An Imaginary Throne // Doctor Strange // Far From Home

Chapter Six // we start now

"IS IT still out there?" Casey asks. She sits, cross-legged on a mahogany desk while Strange paces about the room, a worn spellbook in his hands. Without looking, he nods and after uttering a long suffering sigh, she jumps off the table to check for herself. Through a gap in the blue drapes, she sees the sleek, black helicopter has not budged from its spot in the clouds. Even now, there is the silver glint of a monocular telescope in the windshield, proving the people in that helicopter only have one task; to watch them. Or at least try. She pulls the curtains shut, wincing at the screech of the brass rings travelling across the rod. Pleased at the addition of a visible layer of cover, besides the spell Strange had already cast, she leans against the wall, crossing her ankles.

"They tried to kill me on the bridge, practically blew up Kamar Taj and now they're just...waiting? Watching? I don't mean to jinx it but what the hell?"

"Tea?" Strange asks abruptly.

Her brow furrows at his nonchalance and she promptly declines, watching the kettle on the far side of the table spill itself into a porcelain cup- one which materialises into his hands once full. While he's done nothing but help her since London, his lack of concern triggers a flicker of rage in her soul.

"You don't even care do you?" She asks, keeping the worst of her anger under check.

He looks wearily in her direction, returns to his book then sighs, unable to refocus. Balancing the cup on his knee, he slams the book shut with an irritated bang. The dry pages expel a cloud of dust and when it settles, the book has disappeared.

"I told you I have someone looking into Beck and as for the helicopter, there's nothing short of flying up there myself that I can do to help you...And I don't want to do that." He says, savouring the warmth of the cup in his hands.

"Teach me."

"What?" He asks. Contradicting the ambient china, the first sip of chamomile burns his tongue and he swallows it quickly, licking his lips.

"Teach me," She repeats, sliding back onto the table and swinging her legs off the side, "Just the basics. Opening portals, conjuring weapons, I'm sure if I learn those the rest will come back to me."

A short laugh escapes his lips, "There's a reason the Ancient One took your memories, Adria. She didn't trust you and neither do I."

A pang of remorse fills her chest at the sound of those words but rather than back down, she bristles.

"Don't assume you know what happened between us."

"Then tell me. The way you speak, it's clear your expulsion wasn't due solely to your lineage, besides I want to know."

Casey hesitates. She's only told this story once before, to Quentin Beck nonetheless and even then not the full truth. But this is the Sorcerer Supreme. She has no doubt that if she were to lie, he would find out. Yet, if she tells him the truth, she risks his reaction being akin to the Ancient One's. She has to hope he will understand; that he'll choose to trust her even if his own predecessor didn't.

"Fine," She agrees, falsifying confidence, "You're right. You have no reason to trust me and if this can change that, then I don't see a problem."

When he remains silent, she continues.

Flashback //

Casey sits alone, watching her breath fog up in the chilly night air. A book of enchantments rests on her lap, the pages furled at the corners from decades, perhaps centuries, of use. Shrugging off the fur blanket around her shoulders and shuddering a little as the cold air hits her bare skin, she paces to the window, staring out at the storm. The courtyard of Kamar Taj rests outside, cobblestones slick with rain. Usually, she would attempt to capture a scene like this in a sketch but something else has already caught her attention. Wedged between the two top drawers of a dresser she converted into a study desk, lies a thin white envelope, the edge barely visible.