ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

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She'd withdrawn from the program the same night she first made those sparks and her textbooks have been gathering dust ever since.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

Hmm. In some ways, it doesn't feel like my story to tell.

[ And yet, he still blamed himself for so much of it. If he'd only tried harder. If only he'd checked up on Wanda sooner. If only he'd found the right combination of words to get through to her. If only, if only. SWORD had buried the news out of Westview, so her misdemeanours hadn't become as common knowledge in the media as they could've been, and yet. ]

You're probably familiar with the Avengers? With that team having dissolved and having gone their separate ways, though, there was no one checking up on each other. A teammate was grieving the loss of her family, and it pushed her into a tremendously dark place. No one realised quite how bad it had gotten. She studied dark magic and killed a lot of people in trying to get her family back, and I had to fight her. Most of it played out in other universes or at Kamar-Taj, so I don't think it really became common knowledge over here. They're actually still rebuilding the temple.

[ His gaze drifts down to Julia's fingers against his arm, and he considers the coven she'd mentioned. A man trying to get his son back, another trying to survive cancer. Everyone has the fulcrum by which they can be moved. ]

And the thing is, even after everything, I understand what drove her to that point. I visited other universes and learned about other versions of myself, and it turns out the line is ridiculously thin; it could've just as easily been me, magically corrupted like that. A bit like being without your shade, I suppose. And like you and I were saying, desperation drives people to do desperate things.

I just wish I'd gotten through to her before it reached that point.

[ What could she possibly say in the face of that? Yes, she can sympathize from the perspective of being that desperate person who was so willing to do the darkest acts in order to get what she wanted. An entire species had been eradicated and she'd nearly killed an innocent man — she'd nearly gotten Q killed and not felt one bit of remorse for it. But none of that will help right now.

So Julia's silent for a long moment, rubbing her thumb back and forth over his sweatshirt so he knows she's thinking and it's not just some sort of awkward moment she wants to escape from. This is an important moment that deserves proper consideration. ]

I'd never thought about the pain all of you endured because of everything that happened. How fucked up is that? [ It actually hurts to realize just how self-centered she and the rest of the world have been. ] If you failed her, then so did everyone else on this planet. We owe all of you a debt and this is a really shitty way to repay it.

[ She's so angry at herself for it that she can feel the burning of tears in her eyes that she refuses to let fall. For decades now, people have talked about how soldiers returning from war have been failed by the state and the people they were working to protect, and now here they are, failing the soldiers who had protected their entire planet. It's just so... wrong. ]

I think I was actually lucky. I was one of the vanished. Which feels like a strange thing to be grateful for, being removed from existence for five years— but at least I didn't have to be around to see the broken pieces, to feel the loss, to lose hope. I just got to come back for the round two. [ Stephen's attempt at a smile is thin, and a little frayed around the edges. He doesn't want to touch on the things that he, specifically, had seen and done in that war. Not tonight; they've already covered enough.

He takes another sip of his martini. ]

But yes, you're right. They went through a lot in that battle. I'm not sure anyone's really done picking up the pieces yet.

[ A world without Stephen Strange seems so small. Picturing it feels impossible, his presence in her life has already become so great, so the thought of him not being there anymore... She doesn't want to think about it. Enough horrible things have happened in her life that she doesn't need to add to the list. ]

As someone who's become something of an expert on PTSD, they'll probably never be able to pick up all those pieces. [ Her hand falls away from his arm and she takes a rather large sip of her drink, the slight bitterness of the vermouth dancing on the back of her tongue. ] But despite that, and despite all the incredible things they're capable of, they're still just people, and people heal.

[ It sounds like she's reminding herself of that too. ]

Point. And time heals— most wounds.

[ He'd been about to say "all", that good old trite aphorism, but his scarred fingers bent around the stem of the cocktail glass proves that wrong. The wounds themselves might have healed over time but the permanent damage had been done, and would never be the same again. He wonders if there's another aphorism to cover that part.

As she moves her hand away, Stephen realises he already misses that comforting, anchoring physical contact. And in that moment, he also realises that something has shifted between them. For a whole variety of reasons: both of them opening up and trading stories of their worst damage, her seeing him shirtless and injured and vulnerable, her being present in these private chambers at all. He hadn't expected it when he'd sent that message roaring into the subway token and called for Julia's help, but that balance of intimacy has tipped again, more walls tumbling, more doors opening. He doesn't feel like the sorcerer, Doctor Strange, anymore, her polite and distant teacher. He's just Stephen. They're friends. ]

It does, though, underscore what a good thing you're doing for Q. Keeping an eye on one's friends, doing what you can for them. I'd stopped paying close enough attention. Not to excuse it at all, but I think over my lifetime as a surgeon, I grew too used to people coming to me. You solve puzzles, you solve problems, but you're not looking for them to preempt them; they tend to land on your doorstep, fully-formed.

[ And by the time Wanda Maximoff had finally wound up at his doorstep, the problem had already festered beyond his ability to fix. The Darkhold like a tumour, metastasizing. ]

[ "Most wounds" is right. She's never believed that aphorism because nothing can heal all wounds; some are too deep and scarring to ever fully heal. Instead, the bearers of those scars simply learn how to live with them, finding new ways to carry that pain with them and function in a world where most people will never understand them.

Julia watches him for a moment, thinking over his words and the way he's carefully considered his own shortcomings. The fact that he's admitting the part he played in this woman's fall is bigger than he probably realizes, as is the way he's examined what in himself helped lead to it. ]

Nothing I say can make things better or easier for you to carry, but now that you know what to look for, you can try to make sure it doesn't happen again. Growing in a way that can help others is a way for you to honor her and the family she lost.

[ That's what she's doing, after all. Nothing can erase the horrible things she did or what she was unable to stop from happening, but she can do better from now on. If she's ever going to be able to live her life, that has to be enough. ]

Like you and the trees. I suppose that's all we can do. Just try not to make the same mistakes a second time.

[ It is a little annoying being on the receiving end of his own advice. It's always so much easier to dispense it as a know-it-all than to have to turn a stark eye onto his own failings. (Medice, cura te ipsum.) But he's realising he doesn't quite mind Julia mirroring those gentle lessons and reminders back at him, either. He'd bristled at it, once upon a time in a different life, but too much criticism from the Ancient One (and Wong, and Mordo—) had made him better at handling it. A dash of humility. A reminder of one's shortcomings.

Readjusting his position, Stephen stretches out his long legs to prop his feet against the coffee table (when he'd transformed the sweatpants, the muddy boots had apparently also changed into worn house slippers, because why not go for broke). ]

— if you ever find yourself starting to comb through ancient forbidden texts in the search to resurrect Fillory's magic, though, then please do give me a headsup beforehand and I can try to deliver a reality check. Forewarned is forearmed.

[ He's still doing his usual light-hearted thing; but he can't elide the fact that it did hurt, losing a friend that way, and he absolutely doesn't want it to happen again. Knowing what he does of Julia and the lengths she'll go to (just like him), it might not be an unwarranted worry. ]

[ If Stephen hadn't prefaced that light-hearted warning/request with the story of his friend's loss, she might have written it off like any other dysfunctional workaholic who doesn't always know when to stop. But she understands now that he really is worried about history repeating itself and, as much as she might not want to, she acknowledges her own often unhealthy habits and how dangerous they could be in certain situations. So, while she matches her tone to his, she does take his words to heart. ]

I promise I won't read any big scary books without telling you first.

[ She can't promise that she won't read those ancient forbidden texts, even with a pile of warning she's still Julia Wicker, but she can promise to give him a chance to talk sense into her first. Hopefully, that can be enough for the both of them. ]

[ There was a reason he'd purposefully phrased it as a headsup, and not a promise me you won't — because the latter would've been an impossible promise for either of them, most likely. So he nods, behind another slow sip of his martini (savouring it and trying to draw it out as long as possible, because he's enjoying the conversation). ]

Good enough. Thanks.

Two minds on a problem are generally better than one, too.

I've always found that to be true.

[ Smiling behind her glass, she takes a sip of her own drink, trying to make it last much longer than she usually would. Despite the emotional ups and downs and the part where he was a slightly bloody mess, she's really enjoyed their conversation this evening and isn't quite ready for it to end.

Speaking of... ]

So you're sure containment can actually contain the giant spider monster? Because I really don't want to have to deal with that thing again.

[ Tipping his head back against the chaise again, Stephen lets out a long exaggerated (and exasperated) groan, the unenviable reality of his situation sinking in again now that she's reminded him of it. Welp, there is a whole Situation waiting for him in the basement. ]

The cells are fine — they've contained multiple supervillains with a variety of powers before — but oh god, I'm going to have to extract my sling ring from that creature later. There's going to be gore and ichor everywhere. It'll be like waiting for your dog to vomit up a valuable it swallowed, except a million times worse.

Welcome to the glamorous life of a sorcerer, Julia; sorry it's terrible.

[ Okay, yeah, that's pretty damn terrible. There's no hiding the cringe that morphs her entire expression (probably comically so), and she really feels for the man. Not that she's a stranger to gore and other disgusting things, but it's really never a pleasant experience.

She might regret this next part, but here goes. ]

I can help. I'm okay with gross things. [ Meaning she's thankfully got a strong stomach. ] The test I had to pass to get into the hedge safehouse involved cutting the fat out of a corpse to use in a heat-producing spell so we didn't die of hypothermia. Spider guts seem pretty on par with that.

You did what with a what now? [ He tilts his head, stares at her in some mingled combination of being mildly horrified but also surprised and impressed. He might have had his dealings with hedges, but for obvious reasons, he'd never actually known what their initiations were like. ]

I'll say it again about you as a nurse. The 'strong stomach' part seems to apply.

I'll take it under advisement.

[ She echoes his earlier words with a smile, more than a little pleased with the look on his face. Not the mildly horrified part, though it's certainly warranted, but the rest... It feels good to impress him, and she's betting he doesn't get nearly enough good surprises in his life these days.

With another sip of her drink, she reaches the bottom of the glass and feels a little sadder for it. She leans forward to set her glass on the table and then gestures to the mess from wrapping his wounds. ]

I should probably clean this up and let you get some rest. Being filleted by a monster seems like it'd be kind of exhausting.

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portalling - 2022-07-17 23:03 (UTC) - Expand

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ourladytrees - 2022-07-17 23:32 (UTC) - Expand

the magician and the sorcerer — psl

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