Perspectives From A Cloak
One
Broken Glass
It was early afternoon in New York, and outside the Sanctum, the sun was shining.
Inside, the aura was a little more clandestine.
In the Relic Room, the Cloak of Levitation was puddled on the floor in the corner of a glass case, a morose swath of crimson, bored.
It could easily break out if it chose, but there was really no reason to. If it left, there would
be no chance of finding a new Master.
So, the glass wasn't a prison, per se, and Cloak tolerated it because it prevented the curious from attempting to touch it.
The idea of one not of its' choosing doing such a thing made its fibers bristle.
Plus, the glass kept the dust off.
It had been here, oh, what, decades?
Waiting for a Master.
A Master who felt deserving.
Any time it sensed someone approaching, it raised, gave a sound shake, and formed into a regal drape. It certainly wouldn't do to have the Cloak of Levitation be seen any other way.
There were plenty of visitors to the Sanctum. Many new Masters came here, hoping to be accepted by a relic, and, of course, the resident Master passed thru regularly.
Boring.
Suddenly, Cloak perked its collar up. There was a bit of racket in the far end of the building...and now someone was calling, a voice it didn't recognize.
Cloak floated up, shook itself smooth, and waited to see who would come thru the doorway.
Well.
Hello.
Tall, broad shoulders, purposeful stride.
Confident.
A curious twist to his brow, beneath the sweep of his black bangs, as he wandered thru the relics.
Eyeing various items, drawing closer to Cloak.
Cloak felt a little ruffle of interest twitch thru its threads, and edged up to the glass. The man, eyes a keen blue, perused it, with some consternation, and a little confusion, before continuing silently on his way.
Cloak gave a sway of irritation that the man in Masters colors had left without so much as a backwards glance, but held tight to its posture, hoping for a return.
It didn't have long to wait.
Within minutes, the sounds of battle roared down in the main foyer. Cloak trembled, slightly, but kept its attention toward the doorway, where it anticipated the return of the unknown Master. It heard the conflict, making its way up the long staircase.
His entrance was fairly dramatic, to say the least.
His skills, while practiced, were lesser than those of his creepy faced enemy.
That guy clearly had problems.
When he started tossing the blue clad Master thru shelves and cases, Cloak observed. Admired the way the Master kept getting back up, kept fighting, even tho it was pretty obvious he was outmatched.
When he came crashing into Cloaks case, it had made a decision.
Block creepy guys weapon.
Cloak had never seen its' like, but was certain it didn't want it used on the brave Master.
And when the unknown Master got tossed over the balustrade, Cloak didn't hesitate.
That fall would kill him.
Which would be a tragedy.
It zipped, faster than lighting, past the assailant, to catch the falling Master.
It swept beneath him, like a hammock, barely catching him before he splattered on the floor in a bloody mess.
Cloak set him gently on his feet, and the man, panting from his exertions, looked at it.
'Doctor Stephen Strange,' he gasped, with a nod,
'Very pleased to make your acquaintance.'
Cloak shivered, excitement, realization; THIS was a master it could serve.
It swirled two fast loops, then fell onto his shoulders, like it had been there its' entire existence.
Fairly humming with excitement.
Stephen squared his shoulders, lowered his chin, jaw set.
'Thank you,' he said, quietly, into the collar of what was now his Cloak.
'Now, take me back up there, so I can kick that jerks' ass.'
Cloak spread into its full glory, lifted its new Master back up to the Relic Room, and that's exactly what they did.
With a few odd detours thrown in.
It was the wee hours of the morning when Stephen came out of the bathroom, into his new accommodations at the New York Sanctum.
He wore grey sweatpants, a towel draped around bare shoulders.
Padding on bare feet to a desk, where he'd laid out a few first aid supplies.
A soft whisper of movement caught the corner of his eye, and Cloak appeared at his elbow.
He gave a half smile, realizing just how weird his life had actually become.
He laid the towel aside, sorted thru his medical options.
Cloak hovered, almost anxiously, at his side as he took stock of all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises he'd accumulated.
Wincing, he inspected the neat, perfect stitches Christine had put in his chest, not a one torn.
Cloak lifted its hem edge, hesitantly, toward the brutal injury, and ran a gentle pass above it, as if in apology, then its shoulders sagged, sorrowfully.
'Hey, that's not your fault,' Stephen said, feeling less odd than one might imagine, speaking to an animated garment.
Cloaks posture seemed to lighten, and it lifted up so Stephen was eye level with its collar.
Stephen grabbed a bottle of strong disinfectant, tipped it onto some cotton, and swabbed the stitches, sucking a sharp breath between clenched teeth, then moved on to dabbing other various abrasions.
'That thing you did in the hallway,' he said, as he did so, 'that 'wrap around his head' attack...that was pretty cool.'
Cloak swayed, and Stephen could swear its chest puffed with pride.
Stephen finished his ministrations, set everything aside, and gave a deep sigh.
Eyes closed, head low, he said,
'You saved my life, so many times, in just one afternoon. How can I thank you?'
Then looked at Cloak, which just hovered there, silent.
Stephens brow furrowed, and he wondered, quietly, fear in his tone,
'What would've happened to me if I hadn't broken that glass?'
Cloak hovered closer, swayed as if it might answer.
Then, deliberately, it lifted a glass from the desktop, and, forming a cradle beneath with its opposite side, crushed the vessel into splinters.
Demonstrating, the only way it could, what it would have done to get to its Chosen one.
Stephens jaw dropped, briefly, then he found a grin.
'I see,' he nodded, mock serious, then indicated the shattered glass Cloak had kept contained in its folds, said, an amused tone,
'Clean up your mess. I need some sleep.'
Cloak dutifully shook every last shard into the waste can in the corner of the room.
Stephen had moved to his bedside when Cloak drifted over, settled briefly over his shoulders. After a moment, it gave a tentative brush against Stephens cheeks with its collar.
Doctor Stephen Strange chuckled, and didn't protest.
'Yeah, yeah, alright, ' he murmured, smoothed the fabric of Cloak, where it draped across his forearm, and smiled.
Welcome to what I have been told I need to call 'Season One' of the series 'Perspectives From A Cloak'!
Feedback welcomed and highly anticipated! Please, PLEASE leave me reviews! I write this for the love of Cloak and its Chosen, and your feedback is invaluable to me. I read and treasure every review.
I don't own these wonderful characters, nor do I make any profit on these stories. My goal is that these adventures find their way to Marvel, and serialization!
If you would enjoy seeing artwork related to these adventures, simply find me on Instagram;
'Lady Stephanie Strange'. I will label each so you know what story it is linked to. I also plan on posting 'in progress' works so you can see my creative process.