[ The tone is flat enough that it very much disputes the claim that everything is absolutely settled and they definitely have no further topics left to discuss. But, they've also just waded through some particularly sticky territory. And it's not as though another significant topic of the day didn't emerge under some equally significant duress. ]
Well, not strictly just portals. I've been thinking a lot about how we're building a little community out here, and how important it is to be able to support ourselves.
[ John immediately launches into his huge ambitious dreams: he longs to have an equivalent of the boarding house out here, and he's also been thinking about the advantage in having a portal directly to the peaks, something that would allow the out-of-towners quick access to valuable resources so they can trade with the Rubeans, maintain a sense of community, make it clear both groups have need of each other. He has obviously thought a lot about both how much infrastructure to set up before building rooms to encourage more people here, and spent quite a bit of time in the jungle over the past month, looking for opportunities. He's clearly interested in collaborating, and just as clearly very good at compartmentalising any feelings he may or may not have to focus on "work". ]
[ Stephen listens, nods along, smiles bemused smiles at the depth of John's consideration and smothers others that are less teasing than fond. There are dual sentiments at play in him as his plans unfold: respect for that tenacity, the practicality, the readiness to take reins and create something lasting for people who would rather not rely on a town that doesn't trust them or keep them safe - and discomfort at the need for them. At the inevitability they imply of a prolonged stay. Of a growing community.
But it is what's happening. For all that he stands by something he said when he wasn't quite himself, there's time between now and finding their way out.
So by the time the conversation's rounded out, Stephen's penned himself into the plan as a glad contractor, traced out the promise of the portals and the usefulness of a fixed doorway, the possibility of multiple locations reached through one frame. It also, finally, leads him to ask this: ]
Have you come across my new home away from home, yet?
[ The community's barely started and you already have holidaymakers, John. It's all downhill from here. ]
Edited (once again did not read before hitting go) 2024-02-10 08:01 (UTC)
Oh. No, I built it after. [ He doesn't specify after what. John can figure it out. ] I'm not living there, but I tried to be for a while. It's a sad-looking husk for now. I'm working on it.
[ He makes a gesture of hammering in an invisible nail. Perhaps seems a little uncharitably surprised. ]
I'll tell you what, I've been getting my practice in fixing up the banya, and Danny just helped me do a bathroom last month. Let me know if you need someone to come fuck up your plumbing.
[ His mouth curves, rich humour at his own expense. John's right to be uncharitable, there is not a single nail in his house and not a single hammer was employed. He should probably do something about that, actually.
The offer goes noted, appreciated, even as he... ]
Good luck with that. I don't think I'll have plumbing for a while.
I missed that penthouse apartment feeling.
[ Is it a little annoying of him to not just say what he means? Maybe. But there's some fun to be had in letting John find his way to this wizard cheat-coded himself a treehouse. ]
[ There's a brief, profound grief in the slack of his face at that reminder, the wide of his eyes. He kills it off a moment later to brush past it, remembering House's lament of whatever his face must've been doing when he'd stopped him to say sorry.
Enough of that. He's forgiven. And if they want to joke about it every once in a while, he can take it on the chin.
The smile returns, gentle mischief tucked into the corners as he tucks fresh fingers into a recovered ring and lifts his hands to score a portal out of the air and try not to worry about whatever memories might be attached to them. On the other side, a large wooden room tapering off into a smaller snug at one end filled with a pile of furs and blanket, windows all around and in fact filled with nothing at all. No glass, no anything but a view of sparse leaves and branches.
[ John hadn't expected to be acquiesced to so easily, and there's certainly a moment where he hesitates - you know what they say about going to a second location. But then he steps boldly forward, from the lakeshore to the interior of a cabin — no, not a cabin, the leaves give away that much. He turns in a circle, looking around. A treehouse. ]
You're right, this is empty. Not even a kettle? Don't tell me you magic up your tea.
[ Stephen leaves the portal open after he follows him through. It's the only way in or out, the front door opening onto little more than a long drop, and he's not about to trap John anywhere with him. ]
I wasn't here for comfort, or for long. I'm planning on a small fireplace, and getting in the necessities, before you put me away for crimes against tea. But given I don't have a kettle right now...
[ He trails off, and it's half a joke and half isn't. If there's any hospitality he can offer here, a magicked-up cup of tea will be the best he can do. ]
[ Teasing but also there's a certain tilt of his chin that speaks to the other times he's gotten Strange to show off his powers, which will never stop fascinating him. ]
It's with appropriate flourish that Stephen conjures from the empty nothing of his little house a glass, appearing in his hand between one blink and the next. With a small extension of will, it fills itself from bottom to a portion appropriate mid-way with water. And with a quick trip of the free hand he holds over it, that water becomes wine, color flooding through it with the change.
A nice, pale, peachy pink. He offers it out. ]
Might be a bit of an amalgam, flavor-wise, but it shouldn't be too bad.
[ It is, in fact, quite good. Modeled off of old, expensive tastes. ]
[ John takes a sip, lashes fluttering closed for a moment, opens his eyes impressed. It's very good. He can't fault Strange for showing off when the results are always so enjoyable to him. ]
Better than anything the locals have been putting out. Want to try?
[ Since there's free wine in Rubilykskoye, sometimes. He just doesn't trust it. He takes another pleased sip, wanders around the sparse room looking out at the trees. Reaches out to touch an enroaching leaf, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger with a quiet fondness for nature that comes from the Alecto in him. ]
[ It's a surprise and it isn't a surprise. Stephen goes on watching John for a few seconds after it, granting himself the time to decide which route to take, whose curiosity to sate first. ]
Mm, well, he would know. [ Throwaway, warm and rueful. Not a dismissal of the content of the point itself, just a quiet glancing off in favour of - ] I didn't realise you were on good terms.
[ Stephen stands with that for a while. Allows himself the space of a sip or two to let it settle, eyes on John watching the world outside of his window. But, finally, with Takeshi as centre point and buffer - ]
He drew me out of here four days in and then took to the watch like I hadn't just crash landed his own recovery.
[ It says something that Stephen had let that happen. ]
[ Probably it's weird, for John to be the one showing sympathy, but he doesn't mind. If anything, knowing Strange has been struggling with it all makes his silence come easier. And honestly? John likes the control of the comforter role far better than that of the comfortee. ]
Thanks for showing me this place.
[ Glancing back at Stephen. ]
It reminds me of this eco-conference I went to in Finland in my early thirties, where all the hotel rooms were in trees. At night you could see the Aurora Borealis. Hoping all the drill miners and oil barons hoping for a green checkmark would be changed by the beauty of nature, I guess.
[ He pulls away from the window, coming back over towards Stephen and finishing off his glass. ]
[ He's lived long enough in the world to know there's no turning back the tide of capitalism, the damage they're doing and continue to do every day in the name of greed and hunger. But he's also seen the other side of that coin. Seen one potential cure played out millions on millions of times—
Like he's found himself standing too close to the edge of something, Stephen blinks back thoughts of Finland and beauty and Thanos to instead look into John's face and let what he finds there abruptly change the subject for him. ]
You look well. [ It's not quite a question, in the same way Kovacs said you weren't doing so well wasn't a question. But he does look well. Better than Stephen's since him since - well. ] How have things been?
"Good," John says carefully. He does look refreshed, though, grief ameliorated and vitamin d levels high. He's even been sleeping again. "House and I went out to the jungle for a few days, Danny and Jem came along. Considered not coming back." His expression says that's a joke, probably. Though Stephen probably would understand the impulse.
John twirls his empty glass, runs his other hand through his thick hair, always in a state of constant movement, and keeps talking to slide on past that point, or discussion of the newly resurrected husband and metaphorical kids. "Last month when I went out, before - everything, it was with a group of people sent by the town. Quentin found chocolate, so he'll be a millionaire any day now. But... I worry a bit, about our environmental impact, since it's all so fucking pristine. What's the countdown on the town inventing fracking - a hundred years, maybe? Faster if Void-Touched independence starts an arms race." A beat. "Sorry, that's - pessimistic of me. Sorry. Things are fine."
It's - a journey. Stephen watches him through it, mouth dragged down into a frown that could be a smile and is, either way, fond. He recognises the impulse to catastrophize as clearly as he does the one to get away and stay gone, even if the specific subject of the former isn't one he'd usually leap to.
So, John finishes talking. And Stephen wafts a hand to refill his glass.
"Yeah. You don't seem stressed at all." With a wry tug of the mouth, he drains the rest of his own glass, tops himself up too. "All the more reason for us to get out of the way as soon as we can."
"Yeah," says John. He can feel the wine flushing through him, resists the urge to purge it like a toxin, letting it warm him instead, though he imagines he'll need a lot more to be truly drunk. "All right, I have a new challenge for you: some sort of seat. Otherwise, I'm going to lie down in that mess you've undoubtedly been using as a bed." Because he has more to say but he's tired of standing around like they're at an art gallery with no art.
Brows raise at the challenge marked by observation turned threat, but it's with a short cough of a laugh that Stephen shrugs his acquiescence and sets to work. Eyes narrow as he casts his thoughts out to his options, then he's waving the portal, still open, to one side so he can open up the front door. From there it's one conjured mandala wrapped around his wrist later that first one, then a second hefty great chunk of a felled tree's trunk lift from below to appear at the door, tilt sideways to fit, and float themselves inside, steered carefully by Stephen's outstretched hands. They avoid the obstacles of the men in the room to set down somewhere beside them.
As a finishing touch, Stephen offers the heap of fabrics and furs a come hither that lifts a couple from the pile, bathed briefly in a wash of amber magic - refreshed, clean - before they too float to drape over the makeshift chairs.
It's really only the faintest gesture toward not being sat directly on the floor. But it's something. Stephen fixes John with a look as he settles his hands back down to his sides, magic abated. There. Better?
Edited (if it doesn't have an edit is it really a tag from me) 2024-02-11 11:43 (UTC)
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If you want to.
[ The tone is flat enough that it very much disputes the claim that everything is absolutely settled and they definitely have no further topics left to discuss. But, they've also just waded through some particularly sticky territory. And it's not as though another significant topic of the day didn't emerge under some equally significant duress. ]
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[ John immediately launches into his huge ambitious dreams: he longs to have an equivalent of the boarding house out here, and he's also been thinking about the advantage in having a portal directly to the peaks, something that would allow the out-of-towners quick access to valuable resources so they can trade with the Rubeans, maintain a sense of community, make it clear both groups have need of each other. He has obviously thought a lot about both how much infrastructure to set up before building rooms to encourage more people here, and spent quite a bit of time in the jungle over the past month, looking for opportunities. He's clearly interested in collaborating, and just as clearly very good at compartmentalising any feelings he may or may not have to focus on "work". ]
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But it is what's happening. For all that he stands by something he said when he wasn't quite himself, there's time between now and finding their way out.
So by the time the conversation's rounded out, Stephen's penned himself into the plan as a glad contractor, traced out the promise of the portals and the usefulness of a fixed doorway, the possibility of multiple locations reached through one frame. It also, finally, leads him to ask this: ]
Have you come across my new home away from home, yet?
[ The community's barely started and you already have holidaymakers, John. It's all downhill from here. ]
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[ Surprised out of his musings to eye Stephen. That's a no: Stephen would probably know if John had stumbled on the treehouse. ]
I sort of thought that sabbatical was just bullshit.
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[ He makes a gesture of hammering in an invisible nail. Perhaps seems a little uncharitably surprised. ]
I'll tell you what, I've been getting my practice in fixing up the banya, and Danny just helped me do a bathroom last month. Let me know if you need someone to come fuck up your plumbing.
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The offer goes noted, appreciated, even as he... ]
Good luck with that. I don't think I'll have plumbing for a while.
I missed that penthouse apartment feeling.
[ Is it a little annoying of him to not just say what he means? Maybe. But there's some fun to be had in letting John find his way to this wizard cheat-coded himself a treehouse. ]
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[ There's no bitterness in that question, but maybe a playful little sting, testing. ]
If you don't invite me over I'm just going to keep guessing.
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Enough of that. He's forgiven. And if they want to joke about it every once in a while, he can take it on the chin.
The smile returns, gentle mischief tucked into the corners as he tucks fresh fingers into a recovered ring and lifts his hands to score a portal out of the air and try not to worry about whatever memories might be attached to them. On the other side, a large wooden room tapering off into a smaller snug at one end filled with a pile of furs and blanket, windows all around and in fact filled with nothing at all. No glass, no anything but a view of sparse leaves and branches.
Stephen gestures him in. ]
Your wish is my command.
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You're right, this is empty. Not even a kettle? Don't tell me you magic up your tea.
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I wasn't here for comfort, or for long. I'm planning on a small fireplace, and getting in the necessities, before you put me away for crimes against tea. But given I don't have a kettle right now...
[ He trails off, and it's half a joke and half isn't. If there's any hospitality he can offer here, a magicked-up cup of tea will be the best he can do. ]
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[ He won't drink it, too fussy about how his tea is made. ]
I'd accept something else, though. Haven't had an L&P in ten thousand years, can you do a soda? Maybe a nice rosé?
[ Teasing but also there's a certain tilt of his chin that speaks to the other times he's gotten Strange to show off his powers, which will never stop fascinating him. ]
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It's with appropriate flourish that Stephen conjures from the empty nothing of his little house a glass, appearing in his hand between one blink and the next. With a small extension of will, it fills itself from bottom to a portion appropriate mid-way with water. And with a quick trip of the free hand he holds over it, that water becomes wine, color flooding through it with the change.
A nice, pale, peachy pink. He offers it out. ]
Might be a bit of an amalgam, flavor-wise, but it shouldn't be too bad.
[ It is, in fact, quite good. Modeled off of old, expensive tastes. ]
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Better than anything the locals have been putting out. Want to try?
[ He offers back the glass. ]
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Mm. [ And catches a second glass out of the air, ready-made, handing John's back to him and lifting his own to toast. ] To free wine on tap.
[ Him. He's the tap. ]
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[ He lifts his own glass. ]
To wine that isn't roofied.
[ Since there's free wine in Rubilykskoye, sometimes. He just doesn't trust it. He takes another pleased sip, wanders around the sparse room looking out at the trees. Reaches out to touch an enroaching leaf, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger with a quiet fondness for nature that comes from the Alecto in him. ]
Kovacs said you weren't doing so well.
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Mm, well, he would know. [ Throwaway, warm and rueful. Not a dismissal of the content of the point itself, just a quiet glancing off in favour of - ] I didn't realise you were on good terms.
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[ John sips his wine, looking out the window; he's not going to press the point. Though he does add: ]
I like him, though. I respect a man with the courage of his convictions.
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He drew me out of here four days in and then took to the watch like I hadn't just crash landed his own recovery.
[ It says something that Stephen had let that happen. ]
I'm doing better than I would have been.
[ He likes him, too. ]
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[ Probably it's weird, for John to be the one showing sympathy, but he doesn't mind. If anything, knowing Strange has been struggling with it all makes his silence come easier. And honestly? John likes the control of the comforter role far better than that of the comfortee. ]
Thanks for showing me this place.
[ Glancing back at Stephen. ]
It reminds me of this eco-conference I went to in Finland in my early thirties, where all the hotel rooms were in trees. At night you could see the Aurora Borealis. Hoping all the drill miners and oil barons hoping for a green checkmark would be changed by the beauty of nature, I guess.
[ He pulls away from the window, coming back over towards Stephen and finishing off his glass. ]
They weren't, of course.
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[ He's lived long enough in the world to know there's no turning back the tide of capitalism, the damage they're doing and continue to do every day in the name of greed and hunger. But he's also seen the other side of that coin. Seen one potential cure played out millions on millions of times—
Like he's found himself standing too close to the edge of something, Stephen blinks back thoughts of Finland and beauty and Thanos to instead look into John's face and let what he finds there abruptly change the subject for him. ]
You look well. [ It's not quite a question, in the same way Kovacs said you weren't doing so well wasn't a question. But he does look well. Better than Stephen's since him since - well. ] How have things been?
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John twirls his empty glass, runs his other hand through his thick hair, always in a state of constant movement, and keeps talking to slide on past that point, or discussion of the newly resurrected husband and metaphorical kids. "Last month when I went out, before - everything, it was with a group of people sent by the town. Quentin found chocolate, so he'll be a millionaire any day now. But... I worry a bit, about our environmental impact, since it's all so fucking pristine. What's the countdown on the town inventing fracking - a hundred years, maybe? Faster if Void-Touched independence starts an arms race." A beat. "Sorry, that's - pessimistic of me. Sorry. Things are fine."
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So, John finishes talking. And Stephen wafts a hand to refill his glass.
"Yeah. You don't seem stressed at all." With a wry tug of the mouth, he drains the rest of his own glass, tops himself up too. "All the more reason for us to get out of the way as soon as we can."
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As a finishing touch, Stephen offers the heap of fabrics and furs a come hither that lifts a couple from the pile, bathed briefly in a wash of amber magic - refreshed, clean - before they too float to drape over the makeshift chairs.
It's really only the faintest gesture toward not being sat directly on the floor. But it's something. Stephen fixes John with a look as he settles his hands back down to his sides, magic abated. There. Better?
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