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Sure, he's got good liquor at home, and nice settings to drink it in. But…..somehow, with Lindon at his own place for the night, that old pile seems too big and empty, haunted by the people he used to be. So Lamont's out at Lux, nursing one of those complex herbal drinks. Novelty, if nothing else, more likely to catch the palate and divert attention. He's only in a French blue dress shirt and dark pants, looking like any other businessman out for a post-work drink.
*
There are two types of people who come to these sorts of clubs. Those with money in search of a good time, and those in search of those with money. At the moment, Isis is one of the latter. "Assistant" is a very vague term these days, especially when you're an assistant to someone like the Mayor of New York City. Sometimes it means making the coffee. Sometimes it means getting paperwork filed. And sometimes it means stopping into a club where a city councilman is expected to be to see just who he's spending his evening with, since the wife is most definitely still at home in Long Island.
It's not really the worst part of the job.
Wearing a dress best described as 'slinky,' with her hair swept up into a twist and a Billie-Holliday-style lily pinned in her hair, she fits right in. But as she makes her way to the bar, she has an eye on the other patrons.
*
What irony. The goddess is looking for a shadow. She's found one. Just…not the one she wants or needs. She lacks hers, he's got them in excess. Not to the mortal eye, of course….but for the more than mortal, it's as if light doesn't hit him quite right. Aside from that - well, he looks like money, at least of a kind. The clothing's clearly tailored, if in a style that's far from cutting edge….and before him on the bar sits a beautifully enamelled cigarette case, and its matching lighter. A brown-papered cigarette's smouldering in the glass ashtray before him.
*
The bar is Isis' first stop. After all, if you're going to look for anything at a bar, it's best to make nice with the bartender. Besides, places like this do have the most interesting brews. Whether it's chance that brings her to a spot next to Lamont or providence, it takes her a moment of searching for the bartender before she catches a close enough glimpse of him to pick up on something…different.
"Good evening," she greets with a smile, dipping her chin in a polite nod before letting her gaze wander across the bar again.
*
"Evening," he replies, courteously enough, though there's the faintest air of startlement, as if her greeting had jerked him out of something of a reverie. Lamont's at the bar, in blue dress shirt and dark pants, drinking something dark and rich looking, with acigarette smouldering at the bar in a glass ashtray before him. Isis has just sat down near him, and he's murmuring a greeting, looking at her in faint surprise.
*
"Lovely place, isn't it?" Isis says as she takes a look around, settling her elbows on her edge of the bar. To the mundane senses, she's nothing particularly special. Lovely enough. Tall, and slender, more than anything else. To the mystical senses, though, even without her shadow, she fairly thrums with age and a warm, golden glow of power.
The unusual jars behind the counter catch her attention and she rises up onto her toes to get a closer look. "Now, that certainly looks like an interesting selection. I suppose there are house specials, hmm?"
*
He's caught….the second glance is the one that gets you. Physical beauty's worth the first, but that shimmer of power, it's more an intoxicant than the drink at his elbow. To the outside observers, Lamont's just another fool who's had his eye caught by a beautiful woman. The light here's warm, diffuse, and dim….just the kind to hide a lack of a real shadow. "They've got drinks I've never heard of," he allows, quietly. "And I thought I'd been in a fair number of bars." His accent's Upper Ten New York, with maybe the faintest hint of Britain. Or it might just be the almost over-precise way he enunciates. "Haven't had a bad one here yet." The smallest of small talk….but there's the faint little line between his brows. What is she?
*
Jean-Paul wanders into the club with the look of someone whose been here a thousand times. In truth, he hasn't. He just has that attitude wherever he is. On his way toward the bar, he casually inspects the other patrons before claiming a seat. A glance left, then right, then he looks over the selection of liquor displayed.
*
Isis's fingers tap on the edge of the bar-top, lacquered a deep lapis blue that matches her dress. But before she can get too impatient to explore the back-bar, there's the bartender, ready with a cocktail napkin and a smile. "Whatever you're making tonight," the young woman orders with a warm smile for the bartender, keeping half an eye on the man as he goes to start mixing. All the better to read the labels on those jars.
Lamont, though, gets the remainder of her attention. "I can't say I'm all that familiar with bars myself," she laughs low. "I've always been more of a home mixer myself. But. Duty calls, and there are worse duties than a night out at a nice bar. With pleasant company, no less," she adds with a dip of her chin in his direction.
*
Lamont picks up the cigarette case, pops it open with a flick of a thumb, and proffers it to her. In case she wants one. "How's this a duty?" he asks, lazily. "Though as you say, I can imagine a lot worse things to have to do for work…" Then there's Jean-Paul, and he's a more than momentary distraction. That's a face he's surely seen somewhere, though by that faint cloud of puzzlement, he's not entirely sure how he knows it.
*
Catching the look, Jean-Paul tilts his head toward Lamont, acknowledging his attention though he turns back to the bartender a moment later. "A snifter of whatever your finest Napoleon brandy is." he tells the man. "I assume a club of this caliber has a decent one in stock." If not, don't bother is the unspoken though very clear message.
*
Isis takes a cigarette from the case, holding it out for a light as she follows Lamont's gaze toward Jean-Paul. "Friend of yours?" she asks, a small smile lingering at one corner of her lips. "He seems to fit in here. You both you," she adds. "You have that…" A wave of her fingers. "Air about you. Of people who've been at the top of the hill long enough that they know where they belong." Then again, so does she. There's another look to the bartender, curious as to what he mixes.
*
There's a matching lighter, of course, and he bends in to light for her. Pretty girls never light their own cigarettes, as the saying goes. But then Lamont's gaze goes back to Jean-Paul. "Can't say I've had the honor. I'm sure I know him from somewhere. Probably society pages of some kind," he says, almost offhand. That comment has him looking at her thoughtfully…then there's a slow, curling half-grin. "Arrogance?" he ventures.
*
Jean-Paul is close enough to hear but he's not giving any indication that he's listening. Except at Lamont's final comment which causes one corner of his mouth to curl slightly. Pulling out a cigarette case, he extracts one then lights it before slipping both items back into his jacket pocket.
*
The corners of Isis' eyes crinkle in amusement at Lamont's response, winking before she takes a slow drag on the cigarette. "It's only arrogance if it's unsupported. The Greeks were smart. They had their own word for it. There's something to be said for having a word that means exactly what it intends, without ambiguity."
The bartender arrives with her drink, and when she raises her brows as if to ask what's inside, he simply winks back at her, earning a low laugh. "Hubris," she breathes, and there's a quiet hum of power in the word, as if she's strummed the strings of reality for just a moment. "Different from justified pride, though. Come on," she invites, picking up her drink and stepping away from the bar. "Why don't we go and say hello?"
*
He doesn't need a second urging. A nod of assent, and Lamont's rising gracefully from his stool. He lets her lead the way - she's a far more preposessing figure than he is. "Precision in speech is always useful," he murmurs.
*
Jean-Paul looks over as the two close on him. "Hubris implies that it's excessive. Unwarranted." he notes. So he was listening. "I wouldn't say it applies when it's justified, as you stated. Of course, whether it's justified or not often depends on who you speak to."
*
"Just so," Isis laughs to Jean-Paul, taking another draw from the cigarette. "Would you mind if we joined you? You were looking lonely over here, my new friend was looking lonely over at the bar. And I never know when I might be called away, so all the better to make a group of it, don't you think?"
*
Lamont bows a little, and somehow the gesture fits, and isn't theatrical. Jean-Paul's open admission of eavesdropping makes him smile again, just a little. "Assuming you weren't looking to drink and brood alone."
*
Jean-Paul's gaze shifts from Isis to Lamont, looking him up and down a moment before offering a nod. "I don't object to company so if it suits you." In invitation, mostly symbolic, he slides the ashtray about an inch closer to an empty chair. "I am not intending to brood at all, alone or not. I am Jean-Paul."
*
"A pleasure to meet you, Jean-Paul," Isis smiles warmly back at him as she settles into a seat, an odd sort of familiarity in the name, a warmth. "And thank you." Once she's seated, she holds the cigarette far enough away to actually get the scent and the flavor of her drink as she sips, head tilting her consideration. "Well that is lovely," she muses. "Very elegant. Precise. I just may have to come back here again, if only to try the drinks."
*
That name…."You're some sort of famous athlete," says Lamont, with that lightbulb going off air. Then he looks sheepish. "Forgive me. I know I should know you. But….I've been out of the loop for quite sometime. I'm Lamont," he adds, extending a long hand in greeting.
*
"And you are?" Jean-Paul asks, raising a brow in Isis' direction before something flickers across his expression. "Some sort." he agrees, reaching to clasp Lamont's hand. "No apology needed. I haven't competed in a couple years now." For one reason or another. A brandy snifter is brought over to him and he nods a thank you to the waitress before giving it a swirl and taking in the scent.
*
"Isis," the young woman answers, taking another sip of her drink before setting the glass down. An unusual name, perhaps, but she does look exotic enough to be from somewhere it isn't unusual. She glances between the men at the talk of sports, attentive. "You've not competed in a couple of years. You've been out of the loop. It seems you've both chosen an interesting place to come back out into the world."
*
"New York is home," Lamont says, matter of factly, though there's something faintly wistful there. His hand's warm, callused, and rather too thin - the hand of someone who's older than he looks. "I missed it."
*
"I never left it." Jean-Paul corrects. "I've merely moved on to other activities and thought it was time to visit Manhattan and see if it lives up to its reputation." His French accent is strong though it's less French and more Quebecois for those who can tell the difference. "It almost does."
*
Isis laughs, turning her head to blow a circle of smoke away from the table. "New York is…a unique place. Very American. Bold, brash, sure of itself. Defined by the river and the sea, and yet it doesn't behave like most coastal cities. There's always something new here, something exciting."
*
That has Lamont considering Isis again. "More like living down to its reputation," he asides to Jean-Paul, wryly. "It ebbs and flows." To Isis, directly, he wonders, "…..where're you from?"
*
Jean-Paul takes a sip of the brandy before nodding to Isis. "I agree." Absently, he's gently swirling the brandy around the snifter. "I may stay for a bit. I could travel back and forth but actually living in a place allows one to see things that might otherwise be missed."
*
"Oh, here and there," Isis smiles coyly back at Lamont, taking another sip of her drink. "I've spent quite a bit of time traveling, honestly. It's been a long time since there was a place I properly called home." She hardly looks old enough to make that claim, but she sounds sincere.
*
Lamont levels a finger at her, as if conceding a point. Good dodge. Then he's recalling his own drink, and sipping from it, lazily. There's that golden glow to distract him, after all.
*
"I'm quite fond of Europe." Jean-Paul informs them. "Austria has many things to recommend it from the music to the skiing and other winter sports. They have rather fine beer too but with less attitude than the Germans."
*
"Too cold for my blood," Isis flashes a swift smile to Jean-Paul. "I'm more accustomed to the Mediterranean climes. Greece, Italy. The south of Spain is very pleasant, though I never stayed there long. And North Africa is vastly underrated. It may not be the most tourist friendly, but it's well worth the time to find some of the oldest roots of civilization."
*
The mention of North Africa has a certain dry look coming over Lamont's face. Apparently, his memories of that place are nothing pleasant in the way of nostalgia. "Austria is lovely," he agrees, after a beat of pause. "And….well, it's been some time since I was in Morocco…"
*
"The Mediterranean is a nice place to summer." Jean-Paul agrees. "I can't say I've visited any parts of Africa. I've been encouraged to go on safari but I find it to be a barbaric thing. If one must shoot something for sport, there's many people much more deserving of it than a lion or elephant."
*
"It's overdone, with guns," Isis wrinkles her nose taking another draw from the cigarette. "I've no objections to hunting for food with a gun. But if you're going to hunt big game, then you're doing it to prove yourself. And if you're trying to prove yourself, you're not proving anything by using some great gun. Take a bow, take a blade, like it was meant to be done. Then if you insist on taking down a lion, it will actually be impressive. If you ever have the chance to cruise the Nile, though, I highly recommend it. It's a trip back to another time. Some things are simply eternal."
*
His voice sounds a little weary, as he quotes, "There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter." Lamont's knuckled out that cigarette, hasn't lit another. Now he's devoting himself to his drink, again. "But you're right. I don't care much for trophy hunting, either. It is mostly an empty boast with no real risk."
*
"They're proving that they need to reassure themselves of their own worth. Most likely because, being little men at their core, they have none." Jean-Paul states, a certain contempt for them evident in his tone. Tilting his head slightly, he looks at Lamont. " I don't recognize the quote."
*
"I've known such men," Isis nods to Lamont. "And it's true. They seem to be everywhere now, of a certain age. Survivors of the great war, who now find themselves lost and aging."
*
"Hemingway," the Shadow says, almost gently. "Some old article." He's leaned back in his chair, comfortable. "War is hellish….but even that has its consolations. Camaraderie, genuine risk for true gain. It may seem perverse to miss it, but many do. ….and many of those look for other means to make adrenaline flow. I'll own to being one of them. I don't hunt animals, though."
*
"Do you hunt men then?" Jean-Paul asks. It's asked idly, and not sounding as if it's a serious question. "There's a certain similarity to sports; the camaraderie, the esprit de corps, even when you are competing against each other and when it is over."
*
Isis presses the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray, instead cradling her drink in her hand as she looks to Lamont. "There's nothing perverse about it," she assures. "It's an issue as old as mankind. Well." A faint smile tugs at one corner of her lips. "Perhaps slightly younger. There was a time, after all, when that was a way of life. When relishing it was the way to survive."
*
"Not anymore. The war's over," Lamont says, and there's an odd distance in his face. The pull of memory. "Now….now I fly. That I can do, legitimately." He flashes Isis a little smile, crooked, almost sly. A nod at Jean-Paul. "There is. I fenced, in school and at university."
*
"There's nothing quite like flying." Jean-Paul muses. "There's a freedom to it you can't find on the ground. Alone in the skies, surrounded by blue with land far below." Falling silently, he takes a sip of his drink.
*
"True," Isis agrees on the subject of flight, glancing upward as though imagining it herself. "And it's more socially acceptable than hunting humans, generally speaking," she adds with a flicker of a smile. "Barring certain occupations. What is it you do otherwise, Lamont?"
*
Lamont has grace enough to look down, for a moment. "Honestly? Idle rich. I inherited a good deal from both sides of my family, I live very simply…..and really, my great expenses are travel and airplane maintenance."
*
Jean-Paul studies Lamont a moment then nods. "You fought in Korea?" he guesses, based on the man's apparent age. "A pilot?" That would explain everything.
*
"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," Isis waves a hand to Lamont, taking a drink. "I believe there are quite a few people who aspire to it, after all." She winks, glancing to Jean-Paul and adding a nod to echo the question to herself.
*
Lamont raises his gaze, looks back at them. "No," he says, mildly. "Second World War." And the First, he does not add. Well, it's been less than twenty years since that war ended. He might be a youthful fifty? Or have been one of those teenagers who lied about his age to enlist. "But I was a pilot, yes."
*
Jean-Paul nods. World War II was the logical next choice and he got pilot right. Hardly a difficult guess.
*
Isis arches a brow slightly, but she doesn't question the answer. She has flashes of memories about the second world war herself. "I can imagine that it would change the way you view the world around you." She starts to raise her glass, then catches sight of a woman leaving a shadowed booth…where the councilman she's been keeping an eye on still sits. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, though," she says with a smile, setting her drink down. "I think I need to go powder my nose."
*
"A pleasure," Lamont says, amiably. He's not disposed to follow her. Not at the moment, anyway.
*
"Of course." Jean-Paul agrees. "I was just about to leave as well. I should be getting back." Glancing down into his glass, he lifts it to finish the last then rises. "A good evening to you both."
*