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"I own this place, I permit myself," grins Lambert. His teeth are just slightly pointed - not quite human. And then he calls out, as he heads back into the kitchen to work "When were you in Greece? And where were you? My family comes from the mountains around Athens." There is Sam the bus boy, moving here and there - and Marcie in the main restaurant, refilling glasses, and sending anyone she thinks Lambert might want to talk to to the back. Got to keep the chef happy.
*
"Crete and elsewhere. It was during the war," Lamont's seated in the little courtyard, in a white shirt, dark pants, dark gray vest….though he's unbent enough to roll up his sleeves. "It was lovely, even under the circumstances."
*
Lindon is directed back this way from the main restaurant because he's got the look of a stressed out fellow who could use a little quiet, and he heard (or just knew) that the courtyard was quieter. The lanky fellow peeks in. When he spies a familiar face, he blinks a few times. "Oh," he says.
*
Lamont is left to himself for a couple of minutes, but then Lambert is back with the ouzo - in a small glass. And a brown pottery stubby wine container - it has to be home brew. Of course, Lamont is currently surrounded by grape vines. As Lindon heads out there, Lambert plops down two wooden bowls and he nods towards the stone bench and tiny table in the fragrant, warm courtyard "Both of you." The wine is red as blood, and filled to the brim, a rich, warm complexity. Lambert lifts the pottery jug up with a flair and laughs as dark red splotches hit the stonework. Then he says "Come in, come in. Saganaki shortly, with the roasted cabbage. Hmm. I will send out some dolmades too." He pats his own belly and bustles back inside. For Lindon, the courtyard is an enclosed space, with bees, with moths. Little candles and light on stone and water.
*
There's a kind of restrained pleasure in Lamont's face, but no surprise at all. Wizards are not easily surprised, perhaps. HE rises and holds out a hand to the Archive. "I thought I'd see you. Welcome," he says, simply. "Smells very good, doesn't it?"
*
"How could you?" Lindon says. "I only came in because I didn't realize how hungry I was and passed by." He offers Lambert an awkward smile as he heads over to Lamont to shake his hand like a man who has forgotten how hands are supposed to work. "It smells great," he says. "I don't think I've ever had Greek food before."
*
A third bowl makes it out - Lambert intends to drink while working, it seems. Now out comes the saganaki, hot, with lemon and salt. As well as fresh bread with oil and balsamic vinegar and pepper to eat. Dolmades, fresh, and Lambert says to Lindon "Do you want a menu yourself, or do you want to share with your friend here?" He offers across a hand - a clean hand. Chefs wash frantically, after all "Lambert! Petropoulous."
*
"Coincidence, perhaps," Lamont allows, tone a wee bit arch. He takes Lambert's hand, shakes it gently. "Lamont Cranston," he adds. Then he's looking back to Lindon, "I think you'll find you like it. It's lovely when done right….and by the scent of things here, this seems very right indeed."
*
Lindon shakes Lambert's hand and says, "Lindon Mills." He's a soft-spoken fellow, not nervous per se, but perhaps shy. He looks to Lamont then. Is he sharing? No, no no that's Lamont's order. "I'll see a menu," he says. Although he's got a fair idea of what Lambert offers and how much it is. Whispers in his break speak of many delicacies.
*
Lambert pours himself a bowl of the wine - the bowls are stained with various vintages, but rather than looking unclean, merely smell fascinating. He nods to Lamont, and he brags "Recipes straigh from the homeland." And then he says to Lindon, warmly "Little fish in batter, with white balsamic dipping sauces. Here is the saganaki with apple and lemon for you to share - there is lamb, too, and feta salads." The menu is offered across "Or I can bring out my own dinner and share it, and charge you what is fair."
*
"I would be honored," Lamont says, warmly. Definitely less forbidding than he has been, in the past. "Please do," To Lindon, he explains, "I was in Greece, during the war." IS he Lindon's…dad? Uncle? He looks old enough to be one or the other.
*
"Lamb sounds good," Lindon says. He just knows that's a dish people like, and the thought of it makes his mouth water. He sits down and looks at the saganaki with interest. The longer it's been since his last episode, the more his appetite is returning. Good thing, too. He's so thin. He smiles across the table at Lamont and takes up his bowl of wine. "This is all so nice," he says. "I had no idea this place existed. You've been holding out on me."
*
"He's new here too," comments Lambert, as he lifts the wine, says something in Ancient Greek - a simple toast - and sips. Then he says "So when did the two of you move here? Or are you New Yorkers? Father and son, right?"
*
It's a different version of that pokerface….this one has a shimmer of humor to it. "No. Friends," Lamont states. Then, to Lindon, "What he said. I found it about ten minutes before you showed up. I'm a New Yorker, but I've lived abroad a good deal."
*
Lindon opens his mouth, then closes it. After a drink of wine, he says, "Friends." Almost like he's sampling the word rather than affirming it. "I've lived in Queens for a few years," he says. Then, "This wine is good. I've never had any like it before. I'm not much of a drinker." But that doesn't stop him from taking another drink.
*
The wine is good. The wine is _strong_. Soon, food is arriving, and while the restaurant is never that full given its limited seating, Lambert has sent out enough main meals that he can come back with his own bowl, and with a tray. The roasted cabbage is thick on the inside with sour cream and spices and cooked in pork fat. Nothing at all like the sulfury, sad leaves so often served. There is some meat on the side, and Lambert serves, without any self-consciousness about doing a 'less important' job. He says "Try it. Try more." Uh oh.
*
Lamont closes his eyes in measured bliss at the wine. "Lovely," he breathes. And then he's trying the food….and while nothing about him is indicative of gluttony, he's certainly eager. Well, magic and crime-fighting both require energy. "You're an impressive chef, sir," he tells Lambert.
*
Lindon samples the food brought before him, and his eyes close as he says, "Oh, wow. This is good." He blinks a few times, then tucks in, eating with small, birdlike bites. "What do you call this?" he asks with a gesture to the cabbage. "And this?" with a gesture to, well, all of it, really.
*
"The cabbage is a variation on Lahanorizo," says Lambert, coming out to sit down, and preen in the praise. Yes, praise definitely makes him feel happy. He grins all over again, those white, slightly pointed teeth - the teeth of a meat eater. He adds "Giouvetsi - greek lamb baked in a pot. The herbs are all from this garden here. The wine…" Well, home brew is illegal. So his eyes rest on the grape vines mildly.
*
That makes Lamont smile like an old fox….but he doesn't explain for Lindon's benefit. Nor is he denying himself the wine - it brings a flush to the pale cheeks.
*
Lindon glances to the grapes and says, "Is fantastic," and leaves it at that. He offers Lamont a secret kind of smile, then looks away, head tilting as he says to Lambert, "I'd love the giovetsi. I've been ravenous for meat this week." He needs meat on his bones, that much is clear. "How did you find this place?" he asks Lamont.
*
He may as well be downing more ouzo - it goes down smooth, but the kick is like an ornery mule. It brings out warmth and hunger, and lays the mind's cautions to rest. Lamont is drinking satyr's wine, delicious and complex and suggesting that relaxation is delightful. Lambert himself has half an eye on the rest of the restaurnt, but with the meals made, and the wine being topped up in there? Everything is fine. Now there are knives and forks, and little pottery plates glazed in white and blue. There is the lamb and spices, and complex sauces for dipping things in.
*
He's always got that formal carriage - Lamont's a creature of the old school in more ways than one. But the wine….that brings out that moonstone glow in the gray eyes, warms the pale, aquiline face. He looks like a real boy for once, and not merely some sort of Art Deco statuary. "Luck,'" he says to Lindon, succinctly.
*
"I refuse to believe in any that's good," Lindon tells Lamont. Still, he samples the lamb. Suddenly, he's discovered his appetite again, and though he's not much of a drinker, more of the wine gets drunk. It's a different side of Lindon than he usually shows. More lively, happy, even. "Okay, maybe one bit of luck is good."
*
Lambert grins and he, too, is drinking. It makes him seem friendlier, even, than before. It gives his eyes that warm brown country-boy look, even if they are alien in aspect. He thumps down his empty bowl, and he says "And now, desserts. You want something sweet, eh? To solace the heart. You both look like men who have too many secrets for their hearts to be happy. So you should eat."
*
Lamont lifts a slender finger, admonishingly, and clicks his tongue. "Don't," he says, gently. "Fortune takes exception when you ignore the gifts she gives you. And….I find, the more you take advantage of them, the more she grants." Then he turns that almost smile on Lambert. "You are perceptive," he tells him. "Baklava?"
*
Maybe normal people wouldn't outright ask a man why his eyes are goat-pupiled, but for as much as Lindon pines for being normal, he isn't. "Your eyes," he says. That's all he pursues, though. His mind is already trying to fill in blanks to let him know what or why. Meanwhile, dessert is mentioned, and Lindon sits up a little with interest. At Lamont's admonishment, he looks briefly mutinous, but all he says to it is, "I suppose if one can't say anything nice."
*
Lambert says to Lamont gravely "Very wise. Fortune can also be fickle. Yes, Baklava! With Greek coffee, too." And more ouzo, of course! Lambert then says to Lindon "Yes?" Not dismissive - but neither will he grant him an easy explanation just because he wants one. He has to ask. And he laughs, and then he says "If you can't say anything nice, maybe say it when carousing with friends, and Luck won't know who of the drunks insulted her, eh?"
*
«Satyr» says Lamont, in flawless Attic Greek. Someone's a scholar. Then he grins at Lambert's explanation, and it….looks like an expression that belongs on someone else's face. A younger, happier, freer man. "Yes. With Greek coffee," he adds.
*
Lindon ahs at Lamont, then looks at Lambert with more interest. The name, Petropoulus. Hmm. Histories begin emerging, unfurling before him like a flower. He cheats, not asking Lambert follow-up questions. Instead, he just smiles a small smile and says, "Greek coffee and baklava sound good. If I drink much more, I'll forget I had anything bad to say."
*
Lambert glances at Lamont, because that word, he knows well "Yes, partly," he says, and he slaps his thigh. Oh, Lambert might be snuggly-shaped? But there is _muscle_ underneath that. Bounding, running muscle. For acrobatics and for dancing. Then he laughs as Lindon speaks "That's the idea!" he says, and he claps his hands and bustles into the kitchen to begin the little greek coffee machine going. The garden outside is all grapes and honey and wax from the hives, with a night blooming jasmine. Inside, one can see Marcie turning down the lamps as customers filter out. A few men stay to drink at the bar, mostly human, but one obvious mutant.
*
To Lindon's eye, it's Lamont shedding that stagey reserve. Oh, he's still quiet, and there's that air of poise to him. An actor always ready for his cue. "Always the best way to drink," he affirms, in his soft voice.
*
"I'm not much of a drinker," Lindon insists. The revelation that Lambert is part satyr doesn't shock or dismay him. He merely considers the chef with a slightly more intense gaze. So many questions, and so many answers flooding into his mind, making it hard to think, damn it. Still, he drinks more wine, just not quite so fast as he was before. "Someone came into my apartment," he tells Lamont. "Crazy fellow, but I don't know. I don't think he meant any harm."
*
The two have a little time to themselves, though it would be foolishness to think the chef couldn't hear them - who knows how close he is, in his domain. From inside, Lambert tells Sam to clean the dishes - the wine drinkers want their desserts. There are sticky end of night drinks, and stickier coffee to make. And then, eventually, the chef heads back out with the little Greek guitar, and he puts it on the seat before serving out coffee, and baklava. There it is, honey-brown - and honey covered too "Did you say someone came into your _apartment_?"
*
That has Monty glancing up from his bite of baklava. However precise his manners, one can simply not eat that neatly. "Tell me more." And for all his tone is gentle, it's couched as an order.
*
Lindon's table manners are not quite as precise, but he's pretty neat. He takes a nibble of baklava, then licks his sticky lips and fingers clean. "He knocked, then just sort of came in when I answered the door. He said he'd heard of me, wanted some information. I couldn't help him. He didn't push things, so." So that makes him a good guy in Lindon's books? "His name is Maximus. I don't know if you know him."
*
Lambert looks a bit blank himself, but he does observe "That does not sound polite - I shouldn't like that in _my_ flat, gentlemen!"
*
His face goes cold….and instantly, he's that nearly reptilian bastard again. Lamont sits back in his chair, eyes half-lidded. "I may know him by repute."
*
Lindon arches a brow when Lamont goes cold. He asides to Lambert, "It happens more often than you'd think. I'm getting ready to move again." Then to Lamont, "It's freaky, but I'm okay. No snatch-and-grab. Didn't lay a hand on me. I think he just really wanted some help. I'm not used to being asked."
*
Lambert says, puzzled "Wait, it is _often_ that people break into your apartment and attempt to…you said snatch and grab? _Kidnap_ you?" He folds his arms, and he frowns, he does. His brown, angled eyes are so grim. After a moment, he declares "_Rude_."
*
That returns that puckish gleam to Monty's features. "Rude is the….mildest word one might apply." To Lindon, he offers, "…..you might want to consider staying with me. My house has plenty of room….and staff to keep out the unwelcome."
*
Lindon's brows lift. "Staying with you?" he asks Lamont. "Wait, you have a staff?" He glances to Lambert. Is Lambert getting this? A staff. "Um. I'll think about it." He rubs the back of his neck. "I kind of like Queens, and I got that job at the library. Don't worry, I can pay rent with or without it, just that it gives me something to do." He shrugs a shoulder then and tells Lambert, "Yeah, you could say that again."
*
Lambert rubs the back of his neck, and says "If you have a staff, you must be well off - you still like the food? Hah!" He is pleased. He even beams with it. And then he says to Lindon "I would give them a thumping for you."
*
"No, I mean, I have employees," Monty observes mildly. "Several, in fact. And I do like the food. I grew up in England for the most part. Food that has actual flavor is startling."
*
Lindon half-smiles as he tells Lambert, "Thanks. I might take you up on that, you look like a strong guy." He glances to Lamont. "I deduced you were loaded, but hearing it straight up is just… wow." When Lamont remembers there's somewhere he needs to be and takes his leave, Lindon turns his attention to Lambert. "So this place is yours."
*
Lambert nods to Lindon firmly "Not like some here, but…I am. A bit." And then he beams, and he says "Yes! My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins - they all came over and helped build it for me!" In one week. Including the ancient trees and vines. Hmm. Lambert then reaches out, and he says to Lindon "No man - or woman - should be hounded from place to place."
*
Lindon half-smiles, looking more sad than anything, and he cautiously regards the out-reaching. His own hands don't seem to know what to do with themselves or why hands at all. "I've got something they want, and they don't particularly care how they get it."
*
"Oh, well, we all have things we want from others," says Lambert "But we should, ah, you know, it shouldn't be like it was in the War." He is too young for that, himself, but…well The War. Then he holds Lindon's hands, and Lambert runs warm, and friendly. He has an interesting scent - herby and woodsy, and his eyes are kind "Well, that mysterious fellow seems nice. Not everyone is bad. Have faith, Mr. Lindon. We all should have faith in ourselves, and in the will of good men."
*
Lindon watches his hands in Lambert's. His own are long-fingered and slender, his manicure neat. There are ink stains on his fingers, which are soft from no hard labor. "He's all right," Lindon says. "He's been pretty nice to me." He shakes his head then and drops his gaze. "I haven't had faith for awhile."
*
Lambert patpats Lindon, and his hand is strong. He then says "Is there a reason you're so down and dusted over this, eh?" At times like this, his Greek accent comes through just a little clearer. His expression is sympathetic "Well, that's no good. Don't see yourself so well, eh?" He purses his lips "That does seem to be the modern thing!"
*
Lindon shakes his head and says, "Nah, I just don't see how there can be the God I was taught to believe in. It's a hard pill to swallow, but what can you do?" He shrugs a shoulder. The hand pat gets another one of those small, awkward half-smiles. "I don't think there's anything wrong with the person I am, though. I just don't have good luck."
*
Lambert says to Lindon, a little tipsily "You know how you get good luck, right? You need to find a God, and hold a mirror up to it. Gods radiate luck. If you do that, then you can have a mirror that always bathes you in it." Then Lambert adds "It's always hardest to believe when we need it most. There's a reason for that. But. I think you're nice!" And he has NO idea what Lindon is.
*
"Oh, is that all I have to do?" Lindon says wryly. "Find a God? I already have a mirror so it's like I'm halfway there." He gives Lambert's hands an awkward squeeze, then draws away so he can take up his Greek coffee to sip at. "I think you're nice, too," he says. "Genuinely nice. That's rare."
*
"Most everyone is nice, if you give them a chance," enthuses Lambert, before he laughs, and he runs his fingers through his…fleece "There. Look, I didn't grow up in this city. I don't know your business. People seem to have a lot of problems here. But _this_ place - I try to keep it safe. Out here, at the back? I get a lot of mutants, inhumans, humans who have problems. I don't let bad things happen." He nods to the wall "I can toss a fool straight over that if I want, and my staff just say 'yes chef'. So…if you ever got to run somewhere? Here is okay too."
*
Lindon looks around the courtyard, and he admits, "I like it here. It's the right kind of magical." He raises his coffee cup to Lambert and says, "I might take you up on that. I don't get out this way often, but when I do, I'll stop by."
*
Lambert says to Lindon "Good! Tell your friends!" And up he gets, to head back into the kitchen to mix up the dough for tomorrow's bread.