ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ The Bar With No Doors. Of course he had an invitation to the swanky exclusive bar she'd only ever heard about in hushed conversations between those denied access. She'd always found their bitterness amusing, truth be told, and never really questioned why a magic bar had to be ultra-exclusive — she'd grown up rich in NYC; exclusivity is a way of life for her mother's people. ]

Sorry...

[ She murmurs the apology as she continues applying a generous coating of antiseptic, not wanting to take any chances after his earlier mention of toxins because, really, there's no telling what kind of germs that thing might have. But even with the practicality of the measure, she hates seeing the physical signs of the pain it's causing him. So, distraction time. Keep him talking through the worst of it. ]

What exactly were you expecting? A dog-sized spider monster? Something you could catch with a net?

Well... yes. A spider isn't typically larger than a fist, so dog- or wolf-sized would already be larger by several orders of magnitude. I wasn't expecting bison-sized.

[ Keeping the patter going is a perfect distraction while Stephen runs with it, his mouth still nattering away while Julia works; he sounds mildly aggrieved and maybe even a little affronted by the size of the creature, but there's a laugh hidden somewhere behind the complaint. ]

Absolute Shelob nonsense. I'm not a fan.

[ Sorry, Stephen, but she can't not laugh. Shelob nonsense. That's not something she would be a fan of either, and suddenly she has to wonder if those books are true too, and— Nope. One not-so-fictional world from her childhood is really all she can handle, thanks. ]

Maybe I've spent too much time in Fillory, but when I hear "monster" I expect it to be house-sized and require some ridiculously hard-to-find magical weapon to kill it.

[ Shaking her head in amusement, she caps the disinfectant and returns it to the table. ]

All done with that part. Bandage time.

You'd make a good nurse. The bossiness goes hand-in-hand.

[ Stephen shifts on the chaise again, removing the gauze pad from his arm and then obligingly holding out his bare arm to be wrapped up in bandages. It wouldn't look much different from the arm-wraps he already wore as a sorcerer; the material just differed.

But, more to the point, his expression had rearranged itself into amused incredulity at her other comment. ]

Julia Wicker, have you fought house-sized monsters with hard-to-find magical weapons?

[ She's not surprised to hear that nurses tend to be on the bossy side. They're the ones who deal with patients on a regular basis, after all, and the ones who have to Get Shit Done when the doctors are off... doing their doctory things. It's not something she'll ever mention to Stephen but she's always had more respect for nurses than doctors for that very reason.

Removing a sterile bandage pad, she sets it over the wounds and then with a smirk starts wrapping the rolled gauze around his arm. ]

Well, he had a house-sized ego. But no, I've missed most of the actual monster fights so far. It's just been gods and goblins for me. And the occasional batshit evil magician.

Edited 2022-07-15 01:18 (UTC)

Oh, I've got one of those too! His name is Mordo and he's dedicated his life to eradicating sorcerers.

[ Stephen says it lightly enough, managing to skim over it and make it sound like a joke, even if the other man's betrayal still stings. They had been friends; they had been brothers.

He holds himself still while Julia winds the gauze, but he really can't help but ask: ] What are goblins like?

[ Oh, wow, he really does have one of those. They'll have to compare notes on the evil magic users they've encountered sometime — maybe when they're already very drunk and the stories won't hit quite as hard. For now, light topics. ]

Invisible. Strong. And apparently obsessed with wooden spoons as weapons.

[ She'd never actually looked into whether it had to be spoons or if something else would have worked. Another kitchen utensil, perhaps? ]

Is this tight enough? It's been a couple years since I had to do this.

[ Stephen curls his fingers into a fist once more, flexing and twisting his arm, testing the range of motion before he says, ] You can go a little tighter.

[ Most people were a bit too wary of overdoing it, and they could always push it a little more than they thought. He still could've done this part himself, probably — his other arm was fine — but it turned out that it just felt nice letting someone else fuss over him for once. That light physical contact, the brush of her fingertips against his bare skin.

As Julia tucked in the edges again: ]

Where did you pick up first aid?

[ She makes a quiet hum of acknowledgment before unwinding the last bit and rewrapping it a little tighter. The act itself feels good. Being able to take care of someone else is nice. It's a connection, something she can do for someone she cares about, and it's something she knows how to do. Sort of. To an extent. ]

I don't really know much more than this. Q's always been pretty clumsy and he used to get into a lot of scrapes when we were growing up. Someone had to patch him up.

[ There's a warm fondness when she talks about her best friend, the most important person in her life who she's so grateful she hasn't lost despite her best efforts to fuck everything up. But miraculously, he's still on her side and she's still on his. ]

You've mentioned your friend a lot. Q. Tell me about him.

[ More amiable conversation, more distractions.

Over the last few weeks, Stephen has been open and talkative about Wong, the Ancient One, and scattered mentions of other masters, although he'd never talked much about his life or anyone he knew before becoming a sorcerer. Now she understands why a little better, although not whether it's from genuine caginess or if there just weren't that many friends to speak of — or, most likely, a mix of both. For all that he'd saved so many lives as a surgeon, his impact as a person had been negligible; forgettable.

From her mentions of the people she's known, he can already tell that Julia's had a different influence. She's younger than him but she's already moved between so many circles, touched so many lives. ]

[ She has mentioned Q a lot; talking about him is as natural as breathing. He's been a massive part of her life for so long that it felt like something had been carved out of her chest when she'd lost him. If anything like that ever happens again, she's not sure she'll survive it. ]

Quentin Coldwater. He's your typical socially awkward nerd but I've always loved that about him. We met when we were kids. I was obsessed with the Fillory books, reading them over and over, so Q did too. We used to pretend we were the Chatwins, planning our trip to Fillory — we actually drew a map of Fillory under a table and we'd just stay under there for hours.

[ Tying off the bandage on his forearm, she moves to his shoulder, which takes a bit more work. ]

Q's always suffered from depression. Before Brakebills, he'd check himself into clinics all the time, and he'd seriously considered... Some part of me always knew that I could lose him. [ She takes a deep breath, stilling with her hands holding the roll of gauze. ] Magic saved Q's life. It gave him hope, a reason to believe there was more to life than the boring everyday life he couldn't find joy in. He's why I'm doing this, him and everyone else who need that hope to keep going.

[ No matter what it takes, she'll keep trying. Even if it takes years, even if it takes everything she has, she will bring magic back. She doesn't have any other choice. ]

[ The corners of Stephen's eyes crinkle into a smile. Once again, it's so painfully familiar. The source of his own depression had been far more clear-cut — one single evening, a single mistake and a tumbling shell of rending metal and blood — but the same lifeline had given him hope. Had gotten him back up to his feet. ]

It seems there's more than a few of us like that. I think that's what drew me to magic, too, besides the obvious. It seems incompatible with cold hard science, but it's just another way of expanding your worldview, understanding more about what's happening under the hood. Microscopic germ particles causing disease seemed nigh-magical to people once upon a time, so who's to say that auras aren't the same? People can suffer from psychic parasites just like physical ones.

[ He leans forward, elbows propped against his knees, giving her better access to his wounded shoulder. ]

Once that door was open and I'd gotten that glimpse into the other room, so to speak, I couldn't close it again. Once you realise there's more to life than what you knew, it's hard to go back. Impossible, maybe.

That's how it was for me. Once I knew magic was real, I couldn't just forget. I couldn't go back to regular life knowing what was out there.

[ The roll of gauze is slowly unwound and wrapped around his shoulder, looping the bandage under his arm and around his chest to make sure it's well anchored. It might seem like a bit overkill but she doesn't want to risk the wound being too exposed or the bandage not applying proper pressure. Her movements become more confident as she goes, her fingers spreading out the gauze with ease before long. ]

I think I only could have gone back to a normal life if magic wasn't still out there. That's why I tried law school — I thought magic was gone. But when I figured out it wasn't... Well, here I am.

I think I could see you as a lawyer, to be honest. [ Smart as a whip, argumentative, doesn't take anyone's bullshit. ] But I'm glad you wound up back in magic, even if the current circumstances are— less than ideal.

[ Julia was learning her new language, picking up the masters' training, learning how to harness that energy drawn from other dimensions of the multiverse... which didn't bring them any closer to turning it on for the entire rest of her magician cadre, but at least it was something, and Doctor Strange was still researching it when he could. And in the meantime, that brightness in her eyes whenever she successfully cast another spell was certainly a thing to see.

Stephen rotates his arm, testing the flexibility on the gauze; it was a good fit. ]

Well done. Thank you. I could've gotten one of the apprentices to help out, most likely, but I wanted them to still take me seriously the next time I tell them to mop the foyer.

[ Law school wouldn't have been her choice a year ago; she'd considered it, sure, but it wasn't a Dream or anything. After everything she's been through, though, Julia has developed a need to do something with her life. She has to fight and put good out into the world and being a lawyer seemed like an easy way to do that.

She'd withdrawn from the program the same night she first made those sparks and her textbooks have been gathering dust ever since. ]

Mhmm, you mean you like them being nervous around you.

[ Yeah, she's noticed the way the apprentices seem just a bit terrified in his presence. He doesn't do anything to actively make them fear him, of course, but his aloof arrogance doesn't discourage it either. And she's pretty sure she's seen a twinkle in his eye a time or two when he gave instructions and they scrambled to follow them.

Shaking her head in exasperated amusement, she returns the leftover gauze to the pile of supplies before sitting next to him on the chaise, a bit more space between them than before. A comfortable distance, not too far but not too close. ]

Gasp, what are you talking about, I would never. [ Stephen makes his voice exaggeratedly deadpan-horrified, clearly taking the piss, although he's amused at the fact that she noticed. And then, because propriety is propriety, he makes a gesture like he's plucking a string out of midair and pulling it towards him: one of the heavy wardrobes opens, and a clean Columbia hoodie flies across the room, hitting him in the chest. He drags it slowly over his head with a grunt of effort, carefully tugging it over his injured shoulder and arms, and then he sinks back into the chaise. A shimmering light ripples over his combat-weathered trousers and changes them into sweatpants.

He offers an offhanded narration about the spell a moment later, unprompted, because he might have turned down Fogg's guest lecturer invites but he really does like to explain things: ]

The key is transforming something which is already there. It's a neat trick; I usually use it for getting suited up for a mission quickly, but it works the other way around too.

[ Julia's caught glimpses of him around the Sanctum in jeans and long-sleeved shirts, pared down, but full-on Weekend Stephen™ in sweatpants is another level down (or up?) in terms of comfort, and him relenting a bit in that careful curation of his appearance. Setting that mantle of the aloof sorcerer aside, because she's already seen past that brittle shell. ]

[ That mock-horrified protest has her grinning because of how completely ridiculous he sounds. Moments like these are some of her favorite that they've shared — when he lets his sense of humor really show. She'd love to see more of it.

It's with conscious effort that she specifically doesn't offer him help while he pulls on the sweatshirt. He'd already made a pretty big concession in asking her to help with his shirt earlier; she can let him have this one. And really, if she were in his shoes, she wouldn't want someone babying her and treating her like an invalid all the time when she was perfectly capable of a task. So she just watches, ready to swoop in if he really needs her to.

He doesn't. ]

I can definitely see the usefulness of that one.

[ Turning to face him, she pulls her legs up with her shoes hanging over the edge and props her arm on the lower back of her part of the chaise. She gives him an assessing once-over, then gestures at his outfit. ]

I like this look on you. You look comfortable.

Edited 2022-07-17 00:19 (UTC)

What, this? Lazy Weekend Chic? My old self would've been horrified to let you see it. [ He had been... high-maintenance in his past life, to put it mildly: expensive preening, meticulous coiffure, designer clothing, keeping up appearances. Somewhere after hitting rock-bottom, though, he'd stopped caring as much. Stephen still fussed over his looks for special occasions and as needed, but within the walls of the Sanctum Sanctorum was another matter entirely; it was home. He could let the guard down. ]

I can get us those drinks, too. Least I could do to repay you for responding on such short notice.

[ So sue her, she likes Lazy Weekend Chic on him. The sorcerer look is a good one too, but this is him when no one's watching and he's at ease. It feels like she's seeing a whole new side of him.

For her part, Julia's style is simple but elegant, put together but looking like it's natural and managed without even really trying. Nice blouses, fitted pants, and the occasional jacket, with long necklaces and rings adding a bit of extra flair. She can do the sweater and sweatpants look with the best of them, though, and usually does for things like movie nights. ]

Stephen, you don't have to repay me. [ In front of the apprentices, he's Dr. Strange, but when it's just the two of them, he's always Stephen. If he'd complained, she would have stopped, but since he hadn't... ]

You needed help, that's what friends do. [ A pause, then she smiles affectionately. ] A drink would be nice though.

Are we friends now? [ A beat. ] No, I'm glad. I don't have too many of those.

[ And then he'd levered himself back up to his feet with a sigh, and crossed the room to— what else? an antique Victorian bar cart made of brass and glass. There's a wide array of liquors available; his coping mechanism had, for a while, been alcohol, and he'd teetered along a dangerous edge although he'd thankfully found magic before plummeting off it.

But that, plus years of haunting expensive cocktail bars and manning a well-stocked bar in his penthouse apartment to impress the occasional date, means he does still have this down to an art. Stephen assembles their drinks: Vodka, vermouth, ice, and cocktail onions for her. Vodka, triple sec, lemon juice, and simple syrup for him. He floats and pours the bottles with magic, so he doesn't risk slopping the drinks over the sides. The mixers and garnishes which he doesn't have available in the room, he simply conjures into the glasses, before he eventually makes his way back and delicately hands Julia her cocktail glass. ]

How much everyday magic use is too much everyday magic, or is there no such thing?

[ Julia watches him work, his every action smooth and sure as if he'd been doing it for years; given what she knows of his life before this, he probably has. It's like watching an artist work, one who paints in alcohol and magic, and what he presents her with is a perfectly chilled masterpiece. ]

When you stop valuing it.

[ It's a serious answer to a not-so-serious question. Turning her attention to her drink, she takes a sip, considering the flavor and balance of ingredients before nodding with a smile. ]

It's good. [ Her smile turns mischievous as she suggests: ] You know, if this whole master sorcerer thing doesn't work out, you could have a lucrative career as a bartender. And you're handsome enough, you could make some damn good tips.

I'll take it under advisement. The Bar With No Doors is always saying they could do with more staff, although containing fights between drunk magicians sounds like a hideous way to spend time.

[ Stephen rejoins her on the chaise, his uninjured arm slung over the back, his other holding the drink as he sips at it, enjoying the myriad contrasts of sharp liquor to sour lemon to sweetness. That compliment isn't lost on him, either: the corner of his mouth quirks and he mentally files it away, as he does with everything.

(It's sometimes a little hard to say whether or not he's flirting, since he treats most people with the same general flip attitude. But Stephen Strange knows himself well enough by now that he can see his own behaviour as if observing it outside himself, noting familiar symptoms, and he recognises them all: casting his spells with a little too much debonair flair; pouring those drinks with a little too much flourish. She'd called him out on his showing-off right from their very first meeting, and yet he finds that he just can't stop. It's too ingrained. And he has eyes, so he can't help but notice: Julia Wicker is very smart and very pretty and very much his type. Wong may or may not have given him a warning Look the last time they'd discussed their guest in private.) ]

I'm sorry we're not getting further faster. On your magic as a whole.

[ Considering the number of parties she's now witnessed at the Physical Kids' cottage, she doesn't blame him for wanting to skip that particular part of things. Drunk magicians can be a lot of fun — until they're not.

Being with Stephen is always fun, though, regardless of whether they're inebriated or not. Even when he's grumpy or frustrated or upset about something, Julia finds herself enjoying his company more and more. She's comfortable with him and, more importantly, she feels safe with him. For a while now, she'd wondered if she would ever feel that way with anyone again, anyone outside the small group of Q's friends, but she's never felt anything but safe with Stephen.

Looking down at her drink, she traces a fingertip around the edge of the glass, carefully thinking over her words before replying. ]

I won't lie and say it's not frustrating, or that most days it's hard to put down the books and force myself to get a few hours of sleep. But I try to remind myself that I'm only human and I'm doing everything I can, even if it doesn't feel like enough.

[ She looks up again, taking in the man who'd offered her a home when she needed it most. For a moment, she feels almost close to tears, a wave of emotion filling her up with the force of a storm. ] Thank you for helping me. For trying, and for welcoming me into your home. You didn't have to and I'll always be grateful.

Oh, you know. A man needs a hobby, and taking in strays must count as some kind of community service.

[ Sometimes he could kick himself for how quickly that pithiness comes out before he can think better of it. She's being hopelessly earnest, and so a second later, Stephen finds himself modulating. It's a delicate push-and-pull that she's gotten more and more familiar with, the more time they spend together: that initial kneejerk response, the secondary afterthought and him reining himself back in. ]

No, it's been a delight. And I mean that truly. It's all self-serious monks with sticks up their asses around here — I stick out like a sore thumb sometimes — so it's been nice, having a fellow dysfunctional sarcastic Ivy League workaholic around.

[ Yes, he's been noting those similarities and internally snickering-slash-facepalming over them too. ]

Our remit is to assist. And I— failed the last person I tried to help, so in all honesty, I'm just hoping it goes better here.

[ That first response is one she should have expected, honestly. It's normal for him and she really is getting used to it, but she's glad he pulls back and tries again. She isn't usually one to take a lot of things personally but she'd hate for one of these times to be the exception to the rule.

Oh, she's noticed that they have quite a few things in common. It actually borders on hilarious some days, those similarities piling up and yet never feeling oppressive or annoying. If anything, they simply help them understand each other better, and that's never a bad thing. ]

I'm sorry.

[ She doesn't even think about it before she reaches up to set her hand on his arm on the back of the chaise, her fingers so close to those horrible scars and yet still safely resting on the fabric of his sweatshirt. Close, meaningful, but safe. ]

Do you want to talk about it? [ He'd heard enough of her shit earlier, she feels like she should offer to balance the scales a little. ]

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