( catch-all ) can we just start over

[sorser]

WHO: Stephen Strange & Various
WHAT: Post-canon update shenanigans and other things.
WHEN: Throughout the month of August.
WHERE: Thorne & the Horizon

(( closed starters below! PM this journal or hit me up at aurajen if you want to plot something! ))

Comments

for wanda.

[sorser]

[It had been like awakening from a years-long dream, heavy with the breadth of experience and emotion and spellwork and even shreds of humility, long needed. Memories flooding in a slew of recollection, buffetting against the mind; it would be nearly enough to drive a man mad should they not have given themselves proper time to let it settle, let it decompress within.

Stephen Strange, ironically, does not like giving himself time. Especially not when the connections of then and now meld together like pieces of a broken blade resmithed again, giving him new context. Wanda had gone missing, a troubling thought before. Wanda had gone missing — a fearful thought now, and one that has Stephen flying into action only moments after he could sort through what he now knows. What time has gifted him, or so it feels.

It does not take long before he’s in the Horizon, seeking her. Finding nothing but crimson, billowing mist where there once was a swath of trees and a small little cabin overlooking a glittering lake. Stephen glances about, frowning deeply, his hand thumbing at the scarf around his neck — a borrowed thing, sent by a raven from Thor, belonging to Wanda herself.]

Where’d you run off to…?

[He mutters before his hands fall into their usual form of spellcasting; the easy, familiar gestures of uncomplicated magic, borrowing a plucked thread from the scarf itself. The location spell follows his fingers and hovers mid-air, warbling and amber, until Stephen spreads his hands and a halo of energy pulses outward.

This energy shimmers against a form in the distance, standing solitary against all else in the barren nothingness. He can see it now — a door. Stephen waves a hand to reveal it fully, and there it stands, stoic as a sentinel, and he is sure there must be someone on the other side.

He approaches and doesn’t bother to knock, reaching out to turn the knob and see what awaits him.]

[carmesi]

[wanda had felt the way her hex was dispelled, unlocked by magic she very well recognizes. it is magic she has clashed against with before, waged against—stephen strange. it was only a matter of time, she thinks as she brings focus to herself, draws away from the warmth she had found in matt's place, and enters her own domain.

past the door, a crumbling throne is revealed—the leftover ruins of wundagore, obsidian black rock and cracked darkhold spells. the wind whips harshly at any who stand here, the blizzard raging on fiercely, as the howls of desolation and cursed ground echo shrilly.

she stands here as the scarlet witch, her head crowned, her clothes reminiscent of the last recall of her time in her world. as much as she's hid her appearance—the exhaustion, the tears, the inflicted harm of her own isolation—wanda stands here now, true, in front of stephen strange. her back still stands straight, pride above all, and she turns to him, faces him as he approaches.

it was only a matter of time, she repeats to herself again. she promised she would do this in her own time, in her own space, whenever she felt ready. but with the master of the mystic arts, whom—as she plunges into his mind—knows of her crimes? this is one meeting she cannot put off.]

Stephen.

[she greets him, and the howling wind stops, the storm calming in the wake of her unconscious command.]

I knew you would find me.

[sorser]

[He steps through the door, and it disappears behind him. What greets him is a familiar sight, though now brought to ruin — crumbling pillars, the dilapidated carvings of a throne room on the verge of destruction, as though time itself has stopped, freeze-framing the moment in which Wundagore fell. The blizzard rages behind him, howling and decrying his very presence, but Stephen’s gaze latches immediately onto the woman standing there, so proud and unflagging in his presence.]

Wanda.

[The wind dies down. The memory of this place feels all too fresh, even if the last time he visited he was inhabiting a rotting corpse of himself. Now, Stephen arrives as whole and hale, but where she keeps her head held high, he just looks… tired.

And wary, from the slope of his shoulders, from the pinch of his brow. He has much he wants to say, all of it trying to spill past the barrier of his churning mind, but now that he stands here, the weight of all that’s happened between him suddenly feels far too heavy.

He straightens his shoulders, all the same.]

If you knew I was coming, then I have to be honest with you: I preferred the cottage.

[Instead of this place, lingering in shadow and what he assumes—oh, what he hopes—is regret. At least then they have a place to start, conversation to ground themselves in.]

[carmesi]

[wanda tilts her head downward, an amused huff of air escaping her as he says he preferred her cottage. it draws significance—the way her cottage from this world was the very same that she had used, back home, to trick stephen into thinking that everything within it was real, to mask away the corruption of the darkhold that had encroached upon her in those two, long years.

she looks back up at him.]

I don't have it in me to return to that place.

[the place where it had started—this feud with them, the chase across the multiverse.

slowly, wanda starts walking towards him, stepping over crumbling blocks of stone. when she stops, there are still a few feet between them, but at least she's done that—breached the gap between them. when she speaks, her words are strained, her throat tight with emotion.]

Nothing I say will change what I did. [pausing, she swallows.] Do the others know?

[sorser]

[Wouldn't it be simpler to return to that place, that little cabin, the time when they were both stuck in this world without recollection of events that had yet to happen -- but even Stephen feels as though there are changes wrought through him he cannot undo. Wanda's experiences have twined with his own, for good or ill, and that is something they'll both have to live with. Choices made, consequences hewn from them.

Hers were worse, of course. So many dead, so much damage done, a madness laced through her mind courtesy of the Darkhold. It is hard for the tension to not ratchet up by a degree when she closes the space between them. Hard for Stephen not to close himself off with his body language, tempted to cross his arms, but he somehow manages to keep them at his side.]

I haven't told anyone anything. [And this is true. But so is the addendum:] Yet.

[They will be due an update. Even if she has spoken with the others--and certainly she has with one or two, by now--they will have questions, and he will have his own mode of answers.]

I wanted to talk to you first. To see how you were... [Doing? God, that makes this sound like a social visit.] ...mentally.

[Pauses, tries again:]

If I need to be concerned moving forward, since we're back in this world for a second time.

[carmesi]

[it does not escape wanda the way stephen tenses at her approach, the way his mind races to a number of possible scenarios, unable to really decipher what her intentions are. there is — fear, surprisingly, laced somewhere amidst it all, but suppose that is normal for someone as of recently chased through the multiverse by a witch who could only be defeated through causing her own undoing.

her hands lift to perch in front of her, a nervous thread of fingers placed together as he offers the proverbial yet, clarifying in no uncertain terms what he really is here for.

wanda is certainly unwell; she has the lucidity to see that, even if she feels like she is being split apart at times, between the darkhold's control and herself, though it is long gone now.

(a niggling thought in the back of her mind—is it really gone? she stares at stephen for a moment too long, meeting his eyes, a small pinch of muscle between her eyes before she strays her gaze away.)

she takes a few steps away, towards the edge of the mountain, but not far enough that stephen won't be able to hear her.]

Right now, I have found a place to be by myself, in nearby woods. [she means her physical form] I have [she pauses, finding the words,] struggled between the Darkhold's influence and my own understanding of my actions. [she is tired, so tired. she sighs, tilting her head downward.] I plunged into a dark place. There are things it whispered to me for two long years that I'm sure will continue to unravel over time. [because she feels it, this darkness inside her.] But—

[she turns back to stephen now, slow and deliberate steps.]

They are not mine to have. They never were. [her voice grows a little louder, sterner.] You were right, Stephen. My children are not real.

[not for her—all magic, an illusion to put a bandaid over her grief.]

Do what you think is necessary to silence your worries. I don't care. I have nothing left for me.

[sorser]

[His gaze follows her to the edge of the mountain, framed by the whiteness of the snow-laden terrain beyond — perilous, rocky, untraversable. It is hard to take this place in without memory tainting the quietude of the moment. Knowing that Wong once lay just below that ledge where she stands, or America’s fearful look on that heavy stone slab that rests just beside him. That so much conflict culminated in this place, and Wanda herself had been swallowed whole in the wreckage that followed.

Still, he shears all that away from his mind. Focuses on what she has to tell him now — now is what matters, after all, even if the presence of the past is so close it still casts a long, uncomfortable shadow.

You were right, Stephen. My children are not real. Words that should be a relief, a truth he had tried so hard for Wanda to acknowledge past the haze of the Darkhold’s corruption. But he finds that even he is not so coldly practical to rejoice in this belated revelation.]

You always think that I’m here to dole out some kind of punishment, don’t you?

[The recollection feels so far away, now, like a distant dream, but he remembers. Wanda’s hesitation when they meet in Abraxas for the first time, thinking that Stephen had come to police her actions of the past. In a way, it echoes what is happening now, as though they are caught in a strange, irreversible cycle.]

I think we’re well past that point now. Me and you… [He trails off, then picks up again.] I won’t lie to you. I can believe what you’re telling me now; I can see as plain as day that you’re hurting. But what you did— [He catches himself. Does he really need to reiterate her crimes?] Trust is going to be hard to… to glue back together.

But you are wrong about one thing.

for wilhelm.

[sorser]

[He was late for his previous lesson with Wilhelm; for all intents and purposes, on the heels of new and somewhat concerning updates and goings-on, he had ghosted him completely.

And now, with a few books gathered up in the library, stacked on a desk, he sends the young man a message.]

So. [Ssssssooo, is the tone hidden within.] A lot's happened. I missed our arranged time last week. That's my fault.

I'll make up for the lesson that we missed if you have the time today. Meet me in the library if you feel up to it.

-Stephen Strange

[Things have to shift back into normality once more in Abraxas, don't they? Routines set back into place where they had been momentarily upended? Well, that's the hope.]

[ordinar]

[When Stephen didn't appear for their weekly lesson, Wilhelm began to worry. First, that he'd somehow done something wrong, then more logically that something had happened to Stephen. That a man so exacting and fastidious would just neglect an appointment doesn't bode well, a dark cloud blotting the horizon. His thoughts turn to Wanda, who'd fallen into a period of silence and returned from it sadder, dimmer.

The message puts him at ease. His answer comes just a few minutes later:]

It's okay. It's good to hear from you again. Yeah, I'll be there soon.

[And so he is, easily finding Stephen in the usual corner of the library. Wilhelm stands before him with his hands neatly folded, all practiced formality, as he would when a teacher enters the classroom.]

Hi. [A beat, marked by fidgeting fingers.] I hope everything is okay?

[sorser]

[Wilhelm's line of thinking would not be completely wrong. Stephen's disappearance during their last appointed lesson is very much related to Wanda, beyond simply needing to pay her a visit. Time and experience had lurched forward for them both, then supplanted them right back into this world a second time; even without the context of what happened--and god, had so much happened--this yo-yoing effect makes him weary, has made it hard for even Stephen to focus.

But he's stubborn. Given no other choice in the matter, he will fall right back into his old Abraxian habits and lifestyle, even if it kills him. Force the pieces back into their proper places, because what else is there to do? To everyone here, he had not been gone at all -- a discrepancy he will have to deal with, surreal as it feels at his core.

He offers Wilhelm a smile that's tired and strained at the edges, but nonetheless sincere enough.]

I had to pay an old friend a visit. [Even labeling Wanda as an "old friend" doesn't feel quite right, another piece of the puzzle gone askew.] Make sure she was all right. I... uh.

[Eloquent. He gestures at him to sit while he tries again.]

Time's a little jumbled in my head right now. I'm sorry if I sound off while I'm trying to get my footing again. ...You're going to have to remind me where we left off.

[ordinar]

[As Wilhelm folds into the chair, he wonders if the "old friend" is Wanda. She was the one who pointed him in Stephen's direction in the first place. And the last time he'd seen her...she wasn't all right at all. Half of him wants to dig for information, and half of him wants to bury the incident so deep his memory can't find it anymore. In the end, he shies away from all the questions he isn't sure he wants to ask.]

Then I hope she's doing better. Your friend.

[Sincerity weighs down what might otherwise be a polite nothing. Clearing his throat, he presses ahead to the matter at hand.]

I was practicing how to dismiss the fire at will.

[It is...a work in progress. He usually gets there, but it takes a few tries.]

[sorser]

[It would be a polite nothing in normal circumstances. But Stephen's fresh off a few years of new experiences, his now-harried and strained relationship with Wanda at the forefront of his mind. He hears the weight in that otherwise harmless pleasantry; wonders if the young man already has an inkling of just who Stephen's "friend" is.]

No, she's not. [Dourly, the clarification comes. Stephen wishes he had reined in his words the moment they leave his lips. He frowns, shaking his head. In for a penny, in for a pound, then -- he continues.] Things are complicated at home, because of course nothing can be simple on Earth or here.

[Stephen reaches out for a book, pulling at the strings of recollection. Dimissing fire at will. That's right. A heavy tome opens, and he rifles through the pages, reams of old pages at a time.]

Fire... fire. Basic stuff. How's the practice going?

[ordinar]

[Well, so much for reassurance. Concern tightens Wilhelm's expression, but he remains silent as Stephen cracks open the book and flips through its hundreds of pages, all crammed with dense columns of words and diagrams that he watches cascade by in a blur of black ink. The implication that Stephen is abreast of whatever is happening back home — back in his version of Earth — doesn't escape him, but he doesn't know what to make of it. The question posed to him is easier to hold, more concrete. So that's what he focuses on.]

It's going well, sir. I think. [He chews at the inside of his lip and re-folds his hands in his lap as he tries to think of a good example to prove this.] It's been almost two weeks since I made fire without meaning to.

[Which is a win for everybody, frankly. Hesitantly, because he isn't sure if he should poke more at what's clearly a sore subject, he adds:]

I'm sorry that things back home are so difficult.

[Whatever the situation is, it must be frustrating to be so powerful and yet so powerless to actually do anything about it.]

for thancred.

[sorser]

[In the evening, perhaps out of the blue, Thancred will receive a message from Stephen.]

Could really go for a drink right now.

[Bafflingly, it is left at that. Yet given Stephen is so rarely the sort to ask for an outing for no reason at all, much less be the one to instigate it in a casual way, one must assume that this drink is sorely needed.

(It is.)]

[funbreaker]

[ The message is quite sudden, to the point that Thancred cannot help but be suspicious. There have been no recent changes around the castle save for some new Summoned coming in, and this may be related to that, but what if it's something else? Thancred's curious and doesn't hesitate to send a reply.

Regardless of what has brought this about, he would never turn down a drink with Stephen. ]

Then a drink we shall have. Or multiple drinks, if the mood strikes. Where would you like to do this?

[ If Stephen insists on the Horizon, that in and of itself will be a clue. ]

[sorser]

I think this is, unfortunately, a multiple drink kind of mood.

[And even in jest, this is not something he would relate to others so easily. It is better to keep control, to keep looking as though he has everything sorted in his own mind, than to unravel the mess of everything that's happened, leaving it out in the open for others to pick through.

But with Thancred? He thinks he can make an exception. He needs to speak about this more openly before it drives him insane.]

Do you have time for a Horizon meet-up?

[funbreaker]

[ Multiple drinks, requesting a talk in the Horizon rather than in the castle or even in one of the taverns surrounding it — none of this bodes well. Thancred has seen Stephen injured and frustrated with himself, has seen him aching with pain from too much time spent on a saddle, has even seen him sleep-deprived and at the end of his rope trying to decipher an incomprehensible text. Yet this is markedly different. ]

I do. Shall we meet at your place this time?

[ They've primarily spent time in Thancred's domain, but if Stephen is in this sort of mood, being close to home (in a sense) might be best.

Or mayhap that will only make it worse. That remains to be seen. ]

[sorser]

[No, he thinks his domain will do just fine. He has not visited his Horizon-Sanctum since he awoke from that almost ceaseless flood of memories; he feels overdue to pay his home-away-from-home another visit, surreal as it may be.]

Yes. Swing by sometime tonight. The door'll be open.

[He sends a more specific time, makes sure that he is there to meet Thancred whenever he drops by the Sanctum. As stated, the doors swing open whenever he chooses to arrive, ushering him into the foyer, where Stephen sits near the unlit fireplace. Glasses glitter on a neighboring sideboard, placed neatly next to bottles filled with amber.

The sorcerer stands and waves him in. The urge to step forward and greet him like an old friend is strong, but Stephen steels this impulse and says, instead-]

Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Or some version of it.

[The second time, naturally, but the first Thancred would appreciate it while in possession of his memories.]

[funbreaker]

[ It has been quite some time since Thancred visited this place, and at the time he had been without all of his faculties. The memories of it are therefore quite faded by now, and he also never entered any of the buildings, only observing the Sanctum from without.

When he steps in he finds it to be a rather cozy interior, well-decorated with plenty of furniture that looks like it has been around for some time — not because it is worn, but simply based on its style and quality.

Thancred moves over to Stephen almost instantly, even as he swivels his head this way and that to look at everything. This almost reminds him of the Leveilleur Estate. ]

Thank you for having me. It is... a bit more homely than I was expecting, I will admit.

[ With just a thought, he wills the fireplace to be lit. Slowly but surely, he has grown used to causing such changes in the Horizon. With that done, he steps over to open up the bottle of liquor and to fill the readied glasses, glancing to Stephen in the process. ]

So, friend, what ails you?

bats eyelashes at.

[vixening]

[ perhaps stephen missed one of his and yennefer's relatively frequent study sessions. or maybe it was an evening sharing a bottle of wine. or, maybe, it's the simple fact that something has changed in him, a sudden growing older, that yennefer recognizes. something that takes her back to her own weeks, locked away in her room, wondering what the singularity had done.

either way, one day stephen will be going back to his study. or his classroom. or through the door to some hallway in the wing only he is allowed to enter. wherever it is, there will be a student who catches up to him, one that he recognizes as one of yennefer's apprentices. she looks a little harried, like this is only one item on a long list of things she needs to do before the sun sets, and she will hand him a note and rush off without really waiting for a response.

when he decides to read it, he will see yennefer's casual scrawl, not quite trying but looping all the same. ]

You owe me a bottle of wine.
The gardens. Tonight.

[ she doesn't give him a chance to accept or deny - just a heads up that she will be expecting him. ]

COME HERE YOU

[sorser]

[The note's practically plunged into his scarred hands before he understands what's happening, eyebrows raising in surprise as he whirls on a heel to track what he's reasonably sure was Yennefer's apprentice passing him by. He doesn't even get the chance to ask what it's for, she's already turned disappeared 'round the corner of the castle hall, and Stephen can't help but think to himself, Poor girl needs a break.

He's reading the note only moments later, his curiosity demanding that he pause everything else to see what's so important — and a familiar script looks up at him, scrawled plainly on the note itself, not so much asking for his presence than expecting it.

Looks like it's time to add "find a nice bottle of wine" to his to-do list for the day.

Nighttime comes quickly enough; time never slows for those overburdened with ongoing tasks in the castle, but the gardens offer a semblance of peace and quiet found nowhere else. As though time itself has stopped for those seeking refuge from the hustle and bustle and expectation hung so heavily above their heads, stilled completely in the open, pleasant area hemmed with bright blossoms that climb wooden lattices and hang from well-kept archways.

Stephen passes under one such archway, seeking out Yennefer. As requested, he carries a bottle of wine by the neck, its label scrawled with gold-leafed lettering and harkening back to a year he certainly has no real context for. But it's of a vintage, high quality, and he's sure his company for the night would expect absolutely nothing less.]

WRAPS AROUND

[vixening]

[ yennefer's apprentices have been kept busy, and that is really the nicest way she can explain it. they're hard workers, determined and stubborn, all of which would be necessary where it concerns learning from yennefer. that is not to say she is a mean teacher - honestly tissaia would most likely find her on the softer side, what with the inherent lack of lightning, lessons designed to humiliate and break, and the usual trauma wrapped up in the halls of aretuza. no, yennefer is not here to teach these students how to harness magic, rather she has been given room to study, and workers with which to show her processes and skills and who, along the way, yennefer does find she has time to instruct.

now - none of this is really important, considering the purpose of this meeting is between her and stephen. stephen, who has apparently been up to his own adventures within the halls. stephen, who yennefer knows how his own studies, his own pupils, most of them summoned. still, it has been some time since the two of them have found a free moment together, so yennefer decides to create one.

which goes to say - by the time stephen wanders his way out into the garden, a vast level of hidden pathways, small fountains, and more variety of plant life than anyone really should have access to (but that's a topic of discussion for a later time, no need to get into classism and royal and money for now) he will find yennefer, lounging on a stone bench, reading from yet another tome. she looks bored, and all too ready to put the book down when he arrives.

when her eyes fall to the bottle in his hand, she smiles, pleased, and then stands. ]

You've been keeping busy.

[sorser]

[It’s a nice, isolated little area, hemmed by so many perfectly trimmed flowers. Yennefer’s taken up most of the bench when he spots her, and he raises a brow as she straightens to greet him, holding the wine bottle out, label-first.]

Yeah, been busy hunting this down for you. Only the highest of vintage quality for my favorite sorceress in all of Thorne.

[Flattery will get him everywhere, clearly, not that he has to ply it too much or often with Yennefer; they’re more used to flinging quips back and forth between each other, but there is something about seeing her—actually seeing her, not just passing each other in long, cold corridors—after his “return” to Abraxas that makes him feel oddly nostalgic. His smile is warm, even if his eyes are tired.]

My work around the castle keeps me occupied. [He adds, just a little more seriously, drawing closer. Nearby, a little round stone table sits. Stephen waves a hand and two wine glasses appear sparkling atop it.] You know that better than anyone.

...Still no excuse, though, I know.

[vixening]

[ flattery will indeed get him everywhere, especially where it concerns yennefer. she closes the distance between them and reaches for the aforementioned bottle, looking all the part excited and pleased by the selection. he has officially bought her forgiveness where it concerns the distance. ]

Oh, I'm your favorite? Because I'm also certain I'm the only sorceress in all of Thorne. Well- unless you have suddenly grown close to Jolene.

[ yennefer throws another smile at him, because this is easy, this back and forth between them. but it's also in that moment that yennefer really has a chance to see him, to catch a closer look and confirm (at least where she's concerned) what she had thought she noticed.

he looks older- not by much, maybe, but by more than he should. and it isn't just his exhaustion. for a second, maybe two, yennefer is just sort of searching his face, trying to put her finger on what it is that is catching her attention. ] Is it just your work, though? [ she ends up asking, a bit quieter, before yennefer exhales - choosing to let stephen bring it up if he wishes, and she turns to where he's summoned them both glasses and moves to open the bottle. ]

But you aren't wrong. Something is brewing behind the scenes with how many requests I'm getting for potions. It feels a bit like they're trying to build stock. [ yennefer shrugs, though, and pours a glass for each of them and set the bottle down, turning and offering one back to him. ] I'm sure Ambrose has you studying all sorts of Singularity readings.

[sorser]

Being the only sorceress makes you my favorite by default.

[She’s right, the quipping back is easy. It’s comfortable, natural — so is the quirk of his lips as she deals with the wine bottle. This is part of the Abraxas routine that’s easiest to fall into, compared to his work, his lessons, assistant mages coming up to him with requests or questions or missives.

It fades a little, though, at the question. Yennefer is keen-eyed, and even though Stephen tries to conduct himself the same as usual (the same as he remembers; it feels years ago), there are parts of him that he simply cannot change. The wrinkles just a little deeper, reaching at the corner of his eyes. The streaks of grey at his temples, more prevalent than before. His jaw sets, considering how to say this — he never planned on not telling her.]

Guess we should talk about— [A very vague gesture with his free hand.] —everything. [They can loop back around to Ambrose in a bit. First, frankness and honesty.]

I should have told you sooner, but it just feels like I’ve been scrambling since I’ve come back. [“Come back?” Uh-oh.] I had a vision, where I returned home and lived years of my life. So much happened, and having woken up again ironically is like… returning to an old dream I never knew I had. An old life I had forgotten about.