1964-10-01 - A Tentative Peace
Summary: Constantine comes around to make tentative peace with Lamont.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
lindon lamont constantine 

Puck has an obsession with Lamont's hats. At the moment, a black fedora (not the broad slouch he wears when fighting crime) is inching down the dining room table's shining wood in careful stages, aiming for the little pitcher of cream set on the tea tray. Lamont's reviewing papers - they're spread over a good third of the table. Old letters, photos, mementos. Or was reviewing, anyhow. At the moment he's watching Puck, convinced of his own cleverness and stealth, come towards him. The Shadow's expression is one of ill-concealed amusement.

Lindon glances up from his own letters and over at the kitten. He smiles. "Your hats have taken to misbehaving," he tells Lamont. "You should really have a word with them." Athena is on his lap, flat-catting on her side. Pye is at Lamont's feet, pawing at his shoelaces. Cats.

When hatcat gets within reach, Lamont leans over and lifts the hat. Puck stares at him in blank outrage. How dare you, sir. You can not see me, that's unpossible. Lamont gently sets it back down over him, and he abandons his attempt at stealth and purrs. "Well done," he tells the kitten. "Isn't that a children's story? The Cat in the Hat?"

"It is," Lindon says. "I read it even though I wasn't a kid anymore. It's quite clever." He glances down at the newly enhatted kitten. Idly, he strokes Athena's ears, and she purrs. "I could live in a house full of cats," he says, "and I'd know each and every one and never get tired of them." He picks up his letters and begins to sort them in the order of who wrote them to him, alphabetically.

Lamont chuckles at that. And then he, too, is sorting and shuffling. There are old photos, letters yellowed with age. "I think three's sufficient for now," he muses. "I might like a dog. Could you bear living with a dog?" Then, he pauses over a photo, turns it, slides it towards Lindon. A half-ring of pilots in flight gear, posed before a Spitfire's wing. There's a dog poised on the wing itself, tongue lolling, expression delighted. Some kind of shepherd. Second from the right is Lamont. He looks, even in the black and white tinted photo, awful, despite his smile. Gaunt and exhausted.

Lindon considers as he continues to stroke Athena. A dog. It's not distaste on his features, but rather dubious consideration. dog-Strange stole his groceries, but not all dogs should be held accountable. "It would have to get along with the cats," he says. He tilts his head to study the photo. He smiles despite himself. Nothing is happy like happy dogs are happy. Then his smile fades. "You look so haggard," he says.

"I was….not at all well at the time," he explains, softly. "That's during the Battle of Britain. We were in the air as much as we could be. But I was also helping on the occult front, as much as I was able. I….was carrying part of a ritual, if that makes sense. Something we were doing to stall the magical preludes to invasion. The Germans had some fearful sorcers on their side."

"You were depleting yourself," Lindon says. He lays a hand on Lamont's arm lightly. "I suppose the need was great. I still can't imagine. I mean, I remember as a kid, the War was all I'd ever known, but all we got was the news, you know? It wasn't until after we found out exactly what was going on over there." He shivers. "It was horrifying."

"Precisely," he says, smiling softly at Lindon. "Most of the English sorcerers were either old enough or otherwise unfit enough not to be mundane combatants. Oh, they all had things to do for the war….but I was the only pilot in my circle. So I was flying sorties day and night, and then lending power when I could. Burning the candle on both ends, as the saying goes."

"You did your part for King and Country," Lindon says with a small flicker of a smile. "I'm glad you're looking better now. You seem well." He takes Lamont's hand in his, and his gaze strays to the hat moving about, bumping into the table leg. He grins. That kitten.

Lamont holds Lindon's hand, tenderly. "It's over, thank God. And we won. I was ill for years after - one of the Germans' magicians landed a curse on me that stuck. That's part of why I had to leave earth for a while. But eventually, I was healed." He looks down, lets go for a moment to retrieve the hat from PUck, who mews in protest.

Lindon whistles lowly. "Leaving Earth." He shakes his head. When Puck mews, Lindon reaches down to scoop him up, mindful not to upset Athena, who mews quietly when he shifts. He snuggles the kitten to his chest, and a purr starts up as Lindon strokes his little ears. "Uh oh, where did this come from?" he murmurs. "All I saw was a hat." The kitten squints with pleasure.

Lamont laughs at him, softly. No mockery, though. "You and cats. You must've been a priest of Bast in a former life. I spoke to Strange about John. I need to speak to John himself, now. I feel I left things undone. He doesn't need a teacher in the formal sense now, but….an ally…."

"Sorry about ratting you out," Lindon says. "I thought he already knew." He pets the kitten, and the kitten begins to doze, purring up a storm. Lindon smiles as he says, "I could live with being a priest of Bast. Cats are great. They're self-sufficient, friendly, mischievous, and they're clean." Well, covered in cat spit, but. "They're not very needy. We just kind of hang out." He holds the kitten in the crook of his arm. "I'm glad we'll be an ally for John." We?

"I…don't know why I didn't think to mention it," Lamont muses. "But…it's fine now." He grins at Lindon. No argument - Lindon's a power in his own right.

"Ah well, water under the bridge," Lindon says. He has two cats on him, and Pyewacket is attacking his slippered foot ferociously. He couldn't be happier. "I'll be cautious, though. I suggested Strange set Aralune upon him, but he said she's glut so much on his bad karma she'd throw up." He shakes his head. "Poor man."

That makes him choke on his tea - he turns hastily away so he doesn't get any on his papers. "Good point," he says, wiping at his mouth with a hand.

Lindon grins broadly. "Sorry." He boops Puck's nose, and Puck mews softly, tiny paws kneading. "We could call him, you know, invite him over for tea. My feeling is if we feed him the information he wants to know, he won't go to darker methods to figure out what he wants to know. Like parents who let their kids drink at home because they'd prefer they do it where it can be controlled."

He's snickering again at that. "I agree, love," he says, when he can speak again. "And you're right. Can't keep him in the dark forever."

Lindon calls Constantine. Best not to ask how he has the number. It's an invite to tea, and once it's made, Lindon sets about preparing tea. It's a nice, tarry black tea, for Englishmen who aren't messing around. There's shortbread as well, all arranged on a tray in the living room, on the coffee table. The kittens have been placated with cream and are piled together in a chair fasts asleep. There are three: two Balinese and a smaller snowshoe kitten of dubious heritage. Lindon has Constantine's preferred tea ready: two sugars, no milk.

The tea smells good. Lamont is content to lounge in one of the armchairs, reviewing an old letter. His expression is solemn, a little wistful, as he does.

Constantine was assured Kent wanted to speak to him and he took 'want' as 'begrudging but willing'. He had more than a few bridges torched behind him in hellfire and napalm, and he really wished that was less literal and more euphemism. Still John came swaggering to tea with his tie actually on properly instead of hanging like a dead noose around his neck. He rang the bell and stepped into their flat giving Lindon the eye as if still gauging if this was a superlative idea, but was, reluctant himself, willing to call on Lamont a second time anyways. "Afternoon, Mills. Kent." He didn't have to walk into the room to know the old bastard hadn't moved. He wouldn't. he expected no less from his senior.

"Here's your tea, John," Lindon says, handing him the cup. He gestures to a chair for Constantine, where he might sit to face Lamont. Then he pours his own tea. One sugar, one milk. "Please, relax. It's good to see you again. You're looking well." Him, the architect of this? Hmm, maybe.

No longer quite as grudging as one might expect. He doesn't quite smile, as he sits up, but Kent's expression is almost pleasant. "It is good to see you again," he agrees, quietly. "Welcome."

Constantine was not unlike a tom cat: he always turned up when it was least convenient and while charming and kept rats off the porch, always proved too destructive to adopt into one's home for any long period of time. There was a long look across from him as he sat opposite of Kent/Lamont and took the tea. Assam, two sugars, no cream. There was though a murmured, "Cheers, mate." He sipped the tea first and really weighed the welcome. Their last meeting was not fantastic and nearing hostile. This was a marked improvement though still far from fuzzy. "Worked out that I haven't come to rob you blind then?" Because if he really wanted or needed to? Oh he'd find a way, but it oddly didn't truly seem to be of interest at present.

Lindon says, "Of course. You've said time and again you've got no interest in what Lamont has." Yeah, he knows his name is Kent, but it's such a habit, keeping it secret. He passes the plate of shortbread around. Tea's just better with shortbread. "How have you been, John?" He glances to Lamont. See? So far so good, right?

"I owe you an apology," Kent concedes. Now there's a first. Age really has mellowed him, it seems. OR at least knocked manners into him. "I was….overprotective, and it's made me too suspicious." Or maybe it's Lindon the good influence, right? "And I have."

Constantine actually wasn't expecting that one. Not that John was any less unflappable than ever but that caught him actually off guard of all things. "You've every right to be suspicious with what you're fekkin setting on, Kent, but I've still some propriety." He paused and shook his head, "Alright I don't but you do still have respect enough for me to be up front about these things." Apology…accepted? Cantankerous lot of them they are. He looked from Lindon to Lamont. OH yes, he pieced it together…perhaps. Still he started over from teh very beginning. "I wouldn't bother ya and I know you don't have reason to think too fondly of me after some of the things we've… disagreed on. Truth is, I need your help, and I don't have a lot of people I trust here. I wouldn't involve you buuuuut your'e the best finder in the business. And mate, we need some things found before they find people they ought not." He was selfish, but sometimes, like these times, there was still a deep rooted conscience that was more worried about the future of humanity.

Lindon lowers his gaze He may be way more smooth indoors with people he knows, but he's still got a shy streak. "Of course you know I'll ply my research to the cause," he says to his teacup. "I've told you everything I have so far. The facts are rather well hidden, I'm afraid." He looks to Lamont. This is his show, after all.

"I understand. And I owe you," Lamont notes, voice a sigh. He picks up his teacup, takes a sip - using the time to gather his thoughts. "I was not the teacher I should've been. I will help you….and I'd like to work on rectifying that."

Constantine sat back in his chair. No, not what he expected at all. Curious, not unwelcome, but curious. John was an old soldier that never really left his war, and Lamont wasn't much different. Fitting that's how they met. He sucked his cheeks in and took a moment to shelve any resentment he had on the matter. In the end he nodded with a tilt of his head, "Eh, same could be said of any of us, Kent. You got us by enough to keep our head above water, yeah? Rough times. A lot going on." Sure, he'd make excuses for it. It was John Constantine for bygones being bygones. Truth was Lamont wasn't the only one who fed him scraps and turned him loose for one reason or another went he dabbled to the left and right of his primary disciplines, but all those people were bedded in dirt now. He was still wondering if he was more impressed by Lamont being alive or being willing to speak to him.

Lindon glances between the two of them, and he says tentatively, "Do you have specific questions? It'll help the research if we can narrow down the research parameters." He sits tall and poised, sipping from his teacup. In the chair opposite Constantine, the pile of kittens continues to sleep.

"I know, the war was what it was," And Lamont carrying a burden heavier than most - flying sorties nearly constantly, the Battle of Britain at its peak, and then offering magical support of a particularly draining kind. "But I should have done more, later. Nonetheless, here we are."

Constantine did some things he was not proud of in that war. He lied about his age and put a glamour on his papers to pass as 'old enough'. Truth was growing up fighting to protect himself made him adept enough by fourteen to hold his own. Perhaps turning the enemy's dead back on them was a bit across the pale. He'd agree that was a … tad extreme. But there were dark forces on all sides and he was a natural at disarming Hell of its advantage when he had opportunity… p until that time it bit him in the ass and they nearly lost their squad to a man. Yeah, not the best circumstances of which to meet Lamont under. He was young, and he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty where others wouldn't and not much has changed but the time and the clothes. And indeed, here they were again, and like before, John was looking to his mentor for aid not quite empty handed, and way too involved in things polite people don't speak of.

In that regard they had much in common still.

"Well, on the up short to that, it is still later." Let it not be said that anything keeps him down for long. "So something else has come up in the city. You heard anything as of late baout Angels on the hunt?"

Angels on the hunt? That catches Lindon's interest. His gaze turns inward. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Angels pop right up in his head; they're rather bigger than most other beings. The hunt, though, there are too many facts clouding that, most noteably the Fey and the Hunt. Dark elves ascending from Svartalfheim to capture unwitting victims in their sport. He goes quiet as he sifts. The Green Man, no. Arawn's dark forces, no. Angels. Where are the angels all up in this?

"No," Lamont says, wrenched out of that bitter reverie. "What have you heard?" All keen interest, now, pale eyes gleaming like a hawk's. "On the hunt for what?" Kneejerk fear says it's his darling archive. Mustn't lose the Precious.

Constantine wet his lower lip with his tongue before it was to find words. "Blood of the divine. Someone came to me, ginchy thing too, told me they were being hunted by some maniac sunnovabitch angel looking to apparently correct genetic wrongs of the past. Which… might sit us a little too close to home on this one. From what I might be able to tell could be some rogue Seraphim or Malakim and I don't know if it's acting on its own or for the establishment which- as an aside is having its own problems neither here nor there. But there's at least three persons that I can think of in immediate jeopardy if this winged pain in my arse hunts them down. But the short of it: someone was consorting where they ought not have."

"Nephilim?" Lindon says, tearing himself away from his thoughts to look at the other two. He gives Lamont a pat on the arm. The Precious is right here and unstolen. Then he tops off everyone's tea, doctoring it to their tastes. The kittens continue to snooze, caring not for the affairs of humans that don't involve serving up cream.

"Oh, hell," says Lamont, in the 'oh, wonderful, one more thing' tone of voice. He accepts this tea. "No, I don't think I have," he adds. His expression is meditative. "An angel hunting the angel-blooded. I have very little experience with angelic magic." They tend to turn up their noses at the kind of darkness hs carries aorund.

|ROLL| Constantine +rolls 1d20 for: 5

Constantine tilted his head to the side, "Eh, my sentiments pretty much." He sipped his tea relaxed in his chair. Looks like he was here looking for more than Lindon and an answer after all. "The person I know of they're after? Nice enough. Does not need this kind of trouble for breathing." He frowned into his empty cup giving the leaves a glance over as he gave the cup an idle swirl thrice clockwise. He glanced up to Lamont and had a look that was as earnest as it was pained. "Kent, something like this got messed up before. I don't… want to see this happen again." He'd never taken what happened to that little girl lightly, he'd be damned (again) if he was going to sit on the bench and watch it happen… also again. One could surmise that he just had a terrible track record in this area. At least he had the decency to be grieved by it.

"That can't be good," Lindon says. He reads the air as information unfolds behind his eyes. "They don't tend to leave Nephilim behind, and their methods are thorough and merciless." He shakes his head. He knows too well how there were Nephilim who didn't have it coming. Their deaths play out within his mind. In the abstract, thankfully. A play by play would probably break him.

They both know that look - Kent resolves on something, and he gets that haughty, cold expression: eyes half-lidded, lips together, teeth apart. "I will help you," he says, firmly. "I've o intention of letting it happen here, either." The man's all but satanic in his pride - defying angels, no problem.

Constantine was still wounded by the loss of Astra. He was trying, truly trying, not that he expected that to win brownie points with anyone, and rightly it shouldn't. Being a decent human being was not something one should get a cookie for but it wasn't something that came naturally to him either. Sure he waged shadow wars on humanity's behalf and broke a lot of rules to win, but that too gets tallied in the end and he was still in deficit where his soul was valued. Still, he was trying.

John shared, "Can't be sure this thing won't be coming after me, but at least we know how to tell an Angel how to go get fucked." There was a faint smirk of irony there. His heart wasn't completely into it though. The smug wasn't entirely fortifying and the reconciliation with his once master was not without effect which was apparently not something he thought to prepare for.

Lindon falls quiet. There's really nothing for him to say here as former mentor and student speak. He keeps the tea flowing and the shortbread coming. How any relics also play host?

"We do indeed." Though his gaze goes to Lindon. "I'll rely particularly on your help there," he tells Lindon, and his tone is soft. No endearments - not when the student is watching. There's a glitter in his gaze as he turns back to John. "Almost," he tells him. "I look forward to the challenge."

Constantine slouched back and crossed ankle over knee. The glib necromancer reached into his teacup with a finger and poked the leaves more into a configuration of his liking. Did that actually work for him? Well… he was still alive and weirdly successful. Who knows. "Cottage is cozy. Don't tell me you two have retired already?" He squint at them with some faux accusation. "How have things been treating you two." He looked back to his 'project' which was Lindon and arched an eyebrow.

Lindon nods to Lamont and says, "Of course, I'm at your disposal. I've— I'll sift through references of the Hunt and focus on Enochian scriptures. It might be a decent place to start." He offers John a warm if somewhat shy smile and tells him, "I'm still an archivist, but it's a nice house to come home to. The cats make it homey." The cats are just babies and they're sacked out. One ear flicks in the pile and that's it. "I'm lucky enough to have a job I love," he adds.

"I….rather have," Lamont says, clearly thrown a little off balance by the idea of small talk. "I…I don't have the resources to build up my old network," he says, softly. "My attention's turned more in this direction. It's a much quieter life than I'm used to living, but I like it."

Constantine arched an eyebrow and offered, "It's a good set up. Suits you, old man. Just don't get comfortable on retiring jsut yet. Weeeee have plans in plans ahead of us. Besides. You'd feel more than a mite bit left out. I see you, there's parts you miss; proving to forces above and below that you're more clever because our focus isn't polarized. You forget," A warm grin stretched on his face, "I know you, Kent. And… there's some persons that I think you'll both be interested in meeting."

"I can't speak for Lamont," Lindon says, "but I think circumstances will keep him involved despite himself." He gives Lamont an apologetic look. Fact is, a fair number of the mystics that are going to come after the old man have the Archive in their sights.

"I mean my old agenda, dealing with mundane criminals," Lamont agrees. Then he grins, crookedly. "For you're quite right the both of you," He glances betwen them. "I can hardly keep my head in the sand on that front, can I?"

Constantine tried not to look too terribly smug. "Who used to tell me it's important to play toour strengths?" Oh sure that was almost 45 years ago, but some things were worth holding onto because it served his best interests. "Good then in that case, since you'll be here I'll have to bring you a present. You can't keep it but you might be able to poke it with a fork if they permit. You are aware, and I know you're not, you can ask." Not for poking whoever was of interest with a fork that he might be eluding to, but for help. The eyebrow arched. john was nothing if not oblique on the best of days.

"Who's 'they?'" Lindon asks. Again, he tops off teas. The relic cooks and cleans, too. Just not right now. "I don't think any of us can afford to have our head in the sand. "Have you made any headway in the Archive case?" he asks. "I've done a little looking into it and I don't have much, but I can tell you the wards were most definitely tampered with."

It is a testament to his mustered good will that Lamont does not look terribly suspicious. "As he said, who is they? And what might it be?" Curiosity's always a goad for him, as much so as any of the cats.

Constantine sat looking…well one might say too smug but in this case a little 'too John Constantine' for his own good. Oh he had the floor and he loved it when he was holding the cards in hand. Well, he loved it as much as any wizard would. Magic required audacity at the crux of it to work. "Good people by our standards. I'll refrain from saying friends but I'll go with colleagues I wouldn't want to see on the wrong side of a fast moving train. One of which can tell an Angel to go get fucked even better than we can, mate. It's inspiring really. you'll like em. The other? Well he's just bloody fun. I'll ring you lads up when we're settled in. That work for ya?" Oh he really wasn't giving up the goods that prat!

Lindon watches Constantine for a moment, then smoothes his jeans with a stroke of his hand and says, "Well, in any case, I know it's not much, but it's something." He looks to Lamont and smiles thinly. "Shall I get started on dinner?"

He really is trying to be good. Lamont neither snaps nor snarls. In fact, he smiles an ophidian little smile. "In your own good time, John," he says, tone magnanimous.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License