|
  |
It's another night, and Lindon hasn't come into Lux again, but he is standing outside of the club, hands in his pockets, just… in the neighborhood. And glancing at the club. There's people in there, but it's a fascinating place. Rosemarie or Lamont might be in there, but is Lindon feeling up to the task of existing in a social setting? These are important things to consider!
*
Those are the important questions; is the draw of the possibility of finding what you're looking for enough to pull one into an uncomfortable situation? Lindon isn't the only one considering these questions this evening as his proverbial 'ship' is nearly passed by another. Nearly. The hooded Morbius walks past Lindon while he debates the club at the entrance, pausing before he hits the door, the walking overcoat stops and turns about, his chin lifting enough to let his pale face be seen. "Mister Lindon, yes?"
*
Lindon turns to Morbius, and his brows lift. Someone's saying his name. Okay, he's used to this, he has a job. "Mills," he says, and he offers his hand to shake. Obviously the other night didn't freak him out badly enough to make him rude. "Lindon Mills. Please, just call me Lindon." He pauses, then juts his chin a little and says, "Or Lin." Maybe that'll catch on. Would it be cool if it did? A man can hope.
*
Morbius takes pause when he notes the correction and the extension of the hand once again. Elongated fingers wrap around Lindon's hand with the same mindfulness as the other evening, however his skin seems less papery and his face less wrinkled and sunken. "Yes, Mister Mills. Leendon, my apologies." A skeptical looking narrowing of those sanguine eyes. "Leen? No. I like Leendon." No apology, only correction as Morbius glances back toward the club, then around the sidewalk. "You are alone this evening?"
*
"You look well," Lindon says. He smiles a little. Ah, well. Maybe he's just not a 'nickname' kind of guy. He glances this way and that as he says, "Yes, I was just out for a walk and was thinking about a drink, but I'm not sure. It's getting late, and it's such a nice evening. Sorry about last night. Sometimes there's just too much noise and I need to clear my head." He nods. A little too much. Yep, just talking. To a vampire.
*
Well, he is sort of a square.
"Thank you," Morbius takes the compliment without explanation and dips his head genially in return. "You as well. The noise in some establishments is…thunderous," the gentile seeming /vampire/ agrees. A bare flick of his fingers toward his hood. "The bodies, the lights, the sound, it can become too much. I can understand that avoidance. Mm," Morbius lifts his head while plucking at the tip of his hood to keep it forward as he peers around. "Perhaps a quieter establishment would be to your liking? It is quite crowded inside this evening." However Morbius knows that is up to anyone's guess. Maybe he was inside earlier?
*
"I think so," says the square. "Somewhere quieter would be nice." There's that shy smile again, and his gaze drops to the ground. "Is there anywhere in particular you wanted to go? I'm happy to just walk, too. Maybe avoid the park. There are, um, nightmarish horrors from beyond mortal ken there."
*
"Well, if you've no conflict with walking with nightmarish horrors from beyond mortal ken, I shall be vigilent in making certain you are unbothered by others," Morbius…jokes? It's hard to tell precisely, but there is a small upward curvature to his mouth as he pivots to one side and gestures generously outward with one hand before secreting it away once more into his pocket. "They are but zombies. I went there myself some time earlier to see if I could speak with them, but there is no mind about them." He turns an eye on Lindon and says, quite seriously. "Not all zombies are cut from the same cloth."
*
"You're quite civilized for a nightmarish horror from beyond mortal ken," Lindon says. "I haven't gone to see them up close. I try to stay away from the mindless dead." And the mindful dead? He starts to walk, but it's slow steps and a backward glance to see if the vampire comes along with. "There are quick ones and slow ones, aren't there," he says. "It depends. I mean, you're right. They're not all the same."
*
"Well, not all nightmarish horrors from beyond mortal ken are cut from the same cloth, either," Morbius advises as they walk, tipping his head forward with an enigmatic, slightly wistful smile on his pale features. The talk of zombies once again rouses his attention and the man nods mildly. "Yes, those which have more, advanced stages of decay move slower as their brains and muscles have deteriorated to the point where they cannot move as quickly. The more recent dead are more in tact and therefore driven by their base urge to feed. However, I did mean that I've known some very affable zombies."
*
"Have you?" Lindon say, perking up as he glances to Michael. "I didn't know they came in 'affable.' Or are they they affable to fellow nightmarish horrors but will eat a person if given the chance?" He pauses. "Not to say you're not a person. It's just turns of phrase, that's all." He shoves his hands in his pockets. They don't know what to do with themselves. He should take up smoking.
*
An understanding, however slightly distant smile answers the explanation for Lindon's choice in words. "I understand the phrase, yes. I was once a person. I understand what it is you mean," Morbius explains with a softened hum under his breath as he plucks delicately at the tip of his hood. "No. Simon became a very kind soul once the voodoo priestess' hold was broken upon him." A zombie. Named Simon. "I have never seen him eat a person of his own power and without just cause. Truly, of all those upset about the happenings in the park, he is the most incensed, I believe. Curses up a storm every time it is brought up."
*
Lindon is quiet for a little while. Finally, he says, "I can imagine it would be frustrating for someone like Simon to see his ilk so badly represented." He frowns, his eyes darting back and forth like he's reading letters in the air. "Your friend has a high level of autonomy and self-awareness. I don't think the ones in Central Park are quite so lucky." Laughter tremors in his voice, because he's just imagined a cursing zombie named Simon. "I'm afraid the undead aren't my area of expertise, though I've been learning more about them." In the past several minutes as words tear through his mind.
*
Sweeping eyebrows leap upward as Lindon's laughter fills the air for a trembling moment. Morbius cants his head slightly to one side, mouth stretching until the barest glimmer of elongated canines and laterals can be seen. The humanity in his features glimpsible.
"You have taken an interest in the undead? Why is this? That is not a typical area of study." Terribly curious and duely oblivious as to Lindon's own secrets and abilities.
*
Lindon gestures broadly as he says, "I think about a lot of things. Since we met, I became curious. I wouldn't say I'm any kind of expert, but I've come to learn there's a broader scope of knowledge here than the layman would think. I mean what's a vampire? That depends on who's asking the question and who's giving the answer. The world really is strange." And he's in a rare moment of contentment, because it's one of those rare moments where he can talk about what he's thinking."
*
"The world becomes only more peculiar the longer you live in it, /that/ I can assure you," Morbius agrees, conversational, which is actually rather cathartic for him as well. "To be technical, one would say I am a 'pseudo-vampire', though the difference is largely ignored by most." A glimpse of ire in his tone, then a frown. "The difference is negligible," rephrasing in a softer tone plucking at his accented words.
*
"Tell me about it," Lindon says. Then Morbius calls himself a pseudo-vampire, and there's that thing he does again, with his eyes, like he's reading the air. "Negligible, but extant." He looks to Morbius. "What are the differences, would you say?" His brainbank doesn't always have complete information, alas.
*
Morbius is silent while he watches Lindon's eyes flicker back and forth. Curious. Then hesitant. "The differences are significant enough to those of us who fall under each party. I have had many enough vampires make it expressly clear." His eyes squint slightly and with a pivot of one foot, the pale creature attempts to stop their progress by stepping in front of his companion. Clawed hands reach up toward Lindon's face, intent on curling around his jaw, but they halt just hovering around his face. Not a very settling moment. "Pardon me. Do you mind?"
*
Lindon blinks a few times, and he comes to a stop. "Er… sure? But telepaths find it difficult to penetrate my mind. There's a phenomena." He doesn't even sound put out by the thought a telepath might try to penetrate his mind. It happens so often he's just coming to accept it's some kind of mystical aloha. A conclusion to be jumped to, clearly. He smiles a little, apologetically. "It just happens."
*
"No, I am doing something much more mundane…" Morbius mumbles distractedly once he's given permission, the cool touch of his palms under Lindon's chin, the prickle of those claws resting placidly behind his ears, trying to encourage Lindon to lift his chin upward slightly so Morbius can meet his gaze. It's a little difficult to tell with the unnatural coloring of his eyes, but he seems to be searching for something. "To zee left please…" with an encouraging manipulation, still staring straight into the man's eyes. "And zee right?" If he is able, of course and Lindon is compliant.
*
Lindon lifts his chin and looks at Morbius. It's awkward. Eye contact is a social contract and he's not sure he's got the collateral. But he is handle-able, compliant as he turns his head to the lef, then to the right. "Will I ever play football again, doctor?" he jokes. Lamely.
*
It will not help the awkwardness by any means, but the vampire seems ot be staring /at/ Lindon's eyes rather than into them, soul searchingly and deeply, likehe's about to try to make out with the guy with a mouth full of razor sharp fangs. But it is uncomfortable. Any more than three seconds is uncomfortable, and this is a good twenty. The joke met with a blink and slight recoil. "Mister Leendon, there are many reason I would not suggest you play footballAmerican or oterwisebut your eyes are not tee reason for it." Releasing Lindon's jaw, he explains further. "I know of a few notations of a possible occular or neurological disease wherein one's eyes move back and forth constantly. Though yours seems intermittant."
*
Morbius didn't get the joke? He's like Lindon! This does inch his comfort level up a notch, though there's a counterpoint of awkwardness that he uttered the joke in the first place, and he mumbles, "Sorry." When Morbius steps back, Lindon grimaces and say, "Was I doing it again? I'm sorry. I just… I think in words. That's all. Words and pictures. It's like I can see them in my mind, and I was just reading them. There's nothing to worry about."
*
"Oh," Morbius finishes up the exchange with his own awkwardness when there's an explanation for Lindon's weird eye movements. "Well. Good. Because I have only seen two documented mentions of it, and it is incurable. Good." The same word twice in as many breaths. Awkward. Morbius shifts back in line beside Lindon to continue their walk. "You have always thought like that?"
*
Lindon half-smiles at Morbius' awkwardness. "It's kind of you to be concerned," he says, adding his own awkwardness. His hands drift to his pocket, then to his sides, his hips, then he folds his arms. Then, as they continues their walk, into the pockets they go. "It's kind of a recent thing," he says. "I got hit by lightning. Slightly related. It was, uh, magic lightning." He frees a hand so he can sweep it over his neat dark hair. Hoo boy. "I just think a lot now, and it comes to me in words."
*
'I got hit by lightning' immediately calls another sidelong look from Morbius, his brow furrowing, then brows flying immediately upward at the modifier of /magic/ lightning. "You were hit with magic lightning." Not skeptical, mind you, but there is a wight in Morbius' tone that seems to be procesing this in his own way. "You were struck…by lightning…which was magical in nature." No matter which way you say it Morbius, it is the same. "Was it a spell?"
*
"Yeah, I know," Lindon says. "It's just one of those freak things. It was a spell some wizard was casting without the proper wards, I guess. It misfired and hit me instead of the book he was trying to hit. His sanctum kind of exploded. I was in a coma for awhile." So awkward, with just a tiny note of apology. He's sorry he's a freak. "When I woke up, there were words in my mind. They speak to me too. It's, uh, noisy. In my head."
*
Quiet while he listens to the explanation for this phenomenon, Morbius' attention is unbreakably all Lindon's. A studeous mind in a monster's body; Lindon's apology is the only thing met on deaf ears. "That sounds traumatic. But. If he were trying to cast it upon his book, and you hear words as well, it must have been some kind of a scribe spell or somesuch, it sounds like." Morbius's turn to look apologetic. "The occult and mystical arts are not my forte. I am only just learning pieces of this world and trying to apply it to my own, as science seems to have only road blocks to offer me as of late."
*
Lindon says with a rush of relief, "It's okay that the occult isn't your forte. I've met so many people who want to keep me on a leash and feed them knowledge. I can't control what I know, but it's a lot." He looks at the ground as he speaks, kicking a rock on the pavement. "It's nice to hang out with someone who isn't looking for a living encyclopedia." Quickly, he adds, "Lamont isn't like that. He's a genuine friend." Must defend the woobie.
*
"I admit that my own persual of knowledge in a realm unfamiliar to me makes it tempting to monopolize your time, Leendon," Morbius admits, his mouth curved mildly into a smile. "However, I can appreciate this feeling of assumption and use. It is something all who retain some sort of, ah," A clawed hand slides out of Morbius' pocket, looking at his own palm with a slow curl of his fingers one at a time. "Difference. Can appreciate. I may beg from you some time assistance, but tonight is not that night. Tonight is for walking."
*
"I don't mind sharing knowledge," Lindon says. "It's the leash that bothers me. Besides, uh." He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm trying to get out more and meet people. To make friends, and stuff like that. I spend too much time in my library with my books. It's not good for me." He looks over at Morbius, and his smile is rather kind, those dark eyes gentle. "Tonight is for walking," he agrees.
*
"I don't understand the leash, uh, analogy," Morbius concludes with a shake of his head. He has a very keep understanding of the language, so it is less likely that problem and more likely he just doesn't understand Lindon's life. "People trying to keep you stuck to them and only them, like a pet? That is no way for a man to be. You are a man. A man should be the master of his own destiny."
*
Lindon grimaces. "Yes, like a pet, or a relic to be shelved until it's needed." His gaze is downturned. How hard it must be on one's sense of self, to be treated like an object. His smile is tentative and hopeful. "I'm glad you see me as man. It shouldn't be such a treat, but things aren't always the way they should be. Tonight feels pretty good though. I, um, think I like you."
*
Morbius brushes aside the gratitude with a terse shake of his head, his overgrown hair swaying from out of the hood, which he plucks at to keep up and immediately tucks his hands away again. "Men of difference are no different than other men. It is easy to forget this. You are a living testament, but still a man, and /that/ should be respected no less than what your gifts and differences are." Confident tonight and on the defense of Lindon against his would be keepers. Nevermind he has no context. "I am glad. I like you as well, Leendon. I remember what it was like to be a man whom others would treat a particular way. I am no man, now, but for monsters it is not so different. Perhaps not on a leash, more like…on the end of a pitchfork."
*
Lindon says, "I can't imagine. It's hard to think of you as a monster. My instincts says potential friend, not fiend. Maybe I've just seen too much monstrosity to see it as 'other.'" He pauses, then says tentatively in Greek, «Is this easier? Do you feel like a man or a monster?»
*
Shock is Morbius' immediate reaction when Lindon switches to his home tongue. Those prominent eyebrows loft upwards and eyes widen around the edges as he stares at the Archive. He returns easily, «You speak Greek! I apologize, most Americans have enough vanity where they don't bother with the rest of the world's languages unless there's a war to persuade them.» He laughs, straight from his chest, a cool and pleasantly surprised sound, smiling until those elongated teeth are again visible. Morbius then dips his head and hides his face again. «I haven't heard Greek since I came here, so thank you. It feels nice. Maybe a little more like a man. I have moments, still. But…I am always reminded. The nature of my monstrocity makes it difficult to forget. You are…exceptionally kind, Leendon. Thank you.»
*
Lindon says with the fumbling of the unfluent, «Greek is in my head. I feel like I'm cheating.» He studies Morbius' face with fascination. «Am I?» He smiles with genuine pleasure and lowers his gaze, shy creature that he is. «It just seems easier this way, and the more I speak what's in my head, the more it becomes mine. One could say you're the one helping me.» He no longer pays attention to where they're walking. It's just a walk, a lovely one on a warm spring night. «I think this is the longest conversation I've had with someone I don't live or work with in ages.»
*
Morbius doesn't seem to have anywhere in particular in mind, but he is watchful. His eyes are always darting ahead of them and subtly changing their course when he sees others on their side of the street coming forward. A turn here, a turn there.
«Well…I don't feel like it's cheating,» Morbius decides, his word choice simplifying and speaking a hair slower, more articulately. «You said it's like reading. Images, words. You're learning a new language by reading and speaking it, only the book is in your mind. Not cheating. No more than someone naturally gifted in math is cheating only because the logic makes more sense to them.» The vampire's words are definite. Without equivication. Even conversationally, he comes from an analytical angle where he absorbs new information and comes to a sound conclusion. «What of your friend the other night? He is a colleague?» Morbius stops and tries again, substituting the word. «A work friend.»
*
Lindon thinks about this for awhile, and he nods slowly. «Yes, I think that makes sense. All right, it's not cheating.» Morbius has made a good, sound point. Lindon has relaxed, and he doesn't even have to worry about what to do with his hands. «Lamont? Oh, no, he's not a work friend. I live with him.» He suppresses a smile. «He has a big house. Plenty of room for me and my sister.»
*
«I understand.» No, you really don't Morbius. «That's good that he allows you to stay as well. I assume he and your sister are amorous, then. It seems a peculiar arrangement otherwise.»
*
Lindon sputters, coughs, then says, «No, no no no. No. They're not. No.» He shakes his head. «No, it's not like that at all. The do sometime team up against me, but they're not amorous. No.» He coughs again, a little. «No, it's just that he and I are very good friends. He's a generous man.»
*
Morbius gives Lindon a sidelong look, arching an eyebrow at him as he sputters to confirm that no, his sister does not sleep with Lamont. Another glance over the man. «Then you and he are lovers.» The only natural following conclusion, though unlikely seeming. «I don't believe he cared for me much. He seemed to be baiting me the other evening, but I cannot hold it against him, as I am.»
*
Lindon sucks in a breath. He watches the pavement as they walk. In fact, he's quiet for some time before he quietly says, «He has a mercurial streak. He enjoys testing people. I prefer to just be, I guess? I don't know. I always find the best way to learn about someone is to talk to them.» He offers Morbius a weak smile.
*
Unbothered for the most part by either topic of conversation, Morbius faces forward as they walk, head bowed but his attention vigilent for the most part. The smile turned in his direction taken in from the cold and met with a polite turn of his own, Morbius tips his head to the side in lieu of a shrug. «It's fine. Like I mentioned, I can't blame him for the way he seemed to act. I am what I am and stopped trying to change people's perceptions years ago.» Lifting his head slightly, Morbius sniffs, though not for dramatiic effect. Reaching over with intent to rest a hand lightly on Lindon's shoulder, Morbius tries to steer the other man across the street in the middle of a block. «I'm sure he has his merits.»
*
Lindon's shoulder tics when touched, an involuntary response, but then he relaxes and is steered. He even smiles. Touch is a thing he has denied himself for so long he's a secret glutton for it. «He is good to me and my sister,» he says. «He protects me from those who would keep me as a pet or object. He has his others, but never fails to make me feel desired.» His cheeks flush crimson. «I don't think of it's all right to be treated poorly because you're different, but I imagine the aura of the predator in you affects the way people look at you.» He glances to Morbius, studying what he can see of his face. «I don't know why I'm not afraid of the predator. I just line you, I guess.» He sweeps his hand over his neat coif or of habit.
*
«Everyone needs a champion sometimes, when they are incapable of being their own,» Morbius agrees more or less with Lindon's kind words of Lamont. «As long as he remains a champion and not a captor, it's a good thing. And to bring your sister in as well. I can see why you'd say he's generous. If mercurial.» Morbius borrows that word with a small touch of a smile to his lips, his hand leaving Lindon's shoulder after they've safely crossed the street and started back on their walk on a new path. «Especially as a physical partner, as that's the case, that sounds like a very agreeable situation for you. Good. People act like it's such a new attrocity.» It's weird to watch, as he has no iris, but Morbius rolls his eyes and makes a blustering sound like a scoff. «I am /Greek/. The church and the communists and the government wish to forget our history clearly details the rules of multiple sorts of pairings. Exhausting.» Like an old man complaining about 'back in his day' though he couldn't possibly be that old. Or maybe he is, who knows, the guy's a vampire. That moment of elder exasperation passes and Morbius turns his carmine gaze back on to the mild man he walks with. Gratified. «Well. You are a man built on a foundation of knowledge. Intelligence is not always wise or instinctually keen, soI mean this in no insulting way, I find it admirable but perhaps you are a purer form of intellect. Do you feel fear often?» A beat of pause. «Or, it's because I've fed recently and that aura is diminished. That lust isn't in my blood right now.»
*
Lindon's cheeks remain pink. «I used to be Catholic,» he says, like that explains everything. «I'm still wrapping my head around my new circumstances. The, um, physical aspect, I'm sometimes conflicted, but since there's no rational reason to be, I don't let it influence me if I can help it.» He considers the question of fear. He nods slowly and says, «I'm sick with fear most of the time, or I was. Having protectors had eased some of the immediate terror.» Another moment of silence, then he exhales sharply and admits, «I fear for my future. All this knowledge comes with a cost. Eventually I'm going to lose my mind. I'm more afraid of that than being bitten.»
*
Morbius winces as Lindon explains his religious background. «You are a smart man, and clearly able to draw your own conclusions. Life is full of people attempting to baracade and control you, it is a waste of time to help them by becoming the same. Good.» Agreeable, supportive of that conclusion that Lindon has come to in his personal life. Not that he /needs/ that, but Morbius volunteers his approval and validation anyway.
«You fear yourself.» A faint flick of a smile. «I can relate. Is there little you can do about it?»
*
Hey, it's nice to hear validation in a world that hates you. «Thank you,» he says. «I still have my moments. Sometimes I go to confession. Talking about it helps.» Again, he grows quiet to think. Then he says, «I fear the slow loss of myself and what it will do to my sister and Lamont. I fear being a burden.» He glances to Morbius. His friend the monster. «In theory, the more I experience life, the more there is left from what the knowledge takes, if that makes sense. Unfortunately, living fully has never been my forte.»
*
«We all cope in different ways,» Morbius murmurs thoughtfully, letting the quiet sink in around them as they walk. He's in no rush to fill in those thoughtful spots of silence that Lindon takes to think to himself. He uses them to enjoy the evening air and to keep a wawtchful eye out for trouble ahead. «If there is hope, even in theory, I would urge you to try, Lindon. Hope is something empires are built upon; it's the last thing that people hold on to when there is nothing else. Fear can either propel us into action or freeze us into inaction.» His smile takes a wry twist, sliding a look back toward the man beside him. «I may not be the best example, but I've noticed that when people talk about regrets, it is always the regret of /not/ doing something.»
*
Lindon nods as he listens. With that half-smile of his, he says «That's why I'm out here tonight, looking for an experience. I had to force myself, but here I am.» He glances to Morbius. «I'm glad I did. I'm enjoying this. I think this might become one of my favorite things. A nice walk with good company.»
*
«I'm flattered,» Morbius replies, his tone utterly geniune. «And glad that I could help your find a new activity. I used to take short walks back home when I was younger. It's peaceful. Gives one time to think and appreciate things. Among then, company.» The pale man casts an appreciative look toward Lindon, peering through the separated lengths of wavy black hair. «I'm enjoying this, too. Not just the language, but I do like you as well, Lindon.» As if that decision has come down from on high after enough evidence. «We'll have to make this a habit.»
*
«Now I'm the one who's flattered,» Lindon says. «I'd like to do this again. There' s so much mite of a connection talking to one interesting person than sitting alone in a room full of dull ones.» He's not out of the awkward wood yet. Fumbling with his lost hands, he adds, «Thank you for not judging me for, ah, Lamont. It's a relief not to have to lie about that part of myself.»
*
«It's a pleasure to speak with you, Lindon. If your theory is correct then perhaps by talking I was able to help you gain a few extra moments of sanity. I'm not sure how complete your mental archive's understanding of monsters is, but I can hope.» Accidentally stumbling on a very apropriate word for Lindon's abilities, Morbius turns his attention back on Lindon. Gentle, awkward Lindon. «People become too concerned about the private aspects of other's lives because they have nothing better to do,» Morbius hums down in his chest. «My priority isn't policing who people sleep with, so, yes. I'm sorry you have to face that problem with others.»
*
Lindon says, «I'm sure of it. Now I've got a personal context for what you are. The more you show me, the more I experience, the more I'll know. Besides the benefit of companionship, I mean.» The mentionof an archive gets a small, rueful smile from him. He says nothing of out, though. «I like women,» he mentions, «but I also think men are… I mean, ummm, obviously, because Lamont. Plus I tend to be such a private person anyway. It's just hard sometimes.» A glance to Morbius. «What about you? Do pseudo vampires get emotionally and physically entangled?»
*
«That could be dangerous,» Morbius observes when Lindon explains his ability that way. «If you were a malicious person, or, if the people you were talking about who try to leash you were malicious or had agendas, that could be very dangerous.» Especially for 'people' like him.
The personal question turned around on him, Morbius casts a gentled smile toward the young man he strolls with. «I don't know, I'm the only one that I know of.» That gentle expression colors with a sentimentality. «Though, I suppose that means I would be the only one who'd know.» Logic win! «Before I was…» Morbius lifts a hand, gesturing with a clawed hand over his face in a flourish. «This, I was in love. I still feel that yearning and emotional pull. The physical urge. That hasn't stopped. It's just…less important sometimes.» When he's hungry and all he can think about is how full of blood everyone looks.
*
Lindon nods to Morbius solemnly. «It's why I'm glad I found Lamont. He doesn't try to force me to tell him anything I don't want to, and he protects me from the obese who would try.» He shudders. «I still sometimes fear falling into the wrong hands.» Such is the life of a sentient relic. «For what it's worth, I'm the only Archive I know of.» He takes in the personal information, and hearing of lost love makes him look profoundly sad. He gives Morbius' shoulder a squeeze, wordless.
*
«I'm glad to hear that. There need to be more people willing to step out and keep others safe. There seems to be a resurgance of that sentiment, lately. Slowly growing.» Morbius observes, then looks somewhat gratified when Lindon uses the same term for himself that Morbius had, though he just assumes that it's chance and not the actual legitimate title for the man. «It's lonely, isn't it? To feel…separated.»
The touch on his shoulder makes Morbius start, though he did the same to Lindon earlier, being on the receiving end of physical contact is unusual. Whatever hackles that raise immediately smooth when he notices that the limb belongs to Lindon. «Thank you. I'm fine. It's just…what it is.» A pale, tepid hand lightly rests over Lindon's in acknowledgement and gratitude. «Perhaps some day there will be someone. But when I cannot trust myself, I can't expect anyone else to.»
*
«At least I already felt isolated in the first place,» Lindon says. «I was the bookworm who didn't play sports. I was always smart, just not like this. It's more intense now, but I'm making friends. Just… yeah. There's no one else like me. It's lonely.» He awkwardly lets his hand drop. «I know it's not the same, but you have a friend in me, and I'll at least listen. I like to listen.» Listening means learning.
*
«Were you? I cannot say that I am surprised, you have a certain look about you.» Morbius smiles softly from a sidelong vantage to Lindon. «I am glad you are reaching out now to make friends, which sounds somewhat self-serving and I suppose it is.» A quick flash of too many teeth in a smile, Morbius quickly dips his head and turns it away from Lindon to keep that toothiness under wraps. Shoulders shake with chuckles, the sound soft but mirthful from Morbius while he tucks hair back into his hood and pulls the cloth forward again. «It certainly is not the same, but it is still good. I appreciate it. I enjoy your company, Lindon. I haven't thought about finding a lover in a few years, so I will take friendship, eagerly.»
*
«I look like a bookworm?» Lindon say wryly. «It's all right. I don't mind if people say it.» The smile has him tilting his head curiously. Where a normal person might be taken aback or scared, he wants to know more. Of course he does. Then Morbius turns his head away, and Lindon purses his lips. «I don't mind the way you look,» he offers tentatively. «You're rather actually handsome, I think. I bet when you're ready, it'll happen.»
*
Morbius passes a bemused look toward Lindon when he questions the claim on how he comes off. The bookish librarian with general social anxiety. The monsterous man's eyes squint slightly with mirth. «You look like a bookworm and I look like I am dead,» Morbius points out with an abused arch of one upswept dark eyebrow. Amusement which shifts to curiosity and mild confusion. Softly, as if explaining to a child, «You know that, as my friend, you don't need to lie to me. I know how I look. I have a reflection.»
*
«You're interesting to look at,» Lindon points out. «Anyone can look like a person. Besides, the symmetry of your features are pleasing by classical standards.» Scienced, Morbius. That's right, that just happened. As they walk along, Lindon watches the world pass by, the city streets growing less and less populated the later it gets. «When I was growing up, the pretty people were the ones who treated me the worst. I don't hold much of a grudge, but I'm more drawn toward the strange than looks that are socially embraced.»
*
Morbius curls his fingers into his palm, curiously touching the hollow of one of his own cheeks with the backs of those lengthy digits. Science, indeed. Though the personal explanation may carry just a bit more weight to Morbius. «I can understand that reasoning. I didn't spend much time playing with others when I was growing up. I was a sickly child, so not many wished to stay with me. It was just me and my closest friend, all through school, we went into the same profession as well. There was once, in college, things became intimate, but he decided that it wasn't something he wanted. I always suspected that it was because he felt badly for me and regretted it afterwards.» Morbius tilts his head in lieu of a shrug, no darkness slips into his tone; these are all thoughts and feelings he's made peace with. «It was awkward for a time, but we grew past it. Colleagues. He introduced me to my fiance', eventually.»
*
«I had a friend growing up, but we were in Catholic school. Things like that just don't happen there.» Oh, Lindon. «But it was never complicated. We spent more time playing chess and discussing science fiction than anything else. I never even, ah, did anything. With anyone. Until college. It's still awkward.» He smiles with chagrin, shaking his head. He looks into the middle distance, then to Morbius. «What happened to her? Your fiancee?»
*
«Things like that may not have happened in your Catholic school,» Morbius jokes with a hair's bredth of suggestive humor and leading smile slid toward Lindon for a moment before it flicks away. Enjoying the companionable quiet through the evening as they walk. The weather was getting so pleasant. He glances down a smaller street for a moment, attention snagged briefly then disregarded. «I vanished from that life when I became what I am. I haven't checked back on her since then. Couldn't bear to bring myself to do it. I still think about her. Sometimes I sleep, and when I dream and she's there.»
*
Lindon's brows lift. What, does Morbius know of a Catholic school he doesn't? Probably plenty. When Morbius looks down the smaller street, Lindon looks at him. «I left my sister when this happened to me. I was all she had in the world, but I wanted to protect her. She found me anyway, and she's still mad, but it's so good to have her back in my life. Still, if I could choose? I would have left again.» He hesitates, then touches Morbius' shoulder again. «I'm sorry. It must be hard.»
*
«The greatest fear I have is that she finds me,» Morbius nods his understanding of that immediate reaction. «That need to protect the people close to you. I understand that very much. I am glad that things worked out between yourself and your sister, but I am afraid that things would be quite different if Martine found me. I am…unrecognizable.» The touch met with less of a start this time and settles much quicker as Morbius looks in his direction. A flinch of a smile leaps up and fades just as quickly; gratitude. «Thank you. It is difficult to be without that companionship. She stood by me through so much but this—» Morbius trails off and looks down at the palm of his hand. «I could never forgive myself.»
*
Lindon nods as he says, «I can only imagine.» No speeches about true love overcoming all things from this man. It just doesn't logically follow. «Sometimes we have to do rotten things for the greater good.» Though him and comfortable touches aren't often close companions, he's in no hurry when his hand finally slides away. «But you could surely find companionship again. I can't be the only one who finds your otherworldliness attractive.»
*
Grandstanding on the merits of love really wouldn't help in this situation anyway, so truly, Lindon's choice on the matter is actually socially correct. Way to go, Lindon! Maybe people will call him 'Lin' some day.
Or maybe not.
The hand on the vampire's shoulder lingers, though it doesn't seem unwelcome in the least. An unnatural looking hand reaches up to rest carefully on the crook of Lindon's elbow for the duration, exhanging companionable tokens. «Perhaps. Some day.» Morbius tries to remain polite to Lindon's optimism, though he doesn't seem entirely convinced. «Compulsion control isn't always my strong suit, which makes things challenging. But perhaps. It's very good that you've found an agreeable arrangement with Lamont. He is a lucky man. When you see him, be sure to tell him how lucky he is to have you.»
*
Someday he'll be nickname-cool! A man can dream. The touch brings a smile to Lindon's lips. He's comfortable with Morbius now. It only took a couple hours of walking around New York to get there, but here they are. «We're not far from the house now, actually." He steers the walking that way though in no hurry, not quite ready to leave his companion just yet. The houses are nice in this neighborhood. Lindon wasn't kidding when he said it was a big house if it's one of these. There's a tremble of laughter in his voice when he says, "I'll be sure to tell him. I'm sure he'll agree.» There's no sense in false modesty when one can accurately predict the outcome.
*
Morbius follows and looks up at the neighborhood they find themselves in. Carefully, the man pulls his hood over his head a little higher and keeps his head bowed, his hands slip into his pockets and remain there. «Good. I did the gentlemanly thing then and made sure you got home in one piece. The streets are filled with monsters these days, you know.» Through a curtain of separated black waves of hair that hang from his hood, Morbius' lower half of his face is still visible. He smirks, in spite of himself.
*
Lindon smiles wryly and says, «I'm beginning to discover that, yes.» He awkwardly gives Morbius' shoulder a squeeze. «I think you're rather more than a monster. You're more human than many humans I've met. The danger I live in, it's not from monsters. Since I became this thing I am, it's people who have threatened, assaulted, and sought to control me. The only monsters I've met have wanted to make sure I get home safely.»
*
Morbius' head moves slightly toward the shoulder that's being squeezed, not bargaining to take his hands from his pockets in a nice neighborhood, the gesture seems to be one in lieu of touching the hand back, but he doesn't so as far as trying to brush the side of his face to the hand. «Monsters, mutants, gods, artifacts, et cetera; we know how difficult it is to live in a world built for humanity, even as former members of the predominant species.» His levity then begins to slip, audibly. «Men's folly rests in their ability to seek out differences in order to rationalize why it is okay to harm the 'different', or use the 'different', or all the reasons that the 'different' are inferior.» Catching himself, Morbius lifts his head just enough to look sidelong to Lindon with one sanguine eye and offer an apologetic smile, veering his end of the conversation back. «But, I was once a scientist. I worship knowledge like others worship God, so, if you are a carrier of great knowledge, I am practically obligated to make sure you get home safely.»
*
«You're right,» Lindon says. He gives the shoulder another squeeze, then lets his hand drop. «And in my case, I'm a relic, a living relic, and sorcerers are greedy and insatiable. Now I'm pursued by revolting men with agendas. It makes me wonder if this is how women must feel, and I worry even more about my little sister." He shakes his head. Then he looks at the house. «Once he gets to know you, he'll like you. He just sees the danger in all things. It takes him awhile to come round to the good.»
*
The shoulder lifts gently, not to shrug the hand away, but in reciprocation. «I am an only child, but I was raised only by my mother in a time of war and strife when powerful men took what they wanted. It's hard, to worry and feel powerless.» Morbius follows Lindon's gaze toward what he presumes is the house he stays at. «I'm sure with Lamont's help she will be quite safe.» Knowing nothing about Lindon's sister and how hilarious that comment would be otherwise. «He'll either like me or he won't. I find it's best not to worry about that too much and to cherish the people who do. I eat people, Leendon. I can't blame anyone who decides to not like me for what I am.»
*
Lindon is quiet for a moment, then he carefully asks, «Is it necessary to kill them? When you feed? There are different schools of thought on the matter. I'm thinking no. You have too much heart to have killed the number of people you would have to to subsist as long as you have.» He looks at Morbius, those dark eyes solemn. «Do you take all of their blood or just some?»
*
Soaking in the silence, appreciating the weight that Lindon grants that comment, rather than coming back with some flippant response immediately. There's an air of appreciation and approval while they stroll. «Necessary, no. Some have lived.» Morbius inhales a deep breath, steeling himself against the unfortunate reality of the matter, his silhouette rises and falls with it. «It is a bloodlust, Lindon. It is a blind, feral lust sewn into the fabric of my DNA. Always present. The only reason I am able to have these conversations is because of my control andas you've put itmy heart. I have retained my humanity as a /living/ vampire, but when it takes me, I am gone. I starve myself from it for as long as I can, which may exasperate the issue, but it isn't as if people volunteer for this.»
*
Lindon again gives the words weight, and he listens. Then he takes a deep breath, lets it out, and asks in a small voice, «What if they did? What if you didn't starve yourself to madness, and someone was willing to help you take the edge off? Would it make things easier for you?» Not to mention the people Morbius wouldn't have to kill.
*
Shoulders shake softly as Morbius laughs at the suggestion, gently. «People don't like to give blood the normal way, much less with someone's mouth pressed against them.» The man shakes his head slowly. «In the hypothetical, scientific 'what if', I suppose so, but it would be too dangerous. Unless they possessed increased healing or something, it would be dangerous.»
*
«There are beings who do,» Lindon says. «What if they bled into a cup and you drank from it? Then they would control how much they donated.» His mental gears are working. This is a problem, and problems want solved. «Hypothetically. I mean I don't have any faster healing than anyone else, but I know precisely how much blood I can spare, and it's simple enough to pour it into a glass for you.»
*
Something said catches Morbius' attention and in spite of the nicer neighborhood they stroll together in, the pale creature lifts his head and looks directly at Lindon, his expression serious. «You are too important, Lindon (Leendon). Even with the risks removed, I don't think you understand what you're asking me. How hard it isalmost impossiblyto tell you no if you say something like that.» Even now as he says it, those odd eyes flicker away from Lindon's face and lull some as they trace the curve of his neck and shoulder. Shaking himself from it, Morbius closes his eyes and turns his head away for a moment, the delicate muscles in his jaw visibly working around. A faint, growing aggitation dancing around the edges of his person. «Harvested helps the necessity. Keeps me functioning at a higher level to a degree. I had acquired some donations at one point, and it helped. But the aggression is something that is always there and the longer I hold it back, the stronger it becomes. If I'm attacked or feel threatened, it gets harder, still. When I say it's a lust, that's because it's the only primal urge I can think of that a human can understand being strong enough to compare to. You become something else. So, yes, I can drink from a recepticle, but it's rather masturbatory and doesn't negate that urgency.» He looks back to Lindon. «It doesn't make me 'safe'. Only 'safer'.»
*
Lindon stands there, torn. There's an apology in his eyes, but still the quick workings of a man with a puzzle to solve. «I'm not all that important,» he says with a small flicker of a sad smile. «Only what I have inside me.» It's an important distinction for him, a humbling reminder that, with very few exceptions, he is a nobody in the court of public opinion. The only thing that makes him special is the magic that came crashing like a meteor into his mind. Arrogance would be misplaced and is too often fatal. «I won't torment you with the offer, at least not right now. I'll continue to think about it, though.»
*
Morbius wrests a hand out to make a negating, flippant gesture, «You are important because what you hold is important. You're its guardian. And I'm the guardian over what I have inside me, though it is much less, ah…valuable.» The man looks back toward Lindon, a small smile seems grateful none the less, if also sad. «Thank you. Especially considering you don't know me well. You can't fathom how much that means to me.» Another shallow breath and glance along the bare skin of Lindon's neck, Morbius says very quietly, «You need to go inside, Lindon.» Hating himself for those words, and hating himself for hating himself for them.
*
«I know what I know,» Lindon says. Whatever that means. He smiles, though, awkwardly pleased. He's not used to praise. It's a new thing that has come with meeting Lamont, and now this new friend. «But thanks. I don't know what to say. I'm just being who I am.» Then he swallows (his jugular bulging, fading back into his throat), and he nods as he says, «I understand. Thank you, Morbius. For tonight.»
*
«It's not a small gesture, so if that came easily to you, more than just what you hold on to is special.» Morbius responds with the same certainty as everything else he has 'declared' tonight. «Thank you, too. It was my pleasure Lindon. I needed a good walk with some good company. Good night.» Morbius takes great care to turn slowly, like a pot of water heated enough to boil but hasn't yet, only needing to break the surface tension to burst into bubble. Focusing on slow-breathing to calm whatever that conversation may have roused in him, Morbius starts walking back the direction he came by himself.