ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ He notices that detail. That they had a choice, and she chose to help her friend instead. It's— interesting. Doctor Stephen Strange had been horrifically selfish once upon a time, but his time spent as the Sorcerer Supreme has rewired those priorities; made him more altruistic, more self-sacrificial; and as a result, more admiring when other people are able to do the same. He doesn't remark on it, however. ]

I've never actually crossed paths with Hades or Persephone. Norse gods, yes— [ he'd tossed Loki into a spatial loop without any regrets, ] but not the Greek pantheon yet.

[ Strange's voice is musing, contemplative, even as he stands on his half of the room with his arms still folded, surveying Julia where she's paused in her portal exercises. He'd started off this train of thought because of his incorrigible curiosity, and because it seemed like it might be relevant — but now it's less an interrogation, more a conversation. Perhaps some of it is still relevant, but now he's just learning more about her. ]

You know, I thought I had the market cornered on bizarre experiences, but you've experienced some astounding things.

[ Norse gods. Right, those are a thing too, though she remembers something about them technically being aliens... It makes her wonder how many other pantheons are like that, being they simply didn't understand and so saw as deities, and how many actually do have the power to create worlds. And end them, because gods are dicks. ]

What, don't most magicians travel to other worlds and deal with gods on a regular basis? I thought it was just a rite of passage. Or some kind of hazing.

[ Her own sarcastic humor comes out in full force as she relaxes again, shoulders loosening and tension easing out of her expression. They'd gotten around the landmine they'd danced perilously close to and now things felt... easier. He hadn't pushed for details and she trusts him a little more because of it. ]

Oh, no, it's actually a very elite club for people like us. There's laminated membership cards and everything. I'll get one printed up for you.

[ That sarcasm from her is like a breath of fresh air, too: a familiar thread, a language he understands and speaks constantly. It's a nice change of pace from Wong, who sometimes bats back, but most of the time just delivers a deadpan stare and doesn't even give Stephen the satisfaction of a reaction.

She's been fidgeting with the sling ring, and he considers asking her to try those sparks again — but after a pause, mulling over the possibilities, Strange clears his throat. ]

To the matter at hand... I'm going to have you keep working with that sling ring over time, but first, I'd like to look into your aura as well. Just to get some more information. Would that be alright?

[ The idea of membership cards makes her smile — and laminated, at that. She almost proposes that they vote to upgrade to membership jackets at the next meeting, but given the fancy cloak (which is still doing its own very cool thing), he doesn't really seem like a jacket kind of guy.

It is nice to know that they'll get along if this conversation is anything to go by. Who knows how long they'll be working together. It could be days or weeks... She tries not to consider the possibility of it taking months. She's not sure they have months to spare.

Julia goes still, finally ceasing that fidgeting, and considers the request. After a moment, though, she nods. ]

Yeah, that's fine. Thanks for asking.

[ It feels like the first time in a long time that someone has actually acknowledged her autonomy like this. Another point for Doctor Stephen Strange. ]

[ Having experienced the Ancient One taking his consciousness and then flinging it out into the cosmos without warning, initiating an actual brain-melting existential mindfuck on Strange's part— no, he's not eager to inflict it on someone else. So instead he asks permission, and then walks forward until he's standing right in front of Julia: a bit too close for comfort, standing right inside her personal bubble, but when needs must. ]

This might feel a little... strange, [ he says, not really intending the pun, and then he raises his hand. (She catches a glimpse of a bent and crooked hand, scars running up and down each finger.) He presses his thumb to the exact center of her forehead. Closes his own eyes, and opens his external consciousness to the universe and to that beating light of sentence right in front of him.

And he peers in. ]

[ That glimpse of his hand is enough to send a dozen questions skittering through her mind, chased by concern and grief for whatever he went through to bring them to that condition. That pain for him is so profound that it chases away the urge to actually ask those questions—

And then everything is shoved out of her mind by the strange feeling of him looking into and through her.

Julia is a perfectionist. She is passionate and caring, driven and kind. Her need to do good has slowly been overtaking everything else in her life. Her mind is ordered like a library, a card catalog organizing every bit of knowledge she's ever acquired. But despite all of this, her aura is a fucking mess.

There is blue at the edges, a hue trying to wrap around the other colors and obscure the less savory ones with her need to help others, but it doesn't get far before being consumed by the dark brownish yellow that she's carried with her for years. She has and always will be a student, hungry for learning and understanding, a seeker of knowledge who will never be satisfied no matter how much she consumes. An orange-yellow bleeds into the brown, signs of the superior intellect that is required of all magicians in order to practice their particular brand of magic, and there are angry patches of muddied red that are beginning to dim.

Perhaps most prominently visible, however, is the dark grey signaling the fear that has been her constant companion for too many months. It looks like an angry sky right before a fierce storm rages, and here and there are spots of white that were once bright but have now mostly faded, and smudges of black for the god that caused her that pain.

But if Stephen looks close enough, he will also notice the flecks of gold beginning to take root and spread, tiny pools forming from the divine seed that has begun to grow without Julia's knowledge. It will continue to grow, whether she likes it or not because Julia Wicker is a good person who has been given power she will use for good. And it is that goodness that will tame her chaotically ordered hedge witch magic into something as smooth and solid as a stone on a beach. ]

Edited (words are hard) 2022-06-26 03:59 (UTC)

[ As Strange peruses Julia's spirit, he can't help but think how familiar it is at first glance: all that orderly categorisation, the knowledge segmentation, that desperate drive to know more. His reading of her leads to a faint feeling like he's flipping through that card catalog, page after page after page, taking her measure, and there's the feeling of a presence in her skull and some incomprehensible sensations that come with it. A bit like he's touching parts of her neocortex and the sensory input is pinging like she's having a stroke: the smell of crisp antiseptic, old weathered pages, fresh-brewed tea, a combination which is apparently wholly Stephen-like.

And he takes in all the riotous chaos of colours, with a ripple of surprise. Most people have two or three, maybe four colours most prevalent in their psychic landscape. Julia's, on the other hand, looks like someone upended multiple buckets of paint into a stewing whirlpool. It's a lot. She's clearly got a lot going on. Strange's consciousness drifts through it all like he's floating on an ethereal current, just taking it all in.

Those flecks of gold. Now, that's interesting. That seems pertinent. Strange exerts some energy and floats closer, scrutinising them like he's picking out a small Easter egg in a greater landscape painting: observing how the colour is growing, spreading, glowing. At least it's not an infection or a rot and doesn't seem inherently bad, at least.

He detaches and comes back to himself with a gasp, an indrawn breath, eyes opening again. When he looks at Julia's face, he can still see that swirl of colours around her, like the afterimage of light burning his retinas. As he blinks to clear his vision, he says: ]

You weren't wrong about that divine residue, I think. It might be helping your magic.

[ He won't say anything about the glimpse he caught of the dark shadows shot through it all, that grey and black swirling through her like mud, like oil, like a tarnish. Everybody's damage is their own. (And to that end, he folds his hands back under his cloak, the scrying complete.) ]

[ It's the oddest sensation to feel him almost rifling through her mind, like a ghost drifting through the hallways of an empty house. He's not necessarily peeking behind locked doors but she can still tell he's there. And then there are the smells, the weirdest combination of things that immediately strike her as him.

It ends and she feels as strange without him in her mind as she did with him in it. That's not something she could ever explain, the emptiness of losing his presence when she'd never known the void was there before. It just is and she accepts it.

What isn't so easy to accept is his 'diagnosis' — she goes very still, almost as if she's been frozen in time, and for a moment it's actually hard to breathe. She has to fight against the flashback that tries to overtake her thoughts, her hands tightening into fists. One ragged, shallow breath, two, three, and then bitterly: ]

Great. I guess that probably means I can't rid of it.

Never say never, [ Strange says, ruminating. ] I know I don't know much about your circumstances, but wouldn't it be best to make use of whatever advantages it gives you?

[ Use what you can. Improvise. Wring every last silver lining out of a terrible circumstance. He had a brutally pragmatic approach to life sometimes. ]

[ It feels like being hit with a brick to hear him talk like that, though she knows he isn't wrong. She's doing this to help people and so the specifics of how and what power she has shouldn't matter. But it does. ]

You're right, you don't know.

[ Bitterness and fear swirl around together inside her before she can tamp down on her shit. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she sighs quietly. ]

Sorry. I need to— I need to talk to Our Lady before... deciding anything like that, anyway. If she'll even answer me.

[ Strange watches those colours flicker and flare around her like a starburst of anger and misery, before the colours fade again like light dimming. Okay. Yeah, note to self: don't press that button.

He considers. ]

I'll let you decide what route we try, and whichever angle you most feel like exploring. We have the time, after all. [ Gently handing the initiative and autonomy back to her; letting her lead. ] We can try the portals again, or dig through the stacks for some research— which I'll be doing later regardless— or take a break to go find the guest room. Up to you.

[ A beat, then he adds, ] I haven't had a mystery like this to sink my teeth into for a while, so apologies in advance if I'm a little over-zealous.

[ He might have pressed where he shouldn't but he makes up for it quickly with the way he puts the decisions back in her hands. It's the best step he could have taken and he probably doesn't even realize it — in those moments when she's being pulled down into memories of when choice had been taken from her, he reminds her that things are different now.

He is different. And they are also so very much the same. ]

It's okay. I'm usually the over-zealous type myself. [ She offers him a small, hesitant smile. ] I think a short break would be good, then we can dive back into things. I'm pretty handy with research.

Edited 2022-06-28 04:18 (UTC)

I should probably give you the grand tour, anyway, and actually let Wong know we'll have someone staying with us... [ He looks a little distant then, his thoughts somewhere else. And then Strange shakes it off, and moves to the parlour door and peeks his head out into the hallway. The red cloak hanging from his shoulders moves; once again as if it's shifting in an impossible breeze, except now it definitely reaches into the hallway as if it, too, is looking up and down the corridors.

Then Strange looks back over his shoulder. Flashes Julia a grin. ]

I think spatiality is holding steady for now. Want to see the sights?

[ He thinks? That's very comforting, just as he probably means it to be. She has a feeling that's the sort of person he is at his core. ]

See the sights of Hogwarts? No way would I ever turn that down. [ She grins in return, then her gaze shifts down to the cloak that evidently has a mind of its own. ]

Okay, I have to ask, and no offense meant [ said to the cloak ] but what's the deal with the sentient cape?

[ Other people would probably never make the assumption of sentience or given much thought to it at all, but other people also haven't been to Fillory where there are sentient trees and talking animals. Beyond simple politeness, it would be helpful to know what she's dealing with before she potentially makes a mess of things. ]

Okay, first off, it's a cloak. [ He doesn't sound annoyed but says it distractedly, as if he's used to making that correction nonstop. Then he shakes out his arms, letting said piece of clothing ripple Dramatically™ with a little flourish, its corners curling and twining in on themselves as it shows off. Glancing down, Doctor Strange can't help a small smile at the sight. The stupid thing is just as melodramatic as he is, which probably explains a few things re: how they wound up together. ]

It's the Cloak of Levitation. One of the many artefacts here in storage at the Sanctum— it was in a glass case but came to life when I needed help, and then it came to my aid. It can't talk, but it has a certain limited sentience; it knows what I want and it'll come help people independently of me, even. Think of it like a pet, I suppose.

— but also, I can fly with it, so I'm admittedly a little biased in its favour.

[ He and the cloak have been practically inseparable ever since he first became Sorcerer Supreme. ]

[ A pet cloak that can fly and has moderate sentience. As she watches the cloak show off in a way that immediately brings to mind Strange's own theatrics earlier, Julia processes everything she's being told and just... accepts it. Being engrossed in the magical world for a few years now has mostly inured her to the weirder things in life, especially when her experiences with Fillory were added in on top of this world's odder features. It's just another piece slotting into the puzzle that is the mysteries of the universe. ]

Huh.

[ Look, just because she's used to this stuff being thrown at her doesn't mean she's always articulate about it. There's a beat and then she smirks playfully, lowering her voice to teasingly address the cloak so Stephen will hear. ]

I get it now. You're why he looks so cool.

[ She might not know the limits of its sentience but she's still going to treat it with respect and consideration. ]

[ The cloak outright preens beneath her compliment, one of its corners swiping at its own edges like it's dusting lint off its sleeve; and Strange looks down at the Cloak of Levitation, mock-aggrieved. ]

Hey, [ he says sternly, still directing his attention downward. ] You've known her for like ten minutes. There's no concept of loyalty these days, I swear...

[ But he doth protest too much, and this has the sound of engaging with a comfortable joke behind it, too. The cloak really is responsible for a lot of his visual flash and pizzazz: beneath it, Strange is dressed in fitted dark navy-blue robes with red threading matching the cloak. A good look for an eldritch magician, certainly, but— being able to soar down from the sky on a rippling scarlet cloak really is the pièce de résistance.

(Image matters to him in a way it probably shouldn't for an ostensible monk, but. This is the man with the Armani suits, the broken Jaeger LeCoultre watch, the wrecked Lamborghini. Some of his style and flair has persisted into this next life.) ]

[ This feeling of being comfortable with someone is something she's missed desperately. Her circle of friends has gotten very small as of late, one thing or another robbing her of companionship until she was left with Quentin and a precious few others. It's easy with Strange in a way she hadn't expected; she can only hope it continues as they work together.

At least she might have made a friend in a magical flying cloak. ]

The cloak has good taste.

[ She grins, leaving it up to interpretation who exactly she's referring to. But really, she doesn't care much about appearances. Not in that way, anyway. Sure, she has her own sense of style that's been cultivated from a wealthy upbringing that allowed her to afford a spacious apartment in the heart of NYC, but she didn't really judge others for their possessions. She might have once, but she's having trouble remembering life before magic and everything wonderful and horrible it brought into her life. ]

Mmhm.

[ And Julia grins at him, and for the first time all night, Stephen Strange suddenly remembers that she isn't just a mystery to be solved; that behind this magical puzzle is a flesh-and-blood woman, with a sense of humour and a charming personality and everything. It's a small jolt, a startling realisation that he's actually enjoying this. In his worse years, he'd started to see people only as the case studies they represented. Patients were complicated medical puzzles wheeled into his operating theater, unconscious; they'd only existed insofar as their sparking neurons and cerebella were of interest to him. He could carve into the meat and he could fix it by himself. Whether or not the human being was present or not was ultimately irrelevant.

But here is a person, here is a human being, and she's smiling at him.

Strange blinks, then tries to shake it off just as he'd shaken off that view into her aura. He holds the door open for her, out into those long hallways, and says, ]

Shall we? Also, it goes without saying, but don't touch any of the magical artefacts once we reach the loft. You'll know it when you see it. Glass cases like a museum, except more cursed. Although most museums are cursed— well. Anyway. Onwards.

[ Most museums are cursed. That's not exactly something she'd heard before but she doesn't doubt it. Too many generations of invaders stealing conquered lands' artifacts are bound to produce some bad mojo, and when you put more than a few pieces together... Well, suddenly, she never wants to visit a museum again. Not without a whole lot of protection on hand.

But the ever-curious part of her does want to find a museum with a host of cursed objects to research and study. How does the curse manifest? What are the histories surrounding these objects? Are there others studying them? There have to be, of course — some Brakebills alum with a niche specialty in spooky old crap who has written a dozen papers published in journals that no one outside of magical academia will ever see...

Julia stops her thought spiral and focuses back on the matter at hand as she steps out into the hallway and starts walking, trusting he'll tell her if she heads in the wrong direction. ]

No touching the cursed artifacts is actually a pretty easy rule to follow.

[ So long as none of those artifacts are needed for a spell that might bring back magic, then all bets are off. Her own safety is nothing in the face of that end goal. But until that point, better safe than sorry. ]

I'm curious how often you follow that rule, though.

[ He's not looking directly back at her as he leads the way down the hallway, but at the corner of his mouth in profile, she can just catch that flicker in his expression which means another bitten-back smile. Well. Julia's certainly got his number down, hasn't she. ]

Mm. Not as often as I should. How in the world did you know? [ Strange keeps his voice dry and droll, but he doesn't sound shocked: there's already that hum of a sympathetic thread between them, taking each others' measure, and like recognising like. ] My very first trip to the Sanctum was very Aladdin in the Cave of Wonders. Maybe I'm only saying that because the Cloak and the Carpet share a certain resemblance, though.

[ Yes, he's seen the 1992 Disney animated classic; who hadn't? (It had been one of Donna's favourites.) ]

But for each helpful artefact, there's another one which might swallow your soul, so it's kind of a crapshoot— mind your step, we're not going in there, there was a portal mishap.

[ One of the side doors in the hallway, instead of leading to a parlour, seems to open into a bottomless pit. ]

[ For every hint of a smile, she feels she knows him a little better. Like they've taken a step closer to each other, even if there might still be a dozen yards stretched between them. Even with that distance, every inch closer feels like a mile, slowly cementing the feeling that she truly can trust him.

It does help that she recognizes so much of herself in him, of course. She knows he's full of surprises but deep down, she has a feeling they'll understand each other.

He's the right age to have seen Aladdin and yet the reference takes her back a bit. There's that surprising side of him — she wouldn't have thought him to be one for pop culture references. Maybe it's a one-off, or maybe little things will slip out every now and then, but she'll be shocked if he suddenly goes full Buffy with them.

Might swallow your soul results in raised eyebrows while she makes a slightly horrified face that shifts into shock and awe when he points out the portal mishap. This place really is like Hogwarts — or Brakebills, maybe. Except she'd just walked into the Sanctum and been given a place in less than ten minutes when she'd been barred from Brakebills and forced to figure things out on her own.

(Yes, she knows there was a reason for it and she'd always been meant to attend the school... but it still stings. It will probably always sting.) ]

Is there any part of this building that isn't potentially incredibly dangerous?

[ Asked as she carefully moves past that gaping nothingness that threatens to overwhelm her with a feeling of vertigo that she's never experienced before in her entire life. Nope, no thank you. ]

My bedroom, [ Doctor Strange answers automatically, distractedly, as they skirt past that void and continue down the hallway, which looks like a Victorian townhouse when it's not terrifically haunted: a creaking wooden parquet floor in various geometric shapes; old vases and lamps adorning the side tables; classical paintings hanging on the walls, and ornate wall-sconces glowing merrily. The aesthetic treads somewhere between Gothic and cozy, somehow accomplishing both at once.

But then, a moment later, he realises how that sounded, and Strange makes a strangled noise. ]

No, sorry, that's not a come-on, I mean that literally. You're at your most vulnerable when you sleep, particularly with the amount of astral projection and corporeal visits to the dream dimension I do. My bedroom's covered in wards and protection spells. It's important to guard your unconscious mind.

[ If only it could do something for the nightmares themselves, though. ]

[ For the brief moment before his clarification, Julia goes through a whirlwind of emotions: shock because she really hadn't expected something like that from him; intrigue because he is very good-looking and incredibly intelligent; remorse because no way is she ready for something like that, no matter how much she might want to be; and finally, disappointment when he makes that noise. It's dumb to be disappointed when she's not ready to dive into something, but doesn't everyone want to be wanted by someone?

So she's just gonna move right past it for both their sakes. ]

You have anything in there to help with nightmares?

[ She'll ask her dozen questions about the dream dimension and astral projection later. They're important but not as much as fighting off her nightmares. Those twisted memories dig into her like razor-sharp talons and try to drag her down into the darkness. ]

[ He's been striding briskly along with the kind of walk-and-talk speed bred into most doctors, leading them towards the stairwells where he can tell her what's downstairs, and introduce her to Wong upstairs, and then finally detour towards the living quarters... but at that particular question, Strange stops his march outright. And he looks at Julia and shrugs one dismissive shoulder; tips a hand with a gesture of what can ya do. He's been sleeping in tangled panicked sweaty sheets for too long now, and it's been taking its toll. ]

No, unfortunately. They're the one thing I haven't really sorted out. I have my own sleep demon who's taken a dislike to me, too, and he's very insistent.

[ Which might sound like a joke, but there's something to the cast of his expression — and those exhausted lines around his eyes — which hint that he's more than serious. ]

So if you ever find the trick, just saying: do share.

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