[ Live in Sunset Falls, he said. The house is free and it’s where the magic is.

That’s all well and good in the in-between times when the biggest magical problems are rambunctious spell-wielding teenagers, demon possessions and the disappearances chalked up to the mysterious energies that saturate the place and casual Hellmouth hanging out beneath it. But then you get the days where the streets flood with ghosts, or a people-swallowing dimension opens up in the basement of an abandoned mansion, or the sky is rent apart with violent red cracks and the whole place turns into a wish factory.

As people arrive, and panic, the town descends into chaos as those without experience fall foul of the overactive mystical energy. He blames this phenomena for the text that scrolls before his eyes without the need for a screen: for the folders upon folders of information that seem to hover at the edges of his periphery, the computer that’s appeared in his head. What he did to conjure it he doesn’t know, maybe a stray thought for how much easier organizing relief efforts would be with a hands-free communication device. Whatever it is, it’s too much to explore at a time when his focus can’t afford to be split. My mind is clear is enough to cast it (temporarily) back into nothingness.

It doesn’t help to cast the consequences of somebody else’s latest thought - everything’s falling apart - into non-existence. For that he has to lunge into the space between an unsuspecting bystander and the statue breaking away from atop a nearby fountain, throwing up a large shield of burning amber energy, sparks spitting with the deflecting impact.

Over his shoulder, once the worst of the danger has crumbled into piles of debris around them: ]

Do me a favor. Don’t think.

[ You know, small requests.]

[ Even if you don’t already know where you’re going, Stephen Strange isn’t a difficult man to track down. Talking to Sunset Falls locals will eventually get you directions to an address on Will-o’-the-Wisp Walk, but a brief internet search will get you there faster. If it isn’t a months-old article about the malevolent dimension some kids opened up in what is now his basement, it’s an instagram post with photos of his house captured from the closed front gates, a tweet featuring a distant glimpse of a guy on his porch looking vaguely put out to be photographed while he takes out his trash.

The gates are open when you get there, the sweeping driveway empty, and you can make it up to the front door with no trouble. Knock or go for the bell and the door swings open before you can make a sound, welcoming you into the foyer. ]

Inbox available here, or in response to this top level.

(he's got a public OurPowers @ Dr. Stephen Strange that anyone can contact him using and his meadowlark neural implant will come back online once his magically wishing it away wears off for anyone from ML.)

( ooc: wildcards starters also a-ok, if you want to plan anything specific feel free to hit me up at miscreates! Stephen's going to be undergoing a meadowlark crau 'canon' update throughout the course of this event so if anyone wants to hash out any specifics about what stage of that process he's in during our threads, give me a shout. )