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Lindon putters around the kitchen. It's not quite dinnertime or even really time to prepare dinner, but he likes to get a jump on things, so he's making the evening salad early so he can put it in the fridge. Chop chop chop, the romaine is now in pieces. He tosses it in the salad bowl. THen he starts to dice scallions. He hums quietly a he moves around, just a happy little nerd at home, having one of those precious moments of domestic relaxation.
And Lamont is putting away groceries. He may have a housekeeper come in, from time to time, but he has no scruples about cleaning and cooking as needed. Better to sacrifice time than privacy, really. He's in shirtsleeves and jeans, nothing like those suits he so often favors.
There's a sudden rapid knock at the front door, brisk and clearly summoning. The wards will report someone completely mundane, garbed in the outfit of a delivery service, and they're gone just as soon as they've completed their task. It's apparently dropping off something on the front porch.
The wards will also report that what remains there on the bottom step is small, young, and apparently completely enamored with whatever hangs about its neck. The life-signature rolls about in a small area, a sparkle of Mystical interest somewhere on its body.
Lindon washes his hands and makes his way to the door, full of general optimism. He can be in a good mood! Home is comfortable. So much so he'll even answer the door on purpose. Unless Lamont beats him to it. "I wonder who that might be?" He's still drying his hands from washing them as he approaches the door, towel in hand.
"Wait," says Lamont, all but literally pricking his ears. He looks like a spaniel that's found a covey of quail. He hurries past Lindon to the door. "There's something magical out there," he says…..and he sounds genuinely uneasy. But he does not retrieve one of the firearms stashed around the house before opening the door, slowly, and looking down. Like he expects a hellhound on the stoop.
With whiskers fully perked forwards and all four tiny paws engaged, the ten-week old snowshoe kitten has a glimmering golden coin clamped tightly in its tiny teeth. Claws are risking entanglement in the collar that sports said diadem, a beautiful number in braided silk in the hues of a peacock's feathers, but it's clear that the youngling is at no risk for damaging either itself or the length. At the opening of the door, it pauses and stares up at Lamont with big blue eyes just this side of violet. Rolling to one side, it flicks a pink tongue and continues to stare up at the tall human silently.
It's the coin itself that contains the touch of the Mystical and it will remain utterly blank until touched by either of the gentlemen; on it, in classical script, a name: Puck.
Lindon comes up behind Lamont cautiously. "Wo is it?" he asks. Then he looks over the man's shoulder and sees the kitten, his features go all soft. "Oh, look at him. He's outdone himself this time." He clasps his hands together. "Can we just keep him? See if he stays in this form? I'll go get some cream to put in a saucer. Wait, he doesn't drink anything but tea…"
Oh, the dubiousness of Lamont's expression. He dips down to pick up the kitten in both hands, holds it at eye level. "I can't tell if that's Strange or not," he says, musingly. Then he laughs, suddenly. "Of course it's strange. It's a kitten with a magical collar. But is it the Doctor? I don't know. Either way, he'll like cream in this form, I'm sure." And he hands off the kitten to Lindon without hesitation. "He has you right in his sights, either way, you softy."
The kitten continues to be silent, even when picked up and scrutinized by the practitioner of the house. He simply tilts his head and looks back, those large neonatal eyes bright in the outside light.
When handed off to Lindon — oh, that's when the schmooze dials to eleven. There's a soft chirrrup of sound and the feline sporting the name of the most infamously-tricksy of Fae finds the nearest part of the Archive to lean against, his tiny throat rattling with a quiet purr.
"Oh," Lindon gasps, "Lamont look at him. He's purring, can you hear?" He cradles the kitten in his large hands, holding it close and secure. "You're so cute," he croons. "I'm sorry, I know you're likely the Sorcerer Supreme but if you keep doing this, you're really just bringing it on yourself." He ruffles tiny ears and gives scritches. When he looks at Lamont, he looks helpless. Taken in by yet another ruse that will break his heart with the cute animal turns into Strange."
Lamont just puts his hand to his face, wipes down. "Well, we'll keep him until he turns back. I can't imagine he'll stick this form long enough to have to crap in a box of sand," he says, but his tone isn't that grumpy, not really. "And I just brought home more cream. You're such a sucker." Was that to himself, or Lindon? Who knows? Withouth a further word, he gestures, ushering Lindon and kitten inside.
Those tiny ears flick back in delight for the ruffling and the scritching is enjoyed for a few moments. Then, as they all begin to migrate back into the house, the finger doing the delightful motions is attacked in a juvenile flip of intentions. Nom-nom-nom, teeny teefers attempt to take on Lindon's joint.
The coin will feel cooler upon Lindon's palm, slightly electric if left sitting on one patch of skin for too long. The kitten, Puck, doesn't seem to mind at all. There's a giant's finger to eat anyways.
Lindon sucks in a breath. Ow demon teefs! "Ah! Ah, ow, okay, let's stop eating my finger." He doesn't try to avoid the cool, electric feeling, though he does tell Lamont, "This tag feels funny. I wonder what it's supposed to do." He trusts the Sorcerer Supreme not to cast any untoward magic on him. Lamont is another matter. "Look at his little teeth! They're really sharp." He moves his finger away and wags it at the kitten. "No finger-eating."
"I'll want that, when we're inside, I think," Lamont notes, drily. To wrap in silk and store in an oak box, against any untowards sorcerous surprises. "I'm sure it's the punchline of the joke." He shuts the door behind them, and leads the way back to the kitchen.
Puck watches that finger waggle, angling white whiskers up as he meeeeews pitifully for his toy taken away. His attention is diverted again, in the manner of the young, and he observes his surroundings in a markedly…intelligent way, leaning heavily against whatever part of Lindon keeps him propped in the man's grasp.
Then the nearest fingertip is tackled and….suckled upon. Uh oh, someone's hungry, given the knead-knead into skin.
Lindon gasps in pain, draws the kitten away from the fingertip, and says, "Lamont, he's hungry." Like this is Lamont's fault somehow and it has to be fixed now! It cannot wait. This kitten being hungry is the biggest tragedy of all. Even if the kitten is the wizard. Something in Lindon's head just short-circuits. He cuddles the kitten, keeping his fingers away, and he allows Lamont access to the collar. "He wants to be called Puck right now," he says wryly.
"I think Strange may've given you a familiar," Lamont opines, as he gets the bottle of cream (INTENDED FOR HIS TEA YOU LITTLE FURRY PARASITE) and pours a generous measure out for the little creature. "Oh?" he asks. No being mean to the kitten that might be STrange. No even being rude. Because if he is anything other than sweet to some poor, innocent creature, he will get no loving from his Relic. Bitter experience, wizards. Bitter experience.
It seems that Puck can barely contain himself once he spots that bowl of cream on the kitchen floor. Wriggling like a spastic fuzzy earthworm, he manages to land without busting his tiny kitten skull and prances over to the nourishment.
He goes in a little too enthusiastically and blinks at the droplet of cream on his nose. Up goes a paw to clean it off and the furry monster decides that licking it from his toebeans is the best way to go. Dip, lick-suckle, rinse and repeat. The tiny tail wraps about his body and then ripples outwards again. All the while, he purrs between swallows.
Then comes the voice.
"Did you gentlemen really expect me to sip cream from a saucer?" A scoff. "Please." Oh yes, that voice — but how? The kitten has his paw in his mouth. Knock-knock on the front door and the wards will absolutely report that the Sorcerer Supreme is out there and NOT in here. Surprise!
Lindon blinks a few times. Wait, all right. These are the facts: the Sorcerer Supreme's voice is here. The kitten had discovered the most adorable way ever to drink cream. That method precludes being able to talk. Then there's a knock on the door and he startles. "What's going on?" he implores to Lamont. He still won't bother the kitten drinking cream, though. It's so cute.
|ROLL| Tim +rolls 1d100 for: 12
"Beloved, I haven't the faintest fucking clue," And the accent's English, as it generally is only when Lamont's really off balance in one way or another. "I'll get the door," he adds, heavily, and heads that way.
The snowshoe kitten pauses in consuming the cream from his paw when the voice first shows. He too looks around, as if confused as to its origins, but as Lamont heads towards the door, Puck darts after him, hot on his heels. It seems this little feline has the attention span of a flea on cocaine. His little pink nose sniffs about as he trots, tail held high, apparently having decided that it's his job to escort the Shadow to his own front door.
Lindon follows after the kitten. "No, don't go outside, kitty," he says. Outside is where cars and strays and New York City rats live. It's dangerous for small furballs. He scoops the kitten into his hands and gives it another cuddle. "Just stay in here, all right?" he murmurs. Stay forever! Every time he feels foolish when the animal turns into Strange, and every time he falls for it anyway.
If Strange has actually made Lindon unhappy, the Knight of Darkness is going to do his best to make the rest of Strange's day that much harder. But Lamont has a pleasant, neutral expression on when he opens he door. "Strange?" he asks, with a questioning lilt to his tone.
It's a tall man in a black Belstaff who turns and by the smirk on his goatee'd face, it's absolutely none other than Strange himself, waiting on the front porch like any other polite visitor — and absolutely in human form. Which makes…
Puck very much himself, the tiny terror who squirms from Lindon's grip, and the kitten darts out ahead of Lamont to latch rudely onto the Sorcerer's pants.
Immediately, the Sorcerer squints and makes a face not too unlike sucking a lemon before he reaches down to scruff the snowshoe kitten. Puck seems no worse for the wear, even batting in his direction with mitten-paws scrappily.
"I knew I made a good call with this one," he comments drily. "You can change the name tag, if you'd like," he adds, depositing Puck in whomever seems most apt to take the ballsy thing back. "Simply hold it and speak the new name. He's got some Mngwa about…ten generations back, so he has a protective streak on par with Aralune." If anyone's done their cryptozoological research, they'll know that's a gnarly bloodline to sport, with supernatural ties to ancient smilodons. But the kitten's so cute! "Whom did he bite first?" Strange glances between the men.
Lindon takes the kitten from Strange with an apologetic wince. "I think 'Puck' is a perfect name for the little darling. He bit me." He scritches the kitten, then directs him toward the cream. "I think our girls are young enough still they'll acclimate to him all right. They're upstairs asleep in my laundry hamper." Of course they are.
Lamont fixes Strange with a flat gray stare. "I draw the line," he says, "At you leaving actual changelings or human babies on the stoop. In the future…." And he trails off, warningly. The Shadow is not amused.
"I hoped he would." Gosh, that's…actually kind of mean, coming from Strange, but even as he continues, there's a tricksy grin of his own, a twinkle of self-satisfaction. "They bond that way, the cats of this bloodline. I wouldn't call him a 'familiar' necessarily, but keep an eye on him. They're intelligent beyond normal means, with a sensitivity to the Arts, and have an obscene interest in water. It's ridiculous. I watched one of his littermates nearly drown themselves in the bathtub because it couldn't swim and it came out no worse for the wear and still inclined to try again."
Lamont seems to pop his fun-bubble and the fauxpprentice gets an equally flat look back. "Cranston. If you think that would ever truly be one of my intentions, consider me offended. Besides, I will take him back if he's not welcome here." Dark brows flick high.
Puck trots his way back to the kitchen and that bowl of cream. More licking of paws. Much nomming.
"We're not saying it's unwelcome," says Lindon. "Yes, no children or changelings, please, but kittens are fine." He kneels so he can watch the kitten lap at the cream on its paw. "Are we bonded?" he croons. "Yes, we are. We're going to have to put toilet seats down to keep you safe, aren't we?" He glances to Strange. "The girls went spelunking once and left them alone."
Lamont stares Strange down for an instant longer….and then collapses into laughter. "I was joking," he says. His actual laugh is a throaty chortle, not that madman's cackle - that's limited to his darker alter ego. "We'll have to tie towels to the bathtub to let him scramble out if he goes swimming."
Dammit. He's been punked in turn. There's this quiet huff as the Sorcerer actually rolls his eyes. He jams his hands in the pockets of his Belstaff and shakes his head.
"This is what I get for altruism and thoughtful gifting. Serves me right." Still, he can hear Lindon speak from around the corner and replies to him, "I've heard they try these things. Like Cranston said, give the creature escape routes. I don't want to hear that he accidentally drowned himself in the sink." Lamont is the next to be addressed. "They eat as normal cats do, no special needs in this case. You two will have enough to worry about soon enough, I think." And the Shadow gets a knowing look. Oh yes, there's still a discussion to be had about what he overheard at tea not long ago.
Puck is nearly finished with the cream and still purring up a storm. It seems he's intending to pack it all away somewhere in his bottomless pit-self!
"There's a good kitty," Lindon murmurs. He scritches the kitten atop his wee head. He eyes Strange and Lamont when the latter starts laughing, and he shakes his head. "You two," he chides. "Keep pranking if you end up giving me kittens." He coos at Puck. "You're a smart little guy, aren't you? We'll go upstairs and introduce you to the girls. They'll love to have another little friend."
Lamont immediately gives Strange a pleading look, shaking his head, mouthing 'No'. Three is apparently enough. Strange can bring them a hellpuppy next time.
Oh, they'd get more than a hellpuppy. Don't tempt the Sorcerer.
"Sorry, Lindon, no more kittens. That was the end of my general benevolence with delivering kittens." Oh, what an open-ended statement. "Keep me updated, gentlemen," Strange says as he turns about and walks down the stairs to the walkway leading to the entry gate of the property. "He's no Aralune, not Fey in the least, but he'll keep you busy. Cranston…we'll talk."
He leaves by a sparkling Gate and the Sanctum's foyer can be seen in passing even as the rift collapses, leaving the two men to deal with their new pet.
Puck, when done with the cream, is certain to clean every bit of it from his paw. He gives Lindon a friendly chirrup of sound, rubs on him in passing, and then…darts away out of the kitchen, intent on exploring the entire mansion he calls home — and touch all the things he's not supposed to, of course.