The Cloak was annoyed. Wait. Scratch that. It was freaking pissed.
Its beloved master, Stephen Strange, had gone out and purchased a blanket, of all things. It had been confused, at first. What use did Stephen have for a blanket? It wasn’t as though it got too cold in the sanctum, although it had noticed the temperature drop in the past few days. Winter, it seemed, was upon them.
But that wasn’t the point. The night after Stephen had purchased said blanket, he’d draped it over his bed right before he’d gone to sleep. Curled up underneath it and the already - there comforter and sheets, he was quite thoroughly covered. The Cloak, who usually placed itself overtop Stephen’s bed at night, drifted forlornly in the corner. With the new blanket, it could barely feel any of it’s beloved sorcerer’s body heat.
Now, it just floated there, watching as Stephen slept soundly and a cold wind swept through the streets outside. Light from the city’s nightlife cast faint shadows on the floor. The blanket lay on top of the sorcerer, taunting the Cloak with its stupid soft, slightly fuzzy fabric. It could almost hear the blanket mocking it.
A sudden flare of emotion that the Cloak didn’t quite recognize burned through it. It yanked the blanket off of the bed and settled on top of its sorcerer, curling itself around his body. In the corner where it’d been cast away, the blanket sat in a heap.
If the Cloak had had facial expressions it would have been undeniably smug in that moment.
When Stephen Strange woke up the next morning, his Cloak was draped over his bed, its weight settled comfortably over top him. Which wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was downright common at this point. What was unusual was the fact that the new blanket he’d gotten was gone, laying in a corner of his room.
As if the relic knew he was awake, the Cloak ruffled itself, as if it was shaking away sleep. He ran a hand over the garment, smoothing the non- existent wrinkles. Really, it was more like petting a cat.
“Hey Cloak?” he said with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head, “what happened to my blanket?”
It was like he’d said something awful. The Cloak shot off his bed, hovering in the corner like it was sulking and, coincidentally, blocking the blanket from view. Stephen smirked, just a little. He couldn’t help it, not when the Cloak was so obviously jealous.
“Aww. Someone seems to be a little bit green.” The Cloak looked as confused as it was possible for it to look. “Green with envy, huh? Over a blanket?”
Yep. He was definitely right. The Cloak turned so it was facing away from him, like a human would when they were trying to be mad at someone. It was hilarious.
Okay. Maybe it was just a little mean to taunt the Cloak. Stephen sighed. “Alright. I won’t use the blanket anymore, I promise. If it makes you that upset, I’ll even get rid of the blanket, you big child.”
The next minute he had an armful of magical red fabric. The Cloak wormed its way into his arms, settling around his shoulders like it belonged there. Which, in fact, it did. Stephen couldn’t help laughing just a little as the relic curled happily around him. It was like a hug.
And because the Cloak refused to remove itself from his shoulders, he spent much of the day walking around with the relic overtop an old t-shirt and sweatpants. Thankfully, no one was expecting him for a meeting, gathering, social function, or anything that required him to look decent.
…
Several thousand miles away, Wong was in the library at Kamar Taj, organizing a shelf of books, when a portal opened and dropped a folded object at his feet.
It was a soft grey blanket, with a note resting on top of it.
Since it seems I’m not allowed blankets anymore, I thought you’d enjoy this.
-Stephen Strange