ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

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.

[ Stephen glances over at the rest of the semi-crowded bar, which really just reminds him that it's the absolute opposite of normalcy, even as he combs through a mental inventory of his life, searching for just one thing he could name. He's a sorcerer who lives in a haunted house and goes to places like this for fun. Is there anything whatsoever in his life, and thus Julia's by extension, which counts as 'normal'?

And he really has to scrape the bottom of the barrel, but he offers up: ]

I had a bacon-egg-and-cheese from the bodega this morning for breakfast. And we updated the Sanctum's wifi router last week. That's pretty normal.

[ Okay, they'd had to upgrade to a better router because all the occult energies were interfering with the wifi signal, but still. ]

[ A breakfast sandwich and a wifi upgrade. Those are the best he could come up with, and while the sandwich might be a fairly regular occurrence, she's fairly certain there isn't much to fill in for the other. Which isn't surprising, really — she knows what his life is like. But all the same, it hits differently since it's kind of her life now too. Partly, anyway.

She'd been ready to leave this realm and go off to be a full-time goddess, yet this is the realization that gets to her. Brains and emotions are strange things. ]

Thanks for reaching with those. I appreciate it.

[ And she really does, as evidenced by her genuinely affectionate smile. She's just also going to try to work a few more "normal" things into their routine, even if it's just a trip to the farmers market or something. Anything.

Grabbing her cup, she slides to the end of her seat, doing that awkward scoot that everyone who's ever sat in a booth has experienced. ]

I'm gonna get us another round; you stay here and guard the booth. You want the same or something different?

Same as before. I'm a creature of habit.

[ It had been a small coping mechanism while he was a doctor: always wearing the same clothes even when he was out of his scrubs, his wardrobe stacked with identical versions of the exact same outfit. It meant he had fewer decisions to make throughout the week, so he could just pull out a suit like a uniform and then make his one careful selection of which wristwatch to accessorise. He might have expanded his wardrobe more as a sorcerer now (just with fewer buttons and clasps where possible), but the habit still rears its head sometimes; he still sticks to the drinks he knows he likes.

Stephen stays in the booth while she's at the bar, fingers tapping against the table as he waits. Another warlock wanders over to say hello and they exchange a few words, eventually heatedly discussing their differing approaches for an exorcism in the Lower East Side. When Julia returns, he gestures between them. ]

Jericho Drumm, AKA Doctor Voodoo. Julia Wicker, magician. [ Former goddess? He's not sure whether to mention or not, so he omits it, letting her fill in the introduction if she wants to. ] I'd tried to help her with that Wellspring situation, but it turns out she's entirely capable of solving her own problems.

[ A creature of habit. That's good to know. Julia's more the adventurous type when it comes to her daily life — she enjoys going through a cafe's entire menu and having a closet full of pieces to mix and match into outfits. The choice itself is what she finds liberating about the process; so much of her life has been out of her control that she cherishes each and every opportunity to exercise her own agency.

Weaving her way through the crowd of vividly assorted characters to reach the bar, she places her order and then passes the time chatting with one of the Asgardian witches while they wait for their drinks (they are, in fact, out for a hen do). It's an extremely surreal experience and she loves absolutely every second of it. She's almost disappointed when they go their separate ways.

With Stephen's Painkiller in hand and her Deep Sea Diver made with three types of rum, Cointreau, and lime, the way back to their table is infinitely more treacherous as she does her best not to spill either drink. She doesn't expect to find Stephen engaged in a vibrant conversation with someone, but damn is she glad to see it. ]

It's nice to meet you.

[ Said with a smile that is entirely because of Stephen's compliment, whether he intended it as such or not. Stepping over to Stephen's side, she sets his drink down before gesturing to the open side of the booth. ]

Would you like to join us? You two seemed to be having a pretty good discussion.

[ The witch doctor waves a dismissive hand, almost spilling some of his drink, but then he pauses to take a sip to lower the level of liquid in the glass. ]

No, it's alright, I have other people to catch up with. But Doctor Strange, you are coming to next month's magic consortium? We can talk more business then.

[ Stephen makes a disgruntled affirming noise, a kind of ugh yes of course I'll be there, and then Jericho makes his polite goodbyes, murmuring that it was lovely to see a new face like Julia's at their gathering, and hopefully they would be seeing more of her around in general, and hopefully she would be a good influence on the sorcerer. Stephen crinkled his nose after the other man as he departed, leaving the two of them to their booth again. ]

See? Warms right up as soon as you meet him. Me, he's annoyed with — he didn't think I should've incinerated the spirit who was haunting this LES boarding house last month, but honestly, once you eat someone's pet Maltese, then there just isn't much I can do for you.

[ This is the first time Julia's really seeing the professional side of the magical community. A consortium? Talking business? It's like the glimpses she'd gotten at Brakebills, except less... pretentious. She gets the feeling that the people here could come to each other with problems and be presented with actual solutions, whereas with the Brakebills community, it was a toss-up of whether you'd get a solution or someone telling you to go fuck yourself. Finally, with complete certainty, Julia can say that she's glad she wasn't accepted to Brakebills in this timeline. This is where she's supposed to be.

Smiling softly to herself, she slides back into her seat across from Stephen before giving him a look. ]

And I thought you didn't have any interesting adventures while I was gone.

What, a haunting? A haunting is run-of-the-mill. A haunting is any other Tuesday.

[ He tips his head in thanks as he pulls his drink closer, drawing it back to within reach on the tlable. ]

It pales in comparison to building worlds or saving worlds or crafting ineffable magical artifacts or shattering memory spells on your friends to rescue them from a complete overwriting of their psyche. A haunting is… I don’t know, the pest extermination of the magic world. Might as well be roaches.

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