text. un: knicksfan1961

[bigfootfetish]

[ In 1999, usernames describing interests are king and web 2.0 has yet to be dreamt of. This looks like a place to keep a weblog, and Mulder's not opposed to the possibilities. ]

Since childhood, I've dreamt of space. Who among us didn't, raised as we were? We grew up in the shadow of JFK's promise to take America to the moon, watching Neil Armstrong's fateful steps on minuscule TV screens, sitting in sweltering living rooms and imagining we were the ones clambering out of Apollo 11. That it might have been faked by Stanley Kubrick is beyond the point; we were kids, and we believed.

I've taken a giant leap for a man, let alone mankind, waking up in what appears to be a space station and not a sound-stage built by the Walt Disney Company. I see no flaws as of yet, no flies in the ointment. And yet I confess that I'm suspicious.

My concerns are several, key among them the possibility that I'm actually dying in a cave somewhere under the surface of North Carolina. That this is a distraction from the real work I intend to do, lunatic hallucinations designed to keep me from escaping my fate - but if my mind doesn't deceive me, this could be the case I've waited for. There's no denying that the bargain I've (allegedly) made is a strange one, threatening the fabric of time and space. And yet it feels almost reasonable: if I can be stolen from a hospital bed to the furthest reaches of the universe, why can't I intercede in events that have already happened?

(Merely existing here, witnessing technology beyond any I've seen in my dealings with Cancer Man or his shadowy colleagues, already continues work I've chased for years. I want to know more.)

I'm keeping a careful eye out for anomalies in my perceptions, anything that might lend credence to my null-hypothesis (digestion by way of fungi). I'm also on the search for a functional television and VCR; among other things, I've arrived with a handful of videotapes, but I have no way of watching them.

Comments

[bigfootfetish]

Impressive. Does 'no longer practicing' extend to the space station?

[rehandle]

For the most part. But the infirmary's well armed with capable doctors.

[bigfootfetish]

Good to know.

What do you do now? I've known my share of medical doctors, and speaking broadly, you don't seem to do all that well with too much leisure time.

[rehandle]

I can't claim to break that mold. Before I answer the question, fair warning: it's your next trip hazard. [ Trip hazard... badumtsh. ] Ready?

[bigfootfetish]

Trip me up, Doc.

[rehandle]

I'm a sorcerer.

[bigfootfetish]

What kind?

[rehandle]

The magic kind. Do you have a list of varieties?

[bigfootfetish]

Black, white, or gray. Necromancy, divination, conjuring, charm creation, spiritual healing. Do you favor Enochian magic, are you partial to Thelemic beliefs, how do you feel about the Kabbalah. Hell, we could break down individual categories if we wanted to get really particular. Do you read the future in the entrails of farm animals, or do you use dice?

1/3...

[rehandle]

[rehandle]

[ ]

[rehandle]

Whereabouts on the station are you?

[bigfootfetish]

Right now? The sunlight room. If you'd prefer to talk out here, I'll be the guy in the sweater.

[rehandle]

Great, see you in ten seconds.

[ Which would be his cue to tear open a portal of sparking amber approximately five strides to Mulder's left and step right through, dressed in his station casuals and a puffer jacket with his flying cloak disengaged and bringing up the rear. You know, just to make sure he's reading sorcerer enough, portal aside. ]

Agent Mulder.

[ If he sounds less than enthusiastic it's because he just aged 10+ years in 2 seconds at the hands of this very man. ]

[bigfootfetish]

[ Mulder doesn't tend to startle easily; you lose the instinct sometime after your third near-death experience. But his shoulders tense at the suddenness of Strange's appearance: nothing, and then something, all of creation summed up by a man who looks like he spends twenty minutes landscaping his facial hair every morning.

He turns to get a better look at the guy (and more importantly, the cape floating along behind him like a scarlet ghost). ]

See, if I thought tearing holes in the fabric of reality was on the table, I would've led with it. That always seemed a little more scifi to me.

[rehandle]

Mm. Well, surprise.

[ Dry as anything. Behind him the portal spins on, the view through it that of a standard station bedroom, and the cloak hovers just a little higher to peer over Stephen's shoulder with all the eyes it simply does not have. ]

To answer your question: I'm a Master of the Mystic Arts. Typically but not exclusively we utilise Eldritch magic. Usually no to the necromancy, historically yes to the divination - no entrails, bones, runes or dice required - I wouldn't call it charm creation but we do imbue objects with magic [ the cloak lifts one of its corners in a 'hello, yes, that would be me' style wave ], and actually yes on the spiritual healing, but not with any of the methods I imagine you could list for me. I don't practice according to any of the belief systems you just mentioned, though it's not unlikely there's some overlap, ancient as our practice is.

Does that about cover everything?

[ Please never speak to him about the entrails of farm animals ever again. ]

[bigfootfetish]

[ Mulder's gaze moves between man and cape and portal, uncertain where his attention should settle. With Strange, obviously, but look, he's already composing notes in his head for his field journal. The field journal that was going to be on the network and now most definitely is not. ]

If they'd offered a Masters in Mystic Arts back at school, I might have skipped the FBI Academy. [ Good news, that smart mouth never turns off. ]

You've opened up a whole new range of questions for me, Doc, but you look like you might have somewhere to be. [ Viz., that portal back to...is that his room? Mulder wants to walk through it so badly. ] What do you think? Stay for the great conversation or go back to whatever you were doing a minute ago?

[rehandle]

[ In spite of himself, that one gets a pinch at the corner of his mouth. It's not quite a smirk, but it's close. And then the offer of a great conversation, and at the same time as his eyes briefly close for just a second longer than a normal blink would last (absolutely covering up an eye roll as he makes a decision that is inevitably going to exhaust him), he lifts a hand to make a gesture in the air and the portal at his back spins closed.

Damn if he doesn't love talking about magic to the appropriately enthusiastic. ]

Alright. Intro to Sorcery starts now, what do you want to know?

[bigfootfetish]

To start with: Were you born magic, did you achieve magic, or did you have magic thrust upon you?

[ Don't worry, there'll be more questions. He's going to need a private file for this. He'll need to tell Scully everything he learns, watch her scoff, and then make her look at that floating cape. This is real - this is true.

But for now, they can go for a walk in the fake sunlight and trade a few stories. ]

[rehandle]

[ A huff of laughter at the reference - okay, nerd, let's go.

It doesn't trouble Stephen to fall into step now he's committed his afternoon to letting one Fox Mulder in on the secrets of the multiverse. If only Wong could see him now... ]

Let's call it a two/three combo. Picked it up in my late thirties mostly by accident - I'd heard they had a miracle cure for nerve damage. What they actually had was magic, and now I help save the world every other week.

Remind me again of your investigative purview?

[ 'Again', he has asked 0 times. ]

[bigfootfetish]

X-files. [ Turnabout is fair play, considering just what kind of information Strange is willing to grant. ] Cases that - in the infinite wisdom of the Federal Bureau of Investigation - have been declared unsolvable.

You'd qualify, by the sound of it. [ He's tempted to ask what kind of nerve damage?, but without Scully here, the finer details of the answer would go up in smoke. Mulder does, occasionally, know his limits. ] 'They' had miracle cures, 'they' had magic - who's 'they'?

[rehandle]

[ There it is. If nothing else, he'll one day go to his grave with the knowledge that Fox Mulder said the thing directly in his presence. Even if that's about the level of nuance his familiarity has - which will make this conversation decently enlightening on both ends. ]

The Masters of the Mystic Arts. [ Flatly... but no, he'll elaborate. ] We're an organisation of sorcerers whose duty it is to defend the dimension against extra-dimensional threat, among other things.

How did you end up with the dubious honour of investigating the cases the Bureau deemed write-offs?

[bigfootfetish]

[ So helpful, Strange. But it might be the best answer Mulder can hope for, under the circumstances; what's the guy going to do, give him a business card? It'll have to be enough to know the name, at least for now. ]

People always talk about the X-files that way, like I got put on KP duty. What they don't see is that this is a step up for me.

[ In a manner of speaking, anyway. But that's an abstruse answer, and not the kind he wants in return, so: ]

I was a criminal profiler for Violent Crimes - pretty good at it, too. [ False modesty: he was among the best, and more's the pity for his own mental health. ] After a certain point, even a bureaucracy like the FBI will let you pursue the things you're interested in, if you've proven yourself. Maybe they'll stick you with a basement office and a stupid nickname in the process, but that's the price of freedom.

[ Still the truncated version, but it's close enough for government work (ha). Time for a too-broad question that will (hopefully) help narrow down what he wants to know from here. ] Tell me about your magic. How does it work?

[rehandle]

[ Huh. So he got promoted, in a manner of speaking - sideways and downwards. A glance his way marks Stephen's intrigue, but he'll move on to his turn in the answer chair. ]

In the broadest possible terms, we harness dimensional energy to new purpose. The limits of those purposes are few and far between - you can use it to tie your shoelaces, save money on transport costs or, with enough practice, bypass paraplegia.

[ To name a few disparate examples and harken back to that miracle cure. He's about to ask after the mushroom Mulder's apparently languishing in the digestive processes of, but - ]

... You can have a follow up.

[ He can't fairly lead with that and then force a subject change. ]

[bigfootfetish]

Good, because I was about to ask a follow-up.

[ Just try and stop him. The explanation makes sense, in and of itself, but it's the big picture answer: valuable, going in his notes without a doubt, but impersonal. ]

Is it a silent process, or are there incantations? What goes into the actual act of doing magic?