ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ It's a good idea, trying to tap into his source of magic instead of just repeating the same failed experiments she's been trying for weeks. The sling ring feels strange in her hands, stranger still when she wears it as instructed, but she tries to look past that and focus her concentration on how it makes her feel. As far as she can tell, it isn't creating magic so much as facilitating it — it's a tool rather than a power source. It's not what she's used to, but magic is magic and she's not giving up.

Moving away from the chairs, she holds her hands up, concentrating on the place she knows best in the city: her apartment. She can see the green couch and mismatched coffee and end tables, the shelves haphazardly stacked with leaning rows of books and records, the kitchen that she rarely uses for actual cooking...

Something tugs at a string in her soul, the sensation different from when she usually uses magic. It's impossible to describe, and as soon as she tries to grasp hold of it while tracing her hand through the air, it slips right through her fingers without even a spark.

Shit.

Julia takes a deep breath, shifts her stance, and tries again. Wearing a frown of concentration, she tries to cling to that strange thread, then to simply cradle it within her like a baby bird. That third attempt finally produces a few sparks reminiscent of the portal she'd seen him use earlier, but it falls far short of carving a circle out of reality. ]

I can feel it but it's— It's different. It's like when I had to retrain my brain to understand magic but worse because I've already done that once before.

[ She's frustrated, to be sure, but also determined. It's working, just not fast enough for her liking. ]

[ Strange has to bite back a smile, because he knows and recognises that frustrated impatience so, so well. That had been him, hadn't it? Rushing and skipping all the steps because he hadn't the patience to wait. Today, he's wound up back on his feet again, circling the room and watching Julia's movements as she tries to summon the portal. He nods thoughtfully, observing. ]

Consider this, however: a few sparks is better than any novice gets on their first-ever try. Normally that takes weeks.

[ Watching her manage those sparks, it does have the same magic signature as any of the other Masters of the Mystic Arts. Nothing horrifically different about it (or at least, which he can sense yet), which is interesting. He can feel the aftermath of the spell fizzing in the air, too; a faint crisp aura/smell/something, like someone sparked a match before it blew out. ]

It's like learning another language. It's going to be frustrating when the grammar doesn't work the same way as the one you already learned and knew. The words will look and sound the same, sometimes, but then be entirely different and alien other times. You'll probably fall back on muscle memory and then get annoyed.

But you'll also be faster at learning a second language, because you know how the rules work. The neural pathways in your brain, [ he gestures at her head, ] are going to be quicker at picking up a system, since you've already done this before. Did you just say you retrained your brain to understand magic?

[ Maybe that title of his was apt. Sometimes, he still sounds so much more like a doctor than a sorcerer. ]

[ Hearing that she was weeks ahead of a normal novice is only moderately comforting. Julia doesn't do slow — she dives headfirst into learning and doesn't come back out until she's mastered five things more than she'd intended. Magic is in her blood, it's who she is, so for it to be this hard again—

She shakes her hands, loosening her fingers and trying to cool her irritation with steady breathing. It helps, but only a little. ]

Our magic is as much math and science as it is wonder. We have to do complex calculations before even attempting a spell because everything can to go to shit if we factor in the wrong circumstances. The position of the moon and specific constellations, time of year, elevation... A dozen things and if even one is off, it can mess up the whole spell.

[ Running her right hand through her hair, she visibly struggles a bit with the next part. ]

Internal circumstances matter just as much. So when I lost my Shade... I had to rethink everything. Magic comes from pain and without my Shade, I wasn't in pain anymore.

[ Contemplatively: ] You know, that's one of the things I've always disagreed with Fogg and the Brakebills crew about. Magic shouldn't have to come from pain, and if it does, then I think there's something dreadfully wrong in how the whole system's been set up. It's supposed to help.

[ There's a small thread of irritation laced in all of Strange's words, getting a little agitated. His hand starts to quaver, the fingers trembling; he folds it back under his cloak, arms crossed, tucked away out of sight. Musters his composure back together. ]

But our systems can be similar. I once fucked up a spell because I tried changing too many of the parameters on the fly. [ God, that had been bad. He's been trying to be a bit more patient and cautious ever since that particular screwup. ] So I can see how something as integral as that would've thrown everything off.

[ Okay, there's the Shade thing again. He'd already decided to not ask about it and to leave his curiosity on this front for later, for when they know each other better. Don't ask her about how she lost her Shade. Don't ask the perfectly-pleasant woman how she became soulless. ]

... How did you lose your Shade?

[ It might have been her imagination, but Julia swears something was up with his hands before he hid them. The ever-curious part of her wants to ask, mostly out of concern, but hiding his hands makes it pretty clear that he doesn't want her to ask about it. So, she won't.

But she's apparently not the only one who's prone to asking questions. ]

I, uh...

[ They've only just met and she's trusting him with a lot, but the exact details of her situation are a bit too much for someone she barely knows. She's not ready to be seen as a victim, to have him think her broken. But it's a valid question that deserves some sort of explanation, given how it might be part of whatever the hell is going on with her.

Crossing her arms, she can't help but look as small as she feels in that moment. ]

I had a medical procedure that went wrong. They removed something and clipped my soul in the process.

[ An arched eyebrow, his voice droll: ] Sounds like due cause for a medical malpractice lawsuit. Magi-medical malpractice, even.

[ Doctor Strange is patently, absolutely incapable of reining in his sarcasm, his kneejerk reach for humour as a defense mechanism. But he does at least try to backtrack, softening his words, casting them back to something more somber: ]

And I'm serious about the malpractice, actually. That's a grievous thing to go wrong. I'm sorry. I'm guessing they weren't able to help you get it back, since you said a... god did so later?

[ Fuck if that sarcastic humor isn't exactly what she needs right now. She could have easily gotten lost in the pain of those months before the procedure, and the pain of adjusting to having her Shade back, but with just a few words, he manages to give her a ladder out of that dark pit that so often threatens to swallow her whole. ]

There wasn't anything that anyone could do. Once a Shade is gone, it's... [ She turns away from him, resuming her slow circular pacing from earlier. ] There was a chance. We went to the Underworld and found where the Shades are housed. But we could only bring back one and a friend needed hers more. I'd learned to live without mine by then.

[ Her fingers fiddle with the sling ring as she moves, leaving out large portions of the story she isn't ready to share yet. ]

Our Lady Underground gave me my Shade back when I did something for her. It's her house they live in in the Underworld — her home with Hades.

[ He notices that detail. That they had a choice, and she chose to help her friend instead. It's— interesting. Doctor Stephen Strange had been horrifically selfish once upon a time, but his time spent as the Sorcerer Supreme has rewired those priorities; made him more altruistic, more self-sacrificial; and as a result, more admiring when other people are able to do the same. He doesn't remark on it, however. ]

I've never actually crossed paths with Hades or Persephone. Norse gods, yes— [ he'd tossed Loki into a spatial loop without any regrets, ] but not the Greek pantheon yet.

[ Strange's voice is musing, contemplative, even as he stands on his half of the room with his arms still folded, surveying Julia where she's paused in her portal exercises. He'd started off this train of thought because of his incorrigible curiosity, and because it seemed like it might be relevant — but now it's less an interrogation, more a conversation. Perhaps some of it is still relevant, but now he's just learning more about her. ]

You know, I thought I had the market cornered on bizarre experiences, but you've experienced some astounding things.

[ Norse gods. Right, those are a thing too, though she remembers something about them technically being aliens... It makes her wonder how many other pantheons are like that, being they simply didn't understand and so saw as deities, and how many actually do have the power to create worlds. And end them, because gods are dicks. ]

What, don't most magicians travel to other worlds and deal with gods on a regular basis? I thought it was just a rite of passage. Or some kind of hazing.

[ Her own sarcastic humor comes out in full force as she relaxes again, shoulders loosening and tension easing out of her expression. They'd gotten around the landmine they'd danced perilously close to and now things felt... easier. He hadn't pushed for details and she trusts him a little more because of it. ]

Oh, no, it's actually a very elite club for people like us. There's laminated membership cards and everything. I'll get one printed up for you.

[ That sarcasm from her is like a breath of fresh air, too: a familiar thread, a language he understands and speaks constantly. It's a nice change of pace from Wong, who sometimes bats back, but most of the time just delivers a deadpan stare and doesn't even give Stephen the satisfaction of a reaction.

She's been fidgeting with the sling ring, and he considers asking her to try those sparks again — but after a pause, mulling over the possibilities, Strange clears his throat. ]

To the matter at hand... I'm going to have you keep working with that sling ring over time, but first, I'd like to look into your aura as well. Just to get some more information. Would that be alright?

[ The idea of membership cards makes her smile — and laminated, at that. She almost proposes that they vote to upgrade to membership jackets at the next meeting, but given the fancy cloak (which is still doing its own very cool thing), he doesn't really seem like a jacket kind of guy.

It is nice to know that they'll get along if this conversation is anything to go by. Who knows how long they'll be working together. It could be days or weeks... She tries not to consider the possibility of it taking months. She's not sure they have months to spare.

Julia goes still, finally ceasing that fidgeting, and considers the request. After a moment, though, she nods. ]

Yeah, that's fine. Thanks for asking.

[ It feels like the first time in a long time that someone has actually acknowledged her autonomy like this. Another point for Doctor Stephen Strange. ]

[ Having experienced the Ancient One taking his consciousness and then flinging it out into the cosmos without warning, initiating an actual brain-melting existential mindfuck on Strange's part— no, he's not eager to inflict it on someone else. So instead he asks permission, and then walks forward until he's standing right in front of Julia: a bit too close for comfort, standing right inside her personal bubble, but when needs must. ]

This might feel a little... strange, [ he says, not really intending the pun, and then he raises his hand. (She catches a glimpse of a bent and crooked hand, scars running up and down each finger.) He presses his thumb to the exact center of her forehead. Closes his own eyes, and opens his external consciousness to the universe and to that beating light of sentence right in front of him.

And he peers in. ]

[ That glimpse of his hand is enough to send a dozen questions skittering through her mind, chased by concern and grief for whatever he went through to bring them to that condition. That pain for him is so profound that it chases away the urge to actually ask those questions—

And then everything is shoved out of her mind by the strange feeling of him looking into and through her.

Julia is a perfectionist. She is passionate and caring, driven and kind. Her need to do good has slowly been overtaking everything else in her life. Her mind is ordered like a library, a card catalog organizing every bit of knowledge she's ever acquired. But despite all of this, her aura is a fucking mess.

There is blue at the edges, a hue trying to wrap around the other colors and obscure the less savory ones with her need to help others, but it doesn't get far before being consumed by the dark brownish yellow that she's carried with her for years. She has and always will be a student, hungry for learning and understanding, a seeker of knowledge who will never be satisfied no matter how much she consumes. An orange-yellow bleeds into the brown, signs of the superior intellect that is required of all magicians in order to practice their particular brand of magic, and there are angry patches of muddied red that are beginning to dim.

Perhaps most prominently visible, however, is the dark grey signaling the fear that has been her constant companion for too many months. It looks like an angry sky right before a fierce storm rages, and here and there are spots of white that were once bright but have now mostly faded, and smudges of black for the god that caused her that pain.

But if Stephen looks close enough, he will also notice the flecks of gold beginning to take root and spread, tiny pools forming from the divine seed that has begun to grow without Julia's knowledge. It will continue to grow, whether she likes it or not because Julia Wicker is a good person who has been given power she will use for good. And it is that goodness that will tame her chaotically ordered hedge witch magic into something as smooth and solid as a stone on a beach. ]

Edited (words are hard) 2022-06-26 03:59 (UTC)

[ As Strange peruses Julia's spirit, he can't help but think how familiar it is at first glance: all that orderly categorisation, the knowledge segmentation, that desperate drive to know more. His reading of her leads to a faint feeling like he's flipping through that card catalog, page after page after page, taking her measure, and there's the feeling of a presence in her skull and some incomprehensible sensations that come with it. A bit like he's touching parts of her neocortex and the sensory input is pinging like she's having a stroke: the smell of crisp antiseptic, old weathered pages, fresh-brewed tea, a combination which is apparently wholly Stephen-like.

And he takes in all the riotous chaos of colours, with a ripple of surprise. Most people have two or three, maybe four colours most prevalent in their psychic landscape. Julia's, on the other hand, looks like someone upended multiple buckets of paint into a stewing whirlpool. It's a lot. She's clearly got a lot going on. Strange's consciousness drifts through it all like he's floating on an ethereal current, just taking it all in.

Those flecks of gold. Now, that's interesting. That seems pertinent. Strange exerts some energy and floats closer, scrutinising them like he's picking out a small Easter egg in a greater landscape painting: observing how the colour is growing, spreading, glowing. At least it's not an infection or a rot and doesn't seem inherently bad, at least.

He detaches and comes back to himself with a gasp, an indrawn breath, eyes opening again. When he looks at Julia's face, he can still see that swirl of colours around her, like the afterimage of light burning his retinas. As he blinks to clear his vision, he says: ]

You weren't wrong about that divine residue, I think. It might be helping your magic.

[ He won't say anything about the glimpse he caught of the dark shadows shot through it all, that grey and black swirling through her like mud, like oil, like a tarnish. Everybody's damage is their own. (And to that end, he folds his hands back under his cloak, the scrying complete.) ]

[ It's the oddest sensation to feel him almost rifling through her mind, like a ghost drifting through the hallways of an empty house. He's not necessarily peeking behind locked doors but she can still tell he's there. And then there are the smells, the weirdest combination of things that immediately strike her as him.

It ends and she feels as strange without him in her mind as she did with him in it. That's not something she could ever explain, the emptiness of losing his presence when she'd never known the void was there before. It just is and she accepts it.

What isn't so easy to accept is his 'diagnosis' — she goes very still, almost as if she's been frozen in time, and for a moment it's actually hard to breathe. She has to fight against the flashback that tries to overtake her thoughts, her hands tightening into fists. One ragged, shallow breath, two, three, and then bitterly: ]

Great. I guess that probably means I can't rid of it.

Never say never, [ Strange says, ruminating. ] I know I don't know much about your circumstances, but wouldn't it be best to make use of whatever advantages it gives you?

[ Use what you can. Improvise. Wring every last silver lining out of a terrible circumstance. He had a brutally pragmatic approach to life sometimes. ]

[ It feels like being hit with a brick to hear him talk like that, though she knows he isn't wrong. She's doing this to help people and so the specifics of how and what power she has shouldn't matter. But it does. ]

You're right, you don't know.

[ Bitterness and fear swirl around together inside her before she can tamp down on her shit. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she sighs quietly. ]

Sorry. I need to— I need to talk to Our Lady before... deciding anything like that, anyway. If she'll even answer me.

[ Strange watches those colours flicker and flare around her like a starburst of anger and misery, before the colours fade again like light dimming. Okay. Yeah, note to self: don't press that button.

He considers. ]

I'll let you decide what route we try, and whichever angle you most feel like exploring. We have the time, after all. [ Gently handing the initiative and autonomy back to her; letting her lead. ] We can try the portals again, or dig through the stacks for some research— which I'll be doing later regardless— or take a break to go find the guest room. Up to you.

[ A beat, then he adds, ] I haven't had a mystery like this to sink my teeth into for a while, so apologies in advance if I'm a little over-zealous.

[ He might have pressed where he shouldn't but he makes up for it quickly with the way he puts the decisions back in her hands. It's the best step he could have taken and he probably doesn't even realize it — in those moments when she's being pulled down into memories of when choice had been taken from her, he reminds her that things are different now.

He is different. And they are also so very much the same. ]

It's okay. I'm usually the over-zealous type myself. [ She offers him a small, hesitant smile. ] I think a short break would be good, then we can dive back into things. I'm pretty handy with research.

Edited 2022-06-28 04:18 (UTC)

I should probably give you the grand tour, anyway, and actually let Wong know we'll have someone staying with us... [ He looks a little distant then, his thoughts somewhere else. And then Strange shakes it off, and moves to the parlour door and peeks his head out into the hallway. The red cloak hanging from his shoulders moves; once again as if it's shifting in an impossible breeze, except now it definitely reaches into the hallway as if it, too, is looking up and down the corridors.

Then Strange looks back over his shoulder. Flashes Julia a grin. ]

I think spatiality is holding steady for now. Want to see the sights?

[ He thinks? That's very comforting, just as he probably means it to be. She has a feeling that's the sort of person he is at his core. ]

See the sights of Hogwarts? No way would I ever turn that down. [ She grins in return, then her gaze shifts down to the cloak that evidently has a mind of its own. ]

Okay, I have to ask, and no offense meant [ said to the cloak ] but what's the deal with the sentient cape?

[ Other people would probably never make the assumption of sentience or given much thought to it at all, but other people also haven't been to Fillory where there are sentient trees and talking animals. Beyond simple politeness, it would be helpful to know what she's dealing with before she potentially makes a mess of things. ]

Okay, first off, it's a cloak. [ He doesn't sound annoyed but says it distractedly, as if he's used to making that correction nonstop. Then he shakes out his arms, letting said piece of clothing ripple Dramatically™ with a little flourish, its corners curling and twining in on themselves as it shows off. Glancing down, Doctor Strange can't help a small smile at the sight. The stupid thing is just as melodramatic as he is, which probably explains a few things re: how they wound up together. ]

It's the Cloak of Levitation. One of the many artefacts here in storage at the Sanctum— it was in a glass case but came to life when I needed help, and then it came to my aid. It can't talk, but it has a certain limited sentience; it knows what I want and it'll come help people independently of me, even. Think of it like a pet, I suppose.

— but also, I can fly with it, so I'm admittedly a little biased in its favour.

[ He and the cloak have been practically inseparable ever since he first became Sorcerer Supreme. ]

[ A pet cloak that can fly and has moderate sentience. As she watches the cloak show off in a way that immediately brings to mind Strange's own theatrics earlier, Julia processes everything she's being told and just... accepts it. Being engrossed in the magical world for a few years now has mostly inured her to the weirder things in life, especially when her experiences with Fillory were added in on top of this world's odder features. It's just another piece slotting into the puzzle that is the mysteries of the universe. ]

Huh.

[ Look, just because she's used to this stuff being thrown at her doesn't mean she's always articulate about it. There's a beat and then she smirks playfully, lowering her voice to teasingly address the cloak so Stephen will hear. ]

I get it now. You're why he looks so cool.

[ She might not know the limits of its sentience but she's still going to treat it with respect and consideration. ]

[ The cloak outright preens beneath her compliment, one of its corners swiping at its own edges like it's dusting lint off its sleeve; and Strange looks down at the Cloak of Levitation, mock-aggrieved. ]

Hey, [ he says sternly, still directing his attention downward. ] You've known her for like ten minutes. There's no concept of loyalty these days, I swear...

[ But he doth protest too much, and this has the sound of engaging with a comfortable joke behind it, too. The cloak really is responsible for a lot of his visual flash and pizzazz: beneath it, Strange is dressed in fitted dark navy-blue robes with red threading matching the cloak. A good look for an eldritch magician, certainly, but— being able to soar down from the sky on a rippling scarlet cloak really is the pièce de résistance.

(Image matters to him in a way it probably shouldn't for an ostensible monk, but. This is the man with the Armani suits, the broken Jaeger LeCoultre watch, the wrecked Lamborghini. Some of his style and flair has persisted into this next life.) ]

[ This feeling of being comfortable with someone is something she's missed desperately. Her circle of friends has gotten very small as of late, one thing or another robbing her of companionship until she was left with Quentin and a precious few others. It's easy with Strange in a way she hadn't expected; she can only hope it continues as they work together.

At least she might have made a friend in a magical flying cloak. ]

The cloak has good taste.

[ She grins, leaving it up to interpretation who exactly she's referring to. But really, she doesn't care much about appearances. Not in that way, anyway. Sure, she has her own sense of style that's been cultivated from a wealthy upbringing that allowed her to afford a spacious apartment in the heart of NYC, but she didn't really judge others for their possessions. She might have once, but she's having trouble remembering life before magic and everything wonderful and horrible it brought into her life. ]

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