The crunch and crack of an abrupt arrival in the undergrowth just outside of property lines is followed by footsteps and the emerging into view of one Stephen Strange, come empty-handed to behold what variety of tumbledown disaster Jim Hopper is trying to make hospitable out here in the woods.
And to eat fish and drink beer. Let's not forget the fish and beer. ]
[Jim's Cabin is partially derelict. It's got the foundations, sure, but it's a real fixer upper. Jim's been working on it, though. The roof's half-way done, give or take some fixing. The outside walls have been started.
He's got a grill outside, where he's got some potatoes boiling and some fish grilling, as promised. The old bathtub has been converted into an ice-bucket, where Jim's stored some bottles of wine, and shoved a cask of beer up close.
He's dressed about as casually as he gets here. Pair of loose slacks, open shirt. If Stephen's sudden appearance startles him, he doesn't show it. ] You really need to get a bell or something.
[ Stephen strolls into the glow of the fire, scarf layered over jacket layered over linen shirt, hands tucked into his pockets and attention lifted to the shell of a cabin acting as a backdrop to their evening. ]
Nice place. [ Effortless sarcasm. But also, actually, it is nice. The grill, the smell of the food. The bath full of booze.
Focus drops to his host. His face caught by firelight conjures a fleeting selection of too sharp half-memories, camping trips it's a miracle he was ever persuaded to go on. The nature, quiet, the ease of Jim out here. Stephen had always said yes to the next trip eventually. ]
[He nods to the tub, then to a couple of cups he's got sitting close to the fire. ] Help yourself. Should be mostly chilled.
[Mostly chilled. Like the air isn't helping. He turns the fish over again then gets to his feet. There's a go-bag at his feet on the other side, half-open and filled with plates, mugs, cutlery - all definitely pilfered from the boarding house.
The pot with the potatoes he maybe got somewhere else. Or he found it here. It's better Stephen doesn't ask.]
[ A small scoff, but he doesn't mind if he does. With the go ahead duly given, Stephen pulls a hand from his pocket and a wine bottle lifts itself from the tub to drip ice water everywhere as the cups float up to meet him too. ]
You having - ?
[ His cue to spot the bag of boarding house kitchenware at Jim's feet, expression slanting wry with amusement masquerading as disapproval. ]
Excuse me, officer. I think I might have discovered a cache.
[He has paid for (some) petty thievery, thank you! ] But yeah, I'll take some wine. I think's red. Looks red?
[Could be the bottle. It should be white, obviously, but Jim knows what he likes and what he likes is chianti. He also likes steak, but the fish is free. He sets himself to work poking to test the potatoes, readying the plates. There's a crate-made stool for Stephen to sit his ass down on. ]
[ Confirmed as it pours into both cups, Stephen sending the rest of the bottle to nestle back into the ice. He finally plucks the cups out of the air, moving to take a crate-made perch and hold one of the wines up for Jim, sipping at the other while he waits. ]
One of my many re-discovered talents. [The wine smells a little tart, if he's being honest. It's probably old, well-stored. When he takes a sip, it's got the sour-sweet taste he's not exactly used to. He makes a little face, nose scrunched, and takes another sip, expression-free.
He nods to the fish, murmurs: ] Used to cook every Tuesday when Diana and I were still married. Let it go by the wayside after I moved back to Hawkins.
[The cup goes down on the ground, just while he busies himself plating up. One to Stephen, the other to himself. ] If it tastes dry, pretend it doesn't.
[ When Diana and I were still married. He hears it mid-sip, pauses to watch Jim plate up over the rim of his cup and swallows the wine away only when he turns with the meal, wiping the brief fixation on new information away with a jolt. ]
Once a week, huh? It won't be dry. You're practically a chef.
[ A playful little dig, but he knows that Jim can cook. Or at least that he could, once upon a nowhere. Putting his own cup down to settle in with the plate, Stephen sets to building himself a mouthful, an easy way to act casual when he asks - ] When were you married?
Well, I’m not gonna deny praise like that. [thanks, he’ll take it.
The other thing, though. The other thing. ] A lifetime ago, now. [Feels like, anyway. He always looks a little something when it comes to his past; this time he looks a little sad. Looks a little fond. ]
We got married after I got back from ‘Nam. Divorced, uh. [He pauses. Takes a gulp of wine. ] We had a daughter. Sarah. We divorced a little while after we lost her.
[The information lingers for a beat. He gives Stephen a smile - fond, sad. ] I didn’t cope well. I’m a real pain in the ass, honestly. [Like it’s important Stephen know this, to know him. To really know him. ]
[ He's just finished his first bite as the loss of a child drops into the conversation, unexpected and terrible. There's no time to clear the dent of a frown from his brow before Jim fixes him with that rueful smile. It's not a pain he really knows, but it is one he's watched his own parents wade through and never quite come out the other side of. One he's experienced from a different angle and vehemently avoided ever since.
Jim turns it into an opportunity to talk gentle shit about himself. Stephen lets him. Cold comfort's barely better than none, but it's not nothing. ]
I know that. You're lucky I stole the limelight. [ There hadn't really been room for them both to fall apart, and oh boy did Stephen take the I'm The Asshole prize and run with it. But they were together for long enough before things took a dive. He has an idea of who he is - or at least who that version of him was.
The brief wry turn into camaraderie doesn't last, expression overtaken again by the crease of his brow, the tug of a frown. ] —I'm sorry, Jim. Your daughter.
[ And then the divorce. Pain in the ass or no, to go from having a family to just - not. Fairness has so very little to do with most things in life, and in this it really shows. ]
It's been - well. It's never really long enough, but it's been a while. Gets easier to remember the good times the further away from it I get.
[The birthdays, the parks, the bed time stories, the nights she'd crawl in Jim's lap and fall asleep. Jim's smile is sad, sure, but he remembers the way she used to laugh. He focuses less on how it was, in the end. ]
Thanks, Stephen. I uh - I adopted. Couple years ago. Jane. [The special one. ] She keeps me busy. Did keep me busy, anyway.
[He takes a bite to shut himself up, takes a swig to keep himself continuously shut up. He sighs out after a beat. Says, after: ] Plenty here to keep us both busy, too, I guess.
[ It's maybe a little cruel, in hindsight, to have trapped him into talking about this. God knows Stephen adamantly avoids talking about his losses wherever he can. But then there's Jane, and that's better.
Or would be, except for how they're trapped in a nowhere dimension by an encompassing void, his daughter worlds away. ]
Yeah. [ Yeah. Plenty, except when there's nothing. The disparity between the frantic times and the idle boredom of life before electricity is stark, and hasn't gone unnoticed. But Stephen has company, has magic and research, and Jim has his cabin, has fishing. Speaking of, Stephen takes another bite, washes it down with a swig of wine. ] Well. You haven't lost your touch.
[Or, well. They'll see. In a few hours. ] Sorry about the uh - baggage. Usually gives people a chance to get out early. Before they get in too deep with me.
[A wry salute, like Jim's done this song and dance a million times, instead of the realistic one or two times he's bothered trying. The few times he's actually liked someone enough to open up the well inside himself to say hey, look inside, this is what you're sinking into if you want to know me. ]
[ His attention cuts up to Jim again over a raised forkful of food. He lowers it. Closes his mouth, pulls of his lips briefly wry before it levels out in deference to what's just been said. It takes a moment, but: ]
Stop. You'll make me look bad for not offering you the same courtesy.
[ Not actually remotely a concern that he has, but he hopes the implication is clear: Jim isn't the only one with baggage. He's built up enough muscle carrying his own around to be able to handle some of Jim's without buckling - it's fine. ]
We lived it, didn't we? [He suspects, anyway, that their void dream was more Stephen than it ever was Jim. His smile is understanding; a little conspiratorial.
He's seen the scars on Stephen's hands. Here, there. Maybe he knows enough for now.] How about you tell me about the magic?
[ A beat of pause, Stephen's expression going slack for a second as he looks back at Jim, processes what he's just said, tries to decide how it feels. The smile wins the day and an answer in kind as he briefly ducks his head, takes another sip of wine. ]
Oh. You mean this? [ A florish, and a few little butterflies of blue light flutter into the space between them, a couple dancing around Jim's head before flitting up and away. ] That's a pretty broad topic. Anything in particular you want to know?
[ A different kind of courtesy to ask before starting, given how easy it would be for him to talk about magic for a week straight. ]
[He's being deliberately mean - teasing. He's grinning again, sly, almost away from the shadows on his face. Almost away from the lingering memory and the hurt. ]
[ He's not afraid to weaponize that trauma in the name of Winning, Hop - put that magician back where it came from or so help meeee. It's equally playful though, and he moves on with the pinch of a mischievous smirk and a lack of correction to sorcerer. ]
A woman threw my soul across the multiverse. Then I learned Sanskrit and ran a lot of drills.
[ If you're going to be a gremlin he's going to respond in kind, xoxo. ]
[Damnit Stephen, your talking about driving off a cliff and you’re making Jim laugh? Illegal. ]
Oh wow. Which was worse? The Sanskrit or the drills?
[It’s a funny little jab as he chews, takes a big gulp of wine, leans back and exhales some of his tension out. This is easier, isn’t it? ] My money is on the drills.
[ A cough of laughter. As much as it pains him to meet that jab with a victory, as much as he delays the inevitable with a munch of his own meal, he inevitably eventually has to cant his head in acquiescence. ]
It was the drills. [ The d r i l l s. ] I can't tell you how long it took me to pick up portals. It was driving me crazy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
no subject
Later Hop.
[ God, that's one from the archive. ]
no subject
See you at 8, Stephen.
no subject
The crunch and crack of an abrupt arrival in the undergrowth just outside of property lines is followed by footsteps and the emerging into view of one Stephen Strange, come empty-handed to behold what variety of tumbledown disaster Jim Hopper is trying to make hospitable out here in the woods.
And to eat fish and drink beer. Let's not forget the fish and beer. ]
no subject
He's got a grill outside, where he's got some potatoes boiling and some fish grilling, as promised. The old bathtub has been converted into an ice-bucket, where Jim's stored some bottles of wine, and shoved a cask of beer up close.
He's dressed about as casually as he gets here. Pair of loose slacks, open shirt. If Stephen's sudden appearance startles him, he doesn't show it. ] You really need to get a bell or something.
no subject
[ Stephen strolls into the glow of the fire, scarf layered over jacket layered over linen shirt, hands tucked into his pockets and attention lifted to the shell of a cabin acting as a backdrop to their evening. ]
Nice place. [ Effortless sarcasm. But also, actually, it is nice. The grill, the smell of the food. The bath full of booze.
Focus drops to his host. His face caught by firelight conjures a fleeting selection of too sharp half-memories, camping trips it's a miracle he was ever persuaded to go on. The nature, quiet, the ease of Jim out here. Stephen had always said yes to the next trip eventually. ]
You didn't mention you had a fully stocked bar.
[ Might be time to start drinking. ]
no subject
[He nods to the tub, then to a couple of cups he's got sitting close to the fire. ] Help yourself. Should be mostly chilled.
[Mostly chilled. Like the air isn't helping. He turns the fish over again then gets to his feet. There's a go-bag at his feet on the other side, half-open and filled with plates, mugs, cutlery - all definitely pilfered from the boarding house.
The pot with the potatoes he maybe got somewhere else. Or he found it here. It's better Stephen doesn't ask.]
no subject
You having - ?
[ His cue to spot the bag of boarding house kitchenware at Jim's feet, expression slanting wry with amusement masquerading as disapproval. ]
Excuse me, officer. I think I might have discovered a cache.
no subject
[He has paid for (some) petty thievery, thank you! ] But yeah, I'll take some wine. I think's red. Looks red?
[Could be the bottle. It should be white, obviously, but Jim knows what he likes and what he likes is chianti. He also likes steak, but the fish is free. He sets himself to work poking to test the potatoes, readying the plates. There's a crate-made stool for Stephen to sit his ass down on. ]
no subject
[ Confirmed as it pours into both cups, Stephen sending the rest of the bottle to nestle back into the ice. He finally plucks the cups out of the air, moving to take a crate-made perch and hold one of the wines up for Jim, sipping at the other while he waits. ]
It smells good.
[ The food, not the wine. ]
no subject
He nods to the fish, murmurs: ] Used to cook every Tuesday when Diana and I were still married. Let it go by the wayside after I moved back to Hawkins.
[The cup goes down on the ground, just while he busies himself plating up. One to Stephen, the other to himself. ] If it tastes dry, pretend it doesn't.
no subject
Once a week, huh? It won't be dry. You're practically a chef.
[ A playful little dig, but he knows that Jim can cook. Or at least that he could, once upon a nowhere. Putting his own cup down to settle in with the plate, Stephen sets to building himself a mouthful, an easy way to act casual when he asks - ] When were you married?
no subject
The other thing, though. The other thing. ] A lifetime ago, now. [Feels like, anyway. He always looks a little something when it comes to his past; this time he looks a little sad. Looks a little fond. ]
We got married after I got back from ‘Nam. Divorced, uh. [He pauses. Takes a gulp of wine. ] We had a daughter. Sarah. We divorced a little while after we lost her.
[The information lingers for a beat. He gives Stephen a smile - fond, sad. ] I didn’t cope well. I’m a real pain in the ass, honestly. [Like it’s important Stephen know this, to know him. To really know him. ]
cw: child/sibling loss refs
Jim turns it into an opportunity to talk gentle shit about himself. Stephen lets him. Cold comfort's barely better than none, but it's not nothing. ]
I know that. You're lucky I stole the limelight. [ There hadn't really been room for them both to fall apart, and oh boy did Stephen take the I'm The Asshole prize and run with it. But they were together for long enough before things took a dive. He has an idea of who he is - or at least who that version of him was.
The brief wry turn into camaraderie doesn't last, expression overtaken again by the crease of his brow, the tug of a frown. ] —I'm sorry, Jim. Your daughter.
[ And then the divorce. Pain in the ass or no, to go from having a family to just - not. Fairness has so very little to do with most things in life, and in this it really shows. ]
cw: child/sibling loss refs
[The birthdays, the parks, the bed time stories, the nights she'd crawl in Jim's lap and fall asleep. Jim's smile is sad, sure, but he remembers the way she used to laugh. He focuses less on how it was, in the end. ]
Thanks, Stephen. I uh - I adopted. Couple years ago. Jane. [The special one. ] She keeps me busy. Did keep me busy, anyway.
[He takes a bite to shut himself up, takes a swig to keep himself continuously shut up. He sighs out after a beat. Says, after: ] Plenty here to keep us both busy, too, I guess.
no subject
Or would be, except for how they're trapped in a nowhere dimension by an encompassing void, his daughter worlds away. ]
Yeah. [ Yeah. Plenty, except when there's nothing. The disparity between the frantic times and the idle boredom of life before electricity is stark, and hasn't gone unnoticed. But Stephen has company, has magic and research, and Jim has his cabin, has fishing. Speaking of, Stephen takes another bite, washes it down with a swig of wine. ] Well. You haven't lost your touch.
[ The food's good. That's stayed the same. ]
no subject
[Or, well. They'll see. In a few hours. ] Sorry about the uh - baggage. Usually gives people a chance to get out early. Before they get in too deep with me.
[A wry salute, like Jim's done this song and dance a million times, instead of the realistic one or two times he's bothered trying. The few times he's actually liked someone enough to open up the well inside himself to say hey, look inside, this is what you're sinking into if you want to know me. ]
no subject
Stop. You'll make me look bad for not offering you the same courtesy.
[ Not actually remotely a concern that he has, but he hopes the implication is clear: Jim isn't the only one with baggage. He's built up enough muscle carrying his own around to be able to handle some of Jim's without buckling - it's fine. ]
no subject
He's seen the scars on Stephen's hands. Here, there. Maybe he knows enough for now.] How about you tell me about the magic?
[Is that an easier conversation? Jim hopes so.]
no subject
Oh. You mean this? [ A florish, and a few little butterflies of blue light flutter into the space between them, a couple dancing around Jim's head before flitting up and away. ] That's a pretty broad topic. Anything in particular you want to know?
[ A different kind of courtesy to ask before starting, given how easy it would be for him to talk about magic for a week straight. ]
no subject
[He's being deliberately mean - teasing. He's grinning again, sly, almost away from the shadows on his face. Almost away from the lingering memory and the hurt. ]
no subject
[ He's not afraid to weaponize that trauma in the name of Winning, Hop - put that magician back where it came from or so help meeee. It's equally playful though, and he moves on with the pinch of a mischievous smirk and a lack of correction to sorcerer. ]
A woman threw my soul across the multiverse. Then I learned Sanskrit and ran a lot of drills.
[ If you're going to be a gremlin he's going to respond in kind, xoxo. ]
no subject
Oh wow. Which was worse? The Sanskrit or the drills?
[It’s a funny little jab as he chews, takes a big gulp of wine, leans back and exhales some of his tension out. This is easier, isn’t it? ] My money is on the drills.
no subject
It was the drills. [ The d r i l l s. ] I can't tell you how long it took me to pick up portals. It was driving me crazy.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)