InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "tweak is the mod of us all"

ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ (mysticism) wrote in valloic,
@ 2022-04-03 19:21:00

Entry tags:

!: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: colt vahn, ₴ inactive: stephen strange

Stephen Strange & Colt Vahn

WHAT: Bonding after their gimp suit nightmare in Murder Mansion (and Cloak takes a liking to Colt)
WHERE: Looking-Glass Teas
WHEN: A bit after Murder Mansion concludes
WARNINGS: NAH
STATUS: Complete

He may or may not have given the Cloak a thumbs up at Stephen’s back (there were no witnesses; who was to say?).

Colt Vahn liked the little tea shop in Vallo City, even if he didn’t get the reference. He didn’t have any kind of Alice in Wonderland story back home to go by, but hell, he was a little bit of an Alice all on his own. He’d roll with it. The morning fog was beginning to burn off as they headed toward afternoon; the spring air promised some sunny warmth later. Seasons. He’d missed them, in the Loop.

His shift at Sofia’s wasn’t until two, and he figured he’d stop by. Colt was trying to touch base with all of the people who had been trapped in Dorsey’s mansion of death, to thank them and to get a bead on how they were doing. Stephen Strange was no different. Dr. Stephen Strange, he guessed. The man had never seemed overly concerned with his title.

The shop was quiet as he entered, a Slab (blink) on his left arm. Habits. “Hey there,” he said, greeting Stephen with an inclination of his head. “What’s happening.”

There was a bell that chimed on the door, when Colt came into Looking-Glass Teas - and Stephen was up front, re-applying some of the enchantments on the delicate cup displays (because as much as he liked Scorpia there was still the daily reminder that she had pincher claws for hands); magic crackled like burning wood, the orange glow to the spellwork woven between his hands the shade of a soulful kind of warmth in the middle of blustery cold weather. Then he turned, seeing who it was - and the geometric symbols faded, sinking into the ether.

In Looking-Glass Teas, the ambiance was all post-apocalyptic industrial - stainless steel, an exposed pipe maybe, weathered-looking chairs (there was even one table with a red-framed glass top that bore the words in case of emergency, break glass but it was enchanted also so you know), the quirkiness of mismatched teacups. It was all about sustainability too, this theme, because they were nothing if not good to the environment. “Hey yourself,” Stephen replied - he was wearing the Cloak of Levitation in its full form, the sentient relic not having turned itself into a tie or a scarf.

It fluttered all excitedly, the bashful blush of young love. “Stop,” Stephen told the thing, as the collar slapped his cheeks the way a high schooler might jostle their friend when their crush sauntered down the hall past the lockers. “The Cloak really likes you, sorry. How are you? Can I get you anything?”

“The Cloak’s got good taste,” Colt answered with a roll of his shoulders and a lazy smile, never one to let a compliment go unacknowledged. Still, he eyed the enchanted cup displays, taking in the mishmash industrial air of the place. Boy, there was that feeling - that he thought he had things figured, and then life corrected him.

“Magic’s wild,” he finally said, looking back at Stephen, straightening. “Back in Blackreef, we called it science, but that was probably our biggest mistake. Calling it science gave us the illusion that we could control it.” His brain was going to break one of these days with all this ineffable shit. “You can just like…” He waved his fingers. “Zap! Magic?” He knew that a lot of people had lost their abilities in the time loop, but he was still figuring out what his new friends were capable of when not stuck in Murder Mansion.

Colt’s finger tutting wasn’t quite as exact as Stephen’s might have gone but zap, magic! meant that he sort of got the point. He chuckled, a rumble of a sound and then offered up another demonstration to match so they both were in here wiggling fingers - the geometric symbols of Eldritch magic shimmered like silk, the glow of it as if they had been dusted with tiny citrine gemstones; not like he was casting anything in particular, these were just the beginnings for a few different types of effects - more of a light show, really.

“That’s about it, yeah,” he confirmed. “I wasn’t born with the talent though - had to learn. After everything went to shit.” It was like that for a lot of people, wasn’t it? They were just thrown into shark-infested waters - and had to swim for their lives if they wanted to survive the whole experience. “I honestly didn’t even intend to learn either. But that’s a whole long story.”

The Cloak fluttered again, a ripple of patchwork crimson fabric - the relic, picky as it was about who it bonded with, was old. Also its own master - and it had seen some shit.

Colt eyed those strange lights, interested but wary. He’d had bad experiences with this shit, after all, but Stephen seemed to have it all on lock. “I was the expert on surviving the time loop - the anomaly,” he corrected, using the term that the military had referred to it as. “But I was only an expert ‘cause I hadn’t died.” He shrugged. “But that was enough to name me Head of Security and a Visionary of the Aeon Program, I guess. No one else knew what the fuck they were doing.”

Talk about long stories. Colt made a face, refocused on Strange’s cloak. “So what’s up with the serape, man?”

“Being a Visionary sounds important. I’ve been wanting to hear all about your anomaly anyway,” Stephen replied - it seemed that they both had some experience with timeloops, and dying in them. For Stephen, it was kind of a sensitive subject - he acted like it wasn’t, of course, but when it became apparent that the cycle of being killed by Dormammu and then reset to the same point where he’d come to bargain was changing him on many levels, he thought it might be nice to really talk to someone who vaguely understood. “And as it just so happens, Chamomile, there’s a new spring blend I want you to try, if you don’t mind.”

He still remembered the Dark Dimension too - bright purple, the way violets bloomed and looked like a crack of lightning against the ground that was frozen solid; all those other psychedelic colors too, and just this feeling that everything was hopeless. Hell dimensions would do that to you, he guessed.

But, right, chamomile. He turned to head toward one of the walls of canisters, then glanced back. “Oh, this?” He glanced at the Cloak. “It’s a magical relic. Lets me fly and hover, mostly. It was with the Masters of the Mystic Arts for awhile but it’s finicky about who it bonds with - it won’t take to just anyone, and it’s sort of its own master anyway.” Cloak’s ends lifted in a shrug - a Kanye shrug, if you will; it was very animated, Stephen had always liked that.

Colt gave a lead-the-way gesture, following Stephen at an ambling pace, checking out his surroundings as he went. He may or may not have given the Cloak a thumbs up at Stephen’s back (there were no witnesses; who was to say?).

There was a stool in the kitchen, and Colt sat on top of it, face pensive. Chamomile would go well with rehashing some of this shit, he figured, and it seemed like Stephen had his own brand of backstory, too. “They started studying the anomaly back in the 1930s… the military. During that time, the island was just Blackreef. Didn’t have housing or stores or any of that. Just a military base nearby. They decided to send a man in a plane into the dead center of it, but they needed a real stupid up-and-comer who didn’t know any better than to volunteer.”

Colt shrugged. Smiled. “Hi.”

The blend Stephen had in mind was good for spring, he thought - or it would be. Chamomile in general had this beautifully exquisite golden color, the fragrance of honey and fruit - then to this blend he’d added a few things. Marigold, lemon balm, a bit of peppermint and dried strawberry - truly a work of art, right? He really did prefer toiling over tea as opposed to worrying about what timeline he had to search for that didn’t ensure half the universe remained dead. The stress of that was ridiculous, it really was.

But he prepped cups for them, happy to immerse himself in the smells and sounds of the process. “So what attracted attention to the anomaly in the first place?” he asked. “Was the island itself the anomaly, kind of like a Bermuda Triangle thing?” It wouldn’t surprise him if there was just this pocket of Odd Time and people found a way to build housing on the spot and take advantage of its quirks.

Like by throwing weird-ass cannibal house parties.

Colt propped up his chin in his hands, enjoying the smell of the tea as it steeped. He liked coffee, he liked whiskey… but at least this stuff wasn’t going to fuck with his head. That was a nice benefit. “Yeah, the few researchers who went out there reported strange shit. That’s how the military got wind of it.” He took a breath, smelled mint. “I went in, in the 30s… and came out in the late 50s. I’d disappeared, you know? I was in a loop for… shit. 17 years. The project had been disbanded; the government claimed there’d never been any project. And ‘cause I was evidence to the contrary, they stuck me in an insane asylum to shut me up. Let me cool my heels.”

He shot Strange a half-smile. “I stayed in there for five years. And then the Aeon Project found me. Bunch of billionaires, artists, scientists who were determined to study the anomaly more closely. Dorsey was their financial backer. He envisioned a nonstop party, looping forever. Immortality.” Immortality was a biggie across worlds, Colt knew. He’d bet hard cash on Strange encountering people who did shady shit for it. Everyone wanted to live forever… sort of.

Oh, immortality. That old song and dance - honestly, it wasn’t surprising. But everyone who wanted to live forever probably didn’t think about how awful it would be - what was even the point of it anyway? You’d lose everyone you got attached to. You’d experience the best and worst of what humanity had to offer and see how history circled around and around, repeating like its own deathloop and knowing that people never learned - he didn’t quite see the appeal of that, but whatever.

“I knew sorcerers who sought immortality for various reasons - taking magic from the Dark Dimension into themselves in order to extend their lifespan. A forever party, though - ambitious,” Stephen snorted. The guy, Dorsey, clearly had a lot of money to throw around and couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to throw it at - or maybe he could, but didn’t bother. Probably that. “Somehow I don’t think you can put people in a forever party without things getting too crazy.” Reminded him of Lord of the Flies or something - people’s true natures would come out. Complete anarchy - in the end, without structure, that was the way of things. “I found this photo of you,” he added, checking on the tea and grabbing two mismatched cups for when it was ready. “A black strip across the eyes. I’m guessing that was you with the other party guests, but you were over the party?”

Traitor, they kept calling Colt. During the whole mob scene, which he remembered well.

“Wait wait, there’s some place called The Dark Dimension?” Colt asked. “And there was some ambiguity ‘bout fuckin’ with it? Gotta love some people, man. Glad that’s your scene and not mine.” Colt didn’t love his scene, but at least it was knowable. You spend a few centuries looping in the same way and shit got mighty predictable.

At Stephen’s question, he looked chagrined. “I was friends with them. ‘Til I wasn’t. Like I said, they busted me out of the asylum, believed me when I talked about the time loop, and gave me a job and clothes and a purpose. That’s powerful stuff when your life’s gone to shit and nearly everyone you care about is dead.” He was itching for a cigarette - talking about the Loop always did it to him - but now he had to worry about cancer and whatever so he was trying to quit. Again. “But yeah, shit went sideways. None of them - of us - were good people. We were okay at best. All had some red in the ledger. Some more than others. You have to be a little wrong in the head to hear about something like the Loop and want in.”

“Makes sense. There’s always a lot of opinions about what makes a hero - good versus bad, what a hero is ‘supposed’ to do. But it’s never that simple,” Stephen offered with neutral sympathy - his own journey was full of roadblocks, and he wasn’t sure he’d call himself a good person either. He’d been a reckless, narcissistic asshat who had a karmic baseball bat taken to his, well, everything - and he had to reinvent himself as someone okay at best all while learning to wield one of the most powerful forces in the known universe.

It wasn’t exactly easy. The end result was him now - aloof and probably creepy to most outsiders, yet selfless in his own way, a person who stood alone as the only line of defense between the plane of reality and whatever mystical forces wanted to corrupt it. He spent a lot of time at rock bottom - and he had an appreciation for what he could do now, to defend his world.

The tea was ready so he poured the fragrant ambrosia into two cups. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty okay,” he smiled a bit. “And - we’re friends now. Probably. I’m not always sure how it works. People say it’s harder to make friends as an adult and they’re not kidding.”

Colt reached for the cup, gave it a sniff. There were probably rules and etiquette with the whole tea thing, but hell if he knew what they were, and he wasn’t the type to pretend he knew stuff he didn’t. He smiled at Stephen’s pronouncement of “okay”, but it was kind of lopsided, a reaction to Stephen’s desire to believe in the best of him rather than the worst. Okay. He could roll with that.

“Well, my enemies sure as fuck don’t make me tea, so we’ve already got that going for us.” Colt took a sip, waited. “At least… not unpoisoned tea. So sure, I’d call us besties.”

The tea was good. Colt approved, even. So he asked the question he’d been wondering, hoping it wouldn’t be insulting: “My taste in friends has been historically suspect. You ‘okay’, in the grand scheme of things? No… animal-testing, socialite murdering, weirdo batshit cannibal partying in your checkered past?”

There was another stool in the vicinity and Stephen folded himself onto it, long limbs getting comfortable, legs crossing at the ankles. Cloak situated itself too, settling at his back so he didn’t get tangled up in the fabric - it just fluttered and drifted gently before going still. “None of that,” he promised, testing out the tea - sometimes, depending on how spicy the blend was, it would be hit or miss with his new dietary requirements. But chamomile was always a hit - maybe because it was soothing.

“I have a cat? His name’s Cloud. He looks like a mini-tiger. No animal testing though, and I haven’t murdered any socialites or hung out with any who are into murder. The parties at Kamar-Taj were occasionally on the wild side but not in a cannibalistic way. How about you?”

Stephen teasingly narrowed his eyes into a speculative squint, as if he was about to administer a test. “No falling into Dark Dimension magic in order to summon its ruler, who has intent to devour Earth and enslave all its people while promising immortality to its devout followers?” Just, you know, checking. For reasons. They already had that immortality chat but this was merely a follow-up.

“No Dark Dimension for me. Gonna guess anyone that rules some place that’s loud enough to be like ‘hey, I’m fuckin’ Dark,’ is gonna be a real asshole,” Colt observed. Devouring Earth, enslaving its people? Bad news. He may not have been a hero like some of these types but he could pinpoint a ripe case of borrowing trouble he didn’t need.

“So yeah,” he concurred, “think we’re good here, friendship-wise. I’ll pipe up if I change my mind and all, but… I think I kinda just wanna chill out here. Pour some beers. Make some garlic knots. Get on Tag. Normal people shit. You let me know if you start repeating days though, you hear?”

Dormammu, the ruler of said Dark Dimension, was definitely an asshole. One that Stephen would have stuck himself with for an eternity, suffering death after death, in order to save humanity from the fate of being swallowed - but the giant omnipotent blob had gotten bored, as Stephen figured he would. It turned out for the best - hey, only left Stephen with a little bit of unresolved trauma, no?

Then there was Karl Mordo. Former friend turned ‘obsessed with the rules’ kind of sorcerer. But he’d go over that later. Colt didn’t seem the type to be tripped up by rules, anyway.

“Appreciating our time here, while we have it, is what I’ve been all about too. So that sounds like a good plan, actually. The garlic knots especially,” he breathed out. He wondered if that Italian restaurant could cater his and Wanda’s wedding, whenever it was - something to bring up at another point as well. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of takers on Tag, hot stuff. And if I loop into something like Groundhog Day, you’ll be the first I tell.”

Colt feigned modesty at the ‘hot stuff’ comment - really, it was feigned, it was so feigned, and took a big swig of tea. “We got ourselves a plan, Sorcery Man. But between you and me, I’m hoping that shit’s going to stay in the ‘backup’ section and we can coast from here.” Was that likely? Nah. Colt could pretend to be chill but paranoia was louder than chill any day. “Come by Sofia’s any time. Friends get deals. And not the kind you gotta creepy handshake for.”

Stephen wished they could coast - he really did. But some months were definitely calmer than others - some he was just sipping tea and offering up the Stare of Judgment from the sidelines. Then other months it felt like they had all just boarded a locomotive on fire and were barreling toward the unknown - no brakes, no beta, we died like men. Or something.

“Sofia’s,” he repeated, humming thoughtfully. He remembered Colt saying he worked there. “I’ll definitely be taking you up on that.” He needed more options for food, things he could eat that weren’t necessarily tied to Earth - because he was floating further and further away from that concept thanks to his changing physiology.

And if an Italian restaurant in the void didn’t fit the bill for that then, well, what would? Oh, Vallo. You were a plethora of options and surprises, as always.