capeandcowllogs | Uh, I'm a monster, exorcisms.

WHO:

hoaryhoasts
WHERE: THE YOGURT SHOP
WHEN: the day Dexter arrives, 3 pm.
WARNINGS: none we hope
SUMMARY: Dr. Strange tells Dex what's up. Or something.
FORMAT: words??

[Dexter quietly slips into the shop, finding a seat within easy view of the door and settling in. He knew a normal person might be panicking, but Harry had never been through what he was expected to do in the event of being transported to another dimension. However, he found himself just as callously uncaring as in his own. Without Rita or the kids, it was even easier to feel nothing. Without his sister or the station, everything felt lost; without reason. But he couldn't afford to lose his own reason, and so he kept it close to his heart in the form of dogtags. Ones he was still trying to puzzle out.

He ordered a mango smoothie and stared at it, knowing before the first sip that it was neither poisoned nor as good as the batidos back home. Even his Spanish wouldn't do him any good here, knowing the Cubano accent would easily be laughed out of this strange alternate New York. All of that aside, he couldn't be sure what he was waiting for. For a man who specialized in the paranormal and called himself Dr. Strange, maybe. Or maybe it was something else entirely. An explanation? Surely if there were one he'd have it already.

Dexter sighed and sipped at his treat, more impatient than perhaps he made himself out to be.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Strange made the walk from his brownstone quickly, peering through the large glass windows upon arrival at the self-proclaimed "gourmet yogurt shop" for any unfamiliar faces. It wasn't so ridiculous to think he might be able to recognize Dexter off the bat, the place was mostly frequented by students and thus someone outside of that demographic would stand out rather starkly in comparison to their flannels and skinny jeans. Surely enough, he quickly found someone who could very well be the man he'd spoken to over the comm and settled into the chair across from him, removing his grey felt fedora with the ease of someone who, well, literally owns the place.]

Stephen Strange. I don't believe you ever told me your name.

[He sipped noisily, looking up with an almost bored expression. Not vacant though.]

Dexter Morgan.

Pleased to meet you.

[He nods, not missing the bored expression, but uhh. Whatever. People have different ways of handling being abducted to alternate dimensions, after all.]

Now what can I help you with, Mister Morgan?

I was hoping you would tell me. [His expression is clearer now, and he slowly - reluctantly sets down his smoothie and leans across the table a bit. ENGAGING IS SO MUCH WORK]

[Well that's a different way of doing this. Strange's brow furrows for a second as he's not really sure where to begin. There's a lot to tell about the porter/general universe here and it can be a lot to take in for someone who's just left their own.]

It might be easier if we started with any specific questions you have. For example, "why are you here". That sort of thing.

To be a superhero? I think I got the memo. This alternate New York must have the lowest crime rate of any other.

You would think that, but the Porter --Lachesis, as she calls herself-- also brings in so-called Super-Villains.

[His eyebrows climb to his hairline in false surprise.] How exciting. And it's our job to track them down?

Uh, I'm a monster, exorcisms.

late tag is hideously late, I'm sorry. :(

YOU ARE NEVER LATE

Never?

never ;;

Oh my.

uguuuu

uwaaa

(blushhh)