A Fickle Thing
Chapter 6: Melancholia
The cloak of levitation is moping.
Since November 4th, the cloak has been listless and downright droopy. It drifts, as if bored, from room to room in the Sanctum Sanctorum whilst Dr. Strange is attending to his duties as Sorcerer Supreme or training without it.
Stephen might be meditating on the floor of his bedchamber or teleconferencing with Tony Stark in the study when he'll see a flash of burgundy out of the corner of his eye. But when he goes to investigate, the cloak will be gone.
It isn't until three days later that the doctor has had enough. Strange is concocting a tasty lunch of cumin-spiced red beans and rice when he suddenly realizes he is not alone.
Sure enough, the cloak hovers in the doorway of the kitchen like it is watching him cook. Languidly, it flutters, barely touching the frame of the door.
Strange sets down his spatula, eyes scanning the steaming food. He asks without turning around, "So, what's the matter?"
He hears the faintest flicker of fabric along the tiled floor and decides to continue, keeping his sight fixed on the saucepan in front of him and adding a pinch of salt to the bean mixture.
"You've been acting like a wet blanket since Saturday. Can you somehow explain to me why—"
The doctor stops abruptly when he looks up and notices that the cloak is gone.
People are easy to read. When people act like fussy idiots, it usually means that they're sick. But cloaks can't get sick. Thus, Dr. Strange finds himself with a conundrum. Something is wrong with the cloak, something emotional rather than physical.
He tries to practice spell work that evening but finds he can't concentrate. Instead, Dr. Strange walks at a quick pace to his chamber, where he finds the cloak draped across its favorite chair beside his bed, one it usually only occupies during the night when he is asleep. This further perplexes the neurosurgeon, and he attempts to comfort it, trying to impart without words that he is concerned by picking up a fold of the crimson cloth and caressing it with two fingers. But the Cloak of Levitation falls limply upon the upholstered seat, and Dr. Strange takes a step back, his lips pressed into one straight line.
It suddenly occurs to Stephen that the cloak's mood directly affects his own. Thus, he will not be able to concentrate on his work until a solution to the cloak's current state has been found. Scanning his eyes over the garment for the hundredth time since he noticed something amiss, Strange fleetingly wonders if he became mentally or emotionally connected to the piece of magical fabric after it chose him. In some mystical, guru, New Age way.
Or maybe you just care for it.
Stephen mutters under his breath as he leaves the room.
"I'll get to the bottom of the this."
Tuesday, November 7th
11:33 P.M.
Google search: Cloaks
Wikipedia, it is.
"The word cloak comes from Old North French cloque (Old French cloche, cloke) meaning 'traveling cloak,' from Medieval Latin clocca, 'travelers' cape,' literally 'a bell,' so called from the garment's bell-like shape. Thus the word is related to the word clock."
More connections between this relic and time…
Often, cloaks are used as fashion statements or signs of wealth. Many cloaks (i.e. "opera cloaks") are made from materials such as wool, cashmere, velvet, and satin.
"Cloaks are a staple garment in the fantasy genre…"
Apparently, cloaks are associated with witches, wizards, and vampires. I'm sure Dracula would love to get his dirty paws on my cloak. However, the connections to magic I'm reading about are spot-on.
It says that cloaks in literature often have supernatural powers, such as granting invisibility.
Nope.
Or camouflage…
Maybe?
Alternatively, they may "nullify magical projectiles."
Check.
Metaphor: "Figuratively, a cloak may be anything that disguises or conceals something."
Does this point to something I should be worried about?
Dr. Strange looks up from his laptop and notes in his journal with the worn leather binding to find the cloak quivering in the air some ten feet to his right. The way its collar quirks up, Stephen could swear that an invisible head sits atop invisible shoulders, its invisible eyes staring at him. This thought is disturbing, but it flies from his mind as soon as he notices the sag in the fabric, its soft tendrils nearly touching the floor.
It knows that I'm researching it.
"I'm trying to help you," the doctor says, his voice gruff from underuse. "If you would only tell me…"
But the cloak begins to flit away. Strange's eyes dart across the laptop's bright glare in the dark study.
…disguises or conceals something…
"What is it you're hiding?"
In response, the cloak disappears from sight.
Stephen Strange has never considered himself much of a decorator, but with the holiday season fast approaching, and the cloak not improving, he makes an effort to spruce up the Sanctum.
To be honest, he doesn't do much. First, the doctor makes sure to pull back the curtains every day in the Sanctum's largest rooms, letting in as much natural light as possible as the days grow shorter and darker. He often finds the cloak hovering in front of a window, as if admiring the city view, its crimson fabric shivering.
Next, he sets candles scented with cinnamon and pine on his desk and dining table. A wreath of holly hanging on the front door. White twinkle lights that wrap around the study, giving it a cheery touch.
He's in the middle of tacking up another strand of multi-colored lights in the foyer, balancing precariously, with one foot on a bookshelf and the other on the high back of an armchair, when he loses his balance and falls. Strange cries out, his arms held up instinctively to protect himself, when he sees a flash of burgundy. There is a rush of air, and the doctor is suddenly lying face down on what feels like a hammock, folded up at both ends like a giant bow. It gently rocks back and forth until it settles on the floor.
Of course, the cloak saved him.
"Th-thanks," Strange says, sitting up and trying unsuccessfully to hide the shake from his voice. "I was just—"
But the cloak wriggles out from underneath him and zooms away. Stephen is left sitting on the floor, blinking in confusion, the strand of Christmas lights wrapped around him in tangled knots. This is the state that Wong finds him in when the other man rushes into the hallway.
"I heard a shout. Are you…" Wong trails off at the sight of Stephen, his worried expression instantly changing to one of amusement.
"I'm….Fine." Strange spits out each word, trying to contain his frustration. However, the Sorcerer Supreme loses the battle with his own emotions when the strand of lights impedes his ability to stand up, and he ends up throwing the entire mess on the floor like a petulant child.
Wong bites his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. "It's the cloak, isn't it?"
Stephen sighs, his fury melting away to hopelessness with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I just don't know what to do."
Wong pauses thoughtfully for a moment before replying. "There is a book in the study you may not have read yet. Relics of the Mystic Arts. You'll find a solution there."
Strange rolls his eyes. "This isn't another one of those 'go find the answers you seek in an ancient book, Stephen, even though I know the answer and could tell you right now,' is it?"
But Wong has already left the foyer.
Stephen kicks the jumble of lights. "Why does everyone keep doing that?!"
Sunday, November 26th
1:29 P.M.
Here we go again.
I'm perusing the dusty tome, Relics of the Mystic Arts, which is so old, it could be a relic itself.
There are a whopping two pages on the cloak. I'm sure I'll be able to find all the info I need on it… sigh
"…It is suspected that the Cloak of Levitation is many centuries old, since it was in the possession of the Ancient One."
No surprises there.
The cloak can be "animated independently" or "to its chosen's commands…"
Wait a minute. Its chosen. That's ME.
After reading and re-reading the passage on the cloak, I find little about its history and more of a description of its abilities, which I already know. It can levitate (OBVIOUSLY), fly, retrieve, attack, and ensnare. It can reach speeds of up to 25 miles per hour if its wearer has the magical stamina. It responds to spoken commands. The cloak can also be used as a shield and alter its shape…
"Although the Cloak of Levitation is its title, it does not have a given name…"
Found it.
Dr. Strange divides eight index cards into two groups on the large map table in the study and places each card so that the single word on each of them is visible. He doesn't even have to call for the cloak because it floats, inexplicable, into the area and hovers beside him like a ghost, observing his actions curiously.
The cards read:
SHE, HE, ZE, THEY, IT
CLOAK OF LEVITATION, CLOAK, VINCENT
Without looking up, Stephen says in a low tone, "I thought it was time I asked you what you prefer to be called. Pronoun and…name."
A tiny tremble runs through the dark red cloth as the cloak dances closer to the cards. The doctor feels a flicker of satisfaction run through him. This is the most animated the cloak has acted in nearly a month.
The cloak runs an edge of cloth over each card delicately, taking care not to move them or mix them up. At last, it stops on the note card labeled VINCENT and lifts its collar towards Stephen, as if asking about the word's significance.
"Ah… Well..." Dr. Strange fumbles for the right words, at last looking up, speaking softly and completely serious. "It is my middle name. And I thought I might give it to you… If… If you want it."
The cloak shimmers in the air, pleased with the explanation, and flies toward Stephen, brushing a corner of its fabric against his arm before going back to the table. Holding his breath, Dr. Strange watches the cloak closely as it holds up a corner of cloth to indicate two cards.
IT
CLOAK
"I see," says Stephen, not sure if he's surprised or relieved to have the cloak affirm what he has been calling it for over a year. A smile breaks upon his face, and he's about to vocalize his pleasure when the cloak floats towards one of the giant windows in the study, its back to him, just as dejected as ever.
Any annoyance Strange has felt at the cloak's dismal mood now turns to sorrow. He has exhausted every possible resource and idea to make the cloak return to its old self again.
"I'm sorry," he admits, head bowed. "I thought that giving you something might cheer you up or take your thoughts away from whatever's bothering you, but I just don't have the answers. Could you… please…Help me?"
The Cloak of Levitation half-turns around, hesitates in its movement, and then pulsates past him, turning back around, wanting the doctor to follow. Strange is intrigued and follows the fabric to a picture framed in ornate silver in the hallway outside. When Stephen examines the painting, he is surprised that he never noticed it before.
It's a portrait of the Ancient One, her face exuding calm and happiness through her eyes, although she does not smile. Simultaneously childlike and wise, eternal and fleeting. In one gesture that evokes infinite sadness, the cloak sweeps against the picture.
Strange could be knocked over with a feather.
"You miss her."
Rapidly, the pieces fall into place. Strange should have known, should have realized… When the cloak started moping around, it was the one year anniversary of their old master's death.
The cloak drifts down the hallway out of sight.
Stephen finds himself staring at the painting of the Ancient One, mesmerized, until a voice nearby causes him to jump.
"Didn't you read that book I recommended?!"
Strange curses and finds Wong beside him. Since when was Wong an expert on being sneaky?
The librarian doesn't wait for an answer. Rather, he continues like a teacher scolding a schoolboy. "YOU are its chosen now. It follows you not because it has to but because it wants to."
All of a sudden, a passage from the "Relics" book drifts through Stephen's mind: The cloak can be "animated independently" or "to its chosen's commands…"
"You're all it has left."
"RISE AND SHINE!"
The cloak ruffles like a startled bat in Stephen's arms as he unceremoniously plucks it out of the armchair by his bed and billows it in the air. As if surprised at the hasty movement, it attempts to scramble from the Sorcerer's grasp, but Dr. Strange holds on tightly, folding it in his arms and carrying it to the kitchen.
He whistles cheerfully. The cloak makes a solid effort at escape by wrapping itself around his legs.
"Oh, c'mon," he chides. "You're worse than a boa constrictor."
When they arrive in the kitchen, the cloak stops trying to wiggle free and freezes.
Stephen grins. If the over garment had a jaw, it would have dropped open.
On the stainless steel of the kitchen table is a small round cake with burgundy icing and a golden "1" decorated on top. A single gold candle is stuck in the center of the number, and its flame glows brightly.
The cloak rustles in his grasp.
"I miss the Ancient One too. But I'm honored to be your chosen. And I know you're probably thousands of years old, but consider this a celebration of your birthday with me. Your first birthday."
The cloak's collar rotates from Stephen's face to the cake, back and forth, as if trying to put it all together.
Strange clears his throat and releases his grip on the cloth. "Yeah, I know you can't eat. But you can make a wish and blow out the candle."
The doctor expects the cloak to fly away from him, as it has consistently done for the past several weeks. He expects to have to run after it again or try a different tactic. He expects anything and everything than what the cloak actually does in that moment.
It tenderly wraps around his shoulders, collar facing him instead of behind his neck. Stephen stiffens at the contact at first and then relaxes into it, feeling its comforting warmth that he has missed for so long.
It's hugging me, he thinks.
"Are you gonna blow out the candle?" comes Wong's voice from behind them. "I've been waiting to eat a piece of that cake all day."
Stephen chuckles. Then the cloak, lightning-quick, shoots above the cake and waves its fabric like a fan. The flame on the candle extinguishes, leaving a smoky trail in its wake.
A/N: SURPRISE! A new one.
I sensed some intense disapproval in the comments at the hint that I would give the cloak a name. Sorry to lead you all on! It was never my intention to give the cloak a name. I, like most of you, agree that "cloak" seems to fit nicely enough. But I did want Stephen to experience the dilemma of names and pronouns because when you become attached to someone (or some thing) you can't help but name it…. I still remember the names I gave all my teddy bears when I was little, and they had WAY less personality than the cloak. Come to think of it, my CAT had less personality than the cloak.
ANYways…..
I continue to be overwhelmed and overjoyed and over the MOON with all the reviews and favorites and follows! You are all too wonderful. Keep it up!
Current movie soundtrack = Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them
Thanks to all the GUEST reviewers!
Next up… Hurt!Stephen and Cloak-to-the-rescue!