[He doesn't know Strange well. Knows what he needs to and probably then some, because it pays to know your allies/potential very fucking dangerous enemies. And magic is...
Clint's got a complicated history with magic. He can't really fight it, not directly, and he doesn't understand it. There are different types, but it's all mystical spooky shit to him. Wanda's is a particularly destructive brand, and the only reason he isn't afraid of it is because he isn't afraid of her.
(He might have to revise that sentiment, due to recent events, but he hasn't seen her since the funeral, so he can't make any true judgements.)
Strange's magic is a kind that boggles Clint, because it's self-taught, which implies literally anyone has the capacity to just learn how to make sparkly portals and astrally project themselves into other dimensions and what the fuck ever else the doc gets up to when he's not fucking around with things beyond his ken. It plays with other realities, and that always sounds like a bad idea. Beyond that, he knows Strange is - was - a doctor, and a damn good one at that, with the ego and bedside manner to match. He knows what ended that career, and that part was the easiest bit of information to find on him.
And now he's watching the man with ruined hands play piano like it's nothing.
That's not entirely true. Seems too jazzy for Clint to be sure, but it seems like sometimes Strange loses track or misses a note here and there. And given that and the casual nature of this room on a space station in the middle of nowhere, maybe he should just leave the wizard witch sorcerer warlock to it while he covers the rest of the station.
He stays, instead. Even comes to lean on the piano, feel the vibrations under his arm. Like this, Strange just seems like any other guy.] Hey, how about Freebird next?
7
Clint's got a complicated history with magic. He can't really fight it, not directly, and he doesn't understand it. There are different types, but it's all mystical spooky shit to him. Wanda's is a particularly destructive brand, and the only reason he isn't afraid of it is because he isn't afraid of her.
(He might have to revise that sentiment, due to recent events, but he hasn't seen her since the funeral, so he can't make any true judgements.)
Strange's magic is a kind that boggles Clint, because it's self-taught, which implies literally anyone has the capacity to just learn how to make sparkly portals and astrally project themselves into other dimensions and what the fuck ever else the doc gets up to when he's not fucking around with things beyond his ken. It plays with other realities, and that always sounds like a bad idea. Beyond that, he knows Strange is - was - a doctor, and a damn good one at that, with the ego and bedside manner to match. He knows what ended that career, and that part was the easiest bit of information to find on him.
And now he's watching the man with ruined hands play piano like it's nothing.
That's not entirely true. Seems too jazzy for Clint to be sure, but it seems like sometimes Strange loses track or misses a note here and there. And given that and the casual nature of this room on a space station in the middle of nowhere, maybe he should just leave the wizard witch sorcerer warlock to it while he covers the rest of the station.
He stays, instead. Even comes to lean on the piano, feel the vibrations under his arm. Like this, Strange just seems like any other guy.] Hey, how about Freebird next?