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The day after Mary's gone home, Lindon is at his apartment collating the notes he got from the book she loaned him. He's called John to let him know he made too chicken Parmesan for lunch, if the man would like to come have some. The door is unlocked, the chain on the door undone. With Hargrove out there, he's not even taking the smallest precautions.
Constantine let himself in having the smell of a campfire on him. There was charcoal ad blood in his cuticles and cracks of the knuckles on his left hand; not his. Otherwise he was actually cleaned up, cropped blonde hair still windblown and had that devil-may-care (he didn't) look to him. He let himself in and greeted, "Using yourself as bait ain't necessary, Lindon."
Lindon glances up, and he smiles to see it's John. Then his brow knits in confusion. "Bait?" Then, "Oh. I left it open for you." He sets his notes aside and gets up to check on the chicken parma. It's done, so he takes it out of the oven and sets it on his little dining table. "You're just in time," he says.
Constantine just facepalmed. "Look, Lindon, I understand you have some cerry ol' neighbours, tra la la, but…ya know what, it's not on me." Yeah he wasn't going to go back to trying to be the custodian of the world. Nope… nope nope nope…and nope. He did drop a bottle in a brown paper bag on the counter for him. "Fer you, mate."
Lindon takes the scolding in turn. It's not like he hasn't earned it. "I'll start locking the door," he says. He sets a basket of garlic bread on the table as well, and a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge along with two glasses. He then goes to the counter to see what's in the brown bag. "Thank you, John." He's dressed casually, for him. Tan khakis, a button shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Not quite as tweedy as usual. "I wanted to thank you with your help the other day."
Constantine pushed his fingers through his hair and shrugged off the gratitude with a shake of his head. "Awww, no reason for that… I think she'll be alright enough. Question is, waht'd we learn from her?" He turned and sat his hips against the back of the linolium countertop. The lazy tomcat returned. He did look around for Puck.
Puck emerges from the bedroom, where he was napping on that pristinely made bed, right on Lindon's pillow. Because it smells like Lindon. His human. The kitten stretches his hind legs, then his forelegs, then he pads over to the pair with a trilling mew. Lindon grins at him and pats him on his little kitten head. "Hey there, buddy," he murmurs. He then goes to the table and pours the wine. "Rituals," he says. "I've transcribed rituals I've never seen before. I'll be giving my findings to Lamont, of course."
Constantine arched an eyebrow as his heel swayed where foot was crossed over ankle. His eyes were still sharp and followed Lindon's interest with interest. "Well not all of us grew up cutting our teeth on it. When you get struch by another man's aspirations I'd imagine there's a lot of 'new' to know." He squint at Puck doing…kitten things.
"Have you been doing this all your life?" Lindon asks. He then gestures to the meal laid out and says, "Please, help yourself." He sits, then dishes some of the stuff onto his plate and takes a piece of garlic bread. Puck follows him to the chair, then pounces on his foot, savaging a shoelace. Which makes Lindon chuckle. "Get that shoelace," he says. Puck is a fierce hunter.
Constantine considered this and wobbled his head, "Well given I'm older than I let on and I finally started the family biz when I was ten? Yeah. I suppose it's been about that." He first went to the sink to wash up first, because dirt and also somehow, English manners all the same. After that he helped himself to some chicken and had himself a sit down. "Ancient tradition in the family line and whatnot. There's a lot to tell a ten year old lad, yeah?"
Lindon shakes his head and says, "Mercy. At ten, I wasn't even confirmed. The most I had to worry about was trying to beat my dad at chess." He smiles, ducking his head as he, failing to say grace, tucks into the meal. He's a decent cook, is Lindon. He's got all the recipes in his head, and he's precise in his measurement and execution. "It must have been isolating," he says. "Relating to other kids."
Constantine tilted his head objectivly, "Eh, at 10 I was just trying not to get beat by my dad too. We didn't play chess though." He paused and blinked at Lindon, "This is a really good chicken, Lindon. Where's you learn to cook?" On the speculation of his youth he didn't really answer. There was a shake of this head and he said only, "Eh, had my share of fights growin up. We all do."
"Thank you. I used to help my mother prepare dinner sometimes," Lindon admits. Aww, mama's boy. "But lately, it's been the recipes and techniques in my head. The more I practice, the easier it becomes." He considers Constantine's words, lips pursing at the mention of not getting beat by his father. "I had a fairly privileged life," he admits. "My mother and father were good people, my sister… she's a firecracker but she's got a good heart. We all had our disagreements, but we were a family."
Constantine chuckled and shared with that amused scratch to his voice, "Had a sister. She was hell on wheels. Never got involved with all of this, though she had a bit of a knack. Practice is part of it, certainty takes you the rest of the way. Best advice I ever got? Don't overthink it kid."
"You don't want to underthink it though," says the man who spends all his time thinking to the point of analysis paralysis. "My sister, she fights monsters. I can't keep track of her, she comes and goes as she pleases. Of course I worry. I want to protect her, but I can't exactly lock her up." He sighs quietly, and he cuts off a little bit of chicken to 'accidentally' drop on the floor, wherein Puck is upon it. "Did you ever want to be anything other than what you became?"
Constantine actually warmed a lopsided grin to Lamont, "No. No, mate, you certainly don't." He poked at his chicken and stuffed some in his mouth o avoid answering right away. Finally there was a nod, "Sort of, I suppose. I always wanted the power to make bad things stop. Was a little vaaaaaague on that I suppose. When the war broke out I was young, angry and idealistic. I was determined to take what I learned and finally change things you know. Even lied to get into the army." He shook his head and knows Lamont mentioned it, or vaguely in passing in any case. "It's where I met Kent."
The kitten makes little 'rrr om nom nom' sounds as he eats his chicken. Such fierceness. Lindon watches Constantine as he speaks, and he nods thoughtfully. "You've got a good heart, John," he says. "You're wreckless, but you've got a good heart." This gets the man a warm smile, and then Lindon drops his gaze, pushing a little garlic bread around the plate to sop up some sauce. "That must have been a long time ago," he says.
Constantine smirked, "I think you're in the minority on that consensus. Oi, you should have seen Kent in the day though. Fekkin imporessive site that arse was, let me tell you. He tell you the story of how we'd run into one another ever?" This amused him as he already knew damn well and good there was what was for he and Kent. He want's one to judge. Lad had no room to.
Lindon points out, "I think he's impressive now. I imagine as a soldier, he would've broken my heart on the spot." He pours himself a little more wine, and some for Constantine. "He hasn't talked about his army days, though. Not very much." He glances across the table at Constantine and grins a little. "Tell me?"
Constantine swirled his chicken around the sauce and eyed the Book, his one weekend roommate, and eager young person all in one. "It's a long story to get there. Sometime I'll maybe tell you. Back then, and I think it's the same now you have to be 18 to get into the military. It wasn't quite fair in my mind to make me wait for four years to go get my pride on and go stick my boot in the arse end of some Ottomon Arseholes. So I lied. They asked me how old we was and I showed them, but working up a good glamour was always a knack I was goot at in a pinch and shite with overall. So we show them what they wanted to see and off we went. Scary as hell that. Fourteen and being blindly angry at the world thinking everything's gonna burn, time to fight evil and realizing we are made of meat and charms and trinkets alone aren't enough to fight an enemy that big. The good news was the mystic community, or wiggly finger brigade if you like, all has our own connections and whathave you. We keep tabs."
"They mystics," Lindon echoes. That knowledge bank has informed in there are always sects of mystics in wars, usually on both sides, keeping each other in check. "I still can't believe you've done so much in your young life. At fourteen, I was entering high school and looking forward to no friends and some light bullying." He shakes his head. "You and Kent never fail to impress on me just how privileged my life has been."
Constantine squint and admitted, "Eeeeh I was born 1905, Lindon. "T'was a different time back then. Where I was some of the lads had jobs at 11 to help the family out. Europe was… well we were abit of a mess then. Not quite a Dickens novel but not quite not enough. They weren't all good decisions either. My uncle didn't know I went to the London Sanctum to inform them of my opportunity to 'do something'. I had the name of two other blokes who were hitting the groundwith me out of there. I dunno though. I never asked him if he was appointed to go all big brother over the lot of us or if it's just we hit a wall and he was the closest."
"I can't imagine," Lindon says, which is a lie. Being able to imagine anything is literally his power. "He was still older than you back then, wasn't he?" Lindon says. "I still don't know how long you've managed to stay so young. I wonder sometimes if I'll grow old and feeble and he'll still look the way he looks now."
Constantine chuckled and nodded easily enough with a squint, "Lindon, I lied to get into the military. Everyone was older than me. Iwas just some snotnosed punk thought he knew better than everyone else." He pointed with his butterknife, "And I'll have you know all my ideas worked." Which was to say he still argues that he did know better dammit! "No risk no reward. Soldiers aren't trained to live safe. He was impressive though. Surly, cantankerous, and rather good at all the things people don't want him to be good with. It was inspiring. Lad could do with worse role models. I was convinced on three occasions he was actually going to kill me and bury me under the rug."
"He can give that impression sometimes," Lindon says with such fondness. "Never to me, though. He's never been anything but tender and gentle to me. Sometimes I forget who he is when he's outside this house." He ducks his head and grins a little into his wineglass. The man has it so bad for Kent. They've been together for months, and he's still infatuated. D'aww. "That sounds like such a crazy time," he says. "And a wonder you all survived it."
Constantine chewed his chicken and squint, "Technically I didn't. He's not happy about that either. I'm pretty fundamentally certain the man is incapable of joy. You cheat. You have something that he wants." Sardonic? Absolutely.
Lindon's brows lift. He considers this, then nods slowly and says, "On a fundamental level, ours is a relationship of mutual need. I need protection. He needs the information I can provide him. It wasn't romantic at first. I'd moved in for my own safety, and I admitted I thought he was a fine looking man. The next thing I know…" His cheeks darken as he speaks, and he doesn't meet Constantine's gaze as he speaks of such things, "we were in bed together."
Constantine nodded rubbing his forehead and gave Lindon a faint amused grin, "Had I a quid for every time that's happened to me with someone I might be able to stop borrowing. Really though, good for him. he should live a bit before his bones rust in place and you can tell him I said as much."
Lindon's cheeks flush darker still. "He's still quite in possession of his vitality," Lindon says. "He's…" Oh dear God, Lindon's got to think about his lover's prowess right here in front of someone else, and it has him hem-hawing and blushing red to his ears. "I… I will tell him you're happy that he's found happiness." He shoots Constantine a look that's half a glower and half-pleading.
Constantine sat back in his chair with a lopsided grin and ate his lunch, "Oh you are on a roll, mate. I will get you a present for all I can blackmail him with later. This is brilliant. Cheers to you, Lindon. "But yea you can tlel the old bastard I'm happy enough for him. NOW that he has decided to adi the cause and admit that I'm right be joining us on this crazy endevour."
"He's just protective," Lindon says. "He's had to defend me against threats in the past, and you're not bad by any means, but let's just say that, in his opinion, you have bad luck. He wasn't sure what to make of you, and now he does." He smiles a little. "Now that he knows you're not after me, it's all fine."
Constantine shook his head, "All isn't fine. That's fine. Everything else, may… be legitimized to some extent. I'm no saint, luv. I'm scraping by on decent if we're being honest. But I'm a make sure the right side wins this thing. Be convenient if no one else got hurt while that happened. That'd be a smashing change wouldn't it?"
"I have a feeling it's not a luxury you've grown used to," Lindon says. He tops off each of their wineglasses again. "Which reminds me, I need to go deep into my mind I think if I'm going to resolve that foreboding. It's just with this business with Mary, I wanted to make sure she got home safely before taking that risk."
Constantine squint to Lindon "Oh, I'm sure you'll hear things. Turns out people wnat to be saved, and always seem allergic to the cost. Bill comes due." He stood and put his napkin on teh tableseeming to jsut judiciously slide to the side of discussing his crimes against humanity for a while and instead offered, "Lindon, you cook a fine meal. It is appreciated. We'll have to lunch and do it again sometime though there is a person I think I might like to bring that I also may need Preacher and Kent to talk to."
Lindon rises to his feet and says, "Of course." The kitten mews and he picks up the animal without thinking. So owned. He sees John to the door, proper host that he is. "Just let me know and I'll prepare something nice." At the mention of the preacher, he glances away with residual guilt. Hey, he's Catholic at heart.
Constantine goes home.