( office hours & overflow )

[sorserer]

❥ stephen strange has office hours. these are hours during which people can come by his house in the up, the abattoir a magically expanded but still very cramped closet-now-office in the triple m apothecary for a nice cup of tea and some advice or direct support on magical endeavors. come thru
❥ this is an informal, word-of-mouth service. stephen appreciates some manner of compensation but will neither mention nor require it
❥ oocly, this is a mechanism for random non-phone threads. you don’t actually have to have a magic question. you can just come by and annoy the shit out of him
❥ just like the ic inbox i reserve the right to cram random shit in here

Comments

my man you know it’s time to get your fingers wet

[sorserer]

( reference )

[ the room stephen received is one of the darker suites, its primary features a single bed and plenty of conversational space, to a point where ending up on the bed doesn’t even necessarily look like an inevitability. that’s probably part of the gimmick, stephen suspects: he sets out a series of lures, from his comfortable classic armchair to the tidily made king-size, and the other person has to walk the perimeter of the room to collect them--to be tempted. the illusion of having uneasily crossed that distance of one’s own volition, so it’s not stephen’s fault when he takes them in-hand at last.

hakkyuu’s already done it, in part, stomping close and downing the scotch like a dare. he can’t say he’s disappointed, but the differences between this younger, slighter man and his on-and-off friend certainly are a thing to behold.

he keeps his head on his hand. watches him levelly, entirely too relaxed, like he already knows what hakkyuu is going to say. ]

I don’t see why not.

[shadowstrikes]

[Standing in that room, swimming in clothes that should hug his every line is a brand of exposed that Hakkyuu hasn't really prepared for. Beyond that though, he feels like he's drowning in the room itself and as though even the most inviting parts are conspiring to get him in some way.

Worst of all though is how his body and mind don't feel like his own, like he has a concept of his own scope of mental, emotional and physical capabilities but he can't make out the shape or details, like his own sense of self is shrouded in a mist so thick he can only just make out his own hand in front of his face.

It's embarrassing, which is a sensation in and of itself that Hakkyuu doesn't think he usually has time for but right now can't imagine how else he could possible feel as he tugs the back of the sweatshirt, then the sleeve, trying to get it to sit better on his body and failing every time.]

What happens in this room stays here. [He says after an arrested pause, his expression very fleetingly looking like something closer to what Stephen is more familiar with--resolved and firm, something he won't give way on. It's only a flicker though, still not as sharp as it should be by a long shot.] Anything I tell you. Anything that happens. Doesn't leave here. Deal?

[sorserer]

[ in his finery, leg crossed over the other, he could be easily mistaken for an upper-crust native - or at least a man he used to be, some years ago. his shoes are finely polished and his watch glints in the warm lights of the suite, dimmed just so. he remains still in his consideration, but not because he has to think it over, not really. he doesn’t even blink. ]

As you wish.

[ at his least casual stephen’s language slip-slides into the arcane, voice dropping down velvet in the silence. he shifts in his seat, uncrosses his legs with terrible casualness, and skims an idle hand over his thigh, as if pulling at pilling fabric. the fabric is fine, though. the suit’s too nice for that. ]

Now. [ no winsome smile, no forced levity. all the gravity of stephen’s usual presence is in full tilt, like his presence preceded the room, like it was built around him. he gestures faintly in ready welcome, and here it is, the first real test of the evening: ] Won’t you sit.

[headrushed]

[x]

[Grande caramel latte in hand, Andy does make it into the Down to meet up for their semi-shady medical slash magical appointment. It's not like he's trying to hide it from Andy Sr and Ben, but when people do literally everything they can for you, you hate to keep burdening them with your own dumb shit. If he can get a handle on the whole sleepwalking thing without dragging them into it, all the better and a load off everybody's shoulders. He's not sure that Dr. Strange'll be able to do anything but he's got his fingers crossed. And an extra white macadamia cookie for good luck.

Down's not his favorite place to traverse but with his hood up and backpack on, he looks every part the slightly too skinny and awkward teen when he makes it to the pin and knocks on the corresponding door. He's unaware of the two resounding auras of magic on him; charms on his keys for good luck and safety and a hell of a messy spell on him, made by an equally teenage witch months ago to glamor over the look of death that comes with - well, having died and been reanimated. Baked under the surface of that is something else, elusive and dark, hidden deep under the magic, the axe body spray and the cheerful disposition.]

Um, what's up Doc?

[sorserer]

[ stephen, upon opening the door, gives him a flatly unimpressed look. ]

I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. [ but he does open the door to admit him. ] Andy, right?

[ there’s a slight pause when stephen closes the door behind him. the good luck charms aren’t really anything to write home about, as good as a skillfully made purchase from that shop those kids run down the way, but that glamor application could use a touch-up, like a car that needs going to the shop. he resists the temptation to peek what’s beneath for now. some people like their privacy.

stephen’s apartment is standard-issue, but he’s made himself somewhat at home: there are protective rune carvings in the doors and windowsills, mismatched candles on the counter, books with little annotation tabs sticking out. he gestures to the small breakfast table with its two chairs. ]

Please, have a seat.

i should be taking a sabbatical from you

[sorserer]

[ there is a hardcover edition of piano tuning, servicing and rebuilding: for the professional, the student and the hobbyist spread open on the center table, meticulously annotated; a set of tools laid flat on a clean dishtowel on the center table; and stephen, in a columbia tee, magically steadying one scarred hand so he can hold the tuning lever with the other, placing the finishing touches on a particular pin. he sets it carefully. ]

Here goes nothing.

[ he uses magic to experimentally run a feeling arpeggio, with lines of purple light trailing like fingers themselves from his fingertips--

it sounds, in a word, off. stephen stares down at the keys, visibly maligned. he reaches down and pushes down on an interval, manually this time: still off.

the magic he uses to temporarily steady his hands is occasionally visible, as it has been for most of the afternoon: he passes the left over the right again in a small ripple of light, then uses the right to tap out a few more intervals. some sound--good? some less so. a little vee rises between his eyebrows. ]

I don’t suppose I can convince you it’s supposed to sound like this in my universe?

[ from his focus and the parenthetical nature of his conversation it’d be easy to assume he was home alone, talking to himself or the cloak of levitation always at a hover near at hand. but hakkyuu is here, for some reason, and entirely welcome to just watch stephen indulge in a new do-nothing hobby. at least there’s whiskey for the tea. ]

[shadowstrikes]

[Anyone who has gotten to know Hakkyuu's comings and goings can pretty much guarantee that it'll be almost entirely at his own leisure at odd times. Some have called him cat-like for this, though in his mind it's far less animalist and far more like being something of a creeping shadow.

So when Stephen extends the invitation in the way he does, Hakkyuu presumes the same rules apply to the new address as to Stephen's place in the Down--no keys required, drop by if the fixtures don't seem to be rocking.

And he shows up much as he usually does; hands in his pockets, hood up this time but no sleeves on the hoodie itself (it's summer, okay) and wandering through for the first time like he's walked the floors countless times already.

It's always been clear that Stephen likes music in his own world and not just part of his meticulous memory for party tricks but he actively likes music. That's not really something Hakkyuu gets on a personal level, he just likes seeing people in his life enjoying the things they enjoy. And the noise that the piano makes as Stephen plunks a scarred finger down on the key doesn't sound like it's going to make music any time soon.]

Depends on how convincing your argument is. You got an uphill battle though, lemme tell you.

[As he wanders nearer, Hakkyuu's head cranes around to peer at what Stephen is doing more closely, a silvery brow arched before a slow smile draws across his face.]

You got a hobby.

backing up when we both want you to be falling forward--

[sorserer]

[ stephen doesn’t fight recreationally; it’s less a matter of principle than programming. he knows by now a fair number of people who have something to get out of their system, an energy that nips at their heels and sets them running at an opponent or the nearest horizon, but stephen’s idea of a good time always leans towards the sensual or intellectual rather than the physical.

but he does have a universe to protect, ostensibly, whenever fate deems fit for him to return to it, so he maintains a personal fitness regime that is largely private and well-calculated. it even occasionally leads him to the arena, where he sets aside the magic that whispers in perpetuity within and focuses more on remembering that there are rather all manner of creatures and beings back home who’d like to beat his ass and he should really look after his business. the liers program brings in all kinds, sword-sharp and too frequently doom-driven, people who spent fighting the years stephen had spent in school. and he’s always playing catchup; he’s not getting any younger. but the multiverse keeps getting more dangerous. he doesn’t know what his physical plateaus look like but he supposes there are worse things in the world than finding out in duplicity, in this interlude between misadventures.

he ends the night as everyone does, if later than most. he’s alone in the locker room, trying to wield the idle thaumaturgical magic that another iteration of himself had used to wrap gauze around his forearm a lifetime ago--but he’s still strung out from the fight, bruised like fruit; his focus is all wrong. he tears the gauze loose with his teeth instead and doesn’t look up as he holds the roll out and says, ]

Perfect timing. Hold this.

[ his magical awareness doesn’t reflexively extend to hakkyuu’s presence, which on a cosmic scale seems only fair when the man’s living is largely eked out in shadows. but sometimes he just knows when hakkyuu is in the same room, the same pub, the same insipid city gathering, those eyes a swipe of ice across the nape of his neck. a few years ago he would have thought it a function of familiarity. these days he can’t say for sure. ]

[shadowstrikes]

[Stephen Strange in the Arena, in the abstract, isn't an unusual sight. Stephen Strange in the Arena these days is a bit odd. Maybe it's just that, to Hakkyuu, the last few weeks of Stephen being back in the city has felt like such a rollercoaster already that watching the sorcerer's form cut through a space that Hakkyuu occupies so often to deal with his own shit feels like some kind of personal attack.

Initially, he's almost outright angry about it, something unreasonable about not getting enough damn space and time to just think about what Stephen being back in Duplicity means (it doesn't mean anything) and how he's hardly had the space to consider the question because it feels like as the dust starts to settle this bastard is popping up again--on his device, in person, or on his device then in person. And then sex isn't really a place for doing much thinking.

In short, there's a lot going on in Hakkyuu's brain as it relates to Stephen Strange.

He almost has the irrational thought to storm right over there and demand to know what the hell Stephen is even doing there, though Hakkyuu does manage to reel that in before it can take hold. Which is just as well, because in that time he gets to see Stephen, entirely independently, get himself set up with some rounds.

For the first few sessions, Hakkyuu tries to force himself to just do his own thing again: it's a public use space and Stephen isn't there to see him.

But over time, in a manner that's frustratingly predictable, Hakkyuu's eyes wander. First, it's for the pure spectacle and distraction of it, because he just likes looking at Stephen. Then, somewhere along the lines, he just finds himself assessing. Watching Stephen's style, his footwork, his stance, his reaction and recovery times, how he responds and moves in general. It's a sort of mesmerising, though not like when Stephen is using magic. This is captivating in a way that has something scratching nervously at the back of Hakkyuu's skull like an animal wanting to go outside.

So when Stephen's final opponent leaves, Hakkyuu wills himself not to follow Stephen, forces his eyes down and lets his fingers drum against the wood of the bench he's been sat on to watch as he tries to settle and ignore that nagging feeling. It doesn't go away. He could wait it out. He's got ability to force patience to the surface, especially after laying down his warnings about the new Loki to Stephen which, no doubt, still smarts a bit.]

Shit--

[Yeah, there's no just ignoring this one, so finally he does shove himself off the bench to trail after Stephen into the locker room, where he still takes his time before the actual approach, watching Stephen work in the overall quiet and loses a minute or two to just that. It's a bit pathetic and when he catches himself, Hakkyuu closes his eyes with a long, deep, irritated breath, and walks over.

It's terrifying not only how easily Stephen just sort of folds into accepting Hakkyuu's presence, but how easily Hakkyuu meets it with only a mild eyeroll before providing an upturned palm.]

Don't you have magic for this?

a stranger in my phonebook i was acting like i knew

[sorserer]

( from here )

Stephen’s eyes tracked the cup briefly as it floated away, additional observations ticking away in his mind like background processes on a computer. Then his gaze moved to Quentin’s phone; he raised his eyebrows when he heard his own device go off on the table behind them, reaching out without reaching out to read the accompanying message and scroll through it.

“Noted,” he said idly, mid-read. “My apologies for the earlier displays, then. I admit I’m not always a gracious host.”

His mind flashed back to an image that recurred for his own amusement now and then--the god of thunder tumbling down his stairwell--before he honed his focus back down to the list in his hand. Right, people did this. If Stephen had a better sense of priority he should have had something like this prepared as well, in his third tenure in the city; but there were always other ways to occupy his time and thoughts. He’d always been better at keeping an eye on goalposts in lieu of rules, which meant he as a partner wasn’t, necessarily, one size that fit all.

But he’d brought Quentin here to be helpful to him, in some capacity, and it wasn’t an ordeal to be accommodating: he was a pretty thing, probably made pretty sounds. Stephen kept scrolling as he said, “Go on, then. On pain?”

[proofofconcept]

"You haven't really done anything that bad," Quentin said, shaking his head, not even sure what displays Stephen might be talking about. "I mean I'm not, like, eggshell fragile, you can call me a slut or something and as long as it's not like an obviously angry or disgusted tone, I'm not gonna spiral over it. The restriction on magic is more about just not wanting to be surprised by anything while I'm..." Subbed out. Brainless. Unable to form a coherent thought. "During a time when I won't handle a surprise well."

He rubbed his hands against his thighs, considering. "Spanking and hair pulling is always okay," he said, while he thought about what else he'd be okay with right now. "I think, for tonight...lighter stuff only? I'm not really, uh, in the right...mood to handle heavier pain stuff, so like...pinching or biting nipples is cool, scratching on not-super-sensitive areas. That kind of thing."

Quentin's boundaries were flexible enough that he didn't feel the need to define out every single little possibility, or if he did, it was only for fear of not being clear enough for someone to understand him. He was so rarely just understood implicitly, and things he thought were perfectly clear were often obviously not so to other people. It occurred to him that that might be why Stephen's vagueness gave him so much fucking anxiety, but that could be properly examined another time.

office hours after the return to duplicity;

[autolatrical]

[ Stephen Strange is not a stupid man. He's likely been aware of someone being aware of him, whenever he's not in his magically well-guarded living situation. Sometimes, perhaps, he sees Loki, or someone that could be Loki, but they never are close enough to be interrogated or stick around long enough to be looked at twice or noticed by anyone else.

So, you know. There is that.

There is also this: he isn't sure how to proceed.

Oh, he has ideas. Plans, even. But the best ideas are plotted in the middle of the night, and not all of them stand up to the sunlight, and the best plans are easily waylaid by the things that cannot be controlled. Therefore he just watches and does nothing more than that. Nothing untoward anyway.

Besides he has a life of his own to lead in these new cities. This new world. That means interacting with people and, occasionally, not fixating on the Sorcerer Supreme or his relationship with the version that came before him.

It works. More or less. Loki doesn't make another fool of himself, at least, and therefore is not in another position to be rejected out of hand.

When it comes to his attention that the good doctor is holding 'office hours' Loki takes a moment to try and determine if this is some sort of weird codephrase for 'come make an appointment for fucking' before he realizes that, no, Strange probably means it in some semi-professional manner. Well, good. Loki has semi-professional things to ask of him besides. Perhaps this will work, perhaps they can have a conversation as civilized beings and Loki can manage to keep his emotions in check.

Hope springs eternal, or somesuch, maybe he'll even manage to surprise himself.

All this to say that Loki has shown up, for office hours, is sipping a to-go cup of tea, and levels Stephen with his most calm smile. Dressed as more or less anyone who has ever met him more than once would not be surprised by: well-pressed, well-tailored slacks, a button-up shirt, and a tie in dark colors.

It'll be fine. Keep the conversation to business, far and away from the things Strange clearly is disinterested in talking about despite the fact that they are at least 80% of what Loki wishes to discuss with him.

Diplomacy. He can manage it. He is, after all (hah) his mother's son. ]

I was hoping you could help me with a problem.

[sorserer]

[ stephen hasn’t lived in his new abode long, so the wards aren’t terribly specific. mostly they keep the house from incurring further wear and tear than would occur naturally; there’s also a basic security spell, a simple layer on top of what hope has already thrown over the residence.

but even if stephen had thought to tailor them more specifically, he knows with grim certainty he wouldn’t have bothered to keep this new iteration of loki away. in his defense, he assumed their little altercation in insincerity would’ve been enough to make the prospect of any future conversation uniquely unappetizing; he’d almost forgotten loki could be stubborn.

so that leaves stephen in a dressed-down version of his work blues, a loose tunic and linens, legs crossed ankle over knee. he is, despite the flash of faint alarm he’d felt when he opened his door to find loki at his threshold, once again composed. he’s even making that eye contact loki had seemed to so crave on that night. he’s working. he can work. ]

No guarantees. But depending on what it is-- [ namely something that doesn’t push him again, god ] I’ll certainly try.

with the exception of you i dislike everyone in the room

[sorserer]

[ it’s one of those special nights at the pub where stephen is likelier to get a discount on a drink than not, and after his appointments for the day finished he’d read until his eyes crossed, so he figured a night out wouldn’t hurt. he isn’t dressed terribly formally--business casual, at best; no tie, the kind of look you could shoot pool in--and he didn’t come with a particular agenda. he’s easy in crowds, used to most rungs of society by now, and he’s chatting.

well, someone’s chatting, anyway. a local, and a handsome young man, clearly unaccustomed to the company of liers but overcoming his sense of novelty to seek stephen’s company specifically. it’s the kind of energy stephen doesn’t always entertain--any personal thoughts or feelings he has about the caste structure in this town aside, sometimes people just veer towards him with no sense of subtlety about how they want to be taken in-hand. it’s only funny because you can usually find that service somewhere more easily, practically gift-wrapped and off a shelf; he wonders sometimes, when it’s a local, if they’re trying to get him in trouble on purpose. he’s toed the line pretty well so far, but you never know.

anyway, the kid’s nice, just not that compelling. stephen listens, offers parenthetical commentary, but he can’t help the slight drift of his eyes over the top of his head now and then; he’s sipping his martini in pauses in conversation, which are fewer than he’d like. there are some nights stephen wonders if he’s no longer suited to be a barfly--but no, that can’t be right, he was out just a few days ago and had a good time. sometimes the night is just a wash. no one would hold it against him for calling it quits.

he fails to resist the temptation to check his watch. the man asks where it’s from. he doesn’t know, he says, it was a gift, and they’re talking about watches now, which normally should be more interesting, but truthfully stephen’s already halfway clocked out. ]

[shadowstrikes]

[Between the Up and the Down, Duplicity is a big place, even if someone is inclined toward one level more than the other either through personal taste or expectations through designation. It means there are any number of places for Hakkyuu to wander through on any given night as he is often want to do.

That doesn't mean that he doesn't have a few regular haunts he's inclined to float through, which is probably how, despite the many different ways that they could miss each other, that Hakkyuu and Stephen are in the same place at the same time.

And, look, Hakkyuu doesn't need to be all up in Stephen's business all the time. In fact, it's better that they have their periods of separation between being very intensely entwined and it seems to work pretty well for both of them.

The only issue, if it can be called that, is when Hakkyuu's eyes skim briefly, accidentally even, over to Stephen he almost immediately picks up something that he consciously or unconsciously opts to not examine--it's obvious to him that Stephen is bored.

Someone like Stephen can wear boredom like a top hat or tuck it away in a back pocket with equal amounts of skill, so it's not as if Hakkyuu could claim to have some kind of super special insight in that regard, it's just that to his eye Stephen might as well be throwing his head back groaning boooooooooored! like a six-foot bearded five-year-old for how obvious it is. And ultimately? It's none of Hakkyuu's business. Stephen's a big boy and he can deal with his own lack of stimulation from a rando in a bar just fine.

And yet, as time ticks along and Stephen stays sort of pinned by his uninteresting partner, Hakkyuu's eyes periodically flick back and forth to that corner of the bar like he's opening and closing a switch blade. Maybe it's nothing but a fidget, maybe he's secretly deciding who to stab.

Then, he virtually sees a sigh leaving Stephen's body even if he doesn't actually commit to one and Hakkyuu can't help but snort to himself in amusement as he shakes his head. Okay. Sure. He could leave Stephen to his suffering, or he could make it worse. And why wouldn't he make it worse, really?

Finishes his drink and dropping the tumbler back down on the bar, Hakkyuu makes a smooth circuit through the bodies in the pub, to the outer crescent so that he can stride neatly and easily right in front of the sorcerer in a way that both announces his presence without a word, and also makes the liberation of that martini from Stephen's fingers incredibly clean and without missing a single step. In fact, the only thing he gives Stephen in return is a look that he doesn't even turn his head for--just a locked stare that lasts only as long as it takes for him to walk past and into the crowd on the other side. And the guy chatting to Stephen? Well, Hakkyuu has no reason to acknowledge him, so he doesn't. Simple, really.]

office hours - before the event

[canttrickmeanymore]

Peter found out that Strange does office hours. Which works out, because he has a question for someone who meets the criteria of: a) possibly from his world; b) has been back home and returned to Duplicity. He's ready to see how this will go.

He skips up the stairs and knocks on the door. He'll either begin with 'Hi, I'm Peter.' or 'I have a question for you.' depending on the greeting when Strange opens the door.

[sorserer]

The door doesn’t open, so there is no logical moment that follows wherein if it did open Peter could step in through the threshold--Peter just appears inside.

The house where Stephen spends his resting hours is cozy and rustic, art on the walls and entirely too many books spilling out of the shelves. The sitting area has a sofa and two comfortable armchairs sitting catty-corner to one another. A mug of tea on a coaster steams sedately on the low coffee table.

Stephen is in the kitchen, working on some concoction with mortar and pestle. “Hey, kid,” his voice rings low and loud from the adjacent space. (It is, admittedly, hard to assess offhand the degree of familiarity in that tone.) “Have a seat, I’ll be a second.”

fugue in e minor - couple of days after the storm

[ingeniar]

[ The mistake was leaving the card. From there, it had been an easy task to discover his office hours -- in other words, when best to find him at home.

At some point, Stephen might hear a tapping noise at his office window. On investigation, this will turn out to be the result of a thin plastic rod, used by a hovering quadcopter-style drone about the size of a football. The drone has a cardboard box securely held underneath it. On its body, the identifier RINGO 1.0 is written on a piece of tape. From the box hangs a hand-lettered sign which reads: LET ME IN.

It will continue to hover outside said window until the necessary parameters are met, i.e. Stephen lets it in. ]

[sorserer]

[ stephen’s office hours are committed working hours, which means between appointments he’s busy with projects or building on his growing body of personal magical research. the rain and other goings-on in the city have predictably cut back on the numbers of clients in recent days, which is fine: it leaves stephen in more casual robes, the kind of loose short-sleeved linens he used to wear in training, and whenever he needs a break from constant reading he works on the crossword. all in all, not a bad way to spend the tail end of the rainy season.

the fact that the wards don’t warn him to the drone’s approach is, first of all, perplexing. he frowns deeply at the machine at the window until his gaze lands on the tape on the side, and then several facts click for him at once:

1) the wards operate on trust. it’s kind of a six degrees of kevin bacon deal.

2) he entrusted tony stark with the fate of the universe, besides which gradations of trust must, to some part of stephen’s subconscious, seem trivial. that’s why stephen hadn’t known tony was on his porch the other day until it was too late.

3) if he doesn’t fix this tony stark could probably launch a missile at his house and it would simply be allowed.

those are all later problems. for now he--stays seated: annoyed, various other emotions that defy easy designation. with a flick of his hand out the window opens. more concessions already, and this time the man himself isn’t even present to be smug about them. ]

[shadowstrikes]

[For someone who likes to poke and prod and get reactions out of others, a lot of people misunderstand Hakkyuu's brand of interest for mean-spirited. And while he sometimes likes to get under people's skin, watch them get a little prickly, or excitable, but meanness for meanness sake isn't what he aims for. When it comes down to it, he doesn't want to cause anyone harm.

It's what makes it easy for him to back off when he's told to, what makes him respect boundaries when they really matter. And it's why, when Stephen tells him You know what, I don’t think I can talk about this over text, Hakkyuu has no problems taking the pressure off. No more jokes, no jabs, no teasing. Those aren't the sorts of games he enjoys.

And it's also why, when he swings by again later that day with take-out tucked under one arm, it's the same as it ever is: without agenda and mid-sentence.]

So, the thing about Beefcake's Burgers and Fries, yeah? It's really more of an experience than anything else. Y'know, they've got their particular thing going on, like, you need to have a particular look to work there. It's a real eat with your eyes while you eat kinda place.

[Unceremoniously, he drops a paperbag on the surface nearest to where Stephen is.]

What I'm sayin' is, next time we should dine in. Anyway, there's hot dogs, burgers and fries. And a couple'a milkshakes--one's banana-caramel and the other's chocolate peanut butter. Take your pick.

[Is he going to mention the shakes are boozy? Nah, Stephen can work it out.]

[sorserer]

[ stephen is at the kitchen table, tapping annotations onto a diagram. this isn’t especially uncommon, stephen transposing magic glyphs into digital files for the use of the coven in the down, but this time he seems to be annotating some more technical schematic. ]

Sounds like a place neither of us could get a job.

[ bone-dry as always. when hakkyuu is more settled he looks up and over, examining the marked-up styrofoam cups and opting for the chocolate. he takes a sip and makes a mild noise of approval. ]

Thanks.

[skulked]

[ laura doesn't really need to be here, she's doing the kind of work that could be done anywhere, but she had a justification that largely revolved around it not being a good idea for her to be on the streets of the up as much as possible. she has herself a reputation after all, and a tendency to react to even the smallest of provocations if it's coming from someone with a gun, and all round just a recipe for disaster. so there's the justification all ready, but the truth of it is probably closer to the fact that sometimes, even solitary creatures like laura just prefer a little company.

especially this kind, the quiet as stephen sits at his desk and laura sprawls over a chair, working through an inventory list without any real hurry. conversation comes and goes, dying off and picking back up again without much pressure, and she doesn't know who makes references to times spent in duplicity first, but that's where they are now. ]

I've been here before. Left right after Christmas. It's kind of hard to keep straight sometimes, sometimes it feels like I never left. [ thats a safe sort of observation, so i revealing as to practically be bland, and her eyes flick up from the list in front of her to look at stephen's profile. ] Do you think it's gotten easier?

[sorserer]

[ it’s a nice day to be getting some of his own work done, and easy enough to do it in laura’s company. stephen is squinting down at both a tablet and a thick monograph in the way of all men who will never admit they should at least try reading glasses. ]

Define “easier”. [ but he doesn’t wait for a response, though not impatiently, his fingers zooming in on an image on the tablet as he says, ] The program isn’t as harsh as it used to be. I think it encourages complacency.

[ there’s lit incense in the room in one of those long trays, the smoke winding its way absently towards the cracked window. stephen is evidently comparing the picture on the tablet to a glyph in his book, leaning back in his seat and touching a pen thoughtfully to the corner of his mouth. ]

I didn’t feel like I was ... navigating a social life, back then. I grew close to people under duress. Nowadays, it’s all dinner and drinks. Easier, sure. But I don’t know if I like it better.

you are the wrecking force in me

[sorserer]

[ stephen wakes up alone most mornings. this is by design. even in a town with mandatory sex, with streets full of emotional tripwires, stephen has carefully and tactically avoided anything that might seem like an obligation in the cold light of day. he considers it a courtesy--he’s not really a morning person; he doesn’t know if he has anything good to say to anyone before lunch.

but the weight on the bed beside him is familiar by now, in some indistinct but certain way. even if he couldn’t place the odd slightness of him stephen also knows hakkyuu by touch, scent, the minute shifts of his body when stephen reaches out blindly to pull him in close--which he does, with idle relish, and without opening his eyes, his voice a quiet rumble against hakkyuu’s back. ]

Hey.

[ it’s early, but with his eyes shut he can’t tell how early, nor can he tell whether hakkyuu just came in or not. he tells himself he can figure it out in a second. ]

[shadowstrikes]

[There are many things that go unspoken between Hakkyuu and Stephen. Some of these things are just unnecessary to say aloud, things that they each intuit about each other so as to fall neatly into one another's pace; the easiness about being around each other that's always been there.

Others simply fall outside of that bracket, beyond the realms of 'need to know' information. It's not an oversight of communication, it's just not important to share.

Like it's not important to Hakkyuu to tell Stephen that this isn't the norm for him--that he doesn't share beds of his partners through to morning all that often, or that he virtually never actually sleeps besides them.

There are things about Stephen and the way Hakkyuu takes up time with him that is entirely unique and uncharted, like how he blows all three of his allocated night's away from the Manor at Stephen's place in what feels like a blink of an eye and then spends the rest of the month trying to make the distance of time viable.

And even bracketing all that, Hakkyuu can count on less than one hand the people he just slides into bed with purely for the warmth of their company.

The coil of Stephen's arm and the backward tug that pulls Hakkyuu's body closer into the curve of the sorcerer's form arrives with a long, bones-deep sign and a heavy backwards tilt of his head to nudge up against the other man's shoulder.

The smile is all in his voice as one hand rides a slow stroke along Stephen's forearm.]

Hey yourself.