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Billy arrives one afternoon, his expression a little bit thoughtful. He knocks of course: he isn't quite sure if entering the Sanctum without some sort of explicit invitation might set the wards into angry dog mode. He has with him a big bag of blue chips, the likes of which Stephen has never seen before. 'Cool Ranch Doritos'? What is that? He seems to be quite contentedly and almost blissfully munching on them. "Hi." he greets once inside, enduring the inevitable sniffing the wards do with a little more grace then he usually did, "How's things? I had some stuff I wanted to talk about."
*
The wards know this one, but not the bag. The crinkly blue sack is inspected in the usual demi-sentient manner and in fact, Strange beats the guardian spells to their report regarding Billy. Chips. Powdery fake dressing. That last part has him admittedly curious, though the Sorcerer striding to the open door of the living room on said ground floor makes no such comment as to said chips. Junk food, blugh. He'll stick with…extra-dimensional…nachos, yes.
Billy asks and Strange leans nonchalantly on the door frame, hands in the pockets of his dress pants. "Things are their usual moderately unpredictable selves." He sighs, tilts his head slightly, and gives the young man a searching look. He's attempting to figure out precisely what Billy wants before it's explained. Whether or not he has correct suspicions will play out. "You've come at good time for talking, if that's what you wish to do. I'm between tasks and tired of re-reading cramped Sumerian script. Whomever wrote the diary initially had atrocious hand writing." He disappears into the room again. Tea is made, he gestures to the chair on the left, and then settles into his own chair. "Regale me." It's the usual invitation for anyone conversing with him in the Petitioner's Chair.
*
Extending the bag of chips he magiced from the future towards Stephen, he grins, "They're the best thing ever. They won't be invented for like … I don't remember exactly, but the world is missing out." Heading over, he plops himself on the chair, munching. "So… I don't know really what you're capable of." he begins, thoughtful, "If you wanted to, do you think you could block my telekinesis? Not my spells, I know how someone could block those… but the moving-stuff-with-my-mind bit. And by 'you', I don't mean just you specifically, but a bad guy with approximately similar powers and ill intent… if not, you know, the whole Supreme thing backing up their pointy hat mojo."
*
The hand not holding a cup of steaming dark tea (mmm, blackberry and clove) rises to politely decline the offer of said Cool Ranch Doritos. Thank you, but no. Color him interested, however, in Billy's continued line of thought. Leaning to one side in his chair, he rests his jawline on his palm and aligns two fingers with a silvered temple.
His brows flick upwards and he looks at the young man thoughtfully, ideas flickering behind those calm steel-blue eyes, and eventually nods.
"I believe that I could, though it would take outside influence beyond that of this dimension for others and perhaps myself. Magic is a fortunately malleable thing." There's no braggadocio in this statement; it's more solemn than anything else, bordering on…slightly worried.
*
Nodding his head, Billy nibbling on his lower lip, "Okay, that brings up two things. See, I tried to talk my friend who is training me in fighting? That its pointless. I use my TK instinctively: and I'm as skilled with it then anything in my hands, and I'm stronger then I ever will be. So I saw no point in learning to punch or you know… manual self-defense? Why learn to dodge when I can just wrap someone in force and hold them? Buuut, she asked if I could guarantee someone couldn't nullify that. I wasn't sure. Now with that… I guess I'm going to have to give in and learn self-defense, if only in case like, someone manages to corner me with an anti-telekinesis charm or something." He sighs, wistful. But he'll try this tea substance, and from his expression, this is one gene that did not pass on. Then again it might be that Doritos and Tea do not exactly mix well.
*
There's a high likelihood that the standard blend of tea offered to guests does not go well with Doritos, especially those of Cool Ranch ilk. The wrinkling of the young man's nose is enough to make Strange's lips rise at the corners in a wisp of fond amusement.
"It would behoove you to learn self-defense. At Kamar-Taj, where I completed my apprenticeship, there was no option in the matter because magic can fail. Willpower can fail. We trained in physical weaponry as well as martial arts, hand-to-hand combat." He shifts in his chair, lifting an ankle to rest on one knee. The mild slouch ends up stretching some of the buttons of his dress shirt. "It's come in handy a few times for me." Was that a terrible pun? A little lift of his tea cup seems to suggest it and he takes a big mouthful of it.
*
Long-suffering says his sigh, Billy nods his head, but the pun has him sharing a dimpled grin before it dissipates. "Okay." He accepts this wisdom, even if he doesn't like it, "That brings me to… I wonder if you could…" He hesitates, "I don't understand your stuff, but some things you seem able to do that I can't imagine doing. The wards — which by the way, after the Mojo incident, I'd like it if you could ward my apartment… Anyways." He grins sheepishly. Billy sometimes… natters. "Like I said, I TK on instinct. That's making it hard to train: she ambushes me and I have the TK out before I've thought to fall into a fighting stance or roll with it or whatever. I need something that can disable my TK— if only in a short range, and which would wear out after awhile, because.. I don't want to give someone, even someone I trust to train me, a permanent ability to nullify one of my key abilities. But so far i'm having a *real* hard time training the fighting instincts when the magic comes so naturally."
*
Dimples young are mirrored by dimples dignified from behind the curvature of the cup's rim. Gotcha, oh more serious of the two boys. Dad Pun for the day: check.
The Sorcerer sets aside the demi-tasse and settles back into the comfort of the high-backed chair again. "The wards are a simple task. You let me know when the time would be best. I'll have to set an anchor, so if it's not an immediate need, decide upon an object that's either mundane enough to never be considered as such or so well-hidden that even I might have trouble finding it. For the other request, let me make sure I understand what you're asking. You want the ability to have your…tee-kay powers muted upon their summoning, but only for a short period of time. Are you looking for corrective feedback to remind you not to summon them?"
*
"Anchor. Right. I'll look around the place." Billy says, smiling quickly: wards are easy. Anything that keeps Mojo from invading his TV again? Easy to ask. This second is… harder. Billy is clearly not comfortable with even the topic. "I'm looking for something I can give someone else, so that as long as they have it, and are near to me, ideally? My TK just fails. But that would wear out and be useless after, I don't nkow. A month maybe. Enough time for me to train some new reflexes, or at least untrain the reflex to reach for the TK the moment I sense threat. I don't know if this is even possible. If all that's possible is… corrective feedback, that's better then nothing. Or, if you have a better idea? You know way more about all this stuff. My TK manifested when I fell off a roof: before I hit the ground I had somehow warped reality to such an extent that I started to fly. That all happened in the breath of moments. Its the *instinct* to use it that is the problem: its my first and most natural self-defense reflex. I rely on it utterly even though I know I shouldn't." And he looks clearly nervous about the idea of nullifying his most reliable weapon and defense, even if temporarily, even if he has decided he needs it.
*
The Sorcerer's nod is slow, contemplative, even somewhat grave. It is a heavy thing to ask that a tried-and-true defensive ability be nulled for even a short period of time. He goes back to leaning on his hand again.
"Alright, an object that emits a zone wherein your natural reality-warping abilities are void. The corrective feedback wouldn't be necessary. There's no need to add in a punishment unless you'll willing to be subjected to it for the sake of teaching yourself not to rely on them exclusively. I presume your sparring partner would be the one handling this object? Do you trust her with this object…?" Aw, there it is — the worried paternal instincts cropping up, as new as they are; it's a bit like stretching muscles recently discovered.
*
"She's in The Contingency Plan. She's my friend." Billy nods his head firmly, on the matter of trust, "She has my back, or I have hers: She's better at leading then I am. I didn't know she was in SHIELD until after I joined, but I knew her outside of it, and I trust her — mostly. I mean, no, yes, she'd be the one handling the object, and she'd do all the corrective punishment I need: she doesn't hit as hard as she can but she isn't gentle either. But I don't want a permanent weakness. Not because of her, but what if someone gets their hands on it? So if it would… burn out… after we get the basics of me actually thinking of fighting, then later training I'll just be able to choose not to TK." He takes a deep breath, looking… tense. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't trust her to have me at a disadvantage. I know she's teaching me because she wants me to be able to rely on myself to survive, even in a worst case scenario." After a moment he adds, "More, I trust her to keep it secret. I don't want anyone but her— and you, and Wanda of course I'm not going to ask you to keep anything from her— to know its even possible to nullify me."
*
A rise and fall of his eyebrows mark his opinions on the information laid out before him.
Joy. Another revelation. This…Contingency Plan sounds like a renegade rescue group. The name is vaguely familiar. "Wanda and I were both aware that we could nullify your powers, but it wouldn't teach you anything but resentment to do so." The stern, rather cool mentor's cadance is slipping back in strongly, an old habit ingrained from teaching an apprentice in the past. "I'm capable of creating such an object, yes, but…I believe we'll need to agree on a safe word, a command to break the geas it places upon you in the case that it falls into the wrong hands. I'm not going to place your life in unnecessary danger, trustworthy friends notwithstanding." Especially because it would all upon his Sorcerous head and if the guilt didn't maim him, Wanda just might. "You'll know the command and you can use it when you gauge yourself proficient at your self-defense. Knowing it will hone your self-control on top of your hand-to-hand combat skills."
A sip of his tea, bolstering, and there's Strange's long-suffering sigh. "Billy. The Contingency Plan?" The request to explain is unspoken and communicated entirely by the Dad Look.
*
"That's completely fine." Billy says quickly: in fact he seems relieved. An out word? Totally okay with him. "Since its all about instinct— reaction— those first few moments of a fight where I have trouble, if I have to decide to turn it back on, that's fine. Completely fine. More then fine. Yeah, that makes me feel a lot better about the whole thing. Make it… Vader. No one else will think of that word for — years and years." He nods his head, and then he blinks. "Oh, that." He is so nonchalant about it, "The Planners are me, Teddy, Tommy, Hope, Ava. We keep an eye out on things. Big stuff, I figure you fix, SHIELD fixes. Some stuff isn't on your radar. It is on ours. Me and Tommy remember being on such a team in the future — we called it something like the Young Avengers? — but since I have no idea what we were avenging then, there's no meaning to it. So, we're the Contingency Plan. When things slip by the A-team, we the B-team mop up." He grins. He's clearly proud of his little team of teenage heroes.
*
Vader. Yes, alright…the word will be Vader. Of course, the significance of it is completely lost to the good Doctor, given the timeline. Only a decade or two later will it catch up to him.
"Tommy is included in this Contingency Plan." Cue the Slightly More Annoyed Dad Look. "And you mop up after…SHIELD." Strange doesn't list himself on the list of imperfect problem-solvers because he doesn't miss a thing. Anything. Anything. Don't say it to his face. "I see." Still fairly unamused, given the frown on his face.
*
"Well, not specifically. I mean Tommy's not in SHIELD. I don't think Tommy even knows SHIELD exists. It's more we look for more local problems that just don't rise to the attention of the … let's say, Professional Teams. Not that we're amateur, we're just… you know. College baseball to your Yankees." Billy reaches for another chip, munch. Totally missing certain looks from Dad. "I just mean we catch things that don't operate on, say, the global scale." He muses a moment, "Tommy's totally varsity in the B-Team, Dad." He tries that word out again. He keeps experimenting with it. "In a way he's probably the most powerful of all of us: except Hope, since she basically borrows his power, if I understand her thing right. Tommy can sometimes solve problems before any of us are even aware its a problem. Who wouldn't want a speedster to have your back? Teddy's, of course, the muscle. I'm flexibility. Ava's tactics and infiltration." Also assassination but he leaves that part off.
*
And a very good thing that 'assassination' was left off from the team roster's abilities, given the good Doctor's deeply-set beliefs on such things. A longer, slower, silent sigh from him and Strange averts his gaze to the fireplace. Pristine logs, untouched by flame, await the simple flicker of his command to burst a-fire. It's too warm currently for such a thing, given the late afternoon sun filtering into the room, but perhaps later on in the evening, after the night comes clear and starry.
And there it is again, the 'Dad' title. Strange lets on a little bit more of how he feels about it within the Sanctum and it's mild surprise equally paired with uncertainty. Another slow nod. "I see." Billy might be realizing that this is the signature response when his pseudo-father is processing a good number of things at once. Eloquence is shunted to one side briefly. "…as long as you're safe." It's a resigned statement.
*
"We are what we are." Billy says simply, softly, with a calmness to him. "Its impossible for us to be perfectly safe, being what we are, in this world. I know you know that. I don't know if its harder or easier having sons and not having raised them: supposedly its hard for parents to let go. But Tommy and I, we are powerful, and the world is full of people who aren't, and the world is sadly filled with more people who are and mean ill towards others. We can train— and make no mistake, we understand the Planners is us training— and be safer for that training, or we can hide, and be unprepared when its our turn to face the horrors. There's danger, yes. But we can't always rely on you and Mom to save us, and take care of what might endanger us. That doesn't mean we're shunning you or don't appreciate your assistance. But we're growing up."
*
Man…sometimes it sucks to be a parent…even a pseudo-one.
Billy is given a lingering side-glare before the Sorcerer closes his eyes. Pain crosses his face, true emotional turmoil, for all of a fleeting second and then the emotion is mastered. Back to the impressive formality that acts as shield against the world.
"Would that I had complete certainty in your safety." The woe of all caretakers. In a sudden fitful movement, he's on his feet and striding over to one of the work tables by the middling of the three tall vertical windows along the outer wall of the Sanctum. Billy might catch the mutter of, "Your mother's going to kill me." He closes the open diary with a sharp sound and clears the space of anything paper. "Do you have a preference as to the type of object, Billy?" The patriarchal profile is stark against the afternoon light shining in briefly as he asks this over his shoulder.
*
"I'm sorry." offers Billy, his voice sincere in this at least, but he doesn't look away at the look of pain. He doesn't pretend he didn't see, but he doesn't say anything, either. "I do appreciate your help, support — and patience. I know we're a challenge, my brother and I. But we are who and what we are." He takes a long breath and lets it out slowly. "Anything, really." is his first instinct, but he adds quickly, "Well. Something Ava can carry that isn't obvious or would raise questions. A bracelet? A pen? I don't know if there's requirements on making… things. I have no idea how I'd even approach making a magic item: I suppose I'd just talk to it until it understood its new purpose, but it seems my usual spells wouldn't be right. So… Uh. Does form dictate function?
*
"Form does not dictate function, no, but some people have preferences. I acquired a relic that has the form of a radio. Turning it to the wrong frequency kills you." Said radio is carefully locked away in the basement in the Sanctum where errant and curious fingers can't fiddle with its dials. "A watch, perhaps. Or yes, a bracelet or pen…something benign and unassuming. A hair stick." Weird, he knows about hair sticks.
Turning slowly on the spot, Strange looks at Billy again, a ghost of weariness on show simply because…well, the young man is family — perhaps even blood when all is said and done — and he may as well be an adult at this point. "At least promise me that you'll try to stay safe? Your mother and I need to sleep at night." He tries for a half-smile that quirks one side of his goatee.
*
Billy blinks. "That… is bad. Don't put a kill knob on the watch if its a watch. Uhh, no hair stick. Ava isn't that kind of girl." Pause, "Actually she is but only in certain cover identities. But not when she's being her." Yeah she is totally hate 'kill with a hair stick' kind of woman, but again, he leaves that particular detail out. On trying to stay safe? Billy blinks, "Dad… Stephen… I love to be alive. I love paella from Spain, and Teddy and I went to this German restaurant just outside Berlin that served this amazing Rouladen. And I love to read books and every morning when I wake up I look forward to the next time I feel Teddy's arms around me and every night when I go to bed I smile knowing I'm going to feel that again too. I maybe don't think everything through all the time, but I'm not reckless. I don't jump into danger without thinking about it. I don't disregard *living*. I have no intention of dying until I am so old I have to hobble on a cane, and I swear, I will be that old man hobbling on a cane who hits youngsters at the back of the legs with it for disrespect. If someone wants my life, they will pay dearly to get it."
*
The monologue entices a grin and a chuckle out of Strange, more leaning than sitting on the edge of the table with arms crossed.
"I sincerely hope that you'll be the one yelling at the teenagers to get off of your lawn. You get that from your mother — but don't tell her I said this." He runs a hand across his mouth before rolling his lips.
"A watch without functional dials. It will run of its own accord, always match the correct time…but only when someone actively checks it." The cheeky streak is strong behind the formal facade of this one. It might mean that someone idly glances at the angle of the hands only to find at the next glance that they've rotated rather drastically. "If you'll give me a minute or so, I'll see what I can conjure up."
And by 'see', he means nothing less than success at creating this relic on the spot. It means turning his back to Billy — this might be showmanship, hiding the work in progress.
*
Billy is curious. He doesn't go left, he doesn't go right. He doesn't even intend on going anywhere at all. For Billy, 'not flying' takes an act of will, while flying just happens. So he finds the angle changing and he rises up until his head lightly touches the ceiling and peers over Pops' shoulder. Curious. He can't help but grin at the description of the watch: it seems more complicated then it needs, but he enjoys the idea of it anyways. "Sounds good." says Billy from the ceiling where he peeks, "Take your time."
*
The convulsive flinch of the fingers means a spell disrupted. Strange mutters a Word of censure and turns his face upwards to give Billy a rather narrow look, thin lips and all.
"Billy. You're intelligent enough to guess what I'm about to ask you, but I'll add that you should never interrupt either Wanda or I when we're casting. We work with more hazardous Mystical energy than most practitioners." The nebulous globule of opalescent energy hovers over the desk between the scarred hands, not too unlike liquid plasma. Little globes of pure incandescence pull off in spherical perfection before returning to the mother cloud. It's as if the Sorcerer has harnessed the metaphysical summoning of potential within his grasp.
*
Properly chastised, Billy sinks back to the ground, folds his hands into his lap, and… eats a Dorito. Really, they're like crack. And Billy is an addict. This talk of mystical energy leaves him largely mystified: Billy simply doesn't really understand the arcane arts and the idea of working with energy at all is alien to him. Between his telekinesis to his electrokinesis, he arguably has some command over various kinds of energy — force and electricity — but he doesn't *think* of it that way. Part of the reason the TK is such a problem is it a raw manifestation of will: he wants to fly he does. He wants a guy to be stuck, he is. But he recognizes being told to behave, so, in his way — with Doritos — he behaves.
*
Very good. No longer at risk of distraction due to floating, Dorito-eating offspring, Strange finishes out the creation in very little time. It's a matter of…manipulating matter, something Billy's likely familiar with on a visceral level even if the two gentlemen battle constantly with communicating in regards to their various takes on the Arts.
Turning about, he holds a wrist-watch. Silver in color, with slate-grey soft leather strap, the creation is a curious amalgamation of Baroque and current technology, absolutely singular. Even as the Sorcerer waits for Billy's initial reaction, he blows on the glass face of the watch. The thin hands rotate madly around the central node before slowing…down…to land at the precise time in the moment.
"That should do," says Strange, holding out the watch for the young man to take from his scarred palm. "Place it on your wrist and then attempt something. Anything." The man has unwavering faith in his work.
*
Billy is curious, and he regards it as he sets the bag of chips aside and rises. He steps forward and takes the watch and straps it to his hand, and for a long moment after just.. waits. Feels. His head tilts, his brow furrows. His magic doesn't *feel* like something normally, so he feels no difference, but it looks like he thinks it should feel like something. Disappointed, expecting it didn't work, he idly flicks a gesture out to the chips. He feels the briefest moment where reality bends to his will: and nothing happens.
There is a moment of shock. Of uncertainty. Of… what the H E double hockey stick? For Billy his telekinesis is as reliable as his hands, as expected as breathing. There's even fear on his features, "Vader." he says quickly, and the bag of chips rise… and Billy looks immediately relieved. For a moment there.. for a moment there Billy looked panicked. But holding the chips again he relaxes, mostly. "I… hate that so much I do not have words." Pause, very softly, "Thank you."
*
"You're welcome." Strange's lips loosen to a gentle curve in quiet understanding as to the show of emotions that flickered over the young man's mobile face, with aspects that dance so closely to mirroring his own. "It's harrowing, isn't it. Being deprived of your powers. It involves trust to be without them, not only in another but in yourself. Train hard, Billy." The mentor surfaces, stoic and serious again. His mouth opens and closes, aborting a thought and instead injecting another more familiar reminder: "Your safety is paramount."
*
"The first time I ever had powers it was after my fall: ever since then I just knew that I could rely on." Billy takes a deep breath and takes the watch, "I fly if I don't try not to. Its…. strange beyond belief to not have that — that safety net, that thing I can rely on, there. But I need…" Another breath, and he firms up, more seriously, "I need to not rely on it. I need to learn to rely on only myself, a man. Alone. And only then can I learn to be strong and safe *always*." He nods quickly, "Thanks, Dad."
*