1965-01-08 - An Evening at Saganaki
Summary: A collection of eclectic individuals arrive at Saganaki for dinner. An angel hands out some insider information, Morbius draws some interpersonal lines, and the consequences of the Wild Hunt come back to haunt Kai. At least nobody died.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
michael morbius kai lambert 


Saganaki is open six nights a week, but the sixth is a quiet one, an evening where the usual customers are out. Lambert is out the back, ushering out a couple who have finished their meal. Inside the spit has a roast leg of lamb with rosemary and greek coffee is in a pot on his firewood fired stove. Out here the tables have a gas-lit heater above each, but the fire in the firepit keeps things even warmer. The bees are asleep under their bales of straw for winter, and no flowers are blooming. The air smells of food, while Lambert wipes down a table, and waves to those leaving "…tiny tip, you cheap -" he is muttering _right_ under his breath.

Kai sits in the courtyard with an empty wine glass before him. He strums on a guitar, playing some intricate chords before he starts to sing, "Baklava, baklava, Mah-velous baklava. I put you in my belly, then watch a little telly, my tasty, tasty baklava…" He's got such a nice voice, though. Strum strum.
He's a cute little thing, the elf is. Blond curls, bright blue eyes, diminutive. He tends to scream 'morsel' to those of a predatory bent, all guileless and easy as he sits there with his guitar in his black turtleneck.

Food is a huge part of this earthly adventure. He doesn't need it, but taste and texture and satiation are all to be explored, hence Mike's presence there there. Dressed in a greatcoat that he's obviously picked insignia off of, over a shooting sweater, old fatigue pants, and paratrooper boots. He's the original general of the airborne, after all. No wings, though - to all appearances a blond man whose age is curiously hard to tell. He comes in with a curious expression, uncertain. Drawn by the scent, the way his nose is in the air.

If muttering is welcome, maybe that is what draws Morbius there tonight. Or perhaps the promise of something vaguely familiar, even with the normally vague deterrent of, well, Lambert. Which isn't his fault in the least. Regardless of any of the context, Morbius steps inside the establishment with his hat tipped low over his face and ears tucked inside it. Collar on his engulfing long coat up as well, giving him the look of either a flasher or a movie rendition of a 1920's PI, hard to say. A gloved hand reaches up to remove his hat, but pauses when he notices the guitar-strumming patron.

And stops.

Hesitating for a frozen moment.

It's a smell that rouses his attention next, allowing Morbius to blink away and sweep his focus over the area at large. The proprietor gains the lion's share of his attention after a flicker to Michael. "Good evening, Lambert."

Lambert can sense those of an Olympian bent, but that is very rare in this country. And he knows Kai, and notes that his wine glass is empty. As he comes back, he flips the rag over his shoulder, and he leans out to refill with something an intense red, the colour of blood itself. It is thick, heavy, and heady. "Is that a hint, eh?" Lambert says to Kai dryly "Dessert coming up - oh, hello. Actually, we've met, haven't we?" Lambert says to Michael, curiously, before he waves his hand "In, in. Oh! And you too, eh? Rare lamb?" he asks Morbius "Red greek wine. I have a seat over here for you." And he does too, a stone thing, the column of it hacked out of an old piece of work from an ancient building. "Evening everyone. Tell me what you feel like - except Kai - and I'll see what I can do!"

"You know what I like," Kai tells Lambert with a smile, sweet save for the devil dancing in his eyes. The elf is full of trouble just waiting to happen. He still strums, and he singsongs, "Put the baklava on the table, I'll eat the baklava when I'm able…" He lifts his gaze to Michael and offers him a grin. Then those blue eyes skip over to Morbius, and he tilts his head. "Hello," he tells the newcomers. "I'm Kai. I'm your entertainment for the evening." He stops playing guitar long enough to take up his wine and haver a healthy swallow.

The angel looks about him with that mild expression, curiosity strong as ever. Then he smiles at Lambert. "At Lux, I think," he says. Without Lucian's perfect memory. Then he's gazing at the elf. "You will play for us?" he asks, seemingly delighted with the idea. He takes the seat he's waved to, settling himself carefully.

"Adorable," Morbius comments dryly back to Lambert, assuming that that was a joke, as he strolls forward quickly to take a seat near the winterized bees, brushing past Michael with a light murmuration, "Pardon me." Keeping his head tipped forward, there is a glint of a bright red eye tracking the elf while he passes, rubbing a gloved thumb and first two fingers together slowly.

"Medium, please," the delicately clicking sound of his accent tapping against the backs of his front teeth while he speaks to Lambert. "Wine, yes, and conversation when you aren't tending your other customers."

Lambert eyes Kai a little dryly "You like Loki," he says to him "We don't serve that here." Still, he comes back shortly with baklava, and he puts it down with a little fork and knife, delicate dessert items, so that Kai does not have to get his instrument sticky "Still, he seems nice, eh? Why do people say mean things abou thim?" He shakes his head, curiously, and then he says to the Angel "I'll get you the special. That should work. Lamb with pita bread, and some sour cheese dip with herbs. Not as many good vegetables this time of year, so it will all be warming rather than healthy, eh?" There is a pause, here and there, as he works and then he is saying to Morbius "Yes! I am adorable! Many people say that…oh, medium? Hmm. I hope you don't eat steak medium. I will be back shortly." Off he goes into the tiny, cluttered kitchen, but he moves his bulk in there with ease.

Kai grins at Lambert. "He feeds my soul. I still need to feed my body." He strums, then says, "We got in a huge fight yesterday, but I can't stay mad at him." Strum strum. He tells Michael, "I'll play whatever you like to hear. This is just a brief interlude while I extol the virtues of Lambert's baklava." Morbius continues to get a friendly look from the elf. "What do you fine folks feel like hearing?"

"I don't know what I'd like to hear," Michael admits, after a moment's long consideration. The angel's sitting in an oddly formal pose, hands resting on his knees. His expression is solemn, rather his default, but then there's that curiosity in his eyes again. To Lamb, he notes, "I'll have whatever you deem best, this evening."

"Calm down," Morbius reassures Lambert while he stares at Kai for an impolite amount of time. "Steak deserves more rare treatment than lamb. I'm not a complete monster." He says with a straight face.

Attention flickers between Michael and Kai, not bothering to shed his overcoat or hat just yet, huddling defensively for the moment. "Do you know the sound of silence? I don't mean the song. The actual sound."

"Don't know what you like?" says Lambert to Michael, glancing sideways at Kai "Huh," he adds, a little perplexed by such a thing at all. He adds "I never can have enough of everything. I want all the things." And then he nudges Kai as he tips up the wine jug to pour a little more in "What was the fight about? Something ridiculous? It's always something ridiculous that brings out the worst in people."

He is gone into the kitchen, though, and a few minutes pass, before out he pops out to give Michael a bowl of warm, spiced olives - and a second for Morbius. Entrees, and soon, lamb sliced with rich juices and plenty of raw thyme on the side. Chunks of lemon. Rice with saffron and other things the Greeks took from further south and East. As Morbius speaks, Lambert says "No, not at all. I have Maenads in the family. They don't do quiet."

"I can't remember," Kai says. "We ended up yelling at each other about everything. Weapons were drawn, but no blood." He seems unbothered by any of this. Love is rocky, and those of the higher realms play hard. "We made up, though. All's well." There's that smile again. His strumming wends to a close, and he laughs at Morbius' words. "Is that a hint? I've known silence. It just doesn't pay the bills." He sets his guitar aside, the better to take up his wine and drink. "Did I mention I'm Kai? I'm Kai."

"I am….very new to this city," Michael explains, in that light voice of his. It's true, after all. "And …I was…I lived somewhere rather remote from most of humankind. So….there's a lot that is new to me." Hedging, oh, definitely.

Olives. Yes, please. Morbius gives Lambert a grateful look as he removes one of his gloves, pinching olives between slender, taloned fingers and snacking on them. No manicure here. He doesn't work at the DMV. While he stares at the hired entertainment, his nails extend and retract mildly; like a cat kneading something to make it softer. "Yes, you mentioned your name. Hello." A hint too distracted to pay a whole lot of attention to the hedging answers from the other fellow.

"Everyone seems to know Kai," says Lambert, a hint of a smile around his broad mouth "Still, if clients prefer it to be a little quiet…" He waves a casual hand, and brushes his fleece up to rub at the base of his horns "Phew. Even in winter, the kitchen is hot." And he turns his head to Michael "Oh _really_?" Lambert says with a cheerily friendly leer, and then he says "That sounds a bit tough. I love being around people! They're very interesting. Or maybe I'm just a herd animal." Or pack, given that the leer exposes quite the row of carnivorous fangs in there. His are more the cheery grin a wolf can have than a predator like Morbius. Then Lambert says to the man there "Your lamb will be ready shortly. Does anyone have any extra requests - not you, Kai."

"I get around," Kai says. "And I like people. And satyrkin, and…" He spies Morbius' talons and murmurs, "Woooah." So cool. He's polite enough not to ask 'what are you' at least. His laughter is musical as Lambert says not him, and he says, "Why am I so deprived?" The guitar is set aside for the moment, his concession to silence, and he comes over to the table with the newcomers. "What should I call you?" he asks Morbius and Michael.

For some reason, that makes the angel smile. Not Lucian's smirk, but a funny, secretive little grin. "Michael," he says, gently. "My name is Michael." He picks up an olive, examines it, and then eats it. "And….well, I was used to it, but this city has its own attractions." The claws on the vampire's hands draw his attention and he cants his head just a fraction, a birdlike gesture.

Morbius glances to his hand when Kai murmurs at him, unaware of what he was doing, the soft-spoken man coils his fingers into a fist, rubbing his thumb repeatedly over his knuckles. Trying to shake loose the feeling that had his claws extending. A quick-shot glance toward Michael as well, Morbius purses his lips together tightly, murmuring lightly, "Pardon me."

Kai stands and moves toward his table, there's a gentle lift of his hand to try (likely in vain) to stop him. "Please. I'd appreciate it if you gave me some space." A glance toward Michael again, lifting his chin a hint higher, he takes note of the name before returning to Kai. "Michael Morbius. So. Morbius will be fine." The anglo name coils around his accent unnecessarily. "This will be good, Lambert. Thank you."

"I like you too, Kai," Lambert says to the musician, with a warm smile "I like you and the fact that because of you I now have the recipe for the beer of Hel. Though the ingredients are not always so easy, eh?" He shakes his head, and then he slaps Kai on the back, before he heads back into his little kitchen, full of its mysterious scents and intensity, full of it's temptations.

When he comes out, he has more plates balanced, and they are readily flicked out, one before Morbius, and one before Michael. Pink lamb, with bitter winter salad greens. He glances towards the bees slightly, and then he says "Of course, space for our guests. Here. Kai, why don't I get out the syrinx - the pan pipes. We can play together." Surely that cannot go wrong at all "Not used to olives, Michael? Watch the stones!"

Kai hesitates when Morbius bids him to give space. He looks confused, and he wilts. He's not used to people not wanting him around. At least people who aren't in some position of civic authority. He looks at Lambert, and those big blue eyes are just so confused. Told not to join the group, denied requests. Why! He doesn't know. "Er, okay," he says slowly, and he slinks back to the table where his guitar is. There he sits with his wine, and he looks sad.

Which is precisely when Mike grits a tooth on one. The look of surprise is comical, before he manages to work it out and spit it onto a palm. "Lambert, Kai, Morbius," he says, as if setting those to memory. "I am not used to olives, no," he admits, sheepishly. Curious, he gets up to wander over to the elf's table and sit with him. Blame the flocking instinct.

Relieved when Kai steps away, Morbius breathes a hint easier, consoling himself with food as familiar scents and spices fill the air. Inhaling deeply, the seemingly-anti-social man's shoulders straighten and chest fills with it. The look Morbius leans in Lambert's direction is an indebted one. A moment of calm before guilt sinks into his bones when Michael stands and joins the sad looking blond.

"I'm sorry, this is going to be rude so forgive me, but /what/ precisely are you, Mister Kai?" Pressing a clawed finger up under the brim of his hat and freely exposing much of his pale face. His features still human, only sharper, not currently twisted and feral, though his unsettling eyes rest on the elf. "You're not human. Humans don't pique my attention like you do."

Having served, Lambert heads up the rustic stairs to his own apartment, and he comes back with an old set of panpipes. They have red ribbons binding the top, and wax at the bottom in the traditional style. Lambert moves to sit on a rock placed near the fire place, then glances at Michael and says "Heh. Put the stones on the plate. Yes, you can hurt your teeth a lot that way." He blows a note or two over the top of the pipes, then looks at the small group, honestly surprised to see Morbius approach someone else. Curious. Still, while they are talking, he starts to play a very low, very soft series of notes that wind around one another with a sleepy sort of seductive urgency.

Kai smiles at Michael faintly when the angel joins him. "Hi," he says. Gods, the elf is a drenched kitten when he's sad, all big eyes and a fundamental lack of understanding why, oh why. Then Morbius addresses him, and he perks up. Kai is welcome? Yay! He studies the vampire's face with interest, but the fool rarely knows enough about when to be afraid (unless dark elves are part of the equation). "I'm from Alfheim," he says, "An elf, I guess, is what they call me, more Tolkien than North Pole. We're allegedly charismatic, but I just think if you're nice to people, they'll be nice back." He takes a drink of his wine, tossing it back like it were water. Since it's Lambert's wine, his eyes are getting a little glassy and his smile comes easily.

"That is another realm than this, I think?" Mike's tone is curious. "I've not met an elf before, that I recall." He's looking into the elf's face still with a focus that might be disconcerting, considering. It seems kindly meant, before. Then he looks to the others, each in turn. "None of you is merely human, are you?" he asks, slowly…and then smiles. "How delightful."

Morbius taps a curled fingernail on the table rapidly for a couple of beats, his eyes resonate with light briefly, then dims away again as he glances toward Lambert while he plays. Calming, cooling, he turns his attention on his meal, cutting things into small unnecessarily small pieces he can fit between his lips without baring his teeth like Lambert did a while ago. "Elf. Yes. Yes all right then. That's…that's very interesting. Thank you." His finger taps rapidly on his fork's handle in a low-key pulse of agitation. He eats poised and quietly in stark juxtaposition to his temperament and appearance. "Are your people often considered prey creatures as well?"

There's a glance lifted in Michael's direction, considering him a moment to meet his gaze. Neatly, Morbius sets his fork and knife down on his plate. Dipping his head, he lifts his hat off his head and scoops the other hand through his hair; pale, pointed ears stick up through the waves of mediterranean black hair. He drops the hat to the table. "No, sir, I am not. Neither are you if I do not miss my mark. We do share something in common, however." Picking his knife and fork up again.

The music that Lambert produces is not quite as intense as the effects of the wine - which are considerable, as Kai is discovering. He listens to the description, and he says "But still as cold as the North Pole, is Alfheim." Still, he cannot play _and_ speak, so he settles back to looping his melody around, a low, breathy series of falling notes so backgrounded one could rear orphaned kittens in their softness. His eyes fall on Morbius' pointed ears, and his own whip up curiously, pushing his hat back. Though his are furry, and very good at angling to the correct sound. He eventually pulls the pipes back "I'm a quarter satyr."

Kai offers his hand across the table to Michael to shake. "Well, I'm happy to be your first elf." Who's he to talk about those who may or may not be human? He merely passes most of the time (until one takes a closer look). When Morbius mentions prey creatures, Kai's features gain a degree of solemnity, and there's an understanding that reaches his eyes, putting paid to a portion of the dippiness there. "Oh," he says. "Right. No, elves aren't prey creatures, but I was marked for the Wild Hunt. I got away, but…" He sighs quietly. "The mark remains. I'm sorry if it's distracting. You're a predator of some sort?" Lambert's music is soothing, as is the wine, and he still doesn't have the sense to be too worried. After all, Dr. Morbius is being quite nice so far.

The angel's smile widens at that. He takes Kai's hand, shakes it with a kind of funny care - not a gesture native to him, it seems. "A pleasure," he says. Then a look at Lambert, taking in the ears, the eyes. On to Morbius. "You are correct. I am not human. I have taken on flesh for a time as a sort of…vacation," It doesn't sound as creepy as it might, delivered in that honey-mild voice.

Turning his attention down to his plate, Morbius commits himself to his meal, seemingly able to cope a bit better with Kai's existence now that he can understand what the hell was driving him crazy. Scratching an itch. "Sometimes," Morbius comments gently to Kai on if he's a predator. "Unlike yourself and Lambert, I was once human. I'm able to mostly hold on to it. But you" He points his fork lightly toward Kai, his attention lingering a little too long on the elf. "You agitate my hunt instinct. I apologize if I was…terse earlier."

Peering at Michael and his choice of words, there's a curious look returned to him now. "Vacation in flesh. Lord, are you a mote? Perhaps a spirit? Mm, what did John call it…?" Morbius closes his eyes and tries to recall a phrase. "A…disembodied energy?"

Lambert murmurs "Men go crazy in congregations, they only get better one by one." He looks back down, and then he continues to play, lightly. The music is becoming ever more hypnotic, cascading around itself. It feeds into the alcohol _very_ nicely. Inhibitions can be peeled away by this, rather more supernaturally than usual. The longer one listens, the stronger the effect is. He is listening to them curiously, and he turns his head towards Morbius tightly at 'Hunting Instinct'. Hmmmm.

Kai tells Morbius with utmost sincerity, "You were trying to protect me. There's nothing to forgive. It's a kindness most predatory humans fail to do." He smiles faintly, and there's an amiable glint in his eyes. To Michael, he says, "Make the most of flesh. It's a hoot." He sways thoughtlessly to the music, and he finishes his wine with gusto. Then he blinks a few times, and he gives Lambert an amused look. "And that's my cue. I'm going to go home to my husband." This is a place where one can speak freely, is it not? "Good night, you glorious people."

"I am not the Lord," says Michael, in all apparent seriousness, as if this were genuinely in doubt. "Only one of his servants. I'm an angel." Modesty, that. There is no 'an'…..how many angels are there named Michael? "I am!" he assures Kai, earnestly. 'It's been amazing. A pleasure to meet you, Kai. I hope to see you again."

Morbius looks over to Kai, murmuring seriously. "I have no inclination to hurt you or anyone else. But…these things happen. Warning seems to be the prudent way to handle it." Taking a drink from his glass in order to peel his attention away from Kai. The music was nice at first. A familiar distraction. But now it seems to wiggle into cracks. "Good night, Mister Kai. Thank you for, well, yes. Understanding."

Attention easily swims back over to Michael, his brows knit. "I'm sorry. An angel? The angel, Michael." Yeah, he might have heard about you. Just maybe.

Lambert gives Kai such a look. If only he could talk! But then he winks, and he continues trying to see what effect his quite literally magical music is having on the others. The longer he plays, the stronger the Dionysian effect is. Drinking from the glass makes it _worse_. Relax. Take off your strange notions. Just put them down. Talk freely. Feel intensely. Drink deeply. Sing loudly. Feel like a satyr does. He grins around the edge and nods to Kai, then turns his attention back to Michael and Morbius.

The angel is drinking the wine - sipping it slowly. The music….he's flesh enough to feel its blandishments, if not entirely certain how to take it all. He licks his lips, looks down into the glass, and then glances up again. "Yes, precisely. The first Michael," he says, matter of fact.

As guilty as he may feel about it, with Kai gone, Morbius breathes a little easier, which only makes those cracks the music is seeping into expand with more ease. His attention is mostly not on the angel sitting at the other table, curious with a scientific air of speculation about him. "The angel of death. The general of the armies of heaven is taking holiday as a human."

Finally Lambert stops playing, and he moves to sit down next to Michael "You're _that_ Michael. The one that was originally a Djinn?" he asks, and then he says "…are you _really_?" Lambert clears his throat, and he glances at Morbius and says to him "I know, right? You'd think he'd choose being a satyr or one of your people. We're _so_ much cooler." And then he refills both of their glasses, and he says "Being human is fun. But painful. How are the emotions going?"

"No, I am the angel of war, the general of Heaven, the Taxiarch," Michael corrects, with that earnest, well-meaning pedantry. "Azrael is the angel of death, he remains on the job."

As Lamb comes to sit by him, he nods. "I was never a djinn. Only and ever an angel. The djinn….they are a separate creation, a people of their own." They can see, slowly, the silhouette of great wings come into being behind him. Like shadow, at first, but increasingly sparked with veins of emberglow, outlining each barb in low-burning fire. Tucked behind him, with what passes for discretion. At that question, he says, softly, "Well enough, so far. Angels do feel. We sorrow or we rage, we rejoice or mourn. To step into the flow of time is to accept that loss must come. All of those I meet here and come to love will pass into Azrael's realm, past the veil. In time, I will be there with them again. But to know separation is to come to understand pain….and that, too, is fully part of being human."

Setting his plate aside, Morbius' interest is openly captured by Michael. His 'revel' captured by his naturally curious mind while it clicks away at a hundred beats a second. The monstrous creature leans back in his seat, coiling a hand against his cheek, his elbow propped onto the chair arm. A bemused glance slid in Lambert's direction, his pursed lips relax into a small smile, though none of his fangy teeth appear. "Humans are the baseline. It would make sense if he wished a vacation to pick something which could blend easily. Offer a neutral basis for experience." Science nerd. "But I admit…saytrs likely do have more fun." Okay, okay, he admits.

Shifting his attention back to Michael, Morbius tilts his head slightly at the angel wrapped in human casing, like a sausage. "Then you best tell the Catholics they are incorrect, I believe. Death is supposedly your second office." A look of vague bemusement over that. But largely he seems to listen. Captivated. His inhuman colored eyes glowing softly while he listens. His attention slowly lifting to the silhouettes as they rise behind him. "Mmm," A sound of agreement to what Michael says.

"You're a _taxi_?" asks Lambert, astonished "Can you take me for a ride?" And then he puts the syrinx down on the table, and he says "I'm talking about the Four Djinn who hold up the world, the warrior one with the sword - er, you know, you probably know your own self much better than I do." He waves a hand "I was thinking about the ones that were created at the same time as Iblis - Satan." He leans in, and he reaches out to move a hand towards the wings, to see what the feathers are like "I used to run into all kinds at Olympus. Greek Gods, they're mostly not very nice, you know? Even compared to like, Abrahamic ones." He reaches out for a cup of wine "Not sure where I'm going when I die. I'm not immortal like some of my family members are."

Then Lambert says to Morbius "Baseline? Isn' that something like monkeys? I don't really get evolution and - yes. Yes, we do! We have great fun! Like…actually. You know, like carefully spending hours working on the chemistry for rendering the perfect baklava."

His smile is fond. "No. It's a title. Taxiarchos, I think, in Greek? And….mmm, Luficer was first. He's the first born of all of us, the most beautiful." The wings look like they should burn or scorch, but they are terribly soft, strangely enough. Like ash or dust, but substantial. "I don't know. There's a very great deal of confusion about angels and our nature and how we look. Some of my statues are….they have the right idea. But they show Lucifer as a little red angry baby, or some kind of serpent. He's neither," he says, wryly.

Djinn. Iblis. Morbius' attention swims in Lambert's direction and lingers there while he speaks. Words ping some vague bookmark tucked away in his mind, but he can't be bothered to dredge it up. But he does nod mildly to confirm Michael's word with a low hum in the back of his words. "Taxiarchos. Of Michael and of Gabriel in the church, yes." He inhales a deep, lethargic breath. "Mother insisted on 'Michael' rather than 'Michalis'. Your name has been something of a pebble in my shoe since birth, but," he lifts his glass none the less in toast. "A pleasure to meet you."

Watching Lambert reach out to touch those wings, he chuckles, soft and low behind closed lips. "Monkeys, sure, but humans more recently if you work in genetics and studies of super humans. Mm. How lovely. Very lovely. I can see why our man likes him, can't you?" He asks Lambert conversationally, skipping a few steps in explanation.

"Hmm," says Lambert, abashed to be caught out on the Greek, and he reaches out. More alcohol for everyone, it all gets refilled. Then he puts down the earthernware jug and picks up the goblet, while staring at the wings "How do you really look, underneath? I won't go crazy if I see it - true satyrs are the sons of Pan, and Pan is a God. So I get to look without losing my tiny little mind. Of course, I can still get blinded…" He then says to Morbius "Oh! You should call yourself what _you_ want - plenty of people are going to put you in a box, aren't they?" Then he says to Morbius "I can. Wait. Hang on. _Michael_? Really?" Now Lambert looks a little baffled "Wow," he says to Morbius "We must be amazing. Look at the company we're in. I guess…I guess I'm way more sexier than I _even thought_."

"You could not bear it. This body could not bear it," Michael's voice is low, soft. And all the while the wings are shadow and embers behind him - no flinching away from Lamb's touch. He smiles benignly at Morbius. "I see. I have many namesakes here. Glad to meet one of them." The mention of 'our man' conjures another of those headcocks. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Lambert says he won't go mad, but Morbius lifts his hand slowly, fingers coiled loosely. "Pardon me, but I'm still quite /not/ divine. In part or whole. Could we not do anything that would possibly melt my brain, gentlemen? It's where I keep my personality—as dazzling as that might be." A joke? Dear god, he jokes?

Jokes, then smiles smally to Lambert, giving a solemn nod. "Pretty certain, yes. Though how he didn't immediately slit his wrists afterward, I'm not certain. And objectively speaking, you're very darling, Lambert." Sliding that crimson regard over to Michael, he holds on to his relaxed smile. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I recognize your scent from off my beloved, if I'm not mistaken. Like I said, I possess specific hunting qualities." A finger swishes back and forth between himself and Lambert. "We are both currently in relationships with him, hence the 'our'."

Lambert says to Morbius "Excuse me, but I'm NEVER going to get the chance to do this again. I hope you understand." And then he leans in, and he pulls out a wing to wrap it around himself "Ohhhhh." Lambert smiles happily, his fingers closing over it "Well, I don't know if I'd say I was divine," he says to Morbius "But I'm told that time with me could be fantastic." And then he grins at Morbius, before the smile fades a little, and he says "Defence mechanism. I radiate it. I don't really mean to. But yeah…well. Oh. You can do that? I can do some of that as well. I like to hunt by sc…ent." Because now that he says it _out loud_ it sounds kind of demented. Lambert clears his throat, and pats the wings, and he says "We are. I'm Lindon's boyfriend. Lindon is Morbius' beloved, and vice versa. Let's say that I'm not the jealous type."

Which liberty Michael permits. No snapping the wing back, no even trying to tug it out of the satyrling's grip. Each primary is knife-edged in silhouette, but softer than an owl's. Then he leans into it, turning it into a willing embrace. "Lindon. Dark eyes, dark hair. Very eager," he says, nodding slowly. "Yes. He's been very generous to me. And you are his lovers as well?" The idea doesn't seem to dismay him. "And clearly you are not, if you know one another and are amicable…"

Morbius chuckles under his breath while Lambert tries to wrap himself up in an angel's wing. An upswept eyebrow arches slowly above its brother when Lambert's words slow awkwardly, suppressing his smile taut on the corners of his mouth. "You're a chef, Lambert. I assumed you hunted by scent." The differential in words also amuses Morbius as he picks up an olive and pops it in his mouth. "Semantics, Lambert. I came before you, and Lamont before both of us with his additional bond. And then our beloved man's myriad bedmates. I'm relieved that at least one of them is agreeable. Are they as soft as they seem?" Morbius has to ask, apropose to nearly nothing.

Shifting his attention directly to Michael, there is a smile over the name and a nod. "Very eager, yes, that would be him. Insatiable." A fond tenderness in his delicately formed words. "Lovers, yes, though our attachment to him is a little more serious than that. I'm unsure how familiar you are with the subtleties of mortal relations." Morbius shifts his attention back to Lambert. A lamb in a wing looking happy as a clam. "Amicable, yes. Though we aren't amorous."

Lambert touches the wing, sniffs it, and then he says to Morbius "Completely. I'm not sure what could be softer, unless it was made out of baby duck down." He sighs, and then he releases it, only with great reluctance. The embrace is grinned at, and he throws his arms out and hugs Michael. Quite happy to take whatever opportunity that he can. He finally lets go, and he says "Yes, eager. I think he wants to 'try everything before…' with the whole threatening pause in there too." Lambert comes back, to refill Morbius' wine "But he doesn't seem to get that we're all in this category. We could all die tomorrow. It's weird growing up in a family with people who _won't_ just die, though." He picks up his own wooden bowl "Amicable. I don't see any point in making other people miserable just because my instincts don't really fit with the way humans like to be. I'll never be good at being monogamous. But I _am_ loyal to my friends. And to the people they care about."

It doesn't smell of the must of feathers or the warmth and musk of human skin. Michael smells, oddly enough, of the still hours before dawn in late spring or summer. Not the sweetness of flowers but the subtle richness of green things resting from the labor of growing under the sun. As Lamb throws his arms around him, Michael takes him into an embrace, as tenderly as a lover, and kisses the golden curls at his brow. The tips of the pinions curl around to brush Lamb's back. "Time is running like water," he agrees, as he lets the satyr go when he returns to Morbius. "And I am learning. I think I have done no harm, thus far."

"He lived a quiet, repressed life, Lambert," Morbius hums softly, fondly. "Everyone has a different call to action when they realize they won't live forever." It sounds like he knows the topic rather intimately, speaking very easily about the ideas of death and mortality. "His was a bit more explosive than most, but whatever it took, you can't spite him that. The realization is very jarring. And it took a little bit of convincing, yet." Morbius explains gently, looking back toward Michael. "I was the first lover he took outside of his relationship. It took some convincing and reassuring and patience before he understood that he wasn't going to ruin lives this way, or why his partner looked for men outside their own relationship." A faintly apologetic glance back to Lambert, since he was the one in question. "He wasn't ever hurt by it, mind you. Only confused. But, I'm glad that he's taking to it with such zeal, now."

The sudden embrace draws a relaxed looking smile from Morbius, unabashedly watching after the pair, there's very little sense of propriety or shame about him at the moment and seems to have no problem looking on. He murmurs to himself by large, "Yes. Yes quite lovely." Then focuses again with a deep breath. "No harm, Michael. I assure you." Taking another drink from his glass.

Lambert's hair does not have human texture - it is simultaneously softer and somehow coarser. It is designed to keep him warm under cold conditions. Lambert says "How often does anyone actually get to hug an angel? You should try this, Morbius. It's really warm. It's kind of like hugging the…way cat's fur feels when it's warm and dry. You know that kind of nice, dry smell?" He shakes his head, and then he turns his head, as he lifts his bowl of wine to his mouth "Oh, well. You know, if it ever is a problem, problems can be fixed. Better a fix than someone feeling really bad for a long time about something as…well. You know. Temporal as sex."

Lambert then says to Morbius "You probably know him better than me. We don't talk…so much. I mean, honestly, I'm not _real_ bright, I can't exactly understand a lot of his book knowledge. I do know a lot about, ah, let's see, friend. Occult things. I suppose because I am an occult thing. But that's where it ends. For me, it's knowing about the neighbours."

Mike turns his hands, holds them out to Morbius. You, too, can hug an angel, if you please. "You seem wise enough in the ways that matter," he tells Lambert, gently. "And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing." He nods at Morbius. "He has been both generous and patient with me, and I am grateful." An odd wistfulness in his voice. Whatever this odd constellation of lovers, it, too, must pass.

Considering the offer of a hug, he considers it a moment, but seems hesitant. "Oh, I'm not sure. I'd hate to somehow ruin that—" Drawn by his curious nature, but there is a tight sense of self-loathing and fearful restraint that keeps him sitting in his chair. "You do look absolutely lovely, Michael. Truly. I'm sure you hear it constantly." The odd chirping of an older man when he's afraid of breaking something. Morbius squints at Lambert thoughtfully when he mentions occult things, but he only nods. "Yes, he is right. You are wise in ways that matter. Being an intellectual only takes you so far. Wisdom is different than intelligence."

Lambert puts down his empty bowl, having swallowed a goodly amount of wine. He tilts his head, and he says to Michael "Okay, I'm curious. So…satyrs. Some of us aren't…what's the english word. Some of us _aren't_ bisexual. They're the unusual ones. As an angel, are you…erhhhh." He twirls his finger around "As an angel are you like, going to have specific things you are attracted to or is it just 'I like humans'?" Then he says to Morbius "Why thankyou, tall, dark, and brooding. Have some baklava. At least we can both be assured that neither of us is likely to hurt Lindon directly. I have to say, though. Sometime. Let me get you _thoroughly_ drunk."

Michael beckons to Morbius, curling long fingers. Come here. Not peremptory, but coaxing. "You can't ruin me. You can't even really hurt me, not long term," he assures the vampire. A glances down at himself. "Well, it's been good to me thus far, thisbody. Thank you." Then Lamb's asking him, and he says, "I wasn't sure, until I got here. It seems to like humans in general."

Morbius looks speculatively at his corpse-pale hand, twisting it back and forth with a flourish of his lengthy fingers while he inspects both sides of it. Tall, dark and brooding? Eh. Fine. He relents with only an arch of an eyebrow and bemused crook of one side of his mouth at Lambert. "By Kai's reaction, if I have your baklava, I may never leave your restaurant. Drunk. Lord, I haven't been drunk in…well, a while." He smiles mildly at Lambert. But it isn't a 'no'.

Returning his attention to Michael and the encouragement, Morbius still seems hesitant. Hesitant, but with the encouragement and his lowered inhibitions where the music and the drink had pried cracks open, he finds that curious nature winning out and gathers to his feet. Without a word, he still halts briefly just before Michael, as if expecting the angel-in-the-man-suit to change his mind. If he does not, Morbius opens his arms out and slips one around Michael's shoulders, the other around his ribs for an embrace. One hand sliding over the flat of his wings where they join his body.

"It refers to your hair, Byron," says Lambert cheerily to Morbius "And that is most definitely in the tall, dark, and brooding category." He interlaces his fingers, and then he stops posing, and he gets up to collect baklava for the semi-vampire. Lambert says to Michael, on his way back out "Yeah. Some people seem really fixed to one gender, some not. I haven't worked out why. I've even met people that changed what they were interested in, but not by choice. I guess some stuff just happens. Oh, Mr. Morbius, I _can_ get you drunk. I have supernatural elixirs that I make. I just have to hide those ones from humans." But then he quiets, to watch, curiously.

Neither bursts into flames. Not even a spark or a curl of smoke, though Mike is fever warm. That lean body feels solid enough, the wings bizarrely soft, like down. He hugs the vampire more carefully, as if he were necessarily frailer than the satyrkin. A more solemn kiss, on that pale brow, in benediction….and then he steps back. "I should pay a call on Lindon himself," he says, gently. HE fishes money from a pocket, clearly not bothering to count it, leaves it on the table behind him…..and then, a pace or two back. The great pinions spread, rise, just as he crouches down and then launches himself up into the air. A few labored wingbeats, and then he's vanishing over the rooftops. Gone in moments.

Morbius doesn't seem to mind in the least the more careful embrace, after all, he did seem more hesitant for it. The odd warmness is a source of curiosity however, and Morbius presses a tepid cheek against Michael's, as if checking his temperature. Michael runs warm and Morbius runs cool—not cold and clammy like a corpse, but cool. Oddities. Fascinating oddities. Accepting the kiss to his brow, Morbius steps back as well easily, his eyes dropping and fingers immediately going for the cuffs of his sleeves as a fidget point. "Yes. Well. Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you." Stepping backwards again, his eyes somewhat downcast as he walks back to his seat, flickering a glance toward Lambert. "Doctor." He corrects mildly while the winds pick up in a flurry as Michael leaves. Morbius doesn't blush, but he surely has a more bashful air about him. "I wasn't doubting you. I just haven't trusted myself to do that in a long while."

Lambert watches with a large amount of inappropriate interest. He then says "Doctor!" happily, and he adds "You know, I really liked it when you said I was a chef." Lambert then settles down, nearish Morbius. Not too close, but close enough he can put his chin in his hands as he watches "That was nice, right? It's more than a bit delightful. I tell you, I've been in the arms of _so many people_ and yet I still haven't really enjoyed one like that. Tell me, Morbius. Do you also fancy the lasses?"

Still touching his cuffs as Morbius settles into his chair, taking another drink from his glass in an attempt to settle himself, stealing away another quiet semi-private moment of speculation before lifing his attention back to Lambert. He doesn't seem to mind the nearness. He doesn't smell like prey. Smol gote not prey.

"Do you not get called a chef much? I haven't had a meal that has made my soul warm like that dish in years. Before the war. Chef is the most modest thing I could call you after that." Morbius murmurs delicately, but it doesn't smack as false. "I was born in Greece. We do not mince words when it comes to food, as you should know." He eyes the baklava, as if debating it more seriously now that it's in front of him. His eyes slip shut, quiet while he thinks back on that experience for a moment. "Yes. Yes that was nice. You were right." Few words. Very few words, for him. Looking back across the table to Lambert, he smiles gently and tries to hold Lambert's odd gaze with his own. Curious to see how long he can hold it. Most people don't last for long. "Oh yes. I was engaged once to a woman, in fact."

Speaking of prey, there's a rustling on the wall, and then Kai's perching there. Sure, he could use the door. Or… or! Or he could climb up over the wall, agile creature that he is, and hop down onto a table, then to the ground. "I forgot my guitar," Kai says. With no explanation as to why he's come over the wall, he makes his way to his guitar leaning in the corner, crooning under his breath, "When the lass came down to the door, the string on her finger was all she wore…"

The smol gote is more on the other side. Those fangs are not designed for vegetables. He shows them to Morbius in a grin, and then he waves a hand and says "I do - but it's different. You're different. You're not like the others who come in here, Morbius. You know you're unique, don't you? I mean, you must get reminded of it every day. You don't fit in with the others." He grabs Morbius' shoulders and says "Because…you're _greek_. It _means something when you say it_." Lambert then lets go, and he finally settles down. He looks at Morbius, and his eyes are glittery, bright, with odd horizontal pupils. His own have something of the back of…them. Not so different, though formed from very different origins. A hypnosis, though his is much weaker than most supers. Relaaaaxxxx…and then Lambert blinks first. Of course he blinks first. He rubs his eyes "Ouch. Oh? Good for you. I know some lovely girls," he starts, before he gestures at Kai "Yes, just like that. Another fight?"

For all his standoffishness, Morbius does not flinch when his shoulder is gripped. In fact, the emphatic importance of being Greek makes him laugh; genuinely laugh, long and easy, with an ease forward in his seat and the wide array of his own fangs extended and visible for a short period of time. Morbius reaches out as well, clasping Lambert's knee in hand. "Between us, it's good to finally have someone understand that." Squeezing the saytr's knee in hand and giving it a clap. "The cradle of western civilization, mm?" Releasing his knee freely, Morbius curls those wicked looking fingers loosely and taps the backs of his fingers beneath Lambert's chin.

They aren't alone then and Morbius leans back, glancing in Kai's direction. Oh dear. He starts a bit and twists in his seat swiftly, attention glued on Kai as he hops over the wall. His eyes radiate sickly light, swallowing up his pupils until there is only that red. A low, graveled roll of a groan emanating up from his throat, similar to a growl as the well-spoken man dips his chin, leveling a too intent look on Kai. Prowl…

"He was still at the bookstore, but he's coming home," Kai says. "I wanted to serenade him. It's important to keep the magic alive." With the man that, just the other day, he drew steel on. He picks up his guitar, turns, and that's when he's hit with the full brunt of Morbius' stare. At the growling sound, Kai says delicately, "Hello, Dr. Morbius was it? Sorry, didn't mean to startle you…"

Lambert glances sideways at Kai for a moment, but he is mostly curious about Morbius' fangs and how they work. The fact they are there at all. He says "Indeed. And it's good to know someone who understands that the best black coffee is Greek, and _not Turkish_." He pauses, though, squeezed, and with the clap he admits "For all the fact I'm just Track and Field, I really do like -" His head tilts up and he closes his eyes, leaning in - but then Morbius is moving fast. Lambert staggers a bit and coughs, before he says "Oh, er, Hello - Kai, what could possibl…oh. Er. Maybe. I shouldn't have. Removed the inhibitions of a predator." Just maybe. Lambert considers, then makes a dart for Morbius "Noooooo - think of the empty calories -"

The merits of Greece over everywhere else put on pause for the moment when Lambert realizes that he may have made a mistake and Morbius stops himself from lunging at Kai, but only just. Fingers coil around the arm of his patio seat, talons flexing, but he grips the chair rather than launching himself over the seat at the elf. Stalemate is better than escalation, yes? If Lambert reaches out to restrain him physically, the 'good doctor's body is a taut knot of tension ready to loose.

He holds on for the moment, however, practically snarling at Kai, his sharp features growing more feral and furled along his brows. And yet, Morbius speaks, graveled and rasping, "Hello." Stilted. "Back up. Slowly. Please."

Kai nods slowly and backs up. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, I'm going to just give you some space." He holds his guitar sort of in front of him, a little shield for what good it'll do. "I was just going to grab this and go. Wow, you've got very striking features, Dr. Morbius." What big teeth you have, grandma. He shoots Lambert a dirty look. "Empty calories? I bet I'm damn nutritious. Or at least well-marinated. Do you have any more wine?"

Lambert reaches out to grab at the back of Morbius' clothes, and his grip is far tighter and stronger than his soft body might suggest "Well, aren't you tense as hell," says Lambert, before he says to Kai "There's an entire _jug_ off to your right under the little awning. The one with 'Kai' written on it. I brewed it for you. It's an altered version of the Helale." He adds "Based on the sorts of things I've seen you smile most while drinking." Then he hooks an arm around Morbius, more tightly, and he sasy "No, no, no reason for people to get too excited. Right? You're not going to give those asshole dark elves satisfaction, right, Doctor?"

For a moment it looks like Morbius may have a grip on things. Kai gives him some space, holding his small shield in front of him and Lambert successfully grips the back of Morbius' jacket. The pale man leans back in his seat, coiled and bowed, still ready to spring but sitting back now. A slow, maliciously-glad smile curling wide and animated across his face, unlike most of his expressions, this one certainly is lacking inhibitions; all his fangy teeth showing. A salacious, obscene touch of his tongue against his lower lip, Morbius practically vibrates promises of sex and violence. Not necessarily in that order. "Mmmmnnn…thank you Kai."

Maybe it was the dirty look shot toward Lambert. Maybe it was just pure bad luck. Or Lambert's singing and the wine that just sunk in too deep in Morbius' bones. Whatever it was, it's for the best that Lambert hooks an arm around Morbius because the coiled spring lunges forward, toppling the chair and dragging Lambert forward.

Kai springs like a startled cat, the way they have an ejector button over which they have no control. Sproing! Onto a table, the guitar brandished like a weapon. "Okay I'll just be going now," he says, and he scrambles, but he does make sure to grab that jug of wine. "ThankyouLambertyou'realwaysothoughtful." Toward the wall he goes, not turning his back on Morbius for a second.

"Ah - he's strong! -" says Lambert in a squeak "Get into my room, Kai - just go through the window!" He keeps an arm across the man's chest, though he has felt the shift, the illusion dropping and Lambert saying "Oh, wow. Those are. Seriously. Wait. What was I…have you ever met Maenads. I mean with the hunting and brutality and then the really violent sex -" No, not helping! Lambert thumps onto the ground, coughing as the air goes out of his lungs "Ahaha - wait - Kai -!"

How do you keep the chase going? You run, of course! Morbius /is/ strong, and he's fast to boot, but it becomes more difficult to dash off after the elf with someone as physically able as Lambert stuck to him. Speaking of maenads, ecstatic frenzy are precisely the words one should use to describe Morbius, with very little recognizable of the man currently available, though his focus seems glued to Kai for the moment. Jumping, fleeing thing is far more interesting than the thing holding on to him. Lambert's weight holds him back some, but as soon as he can find his feet, he will absolutely try to run through Lambert after Kai.

Kai isn't helping, bouncing and bipping about as if to say 'chase me.' Up on a table, then onto the wall. He stands there a moment, tantalizingly out of reach, staring at Morbius wide-eyed. "Sorry!" he says. "I can't let you eat me, and I don't want to hurt you!" Smol alf doesn't want to hurt fierce vampire. It's adorable. He starts to relax a little, but then various aspects of vampire lore start to occur to him, one of them being 'some can fly.' With a squeak, he's over the wall and running, guitar strapped to his back.

Oh goodness. Lambert's eyes widen, startled, and he tries to hang onto Mobius even more. Lambert is _dense_, solid with hard muscle, but he is still more human than the other two are. Morbius will find that a kick or two can shake him off, and then the satyr is chasing _him_ "Ahhhh - oh God, no, that's not good -" As Kai bounces around, Lambert yells "Into my _house_, you silly elf, get in my -" He makes a dart for the syrinx, and instead of lazily playing it, Lambert begins to blow loud, clear. Whirling, intense music, putting his heart into all of it. Blaringly loud, to captivate and call, and dizzy.

"Heeeeeeere elf, elf, elf…" Morbius growls with a hard hipcheck, sending Lambert across the cobbles. The height is slightly daunting, and as if he could read minds and that moment of 'aw shit' crosses Kai's, Morbius jumps up on his table, knocking over glasses as he jumps high, bounding off of Lambert's building and launching himself after Kai. He should drop like a stone, but gravity doesn't seem to have as close a hold on Morbius as it should as the man extends his arms out, longcoat flapping behind him with a flourish. He glides on the winds after Kai, landing on the wall where Kai just was a moment earlier, missing him by the skin of his teeth.

About to jump again, Morbius halts, as if hitting an invisible wall as Lambert begins to play. The wide-grinning figure twists, crouched on the wall, turning his glowing gaze back on the saytr.

Bruisy! Lambert ughs, and then he claps a hand over his gut, and he gets up tightly, before his eyes widen as he watches the way Morbius jumps "Holy -" And then the vampire is _moving_. Lambert stares, mouth open. He says "…how can you _even do that_." Then he lifts a hand and he shakes a finger "Uh uh. No. Naughty, Doctor Morbius. What do you think you are doing - man, he can run so fast."

Like a particularly unhappy animal, Morbius curls tightly in on himself up on that wall, a low growling sound slowly emitted from his throat. Unhappy, but he doesn't seem eager to chase after Kai once he's out of sight. Slowly, those proverbial hackles start to come down, though Morbius is breathing rapidly from between parted lips, his heart racing. Slowly, he starts to climb down from the wall, dropping smoothly from that height. His focus now solely on Lambert.

"It's noot that bad, don't worry," Lambert says reassuringly "That Nemo guy - the fish guy? He did a _lot_ more damage to me." He pauses, then he calls out "Bye, Kai!" Lambert lifts his pipes up to his lips again, curling up a curious, sweet tone, and he hesitates, then lowers them "See? Nice music. Soothes the savage…beast. Actually, come here and I'll tell you a story about what happened when a sorceror let loose the Old Magic near me. Now that was a…thing. You need more wine? I can't do angel wings. I can do compelte lack of judgement."

Morbius stares Lambert down for tense seconds as they tick by. Standing right where he landed in the courtyard after chasing down the man's friend and knocking over a few items from the table. It hasn't been his best night. But without the highly chaseable elf in sight, he seems to cool off. The evening wicking heat off him.

"I—" Morbius blinks and frowns, that manic baring of his teeth ceasing and slowly the cold, sinking realization of the moment starts to sink in. "I attacked your friend."

"Yes, but so did his boyfriend," Lambert points out, then gestures back "Sit down, Morbius." Indeed, he goes and sits down near the stone too "I thought you might like this. It feels real to me, the rock. Nice and solid. Kai is very good at running - when he said the Wyld Hunt couldn't catch him, he was correct. If _they_ can't get him, you'll need more than just a fresh start to manage it. He's going to have to live with that mark his whole life. This won't be the first time this happens. And you won't be the worst thing to chase him, not by a long shot."

Sit down. He can sit down. Morbius nods slowly as he lowers down to the stone. Then curls his legs in toward his chest, hands starting to shake while his humanity wrestles with his monstrous aspects. "I know that you are trying to make me feel better," The glow slowly draining out of his eyes until that engulfing red and black remains. "But I can't say that it does." Wicked looking nails retract as completely as they can and the doctor curls his hands into fists, folding his fingers into his palms.

Lambert considers, then he leans back, putting his shoulder against Morbius. He? Is a perfectly normal human temperature. Though his pupils are weirder, the closer one is. It is harder to read them, with their goat-like intensity. He then nudges Morbius, and he finally says "Must be a really sharp mark, that sign on him. But I don't register, huh? No desire to do anything to me, then? He grins, and pauses "Lemme know if it's a bad time, but…" And he leans in, putting his hand on the back of Morbius' neck.

Morbius is trying to shove the monster back into the box, focusing on the cool of the air, the solidness of the stone, the weight of Lambert's shoulder against his. Solid things. Concrete things that he can focus on. He nudges his shoulder back, softly, against Lambert, no longer trying to throw him across the courtyard. "I haven't met anyone with a mark like that before. There's no reason that should have happened." Which breaks his science mind just a little bit. Magic. That was the answer. Stupid magic. Preoccupied cursing the existence of magic out, he misses Lambert's initial suggestion, but the grip on the back of his neck is pretty damn apparent. Instinct close to the surface, Morbius surges forward quickly to catch Lambert quickly by the mouth.

"There is a lot of magic around these days," says Lambert "I'm not exactly sure how I feel about it. Because I can't…change it. Affect it. It affects me, not the other way around. Old magic is the strongest. Old magic is the stuff that runs my life. When it gets going, so do -" And he tilts his head "Why not? It's a mark that calls the hunters to attack. No wonder it affects you -" And then there is Morbius, and Lambert pulls him even closer, his body solid with muscle underneath. The body of someone who goes running for fun - who eats too much on top of it. Can Morbius taste magic? Lamont can - and Lambert is as full of it as a mostly human body can stand. Old magic, preserving, wild, demented, trapped and trained into producing. Food. He opens his mouth to Morbius', trusting him not to catch himself on his sharp teeth.

If Morbius can taste magic, he hasn't developed the palate to distinguish it from others. Between Lindon and now Lambert, you'd think he'd be as keen a connoisseur as any. As far as the touch of magic on them, Morbius seems oddly bereft of it. Old magic or new, he carries no lingering dregs of it on him to catch. Rolling smoothly with the tug on the nape of his neck, Morbius unravels a fist to lash an arm around Lambert's roly-poly torso, grasping along his ribs. A filthy swipe of his tongue past Lambert's lips chases after him now, maneuvering those tricky fangs as well as his own. There's nothing gentle about it, Morbius kisses him hard and fast. Pulling back just as suddenly, the vampire hovers near, lips parted and breathing quickly. "…you're not repulsed. You're not upset."

Now what _does_ make Morbius…well, Morbius? Some vampires are things of magic, some of science, and some are something else entirely. Lambert cannot actually discern enough, but he leans in, eyes half closed. Not…fat. But heavier than many would consider ideal in this era. A man who does not deny himself anything whatsoever. Lambert hesitantly tastes Morbius, then acclimatises, and he is trying it in turn. A colder mouth, that other one. He examines it, and then he is about to pursue it further, when he says "…mnn. Mmhn?" Lambert looks up, and he says "…I can't deny I'm curious. And you're colder. I mean. How much would I have to do to make you warm? But I'm not human, entirely, Morbius. How sweet are my wrong-angled eyes, really?"

Diving in close once again between Lambert's thoughts and his own next ones, Morbius finds himself sneaking another kiss between, sharp teeth coasting off Lambert's lower lip without cutting him. "I am the wrong man to judge another by his eyes." He points out, distracted properly now. Morbius' skin is tepid, as is that kiss and yes, his tongue as it dips between Lambert's lips, is much the same. Not cold, or dead, but he runs cooler than most humans. "Yes, yes I am. I can warm up, it just takes time." Morbius grabs for Lambert's free and and pushes it to the center of his chest. The dull, telling thud of his heart detectable through his jacket and multiple layers of cloth beneath. Well, he's not dead. "Is your sight hindered? Do your other senses make up for it?" The question is a leading one.

"Slower than normal?" wonders Lambert "Even after all of that fighting and running. So you don't really spend much energy, right? That means you're efficient! I have to eat. Like a horse right now. It's the horns. Growing them is a lot of effort." He spreads his fingers there, feeling that chest, the skin. "But you're very different. Style. Everything…" He leans in and he puts a second hand there, over the first "You taste different. Not like a human. I'm mostly used to humans…but you can get. Too used to never being around another thing like you. Can't you?" Then he looks up and he says "At night, I see badly. Goat eyes aren't designed for night. I smell things. I hear things. My hearing's better than most."

"Efficient, yes, quite. I need to be. I can sustain myself partially with food like a normal man, but there's…more to it." Morbius explains with heavy hesitation. Swiftly, Morbius undoes the buttons of his jacket, allowing Lambert's hands to press against the front of—he's seriously wearing a sweater vest, dress shirt and tie. Okay, whatever night classes Morbius is apparently teaching, I doubt they involve chasing elves. His chest is solid beneath Lambert's hands. not overly muscled, but solid.

A cool hand brushes softly over Lambert's brow, feeling the little nubs of horns broaching the skin, and then through his coarse hair. Curiously touching and allowing touch in turn. Morbius nods slowly, fascinated, though he also dips his head to pull another taste off Lambert's lips, pulling back with a sweet smack of sound. "It's easy to forget how fantastic differences can be. You're stronger than normal. I had to pull away from you harder than most. I…I threw you?" Difficulty remembering in that haze of chase. There's a flicker of concern. "Did I hurt you?"

Lambert examines Morbius curiously. He parts the shirt and runs his hands over him, without fear, and with great fascination. The musculature. The strength beneath. The fine, soft feeling of the skin on top, the tension below. He looks up after a moment, and then he leans in and he breathes in Morbius' scent, and lets it linger at the back of his pallet "Kai told me once I was too uncool in my clothes to go to his clubs, Mr. Sweater Vest," he grins, with a cocky look. Then he leans in, tilting his head, letting Morbius feel as much as he likes. The wool springs back, tightly, and he says "Yes. You threw me. It is fine. I bounce. I mean, I really bounce." He lifts up to take Morbius' hand, then he brings it down to his calf. The muscles there are highly developed "No hooves, but I could spring near over a highjump. Definitely, with the pole. I'm an Olympian. Now…I'm bred a bit too thin, but in me? I could equal any human in any olympic sport." Lambert leans in, closer, his own hands moving back up to cup Morbius' chin, and he murmurs in his ear "And I _like_ hunting in forests. Hunting humans. Female satyrs can get. Very Maenady. But. I try not to do it, you know? I don't figure it's the right thing."

"I meant I was cool in /only/ the literal sense," Morbius explains dryly, automatically pushing up against Lambert's hand while it explores across his chest. Morbius cannot claim Olympian status, there is absolutely contradicting elements about him. Things that if he could explain them, he might have more insight to fix this blunder. But he smells clean, considering where he lives. Like winter air and a muskiness all his own. No perfumes, no scented soaps, only himself and the kiss of winter.

A clawed hand reaches down to grasp Lambert by the calf, kneading the dense muscle all the way down to his ankle, then up toward the back of his knee. Feeling for those subtle differences, trying to understand while Lambert explains. A slow smile of appreciation touches Morbius's mouth, his eyelids fluttering slightly as they slide shut, listening to the voice tickling against one of his pointed ears.

Gripping behind Lambert's knee and about his hip with the other hand, Morbius hefts Lambert up with little enough effort, neatly attempting to settle the saytrkin astride his lap. In tandem, it takes only a faint turn of Morbius' head to plant his lips against Lambert's neck. Temptation screams murder in his ears, but there is not even a scrape of a sharpened tooth against the man's skin. "They likely wouldn't appreciate it very much, no."

Lambert breathes in, scenting again, and nuzzling a little, closer. He tries it out, a lick of a dry tongue against Morbius' strange skin. And then he grits his teeth slightly, feeling those edges of claw, cautious for a long moment. Lambert's ears flick back, then forwards, and they angle down, to catch every hint of sound. Lambert spreads fingertips, walking them up and down, and Morbius can feel where the tendons are distortedly long. They should be connecting down to hooves, but he has feet, soft human feet. The bones would pull apart if he were not as strong as he is.

Lambert's eyes widen as Morbius lifts him so easily, and then he says "Hah - strong. Very. Tchhh…" And he leans in, a furry ear flicking distractingly against Morbius' ear. He says "No. They don't. The times when it was. A sort of worship are gone, and I was never there, when they existed. So now I have to be. Better. I am better." Lambert's legs spread, and his tail flicks, back and forth. He is all excitement, and no restraint whatsoever. Finally he pulls his hands back, and he kisses Morbius, nibbling with his sharp teeth on the edge of his neck. Right where the hard line is.

Soft, human feet. Soft, human skin. Coarse, wooly hair and dense, springy muscles. Morbius indulges as deeply as he dares, examining all those contrasting nuances cobbled together to make Lambert up. A flash of a smile over the sounds of surprise Lambert makes while he's lifted up. the excited twitching of his tail causing a delighted little puff of laughter from Morbius while his hands travel quick to plant on his hips. Wicked digits, yes, but he knows how to touch with fingerpads rather than claw, just as he knows how to kiss with lip rather than tooth. Practice. "I remember stories," he tries to helpfully add, murmuring past the rotating barometers of Lambert's ear. "Stories of saytrs frolics in the wood." Speaking barely in a whisper at all, they cut off in a hiss while sharp litttle teeth find his skin. A quick breath sucked between his teeth, Morbius's hands tighten on Lambert's hips, pulling him closer. Tighter. A first suggestive rock of Morbius' hips beneath him. "/Damn/," Morbius gasps the curse, his fingers stretching, splayed long over Lambert's lower back. "I would chase you in circles." Rather than immediately submitting, baring his neck, Morbius groans, draws his chin down, the hard bridge of his nose to Lambert's cheek as he bucks the saytr's eager mouth away, lunging forward, challenging, capturing his mouth again with his.

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