bakerstreet | other words.

[ info. quick rundown: legislator/adviser to the Sacred Council and the Senate of his country, a world inspired by Ancient Greece/Rome. manipulative and controlling at worst, charming and charismatic at best. talks a lot of bullshit, but makes it sound good. m/m for shipping, but wide ota for gen. open to canon mashing, multiversal shit and adapting to other canons, if i'm familiar enough with them to do so. assumed cr a-okay. no smut. ]

01. ACCISMUS (n.) feigning disinterest in something while actually desiring it.
02. SOLECISM (n.) a grammatical mistake, a minor blunder in speech; a breach of etiquette or decorum.
03. SNOLLYGOSTER (n.) someone, especially a politician, who acts for personal gain instead of consistent, respectable principles.

Or bring your own!

redamancy | retrouvaille | susurrus | or pick your own!

kontal-kontil (n.) - the swinging of long earrings or the swishing of a dress as one walks

pettifoggery (n.) - a trivial quarrel

yonderly (adj.) - mentally or emotionally distant; absent-minded

or bring your own!

[Sure, hit me, totally open to other Stevens/Marcs also.]

[ care for a socially awkward London-based sorceror who shares his body with demi-gods? thought they might be a good fit ]

venters: what the wind or tide drives in from the ocean upon a wave

naufragio: lit. 'shipwreck'; colloquially, a lousy party

caim: lit. 'sanctuary'; an invisible circle of protection

Generally speaking it was Steven who attended the group meetings. Something he'd found quite by accident, a kind of support group for people more or less in his situation. It wasn't always people who had devoted themselves to old gods, or even people with emotionally-stunted American men living in their heads -and occasionally also in their bodies- but people who had been in cults, or obsessed with a celebrity to the point of thinking they were being given coded messages.

It was a rotating cast, some people were there every meeting, like Steven, some people came for a couple and never again, some were there every few meetings, it was good for everyone involved, or so Steven felt.

Marc, on the other hand, was not impressed, partly because he didn't think they needed the help, but partly because he didn't see the point of going to the world's worst party twice a month. But he didn't fight it, generally, and sometimes even chimed in during discussions, which tended to throw people even when they'd heard it before.

Right at the moment it was after the actual discussion part of the meeting and on to refreshments and mingling, which was when Steven approached, giving a little wave, "Hullo, m'Steven, haven't seen you around before, first meeting?"

They'd never done this before. Anything like this. And he wouldn't have, if the Aldermen hadn't strongarmed him into it. They actually had someone posted outside now to make sure Matthew didn't skive off it midway through, through magical means or however else.

Really, it was Kelly's fault. Kelly and Sharon. Had he known when he got Sharon hired as a community support officer for the magically inclined (and later, deputized as interim Midnight Mayor in his brief absence) that she would spearhead this whole mental health/self-improvement kick, and that Kelly would latch on the only way she knew how, enthusiastically... well, he would have seriously reconsidered his sponsorship of her efforts.

Was he surprised? Not really. People'd been telling him for years that he was unstable, dangerous. They were honestly more surprised someone had finally pulled it off. This wasn't a strictly magical support group, not like the one Sharon had created, but it wasn't strictly non-magical either. Sort of magical-friendly, they supposed, and he had to wonder if someone hadn't cried discrimination in order to open up to a wider membership. Or maybe the magical community was attempting some kind of outreach. In any event, Matthew had complained enough about how being Midnight Mayor wasn't exactly in keeping with the whole 'anonymous' aspect in a magical support group and suddenly, suspiciously, this one had turned up to quash his excuses.

So here they were, and here he would likely stay until they worked through whatever issues they were meant to have. At least there were snacks-- not great ones, still no pineapple on a stick for the Midnight Mayor. But enough food to nibble and stay mollified until they let them leave. Someone knew how to create a captive audience.

Matthew was at the refreshments table long before anyone else and had already amassed an impressive mountain of biscuits, bits of cheese and fruit, and other things onto a alarmingly sagging paper plate before Steven approached them.

"Er. Yeah." He hadn't spoken a word during the meeting, letting their mind drift to territory disputes between clans, and custard creams, and a particularly nasty hobgoblin that had taken up residence in the walls of a tower block in Shoreditch, and back to custard creams. Consequently it meant they also hadn't heard a word anyone else had spoken.

"Definitely my first meeting." And hopefully, his last. "Matthew."

He nodded, "Thought it might be, most people're pretty quiet their first meeting, I know I was, we were, and um, not to be a busybody, but you might want to hold that from the underneath instead of the edge, better structural support and all." He said, dipping his head to indicate Matthew's plate.

Steven's own plate wasn't quite as heaped, but it was a close second for 'most variety on a single plate' if nothing else, and he was, indeed, holding it with one hand flat against the bottom, which would seem to indicate that the suggestion was the voice of experience more than actually being a busybody.

Years of adjusting to his own identity-based quirks, of having the habit of interchanging 'I' and 'we' as easily as breathing, had made Matthew sensitive to pronoun anomalies. So they didn't miss the 'we' that slipped in there, narrowing eyes that were just a touch too blue but not commenting on it outright. Not yet. Not even if the last time this happened it turned out his friend had been possessed by a monster responsible for blacking out the entire city.

This was a halfway magical support group, after all. Lots of room for variations on a theme.

"Cheers," they grinned, adjusting the hold on his plate to match Steven's. He could easily have chided Matthew for taking too much, for not leaving enough for the others, or he could have taken one look at the well-worn coat with a thousand stains soaked into it and not said anything at all. Instead he offered... well, literal support, he supposed.

And for that alone, they decided right then and there that they liked him.

"Have you tried the little... chocolate things on the end there yet?" Because he'd already 'tried' three and figured with that level of experience under his belt they could firmly vouch for them.

It was less of a slip and more of a deliberate correction, he was supposed to be acknowledging Marc now and did his best to actually remember to do so, especially here, because if he couldn't acknowledge Marc somewhere with people who would actually understand, then where could he?

Steven also had some experience with being generally unkempt and avoided, and with being new to the group, which was why neither of those things had pinged him as a reason not to talk to the other man, if anything they'd tipped the decision in his favor.

"Hm?" He turned to look, but grinned a moment later, "Oh, yeah, Cherisse brings those in, won't tell anybody where she gets them, which is probably all part of her master plan as one of the coordinators. If we all knew where to get them ourselves we wouldn't need to come to the meetings to get our fix." He also wasn't going to say anything about the amount of food on Matthew's plate because in his experience there was always food left over after, and there were probably lots of reasons why, starting with never knowing just how many people were going to show up, but up to and including food sensitivities or allergies, or just flat out distrust.

It was why after the first couple meetings he'd attended, he had no qualms about stacking a plate himself if he needed to, "You're one of the lucky ones who got a relatively tame meeting for your first go."

"She sounds like a certain coordinator I happen to know," Matthew sighed. "Do all human resources types have a common handbook they follow, do you think? With an entire chapter entitled something like 'Captive Audiences and the Tasty Snacks that May Create Them'."

Matthew, personally, would never turn down free food no matter what, but he wasn't entirely sure that even the chocolate things would be enough to entice them back. Especially if he had to actually pay attention.

"How many of these have you, uh. Attended?" And what, they wondered to himself, would a non-tame meeting look like?

"Oh probably a dozen now?" It wasn't actually a question, and if it was it was ether rhetorical or not actually directed at Matthew, "At least eight, but I think more." Another quick flash of a smile followed, backtracking to the first question, "And secret cabal of human resources managers sounds like something that's just bizarre enough to be true, yeah?"

He was much more animated as he continued, "The top three groups of people you wouldn't want to cross because of the things they know, it's librarians first, obviously, right? And then HR types, and then the girl guides." A pause, taking a moment to translate that into American, just in case, "Uh, the girl scouts? They know things other people don't." A little shake of his head, "MI5 used them as spies during the first world war, even, used boy scouts too, at first, but the girls ended up being more reliable."

"Truer than you know." And one need look no further than Harlun and Phelps to find such a cabal. Or perhaps even closer than that tonight. Matthew's eyes shifted to the door, beyond which that Alderman was doubtless still standing guard.

"I think maybe the organizational skills, too, though, have something to do with it," they pointed out. "We have a... 'friend' who is none of the three-- at least I think he isn't a girl guide-- and yet still manages to have a finger in every pie." Sometimes literally; Sinclair was a man who liked to live and live well. He would love these little chocolate things.

"Is that what you do? Librarian, I mean?" He seemed the type, either that or a historian of some kind.

"Me? A librarian? No, no no no," An almost nervous laugh, "No definitely not. I worked in a gift shop until recently, but you know, angry American man living in your head can make it a little difficult to hold a job." He stuffed a mini quiche into his mouth to keep himself from rambling any more than that, just shaking his head as he chewed and not 100% sure if that had actually been his own doing or Marc's, not that it mattered in the end.

Once he'd finished chewing that spike of nervous energy had subsided, as they always did, "What I mean to say is that I'm in the market, as it were." Sure, Marc had cash set aside, and more of it than he needed all at once, but Steven didn't particularly like using the money Marc had gotten via mercenary work. It didn't sit right with him, and he had yet to fully pin down why, except that he had no way of telling if anyone Marc had hurt was actually a bad person.

"You've got... an American man living in your head?" Matthew, to his credit, didn't choke on his own bite of food at this revelation; he'd seen much stranger things in his lifetime. They were a stranger thing. But he did hope that Steven meant it figuratively, at least, and not one hundred percent literally. If only because that sounded physically taxing.

He also hoped that hadn't been one of the things that had come up during tonight's meeting, because then it'd be truly obvious how little attention they'd been paying.

Luckily it hadn't come up in that day's meeting, Steven didn't speak often except to respond to others, offer encouragement or sympathy as needed, but it had come up before, mostly when he was new to the group himself.

Which was why he just nodded at the question, "Yeah, Marc, he's not always in there, though, sometimes I'm the one in his head, we sort of take turns, y'know," a loose gesture at himself with one hand, "driving this mess around."

Another easy shrug, "He doesn't usually show up at these, though, thinks the whole thing is just a waste of time."

"Can't say we blame him much," Matthew muttered. "Er. No offense. It's just these things have never really been for me." And not even realizing it, he stole another glance to the door and the hallway beyond, thinking of the only reason he'd stayed in the first place. Doubtless the Alderman was still out there; they could feel the tiny pulses of magic emanating straight through the walls. It made them itch.

Just as they could feel something with Steven. Not the signature of a magic user or creature, necessarily, but more of a presence. Something vague he couldn't really define.

"D'you mind me asking, is it a magic thing? Your... arrangement?"

"Magic? What? Like card tricks and vanishing coins? Nah, mate, definitely not magic, not like that. It's just sometimes it's me and sometimes it's him, and used to be we didn't have that much control over it."

Marc had, more or less, but that was beside the point in a big way.

"But we do now, lot more than we did have, anyway." His brow creased, regarding Matthew again, finding that he was curious despite himself, and maybe that was Marc's instinct, to press for more information, but it wasn't the kind of thing Steven was used to doing, which was why the next question was: "Why do you ask, anyway?"

They looked hard at Steven for a moment with those electric blue eyes, weighing their words. Was this why he was made to come here? Was Steven another magical adept who didn't know it? A sorceror like Penny who'd inevitably rain down destruction upon the city by accident, unless he gained control over himself? Matthew didn't think so, the feeling he got off him wasn't the same as they got from other magic users. But he'd been wrong before. Penny herself had swanned by right under his nose without them realizing.

Magical creature, then, maybe? Or harboring one. Or a bit more than that.

"Y'know, most people these days think of Harry Potter, first," he said with a smile he didn't feel. "But no, I mean real magic. Do you believe in magic, Steven?"

There was a shift then, not just in expression, but in demeanor, in posture, and when he spoke it was with another voice, still undeniably his but the accent was gone, and something unyielding was in its place, "You ask a lot of fucking questions, you know that, right?"

He hadn't stepped closer, but had angled himself in, not a threat, he knew better than to telegraph himself that way, "I know Steven's been chatty, but Steven also trusts people he shouldn't. Who sent you? What is it they're after?" It was possible that Matthew was harmless, someone in a similar situation to theirs, but Marc didn't like the angle the questions had taken, which was why he'd stepped in before Steven -now spluttering with indignation in the back of his mind- said anything they'd both regret.

They didn't feel threatened-- that was infrequent territory for them. But the sudden shift in temperament was a bit alarming. As it was likely meant to be. A threat that wasn't technically a threat. They could appreciate that.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said cheerfully. "They don't really tell me anything. But nobody sent me, at least not in the way you're thinking of. They told me I had to come, or else--" Or else what?

"I guess, or else an awful lot of lecturing and finger waggling. Not really sure what else they could do if I said no." And again, that pleasant, slightly dopey smile he'd cultivated over the years. Affable, harmless.

"Uh-huh." Marc wasn't entirely sure what part of that he didn't believe, but some of it rang true, just not all of it, "So if you didn't mean smarmy close-up street magic, what did you mean?"

That was one of the problems with Steven being chatty, even sometimes with the wrong people, that he would happily answer questions but only rarely asked any of his own without prompting. Something Marc was trying to cure him of, with varying degrees of success.

Being an Avatar wasn't exactly magic, but it wasn't exactly something else, either, and even if this guy didn't think he'd been sent, Marc was still wary of people who knew too much about things they shouldn't.

The hilarity of it was Matthew wasn't kidding. He was the Midnight Mayor, but it'd be almost charitable to say he was an extremely hands-off sort. And he knew there were all sorts of things the Aldermen kept from him, even if he did have the urge to try and be more involved. Their nature meant they'd never be fully trusted, never be completely accepted or in the know. Just tolerated until the inevitable changing of the guard.

"I told you. Real magic," Matthew said softly, plucking the fluorescence from one of the lights above them, not all of it but enough to leave it flickering spasmodically. In his hand was a tiny, sickly greenish glow that he held loosely between thumb and forefinger, like a trapped firefly he was careful not to crush. Then they let it go, watching it trail upwards and reenter the bulb he'd stolen it from. The flickering stopped.

"And you can just do that, without any outside assistance?" It wasn't that he didn't believe it, it just wasn't something he'd seen before, except once.

His grimace deepened, "Ah fuck, you're one of those mystics, aren't you? Masters of the Mystic Arts or whatever?" He'd had a run-in with one of them while on a mission from Khonshu a couple years back and it wasn't an experience he cared to repeat, and more than that: wasn't one he was eager to subject Steven to.

Steven who was now flailing more than usual against the back of his mind because that had been amazing and Marc was acting like it was an inconvenience more than anything else.

sarica — fantasy oc — ota

Paris | Greek mythology

rhaenys martell targaryen | asoiaf/got | ota

KD6-3.7 / Joe | Bladerunner 2049 | OTA

Steven &/or Marc | Moon Knight | OTA

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throwing those second two in a blender - lmk if I need to walk anything back

looks good!

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