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So, for once, Lamont hasn't made or heated up dinner for Lindon. House wizard is failing at his job. A note on the fridge that he might be too lost in meditation to be on time for dinner - no need to worry or wait, eat without him. There're leftovers in the fridge itself, though.
When Monty does appear, it's in t-shirt and loose pants, and he smells distinctly of incense. There's a kind of dreamy, lost look in his eyes, and the languor of intense tiredness as he scuffs into the kitchen.
Lindon has taken up the job. He's a walking rolodex of recipes, and tonight he's putting together a chicken cordon bleu that is quickly becoming one of his favorites to make. He looks up from cutting up the salad to go with the main dish, and he smiles warmly. "What timing," he says.
Lamont drops into a chair, loose-jointed and weary. But he smiles at Lindon. "Hello, my dear," he says, softly, propping his chin on his hand and letting his eyes half-lid. "I'm sorry I didn't have anything ready. Had a bit of meditation to wrestle with." Perhaps literally wrestling, considering the way he looks.
"It's quite all right," says the busily chopping Lindon. "I like cooking. It's nice to get to do it once in awhile." Sometimes, when the voices in is head keep him up, he bakes. "Did your meditation go well?" He looks up at Lamont, brow furrowing. "Should I ask rather 'who won?'"
That smile's still dreamy, vague….but he doesn't seem drugged. "Wrestling with myself, so to speak," he says, gently. "I've got to do the karmic accounting, now and again, and it's never pretty…" Lamont leans back in the chair, limp as a rag, and pulls a face. "Think of the most unsparing, unflattering mirror you can…."
Lindon winces and says, "I can see how that would be rough. At least you're through it." He pours Lamont some lemonade from a pitcher in the fridge and brings it to him, stealing a quick kiss. "Do you want to talk about it? I always find your meditations interesting."
Domesticity. It's as alien as a different world….but so easy to accept. The smoothness with which Lindon's become a part of his life can't entirely be blamed on magic urging the bond. But then, one might presume that the Cloak does not cook Strange dinner. Lamont's reserve eases a little, as he returns the kiss. "Not yet," he says, softly. "I far prefer the version of myself I see in your eyes. I hope it's a very long time before I tarnish that image."
"I don't think you're perfect in the first place," Lindon says with a wry smile. "So you don't have that working against you." He heads back to the counter to finish up dinner prep. "I think it would annoy me if you were. Perfect, I mean. No, you're exactly what I'm looking for: mystical, but human in every way that matters." He starts dishing up plates to bring to the table. It smells good. He's got quite the knowledge base to learn about cooking from.
He's also not his usual carefully neat self. Lamont's rumpled and almost dozy, but he watches Lindon with appreciation. "You're really almost unreal," he tells the Archive. "YOu have the sweetest temper of anyone I've known. But you're not simple or naive."
Lindon pours himself some lemonade, the come sits at the table once dinner is served. "Thank you," he says with a small, meek smile. "I just try to be me." The chicken is succulent, the ham and cheese stuffing excellently executed. He's really nailing this recipe. "I was thinking maybe sometimes we could have themed meals, like a day of eating like the Romans."
"I'm delighted to do whatever you please," Lamont returns, smile growing. "You've really mastered the art of contentment, haven't you? It's easy, isn't it, when wants are simple and direct?" He's begun to eat, slowly at first, then with more evident relish. "….do you want to travel?" he asks, suddenly. "We can, you know. I've enough money to be extravagant, if we want."
"T'is a gift to be simple," Lindon says. He's a prim eater, the result of table manners hammered home by a fussy mother. He looks up at the mention of travel, a bit surprised. "I'd like to travel," he says. "I always wanted to go to Europe and see the famous cities. Paris, Rome."
"Then we'll go," Lamont says, and his tone is fond, rather than grandiose. "It's funny," he adds, after another bite, "If you were a woman, I could give you jewels and furs, perfume and flowers and chocolates. Cliche, I know, but they make a good starting point. But as a man, I can't openly court you. So….tell me how," he requests. "Travel seems like an idea…."
"If I were a woman," Lindon points out, "I would be holding out for a ring. But you've already given me a house, books, a library to keep them in." He smiles across the table at Lamont. "Travel would be worth all the furs, jewels, and chocolates there are."
Lamont can't help a wolfish grin. "Why buy the cow…." he intones, teasingly. "But good. Travel it is. Mediterranean sound good? Or Paris first?"
Lindon laughs. "The Mediterranean would be great. We can bring Lambert something back, maybe some kind of spice that's hard to get here." He continues to eat, slowly working his way through his food in dainty bites. "Maybe Paris after. There's so much history, there. The Catacombs, the river worship of the Parisii. Though I guess there isn't much of that left to see."
Lamont notes, oh so casually, "Remember, I have ties to wizards far greater than myself. We'll be able to see far more than you might expect." He nods at the mention of Lambert, but doesn't press the point. This is a trip for them.
Ah, but could Lindon go all that way, not bring back gifts, and still be Lindon? "There are just so many fascinating places that have been paved over," Lindon says. "Unknown sacred ground. I think I'd like to stand there and know them. Who knows? We might find something buried. I think I know of some locations where we could go looking for treasures."
"….yes," says Lamont, eyes alight. Who doesn't dream of finding buried treasure? "And you, if anyone, would know precisely where…." He's paused in his methodical eating. "I need to take you to England. God only knows what you'll come up with."
Lindon laughs again, soft and subdued as he usually is. "Am I a truffle pig, now?" There's no rancor in the words, but rather amusement. "I wouldn't mind seeing England. Ireland, too. My paternal grandparents were Irish. Catholics, of course. There's another place with history just laying around for everyone to see."
Lamont has grace enough to blush, at that. "No, no," he says, lifting his hands. "Not like that. But…it would be fascinating, I think. Both Ireland and England are old and sodden in magic." He pauses. "I'm not much of a visionary, myself. But….I remember seeing a battle in the past, once. I'm pretty sure it was part of the Norman invasion." The gray gaze goes dreamy, again. But it's no longer vague, but almost transcendent, focussed on some middle distance. The strange softness there, the look of strain around the eyes, as if he were trying to bring something into clearer view. "The summer of '40….it was very strange. The strain of combat, and the sheer amount of magic being used. I wasn't much of a magical combatant, but I was also helping by raising energy for the witches defending our island. I was damn near worn out….and it made me more sensitive, if that makes sense."
"Certainly," Lindon says in a low tone. "Sensitivity via exposure. Of course we can go visit those places." Hey smiles wryly. "Besides, we can't just go around the world digging things up. It might raise some eyebrows, and I there are things I know that I just… know. That I won't tell, because I don't want to deprive history of the surprise."
There's a self-deprecating gesture from Lamont. "Of course," he agrees, mildly. Still a little embarassed. "And….well, I won't pry." Even though he's the most curious bastard evar.
Lindon says primly, "Thank you." Let future generations find Richard III under a parking lot. Lindon likes to know things other people don't. "There are some things that, of course, I'll share with you. The mystical stuff most definitely. You're my wizard, after all." He smiles at Lamont. If Strange's Cloak had expressions, would it look so fond?
Lamont inclines his head in gracious acceptance. "I'd be honored," he says, with mock formality.
Lindon inclines his head in turn. "For starters, I would just find it thrilling to go to the Colosseum, which is overrun with cats, by the way." A point that, if anything, sells it for Lindon.
There's that laugh of his, surprisingly full-throated. "You won't be happy until we have a Malk of our very own, will you?" he teases. "Or some cat familiar."
Lindon insists, "It's just a point of trivia." He laughs, though. "And I just want to visit them, maybe get some pictures." Of being surrounded by cats in a historical setting. The man knows what he likes. "There doesn't have to be a magical cat. Cats are great just the way they are."