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Chapter Two: Black as Night
#4
Hank's sensitive nose twitched almost uncontrollably as it was assaulted once more by the scents of a major city. After the sterile environment of the moon, the odours reaching him were almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. Without really thinking about it he squeezed his nostrils closed, blocking most of the smells and allowing himself a chance to become accustomed. As he looked around and began to recognise the team's location, Hank felt his heart lift. New York always had this effect on him. No matter how bad things seemed somehow New York was always so full of life. Hank turned to watch the rest of the team exit the portal, some confused some with a hint of recognition on their faces. Making a count to be sure they hadn't lost anyone else on the path, Hank turned back to look over the park once more, getting his bearings. "If it's anything like my home reality, the Park will be quiet at this time of the evening. Less chance of us scaring the living daylights out of a bunch of the natives." Hank looked over at 'Toria with a grin. "Although maybe another round of skating would have them all on our side again." Hank winked at her and slowly walked the short way out to the edge of the trees they had appeared amongst, activating his image inducer as he did.

His features seemed to melt and reform and once more Henry McCoy PHD was among them, long dark hair drawn back from his face in a loose pony tail. Looking down at his uniform briefly, Hank closed his eyes concentrating on more suitable attire. After a few false starts during which the only change was that it now looked like several small squirrels were battling to exit his jacket, the material grudgingly began to move and stretch as he directed it. Hank grimaced a little as his pants flowed down over his feet, not enjoying the constricted feeling at all after so long barefoot. For several long moments the material remained in two shapless blobs at the end of his legs before suddenly forming into thick soled black leather boots. The pants themselves had by now taken on the appearance of black jeans, and his jacket had stretched down to become a hooded long coat. Opening his eyes, Hank allowed himself a brief smile of triumph. He hadn't tried this trick that often, or this successfully, since receiving the uniform from the Richards' family. Turning back to the team, Hank looked at each of them trying to guage what they were thinking before speaking. "Rintrah intimated that we should not be abroad after nightfall if we could help it. I think we should head out and find this reality's Sorceror Supreme. The Stephen Strange of my own reality had a place down on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. It's only a short subway ride from the south end of the park, and a troop as bohemian as ours should blend in a little better there than in most places in New York. I'm sure 'Toria can handle masking our more obviously different members long enough for us to get there and check it out."
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