ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ (mysticism) wrote in valloic, @ 2022-07-02 13:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: colt vahn, ₴ inactive: stephen strange |
Gas stations were a bit questionable no matter what (and have you tried those burritos? Don’t) but that just sort of came with the territory. Weird items on the shelf including socks, piles of them, or maybe some pig colon sausages for one dollar - and you had to admit that using a Big Gulp straw as a syringe could come in handy, if you knew exactly where the brachial artery was. However, the gas station next to Sofia’s seemed to be in a class unto its own - it was this odd mix of ‘forest, not forest’ and Stephen just assumed that the Void followed its own rules in terms of how you got there and what you would see. He’d been to Sofia’s multiple times so his Vallo GPS meant he could return easily enough, and most of the time when he opened a portal in the general vicinity it was a successful endeavor. Again, most of the time. He really needed it to be this time since he was eager to get there and drown in some Italian cuisine until Colt’s shift was done. Stephen didn’t have much of an appetite all day because his stomach was churning for reasons that didn’t have to do with what he ate - mostly just nerves, and the usual sloshy feeling he got when he felt the anxiety skittering through him, memories of home flashing behind his closed eyes. But he managed to consume something - pasta that he knew would sit well with him, and he was focused on twirling it around his fork and picking on which wine would be best with the dish. Candlelight flickered off the walls, looking like will-o-the-wisps, and at least the relatively calm atmosphere helped him relax too. So he just waited for Colt. Also in his nervousness he realized he forgot to order garlic knots (the sole reason for coming here? How dare) so maybe his timeloop death friend would take pity on him and bring out a plate of the good stuff. It wasn’t a terribly busy night - they’d had some groups, some families, and a black-hooded figure who seemed content to mostly be left alone, but on the whole, Colt appreciated the night’s chill vibe. It made taking a peek around the corner and spying his friend Stephen Strange that much easier. Colt didn’t hesitate to comp a basket of garlic knots as he clocked out, and as they were being made he changed out of his work tee into something that didn’t smell of grease and dishwashing fluid. “Oh hey, you got the fancy wine,” he observed as he set the garlic knots down on the table and got off his tired feet. “Look at you, Mr. Money Bags.” Or Mr. Depressed. Colt wondered what kind of nightmares of home Stephen had seen. Nothing good, obviously. “How you doing, man.” “Been better,” Stephen admitted, and the quip about Money Bags made him smirk a bit - just a quirk of his lips upward, something ironic because that was who he had been long, long ago. When his penthouse carried the bragging rights of a price tag that boasted many zeroes, when his watch collection rivaled a king’s - when he could sit at the baby grand in his expensive apartment, all alone, and where his fingers didn’t ache and the music he played was something beautiful, something that he was hiding within him along with all of the other squish beneath a wall of ice. Nowadays, he made decent money - but it went toward things like Rosalind’s law school and Peter’s future, something he wouldn’t necessarily get back home. Stephen would make sure the kid got it here, even if he was gone. He slid the garlic knots toward him with an appreciative sigh. Basically the entire wine bottle had just been dropped off at the table so Stephen planned to refill his glass - at least he was eating too, and all these carbs helped sop up the alcohol. “First off, how was your shift? Second of all, I need to know if the idea of being corrupted by an evil book transcribed by a demon is too far-fetched of an idea.” “Shift was nice. No one died,” Colt said, and although it was mostly a joke it was also kind of true, given how his life had gone thus far. Colt liked it when people didn’t die. At least, provided that they deserved to live, which was pretty much a 50/50 toss up back in his world. He was worried about Stephen, though - the man looked ragged, as if he hadn’t slept well in a while - and so Colt focused on the second, more important question that had been posed to him: “Nah. I mean, sure, it’s wild, but also, I know your world is weird as fuck. I’m willing to take a lot on your say-so.” He shrugged. “Demon. Corrupted evil book somehow. By…” he wiggled his fingers, “magic. I’m down.” Weird as fuck was definitely true (and ‘no one died’ was kind of a low bar but Stephen understood that sometimes such things were all you had, so you clung to them). “Well, good - glad it’s not too far-fetched. If I ever get to that point, let me know,” he chuckled, right as a smooth piece of crimson fabric wiggled free from where it had been noosed around Stephen’s neck in semblance of a tie and flew to Colt’s side of the table; a ripple of transformative magic gave a bit of a shimmer, and there was now a Cloak sitting right next to the man. Just - sitting there, yes. Like it was draped around an invisible person, and expecting to be part of the conversation. Stephen sighed in exasperation. But anyway, he supposed he should continue - Cloak was going to do what a Cloak wanted to do; the relic was bonded to him, but it was still very much its own thing. Person. Sentient. “So this book was called the Darkhold,” he said, picking up his wine glass to take a sip - it was good wine. Sweet but balanced, anise and cocoa and maybe something berry. “Wanda took it because it was the only source that chronicled her type of magic, chaos magic, which is rare - there’s no one else who wields it. Only thing was, the book corrupts whoever touches it - and studying it as long as she did meant it got into her head. Made her think she could have whatever she wanted, and that she was justified in doing whatever she needed to do to get it - including potentially killing a kid to take her power, which was the ability to punch portals in the multiverse.” Still with him, Colt? More wine. Stephen drank. Colt had started wincing sometime after Stephen had first begun to talk, and was still wincing when Stephen took a break for wine. He probably deserved that wine break, honestly. Colt took a break himself from being horrified to give Cloak a lift of his chin and a flirty waggle of his brows - could he seduce a sentient article of clothing? Who knows, Colt figured it’d be fun to try - and returned to his own beer, mulling over what Stephen had said. “So what you’re telling me is that she fucked up the whole… time… universe thing-” he gave a wave of his hand, “and killed someone.” A kid. Colt didn’t like that. He couldn’t judge too much - he’d never killed a kid, but then again, no kids were allowed on Blackreef so it wasn’t as if he’d had opportunity. But he’d killed other folk. “You’ve got a ‘there’s somethin’ else’ face.” “Killed a lot of people - not the kid though,” Stephen clarified. “She just wanted to. But...I kept the kid safe. Even as Wanda was chasing us through the multiverse.” Having a witch running after them was one thing but that was his wife - at least here it was, and even back home Stephen had wanted to help her, not hurt her. Wanda was under the thrall of the Darkhold and she was largely not acting in her right mind - because when you were that twisted by grief, by loss, and when pain was all you knew? You became an easy target for manipulation. Especially by a goddamn demon - easy to fall prey to it all, sure, when you learned about the prophecy that was all you and that everything seemed to be written in the stars; that the secrets you felt as if you were missing were finally revealed, that it made sense. Stephen understood. He wasn’t excusing it, and he knew Wanda wasn’t either (the guilt was eating her alive, in fact) but he understood. As for that ‘there’s something else’ face, well, yep. “She eventually came to her senses but there were casualties as she tried to get to the kid, like I said. There was this...team of heroes, I guess? In another universe. They were called the Illuminati. Apparently other-me put them together to deal with the usual bullshit heroes do, the shit no one else wants to deal with. One of the members was Carol’s partner - an alternate universe version of her, where she received the same powers Carol has now so it was a switch. But Wanda murdered her. And I don’t know how to say that, or even if I should.” It felt decent to talk about it now though - to get it off his chest. He picked up one of those amazing garlic knots (comfort food, time to eat his feelings) and bit into it. “I’m not...angry with Wanda, not really,” he added. “A lot of the sorcerers at Kamar-Taj were killed by her too because we were protecting America and she just...plowed through them. But - I know what being manipulated by the Darkhold feels like. It happened to other versions of me too, and they both ended up dead for differing reasons. I just - so many people died, Colt. I don’t know what to think about it.” Colt had leaned back in his chair as Stephen talked, hands wrapped around a sweating glass of water. He listened carefully - didn’t interrupt - eyes falling down where a bit of garlic butter had smeared over the tabletop. Different versions of people dying in other worlds by a Wanda he was sure he wouldn’t recognize. He remembered her, back at Dorsey’s. She’d been a hand mirror for a chunk of the time, he’d been told. Summoned rats another time. His impression of her had been that she was quick-witted and resourceful. Not someone he wanted to be on the wrong side of. “I guess,” he said after a beat once he was sure that Stephen had momentarily wound down, “you gotta decide what talking about what she did is gonna get you. If being honest about it with Carol is because she needs to know, or because you want to get it off your chest. You know?” He shifted in his chair. “All what you went through - what you and Wanda both went through - that shit is poison if you keep it inside. But spreading it to other people isn’t the way of it either. Not me,” he added quickly, “I don’t know your world and I’m not gonna ever complain about hearing your thoughts about this shit, because I don’t have that firsthand connection. It’s not gonna hit me the same. But your friends that had a version of themselves die, or versions of friends die - I just don’t know what telling them about it buys you, or them.” “As for what to think about it… hell man.” Colt leaned forward, put a hand on Stephen’s arm. He’d always been a touch-y guy; he figured if Stephen hated it he could shrug him off, or Cloak could attack, or whatever. “You don’t need to know what to think about it, not yet, You’re still in shock. I know you’re a scientist and into analyzing shit but some of this, you just gotta chill with until you can wrap your mind around it. Analysis comes with distance, man. Whatever you feel - whatever she feels - it’s gonna happen.” Stephen didn’t care for physical touch from most people - not strangers, not overly friendly touchy feely customers at Looking-Glass, even some of his immediate family when they’d been alive. But Colt wasn’t that - and ultimately, Stephen was so goddamn touch-starved. Or he had been, once upon a time - obviously he touched Wanda all the time, and his friends, and he considered Colt a friend. A good friend, at that. So he reached for his hand, covering it, clasping it with his own - fond pressure and something that conveyed gratitude before he let go. Because he was right in that telling Carol about Maria wasn’t going to do any good - when he originally had gone to see Carol to relay everything that had happened, he was going to tell her. He’d planned to. But he just...couldn’t. He chickened out - and maybe that was for the best. All it would do was devastate her and he cared about her too much to just unleash that burden when there was nothing they could do to change it. Besides, it was up to Wanda anyway - it wasn’t Stephen’s thing to tell. “You know, it’s funny - Wanda has this prophecy saddled to her, being the Scarlet Witch. She’s destined to destroy the world, but - the Illuminati was more scared of me. Because of what I did when the Darkhold had had its hooks in me,” he said. “I thought they were crazy but - I’ve seen three, four other versions of myself and now I realize that I am dangerous. I have that in me and it’s weird to think of.” To consider that his endurance, his ambition, were both not to be underestimated - if he wanted something badly enough, he would get it. He and Wanda had that in common. “Do you ever think about what you’re capable of and just...get scared?” he asked, and he wasn’t sure if that was a dumb question or not. Colt didn’t think it was a dumb question. “Sure,” he replied, easily and immediately. He figured that a lot of people in Vallo had been faced by alternate versions of themselves, but not enough that it was really talked about, given the kind of trauma that usually came with that. But he had, sorta. “I saw other versions of me - and it was me,” he said, trying to explain the nature of the Loop. “You know, many many versions of me that were stuck in the same Loop, in alternate dimensions or---” he waved a hand. “You know. Whatever. Sometimes they offered advice, sometimes violence. They were all me - desperate, wanting out of the shit they were in.” He leveled his gaze on Stephen. “Only difference was how desperate they were, and how that’d affect what they were willing to do. Murder, torture, shit. It’s always on the menu for people like us. But you can’t hold onto those burdens, man. They’re a possibility, yeah, but their weight doesn’t buy you nothing but grief.” Easier said than done. He knew it, he knew Stephen knew it. But sometimes you had to hear it yourself. “You’re one cold-ass motherfucker when you wanna be,” he said, and leaned back in his chair, giving Stephen his space once again. “So’m I. Comes with the territory of paying attention. But knowing your strength means you gotta know when you’re not applying all of it at once, too. Feel me? It’s a boring ol’ saying but if you’re worried about being evil, you probably ain’t it.” Being described as a cold-ass motherfucker was pretty new for Stephen but you know what? It was probably true to some degree. He didn’t make apologies for that either - and he was still a work in progress, in terms of learning to share burdens. No longer did he have to be the surgeon holding the knife - it was just that pushing past the trauma of seeing his sister die in front of him, that day on the lake when she crashed through the ice, was damn hard. So was squelching the urge, the need, to fix everything proactively because he couldn’t save her and thus he had to save everyone else - but if he kept that up, he couldn’t achieve any kind of happiness. He didn’t. He’d seen it - and he’d seen other versions of him die that way too, any semblance of joy slipping through their fingers. “I feel you,” he replied with a low chuckle, something that sounded soft and thoughtful, wind in the trees. “It’s why I thought talking to you might help.” And it did - Stephen was familiar with the nuances of Colt’s own Loop hell, and the things he had to do while caught up in that mess. Mostly he just wanted someone who understood, who was more neutral to the situation - Stephen knew that he and Wanda would be fine, because he loved her more than anything and he was meant to support her during hard times, not make things worse. Working through that meant sometimes talking to other people too, since your partner couldn’t be everything for you and he didn’t expect her to be. But they’d definitely be alright - he knew who she was. What she stood for. And that Darkhold-twisted Wanda wasn’t it. “Thank you,” he added, breaking apart another garlic knot. “I hope you’ve been doing well. Better than me, anyway. Living your best life here?” Colt sensed the weight of the conversation lifting, being steered in another direction, and went with it. He hoped that Stephen knew that he was down for these chats whenever - Colt may not have been a great person but he was a good listener, and he had no moral high ground to judge anyone from. Made him hope he never woke up one day to new memories. He thought briefly of Julianna, of what he had been avoiding from his own past, and switched mental tracks deftly. “Happy Pride, man,” he answered with a grin. “No one really gave a fuck where I was from, but I’m never gonna turn down any kinda party that doesn’t involve making a buffet of your date at the end of the night.” He’d had a longterm girlfriend back home, at one point. And whatever the hell Frank had been. Colt wasn’t great with settling down, but he was good at keeping shit light, having a good time. “That light show was awesome.” “Happy Pride,” Stephen responded, toasting with what remained in his wine glass. “I’ve never actually done a Pride event before though New York City’s one of the best spots for that sort of thing. I guess I was always kind of a recluse.” Big surprise, right? But it was great to see others really embracing who they were and being open about it - hard to resist the whole ‘vibe’ of Pride day, week, month. All those rainbows and bright colors. Cloak appeared to be content where it was, next to Colt like they were on a date or something so Stephen let it sit there for now. He seemed used to the weird - and likely had seen weirder anyway (actually, Stephen knew for a fact that he had). “Oh, and speaking of things like date buffets - I got kind of a souvenir from those dreams of home. I might fit in really well at the next dinner party.” To demonstrate, he focused for a moment and then all of a sudden, the third eye appeared right there on his forehead - in the center, just a normal-looking eye, the color the same shade blue as his other two eyes. He blinked, and all three blinked in tandem. “Do you think it’d be good to bring to an orgy?” he asked teasingly. Colt didn’t quite shriek, but he definitely made a noise around the garlic knot he’d stuffed in his mouth (okay, had it not been muffled by carbs, there might have been shriek-like qualities). Once he was over his surprise, he leaned in, peering at the third eye. “There’s gonna be someone who’s real into that,” he said after considering it a moment, because if there was one thing he knew and trusted in this life, there was always someone into something weird. “So yeah, sure, if you think it’d help you and Wanda, put some pineapples on your front porch and settle in.” Oop, sorry - Stephen didn’t mean to cause any shrieking there. Admittedly, seeing a third eye was kind of creepy (it had definitely freaked the fuck out of him when he realized he was stuck with the thing, a power-up as a result of dark magic usage) so he blinked and tucked it away, ensuring it vanished from sight. Out of sight, out of mind - well, until he needed it again. Apparently he had gotten used to it, back in his world, which he supposed made sense; he was evolving. Changing. Certainly wasn’t the same after using the Darkhold to dreamwalk and possess his dead corpse in another universe, but he’d also left the damn book on the floor after pulling back and breaking the spell (after he’d been forced to, when dust and debris took out both him and Wanda, the fate of his corpse sealed more than hers - he hoped that, somehow, she found a way out). He wasn’t consumed by it, wasn’t tempted any further the way other versions of himself might have been - he’d only Dreamwalked to save America, and that was all that mattered. In a way, maybe that was its own kind of power-up too. Pineapples on the front porch though. He actually laughed, a sound that surprised even him - it was a quiet laugh, but definitely genuine and more carefree than he felt in awhile. “I’ll make sure to let you know when we’ve got the pineapples out,” he quipped. Never did he think Wanda would be into a swinger party but, well, stranger things had happened. “And thank you again - for listening. For not running away from my freaky eye.” Colt was actually the only other person he’d shown besides Wanda. He’d told Rosalind about it, but hadn’t provided a demonstration. It probably wasn’t necessary. “You be nice to that gorgeous baby blue of yours,” Colt objected with a harrumph. “‘Freaky’, that’s mean. It’s surprising as fuck, sure, but freaky?” He finished up the garlic knot he’d nearly choked on, and gave Stephen an observational look that missed little. The man looked - a little better. Hard to tell how much of that was weight lifted and how much of that was bullshit. “Sorry your honeymoon got hijacked by fuckery, man. You know this doesn’t have to be one-and-done, yeah? We can talk whenever you need. Wherever you need.” He gave Cloak a wink, ‘cause why not. He’d made more questionable decisions. Oh no, now Stephen was pretty sure that Cloak would insist on running off with Colt - which, well, who could blame the thing? He was very charming. “Alright, you, back into a tie,” he told the horny relic - its ‘shoulders’ slumped and that was clearly a pout, but two seconds later the Cloak was twisting and twining to become an elegant Windsor knot once more. “That goes for you too,” Stephen added, glancing at Colt. “I mean - if you ever need someone. If our positions are ever reversed.” Ha, positions. Nevermind - he’d just be over here gulping the rest of his wine. Seriously, he meant it though - maybe it was currently Stephen’s turn to unload, but one day Colt might need the same thing; Stephen would be happy to return the favor. “I’m told that’s what friends do for each other - you know, when you have someone you can count on,” he amended. Colt could count on him - they could count on each other? Yeah, a wild concept indeed. Colt lifted his chin in acknowledgment, appreciating it. He wondered, sometimes, if he’d really escaped the Loop. The damn thing kept getting his hooks in him, over and over, and if there was one thing to observe from the mess Stephen was in, it was that all the happiness in the world couldn’t shield you from what was tapping at that existential window, wanting in to sink its teeth into the flesh of your throat. Still. It was easier with a friend. “I’ll get us matching bracelets,” he said, and stood, grabbing his glass to take back to the kitchen. “Hang tight. I’ll see if they have any cannolis they can front us.” Cannolis helped a lot of ills. “Bracelets, cannolis - sounds like a plan,” Stephen nodded. He could actually eat the cannolis here (he could eat everything here in the Void) and so they wouldn’t cause an upset stomach - that he was grateful for, and he supposed it was the little things that mattered sometimes. That you had to cling to. Because the next shitty thing could come along soon enough - then you clung to your loved ones to help you make it through, and surprisingly, he wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed about having to do that. Not one bit - maybe that was what they called growth after all. |