Making specific note of Wong's and Stephen's rooms, Julia peers curiously into the other rooms that have clearly been claimed by others who frequent the Sanctum. She's looking forward to meeting some of those apprentices whenever they finally do visit again; she's always been a social person and at least they have something pretty big in common.
When they reach her room, the window catches her attention before anything else. The view is stunning, the quintessential New York City streetscape that she'd grown up loving and that makes her feel right at home. She half-listens to Stephen as he continues speaking, taking in the desk and bookcase just waiting to be her own, the elegant bed that looks incredibly comfortable, and the wallpaper—
"What?" she asks absently, unable to tear her eyes away from those trees that are both beautiful and painful to behold. His words catch up with her and she shakes her head. "No, I don't need anything else..."
Hesitantly, she walks over to rest her fingertips on the wallpaper, as if she needs to reassure herself they're just an image and nothing more sinister. Even though she's a little afraid of the answer, she quietly asks, "Does the Sanctum design the room to match the occupant?"
"Hm?" He'd been leaning against the doorway while she roams further into the room, exploring her new territory. "Yes, I believe so. Although the cherubs are universal, so I wouldn't read too much into those."
He can't miss that Julia is staring at the forest, though, her fingers splayed against that wallpaper. Strange re-settles his crossed arms beneath his cloak. There's some detail he's missing, he's sure of it, but which the Sanctum itself picked up on. It's a terrifically haunted space and such a cat's cradle of magical leylines that he's not surprised it could strike a resonant chord somewhere. The building's been here for centuries, soaking up magical energies, and it'll be here for centuries more.
There's a pithy question on the tip of his tongue — What, do you like camping? — but there's something to her softer voice, that contemplative hesitance, which makes him take it more seriously at the last moment. "Are you alright?"
Well, that's good to know about the cherubs because they're really not her style. If those things start moving in the night, she'll fling them all out that beautiful window without hesitation.
With her fingertips tracing the texture of the wallpaper, she wonders why the Sanctum has chosen to remind her of the horrible atrocity she'd committed only a few months ago. Is it reminding her that she has no right to ever let go of that guilt? Or is it reminding her that she's no longer that person?
"Yeah, I'm..." Her voice trails off as her hands fall back to her sides. She doesn't turn to look at Stephen while she explains because it's easier not to see his face when she confesses one of her many transgressions. She'd hoped to have a few more days to make a good impression before her skeletons came out, but maybe it's better that he knows now — if he turns her out, she won't have anything to pack. "When I was without my shade, I destroyed a forest of sentient trees. I didn't think twice about burning every last one. It was genocide."
"Ah." A beat. "You can paper over it if you like."
Although there's something uncomfortably symbolic about that suggestion: just painting over the wounds, hiding them from view. Maybe the better solution is simply to learn to live with it, but he's not about to tell her what she ought to do.
He doesn't sound as horrified as he might've, or others could've. He doesn't really have an answer as to why, except that— well, in the grand calculus of guilt and blame and agency, it sounds like she had a pretty stark influence swinging her decision-making. Carefully weighing over his words and picking through them, Strange adds, "I think you can safely categorise that as... extenuating circumstances, though. Most people don't expect to be hit with a kind of paranormally-medically-induced sociopathy." Another beat. With her facing the wall, he's looking at the back of Julia's head; the stiff angles of her shoulders.
"Do you think you would have thought twice if you did have your shade?"
Just papering over it is... too easy. It would be like absolving herself of her crimes, covering them up and forgetting the part she'd played in the destruction of an entire species. Like putting a patch on her memory to forget something horrifyingly painful.
She can't do that again. Straightening her spine, she turns back to Stephen, her expression open and raw but not asking him for anything. This is her life and her crime is not his burden.
"I wouldn't have even considered it," she tells him without hesitation, then turns one hand palm-up in a helpless sort of gesture. "But whatever the circumstances, I still did it."
Sighing, she glances back over her shoulder at the wallpaper and smiles sadly. "It's a pretty reminder, at least."
It wasn't strictly speaking a test, and yet Julia just passed with shining colours regardless. So Strange nods, a tight yet understanding expression on his face. Papering it over would have been too-tidy, too-simple, too-easy; she just scored a few more points in his book by resisting it.
"Then that's matters. Knowing when and why you would've done better. And in any case, we simply do the best we can with the tools and knowledge we have available."
His own guilt is less clear-cut, more circuitous and difficult to define. The Time Stone handed over, a decision made for an entire universe. Tony Stark's life on the micro-level, and the inadvertent casualties of the blip on the macro-level. The people who died coming back, reappearing in hospitals which weren't ready for them, or in vehicles which weren't there anymore— the statistics are gruesome whenever he sees them. He's not going to make it about himself, but he understands.
"At a certain point, living with your mistakes is all we can do. I'm sorry that happened."
Running from pain and guilt is something Julia is certainly capable of and this wouldn't have been the first time she'd chosen that path, but it doesn't feel right to do it now. She has to pay penance for the hurt she's caused, even if the only one she's answering to is herself.
That look of understanding he gives her is... unexpected. Julia's been able to relate to Stephen on a few things in the brief time since their meeting but she hadn't expected it to be reciprocated. It makes her want to know so much more about him, to learn everything he's willing to share about himself and the life that led him to this moment. That feeling overwhelms her for a moment and she just stares at him with lips parted like she's about to say something, surprise and hope flickering across her expression.
"Thank you," she finally says, meaning so many things with those two simple words. She thanks him for not rescinding his offer to help her; for understanding something of her situation; for not judging her for her past... For so many things.
'You're welcome' feels like the wrong thing to say. There's something weighty in that moment, something unspoken in the air between them, and the man is near-allergic to emotional vulnerability, so he finds himself uncertain what to do with it.
So. He ducks his head into a nod, and then pivots neatly to a safer topic. "That subway token, by the way. If you need to contact me telepathically, press your right thumb to the metal, firmly say 'Stephen Strange', and then project your thoughts at me. It should get through regardless of which dimension I'm on."
Then he cocks his head; considers. "Although I suppose I could've just given you my number. The reception in the Sanctum is garbage, though, be warned."
Changing subjects is a safer move for both of them and she's grateful for it. There will be plenty more occasions for them to dive into those tough topics, they don't need to tackle them all at once.
Julia listens carefully to the token's instructions and then bursts into an abrupt laugh at his afterthought. The entire thing suddenly strikes her as completely ridiculous yet perfectly fitting for their lives. Calling him on an actual phone hadn't even occurred to her until he'd mentioned it.
"It makes a strange sort of sense that the easiest way to contact you would be magically convoluted." She shakes her head with another chuckle and adds, "Technology gets kinda screwy at Brakebills, too."
His nose crinkles at the 'strange sort of sense'; ha, ha, very funny. But he truly hadn't thought of the phone first; it had just grown so much easier to reach for the magical solution. "It's nice to have alternatives. I like having both options on the table, both science and magic," Strange says.
He's not good with the delicate use of a cell phone these days, so he lets Julia fish out her own phone and tap in the numbers himself while he recites his aloud. It's been a long, long time since he gave a woman his number, but thankfully he doesn't overthink it, just swaps contacts with a kind of genteel casualness. It's an exchange between new colleagues — a way to stay in touch with each other, since she'll be coming and going from the townhouse — and nothing else, after all.
"I'll let you get set up, and tell the novices to expect one more for dinner. Unless we just do takeout. How do you feel about Thai?"
And then once they're sorted, in a glimmer of humour and a ripple of that scarlet cloak, he leaves the room and heads back out into the hallways, leaving her to get settled.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ourladytrees) wrote2022-06-18 12:21 am
no subject
When they reach her room, the window catches her attention before anything else. The view is stunning, the quintessential New York City streetscape that she'd grown up loving and that makes her feel right at home. She half-listens to Stephen as he continues speaking, taking in the desk and bookcase just waiting to be her own, the elegant bed that looks incredibly comfortable, and the wallpaper—
"What?" she asks absently, unable to tear her eyes away from those trees that are both beautiful and painful to behold. His words catch up with her and she shakes her head. "No, I don't need anything else..."
Hesitantly, she walks over to rest her fingertips on the wallpaper, as if she needs to reassure herself they're just an image and nothing more sinister. Even though she's a little afraid of the answer, she quietly asks, "Does the Sanctum design the room to match the occupant?"
no subject
He can't miss that Julia is staring at the forest, though, her fingers splayed against that wallpaper. Strange re-settles his crossed arms beneath his cloak. There's some detail he's missing, he's sure of it, but which the Sanctum itself picked up on. It's a terrifically haunted space and such a cat's cradle of magical leylines that he's not surprised it could strike a resonant chord somewhere. The building's been here for centuries, soaking up magical energies, and it'll be here for centuries more.
There's a pithy question on the tip of his tongue — What, do you like camping? — but there's something to her softer voice, that contemplative hesitance, which makes him take it more seriously at the last moment. "Are you alright?"
no subject
With her fingertips tracing the texture of the wallpaper, she wonders why the Sanctum has chosen to remind her of the horrible atrocity she'd committed only a few months ago. Is it reminding her that she has no right to ever let go of that guilt? Or is it reminding her that she's no longer that person?
"Yeah, I'm..." Her voice trails off as her hands fall back to her sides. She doesn't turn to look at Stephen while she explains because it's easier not to see his face when she confesses one of her many transgressions. She'd hoped to have a few more days to make a good impression before her skeletons came out, but maybe it's better that he knows now — if he turns her out, she won't have anything to pack. "When I was without my shade, I destroyed a forest of sentient trees. I didn't think twice about burning every last one. It was genocide."
no subject
Although there's something uncomfortably symbolic about that suggestion: just painting over the wounds, hiding them from view. Maybe the better solution is simply to learn to live with it, but he's not about to tell her what she ought to do.
He doesn't sound as horrified as he might've, or others could've. He doesn't really have an answer as to why, except that— well, in the grand calculus of guilt and blame and agency, it sounds like she had a pretty stark influence swinging her decision-making. Carefully weighing over his words and picking through them, Strange adds, "I think you can safely categorise that as... extenuating circumstances, though. Most people don't expect to be hit with a kind of paranormally-medically-induced sociopathy." Another beat. With her facing the wall, he's looking at the back of Julia's head; the stiff angles of her shoulders.
"Do you think you would have thought twice if you did have your shade?"
no subject
She can't do that again. Straightening her spine, she turns back to Stephen, her expression open and raw but not asking him for anything. This is her life and her crime is not his burden.
"I wouldn't have even considered it," she tells him without hesitation, then turns one hand palm-up in a helpless sort of gesture. "But whatever the circumstances, I still did it."
Sighing, she glances back over her shoulder at the wallpaper and smiles sadly. "It's a pretty reminder, at least."
no subject
"Then that's matters. Knowing when and why you would've done better. And in any case, we simply do the best we can with the tools and knowledge we have available."
His own guilt is less clear-cut, more circuitous and difficult to define. The Time Stone handed over, a decision made for an entire universe. Tony Stark's life on the micro-level, and the inadvertent casualties of the blip on the macro-level. The people who died coming back, reappearing in hospitals which weren't ready for them, or in vehicles which weren't there anymore— the statistics are gruesome whenever he sees them. He's not going to make it about himself, but he understands.
"At a certain point, living with your mistakes is all we can do. I'm sorry that happened."
no subject
That look of understanding he gives her is... unexpected. Julia's been able to relate to Stephen on a few things in the brief time since their meeting but she hadn't expected it to be reciprocated. It makes her want to know so much more about him, to learn everything he's willing to share about himself and the life that led him to this moment. That feeling overwhelms her for a moment and she just stares at him with lips parted like she's about to say something, surprise and hope flickering across her expression.
"Thank you," she finally says, meaning so many things with those two simple words. She thanks him for not rescinding his offer to help her; for understanding something of her situation; for not judging her for her past... For so many things.
no subject
So. He ducks his head into a nod, and then pivots neatly to a safer topic. "That subway token, by the way. If you need to contact me telepathically, press your right thumb to the metal, firmly say 'Stephen Strange', and then project your thoughts at me. It should get through regardless of which dimension I'm on."
Then he cocks his head; considers. "Although I suppose I could've just given you my number. The reception in the Sanctum is garbage, though, be warned."
no subject
Julia listens carefully to the token's instructions and then bursts into an abrupt laugh at his afterthought. The entire thing suddenly strikes her as completely ridiculous yet perfectly fitting for their lives. Calling him on an actual phone hadn't even occurred to her until he'd mentioned it.
"It makes a strange sort of sense that the easiest way to contact you would be magically convoluted." She shakes her head with another chuckle and adds, "Technology gets kinda screwy at Brakebills, too."
no subject
He's not good with the delicate use of a cell phone these days, so he lets Julia fish out her own phone and tap in the numbers himself while he recites his aloud. It's been a long, long time since he gave a woman his number, but thankfully he doesn't overthink it, just swaps contacts with a kind of genteel casualness. It's an exchange between new colleagues — a way to stay in touch with each other, since she'll be coming and going from the townhouse — and nothing else, after all.
"I'll let you get set up, and tell the novices to expect one more for dinner. Unless we just do takeout. How do you feel about Thai?"
And then once they're sorted, in a glimmer of humour and a ripple of that scarlet cloak, he leaves the room and heads back out into the hallways, leaving her to get settled.