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Devizes: one of those places the 'refined' magician seeks, but finds far less often than he or she might like. It boasts a heady selection of books and scrolls, a deep body of components, and a nefarious talent for disappearing when someone thinks they have its pattern of locations figured out. The lightly populated shop boasts a few oddities: a bald Russian shaman, an Indian guru surrounded by holy smoke, a wizened Korean with a wolfhound at his feet, and the one girl seated at a table by herself, skimming through several books of varied sizes. Most of the space is occupied only by motes of dust dancing in the coloured light shining through the foyer's bay windows decorated by the Eye of Agamotto and other greats of the community. Nothing is exquisitely odd, except the air shines with power, and Wanda sits on the wall instead of the floor, as that seems to be where the table has decided to take up residence with her sitting at it. It's better not to ask.
The community widely believes Devizes itself is a living spell or location, and does whatever it chooses.
*
Magical shops like these were always a wonderful find for a young up and comer, but it always made Bernard curious what forces shaped their arrival and departure. Oh sure, Fate was often spouted, but he figured a somewhat more intelligent or purely random force was at work than a long term directed eventuality. Dressed comfortably for the chill November weather with a leather coat over top of a sweater and a pair of jeans, his usual weight of objects in his satchel beside him. Making his way in and simply enjoying the scent and feeling for a moment, he allows himself some acclimation time before starting to wander the shop in search of goods.
*
Strange has arrived.
*
Fingertip to paper allows Wanda to mark her spot while she calculates something inordinately complex. It requires at least four additional sheets of overlapping paper in bright colours, three pens in the same — red, blue, green — and a blotter supplied by a drawer that just happens to have exactly what she needs. The gravity around her obeys what should be a surface, and she consults a small magic square buried in a notebook beside her. Whether organized or chaotic, a mystic and their paper will be an everlasting battle. She traces her thumb around the orbit of something drawn in the grimoire and mutters under her breath. The guru's breath steams as he looks up from his petals. The shaman grunts like a bear, which matches the exact shape his aura takes as it walks around the room opposite from him, sniffing at Bernard as it goes past. The Korean's eyes are closed, the wolfhound's open pits, and its tail madly swishes against the ground with the sound of cymbals and waves. Wards shine when another mage enters, and the master of the place doesn't even look up from his desk as he sorts through various dried mosses and fungi.
"Mind you don't knock anything with the bag," a voice from nowhere says. Probably the master. Maybe the bookshelf. Paranoia of the physical is a tad contagious here.
The brunette looks down, and raises her hand in a greeting to Bernard. She recognizes him, at least.
*
The voice gets a brief nod of acceptance, pulling his left arm in a tad bit closer to his body. As if he would risk knocking over anything in here. The other mystics get slightly appraising gazes, Bernard after all can't let them have all the fun of examinations. Wanda's raised hand garners a smile from him, and figuring he ought to be sociable, he swings over towards her and her papers, brow raised curiously. "New project? Or continuation of the previous? I don't see any maps this time at least."
*
The shop chimes once again to admit another visitor - it's hopping today! - and Dr. Strange picks an errant leaf from the sleeve of his jacket before tossing it back through the shop's door to be carried away by the wind.
There had been a grimoire here, one he'd had more than half an eye on for weeks now, and he can't stand it anymore. The Sorcerer hears the master of the shop gently admonishing someone to mind their bag and then the steady, low rise of conversation from beyond the bookshelves.
With mild interest and mostly-silent steps, he winds his way through them, granting nods to those who greet him and smiles to those who know him well, and then he sees the two practitioners speaking. In black Belstaff and crimson scarf, he pauses and leans nonchalantly against a flat end of bookshelf, granting them a quiet, knowing smile. He only has steely-blues for the Witch interrupted. Not a word spoken - maybe she'll note his aura that slips over to dance briefly amongst the loose locks of chestnut hair.
*
Slanting a few of the pages this way by six millimeters, then back in the other direction by two, creates no impressionable effect save to flutter and rustle up some noise. Wanda frowns and traces her line up and down over the square, pausing. She flicks her wrist and a glowing crimson petal descends out of nowhere, fluttering lazily to a halt atop the concentrated grid. The delicate barque quivers to a stop, velvety in the warm light slashing through the shop. "New," she murmurs, examining the result. It may be to her liking, and maybe not. "The day wants to be difficult."
Perhaps the project isn't going well, but not for lack of trying or resource. The chair across from her scoots out and then the other swivels, hanging there invitingly on the wall.
Her tawny eyes shine the shade of a good glass of syrah, warming back to their normal hue afterwards. Fingers cup her face, entangled for an instant among nothing visible without the Sight. "The Sorcerer Supreme." A nod to the man in the fine coat, the masculine equivalent of her trademark claret leather trench. She steps out from the seat and one moment later, behaves Euclidean geometry by being on the ground below the table.
*
"Hrm, most days seem to want to be that way of late. Plenty of things to take the blame for that," Bernard responds with a smile. Something is niggling him though, and as he takes a offered seat and hears Wanda's introduction his eyes widen at the sight of Strange. There is definitely one of those moments of fanboyishness being heavily controlled before his features school themselves to a more neutral one he hoped. He inclines his head to the Sorcerer Supreme in a slow polite manner though not quite trusting a voice yet.
*
"It's always difficult starting a project, but once things get moving, time flies and then, voila." Strange snaps his fingertips, flickers of golden light emitting like short-lived fireflies in the warm light of the shop. He receives a few glances, one eyeroll - oh, it's just the Sorcerer Supreme. Yeesh. "You're done. Wanda," name said with professional friendliness. Oh, but don't miss the note of affection in tone and expression.
Keen eyes flick to Bernard now and the good Doctor gives the young man an equally-professional smile, detached with withheld judgment. "I don't believe we've met. Dr. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. You are?"
*
"It is new to everything," Wanda murmurs without a jot of pride behind the statement. Take it or leave it, she simply seems to imply a new equation to balance the secrets of the universe, or possibly the right temperature and time for the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Her fingers lace together behind her and her arms stretch back, attesting to how long she bent over those books. Enough her cervical vertebrae pop, a sound placed in the hushed silence. The guru nods to Strange, the wolfhound goes back to nosing through a book, and the shaman's ursine aura stops when the resident cat stares right at it and meows, defying going up the stairs.
Do not mess with the cat.
The witch walks through the stacks towards the pair of men, dipping her chin. "You have not. I gave you his incidentals." A new English word! Rejoice!
*
Raising up from his chair to move into range with the official introduction, he inclines his head again. "No one of quite so illustrious titles I'm afraid. Bernard, Bernard Frejr. As our shared acquaintance says, I had provided my contact information through her." There is a slight moment of hesitation, glancing to his own hand before tentatively offering it for a handshake, whether it was a particularly wise move or not. It couldn't be that bad to gain a sense of his aura, right?
Glancing to Wanda, Bernard has a slight thought for the moment before he switches to German. <"Oh I forgot again, do you still prefer this tongue? I would presume the good doctor could follow it still easily enough for your sake."> He at least was easily able to shift without an accent crowding into either language.
*
"Bernard…" There's a moment where Strange squints at the young man before it appears to click behind his half-shuttered eyes. "Ah, yes, I remember now. Nice to finally meet you." And he seems to center himself before reaching out and taking Bernard's hand to shake it.
A mild tornado of foreign power surrounds the other mage. Very little of it 'tastes' of Earth. All the rest - the tang of elemental magic, so similar to another caster known to the Doctor; the speckling brush of cosmic energy from beyond the reaches of his dimension; the blood-chilling, all-too-familiar teeth-baring amusement of Dark smoke from the shadowy realms of the demons. All of it swirls around Bernard in streamers of conflicting colors and textures. Gritty, smooth, incandescent. It takes an experienced eye to pick it all apart. Summoner.
Releasing his grip on Bernard's hand, he gives a thoughtful nod. "You have the touch of evocation. Interesting."
Not necessarily a good thing, being titled 'interesting' by the Sorcerer Supreme.
*
Glassy moments spread around them, attenuating the response of Bernard to the maelstrom that is Strange's psychic imprint revealed for the first time. She takes that moment to bypass them, headed to return another book to a shelf. When she puts the small volume on the shelf, the other books oblige to restore the volume to its rightful space by shuffling aside, a little like a plate of sushi fits on a conveyer belt. Truly, a wonder, but this place is saturated with enough magic to constitute at least a walled eldritch town.
Her fingers skim along the dust free shelf and tap out a cadence for a tune known only to her, and then she drops her hand to the side. "«It would be more appropriate to speak in English for his benefit, though I thank you for the kindness.»" Yes. She is thanking someone. Outside the sky just fell onto New York. Did anyone notice? Only the wolfhound flicking open a bored pit of an eye, and then that shuts. "«The moment is intended for you. Use it well.»"
She gives Strange a passing look from the corner of her eye, a faint nod passed if one is likely to look quickly.
*
There is perhaps a slight wince at the touch as Bernard feels the pure power and energy coming from the Sorcerer Supreme in the moments of overlapping auras. Perhaps it would have been wiser to shove a fork into an electrical socket than to experience the electrifying life coming from the older man. Placing the hand behind his back when the shake is done to flex it back into a more comfortable feeling, he nods at Strange's words. "I have a talent for it yes. I am still inexperienced in many other areas of the mystic arts to be honest." The honesty comes with a slight blush of embarrassment across his cheeks, as if admitting to the sorcerer supreme that one was new was something to be ashamed of.
Wanda's response has a nod to it, Bernard realizing from her words that perhaps the moment was a more important one than he had understood it to be. A flicker of cloud across his eyes wondering if he had already screwed up, before he returns his more carefully schooled gaze to Strange.
*
Strange shrugs even as he catches Wanda's passing nod. A beat of consideration and then his focus lands back on Bernard once again.
"We all start somewhere." A knowing smile. He was there once too, experiencing all of the frustrations and successes along the way. Trials and errors and book-kicking… All the while, the good Doctor's mind is whirling with ideas, conceptual futures, what-if's, all processed with the whim of the mantle. A summoner. An uneducated summoner. Oh dear.
Even as Strange opens his mouth to continue his thought, his gaze goes distant. Some ward, some interdimensional sound heard only by him as Sorcerer Supreme, is garnering his attention. Dark browns knit in a sharp frown. With a sharp shake of his head, he comes back to the present. "So sorry, but I must go. Bernard, pleasure to meet you. Wanda, I'll see you at the Sanctum." No time noted - she comes and goes as she pleases. A flash of white teeth in a momentary grin and the Sorcerer Supreme turns on his heel. Even as he disappears within the maze of bookshelves, the crimson scarf seems to lift of its own accord and offer the Witch a fluttering wave of affection.
*
"«Cerhan»," is the farewell to escape from Wanda as the Sorcerer Supreme replaces the man, the mantle smothering the socialization. Such things arouse little trepidation in the young woman who tucks her hands back into the pockets of her coat, where surely a pocket dimension contains everything up to and possibly including a rocket launcher. Her aura is another story, the celestial chorus dancing to the beat of the stars and the music of the earth, a lyrical refrain vibrating on a chiming spectrum. Shifting onto her back foot, she looks at her toes with intent earnestness for now.
Then there's the cat poking its head out, staring thoughtfully at the flapping scarf. Maybe it considers whether it can eat the flapping crimson length.
"You grow. It will be easier." Helpful words from the Transian, in English, follow thereafter. "We start and grow. How do you practice?"
*
With Strange leaving so abruptly after the reassuring comment, Bernard seems somewhat confused but shrugs it off with a slight sigh as he scratches above his brow with his now less tingly hand. "Well, I can say I had not expected that," he says more to himself than with intention to be directed at anyone in particular as he watches the man depart.
Glancing back towards Wanda as she comes and goes throughout shelves he smiles. "Depends what I'm practicing honestly. One cannot simply start throwing around bolts of energy in one's living room." A book on a shelf catches his attention for a moment and he pulls it into his hand, flipping through pages carefully. "If it's something that could be dangerous, I catch a train out of town, find somewhere a bit more secluded. Minor creations though aren't exactly concerning though. Not all books provide ample explanations of danger though." He offers a slight shrug as he glances back to her. "One of these days I'll manage a transportation spell, or perhaps a dimensional shift. But I've sadly found no books quite explaining that."
*
The witch's eyes thin, their almond shape becoming nearly feline. "Do you not contain your spells?" she asks, slower, fashioning the right choice of words more than drawing a conclusion of any kind based on what Bernard presents her. She slides her hands back out of her pockets, working a fingertip over a slim bump hidden under her gloves; a ring of some kind. No surprise. Many a sorcerer possesses one, or six, in her case. She slips back into German, if only for the technical facility. "«Are you not using a dimensional cage when you evoke? »"
All further discussion seems to hinge upon this point.
*
Bernard closes the book carefully he looks to her. Switching back to German to make it easier to follow back and forth "«Well yes, I've created many a sigil and warding upon my own abode, no small feat to keep hidden.»" He seems to frown a moment, as he figures it would be easier to show than tell, and setting the book back on the shelf he pulls out one of the leather bound tomes from his satchel. From the looks of it, it seems well worn and constantly used as he flips through dozens of hand written notes until he he reaches a page set with hand drawn notes. It seems to be layer upon layer of circle, square and triangle with symbols in four different languages drawn around it. "«That, is what I use when I call forth and control,»" the words chosen may imply certain things though.
*
Wanda glances over her shoulder and then down towards the cat, the feline weaving around her ankles and deciding of all things to sit between the two spellcasters. Dare not pet the fuzzy tummy. The fuzzy tummy is a trap. She does not bend, knowing better, and watches the arrangement of movements that answer her questions. The presented page shows her something familiar enough, and she nods. "«A binding circle. But there is a safer way, sometimes. Another dimension where you can practice and beings summoned cannot escape, yes? »" She pauses then to determine if Bernard is following or she might as well be speaking Martian to a Jovian, as it happens.
*
The temporary distraction via feline causes Bernard to glance and smile at the fuzzy one. Since thus far no one else had provided it direct attention, he avoided making a mistake by doing so as well. He does however close up the satchel to ensure no fuzziness decides to go for a ride. Glancing back to Wanda though, he frowns in consideration of her words. There is definitely the squinting of eyes one would use as if trying to remember an ill remembered fact, before he shakes his head somewhat defeatedly. "«Yes, circles. I've never heard of this other dimension though. Well, yes I know of other dimensions, but not ones from which summoning cannot pierce.»" Frowning again, he glances at his own hand, curling it slightly as if in remembrance and shakes his head. "«Yes, nothing that I have come across. Though, I would imagine that those that taught me would not be particularly interested in me knowing such was possible.»"
*
Half the spellcasters in earshot might be choking on their tongues, listening intently for the gossip about a man who evidently summons without knowing this juicy morsel. When the Russian looks her way, Wanda stares back with the flat, unyielding stare of a granite statue. About as warm and nearly as friendly, her look would put a basilisk to shame. The staredown takes a few seconds, no more, but in that time the wordless measure is taken and found wanting by the young woman. She returns to the task at hand while the cat cleans its paw, still set up between them. The tail swishes, the ears are pricked, and it otherwise resembles a tabby as tabbies have ever looked.
"«This one matters. The mirror dimension is overlaid upon ours, like a film. In my study we did not even call it this. It's another state of being. »" Her fingers rise and she places her thumb to her palm, extending the first two at an angle, about the two o'clock position. This is directly beside them, and she takes in a breath. On the next, the gesture flicks down and immediately in front of her, the air bends. Or rather, it refracts the light within the shop in odd ways, finding angles that were not there before. Her fingertip touches one of those facets, and it wobbles, ripples on the surface of the world. "«Come. You need to see, I think. He will not be happy to know you do not have this skill. »" Spare everyone from his wrath, probably the good Doctor, maybe the master at his desk. She steps and that step covers half a yard and a lifetime, the sparkling shards absorbing her through the rift she forges. The way is held open for Bernard, her hand still extended.
*
Looking around at those Wanda is staring down all of a sudden, Bernard seems confused, but glances back towards Wanda figuring she was the more important to consider. "«I had heard of a place of mirrors, but it was inhabited by dark beings. This one must be different if it can do what you say.»" His gaze is intent as he watches the mudras, hrming as reality bends as the result of her spell. Her mention of 'He' not being happy causes him to blanch somewhat, though he nods intently as she gestures. "«I think I should perhaps address this lack of knowledge then,»" he mutters as he steps through the rift.
*
"«No. This is the reflection. It looks and behaves as Earth, but they do not touch.»" Wanda maintains the distance as she waits for Bernard to walk through, and then allows the rift to mend itself. No longer fed on her dynamic energy, the collapsing barrier shuts in a heartbeat. They still stand in the library, but the library limned in a silvery light and hard fractal edges, shining sparks that run off the edges of reality. It's like standing inside a great faceted gem, though the facets reveal and distort shapes at unpredictable intervals. Fine, sharply delineated barriers vanish away, showing the world as it is, and it is not. "«Here, you may practice more safely. If you call, what comes does not step outside. It remains in here. Another protection.»"
*
Hrming somewhat as he walks around the place, Bernard seems contemplative of the area. "«And this place is accessible to anyone? If you step through and then another steps through, it is all to the same?»" At least he makes a good student, and he strokes his chin somewhat. "«And you can depart it just as easily? I wonder then how it can exclude a summoned being from departure. Such interesting sorcery this.»"
*
The dimension looks and functions the same, though it reacts to magic easier than some. Knowing how to shape it and alter the structures within takes some skill. Wanda stands in the middle, her feet planted shoulder width apart, the tails of her burgundy coat slipping possessively down to her thighs. The vertical and angled slices give movement, which she uses sporadically. For the moment, she is still. "«Yes,»" she continues in German. "«Others access it the same, if they know spells to open a passage. There are no layers to this dimension.»"
She gestures to the image of the tabby cat walking around, staring up at them. The wolfhound and the Korean mage show no signs of responding to anyone walking by. "«Summoned creatures do not have magic to jump through, most often.»"
*
"«Mmm, this is true. Despite them being knowledgeable in matters of sorceries they seem to often lack the ability to implement them.»" Bernard seems pleased as he continues to look experimentally at everything. "«Do you mind if I call something quickly then to test? I would rather verify in the presence of another, in case there are any problems,»" he glances to her curiously a moment. "«Nothing of terrible sentience or power. Sylphs are friendly enough if mischievous.»"
*
Wanda sweeps her hand, and the floor and bookshelves seem to push back several feet to leave an open space. "«This realm is malleable. One's will shapes it easily. Important, given the creatures you bring may seem less powerful. It is not so.»"
She carefully poses her fingers into a downward triangle, the mudra precise and focused. The fluid shift of physical fixtures freezes, and she paces down the side to measure the width of the field. "«Will this do?»" A polite question, but one couched all the same in the terse, critical view she holds of most things. Her position at the corner of the open square gives a chance to view every other corner with ease, at least, and should a sylph try to fly away or pull a trick, they are placed well enough to deal with it. "«Wind spirits are friends. Do what you feel right.»"
*
"«It will certainly test a few parameters at least,»" Bernard says with a slight smile and he simply lets out a sigh, and there is a shimmering in the air, followed by the rustling of wind making his hair muss about. "«When I say I have the talent, it is perhaps an understatement?»" He didn't seem to have perform any mudra, chanting, nor is there any circle about. The flighty wind spirit flickers about the space, tugging at clothing and hairs. "«But, I had to see if things were the same, even in this different place.»"