Oneshots and short stories from the Marvel (alternate) universe. Mostly Avengers and Loki, for now...
I'll add new stories every now and then. Do you have a request? Let me know!
Dr. Strange strolls through the woods of Regent's Park in London. He's on his way to the Open Air Theatre, his ticket to Shakespeare's Hamlet in his pocket. The point of his umbrella adds a ticking sound to the crunching of his feet on the gravelled path. The evening sun shines through the leaves over his head. It's a delightful summer evening, one where the heat of the day has been replaced by a gentler warmth, ideal for watching a play in the open air. Still, it's England, so an umbrella is no luxury. Of course he could keep himself dry with magic, but the world of mystic arts is best kept from the general public.
Dr. Strange is looking forward to this evening. He's a fan of the theatre arts, and makes sure he visits a play every now and then. It's food for the mind and soul. Especially when it's a play from England's greatest, Shakespeare. Although he has also seen some very good plays by others, in tiny theatres, performed by very talented, yet unknown actors. But in the summer he likes to come here, in Regent's Park. It's quite something, to enjoy an exquisite performance on stage, while listening to the sounds of nature. And there are more people that share the same opinion: there is a line. Standing in line used to be something he'd refuse to do, period. The old Dr. Strange did not wait in line, not for his Starbucks coffee and not to get into a theatre or concert. There were people that could do that for him. But his training for the mystic arts had taught him patience, among other things, and a more humble look on life. So he gets in line and waits for his turn to show his ticket and get in.
He has a seat on one of the front rows, with a perfect view on stage. There are a few open seats on the front row, his is one of them. People are filling the rows from two sides and he has to wait for an elderly couple to get seated before he can enter the row where his seat is. He checks the number on his ticket, first row, seat number 11, this is it.
"Dr. Strange," a deep voice states. It's not so much of a greeting, more of a statement, with an edge of dislike. Like when you go out for an icecream but you find your favourite icecream parlour closed that day due to 'family circumstances'. You can't get mad at someone for closing his shop to bury a relative, but you don't have to like it when you're confronted with a closed door.
"Loki," Dr. Strange answers in the same tone. The two sorcerers stare each other down, each with their ticket in their hand, barely more than a feet apart. They have seen each other on a handful of occasions, but ever since their first encounter - something about an endless fall - they tend to stay clear of the other. After all, you don't have to hold hands when you help out The Avengers with whatever it is they're doing to save the world or just to nab a baddie.
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"What's it gonna be guys? Kiss or take a seat?" a woman calls from the third row. Two pair of dark eyes now stare at her instead of each other. The woman chuckles nervously and regrets her bold remark in that instant, trying to disappear in her seat. The sorcerers turn their gaze back to each other for a second and simultaneously lower themselves in their designated seats, keeping their eyes on the stage from that moment on.
About forty minutes in the play, Dr. Strange opens his program booklet to look at the cast list. The lead actor makes a great Hamlet and he has not seen this actor on stage before. "Be-ne-dict Cum-ber-batch." He spells out the name softly, shaking his head at the wonderous cumulation of syllables.
"Midgardian names are stupid," Loki says quietly.
"Correction: British names are stupid. In the States we're more straight forward about names."
Loki snorts. "Yes, Strange is so much better than Cucumbersnatch."
"Sshh!" The sorcerers get hushed from multiple sides and quickly shut their mouths again.
But they're not the only ones that disturb the silence, a few minutes later a man in the fourth row starts coughing. And he doesn't stop. Every few seconds he coughs, trying to minimise the noise as much as possible, yet only succeeding in the opposite. The audience around him grows a little restless, irritated by the disturbance. Dr. Strange makes a circular motion with his fingers, conjuring up a small spell to shut the man up. In the corner of his eye he sees Loki's hand starting to glow too.
"Better not do it both," Strange says quietly. "We don't want to kill the man."
"Speak for yourself," Loki whispers back. Dr. Strange shoots him a look and Loki rolls his eyes in response, but the green light between his fingers dims anyway.
When the podium lights flash over the audience, Dr. Strange makes use of the opportunity to put his spell on the man, who immediately ceases his annyoing coughing fit. "That's better," Strange says, turning his attention back to the stage.
When the last words on stage are spoken, the audience - including the two sorcerers - rises from their seats for a standing ovation. The actors bow when they receive their praise.
"I didn't take you for a lover of the fine arts," Dr. Strange says to Loki when the applause is over and the audience slowly starts to make their way to the exits.
"It's about the only thing I like on Midgard," Loki answers. "Besides the women."
Strange chooses to ignore that last comment. "Great actor, that Cumberbatch."
"I've seen better Hamlets," Loki says, falling into pace with Strange on their way to the exit.
"Really? I would say this performance is hard to surpass."
"I've seen Kenneth Branagh's production for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art," Loki answers. "He had some Tom playing Hamlet. Tom Hiddystone or something, another stupid name. But an excellent actor."
"You had tickets for that exclusive show?" Strange exclaims and looks at his companion in surprise. Loki just looks smug.
The first drops of rain start to fall when they exit the theatre. Dr. Strange opens his umbrella, a little pleased to notice the other sorcerer didn't think to bring any protection for the rain. But the Asgardian god takes one look up at the sky and disappears in a flash of green light.
"See you next show, Strange," is the last thing Dr. Strange hears.
