1964-10-18 - Burying the Lead
Summary: A modest gathering and a discussion of current events with a surprise revelation at the end.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
lindon lamont constantine morbius 

Lindon's voice was agitated on the phone when he invited Constantine over. Now, he paces the tea made and the kitten on his chair watching him with big kitten eyes. He's big for his age, that cat. If he grows into his paws, he's going to be a monster when he grows up. Lindon pauses to scritch him behind the ears, and the kitten stretches. Then Lindon goes to check the tea again.

Constantine was sporting a black eye when he came to knock on Lindon's door with a rap rap rap of the back of his knuckles. He didn't turn around when he heard the slide of curtain rings on steel behind him. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Freeman. Go back about your own business Mrs. Freeman." rap rap rap. Knuckles went to the door until he just tried the knob. He muttered to himself, "I bloody swear to everything ungodly if he left his place open again…"

Mrs. Freeman chuckles. "You boys," she says with a shake of her head. She's already told Lindon it's okay to be light in the loafers, that her brother is the same way. It made Lindon flee inside and have a miniature panic attack. Poor Lindon. It's almost worse that she's not offended. Because she's amused and that's catastrophic. Just hearing John's voice through the door talking to her makes him clench up a little. He hurries to the door to answer it, all but pulling John inside so he can close the door quickly. "I'm glad you could make it," he says. "I made tea. Do you want tea? Of course you want tea."

Constantine was now giving Mrs. Freeman the stink eye. "Bollocks of Belial what is she on about." He might be in the mood to fight her, who knows. In the end he let it go. He didn't want to, and it wasn't easy but he did it. He closed and locked the door wading in furrowing his brow at the odd behaviour. "I'd sooner take a bag of frozen peas but tea'd be alright." he paused and looked to Lindon with wide, wide eyes. "Lindon, you tell me right bloody now if you accidentally trapped Kent in a copy of Reader's Digest." It was a very real possibility. historically speaking Lindon was 0 for 1 when it came to magical book summonings to be fair.

"She saw me bringing someone home," Lindon groans. "She knows I'm… that I do that." He pours Constantine tea, two sugars no milk, and offers it over along with a ham and Swiss sandwich. The kitten stretches and eyes John, those big blues fixed on the Necromancer. He blinks at John as he pauses puttering enough to look at him. "What happened to you?" he asks, and then he goes to get just that: a bag of frozen peas. "I guarantee you, I have zero mystical talent, myself. Why? Did you read a particularly interesting issue?"

Constantine blinked and looked back at the door and sighed tiredly rubbing his face in his hand. "Brilliant." He sighed and didn't exactly answer but did go hunting for a bag of frozen peas. "Messy run in in the park. Met someone though. Interesting chap. Unimportant at this time. Peas. Time for peas." Sacred peas of the frozen benevolence, grant us your mercy he seemed to murmur as he put them over his right eye and sank into a chair.

The kitten continues to regard John, and finally he opines a delicate mew his way. Look at your life, John, look at your choices, says that mew. Lindon sets John's tea and sandwich before him. "How is it you get punched so much?" he says. "I'm not blaming you. It's just something that, mathematically, I have to wonder about."

Out in the hallway, Mrs. Freeman has gone back into her flat and one can smell baking cookies not too long after. Time to make the nice gay boy next door some baked goods so he'll stop running away. So skittish.

Busy hallway today. Lindon's apartment has something of a revolving door, but with the increase of activity to the delight of nosey neighbors, it doesn't seem to quiet down just yet. A folded piece of paper slides underneath Lindon's door and several feet across the floor, skittering to a halt.

Constantine didn't ever seem the type to want to answer questions, and answered only, "Some blokes thought I was too pretty. Fixed it. I should thank them but I haven't found a greeting card with my block and tackle on it to say 'oy mate, cheers'." Okay so he wasn't in the greatest of moods about this trend. He squint one good eye back to Lindon, "One on five isn't exactly the best odds. Mathematically." The shhhhhhp! of paper sliding across the floor got his attention but he couldn't be arsed to get up. "Eh, looks like a ransom note." The cat finally got a look back and there was an understanding there, "If you rub on me I'm going to pick you up. If you shred my arm for this I'll summon something to eat you. Yeah?" Protocols engaged he picked up the cat. Scientifically speaking it was difficult to feel poorly while holding a kitten.

"Don't summon something to eat my cat," Lindon says. "He's just a baby." A huge baby, who purrs when John picks him up, so there's no shredding, regardless. Puck is, despite his name, an amiable little fellow. He rubs on John and bonks him with his head. Lindon perks up as the paper slides across the floor. Who knew someone would be this thrilled about ransom notes? He hurries over to it and picks it up, unfolding it to read with a nigh childlike eagerness.

Well, Constantine isn't wrong. There's nothing that seems to scream 'official' about that piece of post as Lindon rushes over to pluck it up off the floor and pop it open. A single folded piece of paper, no envelope to speak of, or name scrawled on the folded front facing side. They know who lives here. Maybe it's Mrs. Freeman's cookie recipe?

Either way, the squeak in the hallway seems to say that whoever slipped it under the door didn't immediately flee, hesitating in their escape when they heard voices on the other side of the door. Still, no knocking, trying to figure out the nature of the little meeting inside the apartment. One never knows.

Lindon's features go all funny as he reads the note. His eagerness is rewarded with delight. Then his cheeks flush, only he doesn't look all that shy. There's heat in his eyes, and he bites his lower lip. Once he reads to the end, he sets it aside and says, "Don't touch that." Then he rushes to the door to open it. "Michael?"

Constantine was of no mind to be dealing with Mrs. Freeman's nettering. What she tried to overhear could, point in fact, seal her doom. It's happened before. It wasn't what John particularly wanted but it was true all the same. He was up on his feet when Lindon threw open the door, "MRS…Freeman…" He squint. There was no pithy old hen at the door. There was a tired look given over Lindon's shoulder. Bag of peas over one eye he sighed and just rolled his hand like 'get on with it' "Right. Ransom. Who is it and what is it your people want exactly. It's been a long day." This is why john is not allowed to answer other people's doors.

Well, you're right, John. Mrs. Freeman isn't the figure standing in the hallway and that is not a religious tract she slid under the door. Instead, a very covered and concealed figure stands in the middle of the hallway, who very much seems like he could be the part of some shady organization that would steal Lindon's cats and hold them for ransom for information on…oh, really any old thing.

Overcoat somewhat tattered as the hem falls around his knees, a hooded jacket beneath that serves to cover a bowed head in an attempt to keep the upper portion of his zombie-pale face hidden, relying on the long waves of mediteranean black hair to shield along his cheeks. Hands stuck into his pockets, really, John, you look spot on with that assessment. The guy looks a little too dramatically horror movie to be there for anything but passing on some message from some macabre midboss.

Still, the name makes Morbius' head lift from its modestly bowed position and thin lips curve slightly, bulging a bit with far too many teeth hidden behind them. Eyes swallowed up entirely by a sea of red but for the pupils fall on Lindon, then twitch to Constantine. That, John, is a motherfucking vampire, if you have /ever/ seen one. Cassidy aside. And it's a little early for halloween. "Am. I. Interrupting?" Words are soft and articulate, accented from some Mediterranean country a little too southern to be Romanian (because THAT's not a stereotype or anything), formed by very minimal movement of his lips.

Lindon takes Morbius' hand (see, this is why Mrs. Freeman knows) and draws him inside. "No, it's all right. I'm so happy to see you." His smile is radiant. John, Lindon is happy to see this vampire. Ecstatic. He doesn't let go of his hand, either, not right away. "This is John. He's a friend of mine." He looks at John then, and from heated to stern, he adds, "He is very discreet." Then, to John, he says, "This is Dr. Michael Morbius. He's a dear friend of mine." One whose note has his heartrate up. "We were just going to have tea. Would you like some?"

Constantine squint his one good eye. Vampire. The necromancer knew a fucking vampire when he saw them. There weren't many thank… someone. Presently he was owing God no favours so he'd direct his prayers elsewhere. Spite prayers. "Un-huh. You look about how I feel. Get your arse in here." Oh-kay. One brown eye looked to Lindon, "What's he know?"

Morbius' hand wrestled easily out of his pocket, elongated fingers wrap around Lindon's hand rather than hang there limply; the tips of vicious looking sharpened fingernails curl and rest light against the back of Lindon's hand. Morbius quickly crosses the threshold, gaze stuck to John and tracking the newly acquainted man. Assessing and naturally distrusting. "'John'. A pleasure to make your acquaintence." The manner that he says the name makes the airquotes audible, as if he doesn't quite trust the common fauxname. Morbius turns his attention back toward Lindon, suspicion overcome by gentle warmth. "Tea would be wonderful." Drawing the hand he keeps to his lips for a polite kiss, there's really no pretense here. He's already a monster. He is somewhat out of damns when it comes to not living his most genuine life.

Releasing Lindon's hand, the macabre looking man offers it out in Constantine's direction to shake amicably. "I'd hate to tell you, but you likely look about as well as you feel as well. Find a spot of trouble?" If taken, there is no alpha male crushing of John's hand and perhaps unexpectedly, Morbius is not cold or papery to the touch. He looks rather dead, but feels alive. He lets Lindon answer the final question on his behalf, though there is a sharp uptick of a single sharply shaped eyebrow.

Lindon gazes at Morbius with his proverbial heart in his eyes. "You're such a gentleman," he murmurs to him. John is keeping the furniture in here from just getting wrecked right now. It's probably for the best. As he prepares Michael's tea (he remembers how he takes it, of course), he delivers it along with a ham and Swiss sandwich. He's made plenty, because something about John just triggers his 'feed this and keep it out of the mud' reflex. He pauses once he's delivered these things, then he says, "Not as much as I think he should. I'm sorry, Michael, I've had some disturbing revelations. John has been helping me piece together what we can from them." To John, he adds, "I want him to know."

The kitten meanwhile, curls up on John's lap and dozes off. He purrs like an engine. Though his ears flick when he hears Lindon's voice, he seems content where he is for now.

Constantine reached out and shook the hand. There were tattoos that lined both forearms that were definitely not Navy issue. Handshake firm, tot eh point, and could have belonged to a salesman. Really, it did. He drew a card and passed it to the Doctor. It had its usual list of traits listed on there with a phone number. "Eeeh you're not wrong about that. Look me up later. We should talk." He'd get up but… Puck claimed his lap. Sure the one soul that was really groovy with him was pointy on all sides and mischief in the middle. "Lindon, what did you call us over here for."

The offered card is taken between Morbius' first and second fingers, taking a peek at the name and laundry list of qualifications. Sanguine eyes flick over the edge to the catted man. "'Cosmic Midwife'?" He glances back toward Lindon, his brows knit together for a twitch while he claims a seat as well, letting Lindon serve him with a gracious familiarity as he takes a sandwich. Vegetarian vampire out in the middle of the day? He waits for someone to clue him in on what's happened.

Lindon claims his own tea and sits beside Morbius. His features soften as he spies Puck snoozing on John's lap. Hey, kitty purrs are restorative. Lindon leans lightly against Morbius, still wound up from that note despite how the topic has changed. "There's a wizard named Hargrove. Some-first-name Hargrove. There are some interesting correlations between his presence and the death of a few other practitioners over the past couple years. His last victim is someone John here knew. He was the wizard responsible for making me."

Constantine squint at Morbius and sighed with regret, "Bollocks. Wrong- Look I'm getting them changed." In that tone of I KNOOOOOW. Still he let Lindon fill Michael in on what the might need filling in on. He could claim wergeld on the situation but he didn't have proprietorship over the information. It affected Lindon too and was remarkably quiet but for a grunt of agreement. He did curl the kitten up in his arm and flip him over or belly rubs. Who knew he was actually good with cats or could be nice to…anything.

Morbius automatically slides a clawed hand around Lindon's leg while he thoughtfully chews on a sandwhich, vicious-looking fingers wrapped around the inside of his thigh. "He didn't make you, Lindon. He made what inflicted you. There is more to you than this. And," There's a squint. "I thought he died due to his own malpractice?" Glancing between the two men.

Lindon sits beside Morbius on the couch, and tea and ham sandwiches have been passed out all around, with more waiting on the kitchen table. Lindon did say he would have John around today, which is an invitation of sorts. He leans against Morbius as they talk, and at the vampire's words, he smiles and ducks his head. "Right. He made what happened to me happen. See, I thought he died from his own malpractice, too, but John say she was fastidious about wards, and when I started snooping, I saw this 'Hargrove' fellow visited him the same day he died and messed with his wards." Puck, who Lindon has brought over with him (because the kitten cries if he doesn't), bats lightly at John's fingers, still purring at belly rubs.

There's a polite rapping at the door, with no footsteps to precede them. Not a creak of floorboards. Lamont's being a bastard, because that is how he rolls, right?

When the door is opened, there he is, a tall man in a dark gray suit and matching hat, the latter already n hand.

Constantine was almost totally engrossed with playing with the kitten and keeping it happy. He muttered, "We're not so bloody lucky to have Reikland blow himself up." No love lost there perhaps. When the door made impatient noises he didn't get up. Not his place, also kitten. "Tehcnically I made you what you are. Whole and undissolved." Technically correct.

Morbius absorbs the new information thoughtfully if with a level of less than subtle skepticism in the way that only men of scientific backgrounds seem to be able to embody perfectly. Still, there's no complaint from him just yet while he's corrected and informed. Inhuman gaze travels toward the door, inhaling a deep breath which lifts his shoulders slightly. A smile curves his lips delicately, slightly impish in nature (or maybe that's just his face), the living vampire gathers to his feet and turns to kiss Lindon's forehead. "Make another cup of tea, love. I'll get the door." Because that is. Just. Fun. "What do you mean /technically/, 'John'?"

Morbius strides across the floor, tugging his hood down and stripping his overcoat off, dropping it across a nearby table laden with a solid tower of books. Opening the door, there's a polite, tepid smile to Lamont as he blocks the doorway. "Mister Cranston. Hello." A hand offered out to the man.

Lindon smiles up at Morbius and says, "All right." The skepticism he takes in stride. Hell, tell him three years ago about any of this and he would've thought it all nonsense. Now it consumes him. He rises to go into the kitchen and pour another cup of tea. When he sees who it is, his face lights up and he says, "Lamont, hello. Please come in." He doctors the tea to Lamont's tastes and sets a sandwich on a little plate for him. He's not so naive as to be blissfully pleased when Morbius and Lamont greet each other at the door, but there's a look of cautious optimism about him. He's sure Lamont won't whip out a stake and go all vampire slayer. Reasonably sure.

That would be rude. Lamont's never rude, if he can help it. "Hello, Michael," he says, calmly enough, shaking Morbius's hand without any sign of hesitation. Then he smiles past at Lindon. "Hello there," he says, and the fondness in his tone is evident. He doesn't push his way past the vampire, but waits patiently to be admitted. "And evening, John," he adds, when he realizes that Constantine is present, too.

Constantine didn't answer that and instead pointed to Lindon, "He'll tell you. Found him writhing on teh ground we did. Arcane manifestation to big to fit in one box improperly installed and trying to consume all natural organic mass crushing his brain in his skull." He makes a small kissy face at the tiny cat and got up to go look for things for it. Now he might have a soft spot for the kitten or the cat could be using extra-planar mind powers to control his impulses in that way all cats do. He looked up to Michael, "Simply put, I did it up properly and you're welcome." He mumbled somehting about getting questioned and never thanked, though he did greet, "Evenin, Cranston, tea's on and all hell was about to break loose. You're just in time for the good seats."

Polite greetings made, Morbius nods familiarly enough to Lamont and releases the door to stroll back to his former seat, leaving the shadow to let himself in and close the door behind himself. A reassuring smile turned toward Lindon; all was well. Well, all insofar as their personal business was well. As John outlines, there's clearly a lot more going on that isn't going as smoothly. A crimson engulfed eye flashes a wink to their domestic host, a touch more playful than most see him.

Of course Lamont and John know one another. He's seen John's weird card. That seems like someone of Lamont's ilk. Morbius seems unsurprised and picks his sandwich up again, turning back to Constantine to let Lamont and Lindon greet each other. His tone soft and paced to allow his words to delicately trip over his tongue, clipping his 'T's with a scalpel's point. "That's interesting, John. I had asked Lindon after he explained it to me, how it was possible for that capacity of information to be held in the finite space of a human mind. The physiology of the human brain argues the possibility depending on useage, but it seemed to be missing variables when I attempted to reason it out. That fills in a few of the missing pieces for me." A crooked smirk tossed to Constantine over his lack of modesty. "Thank you."

"It's true, I do owe John my life," Lindon says. John will find in his search many things that could be given to a kitten including honest-to-goodness kitten treats, there on the counter in a jar. Even though the kitten is only over here occasionally, Lindon is prepared. The kitten, when John nears the treats, squirms and mews. Those! Those right there! Little pieces of dried fish for the kitten! Lindon clucks his tongue and says, "If he's pestering you, you can just put him down."

This next, though, is unexplored country. Both lovers are here, in the same room, and there's one of him. He goes through his mind for the various obscure pieces of protocol there are to be had regarding his situation. There are so many factors is the thing. He goes to Lamont and kisses him on the cheek, then takes his hand to lead him back to where Michael is. Michael also receives a kiss, and Lindon puts himself between them on the couch. He's chosen the 'what will make me happy' protocol.

"Aren't I always?" asks Lamont, utterly deadpan. But he permits himself to be led, docile as the blackest of sheep. He settles himself decorously on Lindon's one hand, crossing one leg over the other. "And I think the missing variable is what's vulgarly termed magic," he asides to Morbius, before looking at each of them in turn. "So, a conference?"

Constantine tried modesty once. Filthy habit. Didn't take. "Got it." Squirmy cat, no problem. At Lamont's glib commentery there was just an arch af his eyebrow opening the container with one hand murmuring. "Yup. Lucky you." Lucky you you poor bastard there to keep John Constantine alive, and regretting it for hte following fourty some odd years. "Forces, Michael. Forces a pleanty. I'm guessing byt he look of you this is not new."

Morbius is amenable to whatever Lindon sees fit. It's his place after all. Without thinking about it, his hand replaces itself on Lindon's thigh lightly though there doesn't seem to be a particularly aggressive sense of ownership with the contact. Upswept brows tick upward toward Lamont. "Considering the problems John corrected, I'm prone to thinking there's a little more to it than that. Magic may not follow all of the same laws as general society may recognize them, but there must be a basis and alignment somewhere therein." Science! "Even his explanation of 'because magic' still fills in what seemed to be glaring inconsistencies. It makes sense." Taking another bite of his sandwich carefully, Michael shakes his head a bit and looks back toward John. "But you two would be more knowledgable in that realm than I am. I'd defer to you."

Back toward Constantine, Morbius makes a minor, slowly noncommital gesture coupled with an apologetic smile. "I am not surprised by much, these days. Mystically I am an ignorant child still learning from what he watches happen around him, akin to a child's 'Can I put it in my mouth?'"

"Magic and science aren't so far off," Lindon says. "The line between the two is more perception than anything else." He smiles at Morbius as he touches him again, and he takes Lamont's hand. Happiest Lindon. Then the phone rings, and he detaches himself from them both to answer it. After a brief 'hello, yes, what is it,' he says quietly, "There's a minor library emergency. I'm going to just take this in the other room. I'm so sorry." He heads into the bedroom and closes the door as he says, "When's the last time you saw it? Mmhmm, mmhmm…"

That makes Lamont laugh, softly. Not that madman's mockery, though. "I sympathize. I've been taking instruction on magic, for honestly, my focus and experiences have been terribly narrow compared to many, even John here. And the more I learn, the more I realize how much left I have *to* learn." He doesn't move from his corner of the couch.

Constantine boggled, cat still in arm. He was clearly mind controlled. He was also confused, "What in the name of Beelzabub's bollocks is a bloody library emergency? We ward the Dewey decimal system in such a way it's ressurecting dead manuscripts? Bloody hell." No that one he really didn't get. He let Lamont say his peace and supported ruefully, "Doesn't get much better either, mate. Just more things to keep you awake at night, but the variety is nice. Change of scenery. New things screamin at you from beyond the veil. Good times."

"John Constantine, the cosmic midwife? You don't say." Morbius smiles wryly toward Lamont. "Well, that shouldn't surprise me. His card seemed to have such varried credentials." Humor as dry as the sahara, there doesn't seem to be a shimmer of humor in those odd eyes, at least not in any normally recognizable fashion. Letting Lindon up without trouble, he chuckles softly to John. "Lindon takes his job very seriously. Considering the city, we better all /hope/ that it's nothing quite like that. Anything's in the realm of possibility." Leaning back in his corner of the couch, one ankle crosses to rest on the opposite knee. "Well, I'm glad to hear that nobody knows what's going on. Makes me feel /much/ better about the situation."

"There's a killer murdering wizards and taking their power," Lamont explains, drily. "One who might be an old acquaintance, or so I understand. Someone else from our first war." HE steeples his fingers, leans back with the laziness of a snake sunning itself on a stone. A fond glance at the door where Lin's departed. "He does take it terrbly seriously," he agrees.

Constantine stopped and didn't seem to take any particular offence because he never expected any sort of positive expression. Now were Morbius to say 'Oh thank heaves you are a cosmic midwife' as if one were sought after he'd be really fucking concerned. It was Lamont who, in this case, arrested his attention. "That part… he did not share with me. Our… first war? Where I met you or the other one?" vague but specific. Good job, John. All focus was on Lamont in such a manner that his head tilted and he looked side-eyed at him not entirely un-birdlike.

"Milontas gia paidia, kyrio mou," Morbius grumbles in Greek under his breath. An exasperated 'speaking of children, my lord' to anyone who happens to understand what he's saying. "How nice to know that people in the magical community are just as petty and ruthless as any other." Not that the details of 'where' really matter to /him/, but he waits for the two to straighten that out amongst themselves.

There's a kind of resigned weariness in Lamont's face at that, as he picks up his tea cup. "The first one, yes," he says, softly. "I was not fighting in an occult capacity in that one. My powers were…..well, as you saw. Token and defensive at best." Since John knew him before he became the Shadow. He cocks a rueful little grin at Morbius. "Alas, occult power comes even to those with no moral ballast….and as the saying goes, power corrupts. I'm reaching on that one, but from what Lin's said…"

Constantine quieted and gave Lamont, whom he knew best as 'Kent', some earnest support. Hey it happens, "Mate you kept me alive and took me in when the rest of the world left me to damn well die. You found your knack. I respect what you do and my travels over there are scant few who do it that well without tearing their fekkin eyes out. You weren't what you are not but you were what you needed to be then." And in the very next breath confided to Morbius, "Mages are a a whole pack of over ambitious liars. All of us. You really have to be to get what you need and get out alive. It's not trans-dimensional science that keeps one alive, it's the canniness."

"Absolute power corrupts, absolutely," Morbius supplies easily to Lamont with an understanding nod. "Words that prove truer each and every day." The exchange between the two other men encourages him to fall silent and thoughtful, gaze flicking back and forth while each speaks, tucking away bits of information like a squirrel packs away acorns. John's attention turns back to him and Morbius' expression twitches with the advice. Understanding. Not surprise. "You make it sound like the American wild west, John."

Lamont laughs at that. Not a dry chuckle, but something a little wilder. Taken by the conceit, it seems. "Tha's a very good description," he says, still grinning, that brighter light in his eyes. "It is. It's not raw power but mental flexibility. I've known more than a few powerful fools to get killed. Oftentimes by their own stupidity."

Constantine pointed a finger-gun to Morbius with a wink and a quiet Pshoo! Wild West indeed. Lamont's comment gets a snaerk of agreement. Well Lindon was off and that left the kitchen unattended and John helped himself. "You're a man of science are you, Michael?" He didn't shorten the name to Mike like some wayward Continental. A name was a name and those had power. He seemed to have analogy as much for this. "When they created the x-ray what mad craziness did they co through irradiating themselves before they turned their magic into explainable materia. It comes from somewhere. It goes somewhere. It cooked a hell of a lot of people in the process. Still it's that arrogance and ambition, properly guided, that gives us advances in medicine. I'd argue what the vulgar refer to as magic, really forces and materia, are in requirement of the same barbarism until we learn its finesse. We we do from there entirely depends on teh artisan."

Lamont's laughter manages to pull Michael's smile a little wider, curving up on his face until the slightest glint of elongated teeth can be briefly glimpsed before being smothered again. Sanguine eyes follow John as he gets up, though they latch on to Lamont for a moment on the other side of the couch he's perched on, lagging on the older fellow before catching back up to Constantine. "I am, yes. The title Lindon affords me is not just an honorific or ego." Still, he silences down while John explains and Morbius adopts a serene look, reaching for his tea and sitting back to hold it close. Staring down at the dark cup, there is the occassional nod of seeming agreement. "I'd hazard to say that we see eye to eye on the nature of the universe, Mister Constantine."

Lamont listens to this exchange thoughtfully, as he doctors his tea with sugar. He hazards no more opinions thus far. RAther, he's looking curiously at Morbius. Not in the least sure what to make of him, that's clear.

Constantine lifted his glass of juice and seemed to replace the frozen epeas back to teh freezer. "We are of a world where we envision something new, try to achieve it and spend the rest of our time trying to fix what we bloody broke in the process." He went to drink his juice and paused with a shrug, "And occasional possession." Now he sipped his juice.

It's Morbius' turn to laugh, and it's a slow-build up as well. From his bowed perspective over his cup, his smile stretches until it breaks into a full-fledged grin, fangy and bright, bursting with smooth-rolling chuckles straight up from wherever one's soul resides. Quiet at first, then building with volume as the pale creature lifts his head and laughs, delightedly, looking up toward John, blood-stained eyes giving off a resonant glow that bleeds into the pale skin around them. It takes him a moment to reel it in, humming trailing chortles after the fact. "You…are most /certainly/ correct, John." As if that's the funniest joke he has heard his entire life.

Lamont exhales, not quite a sigh. But there's a kind of rueful fondness there. Ladies and germs, Lamont's former if informal apprentice, John Constantine. No wonder JC's karma is so bad. Consider his teacher.

Lindon emerges from the bedroom, phone still in hand. "Well thank God for that," he says into the headpiece. "Crisis averted. I'll see you tomorrow." The he hangs up. He looks a little harried but no worse for it. "Geez, I'm sorry about that, guys but it's all taken care of." He sets the phone back where it belongs. He perks up as he sees what seems to be a peaceable gathering still in progress. "Someone misplaced one of the books we keep in our special collections."

Constantine took Morbius's amusements and Lamont's truths in stride. Truth was he wasn't good at fuzzy so he diverted to telling Lindon giving them the update. "Oh sorry. The end table was a bit wobbly. Had to sort it. It was the right width."

Morbius draws his knuckle underneath one eye as if wiping away tears of laughter, still humming punctuated chuckles from behind closed lips, that inhuman gaze still resonating with literal light, quickly fading. His attention flicks up to Lindon as he re-enters the entertaining space. Well. The public space. He pats the empty space left between he and Lamont in beckoning, happy to let the subject drop.

Lamont rolls his eyes at that. "John," he says. "How many times have I told you not to use grimoires as shims? Have you no couth?"

Lindon shoots Constantine a look. He wags a finger at him. "You… I'm watching you." The kitten comes over to him and trills, prompting Lindon to pick him up. The animal has mind control powers. He tucks the kitten under one arm and comes back to his place on the couch. Morbius gets a curious look. "Is he being funny?" he asks as he sits. The kitten curls up on his lap, and he takes Lamont's hand while laying his other hand on Morbius' knee. Happy Lindon.

Constantine slowly widened a wolfish grin to Lamont and countered with, "I remember you saying something about 'Do as I say and not as I do'. Same discussion right?" To Lindon he shrugged drinking his juice, "Don't look too closely. That's how people never sleep againa nd we're not going back to that." At the question of being funny there was only a dead stare to be have. "I'm English, Lindon. I have less humor than the FBI." Oh but did they capitolize on dry deadpan. He walked the juice back, or at least the glass to rinse it out and set it on teh counter.

"Mm, no," Morbius seems to agree with John as he places his hand over Lindon's, setting his cup back down to the table. His eyes drift back over to Constantine. "Just very astute." Finally able to draw up his composure again, Morbius looks past Lindon to Lamont again. John's … well, something.

The Shadow just pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes. It's like being a father trying to argue with a teenager.

Lindon squeezes Lamont's hand and says, "It's all right, dear." To Constantine, he says, "Oh, I meant to tell you, I think I have the name of Hargrove's next victim." Oh, by the way, just saying. "I think he will be someone named Alex Cohen, from the Lower East Side." He winces apologetically. "My gut feeling resolved itself. That's what I called you over for."

Constantine paused and squint at Lamont. What. It wasn't like it wasn't true. "I swear the room is positivly allergic to me being truthf- Lindon. For all our sakes-" He stopped there and winced fiiiiinally relenting, "Okay mostly for Alex's sake? Lead with that one, yeah? We have address, anything?"

The casual 'by the way' nature of Lindon's words make Morbius' brows twitch upward slightly. Basically any time the words 'next victim' are uttered, whatever lingering dregs of odd humor that stuck to him dissipate in favor of grim seriousness. This isn't precisely his bailiwick, but the news still draws his interest.

That's got Lamont staring at Lindon. This is news to him. But he doesn't press - Constantine's doing a fine job of eliciting more info.

"Sorry," Lindon says. "I got the phone call, then you guys were having a good time, but I figured I should pipe up." Socialing is hard, guys. "I don't have an address but he works with his hands, does something mechanical. Not appliances. Toys, maybe? I have a friend who has a machine shop in the Lower East Side. I could ask him, but it's not like everyone Jewish knows each other."

Constantine sighed and had enough information to go on, "Lindan, ir'd zeyn sapreyzd." Apparently his Hebrew and Yiddish were still in practice, but when one was a professional exorcist by trade, one committed the big ones to heart. He grabbed his coat in long strides, without any preamble, "I'll call you with what I find." And with that he was out the door. John Constantine was a selfish creature, but demon blooded or no, the losses mattered to him. THe dangerous part would be how many deals would he personally strike to try to stop Hargrove. There in lied another problem. But maybe, just maybe, they could save one more tonight. Ne needed that to be true more than he'd ever let on.

John takes to his feet with that information, a cool curve to Morbius' expression enigmatic as he glances peaceably down to his cooled cup of tea, then draws his attention in a smooth arch toward Lamont, then Lindon. The connections here were fascinating and he was soaking it all in, a fly on the wall.

And Lamont's slipping out with John. It's the Shadow's job to deal with crime, especially occult crime.

Lindon calls after, "Take care." His brow knits, and he looks to Morbius, then smiles awkwardly. "I'm useless on the scene, so I just kind of wait up and worry." He at least gets a kiss from Lamont before he goes. Then he comes back to curl up next to Morbius.

The gathering begins to disburse and Morbius gathers to his feet, but doesn't seem inclined to leave with the other two. There is more going on here than he knows, so he waits, patiently. Lindon let go to say good night to Lamont and then accepted back with a loose hand slid along the man's lower back. In thoughtful silence until the door shuts behind them, Morbius turns his head to kiss Lindon's shoulder in reassurance. "They seem to know what they're doing. Mostly. I'll stay with you while you worry."

Lindon slips his arms around Morbius, seeking a hug of comfort. "Yeah, they're both very good at what they do. I don't think they're going to find anything too terrible. The urgency resolved itself, the man is still alive. I don't think Hargrove is even in New York City. At least they'll be able to warn the man. He might listen." He kisses the corner of Michael's mouth and murmurs, "You're so good to me."

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