ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ 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.

Ah, good, then we'll both be glad to know that I am terrifically unsmooth.

[ Jokey self-degradation bordering on an outright lie: he can be so charismatic, just as he can be such an asshole. It really depends on the day.

And Stephen is remembering, now, how much he loves this part of the flirtation. Darting a foot over that line, then stepping back; nosing up against that edge of propriety and teasing and flattery, testing the boundaries and seeing how much they can each get away with. And, really, there's no greater test than just going ahead and asking about— ]

So. Speaking of throwing men, and getting to know you a little better, [ now that there's time, ] is there anyone, either here or back in Fillory? I thought possibly not, since you've had other things on your mind for a while, but you know what they say about assuming. Maybe there's a very handsome faun with sideburns somewhere.

[ Tumnus was a cutie, what can we say. ]

[ Terrifically unsmooth? How can he be so damn charming when he's lying through his teeth? And why does she find it so ridiculously attractive?

His question isn't exactly unexpected, but the answer's a bit more serious than the tone of the present conversation. Of course, then he puts that extra humorous spin on the end, and any reservations she'd had about giving an honest answer are swept away. This is Stephen. They laugh about the good and the bad and shy away from neither. ]

A faun? [ Seriously? ] Well, I'll have you know, sideburns really don't do it for me.

[ The laughter fades from her voice a bit as she offers him a more serious answer that she feels he deserves. It's an important topic, especially if this dance they're sharing is actually leading somewhere. ]

But you're right, there hasn't been anyone for a while. [ a beat ] There is someone who I think would like to step into that role, but it's... complicated. And I don't think I'm looking for that kind of complicated in my life right now.

[ There's that sudden sharp twinge of mortification as he wonders, oh god, is she referring to him, was that Julia Wicker gently and kindly letting him down and shutting that door...?

But the two of them aren't actually that complicated, all things considered: they're friends, they've worked together but they're not in the same organisational hierarchy, there's technically nothing stopping this, whatever this is. So after reconsideration and taking another deep swig of his cocktail and tamping down the edge of his nerves, Stephen says, ]

I know the feeling. The last person I even sort of looked at in that way was an alternate version of my ex in a different universe. Which was a situation that... could get messy, so it's probably a good thing that didn't go anywhere.

Wow, we really do have a lot in common, don't we?

[ She can't help the surprised and possibly slightly inappropriate laugh that bursts out of her. Leaning back against the seat, she lifts a hand to rub at her forehead, slightly reeling from yet another similarity in their crazy lives. Was this planned? Did some god out there pull a bunch of strings to amuse themselves? Because this is starting to get a little crazy. ]

My complicated possibility is from another timeline where he and that Julia were together. She died and we lost our Penny, so he came here.

[ After a shake of her head, she follows Stephen's example and takes a very large sip of her drink. ]

— wait, what? [ Stephen timed that sip wrong; he almost chokes on that drink, has to cough and clear his throat and re-straighten in his seat. ] I was absolutely convinced that one would throw you for a loop or sound impressively strange. You really have seen everything.

[ Stephen's sorta-kinda the Penny in this situation, and his mind is reeling trying to follow the pieces. He's blinking at Julia in genuine bafflement. Because the similarities really are starting to be absurd. He wouldn't have thought anyone would be able to relate to this particular piece of relationship complication.

(Everything happens for a reason, Stephen, an internal voice reminds him, and it still sounds so annoyingly like the Ancient One.) ]

She's— well, Christine's not dead here, thank god, but we didn't work out and she married someone else. I happened to run into her in another universe where I was dead, but apparently it hadn't worked out either even before that. Maybe it was never meant to. [ It was something he was still coming to terms with: the fact that you could love someone and it still couldn't be enough. She was always dead or he was always dead or they were alive and apart. At a certain point, maybe you've got to read the writing on the wall and accept what the universe is trying to tell you. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. ]

It is a disorienting experience, though. Complete cognitive dissonance. They both are and aren't the person you know.

And ordinarily I wouldn't talk so much about exes, but look, this overlap is starting to be fucking stupid, I just needed to share.

[ It's not something she'd admit aloud, but she really enjoys whenever she manages to put that look on Stephen's face. After everything he's seen and done, to know that she can still surprise him... That kind of rush is addictive, and she has to hope that eventually, she'll find ways to surprise him that don't involve their messed-up pasts. ]

It's okay. Our pasts make us who we are — you and I know that better than most.

[ She takes another bigger-than-a-sip of her drink to steel herself for the elaboration on her own complicated situation. ]

In this timeline, Penny was with Kady, who's a friend. My best friend, really, next to the Q. But that Penny died not long after we lost magic and Kady took it really hard. Having him around again and not being her Penny — I can see how hard it is for her. And I know she's told him everything that makes me different from his Julia, but it's still...

I'd rather be with someone who knows and cares about me, not just the idea of me in their head. So while it's nice having someone interested in the whole trauma-filled package, I don't know that I can trust that when he's looking at me, he's not seeing her.

[ Oh, how that feels like such a well-needed indictment, even if she might not have meant it like that for him. But it's saying the thing aloud which he'd been telling himself, too. The corner of Stephen's mouth flickers in a kind of rueful smile. ]

Speaking from extremely personal experience... I'm sorry, hopefully this isn't overstepping to say, but I do think he would be. It's goddamn messy. There's so much projection: you just can't unsee the version that you know, and forgetting that history is so much harder. I eventually found myself talking to her as if she was my Christine. Even though you look slightly different and act slightly different from your other self, but then there'll be moments where a tic or a mannerism is exactly the same, and it just throws your pattern recognition into complete chaos. You're still not actually the same person. It would be like dating your ex's identical twin except, I don't know, worse.

... Also, the fabric of reality would have unraveled if either of us stayed in the wrong universe, so there wasn't any way I could've stayed or vice versa, but that's besides the actual point. It was unfair. For me to project my history onto her when we didn't actually have that shared history together. So, I understand.

[ He's probably right. It's something that's been on her mind pretty constantly over the past few weeks while she's been processing everything and coming to terms with her life and the decisions that had to be made. But as much as she's come to care for Penny-23 and has truly appreciated his support and friendship... there would always be that insurmountable something between them.

Draining the last of her drink, she sets the humorous mug on the table and sighs heavily. ]

You know, sometimes I wish there was one normal thing in our lives. Just one, to remind us what it feels like.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject