InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Won't go home without you."

Doctor Stephen Strange (supremed) wrote in snapthread,
@ 2019-05-10 13:13:00

Entry tags:

dr. strange (616), john constantine (vertigo)

WHO: Doctor Strange, John Constantine
WHAT: Looking for drugs, finding space trouble
WHEN: Friday
WHERE: The House with the Doors, Tattooine
WARNINGS: TBD

Strange was on his last leg. Arriving in this pocket dimension (which he patently refused to call Starklandia on a matter of principle) had deprived him of the support systems that kept him sane. Which, unbeknownst to anyone, had nothing to do with magic. His prescription for medical marijuana kept him relaxed. Helped him sleep. Then there was the opium when things got really bad. That wasn't legal. But Strange's type of problems weren't the kind you could diagnose with a PhD and a residency at New York Presbyterian. The quiet was the worst, when Strange was trying not to think, trying to sleep. That's when the images came, bubbling up from his repressed unconscious. The horrible things he'd seen. Things that the human mind wasn't built to process, things that drove people insane or turned them into catatonic vegetables or drove them to suicide. Eldritch horrors were the job description for the Sorcerer Supreme, and every one of them had to come up with ways to cope. Stephen used to be a doctor, so of course he resorted to drugs.

Except there were no drugs here. There was coffee, thank god, which helped keep him awake. But there was nothing to help put him to sleep. Stephen hadn't slept since he got to this dimension. Which, for a regular human, would have meant death. Luckily for Stephen, he had magic at his disposal. Magic-empowered vedic meditation helped him achieve periods of clarity that sustained him when the caffeine made him feel like he was about to explode. He'd used spells to substitute sleep, to force his body to energize and replicate the vigor with which a well-rested person would perform, to suppress the hallucinations of sleep deprivation. But it wasn't a solution. It was counter-productive in the way that magic made you tired, channeling all that extra-dimensional energy came at a cost. What spells he did know to actually put him to sleep wouldn't work. They required the yantra of finality to be spoken after the target had fallen asleep in order to stay asleep. Otherwise he just immediately woke up. There were other spells he might try, other lore he might put to use, but the Sorcerer Supreme was without the Book of the Vishanti, his great repository of spells, and had to rely on memory.

So, needless to say, Stephen Strange had a problem. Which was what brought him to the House with the Doors today. The Cloak of Levitation was wrapped around him, the collar high and ostentatious like some vampiric count of gothic fiction. The Eye of Agamotto hung at his breast, closed and protected behind its amulet. He looked tired, red in his eyes with dark circles beneath them. His hands were trembling, moreso than usual. It was difficult to control an already difficult impulse.

They rose, those damaged hands, and steadied as circles of arcane light shaped like pictographs drawn from the tips of his fingers. Sigil after sigil he wove, his mouth chanting in the High Speech of Old Atlantis. These were subtle enchantments of protection, auras that drained and redirected kinetic energy away from his body. It was nothing that would save him from a full directed attack by any kind of super-powered weapon or person, but it would stop him from being shot or stabbed in the back by some run-of-the-mill thief while he was abroad. Strange had no idea where he was going, so it was good to be prepared.

In one final flash, the circle he had woven around him broke and steadied like a bright exoskeleton around him before fading from sight. There, the spell was done.

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supremed
2019-05-15 05:37 pm UTC (link)

"I have one that I often use to communicate with various eldritch creatures that invade Earth's astral space," Stephen said as he lifted his hands and once more began to draw a concentric circle in the air, "Aptly called 'Unbinding Tongue of Babel.' One moment..."

Correspondence was the Art of relationships, how one thing corresponded to another. Beyond augmenting magicks of sympathy, its chief application dealt in the realm of spaces. One space was connected to another by the distance that laid between them. Which was to say that two spaces could not be isolated from another, because no matter what it was, some kind of shared space laid between Point A and Point B. Mayhap it was a road, or an ocean, or even light years of stellar space. But that space was empirical and thus created a correspondence between the two locations. And that correspondence is what Strange was manipulating.

The circle he drew was an invocation of correspondence and the geometric symbols inside represented the locations from which they originating and to which they wanted to transport. He pushed at the circle's center with a palm, causing it to stretch with a third dimensional depth in front of him.

"The easiest way to move from one point to another is to remove the corresponding space in-between," he mumbled, more thinking out loud than lecturing John in the particulars of his method. The feeling he got from John was that he didn't particularly care.

The trick was, Strange knew from experience, is that you couldn't simply remove the space. You couldn't just delete a river or a road from existence and connect two points without significant consequences. No, it was much cleaner to create a door in space and use that door as the focal point for the practice of Fraying, which was to say fraying the distance. The functional application of such a spell was that when you stepped through the door, you immediately crossed to your desired location because you removed the intermittent space but only in relationship to the door.

Well, portal was the modern term for such a door.

Stephen side-stepped and swung his hand in arc through the stretched circle, effectively cutting through the stretched portion he had created when he pushed it with his palm. The circle warped and widened and spun, the center of it rapidly hollowed until within revealed a city wall.

"Let's go," he said, looking over his shoulder toward Constantine before stepping through the portal.

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_constantine_
2019-05-15 11:22 pm UTC (link)

"There's always something trying to get in, isn't there?" John would admit curiosity about those creatures, but it wasn't as if he hadn't seen his own fair share of tentacles and demons. And demons with tentacles. Whatever. Point was he'd seen some shit, and he suspected Stephen had also seen some shit. They probably would have to drink about it one of these days. He thought maybe he wouldn't dislike that. Even if the guy talked to himself while he worked his spells out.

Which, fine. John did that too. Just usually he was alone when he did it.

The thing was, it wasn't like John didn't care about technique, it was interesting enough to compare and contrast and he was and always had been studious when it came to this sort of thing. Not that anyone would think it, looking at him. The way that Strange created the door was different than he might, but the fact that he made a door at all was telling. Similar. Well. John would have actually constructed a door. The real kind, made of wood and knobs and all. But he just liked things to be down to earth, he supposed.

He stepped through the portal and looked around at the wall proper while taking a drag from his cigarette. "Alright," he said, shaking his shoe a little like that might get some of the sand out. "What is it you're looking for, anyway?"

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supremed
2019-05-16 05:19 pm UTC (link)

The door closed behind him, wrapping in on itself in a diminishing circle until the frayed space had been restored and the tunnel between where they were and where they are closed completely. When the controlled dispellation was complete, Stephen brushed his hands off and slipped them into the pockets of his trousers. His fingers tugged absent-mindedly on the inseams from inside the pockets, a small gesture that had long since become subconscious in order to steady the tremors.

Strange cast his eyes to and fro to get his bearings. It was easier than most astral realms, at least here there seemed to be a prevailing logic that wasn't totally dissimilar to what he was accustomed. It didn't seem exactly alien.

Except for the aliens.

A cadre of odd looking creatures (bipedal, look humans, but otherwise different in every fashion) passed outside the gate and walked to one of the parked hover cruisers. They paid exactly zero mind to the two men waiting outside the wall conspicuously. Firing the cruiser up, it proceeded to blast off across the sand.

"I think--" Strange said, watching the sand speeder rocket off across the seemingly endless desert, "we can assume that humans aren't altogether uncommon here. Which is good."

Cautiously, the sorcerer started to step (yes, he had stayed on the ground after teleporting) in the direction from which the aliens had appeared. It wasn't a city gate in that it wasn't protected. It was just...open. A literal hole in the wall of the city.

"I suppose I was hoping that we might luck out and find a door to the back room of a Duane Reade. Hell, a Target, even. Any kind of pharmacy. Not being able to get my prescription filled is a distinctly banal problem for a sorcerer, but a problem nevertheless. You?"

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_constantine_
2019-05-16 11:04 pm UTC (link)

"I get that impression too," Constantine said of Stephen's assumption. That stood to reason, he supposed. Not that he'd been on a ton of different planets or anything, but he'd been to places other than earth and there was always someone else wandering around who looked human, even if they weren't, not exactly.

Hell, he was half on that list, himself.

He took another drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt off into the sand in the direction from whence they came, readjusted the jacket he had slung over one of his arms, and stuck his other hand in the pocket of his slacks, looking for all the world like he belonged here. Blending it. It was incredibly important when it came to situations like these. Being new and foreign just got you eaten alive.

And off toward the city they went, tromping through the sand like either of them had the shoes for it, and wandering straight through that hole in the wall opening. Inviting, but not really.

It was sort of funny to hear that Stephen was mostly just looking for a Tesco's, although John didn't see any reason to judge, there. Sometimes medicine was just what the doctor ordered. Literally. "Sorcerers are people too," he responded rather blithely. "We'll find you something, though who know's if it'll translate at all, eh?"

As for himself -- well. John just shrugged even as he glanced around buildings built of stone, creatures that he'd never seen before (some of which he didn't care to see again). "I like the adrenaline of it."

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supremed
2019-05-19 10:34 pm UTC (link)

The sand inside the city was much less of a chore to trudge through, Strange realized. The ground felt solid beneath his feet, almost like a kind of laid brick or coarse granite. Did they routinely sweep the city, he wondered? Everything they passed was the same dull color; the city was a monochromatic swath of yellow-grey structures, many small domes or almost stone igloos, though at the further end of the city he could see a few towers that stretched up six, perhaps seven stories. Nothing that threatened the height of a Manhattan skyscraper, though. Which, Strange ruminated, was possibly impractical due to the possible desert winds. It was a bustling city-- the streets were filled with people and strange creatures. Every so often, some sort of hovercraft zipped down the street or small ships like jets roared overhead.

"I wonder if this is some kind of checkpoint or trading post. Some kind of business hub for the desert. Look, there," Stephen pointed off to the right, "some sort of tavern?"

What writing was visible outside this building was in an alien language. But what drew Strange's attention was that, whenever the door slid open (automated, and seemingly leading into some kind of sand and wind-tight vestibule?) there was music that poured out. Instrumental music, sure, but the upbeat kind that you'd expect to accompany any popular drinking hole.

"Maybe we can get more information inside?" Strange hoped as he made overtures toward the building in question. "In any case, a grateful reprieve from the blaring sun."

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_constantine_
2019-05-21 11:04 pm UTC (link)

Constantine lit another cigarette now that they were behind some walls that offered some reprieve from the sand in the wind and on the ground, and looked around them with curiosity and interest that he didn't bother trying to hide.

In a place like this, it seemed reasonable that this was a hub of some kind -- this planet didn't seem worth living on and John very much figured that everyone else here was well aware of it too. But hubs were good. Busy. Usually discreet and fairly anonymous.

"Let's," he agreed, following the music and stepping into what could only have possibly have been a bar with no hesitance.

It was dark. And loud. A little smoky (and John was adding to that) and more than a little dirty. The sort of place that people could find just about anything, he reckoned, so long as they knew what to ask for and who to ask.

And some of the drinks were neon. John glanced over his shoulder at Strange and raised an eyebrow before moving to the bar.

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supremed
2019-05-22 03:29 pm UTC (link)

John took the lead as Stephen lingered outside briefly. He stepped away from the main thoroughfare, seeking the shade of a nearby building and the obfuscation it provided. There, the sorcerer drew forth another spell; this one drew from the third circle of the Arcana of Mind, the Practice of Weaving. The enchantment wove through his brain and tongue and connected them to a universal understanding of language. Three small circles, one at each ear and one at his mouth. As information passed through them, the circle's dimensional energy (connected to the realm of Pandemonium) would translate for him into a language he could understand or one the listeners could understand, respectively. Imminently useful, he reckoned. When the spell finished and the circles disappeared from view, Strange stepped inside.

Reuniting with his traveling companion, Strange surveyed the interior. He could see patrons, both human and stranger, eyeing them up amidst their conversations. Wherever they had just stepped into, it became clear that wasn't just a desert bar. It was also a place of business, and they were strangers.

"We are in the right place, I reckon," he said and followed John to the bar. "Although the issue of currency does present itself as a problem. I hope you're an excellent conjure man. Or an illusionist, if all else fails."

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_constantine_
2019-05-25 08:47 pm UTC (link)

Strange was generous with his magic, Constantine would give him that -- not that he wasn't already allowing for credit where it was due; the man clearly knew his shit and John would never be one to say he didn't. He wondered, idly, what the cost of that magic was, because there always was one, even if it wasn't outwardly obvious.

He eyed up the bar for a moment, taking in the band (very alien), the way people gathered in small groups at tables, or around the bar. There wasn't terribly much in the way of mingling, but that didn't matter much. John was good at that, charismatic. He smiled at Strange as if to prove that point, and folded his hands on the table. "I'm good enough at both," he admitted, almost a brag, and watched as a few people down the side of the bar paid. It wasn't paper, bills or coins so much as what looked like little chips. "I can work with that," he decided and raised his hand to get the bartenders attention, not rude, but not very politely either. Just enough to call attention to himself.

Bartends, no matter what planet or plane of existence, always knew who it was best to talk to for whatever was needed.

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supremed
2019-05-28 02:09 pm UTC (link)

Stephen, meanwhile, was not charismatic. He could put on airs if he really tried, try and emulate the man he was before; Stephen Strange, the brilliant neurosurgeon and high society man. Success was varied. This seemed to be Constantine's bailiwick, so Stephen was happy to let him make up for the areas in which he knew he was lacking. Let each man his field plough and so on.

"If they have anything for sleep. Narcotics, any kind of drug or relaxant. If we can take back some kind of plant, even better."

He decided to hang back then and let John do his thing. He'd watch and listen, of course, particularly for any kind of sign if the magician needed backup. In the meantime, he took another sweeping look across the bar. This time, he looked with his Third Eye-- focusing on the astral and psychic energy of the space. He didn't expect to find much. There certainly was no spellcraft at work. The aliens had auras both familiar and unique from the particulars of their mental biology and processes, Stephen attributed. But there was something else in the air, something that Stephen hadn't expected. It was barely visible, almost like dust that caught the light just so, somewhere between the threads of reality. Was it ambient magic? Something in the atmosphere? Some kind of natural force?

Blinking away his half-distracted look, Strange returned to the then and there. A short bout of dizziness followed. That was the dehydration, he reckoned. He looked back over to John and tried to gauge how the conversation with the barkeep was going...

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_constantine_
2019-05-30 12:49 am UTC (link)

It was going fine. John had tossed back several shots of something blue and glowing at this point, had outright bought a bottle of the stuff (now that he'd figured out what the money here looked like and how to make an illusion of it) and was now nodding along to something he was saying, both of them clearly not wanting to point all while getting and giving directions.

John turned away from the bar, two shots in hand, and offered one over to Strange with a raised eyebrow. "Gonna make it, mate?" He asked, even as he lead them to the door again. "We gotta go talk to some bloke called a Hutt to get what we're looking for. They do all the trade deals around here. You find anything fun in your -- wandering?"

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supremed
2019-06-03 07:59 pm UTC (link)

The sorcerer reached out and took the shot, effectively pinching the base between a tripod of his thumb, fore, and middle finger. He stared at it with a level of scrutiny, though not so much hesitation (as one might when presented with a wholly foreign liquid) but rather curiosity.

"It's been a long time since I have been able to stomach any kind of food made for human consumption. But I imagine, judging by the locals, that this wasn't exactly made for humans."

In any case, Stephen could feel his hand tremors beginning and anticipated that soon the glass would end up on the floor if he did not contend with it, one way or the other. The simple solution, then, was to allow it to fulfill its intended course and shoot it. The liquid disagreed with him but his body did not altogether rebuke its entry as it did with Earth nutrients. A shoddy gamble, Strange supposed in retrospect, considering the alternative was puking up bits of his soul on the floor.

"There is a natural energy flow through dimensional space, smaller than the atomic scale. It's something like astral energy, but not magic. Not transdimensional like sorcerous energies. A curiosity, I wonder what kind of effect it has intersecting with living creatures, but..." He lifted his eyebrows in a sort of nonchalant gesture of digression and turned his head toward the door, "The brief nature of this visit precludes any kind of investigation from being a worthwhile expenditure of time."

He followed John's lead to the door and beyond, reaching up a hand to shield his eyes at the sudden onset of light.

"Back out into this heat. Do we have far to go?"

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