suckstobestrange | Open Post

[He could feel the sharp pain already sinking in, the throb starting in the joints of the hand he was cradling against himself at this point, the tension that just had his fingers screwing in against his palm, trembling intensifying. When he felt the other's approach, there was almost a recoil, like a startled stray when someone came too close.]

Don't... don't touch me. [Anger still there in his voice but fading, the words not holding nearly as much bite. He'd been going for a long time now with the crisis. Punching almost nonstop and then the endless work that was trying to salvage what he could. Not allowing himself to stop, not allowing himself the time to really think about what had happened. But here and now he could feel himself starting to crumble finally, and god damn but did he feel every single day of his age in that moment, every last minute.] I'm fine.

[Not nearly as fine as he was claiming, even as he moved to try and pull from the younger man's grasp. No way, he didn't need to sit. Far too much to do, he couldn't afford to stop not now.]

[The snort that the younger sorcerer gives makes it very clear just what he thinks of that statement. 'Fine'. Yes, of course, in the same way that they were both always 'fine'. If you're going to try and lie to him, at least make it a believable one.]

Too bad. [He's sympathetic, not stupid. You're going nowhere, friend, and he presses harder against his sternum, propelling him backwards.] You need to sit down before I make you sit down.

[It's an empty threat-- he thinks. The difference in their respective amounts of power (as much is it's possible to quantify such things) is so vast that it's almost laughable. Stephen doesn't have the experience or the raw magical ability to compete against an older, wiser version of himself-- but with the magic gone from this Earth... well, who knows?]

[Not like he had it in him to really resist at this point, pushed to sit without too much force necessary. It was almost funny in a way. He was well aware that as things stood? His younger counterpart could probably wipe the floor with him. He had a few small enchanted items, but aside from that and the cloak he'd found? His own magic was almost nonexistent.

He'd laugh if it weren't so damn sad.]

I don't have time for this. [An attempt to rally, to gather some of that angry energy before it fled entirely, already trying to push himself back to his feet as he spoke.]

[Unstoppable hardheadedness, meet your immovable counterpart.]

Will you sit down?

[There's finally an edge of exasperation in his voice. Dropping down onto the cushion next to him, Stephen tugs the Cloak off with one hand and a (definitely not practiced, no sir) flourish, throwing it over the other man's shoulders. The relic doesn't seem at all bothered by this development - in fact, it settles with a peculiar weight, lifting a hem to stroke at this older Stephen with something like concern.]

I'm not usually one to ask this, but when was the last time you actually got some sleep?

When I'm not busy trying to salvage what little there might be in this place then yes. Unt- [The Cloak settling over his shoulders like that was enough to distract him from his vitrol, at least for the moment. Gaze dropping to study it, one hand lifting to let trembling fingers lightly curl in the fabric.

Very pointedly ignoring the question posed to him either way.]

[If anything, the Cloak seems delighted that this older Stephen is paying it some attention. It twines around the sorcerer's hand and strokes up his forearm, gentle and unusually warm. Perched on the edge of the edge of the couch, Stephen watches the two for a moment, expectant, but the pointed silence is pretty clear.

To the Cloak, sternly:] Don't let him up.

[He eyes the other man.]

So days, then. You need to sleep.

[He had to say he missed his Cloak. This one was different in small ways, small things that others might not see but were glaringly obvious to the older man. But at the same time it was so similar in behavior that he couldn't help but just run his hand over the fabric and brocade, let it move as it pleased.

The younger's order simply getting a deeper scowl from him.]

Like I said I don't have time. The longer this world is like this, the longer I have little more than parlor tricks to defend with, the more likely some bigger threat will come along to crack this world like an egg, magic and non-magic together.

[Already trying to push himself back to his feet, far too stubborn to listen to anything like good fucking sense.]

[True to it's actual Master's order, the Cloak tightens around the older man's shoulders, tugging him backwards with gentle but implacable force. The edge of the collar pats at his cheek, a gesture somewhere between concern and reassurance that would normally have Stephen smirking if he wasn't so damn exasperated.

Had he really been this terrible of a patient? He owed Christine another apology, if so. And maybe a fruit basket.]

And the longer you're without sleep, the more you may miss. [He waves a hand in the vague direction of their shared doorway.] My world can handle itself for a few hours without me. Days, even. Let me help.

[The tug backwards had him down again, a low hiss of displeasure from between gritted teeth, hands clenched against his thighs, no matter how the tension might make the trembling worse.

His anger had been about all that was sustaining him at this point. Stubborn and rash enough to simply batter his way through arguments, only still going because nothing was enough to make him stop.. But here his unstoppable force was meeting the immovable object that was his own counterpart's equal stubbornness and he knew, even as he was feeling the creep of exhaustion and pain that he wouldn't be winning this argument.

Not that it would stop him from having it, even if the younger of the pair could see the tremors of that self-same exhaustion now that he'd been forced from his headlong rampage.]

Assuming I don't simply sleep for weeks, months, when the backlash catches up again. The longer you're here the more likely you become a very tempting target for anyone out for blood.

[Good Cloak.

This close, Stephen can see the fatigue starting to catch up with the other man; the tightness in his shoulders, the trembling in his fists. It's a battle as good as won - for the moment - but his counterpart still needs that extra push. The reassurance.]

Better me than you. [It's not said unkindly. Truth be told, he's a better target for a number of reasons, greatest of which is that he's not the Sorcerer Supreme. Not in his own world, and certainly not here. On the scale of their importance to their respective universes, his older counterpart is far and away more crucial. He knows that.

Besides, it isn't as if he hasn't already painted a target on his own back.]

Let me worry about that.

I don't care how good you are, I'm not letting someone else put themselves in harms way bec- [A shake of his head, expression positively thunderous at this point. He knew there was no way he was winning this argument but at this point it was questionable if he even could stop himself fighting it, after his survival had so desperately hinged on him not stopping for so long.] -so I can take a damned nap.

[Not what he'd been saying, but did he really have to?

Because I wasn't good enough.

The words still hung in his thoughts, fat and heavy like a stormcloud, and he was simply too furious with himself, too damn tired to dispel them.]

[Whatever patience he'd cultivated in Kamar-Taj is quickly thinning. Undeterred in the face of the other's fury - a fury he recognizes like an old friend, born of self-loathing and the fear of failure - Stephen can't help but snort, his own temper rising.]

You're not letting me to do anything. I am doing this. You can either accept that, or I can find a spell to put you under anyway, because this world needs you at your best. Not half-dead in the Sanctum.

[He understands. Believe him, he does. But driving himself into the ground in penance isn't going to help.]

[Listen here you little shit-

Okay maybe not. He knows that the other is right. That he's being ridiculous. But he was much too far along in his temper and wounded pride to simply admit it, even if the scowl he wore as he pointedly avoided the younger sorcerer's gaze was telling. In it for the long haul, thank you very much self-destructive sense of stubbornness.]

I'd like to see you try. [No matter the annoyed, angry tone and displeased expression, he knew it was about the only thing that would get him any rest. Irrationally knowing he needed it even as he stubbornly resisted the idea.

Gods above but he was a fucking disaster, wasn't he?]

[Nice try. Stephen's been called much worse in more threatening tones, and could not possibly give less of a fuck right now. He's much less further down on the 'recovering asshole' path than his counterpart is, after all. He snorts.]

You really wouldn't.

[He'll do it. Or enlist Wong's help to do it. But he judging by the other's waning protests, he thinks (finally) that it might not be necessary, and cocks his head.]

Your rooms?

[He grimaced at the retort because really, as much of a disaster as he was, it wouldn't really take anything that powerful to drop him. Embarrassing as it was, it just served to raise nettled pride that really wasn't doing anything good for him right now.]

Fine fine, if you absolutely must. It's upstairs assuming it hasn- [His expression sharpening slightly as he shook his head as he stopped himself. Without magic, with the Sanctum in the state it was in, there wasn't anything to cause it to move.]

Third door on the left. [Assuming the Cloak wasn't going to keep him trapped on the couch he'll be hefting himself back onto his feet, giving the red brocade a light pat- it wasn't the artifact's fault it's Master was an insufferable pain-in-the-ass after all.]

[It's okay, Stephen. The Cloak is already well aware that its Master is kind of an idiot, no matter which universe they're in. That's why it's perfectly content to gently propel the older sorcerer to his feet. It's not particularly interested in letting go, either - at least, not yet - and instead it nudges into the pat like an overly affectionate cat.

His counterpart, meanwhile, considers the stairs for a brief moment - then shrugs to himself and carves out a portal directly straight to the room's door. Easy access, fewer excuses. He steps through, beckoning.]

Come on, then.

[The older man just huffed a long-suffering sigh, following his companion through the portal. Not even bothering with a response just yet as he pulled open the bedroom door to head inside, gaze skipping over the space. Clearly Wong had been busy before he left, the destroyed furniture replaced, even if there were still marks on the walls, burns hidden under rugs. And his own Cloak folded neatly on the dresser, abnormally still with a careful bit of stitching marking the tear that his companion had carefully mended before.

From the almost annoyed-sounding huff it was pretty plain that Stephen hadn't been in here since everything had happened.]

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