1964-09-30 - The L-triplets in M-Town
Summary: Lambert, Lindon, and Lamont find Hope in Mutant Town.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
lamont lambert lindon hope scott 

Since this is Mutant Town, and not just outside it, Lambert is wearing relaxed clothes - for him this means he has combed his fleece up over his long goatish ears and the two tiny horns on his forehead, and his flip of a tail is just visible through a purpose-cut hole in his jeans. No hooves apparent, he just has sneakers on, and his red letter varsity jacket, with hands inside it. He is with Lamont and Lindon, talking to them avidly "…find a hairdresser who can cope with getting this summer coat out so the winter one grows in warm - I hear NYC winters can be tough-"

Lindon walks along with Lamont and Lambert, looking every bit as stuffy as he does anywhere else in the city. He looks human, dressed in a suit cut to his long, lanky frame. "You're not going to find one among normal barbers," he says. "I suppose they have someone around here qualified to deal with stuff like that." Ever sensitive, this one, though there's no malice in his tone. "What do you think, Lamont?"

By Lamont's smile - there's even a dimple brought out of retirement, at the corner of that thin mouth - he's amused. "I could get a coat rake for you," he tells the satyrling. "I have no barbering experience, but I grew up around horses and ponies. I think I could thin the undercoat…..but…" He spreads long hands. "You might well find one here, I agree." He's an elegantly tailored normal human, dressed in a conservative gray suit, complete with matching hat. It's past Labor Day, the Panama is retired for the year.

Hope has slipped away from the Avengers Mansion for the day, heading to Mutant Town to see what life is like for mutants here and now. Just this block has more mutants in it than she's ever been around in her life, so the feeling of powers pressing in around her is at least good practice for controlling her own powers. It also means she's a little bit distracted from her surroundings, rare as that is, which is why she steps out of a hardware store and directly into the path of the three men.

"I don't know if 'qualified' is the term I'd use," muses Lambert "Maybe I should get a set of hot shears or something…" And then he snaps his fingers at Lamont "That's it. A coat rake. That sounds perfect. Maybe a little tangly - it still takes me ages to find proper shampoos that won't leave it oily, but -" He glances up a little, right as he walks straight into Hope, head first. The _head_ part of Lambert is preternatually hard, unfortunately. The soft wool all around he has in place of normal hair is cloud-soft "Oh - ow - sorry - miss - London, could you - ah -"

|ROLL| Lindon +rolls 1d20 for: 19

In an almost unprecedented move, Lindon's awkward body cooperates at a moment's notice. Credit his mind, doing calculations so fast his conscious brain doesn't even realize: impact, rate of fall, relative position, the length of his own limbs, math math math. He catches Hope before she has a chance to hit the ground, and he says, "Oh! Careful, Miss." Then he seems to realize he's holding a young redhead, and he sets her right on her feet. Suddenly, he has no idea what to do with his hands. "Um, you almost took a spill. Are you, uh, all right?"

Impressive. Lindon is doing better. Lamont is nodding approval at Lin's deft catch, and reaches to steady her. To Lambert, he notes, "I'll find one. The carriage drivers in the park must know where one can buy supplies for horse care." Poor Lamb.

Hope lets out a huff of breath when Lambert runs into her, but in the time it takes for Lindon to catch the stumble, she's suddenly managed to turn her skin to stone - leaving her perhaps a bit heavier than anticipated. "Sorry!" she exclaims, catching her balance and looking herself over. "Huh. That's new." She looks around, turning a circle in search of whoever she borrowed that power from, before she manages to focus enough to go back to normal. "No, no, I'm sorry," she smiles faintly. "Totally me, I was distracted."

"Oh, wow, well, that's probably a good thing," says Lambert, blinking at the stone. He runs his fingers through the white fluff on his head, and then he says to Lamont "I don't think I've seen Lin move like that before. Horse care? Uhhhh." He coughs, just a little, and then he eyes Hope "That must make swimming hard. Hi! I'm Lambert - these are my friends, Lindon and Lamont." The latter name may cause some concern.

Lindon blinks a few times. "Oh! That's a nice trick. Did you just manifest that power just now?" At least he's got the grace not to whip out a notebook and pencil. Still, there's that stark curiosity in his eyes. "The important thing is you're all right, of course." He is getting better, remembering niceties instead of digging around going 'how do you work!?' He smiles at Lamont. Did Lamont catch that catch? He did? Good. He clears his throat and tells Lambert, gruffly, "I have my moments."

Familiar, perhaps, to Hope. One of the names that signs the checks for the Avengers….and a face in the training rooms, more usually in t-shirt and loose pants. He slants an amused look at Lambert, but focusses back on Hope, brows up, promptingly.

"Yeah," Hope smiles ruefully to Lindon. "But I've been hanging out here all day, so no telling just where I picked it up. I'm not feeling it anymore, so it must have been earlier today. I'm Hope," she adds, raising a hand with a slightly awkward wave, tipping her chin up toward Lamont. She's still feeling her way around things at the mansion, who wants to be private and the like, and it's better safe than sorry. "Nice to meet you," she nods to the others.

"Do you now," Lambert says to Lindon, amused, and then he offers his hand to Hope "Pleased to meet you - do you live around here?" And then, because he is never going to pass up an opportunity, he adds "I have a restaurant just outside the area. All kinds of folk welcome, as long as no trouble is made. Hi then, Hope!" Lambert…Lambert does not have a well known name. Unless one likes baklava.

Lindon tilts his head. "I wasn't aware that mutant powers could be acquired like a contagion," he says. "That's fascinating." He clears his throat, and says, "Right. I'm Lindon. Lambert here owns the best Greek restaurant in town, and this is Lamont." Still having no idea what to do with his hands, he just sort of holds them at his sides awkwardly. "We were just walking through town." There's almost a note of apology there.

A sphinxish little upnod from Lamont. HE appreciates the discretion, being a mystic rather than a mutant. "Saganaki, that's the name," he notes, settling his hands in his pockets, comfortably hipshot. He can fake mutant powers, if need be.

"Just visiting," Hope shakes her head to Lambert. "But I always like food," she grins. "I'll have to look for your restaurant. What's it called?" To Lindon, she waves a hand. "They're not, generally. Catching, that is. That's my power, I mean. I pick up on…" She gestures around herself. "Other mutant powers. Pluripotent echopraxia."

Lambert waggles his fingers cheerily at 'best Greek restaurant' in town. He has faintly saturnine features, though they tend towards the rounded and 'kid-goat-cute' rather than 'hoary old billy' sort. He says "Speciality is the grilled cheese with lemon, yes - so I named it after that, Saganaki." He tilts his head, then he confides "Look, I was a sports track kid at college - what's pluri…potent?"

Lindon shakes his head slowly. "That's fascinating. I don't know what to say, except you must be a remarkable young woman. I mean of course you are." The gears in his head are turning, sharp eyes reading the air as he considers all the possibilities (and the possibilities consider him). Slowly, he brings himself back to the here and now and says, "You should come to the restaurant. Out back in the courtyard, it's a safe place for mutants and other different folks."

"Interesting," says Lamont, but he's keeping it as gentle as he can. He's keeping an eye on their surroundings, body language just a hair wary. No problem with mutants himself, but…

"Sorry, that's what the doc always called it," Hope smiles ruefully at Lambert. "It means I can copy the powers of mutants around me. Multiple ones at once, if necessary. Just mutants, though. Doesn't seem to work with any other type of power. It's…I mean, it can be useful, but it also means that if there aren't any other mutants around, then I don't have any powers. So." She shrugs, glancing away. "Not sure how remarkable it is, really."

"It's all pretty remarkable, in my books," says Lambert, and he laughs at his own in-group pun, nudging Lindon. Then he says "Yeah, come along sometime, I'll give you a discount. I'm not a Mutant, but most people think I am one, so I know how, like, it can be a total bummer to have people react weirdly." His tail flicks back and forth - his own body language is just…enthusiasm.

"Still remarkable," Lindon says. He nods along to what Lambert says about his experiences being mistaken for a mutant. Not that Lindon has ever had that problem. Garden variety weirdo? Sure. But not mutant. "It's a lovely courtyard," he says. To Lamont, "Isn't it? Gosh, I have no idea what to say right now." His moment of smoothness has passed. Long passed.

Lamont hesitates a moment. He's not as bad with the blunt curiosity as Lindon, but…well, maybe it's rubbing off. "What's the most fun you've ever copied? And how long does it last?"

"I will definitely look for your restaurant," Hope promises, smile crooked as she nods. "I don't think I've ever had Greek food, actually, so it'll be an experience." At Lamont's question, she crosses one arm over her body, rubbing thoughtfully at the other. "Probably flight?" she muses. "I don't know, honestly I haven't really copied them for fun. It's usually been more of…Well, you know. Because I needed to. How long it lasts is a little more complicated."

Lambert sighs and puts an arm around Lindon's shoulders. He pats his chest, and he says to him "Right. See, this is a nice girl. When we're pretending we're normal people, we just make small talk - you know, not too many personal questions, not too -" And there goes Lamont. Lambert sighs, and pinches between his brows "Why is it that I have to be the normal one?" he asks the sky rhetorically "Can't I just have my own turn being a weirdo?" He reaches up to ruffle Lindon's hair, and then he says "Oh, flight. Man, I would like to try _that_ sometime. I mean, don't get me wrong - cooking is _awesome_, and I'd never want to swap it to fly…but I wouldn't mind trying it _once_, right?" He claps his hands together firmly, broad, strong hands. Then he says "Sounds like it could sometimes be problematic. If you didn't get a choice. Some powers take a lot of mastering, or are, you know, dangerous."

"There are more kinds of small talk and interpretations of it in more cultures than you can imagine," Lindon tells Lambert. "How am I supposed to know which examples to draw from?" He offers Hope a lame smile. See? He's friendly. Just… how does one people, again? He frowns as his hair is tousled, and he fingercombs it back into order again. Fortunately, it's neat hair that doesn't do that flyaway thing too much. He clears his throat. All right. He can do this. "So," he says. "We're having weather."

There is a moment of naked envy in Lamont's face. "If you want to go up sometime, I can take you. But only in a plane," he asides to Lambert. Because being an aviator is so terrible and boring, boo-hoo. The things the Shadow chooses to be aggrieved about, really. Injustice, wickedness, and the fact he can't fly on his own.

"It's okay. I'm actually not very good at small talk either," Hope assures Lindon with a glance in Lambert's direction. "It's not something I've had a lot of practice with. I mean, if you wanted to talk about the tactical pros and cons of this street, that'd be another matter," she grins, only for the expression to slip crooked as she realizes how very much not small talk that statement is. "What…was it you all were looking for in this part of town again?"

Lambert sighs at Lindon, and then he pats him on the cheek and he says to him "Ask about the local sports team." There is wickedness for a moment in his brown eyes, and he says to Lamont "I've been in big planes, going back and forth from here to Greece, but I think doing it yourself could be pretty fun." He snaps his fingers with interest, and then he says "Actually, I was just heading to a park to have a run. People give me weird looks if I do it in other places. And Lindon stays inside a lot, so Lamont dragged him out. Plus, oh, I need to find somewhere better to get grooming tools for this fleece, if you know of anyone."

Lindon eyes Lambert oddly. Why would he ask about a sports team? "We still need to fly somewhere," Lindon tells Lamont. "I've no idea where, but I want to go up in a plane with you. I've only been on a flight once, getting here from Kansas." That sounded smalltalkish. Yes. He'll just follow what Lambert does. Except when Hope mentions tactical pros and cons, he finds himself looking around the area again, this time preoccupied with the geometry of it. "Yes, we were looking for a groomer. I mean barber."

"Flight is lovely," sighs Lamont. Still that longing. "And I will be delighted to take you." He may keep no great state at home, these days, no longer the glittering playboy. But a plane….that's an necessity, even if it's a necessary comedown from the Spitfires and Hurricanes.

Hope tilts her head at the idea of a barber for fleece, considering a moment. "Huh," she muses. "You know, that's a good question. I mean, I guess if you talked to a farmer they'd want to shave it off rather than groom it. You know, you might have better luck in, like, Harlem, actually," she muses. "That sounds terrible, I know, but you'll find more people with different hair there than even here in M-Town."

"Are you sure?" says Lambert, a bit uncertainly "I mean, er…well. I suppose there's no real harm in trying. It's the staple of the fleece, it's really long." He chews the inside of his mouth, then he says to Lamont "…is it too far to fly up past Athens for us? I don't know - I'm not used to having a friend who's -" RICH "-able to do that kind of thing." He shoves his hands into his pockets, and says "Ms Hope? What do you do when I'm not - ahahaa _ramming_ you?"

"I can't believe we haven't gone up yet," Lindon says to Lamont with a small smile. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his nice suit. There, that's where his hands go for now. "Actually, the texture and form of wool compared to afros is quite different. Beyond a casual similarity in appearance, there's very little in common…" He chews his lower lip, then eyes Lambert. Is he really the best to take cues from?

"We shall," Lamont assures him. Then he eyes Lambert. I saw that. "Not from somewhere in Greece. From here….I could do a transatlantic flight in long steps. Easier to take commercial air from New York to Athetns."

"I will take your word for it," Hope dips her chin to Lindon with a small smile of her own. Lambert's question takes a little bit more thought to answer, though. "I, ah. Well. I sort of." She glances over her shoulder to the hardware store and then back. "I like to tinker with things?"

"What kind of things?" beams the satyr, who is now honestly curious - powers he does not seem to be so fascinated by. Instead, he says to Lindon "I have an aunt who weaves. I have a waistcoat that is made out of my winter wool. It's really good when you're cold." And then he says to Lamont quickly "Well, that sounds great! Let's arrange so I have some relatives to run the restaurant and go! I haven't been back in ages! I want to see my grandfather!"

Lindon's brow knits. "A waistcoat made from…" He looks to Hope, again with a look of apology, like he is somehow responsible for the things that come out of Lambert's mouth. "I guess we could just shear you," he offers Lambert. "You could make a scarf to go with it." He smiles. He's got a nice smile, at least. Very sweet. To Hope, he asks, "What do you like to tinker with?"

There is stifled laughter from Lamont at that. Own wool - his lips have thinned out in an effort to restrain himself. "All right," he says, easily. As if Lambert had every right to demand it. Why not? He'sgot money to burn.

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