Wardrobe Malfunction - G - Darcy/Doctor Strange
When a relic chooses a sorcerer it is bonded to them for the duration of their life. There have been only a handful of incidents over the years when a relic has abandoned its chosen sorcerer, and those incidents can be overwhelmingly attributed to the sorcerer becoming tainted rather than the relic being fickle. Relics, while not fully sentient, do have somewhat of a mind of their own. They will develop a rapport with their sorcerer and are even known to show signs of their own personalities. However, it is widely agreed that no relic is truly a living thing. Their bond is that of a beloved tool to its practitioner, not that of a pet or friend.
At least, that’s what Doctor Stephen Strange had always assumed to be true.
The Cloak of Levitation, though, seemed prepared to completely abandon all known rules. From the day it had first come to him the cloak had shown distinctly sentient traits. It came when it was called, but sometimes chose to flagrantly ignore such calls like an irritable cat. It lavished Stephen with affection, but also had a tendency to pout. Worst of all, while the Cloak had definitely decided that it belonged to him, it was not above turning to others in the name of guaranteed affection. Which was why, on a sunny spring Tuesday, the Cloak was nowhere to be found when Stephen was getting dressed in the morning.
He knew, of course, exactly where the velvet traitor had gone. Music was echoing up through the Sanctum from the kitchen. There was only really ever one reason for music in the kitchen, and that reason was why both sides of Stephen’s double bed were rumpled that morning. He made his way downstairs without the Cloak’s familiar weight on his shoulders and followed his ears--and, of course, the wafting scent of french toast. Stephen stopped in the doorway, a half-smile already fixed on his face. No matter how grumpy he might be over his relic’s choice to leave him behind, he honestly couldn’t blame it for doing so.
Darcy was singing as she whipped something in a bowl. She shook her hips in time to the music, turning to make goofy faces at the Cloak like one might make to entertain a child. The Cloak was dancing with her, flitting through the air from one side of her to the other. Finished with whatever was in the bowl, she set it on the counter and flipped the slices of toast in the skillet with a flick of her wrist. Then, she faced the Cloak full on and took one its edges in hand to whirl it about as though they were waltzing. Somewhere in one of the turns she finally spotted Stephen leaning against the door jamb.
“Morning, Mr. Potter!” she called, spinning beneath several folds of fabric and skipping to his side.
“If you’re going to go with famous wizard references, I really do prefer Merlin,” he pointed out, sliding his arms about her waist. The kiss he bent to give her was twice as long as he’d intended, but he never could bring himself to hold back with her. “I see you’ve abducted my Cloak again.”
She rolled her eyes at him and wiggled out of his arms. “They are their own Cloak, thank you very much,” she insisted. The Cloak practically purred as it came up to her and rubbed against her side. “Besides, all you were doing was the whole shower and shave routine. Super boring. I was more fun.” Darcy danced back across the kitchen, transferring the perfectly golden french toast to a plate and beckoning him with one finger. “Now, let’s have a nice family breakfast before you two disappear into your mystical chicanery. I swear, you’re worse than the scientists.”