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Lindon is usually back in the archives, blessedly free from the scourge of dealing with visitors. Today, however, he's behind the desks, looking something up in a card catalog. Dewey, you're a genius. So he's within sight of the patrons, but he's not helping any of them. Even the ones who are stamping their feet impatiently. Nope! Archivist doesn't people. Not unless he has to.
Except he turns at a pivotal moment and the worst thing happens. He makes eye contact with someone. Before he can look away, she asks him, "Where can I find Heinlein?"
He blinks a few times, then kindly, shyly rattles off the location of said books, offering her a gesture in the right direction. Phew. That was close. Wide-eyed, he goes back to his catalog. Eep.
Morbius isn't a stranger to the library. Libraries are the fonts of wisdom and knowledge, and growing up, they were his lifeline. The meeting rooms, the quiet of the stacks, the microfilm and newspaper portfolios, the card catalogues. Everything categorized and put away where someone else can later find it. There's a serenity to the library to Morbius, and a freedom.
However, he has an ulterior motive to stepping into this specific library today. Dressed in a largely obscuring hat, tipped down to his his frightening features, Morbius' figure is swamped in an autumn overcoat tattered and stained a bit around the trailing edge, but doesn't seem downright filthy, nor do his pants and snug turtleneck. The messenger bag slung over his shoulder has seen better days, but the dark canvas is durable and it's only missing one of the front clasps.
It does occur to him that he doesn't actually /know/ what area Lindon works in normally, but he has other matters to attend to as well. Casual. He can remain casual while he searches through the stacks and the various desks for the employees for the familiar dark-haired fellow. Plucking along to no immediate avail, Morbius has gathered a couple tomes in his pale hands, tucking them close against his chest—spines in his palms, of course. It's then, in passing, that he notices Lindon trying to ignore the bulk of humanity at the desk. He smiles softly and makes another quick dive into the shelves to come up with a third smaller book and takes it with him as he strolls right up to the shy librarian.
Attempting to drain his voice of his accent and managing it a fair amount, Morbius quietly sets the tome down on the desk directly to Lindon's right. "Pardon me? I'm looking for more some light reading and I'm looking for more on this subject. Could you please direct me?"
The book is a faded red and says in bright yellow letters '3-WAY LUST' by Ann Taylor.
Gah, another patron thinks he's a desk worker! Lindon knows well the peril of coming out to the stacks. It's not like he never did the desk part of the job before. He's just really glad he doesn't have to. But it's all hands on deck, and so he's not going to tell people to go away. Besides, once he turns to talk to them, his better nature kicks in. He starts to tell Morbius, "That depends on what…"
His eyes fall upon the book, and his cheeks darken. "Ah…it's, where did you find that?" He knows those pallid hands well, and his words come with a tremor of laughter rater than true mortification.
With Morbius' hand pressed patiently to the surface of the desk beside the tawdry little book, it isn't as if he's hiding too hard. Lifting his chin, the brim of his hat rises just enough to let unnatural looking eyes rest on Lindon's face properly. A smile written across his lips.
He drops the feigned accent. "There seems to be a perfectly lewd little section in the fiction section, toward the back and away from young eyes, I presume." Amused. Deeply amused. Morbius switches to Greek and murmurs lowly, "Good day, my love."
Lindon drops his gaze and says, "Yes, well. We are here but to preserve and disseminate knowledge, not to police its contents." He glances at the book again, and his cheeks remain a fresh, healthy pink. He speaks in Greek as well, growing rather fluent in the language these days. "Are you really going to check it out? I haven't read it. I might before I come home."
He glances around, then continue talking to Morbius. He's got the time. He's usually ahead in his work. Speedreading comes in handy that way. "It's good to see you, sweetheart. It's unfair of you though, coming here in the day where I can't give you a kiss." He trails his fingertips over the desk in an idle pattern.
"Oh, yes, I am quite aware of the great overarching goal of this great temple," Morbius responds cordially in lightly accented English. "I'm certainly not here to pass judgment on the administrators who are entrusted to its care, nor would I expect one of their fine people to judge me. You simply seemed an able sort who may be able to point me in the correct direction." Morbius responds smoothly with prolonged eye contact, entirely too amused with himself at the moment.
Returning to their less innocent conversation in Greek, Morbius smiles warmly to Lindon. *"No, I don't believe I'm going to check it out. I'm here on other matters. I simply grabbed it to get your attention and see if I could make you color for me without touching you."* Not that it's a great challenge to do so. Still, it was fun. *"Patience, my treasure, patience. I won't keep you long, you're at work and I wouldn't want to be disruptive. I couldn't resist. I do have an official matter, however, if you'd like to help me?"*
Lindon watches Morbius, losing himself in those crimson eyes, frightening to some perhaps but to Lindon they're lovely. "It turns out I do know where those books are kept," he says, "and I could take you there." What will people think of Lindon showing off the naughty books to someone? Probably that he got suckered into it again, poor sweet innocent nerd.
Laughing quietly, Lindon ducks his head, continuing in Greek, "You can," he says, "I can feel my cheeks burning." He touches one of his cheeks, then quickly drops his hand. Others might see. "It's so good to see you, even if it's only for a moment. Tell me what you need and I'll help you, of course."
Oh. Oh darling, sweet nerd. Morbius smiles, holding that prolonged eye contact with his darling. So few people can stand to look at him for a significant amount of time, it's like its very own gift. Still Morbius recalls quickly and with a little bit of a sheepish murmuration, in confidence, "Before we discuss books, I'm afraid that I actually am in need of a library card." He gestures to the two large academic books resting in the crook of his arm. "I put the cart before the horse a bit. I'm hoping that since you're familiar with my situation, you might be able to help me maneuver around any…unusual circumstances?" You know, like the fact that his address is 'Monster Metropolis, NYC sewers, NY'.
*"You blush beautifully, Darling. I also received a letter today…"* Morbius reaches into the front flap of his messenger bag, pulling a creased envelope out half way, just enough to see the name on the front in Lindon's hand.
"Let me get them for you for today," Lindon says with a glance toward the books. "And I can get you a card using my Queens address if you like, love." He knows Morbius is good for it, and it's not like he doesn't know where the monster lives. Or how to get his attention.
Glancing to the letter, Lindon smiles and asks, "Do I express myself better on the page, I hope? I'm still mortified at how clumsy my words came out that night. Ugh, so cringeworthy."
Morbius' already rather upswept brows pop upwards, hidden beneath the brim of his hat for that flick of an instant when Lindon offers to let him use his address. *"The apartment? Are you certain, Darling? I wouldn't want to abuse your kindness in any fashion."* Well, sort of. At least not for a card. Not when he can just run out of the place without anyone seeing him if pressed. *"I have an ID for the rest of the information you may need. It really is simply the address that becomes the issue."*
Tucking the letter back into his satchel, Morbius lingers while he converses with Lindon, stealing time from his daily routine. But hey, if he's talking with one patron, then nobody else will come up and bother him, right? *"Well, I can't blame you for your mind being…elsewhere while we were talking."* Morbius tries to find a neat excuse for him and his stumbling words. *"I trust you do have a bit more context to what I was saying that night, now?"*
"It's no big deal," Lindon says. "Or I can check them out when you want, I just want you to have the freedom to do what you want, and it's just an address." He glances around. Sure there are patrons who want something, but they can wait. He's not even supposed to be up here right now, so it's not like he's depriving them of an available desk minder.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Lindon admits. "Except how beautiful you are to me, and how much I want you, and trying to work out all the logistics while only uttering every other word going through my head." He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm hopeless, my dear." He nods then, quickly, and he says, "Yes, of course. You're too kind to overlook my awkwardness."
Michael clicks his tongue mindfully at Lindon, the pale digits resting peacefully on the dest top reach out for a moment, curling as if they intended to cradle the studeous young man's jaw. They stop short of the compulsion, pursing his lips a bit when he realizes the misstep, and instead curl aroung the spines of the books cradled in his arm. *"Don't praise me for being a decent man and listening to you when you speak, Lindon. The situation calls for some flexibility and empathy, otherwise, it simply will not work."*
Morbius tips his head forward to hide himself as another patron walks past, briefly looking over at Lindon's desk, then to Morbius. They pass while Michael quietly sets the two heavily bound books down in front of him and shuffles through his bag. *"It wasn't so long ago that I was a young, awkward academic, too. I'm still not sure if I'm entirely convinced that everything will work out /well/, or that I am not inviting dispair into my heart with this situation but unless one tries, you never know."* The man wrapped inside a monster's id exhales a breath and looks up again, a small navy blue booklet enfolded in his clawed hands thoughtfully while inhuman red eyes turned back to Lindon. *"Logic doesn't often apply to matters of the heart, does it?"* He smiles coolly. *"We do what we can with it."*
Lindon's gaze goes to that hand and he tilts his head as if to welcome the touch. Then he drops his gaze. "Of course," Lindon says. "It's unconventional, and even I'm aware it take more than desire to make a relationship work." He smiles though as he says it. Relationship. Terrifying and titillating.
"I can't pretend to know the future, and my intelligence falters when it comes to my heart. It always has." He takes a shivery breath, and he looks up. "Sometimes I think the heart is the one thing logic can't explain. I know that I adore you, and you're in my thoughts all the time. Preserving this, it's worth the work."
The corners of Morbius' mouth lift a hint higher when Lindon says that word as well. Careful so as not to betray himself too much, there is still a warmth he is able to emote toward the man with the knowledge of eons inside him. A little on the cheeky side, Morbius arches a distinct looking eyebrow and replies. *"I can show you countless diagrams on the human heart? I can recite from memory all its parts, if you like?"* Mentioning with knowing ridiculousness. One of his feet slide to the side, pivoting slightly to look out over the library, shifting back toward Lindon again with a knowing smile. *"I'm sure you could direct me to a number of medical texts outlining it. Oddities and all."* A soft, resonant chuckle hums behind closed lips. He speaks so delicately, even in Greek, careful not to move his lips too broadly and betray his elongated fangs.
*"Logic and language have their limits, my love. In my experience, it's best to accept /that/ fact."* With that, Morbius offers the small booklet he had been holding on to. Navy cover, dark yellow letters and in three separate languages written, 'Kingdom of Greece', the royal coat of arms, then 'Passport'. See? Still buisness. Really. He's not just taking up all of Lindon's time for no reason. "I assume you'll need some form of identification for record?" Oh right. Card!
Lindon laughs and ducks his head. *"I've studied it time and again, and I've come up empty,"* he says. *"Maybe not empty. My heart's quite full now."* He's learning. He just stops himself from going into an explanation about how really the sensation is rooted in the brain and while there have been theories since the beginning of consciousness as to the nature and origin of love…
Instead, he says, *"You speak such wisdom. You're right, I think."* And yet logic and language are two of his favorite things. He blinks at Morbius for a moment. Hmm? Oh! Card! *"Yes!"* he says. *"Let me just get out a form…"* Which he pulls from the desk, getting all official. "And just fill this out." The form says bring two letters sent to one at one's own address for proof of address, but Lindon overlooks that bit.
It's almost as if Morbius is waiting for Lindon to start pulling out random facts. Historical references on theories. Hell, maybe even some philosophical debates over various time periods. He's waiting for it with a gleam in his eye and a barely restrained smile. When it doesn't come this time around, he remains smiling none the less with a knowing look passed to the younger man.
Looking down to the form, Morbius turns up with a pen from his satchel without prompting and bends over at the desk, head down to fill it out. *"I had a professor who enjoyed discussing the existential…"* He speaks thoughtfully, a touch slowly while he works on filling out the form, writing in neatly formed English letters wildly different than his 'doctors scribble' cursive that Lindon has the pleasure of trying to decrypt. Some days being better than others, depending on his state. *"He was an argumentative codger who fancied himself a modern day Aristotle; thinking that his take on the earlier works were more practical and comprehensive for the time. I honestly believe that he thought that if he spoke for long enough, his language skills would simply beat any subject into submission, whether it made sense or not."* Morbius finds himself smiling mildly while he speaks, idly. Scribbling away at the form.
*"Imperfect friendship stems from utility or pleasure, either finding the other useful or generally pleasant or both. True friendship is born of a love of each other for each other's sake and wishing well to them, for their character, for their faults, and endures. Not that the imperfect forms are at all lesser, since it takes /time/ to know a man's character, most relationships are utility or pleasure. Marriages are infamous for this, especially those with children."* Morbius sighs and straightens himself with a faint smile to Lindon, once again maintaining that lingering eye contact he finds so easily with the man. His tone softens, words formed delicately.
*"This is a moment of utility, and we have had long moments of pleasure, my darling. I am only asking for the gift of your time and the opportunity to know your character so I may one day, perhaps, love you as perfectly as I am humanly able."* Measuring his words in a soft rhythm which may sound dancelike, he slides the form across the desk again, returning it to Lindon, but may seem to be handing over a bit more than a sheet of paper.
.~{:--------------:}~.
The description of perfect and imperfect friendship seems to trigger something in his mind, some train of thought that brings an absent smile to his lips as he listens, his eyes scanning the air as though reading. *"Yes,"* he says. *"Yes, I like that. It makes sense."* Anything related to people that makes sense is to be treasured.
He purses his lips, then bows his head and smiles as he says, *"It's a gift I gladly give. I hope we get to know one another as perfectly as we might, and I hope you won't find me wanting."* He rubs at the back of his neck. *"Aside from this Archive thing, I'm just a guy. I try to be a good one."*
Morbius smiles a bit when Lindon seems to accept that logical break down to the subject of relationships and the attempted unpacking of them. Glad to have found something for him to hold onto, perhaps. Though the quick flicker of Lindon's gaze in the air catches his attention, making Morbius smile a hint as he recalls how he mistook that as a symptom of nystagmus. *"Did you just recall that? Mm. I apologize. Though of all the things to write to memory, I hope that is not the worst."* Speaking of The Archive, Morbius exhales a quick puff of breath, then chuckles softly, bowing his head to hide the flash of a fanged smile.
*"My treasure, I do not care one wiff off of a flea's ass about the Archive."* Morbius lifts his chin once more, the corners of his mouth taut while he tries to suppress a smile. *"I am not a practitioner of any mystical art—the very /reason/ I found myself mixed up in some of the /colorful/ individuals here, in fact. And while the concept is a fascinating one, I do not care. You, Lindon Mills, are my treasure. Not this thing."* He shakes his head mildly.
Lindon shakes his head and says, *"No, I looked for it and found things great philosophers said about love, and I prefer yours."* He bites his lip, then schools his expression. There are people around. *"You're going to make me blush again,"* he warns. *"In front of all these people. What will they think?"* He glances down at the illicit book Morbius brought, and then his cheeks do color.
*"It's part of me, inseparable, but knowing it's not what motivates you is such a relief."* He smiles fleetingly at that, looking Morbius in the eye. *"I never thought I was remarkable before this. Maybe I just didn't know the right people."*
A glance around the area in the noble institute for knowledge, Morbius turns back to Lindon with a faintly apologetic smile. *"What will they think? That I am a terrible individual picking on a mild-manneredbut sinfully attractivelibrarian, probably asking a number of uncomfortable questions relating to the piece of literature on the desk, there."* Morbius offers with an arch of his brows.
*"Of all men, I believe that I can understand the curious conflict of being both yourself and something else. As well as the myriad conflicting thoughts and feelings on the matter."* The very vampyric looking man tips his head slightly to one side, peering at Lindon from that new vantage. *"The fact that you are able to look past /that/ part of me is indeed, remarkable."*
Sinfully attractive? That gets more coloring of Lindon's cheeks. *"I don't think they think I'm all that attractive."* He only has the single women speculative and the older women making matches. Totally clueless. Lindon laughs, though, and he says, *"You are a terrible man."* Said with such affection.
*"I'm into all of you,"* he says in a lower tone, leaning a little closer. *"The man, the monster, the points where they become so closely twined one can't tell one from the other. Everything that makes you you. I love it all."
*"Then they're fools,"* Morbius counters dismissively as he fixes the two tomes he actually intends to pick up back into the crook of one arm. Bemused over the accusation, smiling with a faint glint of sharpened fang. *"I never claimed to be otherwise, and you are a saint."*
Lindon leans closer and Morbius watches his expression with a thoughtful smile. The way that the glow in his cheeks and that brightness in his eyes makes his entire face light up. Confident and composed, Morbius smiles with the most subtle of modest glances down in gratitude. He then turns it a bit sinister once more in a sentence. *"Thank you for saying so, Lindon. I also may have guessed from the sounds you make when my fangs touch your skin."* You cheeky little librarian.
*"/Now/ they may start wondering what we're saying."*
Lindon's lips part, and his breath comes faster, his eyes widening. Morbius is close enough to see the dilation of his eyes. *"Yes,"* he says. *We should, er, I should, I mean. Your books! Let's just process that card and, ah…"* He draws back enough to maintain some dignity and gather his wits about him. *"You're so distracting," he complains with a low laugh.
"Let's just get those checked out," he says in English, in case anyone is listening in. "I can direct you to a desk where Dolores can process your card and get you all, ah, good to go." Still he doesn't move from his spot.
Pulling the conversation back around to business once Morbius points out that Lindon is indeed still at work, the living vampire smiles calmly, composed. He may be enjoying this a little too much. "Yes, thank you for the help. I could have conducted most of my research here, but it's a little more practical to be able to come and go." His brows loft upward gently, smiling when Lindon's feet remain glued to the floor. "Dolores, Mister Mills?" Bemused over his lover's reluctance to leave.
Lindon stammers, "Dolores, right." He gestures to her desk and says, "Just over there. She's the woman with the horn-rimmed glasses. She'll get you sorted out. I'm afraid they're all a bit territorial so if I do it, they'll be after my blood." He clears his throat, then admits, *"I could stay here talking to you all day, or better yet finding somewhere private to not talk so much. I mean I don't really need a job, do I?"*
Michael scoops up his document and passportstill with his very human photograph in itglancing in the direction of the woman Lindon points out. "Then I'll head in that direction. I'd hate for there to be competition," Michael teases with a spot of black humor. Turning back to Lindon, the temptation to find some private, quiet corner for a moment is seductive and written all across his palid features.
*"Technically, no, you don't, according to a number of things. Particularly two fairly significant fixtures in your life, Darling."* Morbius responds, amused. *"But you would miss it. Don't give up on your own passions just because they are not necessary to enable you to live comfortably."* His sanguine gaze trails down Lindon's chest with the lingering marks of someone recalling from memory just what someone looks like beneath them. *"If you ever feel like quitting, let me know. I have some detailed thoughts on ways you could do it."*
*"You're right,"* Lindon says. *"I need that sense of purpose, and the opportunity to handle rare books."* What's his real motivation. The good stuff comes to New York, and it ends up in his hands when he's lucky. But oh, that look Michael gives him. He ducks his head and grins. *"I'll see you soon? I'm free tonight, and this weekend I should be, if you wanted, er. Overnight, maybe. I don't want to presume, but…"*
Enjoying every moment of Lindon's vague discomfort, Morbius pats the spines of the books in the crook of his arm. *"I have a date tonight, I think. I'm trying to run a couple of scenerios on the samples I took from the engineered werewolves that were around a few months ago in combination with my own genetics."* Do you want werevampires, Michael? Because that's how you get werevampires!
Wicked looking brows loft upwards slightly, making a counter offer. *"This weekend?"* As long as he doesn't science himself into something new and terrible.
Lindon's brows lift. That does sound exactly how one gets werevampires. *"I wish you luck,"* he says, because he tells himself it's for some kind of cure, surely. Surely there won't be werevampires. *"This weekened, then. Just us, maybe at your place."* Not because Lamont has a key to the flat in Queens, but because the idea of being trapped in a monster's lair for two days does something profound for the man. "Oh, sir," he says, "don't forget your other book." With a glint in his eye, he hands the tawdry one over.
Morbius gives Lindon a peculiar look when he specifies his place. A shift of his weight on his feet, the monster inclines his head in the affirmative. *"Yes. I'll pick you up at your flat?"* Morbius offers casually. Then looks down at the book that he had intended on leaving right there, staring up at Lindon from his desk. Morbius smiles as his plan is found out. Oh, Lindon, he adores you a little bit more for that. Stepping back to the desk he draws a hand over the cover and drags it, audibly, across the desktop, and into his stack with no shame. "Thank you, Mister Mills. It's been a pleasure." The words linger with delicate articulation as Morbius turns away with a long look holding on to the librarian, casting a line in his direction meant to tug upon him for the rest of the day.