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Ripples in a pond.
This is merely one analogy to describe the effects of magic — and those who wield it — upon the rest of the Planes. It would be short-sighted to presume such ripples only effect the physical world… Ripples affect the planescape, and attract… attention.
Here in Greenwich Village, NYC, it is not so much a person making those ripples, but… things. In the warren of side-streets and alleys in this modest residential district (just before sunrise on a cold, and foggy morning), the leylines beneath the city are… pulsing.
It is not far from a certain 'convergence' of the leylines, known as the Sanctum Sanctorum. Down an alley, a glowing worm-like creature burrows its way up from the ground to take a look around. It more closely resembles a floating eel, a sickly yellow in hue, as thick as a forearm, and is about a meter long.
It is also not alone: there are others, most of which are underground as of now. Close by, a green-eyed raven alights upon a fire-escape, watching the leywyrm. After waiting a few minutes, the bird swoops down to the ground, dispersing into a spray of dark green water — water that coalesces into the Baron Karl Mordo.
"An adage involving early birds and worms springs to mind…" he muses aloud, arms folded across his chest. With the arrival of a sorcerer, there are more ripples…
Lynette wasn't sure where she was going. Then again, that was often her lot in life; she was simply moving. However, this time, she at least has a destination in mind. Things had began to change for the baby mambo. In the last few days she had obtained a job, a place to sleep in that had a roof over it and wasn't ran down, new clothing, and most importantly, new allies. Her talks with gods and sorcerers had brought her here, and once her second-hand sneakers pause in steps, she peers down at the open allies, looking for a sign of where the Sanctum Sanctorum was located.
Met with the off glow of celestial worms and the raven shifter, the girl reaches up and into her floofy hair, brushing some unruly curls away from her face. As if to give herself more courage, she reaches up and grips around a golden coin that rests on the flat of her chest. After looking left, then right, then left again, she jogs across the street and then steps into the shadows, moving toward the newest pebble to have been tossed into the pond of magic.
This was always Merlin's favourite time of day. It's when he's most able to figure out problems he must solve. There are very little, if any, people about to bother him, and his mind always seems most active early in the morning. Besides that, when fog does happen upon the countryside, he finds that if he focuses upon the swirling vapors, his mind relaxes, allowing him to focus better on tasks at hand.
As such, on this early morn, Merlin adorns himself in his robes and his pointy hat, takes staff in hand, and makes his way down out of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Down the path, to one of the darkened streets away from the home. The path he takes begins leading him directly to where the leywyrm had poked up its head and where, now, stands a man who was previously a raven. Why did he choose this direction? He does not know. He hardly knows the city to begin with. But, as is oft with his treks, he finds that on occasion there are external forces that guide his decisions, and he has stopped questioning them.
Leywyrms are common enough near places of power… for those in the know, that is, and not usually considered much of a threat. They are more like pests. The wyrm reacts to the arrival of Mordo, as bees would to honey (so to speak). A few moments later as Lynette enters the alley, it turns its head to 'look' in her direction, and the sickly yellow light increases a little.
Dinner and dessert.
The magic-eating creature zaps across the alley toward Mordo, just as the other two wyrms emerge from the ground. One comes up at Lynette's feet, while the third appears in the space between Merlin and the alley, watching and waiting for the old wizard to come closer.
An 'All-You-Can-Eat Buffet', perhaps?
With new found confidence comes new found curiosity; which isn't always a good thing. She stares forward, taking in the vision of both Mordo and Merlin. Both get a blink and a cant of her head, the girl's expression softening to one of obvious confusion, especially toward the figure dressed for Halloween. Before she can speak, however, the glow from below her grabs her attention and leads her vision downward. Jumping, she steps back, her grip on the coin becoming even tighter than before.
Humming a rather somber sounding tune, while muttering words that occasionally sound like, "Joy…Gods of Fruits…slithering precipices of wondrous and fortitudinous kindling…" Merlin has yet to actually notice Mordo, Lynette, or the slithering leywrym. That or he just doesn't seem to care as yet. His staff makes light thudding sounds as it lands upon the ground as he walks, ever closing the distance between him and the ungrateful wyrm.
More or less at the same time, the wyrms decide not to wait for room-service, and 'dig right in'. That is to say, the wyrm closest to Lynnette zips across the ground, and tries to coil itself around her leg. The light intensifies as it prepares to bite her…
The fellow in the halloween costume (that beard cannot be real, after all… can it?) finds himself the target of a flying, glowing eel-thing, followed by another two burrowing up through the ground. It is not hard to wonder why he should attract more of the creatures than either Lynette or Mordo:
It's definitely the beard.
Mordo smiles at the wyrm having a go at him. Just as the creature comes close enough to bite, the baron sidesteps and draws the watersword sheathed at his back. The blade is dark green, and leaves droplets of the same hue hanging in the air as it flashes downward. The leywyrm's head flies away from its body, rolling wetly across the alley to land closer to Merlin.
Looking up at him.
For all her abilities, and hidden potential for more, fighting is not something Lynette is good at. She gives a high-pitched, startled yelp that a girl might if a snake or but had decided to creep up and wind itself along her flesh, the scrawny limb allowing it to curl a few times. Her eyes shoot up, watching the pair down the way, and how the other darker skinned man pulls forth a blade form no where.
Taking her cue from him, the grip on her Norse stamped coin drops, and she digs a knife from her pocket. Flicking it open, it clicks in place and she stabs at the creature so that it might uncoil and let her go.
"Great Gatsby and Mordred's dang hubris! I don't have the desire to deal with you this morning!" The aged sorcerer sighs as he grabs the sheathed sword at his side. As he pulls it swiftly out, he swings the sword at the wyrm that has made its way toward him. "No longer shall thy slithering songs be sung!" And it is thusly cut it half.
He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as the other two surface. "Must I make an example of you all? No more you pests, no more!" Twirling, his beard and hair whipping about him in a circular motion, he cuts off the heads of the other two in one swift swing. "And I was hoping for a quiet morning! Quiet! Why do these pests dare bother me at this time of day?!" He sighs.
Stomping the butt of his staff on the ground, he sheaths his sword and looks about. He frowns. There are others there. Others who have, evidently, had to deal with these pests as well. "Good dawning to thee, friends." He says in his somewhat gruff British accent as he peers at them both.
Lynette's knife digs deeply into the flesh of the leywyrm, yellowish blood and ichor spewing forth from the wound. The creature shrieks… in a telepathic sense, and releases her. In its death-throes it attempts to burrow back down into the ground, leaving her be.
Moments pass before the dead pests begin to decay, releasing their stolen magic back into the leylines. Mordo remains where he is for now, sword in hand, before finally sheathing it again at his back. The baron brushes down his dark green tunic — it is definitely not 'regular New Yorker fashion' for this era — and gives a slow nod of his head to Merlin and Lynette.
"Out for breakfast?" he inquires with an arched eyebrow. With a sidelong glance at the remains of the wyrms, he adds: "May we have better luck than these." To Lynette, the swarthy sorcerer inquires: "Are you alright, dear girl?"
Lynette looks at her knife, drawing it closer to her nose and sniffing. Her brows furrow and she drags the blade over her belling sleeve, clearing away any residue. Closing it up, it returns to her pocket, and her dark eyes settle on the pair down the way. "Y'alright?" She questions them, only to be greeted, and asked the same question. Cautiously, she strides forward, meeting the duo closer to the opening of the Sanctum. "M'alright. T'anks. Um, y'look…interestin'." She murmurs, her gaze flitting from Mordo, to Merlin, and back again; both sticking out like ragingly sore thumbs.
"Deys a place 'round here 'm lookin' for. Called de Sanctum Sanctorum? M'tryin' t'find a man dat mentioned it t'me."
Making his final approach to the others, Merlin looks over them both cautiously. Him…he knows why the leywyrms were attracted to him. It's not the first time that it's happened, certainly won't be the last. It's also why he didn't use magic on them. He knows better. But the fact that they were attracted to these others means something rather important, and he's more than curious to find out more about these two.
"I'd rather say it was the leywyrms who were out for breakfast! Annoying things, them, but harmless if you know how to deal with them." He shakes his head, long white hair swaying back and forth. He furrows his brow at Lynette. "Interesting? Interesting?! Child, interesting doesn't begin to explain it! And yet neither would I claim to look out of the ordinary." Of course, if he did claim to not look out of the ordinary, it would be a farce. At his age, however, he figures it's more than acceptable to be set in his ways.
"The Sanctum Sanctorum?" The mention of it certainly catches his interest as he looks between Mordo and Lynette, his gaze landing on Lynette once more. "What do you want to know of the Sanctum Sanctorum?"
"I am unharmed — ," Mordo goes to reply to Lynette, then his eyebrows go upwards at Merlin's behaviour.
If he didn't know any better, he might assume this was the real… He frowns. The old man has power, that much is certain; the wyrms are drawn to it, which would mean the girl has talent as well. The baron's musings over whom the bearded fellow is are disrupted by Lynette's mention of the Sanctum Sanctorum.
Immediately, he lifts a hand to his face and begins massaging his brow, eyeing Lynette and then Merlin in turn. Why is it everyone wants to be around Stephen S'geth-Damned Strange so much? Mordo gives a minute shake of his head. To those around him, it might only appear that he has a headache perhaps — unless they notice him rolling his eyes.
Considering a response of his own, Mordo eventually lets out a sigh and remarks: "What the old man said."
"Well…y'don' look like y'fit out dere. Den again, y'don', either." She comments to Mordo, motioning to the man's own attire. Her lips part to speak, but she pauses, looking between the pair and the obvious 'tight-lip' treatment about the Sanctum. "I was jus' told t'find it should I need it." Mordo reaction, however, has the girl reach out and gently settle her fingers on his arm. "Y'ok? Y'don' look too…well…" Her voice sighs out, silencing her words as something else rolls through her mind's eye. Her grip tightens on the man's sleeve, and after a moment, she moves her hand away and stares up at Mordo. "M'sorry…"
"I'll have you know that these robes are very comfortable." Merlin frowns, acting as if it's merely the robes that make him stand out, and not also the hat or the long hair and the long beard. Definitely can't be those. It has to be only the robes!
"Well…'t'isn't too difficult to find the Sanctum Sanctorum, if you know but how to look for the signs." Merlin finally speaks after a moment, allowing his staff to lean back and the tip to point in the general direction of the mansion that he just came from. He gives her a little knowing wink as he also moves to nod his head in the direction of the mansion. "I believe you'll find all the answers you need nearby. And please, be sure to knock loudly, and to be quite intrusive. Just don't tell him the man in the hat told you that." A coy grin crosses his face.
The grin quickly fades to a frown, however, noticing the tensed moment between Lynette and Mordo. Placing a hand gently on her shoulder, his own eyes opening wide. "Oh my dear child…" He murmurs softly. "I'm sorry." Sadness etches over his face as he gazes at her.
The baron reacts by giving Lynette a sharp glare, eyebrows raised in surprise immediately followed by an 'how dare you!' frown. Half a second after that… even the frown is gone. Up go the mental barriers, as Mordo silently curses himself for underestimating the girl's…everything.
And now he has revealed something of himself — something he would much rather keep very hidden — while at the same time… Mordo lets out a sigh and lowers his hand to his side. He does not reach out to touch the girl, despite wanting to offer some consolation, but instead he merely nods his head.
"I see," says he.
The baron looks directly at Merlin, and his eyes twinkle somewhat. Merlin's 'advice' regarding appropriate decorum in Stephen's house… is pleasantly amusing to the sorcerer's ears, and the beginnings of a rueful smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. <So you've met him,> the sorcerer projects in the same mental 'tone'. "I'm certain," he goes on to say out loud — still watching Merlin, while talking to Lynette, "if you can follow the signs, you will find what you're seeking, girl." He puts slightly more emphasis on the word 'certain', to indicate that he truly means it.
Lynette gasps sharply, another touch passing knowledge to her in a flash of power she has yet to fully understand. Whimpering, she shuffles back, her hands resting on her temples, palms pressing firmly. "Stop! Stop please…Don', touch me." Sniffling, she rests her eyes up on the duo, her own dark gaze made all the more glossy with a heavy layer of ready, waiting tears. She blinks, and fat droplets collect on her lashes before rolling down her face.
"I-I t'ink I jus' come back later. Maybe had enough wicky-woo t'day. Hell, f'de week." Rubbing the back of her hands across her eyes, she glares at the pair, but the twist of her face tells the duo that she's more upset with herself than them.
There's a moment where Merlin just stares at Mordo, as if he's considering what to make of the man. Certainly he has magic. The wyrms told him that much. The apparent exchange between Mordo and Lynette seemed to solidify any lingering doubts. However, when the man projects a comment to his mind, Merlin can't help but raise an eyebrow inquisitively. Whopping Mordo on the arm with his staff, he says, "Of course I know him!" Which, to Lynette, may seem like a comment that comes out of nowhere. <For their own safety and the safety of him, one does not normally just tell others that they know someone in his position.> He replies again, only this time sending the words directly to the other man's mind.
A soft sigh emits from him as he notices the tears forming in Lynette's eyes. "I apologize, young one. I sometimes forget that when such transfers can occur, they can be intense. "Your magic…your past…they have forced your being to pay a terrible price. And while I cannot speak for what you gained from this gentleman," he nods toward Mordo, "I would like to apologize for whatever transferred from me to you. I…have a long and storied past riddled with so very much, and a power that is my own burden to bear. I didn't not intend for you to witness any of it."
He smiles widely. "Would you care for some tea? Tea does wonders for the soul." He looks between them both. "I can bring the tea to us? I'm fairly certain I can have a table set up quite nicely right here in this path."
Mordo arches an eyebrow — at Merlin — and then looks over at Lynette. While the older (much, much older) beardy fellow heaps apologies on her, the swarthy man in the green tunic resists the urge to roll his eyes again. Flicking his tunic a bit, the sword-bearing man shrugs his shoulders and offers a smile (although it does not quite reach his eyes).
"Tea? Darjeeling, if you can manage it," he replies to Merlin, while turning his smile upon Lynette. "Do you have a preference, my dear?"
<Don't coddle the girl, old man,> Mordo communicates silently to Merlin. <She is not a puppy; she's either strong enough to manage her gift… or not.>
Tea in an alley, Mordo shrugs off the notion as if it were the most common place in the world to sit down to tea… <I've half a mind to weave a forgetfulness geas for her…> he muses telepathically.
Lynette keeps to herself, listening to Merlin carefully, but she notices Mordo's reaction as well. Her lips thin, and roll out to their natural shape. "Tea?" She questions and glances around their somewhat cramped space between buildings. "In de alley?" Chewing against the inside of her cheek, she shrugs and rubs at her arms before letting them rest slack and to her sides. "I, huh…I ain't neva had tea." Confession made, she glances toward the mouth of the alley, watching people move on their way down the sidewalk.
"Ah, good. Yes. Tea it is! I'm sure you'll find it soothing, young one." Merlin tells Lynette, smiling a little. Pounding his staff heavily upon the ground, his eyes glow for a moment and in a puff of smoke appears a nice round wooden table with three chairs, of the same wood, sitting around it. "Now…let's see…" He mutters.
Without looking away from the table, he sends a message back to Mordo. <There is a line between being sympathetic and coddling.> Finally glancing at the other man, he continues, <It would do her no good to run from this. Expressing my sympathy shows her that I can empathize with her and that perhaps I know what it is she goes through. It's an important part of mentoring. AH! And before you say anything, I realize I am not her mentor.> But he does have some experience in the matter.
Snapping his fingers, a steaming teapot appears. With yet another pounding of his staff, three tea cups on saucers appear in front of the chairs. "Excellent!" He nods. "I hope the tea is to both of your likings." He glances between Mordo and Lynette as he takes his own seat.
<If I sense you attempting to modify her memories, you'll find that I'm more than just circus magician.> He shoots back to Mordo telepathically, without glancing at him. "So, my dear young woman, would it be presumptuous to ask why you seek the illustrious sorcerer's estate?"
<So you DO circuses?> Mordo counters to Merlin, although physically all he does is arch an eyebrow… followed by a smile. "Thank you," he remarks out loud and moves to a chair next to Lynette. <Show off.> Mordo follows her gaze to the street beyond the alley and nods his head.
"I wouldn't worry about them, my dear," he tells her as he reaches for his own cup. It is still very early, and most of those going by are already busily on their way to work, their minds focused with tunnel vision on the day ahead. Regardless, the baron raises a hand, murmurs something under his breath, and summons an illusion. From inside the alley, it appears as though bricks form out of the walls and ground — working in a spiral that quickly closes over the alley entrance.
A second later, the wall turns semi-transparent, allowing Mordo, Merlin and Lynette to see through it. To those outside the alley… they see naught but an empty alley. "There," says he, now looking at the piece of paper in Lyn's hand and then back to her. "What's your name?" he asks, curiously — ignoring the kanji symbol for now.
<Only when I owe the ringmaster a favour.> Is Merlin's quick rebut. "Teapot, if you please?" He bows his head to it, ignoring the 'show off' comment from Mordo. The teapot springs to life, and starts pouring tea in each of their cups. "Hmm. I feels as if I've forgotten something…" He frowns deeply. "Oh yes!" He snaps his fingers, and cream, sugar, and honey all appear on the table as well. "There we are!" The frown dissipates for the moment, seeming pleased with himself.
"Ah, calling on help can be a difficult thing. Especially if you're attempting a summoning." Merlin tilts his head, curious as he listens to Lynette. "The Mystical Arts are a varied and difficult thing to master. But with dedication and practice, one can control it. What I've done here is simple compared to what one can achieve." He speaks softly but firmly with practiced ease, as if he's spoken these words many times over.
"Even in my old age, I'm still learning much." He tells them, as the teapot fills up his cup last, resting back at the centre of the table once it's done. He doesn't reach for the any of the tea condiments, but rather leaves the tea as is, letting it cool down for a moment.
"I'm sure that Mister Doctor Strange would be more than happy to assist you. As would I. Though I cannot speak for our…friend here." He turns to Mordo. "As curious as I am for the young woman's name, I am curious for yours as well." He seems to neglect the fact that he hasn't introduced himself either.
Lynette lowers the card, setting it on the table. She's about to answer Mordo until the set starts to move about. Grinning, a happy giggle bubbles from the girl's throat. She reaches out, her finger tips finding the curve of the teapot and caressing down it. "Lynette," she answers, smiling up somewhat hopefully. "M'name's Lynette. I, oh, I c'n do dis, too. Watch." Sitting back, she gives her fingers a little wiggle, allowing her tiny spoon to moves and then give a twirl and dance about. It's simple, really, just minor animation, but it gives a bow and then rests flat where it had began. Beaming, somewhat proud of herself, she rests her hands on her lap and then watches the pair once more
"Oh, I-I know. I t'ink he'd be mad at me f'tryin'. I wanted t'talk wit Papa, but…den de Kitsune showed up." A frown, "Said if I called'm again like dat, he'd eat de heart outta my chest." She rubs at the flat of her chest and then looks back to Mordo, also waiting for his name.
"You may call me Mordo," the baron tells the girl, watching the animated spoon with a muted smile on his face. Merlin's own 'dancing tea set' (not that it is really 'dancing' as such) earns the older wizard an arched eyebrow. "It is a pleasure making your acquaintance," he adds to Lynette.
By now, the swarthy mystic has figured out who Merlin is — or who he thinks Merlin is — and the knowledge causes certain muscles in his face to tighten. He might be wrong, but there are not that many sorcerers in the world with quite this much power.
And the only one he knows who could match (likely exceed) Merlin for age, is a world away in a monastery, contemplating… The thought curls Mordo's upper lip for a moment, until he smiles again.
<Aren't we a long way from home,> he remarks mentally. To Lynette he says, "Demons are ever wont to make threats of that ilk. Unlike humans, they tend to mean it as well. I am sure 'Mister Doctor Strange' would be happy to help, although demons are hardly the good doctor's speciality…"
And he leaves that suggestive comment hanging. "But, be sure never to knock. And ask no questions — only make statements. He is… extraordinarily picky about those whom he condescends to help. Show guts."
Making sure that his staff is safely leaning against the table, Merlin then smiles at Lynette's display. "Ah, wonderful! Bravo!" He offers the spoon a little bow in return to its bow. It's only polite, after all! "And it seemed like it was so happy, too! You certainly have talen, there's no denying that. And with proper learning, you could be marvellous!"
He actually chuckles a little bit at the mention of heart eating. "I'm sorry, young one. I should not laugh so. That is a rather serious warning. But creatures of darkness often make threats like that." He shakes his head, clucking his tongue in disapproval. "This 'Kitsune' should have thought of something more dire and inspiring of fear. Though I'm not saying he would not follow through with the threat." He seems to agree with Mordo on this matter of point.
<Britannia…Britain is not so far away.> He tells Mordo mentally as he takes a sip of his tea. "I suppose," He say out loud, "That I should make an introduction as well." Placing the tea cup down on its saucer, he looks between Mordo and Lynette and says, in almost a hushed tone, "I am Merlin of Camelot." Though from Mordo's message to him, he suspects that the man had already come to that conclusion.
"It's nice t'meet you, Mordo. I'd…shake y'hand, but I don' t'ink dat's a good idea." Taking up her cup, she sips from it and shudders. "Ugh…" Setting it down, she takes up things she knows taste nice, cream and sugar, and starts to doctor up her cup. The pitch liquid soon turns to one of pale tan. Another sip, she smiles and nods, her mass of curls giving a bounce.
"I don' t'ink he was a demon. Said he wasn'. But dat he was young, somet'ing 'bout his tails? He had two." Another sip, she nods once more. "Ok. Firm. Direct. Got it."
Eyeing Merlin, she blinks for a moment and then sits back in her seat. "Merlin? So…y'real? N'de gods of Asgard, too? W-what else is real? Is anyt'ing jus' a story?"
"Now there's a question," Mordo remarks blandly, giving Merlin a knowing little smile over the rim of the teacup he now holds to his lips. He sips at it, nodding his head in approval. It wouldn't do for the cosmos if Merlin the Magician couldn't make a decent cup of tea.
The look he next gives Merlin is something to suggest: 'do you want to take this? You seem the 'story-teller' type.' "So the stories were right about the beard?" he asks of the magician aloud. "It's gratifying to see they could get something right. Your height, for instance. I thought you'd be… taller."
Smirking very faintly, he comments half to Lynette, and half to himself: "Strange would likely remove knowledge of the Kitsune from your mind, to prevent any accidental summonings — rather than teaching one how to go about it," the baron says to Lynette. The hint of reproach (at Strange) in his voice is unmistakeable.
"I'm glad my beard is approved of." Merlin lets out a little hollow laugh and roll of the eyes. As he actually strokes his beard, a little butterfly flies out. He sputters slightly. "Those danged butterflies! I thought I'd gotten rid of all of them!" He sighs. "I apologize, however," He looks at Mordo, "that my height disappoints! I didn't realize that height was equated with ability!"
"Young one," He says to Lynette, "Do not even get me started on the Asgardians!" He huffs a little. "They're not terrible people. But…" He shakes his head. "Yes, they are most certainly real. As are a few other so called 'gods' that we humans have worshiped over the various millennia." He sips on his tea as he ponders for a moment. "Elves. Elves of varying kinds. Leprechauns, too. Ogres." He ponders for a moment, thinking of what all he has come across in his long life. "All manner of creatures and beings exist! There are realms beyond this one. Well beyond. Such as the one the Asgardians hail from. And a fair few others." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I've yet to actually meet Death. She's a force to be reckoned with, from what I understand. And from what I understand, she wears robes too!" Robes are comfy, okay?
"W-why would he do dat? Mess wit m'mind? Not help me?" Lynette looks down at the tea cup and gives a passive glance across toward Merlin. "I don'…understand. He tol' me t'work on m'powers. Own dem…" She glances at Mordo with a steady stare, almost daring him for an answer. Another sip, she focuses on Merlin. "He," she murmurs, setting her cup down and allowing her shoulders to hunch. "De Baron, he claim de dead. Least, I t'ink so. Dats what I b'lieve, anyway. Met a man in de park de other day. Said he was Ti Malice." She chuckles and shakes her head, sending those curls dancing again. "So, who knows? Maybe dey all de same n'jus' give a face dat people like."
"There is, generally speaking," Mordo comments as he sets down his teacup. "Only one sure path to knowledge in such things." And he looks at Lynette, his eyes lighting up subtly. "Search it out. In time, when the Apprentice is ready, the Master shall appear." He smiles and lightly shrugs his shoulders.
To Merlin, the baron raises an eyebrow and then nods in agreement. "Asgardians… Ah. So you've met them as well. I suppose it makes sense, a man of your years… The Planes are full of beings claiming to be aught they are not. Disgraceful. Predictable." And he finishes the rest of his tea.
"The Venerable One here is right about the robes," he remarks to Lynette as he stands to his feet. "They are difficult to give up one once one has acquired a taste for them. For myself, however, I find them a trifle… ostentatious. Not to mention they catch on door-knobs, banisters, fences, swords… It has been a pleasure meeting you, Lynette. Definitely, own Your powers." He says 'Your' with slight emphasis, as if to reinforce the notion of ownership. "I'm sure we will meet again. Merlin…"
And he turns to the wizard, inclining his head and putting a hand over his heart. "Thank you for the delicious tea. You have missed your calling." Again, with that subtle emphasis… was that an insult, perhaps? Merlin the Butler…
A frown once more crosses Merlin's lips. "There's no guarantee that he'd do that. I certainly would not keep such a memory hidden from you." He does seem just as confused. But then, he hardly knows Strange, and he certainly doesn't know Strange's approach to mentorship. "However, one could argue that such a memory could distract you from properly learning summoning. You could accidentally summon this Kitsune again, thinking of him, remembering your first experience. Likewise, however, the memory could help you strive to learn to summon properly." He raises his arms in a shrug. "I cannot say what will happen."
"I…robes…ostentatious?" He eyes Mordo up and down. "Obviously you've had little luck and even less training in robes. I will not say that your outfit is unsuitable, but I've had little issue in robes. It is merely a matter of practice." And possibly knowing spells that help, if a robe is a bit too long.
"This Baron of the Dead? Does he have a proper name? I do not think I know him." Merlin can't say he has much experience with voodoo. "But perhaps I could look into him? I'd like that very much." Smiling, once again, he says in a soft tone, "Though if he has to do with death, I do suggest avoiding any attempts at summoning him." That usually ends up badly.
"Oh, leaving so soon, Mordo? Such a shame! I am glad, however, that you enjoyed my tea. Please, do contact me any time if you require more. I live to serve." He bows ever so slightly, as well as one can in a chair. "And if you require assistance, young Mordo, in learning how to procure such wonderful tea as I have, do not be afraid to ask. I'll tell you exactly how. The Mystical Arts may be fickle, but they're for us all." Could he, perhaps, also be offering up an insult covered in niceness? Certainly that's not something Merlin would do! Certainly not!
Lynette stands as well, watching as the pair bickering, even with smiles on their faces. "Samedi." She answers Merlin without pause. "He ain't jus' death, neither. Dey more den one side t'anyt'ing. La petite mort, he de Baron of dat 'death', too." She smiles, her expression heated at the conversation. Clearing her throat, she presses her chair in. "I get goin' too." The card taken up, she replaces the card into her front pocket. "Didn' know y'magic types were so catty. T'anks f'de lesson." Smirking, she lifts a hand and waves to the two who are much, much older than she. Walking away, she moves to the door and presses against it, sinking in, and coming out the other side. Looking back, she gives a slow whistle of wonder and pleasant surprise. "Gotta learn dat…"
Mordo had been turning to go, when Lynette mentions this… 'Baron of Death', this… Samedi. It might be that he has heard the name before, or simply that such a figure interests him a great deal — familiarity aside. For whatever reason, Mordo's dark eyes flash and he regards Lynette with a raised chin — almost seeming to peer 'down his nose' at her, like appraising an expensive vase in a store window.
"Robes are, if the writers of this Plane are to be believed, for the Old," says he with another smile of his. Again, the smile does not quite touch his eyes. "I like to think I have time before Age becomes a favoured card in my deck."
He eyes the card given to Lynette, but says nothing. Mordo offers the other two another slow nod of his head, and then crosses his arms over his visage — and morphs into a small, green-eyed raven once more.
A heartbeat later, and the raven is gone.