1965-01-05 - That Cat Though
Summary: Constantine, Morbius, and Lindon touch base after Lindon's visions.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
morbius constantine lindon 

Lindon is still at the manor, and he's getting around better. He's dressed today, and shaven. Progress. The headaches have abated for the most part, but he's still home from work today. Work thinks he caught a nasty flu going around. He's still a little paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, but he's on his feet, making his own tea. Whether there's lingering damage to his mind remains to be seen, but for now, he's able to answer the door, and that's handy.

Constantine pocketed something looking up to Lindon with a faint grin, "Good. Saves me the trouble of letting myself in." Because the lockpicking? That was the easy part. Not being zapped by a score of wards would take finessing. Hence the knocking. "We came to check in on you."

Lindon's brows lift. "Please, make yourself at home," he says. Then he smiles, though faintly. "Do you want some tea? There's some in the pot." Three kittens circle his feet like a trio of carpet sharks. Clucking his tongue, he heads toward the kitchen so he can give them a saucer of cream. Round-bellied little bastards. "I'm feeling better," he says. "I've been sleeping a lot."

Constantine watched the furry spectacle and sighed, "I think Cass sends his regards as he can't send you more cats." He closed the door behind him and waded into the houseglancing and doing inventory over who was here. "Heard I missed the excitement the other night. I heard somthing about pugelism and hand puppets and some friend of Cohen's." What a way to summerize the near brawl between Elmo and Michael. Still he followed Lindon to the kitchen because that's where one gets information from.

Lindon sets down the cream, and all three kittens converge upon it, lapping noisily, their tails laid out behind them in straight lines. One would think the poor little things were starving. Lindon touches up his tea and pours a cup for John. As he offers it over, he says, "Yes, a friend of mine named Elmo Rosencrantz is a friend of Mr. Cohen. I don't remember the vision, but I've looked over the notes I've written down. I'm afraid Elmo and Michael didn't hit it off." He smiles then and says, "Do tell Cassidy I said hello."

Constantine took the cup by the rim and he shrugged. "Put any living things in contention for something together it's not going to go smoothly. Hell, that's just survival, Lindon." He had no horse in the race, but pleanty of idle observation. Optimistically he added, "Yeah I'll do just that. THe Doctor and I went poking at some theory. More questions than answers, but it leaves us with a direction." His cheekes pulled in. Finally he added, "Good to see you got your pluck back."

Lindon leaves the kittens to their feasting and leads John into the parlor, where he's built himself a little nest on one corner of the long Victorian couch. He resettles there once John's found himself a seat. "Thank you," he says. "It's always good to see you." He takes a drink ofhis tea, his brow furrowing. "What kinds of questions did you come up with?" he asks. Here he is not supposed to do any heavy thinking, but he's gotta ask.

Constantine scoffed, "No it's not. Even I know that Lindon. If I'm here it means we have hit rock bottom and need a tour guide to all the things that are impolite to talk about" That was John for thank you apparently. He sat down and looked this way and that finally back to Lindon, "There's this train left a rail depot in Boston last night, yeah?" He fed Lindon the information a bit at ta time to see how he's doing

"It is," Lindon insists with a quiet laugh. "We're at rock bottom all the time. With you here, we're there in good company. You always make me feel better." Lindon is clearly touched in the head. He nods slowly at the mention of the train leaving Boston, but it doesn't seem to ring any bells or cause any pangs. "All right," he says.

Constantine sat in the living room , one hand on his teacup, the other gesturing openly as if thinking his way through the recreation, "Now it's destination of for the rail depot in Chiciago to arrive at half-eight in the evening, which would be fine non the surface… but weirdly, and this part gets us," He pausedand sipped his tea before continuing, "there's another identical train leaving Buffalo at half-five and is heading south with a different destination in Atlanta…" He squint at Lindon, "What we were trying to figure out… is when they'd intersect." And for this John Constanine, was a class A wanker.

Lindon answers without missing a beat, "11:45 at night, Pittsburgh Station." THEN he thinks about the question, then just gives John a look. He's so gormless, so innocent. He knows which identical trains leaving what stations intersect (taking into consideration weather and layovers) but John's point? Woosh right over that brilliant head of his. Taunting Lindon with math problems is hardly fair.

A light tap on the door politely announces another person, though Lindon doesn't have the time to get up to answer the door before the handle turns and in slides a familiar figure to both men. Morbius has a newspaper tucked under one of his arms, he keeps his chin dipped and hat on while he follows voices.

The paper wordlessly folded in half and smacked lightly against John's chest to hand it off. "You owe me the fare, John."

Constantine was terribly pleased with himself when Michael finally joined them; a omcat looking with pride as it gets away with murder. So much so he slapped his hand on the recipt from teh cab fare and didn't mind. "Works for me." He sat back and commented to the DOctor, "Hes looking less peaked that earlier, eh?" THere was a glance between the two and he fell silent for a moment so the other two could get sentiments and hullos out of hte way.

Lindon's bemused expression smoothes into pure delight when Morbius joins them. "Michael," he says. "I got your letter. I've been good." He moves a book from the couch to open up a spot beside him. By this time, the kittens have finished their cream and gone off to find places to doze, leaving the humans nad human-like beings in peace. He eyes the newspaper and says, "Does that have something to do with the trains leaving from Buffalo and Boston?"

Morbius' gaze is lidded as he exchanges looks with the very pleased looking gutter mage, dry and bemused, he drops the newspaper is dropped unceremoneously into John's lap as well. "Mm hmm." The knowing rumble from a man who understands more than well enough a 'go the fuck away for a couple minutes' distraction when he sees one, but went along with it anyway.

Turning toward Lindon afterward, the wry angle comes out of his expression and he takes his hat off, dropping that in John's lap as well. "Hello, Lindon. I'm glad to hear that. I left it in the most obvious place I thought you might find it." Sitting down in the place Lindon's cleared for him, there is a sweeping, professional look first while he assesses the Archive. "Yes. Thankfully. Good rest will work wonders. What's this about trains?"

Constantine faintly buckled as the paper hit his lap but took it up and knew where he wanted to look in it rifling through the sections for the blotter. He got up and wandered off leaving affenction people to…whatever it is they do. He refilled his tea. "No it has nothing to do with the trains." He was not foing to re-ruffle Morbius' feathers and left the trains at that: his own amusement. "Was telling him we have some semblance of a le-" He looked down and that odd looking cat was following him until it stretched across the front of his shoe and headbutted his shin.

"John was asking me about trains," Lindon tells Morbius. He leans against him, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "Hello, love," he murmurs, and he gives him a kiss on the cheek. PDA right on front of John. However, Morbius' presence does soothe Lindon, who is improving but still a little wobbly. He glances to the cat. "Don't be a pest," he murmurs. Like the cats ever listen to him. They walk all over him, literaly, and he lets them. "Some semblance of what?" he asks.

Morbius turns his head toward Lindon as the Archive leans in against him. Lifting his chin, there's a doting kiss pressed against Lindon's temple, he murmurs a soft word or two of affection for Lindon's ears only while John refreshes his tea. There's business to be had so he doesn't steal any time to be a sap. Reaching around, his fingers kneading against the nape of Lindon's neck.

"Of a lead." Morbius supplies and curiously peers at the kitten following Constantine around. "John?"

Constantine didn't seem to give two metric shits about the PDA from Lindon to Morbius as much as he did his shin receiving from the kitten. "That." He blinked at the cat, "It's like you want me to trip. Deliberately cat… Kent put you up to this?" It mewed at John. There was a sigh, "You wouldn't listen to him either would you."

"Puck," Lindon calls to the kitten, who pricks its ears toward his voice. If that kitten ever grows into its paws, it's going to be a monster. "He's just friendly," he tells Constantine with a note of apology. "Dr. Strange gave him to me. I swear he's smarter than he looks, but he's shown no homicidal tendencies so far. The kitten, I mean." His eyes lid at the kneading, and he smiles softly as he leans his head against Michael's. "What kind of lead?" he says. "Anything at this point would be great."

"If the Doctor gave him to you, are we sure that he's a kitten at all?" Morbius hums thoughtfully and makes a gesture in John's direction. "I'll let John explain. I'm just the research monkey in this situation. I'm quite out of my depth in most of this, I'm not to proud to say so." His fingers don't stop, kneading the pad of his thumb against the hollow point where Lindon's skull meets his neck. "Did the boy mention he knew where to find the toymaker by the by? We should move him or keep surveilance as soon as possible."

Constantine was still staring at the cat and he said in a detached manner, focus on the cat, "No. It's not a cat…" Hence why John wasn't moving. Only really to John was Morbius Doc and the other Dr. just Strange. The newspaper was used to point vaguely behind himself to Morbs "Doc's not wrong about Cohen." Oh that cat was getting away with murder right now. "We made a list, it's all up on hte wall at my place. SUffice to say we found holes in our initial timeline which told us, in short, We don't have all of Aloys' information> Now I cna try to arrest that sunnovabitch back to life for a short while for some answers, but if I'm correct he's … going to be not…available." Meaning Hargrove had his soul in arrest somewhere or possibly in use or suspended? Constantine's face had a faint reflex having some strong opinions on that and rather than have a feeling he oped to risk life and limb stepping over the cat into the kitchen. Talk about an unresolved partnership.

Lindon lowers his gaze and smiles faintly as he says. "Elmo knows Mr. Cohen, yes." The boy, oh dear. "I agree we should find a safe place for him until this blows over. The poor man. From what I've heard, he's already been through so much what with the War. Now this." His gaze lifts to John. "Maybe the attempt will answer whether his soul remains unsullied, it also might get Hargrove's attention. If the soul is in his… his…" His brow furrows, and he rubs at his forehead. "His thing. Struture. Power structure." The cat trots after John, tail straight in the air with a slight curl at the tip.

Morbius watches Puck and John's back and forth with interest, arching one of those upswept brows, trying to make heads and tails of the not a cat comment. Wizards. Weird bunch. The technical talk left between those two for the moment, Morbius simply nods to confirm the bits of information John dropped to Lindon.

|ROLL| Constantine +rolls 1d20 for: 2

Constantine was standing there frozen watching the cat watch him. To Morbius? Yeah wizards were weird. He'll speack science to you later, Mikey. Right now John almost looked checked out. He turned from teh silent conversation he was having withthe felinoid creature to Lindon; something in that statement of his punching a hole in his resolve. John had feelings and sometimes when you keep digging at something there's a ka-thak sound of shovel hitting casket. He agreed though. "Maybe." Because the ends always justified the means which is what usually set him apart from his peers and generally not in a smiled upon way. It was to teh cat he said, "C'mon." And walked to teh front door crabbing his cigs and his zippo taking the kitten with him? No, following the cat."

The cat leads Constantine to the door, and Lindon calls, "Don't let him out of the yard." Fortunately, Puck doesn't want to go out of the yard, he just wants to stalk squirrels and birds. Five months old and already ready to kill something for funsies. He's almost the size of an adult cat, though, if it were a small one. Lindon settles back against Michael, and he murmurs, "I think I need to just close my eyes a moment." With his arms around Morbius, apparently.

The cat meowed. The cat would not let John out of the yard, likely by tripping him again.

Michael squeezes Lindon close, whispering another sentimental word or two to him and combing wicked looking fingers through his hair while he waits for the guy to drop off like a stone, as he often seems to. Kissing his forehead, the 'good' doctor separates himself to good window peeping to watch John and the not-a-cat? So much curiosity!

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