ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ It's been a rough couple of weeks. Recovering from forging the seven keys had taken more time than Julia liked, her physical strength returning long before her magical strength, and even then she's only been able to do dimensional magic like Stephen's. After spending so much time and effort to restore the Wellspring, it's been like adding insult to injury to be right back where she started. But it turns out she really is still a goddess, or a psuedo-goddess, because she'd been able to short out Fogg's battery after tracking him and it down at Brakebills. It'd taken some tricky spellwork on both her and Stephen's part to get her onto the school's property without anyone recognizing her but she'd gotten there just in time to get the information from Fogg before he suffered the same fate as his students. She hasn't yet told Stephen the particulars of how she'd shorted the battery, though — she'll get into the whole apparently I can't die thing another time.

So she really is in the mood to celebrate, especially since with the proprietor's dislike of magicians, there's little chance of running into a McAllistair there. (And if an encounter does happen, the rules of the establishment should hopefully provide enough of a buffer.) Her friends are safe for the moment, tucked away in Marina-23's fancy apartment, and she's going to a party for the first time in what feels like years. She's taken the direction to dress up very seriously, going for a simple but elegant hairstyle so as not to take away from the dress she'd chosen. The gold accents sparkle subtly in the light as she turns to check her appearance, tucking in a stray bit of hair as the knock comes at the door behind her.

Turning, she can't help but give him a good once-over, because damn the suit looks good on him. Like it was made for him — and it probably was. The smile she sends his way is both a little nervous and extremely happy. ]

Lucky for you, I do know how to tie a tie. So you can save the flagrantly unnecessary spell use for another occasion.

[ The dress's skirt swishes as she walks across the room, strappy heels peeking out from under the layers that seem to move almost independently of each other. And when she reaches up to work on the tie, he'll get a good look at her black nails with speckled gold foil to match her expertly-applied metallic gold eyeliner. ]

I like the suit, by the way. It looks good on you.

[ Understatement of the century, perhaps? ]

You said that last time when I was wearing rumpled sweatpants, so I'm not sure how much weight I should put on this comment—

[ Stephen's mouth is on autopilot, but his eyes are entirely riveted on Julia as she turns around and clears the distance between them and he gets a better look at her outfit for the evening. Standing this close to him, she can see him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing as he stares at her dress, rendered speechless for a moment. All the black-and-gold which matches her nails and is reminiscent of the gold dust she'd left behind after her divinity; the sheer gauzy black tulle; her bared shoulders; the layers on layers like a tiered confection.

He's not really sure what he expected: a little black dress, maybe, like something for a regular cocktail party? But Julia went straight for the throat with the theme. He's aware he should probably give some toothless neutral compliment, something prim and polite and platonic, but what slips out instead is: ]

God, you look gorgeous.

[ Julia stands by her assertion that he looked good in those rumpled sweatpants. This is just a... different kind of good. The kind that almost makes her wish she was the only one who got to see him like this tonight. Which is a ridiculous idea, of course, but brains are great at coming up with ridiculous notions that have no bearing in reality.

Her brain goes into overdrive when his compliment slips out, her movements faltering as she shifts the knot up into place. Did he really just... But it doesn't mean anything, right? She should just keep going as if it doesn't mean anything. Hopefully, he'll ignore the edge of nerves in her voice, like verbal butterflies swarming out of her. ]

You said to dress up. [ She shrugs like it's nothing. ] And I wanted to make a good impression; I know it wasn't easy to get me an invitation.

[ Julia does a good job of shrugging off the moment, and after a second, Stephen manages to smooth over his own reaction and composure until he's an unruffled surface of still water again. And he keeps his gaze locked over her shoulder now, eyes trained on the tree-lined wallpaper, so he doesn't risk staring down the plunging neck of her dress while trying to look at her.

He stands there patiently while her quick hands work at the tie, feeling the light tug around his neck, the flutter of her fingers against his throat as she fixes the knot. It's been a while since anyone did this for him, but it feels comfortable and domestic rather than diminishing. ]

Honestly, he doth protest too much. It's a secretive group — I think all magic-users are to some extent, we keep our cards close to our chest, it comes with the territory — but as soon as someone proves their chops, then they're all on board and they're glad to have another member. Besides. You're tremendously talented to begin with, and then there's, y'know. The whole goddess thing.

[ Out of the corner of her eye and just above her line of sight, she can see him half-smiling. ]

[ Tremendously talented. Praise like that has been handed to her all her life, but somehow it means so much more coming from him. It's honestly one of the best compliments she's ever received, which ratchets up her nerves that much more. Which is ridiculous, this is Stephen, she has nothing to be nervous about with him...

But damn does he look good in that suit. And that little smile? She wants to kiss it right off his face. ]

I'm not sure a powerless goddess is really all that impressive.

[ Finishing with the knot, she smoothes down the tie, her fingertips lingering at the end for a moment too long. Stepping back would be a good next step, putting even just a little space between them, yet she stays right where she is, studying that tie for a moment before lifting her gaze to his face. ]

All done. What do you think?

[ They're standing far too close; it's enjoyable but it also sparks every last nerve in his body, making him hyper-aware of her hands against his jacket, their proximity, the angle of her cheek. He clears his throat, glad that that perceived heat under his skin doesn't actually show on his glacial face. ]

It's perfect.

[ And then, rescuing himself and giving them another actual reason to stand so close to each other, Stephen chivalrously extends the crook of one elbow for her to loop her arm through, like a chaperone escorting her along. His other hand flourishes that blank business card, holding it out to her between his index and middle finger; he produced it out of nothing, like a magician's sleight-of-hand suddenly presenting the king of spades. Julia's portals are more than reliable by now, so: ]

Would you like to do the honours?

[ Grinning and rolling her eyes at his slightly over-the-top display that was actually quite tame compared to his usual antics, she fishes her sling ring out of her pocket (because she'd absolutely added pockets under the top layer of the dress skirt; handbags are far too much trouble at parties like this) and takes the card with her other hand. It only takes a moment for her senses to pick up on the location being projected by the card, which is honestly a really fucking cool way to hide a secret bar, and another moment for her to open that portal with a familiar shower of sparks. If she'd still had her divine powers, she'd have been able to pop them there with a thought, but she reminds herself to be grateful she can still do magic at all.

Then she reaches up to hook her arm through his, her hand resting on his forearm. She can practically feel his strength reverberating off him, some of it physical but most of it mental and magical. Given everything he's been through, Stephen Strange is one of the strongest people she knows, and it's an honor to be on his arm tonight for such a prestigious event. She's not going to tell him that, though — his ego is big enough as it is.

Giving his arm an excited squeeze, she tugs him forward, ushering them through the portal. ]

[ And they walk through into the Bar With No Doors.

The entryway is dark, and the room ahead of them equally dark but lit by tiki torches, hanging paper lanterns. It's an eclectic place and looks exactly like the kitschiest tiki bar you could imagine: filled with tropical fronds, booths in the shape of straw huts, dangling baubles, gaudy leering masks as decoration, lush vines climbing the walls. There's a head in a jar manning the front bar and the distant inexplicable twittering of tropical birds.

Normally people don't bother to dress up, but the proprietor has at least tried to clean up the bar tonight (there were dancing mops to wash the floor earlier, it was the whole nine yards). The tables are looking less sticky. There's a fanciful lei draped over the bartender's jar, and sprigs of fresh yellow hibiscus, African violets, and amaryllis tucked into the wall trellises.

It's not packed elbow-to-elbow — witches and warlocks and and demons are more snappish about their personal space than that — but there is such a great variety of people and paranormal creatures and spirits and, yes, even aliens present, chatting to each other in little groups, mixing and mingling. Stephen stands by Julia's side, her arm still slung through his, and he just waits and lets her absorb the visual cacophony in front of them and the chaotic blur of magical signatures. If he actually activated his third sight here to look at anyone's aura, he'd probably get a migraine instantaneously. ]

It's always a lot to take in. I remember the first time Wong brought me here; we got absolutely hammered over the course of the evening and then went to K-town for karaoke afterwards.

[ Whenever Stephen has described the Bar With No Doors, Julia's done her best to picture it and prepare herself because it's always sounded... interesting. The kind of interesting that's on the same batshit scale as Fillory. But it turns out the reality is so much wilder, she realizes as they move into the bar proper and she gets a good look at their surroundings.

Thank fuck the other patrons are just as dressed up because she would feel so ridiculously out of place among the gaudy decorations and tropical vegetation in her elaborate party dress. And the assortment of patrons is just astounding. Julia opens her mouth to speak, closes it, and tries again, but it's not until Stephen shares about his first time in the bar that she finally succeeds in vocalizing her stunned reaction. ]

You and Wong do karaoke?

[ Yep, that takes the cake for the most insane part of the evening so far. But the night is young, so with a laugh: ]

I need a drink to fully process that mental image.

Wong does karaoke; I begrudgingly engage in karaoke under duress and only when near-blackout drunk. You're likely not going to trick me into a repeat, so get those thoughts right out of your head.

[ A flash of a grin. ]

Let's get you that drink, though.

[ They work their way through the room, and Stephen fields the occasional greeting from a colleague or grudging antagonist-turned-ally, and he gamely says hello and disengages and keeps them moving. ("Doctor Strange! You old cad, I didn't even recognise you without the cloak and robes—" "Everyone's got to let their hair down someday, eh? I didn't recognise you without the necklace of human teeth.") They eventually make it to the bar and he props his elbows against the counter, gesturing for Julia to make her order and he'll cover it.

And perhaps because he has a sense of humour, he orders a Painkiller for himself: rum, pineapple juice, orange juice, cream of coconut, garnished with nutmeg and a pineapple wedge. The tiki drinks are served in giant solid cups like carved Easter Island statues. They really are the bar's specialty; it's hard to spot someone in the room just drinking a simple beer. ]

[ Julia isn't the biggest fan of karaoke herself, so she should probably be relieved to hear that a night of singing isn't on the docket. Instead, she's decided she is now going to make it her personal mission to get Stephen drunk enough for it to happen. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

This is her first time seeing Stephen dealing with other magic users outside the Sanctum. They'd taken walks to the bodega for breakfast and a few other short trips during their time together so she's seen him with other people, but this is different. He knows these people, he's in his element among them, and she's so grateful to see it.

It's a struggle for Julia to order something other than her usual Vodka Gibson or a simple beer. Fruity drinks just aren't really her style. But, given the theme of the evening, she orders a Hurricane, which she remembers being a pretty potent mix of dark and light rum, orange and passion fruit juices, and grenadine, garnished with an orange slice and maraschino cherry. When she's presented with her cup, she holds it with both hands, studying the carved design with an incredulous frown — and then she cracks up laughing. ]

This place is amazing!

[ Amazingly ridiculous, of course, and that's part of why it's so great. They've gone all-in on the theme and really embraced the full kitschy vibe of it all. It's not the sort of place she would have ever gone to on her own but now that she's here? She absolutely loves it. ]

Thanks for bringing me here.

[ With a bright smile, she clunks her drink carefully against his before taking her first sip. Definitely potent, which is just what she needs. ]

Mm. Thank you for coming. It's nice to get out and simply have fun and not fight demons, external or internal, for once.

[ He takes a deep swig of his drink, all liquor and sugar and brightly-coloured parasol and all. ]

When I first heard about it, to be honest, I expecting... some kind of gentleman's lounge, with hardwood floors and a roaring fireplace and green velvet sofas, maybe. But it doesn't take itself seriously, which I appreciate. There's enough pompousness to go around this set to begin with.

[ Including from yours truly! ]

When you mentioned the highly exclusive magic users club, I definitely pictured something else. But this is so much better. Not a single thing reminds me of high society or Brakebills, so it's now one of my new favorite places on this planet.

[ A bold statement to make, perhaps, but still true. She might have lived at Brakebills for a few months while trying to fix magic, but it's not home, and she'd have enough high society growing up in the city's trust fund circle. This is the kind of place where she can relax, and that's exactly what she needs right now.

Julia's next "sip" of her drink is anything but. She knows from experience that the more she drinks, the less she'll notice how sweet it is, so bottoms up. ]

One of your new favourite places? Already? My, you’re easy to please. The Sanctum will be jealous.

[ Their conversation is light and frothy. If Stephen cranes his attention, he can hear such a scattering of unintelligible languages bubbling around them, earthly and infernal and galactic; it’s all just meaningless syllables, though, so he keeps his attention locked on the woman beside him instead. ]

Obviously, some general warnings apply. Don’t touch any of the masks on the walls, some of them are cursed. Watch your drink — fights aren’t allowed here, but doses of mind-control magic wouldn’t be unheard-of. Shitheads are shitheads everywhere, and the only difference is that these shitheads have magic.

Edited 2022-07-26 01:41 (UTC)

[ The warning about watching her drink hits a cord he probably didn't intend. Years of frequenting bars have her accustomed to keeping an eye on her drinks because of the alarming number of people who would dose it with GHB or any one of a dozen designer drugs flooding the black market. To think that it's the same in the magical world...

Well, she shouldn't really be surprised. Like he said, shitheads are shitheads everywhere. The intended end result might not be the same but that doesn't make it any less shitty.

Her smile falters as she processes the warning, then she shifts her thoughts firmly back to the lighter subject she can make a joke about. It's safer that way, and she doesn't want to ruin the evening. ]

Is there anywhere you can take me that isn't a little bit cursed? Because I'm starting to think the answer is no.

Everywhere’s cursed.

[ He says it lightly, though, not especially fussed. Glancing over her shoulder, Stephen’s attention sparks as it alights on something. ]

But I do see a spare booth we could commandeer. Let’s go—

[ He rests his hand against the small of her back, a light pressure to nudge her along (and perhaps just stealing an opportunity for that light contact, that gentle touch). Weaving through the crowd again, they reach the booth just as a floating imp tries to head there too; Stephen chases it off with a flap of his hand. Then he’s scooting into the booth, where it was a little more private, a little more sequestered away from the main mass of the bar. ]

[ Those brief moments of contact as they move across the room aren't nearly enough — Julia nearly takes the seat directly beside him just to stay closer to him, but instead slides into the more logical spot across from him. It's nice to be out of the hustle of the crowd, where they can watch people while also enjoying a little peace.

Looking over toward where the imp had gone, she shakes her head again in amazement. She's trying not to completely lose her cool over how cool it is — this is all just normal for him and everyone else, after all. But it really is blowing her mind in the best way. ]

This place is as wild as Fillory. [ She turns back with a grin. ] But with a lot more variety than just talking animals and fairies.

Since the metaphorical doors are open for other dimensions and planets, it really does broaden the slate a lot. There’s a table of Asgardian witches over there. [ He inclines his grey-streaked head, just the slightest discreet nod to the table of chattering gossiping women with intricate braided hair and horned diadems, evidently visiting from New Asgard for… is it a hen do? It might be a hen do.

Stephen takes another sip out of his drink through a very colourful, ridiculous curly straw. ]

What’s your favourite thing about Fillory? You can’t say the opium.

Well, that's not fair.

[ But after a playful roll of her eyes, she looks contemplative, really thinking over the question. What is her favorite thing about Fillory... A thousand answers run through her head, all of them completely plausible but none quite fitting what she's looking for. Filling the temporal space with a few more sips of her drink that doesn't seem at all horrible now, she takes a few seconds to at least decide on a starting place. ]

I really haven't gotten to spend that much time in Fillory, at least not compared to Q and the others. Only a few cumulative weeks, a couple days here and there on one quest or another. I love the castle, of course — who doesn't love a beautiful castle designed by the gods' best architect? I love the little villages full of people just trying to live their lives despite so many years of hardship. And I love the flying ship made from sentient trees that has a mind of her own.

[ That makes it sound like she loves everything about Fillory when she certainly doesn't. Margo and Eliot have tried hard to bring modern things like democracy and women's rights to the other world that has long been at the mercy of a ridiculous god and a powerful traumatized magician, but everything takes time and they only had so much of it. Still, despite its flaws, she loves Fillory simply because it's— ]

My favorite thing about Fillory is that it exists. Which probably sounds like a cop-out answer but it's true. For most of my childhood, I dreamed of Fillory being a real place I could actually go to. Some part of me knew, of course, that logically there was no way it actually existed, but when you're a kid, you hold on to that hope of something magical existing in a mundane world. And for me Fillory is magic. It's crazy and wonderful and horrible all at the same time. Learning that Fillory is real changed my life in a way nothing else has, not even learning that magic itself is real.

[ Stephen listens avidly while nursing his drink, leaning in with elbows propped against the edge of the table. And for all that Julia is so much like him — sharp, cynical, abrasive at times — this, he’s now realising, is one of the fundamental differences between them. Because she’d always hoped. Her calcified layers had been scraped over that core of an inner romantic, a dreamer, someone who had wanted that fantasy world to be real in a way that had never, ever occurred to a young Stephen Strange. He’s fascinated by that difference, that split in the road; he finds himself hanging on her words because there’s just something lovely about that warmth and happiness in Julia’s voice when she talks about it. ]

That’s wonderful. Having your childhood dreams come true like that. It’s not just learning that magic is real, it’s that that specific magic was real.

[ The opening of that door had been special for both of them, but evidently in different ways. He had been a skeptic won over; Julia had been a believer validated. ]

Me, I never believed in anything. Besides knowledge and one’s own capabilities, flesh and blood, hard science. [ There’s a beat. ] My father was intensely religious, Evangelical. So I might’ve been running in the opposite direction, heading away from anything which seemed like mumbo-jumbo.

[ Meanwhile, there’s a man across the room he now works with named, literally, Doctor Voodoo. How far one comes. ]

[ Julia's heart aches for the young Stephen Strange who hadn't had belief to help him through the hard times. Whether it be religion, fantasy, or whatever else, everyone needs something to believe in that's greater than themself. A life without that seems so... incredibly lonely.

Reaching across the table, she sets her hand on his forearm, keeping her touch light enough that he can shake her off easily if he wants. She just wants to have that physical connection with him again.

She needs it. ]

I wish I'd known you back then. I'm sure I could have convinced you to believe in magic. [ With an affectionate smile, she gives his arm a gentle squeeze. ] Even if I didn't succeed, it would have been a good distraction.

[ Because when it comes to the less pleasant parts of life, especially those involving family, they could all use a good distraction now and then. ]

You certainly think very highly of yourself. I literally had my waking consciousness slammed through the astral realm and I still thought they'd just dosed me with LSD. It took about five more realm projections before I believed the Ancient One.

[ It's a light sort of teasing, though, warm rather than cutting her down. Stephen had needed cold hard evidence seen with his own eyes. They'd had to take him to the very edge of reality before his ironclad convictions finally crumbled.

Distractions, though. He's good at those sometimes. He doesn't look down at Julia's hand on the sleeve of his jacket; not drawing conspicuous attention to it, just accepting the touch and not shaking her off, enjoying the contact instead. It was like what he'd done a moment earlier, fingers splayed against the dip of her spine. He's starting to suspect — or wonder, or hope — that this might be that familiar song-and-dance after all. ]

Y'know, if you think about it, "Do you believe in magic?" could be the cheesiest pick-up line. Clearly we've both been missing out by not taking advantage of our abilities. We'd be a hit at parties.

— well, except for this one, everyone here obviously does magic, [ another tip of his head towards the general visual chaos around them, ] but. Parties in general.

[ Okay, yeah, accusing an all-powerful sorcerer of dosing him instead of just believing in magic does seem like a very Stephen thing to do. Which is honestly just incredibly endearing, because she knows that while his belief is hard-won, once it's there, it's solid.

Pulling her hand back and returning to her side of the booth, Julia's brow furrows as he starts explaining his brilliant idea, followed by a comical grimace that fights with her grin. ]

Oh, please, that is the worst pickup line. I don't care how handsome you are, if you'd come up to me at a party with that line, I wouldn't have given you the time of day.

[ She laughs while she says it though, giving in to the gentle buzz of alcohol in her system. This is fun. It's been a long time since she enjoyed herself like this. ]

Oh, come on. All things considered— your love of Fillory and faith and hope considered— you're saying that if a very dashing wizard, perhaps with a beard or perhaps not, swooped in at a party and asked if you believed in magic and conjured some wine or sparkling lights for you, you wouldn't at least want to hear more?

[ All the time they'd spent together before — even on the most lazy, sedate afternoons at the Sanctum — had been in the shadow of some overarching concern or ticking bomb. Her trying to find some way to restart magic, trying to find some way to revive her friends' memories. The sword of Damocles hanging over Julia's head, those endless duties and calamities and crises.

Tonight, though, is the first time they can set absolutely all of that aside and simply relax and unwind, no strings attached. And so, accordingly, there's a frivolity and an ease to this conversation which hadn't been fully present before; as if they can finally exhale. ]

[ It feels so good to just let go that she almost wonders if this is some beautiful dream she's about to wake up from. Some monster is going to come around the corner any minute now and shatter this perfect moment, she just knows it. But until it happens, she will embrace this opportunity and everything it presents.

Resting her elbow on the table, she props her chin in her hand and makes an exaggerated show of really considering the hypothetical situation. She tilts her head to the side, purses her lips, eyes raised to the ceiling... ]

Okay, yes, I'd want to hear more, but I wouldn't trust that dashing wizard as far as I could throw him. When a guy is too smooth, it's a red flag.

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