strange things. He was once, for a ten year stretch, the ruler of an entire city full of them. So it is with some ease that he accepts that touch and the feeling that follows, trickling through his cells and finding other things astray too. He takes only shallow breaths, while his hands shift anxiously back and forth the tops of his legs. Ultimately he cannot totally relax, but twitches with occassional tension. Maximus swallows thickly. He dares not to interrupt the sorceror during this. The spell can easily detect the lingering effects of the poisonous gas attwck at the bank, as well as the less acute attack of simple pollution, but it also roots out a bit of opiate as well.

*

A spell is a spell is a spell. The intent was to burn out the toxins, whate're the Sorcerer deigned as 'toxin'. It's no surprise that any drug in his system is singled out, considered that these too can be categorized as poison by one who keeps his system very clear of them.

If Strange notes the anxiety, it doesn't show in manner. Cool as a cucumber, he keeps the spell at work for as long as it seems appropriate. Once completed, the flow of power and intent is cut off as cleanly as a tied suture. It fizzles away and dies entirely, leaving a sense akin to a recently-broken fever in its wake; that same sense of fire in veins having died down to nothing. Removing his palm from Maximus's shoulder comes in time with a larger inhale and the good Doctor shakes his head, looking confused for a flicker of a second. A step or two away, a quick once-over of a glance.

"That should do it. As your doctor, I recommend more fresh air now that you can breathe properly."

*

Maximus exhales when the feeling and fire fades from his veins. He slouches, curls hanging in his face some. "I could have used you in Attilan, to help defend my realm from the interlopers. But I suppose…that would be too small a task for a man like you. You have the world…to put before anything or anyone else."

*

"It's not a matter of worlds being smaller or larger or more or less significant. It's a matter of my mantle and duties. This world needs a Guardian from Mystical threats and I was chosen. I'm needed here first before all else." There's no apology in Strange's tone, merely the calm explanation and the sense that it's one repeated time and time again. He can't be everywhere at once — though wouldn't that be a trick.

"From what Wanda told me, the Realm was defended as best it could have been — and besides, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder." Should Maximus look up, he'll catch a toothy grin on the Sorcerer's lips even as he turns away to appreciate the valley below once more.

*

Maximus does look up. He is constantly checking Strange's location, actually. He looks at the man and his smile, then pushes up from the rock to be able to see the valley better. What a view. What air. What familiar scents. He clearly loves his home, if he loves nothing else in the world. And he's away from it. "It was magnificent. Had they not cheated, I would easily have kept Attilan." He makes a casual gesture, swirling his hand in the air. "What should I call you, besides friend?" He asserts.

*

"Cheating. Definitely unfair." Strange tsks aloud. He glances over to Maximus again and gains the impression that the Inhuman is as comfortable as can be, given with the remnants of demon-touch still clouding his aura in smoky dark swirls. That is his own battle to conquer and the Sorcerer respects this.

The low-lying clouds on the distant high ridges swirl in a manner he knows to herald an incoming storm, though the sheer winds might remain far above them still. He tried hard to Gate them into a sheltered niche in the foothills with their rocky parapets and worn walls. Eventually, after a significant enough amount of time has passed, Strange replies to the Inhuman's question.

"I think 'friend' is a good start. Doctor Strange, of course — no 'Mister' or 'Master' or that nonsense." He's air-marked quotations around the other titles and rolls his eyes. "Doctor Strange. Stephen too, I suppose." And he holds out said hand for a diplomatically-friendly shake, Sorcerer to Inhuman Royal.

*

ROLL: Maximus +rolls 1d20 for a result of: 16

*

Maximus takes Strange's hand and squeezes it, then looks out to the coming storm rolling in. But, it doesn't seem to frighten or alarm him. In fact, he seems to delight in it. He takes a step nearer the edge of their precipice, challenging, daring a gust of wind to end him, for his powers could do nothing about it. And for a moment, he hovers on the edge of his sanity. But in the end, he rallies to the side of sense, and he turns his gaze from the storm and looks to Strange.

"Stephen. My full name is Maximus Boltagon. But you may address me as Max. Never Maxi."

*

Never Maxi. Duly noted. "Nice to formally meet you, Maximus Boltagon. I'll stick to Maximus for now. No one calls me Steve unless they want a nice curse. That one does make me consider the forgetfulness of swallowing," he muses aloud; the smile takes some of the dire implications from the threat, but not much. A gust of wind rips past them, causing Strange to tuck his chin against it and draw up his shoulders. "I don't know if you know this, but this means a storm is coming in. I spent enough time here to recognize it. We should head back to New York soon."

*

"I lived here in these mountains…for all of my life. I know the storm is coming…and I can tell how fast its coming. I could tell you exactly when its time to move. But…" he cocks his head, and grins crookedly, steel eyes taking in Strange's own teasing smile. "just because I could, doesn't mean I would. The fury of a storm at least puts all thinking to rest when all you can ponder is how to survive it."

*

"Ah. I spent about a decade, so I defer to your knowledge in the matter." Well, no, he doesn't, but for the sake of amusement, he'll pretend to. "We always went inside before the storms arrived, however, and the nearest shelter is a cave about two hundred feet down. You might know the place. The shepherds of the hills utilize it for that same reason. Their flocks seems to survive just fine. I don't know how they do it." Strange shrugs. "Must be their natural instincts for finding other places to hide. I prefer my Sanctum, personally, and you'd probably prefer your room at the Baxter Building. Shall I Gate you back?"

*

Maximus stands, staring out for a few moments longer. He arches a brow, parts his lips to say something, but then doesn't for another couple seconds. Finally he grits out, "Yes. Back to the Baxter building." Even though its a posh place, he sounds dismal.

*

Strange sees the reticence and there's no hiding the lack of happy emotion in the reply he receives. Curling up his shoulder against another buffeting of wind, the Sorcerer hmphs out a sigh that fogs whitest yet, indicative of the rapid drop in temperature.

"I can't leave you out in this in good faith, Maximus. Unless you can get yourself back to New York from Tibet somehow, with minimal effort and fuss and effects upon reality, I'll need to Gate us back. Besides, aren't you supposed to trust your Doctor?" Even as he extends out two fingers and thumb to conjure up a crackling oculus in the veils of his Realm, Strange attempts to cajole the moderately-mad man with a tilt of his head and friendly smile.

*

Maximus grins crookedly at Strange's noting of his reluctance. "You read me wrong." And once that sparking gate appears, he will walk through it, without explaining what was wrong about Stephen's assumptions. His skin is stung red by all the chill, and when he walks through, he has a proud, stiff bearing.

*

Leave it to a madman to keep the good Doctor on his toes. Eyebrows flick up in brief surprise and he watches Maximus walk through the Gate leading to the hallway in the Baxter Building in silence. Read him wrong, did he? Hmm…also duly noted — highlight the reminder that the Inhuman Royal is blatantly unpredictable at times and this was a very minor reflection of it.

Finally, he comes up with a response. "If I wasn't wrong from time to time, I'd be perfect and this reality would collapse upon itself," he calls through the Gate with a laugh. Wanda would surely give him a side-glare and remind him that peacocks are easy to pluck. Another gust of wind nearly knocks him over and he laughs again, squinting against the snow beginning to pick up. "Another time, Maximus!" Hopefully he's heard over the moaning of the incoming storm and the occulus collapses just after the Sorcerer turns from it, intending to cast another leading to the Sanctum.

*

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