"I don't even remotely care about what the State thinks of you," Stephen says blandly, pouring his own tea, a Nepalese green tea he'd grown fond of in Kamar-Taj. Despite the shaking in his hands, he keeps them steady enough. "Nor do I care who was on what side during that kerfuffle about the Accords."
That had been just before he'd had his car accident, and though it had been all over the news, Stephen hadn't much cared about it. He doesn't care about it now, either, though for a very different reason -- the sorcerers as an order do their best to stay out of politics. They have enough of their own politics to keep them busy for centuries. Just last week, Novice Cheng's mispronunciation of the Latin for to misplace had offended several visiting dignitaries, and that's going to be the talk of the water cooler for weeks.
He sits, then, cup cradled in his hands. The warmth goes a fraction of the way toward easing the constant ache in his fingers.
"As a superhero, you're reasonably strong and athletic -- your sense of strategy is probably your biggest weapon. As a man, you hold incredible influence," Stephen explains, though he suspects Steve knows it already. "If you decided you wanted to take over the world, I imagine you could get further than most."
Still, he believes Steve when he says that he's been helping with cleanup and family reunification. He seems the type to always need a mission of some kind, to always be helping. Still, there's this tiredness about him that Stephen can't quite get a read on. He's retired, shouldn't he be well-rested?
"Don't worry, we're not going to attach an ankle bracelet to you," he says dryly. "If we did, we'd be hypocrites." Of the two of them sitting in this room, whose alternate variations have ended multiple universes? That's right, it's not Steve. "My main reason for inviting you here was... well, to see how you're doing." It comes out a little awkward, because Stephen's not used to trying to be friends with people.
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That had been just before he'd had his car accident, and though it had been all over the news, Stephen hadn't much cared about it. He doesn't care about it now, either, though for a very different reason -- the sorcerers as an order do their best to stay out of politics. They have enough of their own politics to keep them busy for centuries. Just last week, Novice Cheng's mispronunciation of the Latin for to misplace had offended several visiting dignitaries, and that's going to be the talk of the water cooler for weeks.
He sits, then, cup cradled in his hands. The warmth goes a fraction of the way toward easing the constant ache in his fingers.
"As a superhero, you're reasonably strong and athletic -- your sense of strategy is probably your biggest weapon. As a man, you hold incredible influence," Stephen explains, though he suspects Steve knows it already. "If you decided you wanted to take over the world, I imagine you could get further than most."
Still, he believes Steve when he says that he's been helping with cleanup and family reunification. He seems the type to always need a mission of some kind, to always be helping. Still, there's this tiredness about him that Stephen can't quite get a read on. He's retired, shouldn't he be well-rested?
"Don't worry, we're not going to attach an ankle bracelet to you," he says dryly. "If we did, we'd be hypocrites." Of the two of them sitting in this room, whose alternate variations have ended multiple universes? That's right, it's not Steve. "My main reason for inviting you here was... well, to see how you're doing." It comes out a little awkward, because Stephen's not used to trying to be friends with people.