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It has been awhile since Lindon has left the house, and while he's usually all about avoiding strangers, it's such a nice spring night, and he's so happy to be breathing fresh air, that he's dressed up nicely to celebrate the opportunity. He comes to sit in the courtyard, with Lamont, and he asks, "Was one of the waiters in there an elf?" Too polite to ask the waiter himself, of course.
"Yes," Lamont says, with one of his little smiles, sphinxish and amused. "I know him. A good man to have in a fight, though you wouldn't guess to look at him." He settles with a sigh - dressed nicely, too. "Lovely to be out here, isn't it?"
"He's a long way from Alfheim," Lindon says. "I didn't know they even knew about Earth." He shakes his head. "I know intellectually he's probably stronger and tougher than a dozen humans put together, but he looks kind of little." He smiles then and breathes in the fresh air, letting it out in a contented sigh. "I never thought I would have an emotional reaction to standing underneath a naked sky."
There's that look in his eyes, as if he's being reminded of sometime when he felt precisely the same. "Midgard is a crossroads in many senses of the word," he says, softly. "Many realms know of us, many travellers have set foot here." His nod is grave, but the look in his eyes is almost peaceful.
"You're not wrong," Lindon says. "I think it's neat. You meet all types in New York City." When the waiter stationed out here comes by, he orders dolmas and olives for an appetizer and red wine. He then tells Lamont, "Let me cover it. It's the least I can do since you're helping me get back to work."
"As you please," he says, tenderly. Now he's smiling in earnest, and it changes the lines of his face, relieving that weary harshness. A hint of the young man he must've been. "It's hardly a chore being there…"
"Yes, but you listen to me prattle all day," Lindon says. At least he has an office of his own, so he doesn't get asked too often who he's talking to. When asked, he says 'the books.' He takes in the sight of Lamont's eased features, and he smiles, ducking his head as he pretend to read the menu. "I never talked about my job to anyone before. I just assumed they'd be bored."
"I think your work is interesting," he says, settling back, an uncharacteristic slouch. "I like books, even if they aren't dusty old grimoires with unspeakable secrets in them." Lamont's got that fond look on, so rarely seen in public.
"I keep hoping I'll get one like that across my desk," Lindon says. "I think the closest I ever got was something donated to the library from a box of books at an estate sale. The owner must have had no idea what he had, because there was a hymnal from the mid-16th Century. It was in such good condition, all things considered. We probably should have informed the owner, but…" But he authenticated that bad boy and sent it to the department that spirits those things away from the public's grubby fingers.
"They….." He hesitates, "I won't say they turn up at random. Fate tends to take a hand in their travels. And so many are so very closely guarded. Not that I haven't taken a few in my time," he says, with a faintly sly look. "But I can't blame you."
"I wanted to sneak it home," Lindon admits. "But for the greater good, it belongs in better hands than mine." The dolmas and olives come, and more wine. Lindon thanks the server. He's learned a little bit about social interaction, and he's so starved for new faces he doesn't try to disappear into his nicely tailored suit. "At least I'm in a position to write some of those esoteric tomes, and I have someone to give them to." He offers Lamont a sly smile. "Do you like the ones I made?"
"Very much," he says, grin broadening. "Very much indeed. They've become very useful," His brow furrows a little, and he admits, "I'd long since gotten away from the habit of casting in a more formal, ritual style - the kind I did was perforce swift and off the cuff. It's good to be reminded of the old ways, and how useful they can be. Much less required in terms of energy and concentration."
Lindon smiles broadly, though he ducks his head. "Good, good," he says. "Good, I'm glad. I think versatility itself is useful, and with the way your lessons with Strange can be so rough, I don't know. I thought it would help. I'm glad it did. He runs you pretty ragged."
Lamont doesn't bother to deny that. "I'm playing in a very different league now, as it were. Almost another sport entirely. Past time, in a way - for a magician, to stagnate is to die. Especially with the kind of past I have behind me," he allows. "But you're right. I should ask him for more a refresher on that. To work more on formal constructs, the kind of work that takes time and patience and mental effort."
"I'll tell him that the next time he gives me the Look," Lindon says, and his shoulders sag. "I'm sorry, whenever he gives me the Look I just start babbling. I don't know what spell he's casting, but I have no defense against it." Before taking any of the appetizer for himself, he places dolmas and warmed olives on Lamont's plate. "Is there any area you want me to research next?"
That prompts that unashamed laughter from Lamont. "I don't know that it's a spell. You….discretion, past a certain point, is very hard for you. It makes sense, you want to share knowledge, but….." He trails off.
"I just keep thinking he's the Sorcerer Supreme." Lindon keeps his voice down, given that they are in public, and he glances around to make sure no one is close by. "And I curl up like a dead spider when he gives me the Look." He nibbles on an olive, then admits, "And I do want to share. Knowledge should be shared, within reason."
Lamont's lips are trembling with the effort of not laughing further, but he's slipping. "I understand, dear," he says, reaching over to pat Lindon on the arm. "I have my moments when I get that expression from him, too. All of a sudden I'm a guilty schoolboy on the carpet before the headmaster."
Lindon lifts his head and smiles at Lamont gamely. "Thank you," he says. Then he says, "Exactly. Exactly! And I never got in trouble in school. I don't know how to endure that look. I never built up an immunity. And I'm Catholic! Guilt is ingrained." He shakes his head. "I'm doomed."
"That I understand as well," he agrees, wryly. "I was raised Catholic myself, for all it didn't really stuck. I imagine you were a painfully good student on all fronts…"
"Yes, I think we've both strayed from the path," Lindon says. "And knowing what I know, I know there's more to the universe and its workings than is accounted for in Catholicism. Comparing it to other religions and societies, there are many other things that make more sense. It's just that, you know, it's where we came from."
Another inclination of his head. "It has its own beauty, in its structure. But ….yes. I suppose now I'm functionally merely a very, very bad Buddhist." He's only sipping from his wine, delicately. Nursing it, for the evening.
"I'm not sure if, functionally, I'm an atheist or an all-theist. I mean I know the Norse gods are real, but I also know they're not really gods, but for all intents and purposes, mightn't they might as well be?" He might be going liberally with his wine, but with food it's not so bad, right?
Monty purses his lips. "I'm not sure I quite understand?" he says, as he nibbles on the dolmas. "What do you mean?"
Lindon purses his lips. Hmm, how to put this. "I guess it means I'm undecided on where the line of godhood lies. I know the Asgardians are an alien species we once worshipped as gods. They're not gods. Though they're so powerful, so much more advanced, aren't they godlike for all intents and purposes? Or do we define godhood as something more than interdimensoinal beings that may or may not have had a hand in the creation of our world? Certainly the way our societies formed."
He considers. "Once they were, certainly. Now….no? They aren't immortal, just many times more long-lived. But they are physical beings. They eat and breathe and sleep and drink. I'd think of something more transcendent, now, myself."
Lindon nods slowly. "Sure," he says. "I can see that. Though even among those who worshipped the Norse gods, it was believed they could die. Would, even. So we chalk that up to the ignorance of a non-technological society. There are beings that are unspeakably transcendental, but they haven't exactly had a hand in creating us. Or is the only thing that qualifies for godhood… God? An entity like that is too big for me to see without my brain exploding."
"I….honestly am not sure," Lamont sounds like he's at a loss, and his expression is just as bemused. "You'd think I'd know more. I've fought beings deemed gods before, seen men aspire to godhood. There are certainly things that exist on planes beyond ours, with powers and lifespans hardto comprehend….but does the God of the Bible exist? I…I don't know."
"One can make the argument that God exists and is above all these other godlike beings, and that what he revealed through his prophets and their disciples was strictly on a need to know basis," Lindon says. "Given that, and given our resultant ignorance, we can't know."
Lamont sets down his fork. "It's frustrating, though," he says, and there's a faint note of resentment in his tone. "That we can't. On the other hand, considering what I've found when I've gone looking, I should be content with that."
"Maybe it's for our own safety," Lindon says. "If I go digging too far in that direction, I start to lose myself. I risk a vision. There are some things the human mind can't contain." He smiles crookedly. "It is frustrating, though. Especially since His will translated through fallible humans is all mucked up to where you don't know what's real."
"Precisely," Lamont's voice has a snap to it. "It doesn't seem *fair*." And there's an echo of the English schoolboy he must've been, in that mingling of anger and despair. "To leave us to flounder…."
"Maybe we'll understand one day," Lindon says. "As we evolve, our consciousness ascends. Of course you and I won't be there, but I mean humanity as a whole. I'm optimistic." They've placed their order for appetizers and are eating dolmas and warm olives with red wine. They'll get around to ordering entrees at some point.
Sam and Marcy have been assisting avidly, and now there is a dishwashing hand as well as Kai the waiter who would probably leave if anyone paid him but is content to pretend he has a strange job. With the main dinner rush on, Lambert has snuck outside for a quick rest. He steps out of the hot kitchen, mopping his curly brow, a white coiled strand of hair escaping. And he spots Lindon and Lamont, and then heads on over "Ah! Changed back, I see," he says, in some relief "Hello. What are you talking about? You both have a touch of the seriousness to you."
"Gods, and what makes a true one," Lamont says, looking up from his wineglass. "And how close humanity will ever come to being one or many of them, in its own right," He grants the satyrkin a fleeting, wicked g rin, and drops his voice, "And not before time. I was walking bow-legged."
Lindon looks up and smiles at Lambert. "Yes, I woke up myself a couple days ago. There was a little depression that first day, but Lamont knows just what to say." That said, he gives Lamont a glance for what he says. "Kent!" he hisses. His cheeks color a touch. "Behave yourself."
"Power makes the God, I think. And having a really bad sense of humour?" guesses Lambert, who then says "Satyrs are supposed to come from a God having sex with one of the Hekaterides. Either, you know, someone like Dionysis or Silenus or Hekateros. Which would make me…" he counts off on his fingers "Ummn. Great…great…I don't know, one sixteenth or one thirtysecondth God? So I think I'm pretty close! Also, I'm clean." As Lindon speaks, he frowns worriedly "I'm sorry."
"No," says Lamont, with a hint of smugness. "I'm fine. ANd it was something of a come down….he had that thread of power in his veins, too , after all," He pats Lindon on the arm, with evident sympathy.
Lindon looks exasperated as Lamont refuses to behave. Then there's a saintly acceptance about him. This? This is his life now. "We also discussed if interdimensional beings once worshipped as gods count as gods," Lindon tells Lambert. "Honestly, for me the jury is still out, because while they may not have physically created the planet, they influenced intelligent life and, in that vein, created us. Think of the impact Greek culture has had on the modern world." He then adds, to Lambert, "There's no need to apologize. I was also depressed about not being able to leave the manor again until this wizard business blows over, but if Lamont is with me, I can."
"Come here, it is relatively safe," says Lambert "There are so many strange creatures who come here that you must be welcome." He pauses, then he says "The Gods are mostly very rough players, I think. Jealous, proud, easily angered. Warlike. Often so very troublesome, wouldn't you agree?" He pauses, considering as Lamont mentions the thread of power - that might have been his own if his father had kept it together "Mmm. I am lucky I am not a dryad, I think," he just says "Imagine worrying so much about your tree."
Lamont nods in sympathy. "To be a demigod, or one of the spirits….or even a mortal who attracted the attention of those gods…it seems a more unfortunate fate…." he says, slowly. "And yes, yes, they were. But….I can see your point, Lindon. Whatever they ultimately were, they did have a massive effect on who we are now…."
To be fair, we're troublsome, jealous, proud, easily angred and warlike," Lindon says. "Then again, coming back to that original point: they did make us in their image." When a server does finally come around to take their order, he asks for a rich lamb dish. He's free and outside tonight, time to celebrate. He asides to Lambert, "I thought coming here was safe, and I suppose nothing that bad happened, but anything that might get attention is dangerous."
"That's true," says Lambert, though his eyes fall on the server, watching keenly as the newcomer takes orders. Is everything remembered neatly? No notepads here. Recitation and politeness. He nods, briefly, as it comes to fruition, and then he says to Lamont "It's interesting in Greek history -" he does not say myth "Because Gods often had children with those who were not human. But satyrs can mate with humans…I don't understand it." He waves the idea away, and then he glances down himself and he says "…does it count as made if you're offspring? Religion is…I worship Dionysis. But. He might be my Great Grandfather too. Ugh." Suddenly Lambert looks a little uncertain "I've never thought about it all like this before."
"I didn't mean to throw you off," Lamont says, contrite. "And….that makes sense. There are many who conduct ancestor worship, and that sounds like what you're speaking of. And you're right - that's where so many of the demigods came from." To Lindon, "Relatively safe, which is why I dare unbend here. Lamb's magic is a bit of a ….camouflage for our own."
"Especially if these gods are actually interdimensional entities that did at one time physically interact with humans, flesh and blood. For all we know, Lambert, you could be part alien, that is to say if satyrs originated in a different world or reality. Either way, it's rather remarkable." He nods then to Lamont. "Obviously I can't discount the existence of magic in all this. Which further raises the question, at what point is an entity godlike as compared to merely intensely alien?"
Lambert says "I guess…ancestor worship, I mean. It makes sense? Sort of!" He rubs his temples, thinking about it all, and then he says "Oh! Is it? Is it harder for things to feel out your details when they have to get through my, you know…" He gestures around himself at the courtyard, and every little stamp he has put on it "But you two have some control over your magic, don't you?" And then his eyes widen "Alien!" Lambert opens his mouth, and he closes it again "…uh. W…how could aliens breed with humans? I guess with their alien technology…those saucer-folk, right?" And then he says "…you know, errrr. The Gods are pretty mysterious and weird. And. Well, the other sort of alien, you know. I mean the whole Persephone thing…"
"Magic certainly has its own will, in a way." He looks rueful. "Look at us, getting philosophical before we're even drunk. And I have some. Mine flows in a relatively narrow channel, so to speak…"
"I don't have magic," Lindon says. "So much as I'm a recipient of magic. I have no magical power, just knowledge." And a super fast brain, but never mind that. Lamont gets a winsome smile. "This is my favorite type of conversation, drunk or sober." He takes another drink from his cup. "Aliens and interdimensional beings have been interfering since we were apes coming down from the trees. I imagine interbreeding isn't that difficult for them."
"But how did you _get_ it?" asks Lambert of Lamont "I mean, I looked entirely human until about thirteen or so. Then my ears got longer, and everyone got relieved." Not what normally happens. And then he says to Lindon "You feel magical to me. You didn't freak out when you became a satyr. You just adapted, as if you sort of. Just…you know." He has no words, and he throws his hands up - one eye on the kitchen. Occassionally Lambert _does_ have to get up and dash in after all. "I don't…hmm. If I am part alien, I guess that…what does that mean about meta humans? Or monsters?"
The Shadow has a kind of oddly thoughtful silence to him. "I inherited some potential from my family. We have been sorcerers in England since the Conquest, at the very least," he says, slowly. "But I didn't come into it until I was made to, not really. And that was more tripping up so very badly that certain magical teachers took notice and brought me into hand. I was…in very bad shape, when I came to Shambhala." Then he turns that gray gaze on Lindon. "He's right," he says, slowly. "But then….perhaps the knowledge makes room for power."
Lindon says, "I don't have power, I've had power laid upon me. That's what you feel. The magic didn't just hit me and leave. It's still in me." He smiles a little. "In the end, it's semantics." He takes another drink, nursing his wine along. "It all comes down to semantics. How are we defining god? How are we defining alien? In the strictest sense, anything not native to Earth is alien, whether it's celestial in nature or not. So, strictly speaking, gods are aliens."
"Oh! Then I'm not. I mean. Alien? I think. All the dryads and the Herakatides and things like that - those are all old Wild Magic and Nature spirits," says Lambert, looking if anything a bit relieved "The thing is you can't. Be part of nature right? And reject everything else, and be so different. Huh. I wonder then where everything comes from. I mean, dryads, or nymphs. I've met both."
"The planet has a soul of its own, magic of its own. Gaia, I think, as some term it," Lamont'svoice is soft, reverent. "And sometimes…..consciousness comes in. I think tha's where we get the nature spirits."
Lindon says, "Would it be so bad, being alien?" He smiles crookedly at Lambert, gesturing with his wine cup toward the main restaurant. "Your little blond waiter is an alien." Sure, the elf passes for human to the casual eye, but Lindon notices things. As for the rest, does Lindon know? Maybe he does and doesn't say. Why ruin a good mystery? The food arrives, and Lindon sits up a bit. Deliciousness! "Thank you," he says to the waiter with a shy little bob of his head.
"Yes, but he's…also what he is. I mean, he knows what he is. And he's comfortable with that. I'm comfortable with olive groves, and fishing, and hunting, and carousing," Lambert says, and one ear has worked it's way out from under his chef's cap to twitch back and forth a bit "If I wasn't from earth, I suppose it would feel less like…I was having fun. And more like I was invading?" He automatically begins wiping down their table, without thinking about it, and he frowns as he does so. From within, Marcy calls out "Phone chef! It's from the police station."
That has LAmont reorienting on Marcy like a hound catching the scent of deer on the wind. But he only looks to Lambert, mutely. Do they need to leave? Or….
Lindon glances toward the kitchen, then back to Lambert. He says, "You were born here, you're from here. You're not invading anything." He smiles a little, trying to look encouraging but landing more upon apologetic. "Besides, every world that exists has a natural environment, after a fashion. More or less. With a few exceptions. Maybe they all have souls, too."
Lambert frowns a little, and then he says to the two gentlemen "Why don't you finish your meal. I'll be right back…" And he gets up and awkwardly heads back into the bathroom. A quick glance at Lindon with a smile, and then he is on the phone in the kitchen, talking to…to the police? Are the others listening? Lamont probably is. Lambert is saying "…bail? For…oh. Uh. Yes, but I'll have to, er, access my…no, no, I can. Of course."
"One moment," Monty says, rising. And he signals to Lamb through the door, catching his eye. A motion at his wallet. Apparently if there's aproblem to be solved by money being thrown at it, he's there to play Daddy Warbucks.
Lindon glances between Lamont and Lambert, and he smiles at the former. That's his baby, making it all better with cold hard cash. He just flashes Lambert a smile and starts in on his dinner, trusting Lamont to have it taken care of.
Lambert glances at Lamont and mouths a very earnest 'Thankyou!' before he says into the phone "Actually, it's been offered. No, that's definite. We can absolutely do it. Okay? I'll get there shortly. Just keep him, er…court? That could be difficult, his Visa's due to run out soon. He has to go home. Athens. No, Athens, Greece. Er. Maybe the Greek Consulate? What, no, don't tell his wife -"
A slightly lower cashflow is more than price enough to see Lamb Senior safely dispatched to where he needs to be. Satisfied, Lamont returns to the table, looking a little smug.
Lindon clucks his tongue and says, "That satyr is trouble." Judgmental? A little. The bastard did turn him into a satyr for a week or so. He eats neatly, with practiced table manners. "He's lucky the NYPD's probably seen everything by now, or they probably assume he's a mutant."
And finally Lambert makes it out to the back, and says mournfully, wringing his hands "Drunk and disorderly! And thank God they didn't realise he was hitting on them. Apparently they were getting calls from churches saying that Satan was in the area. Satan!" He takes a breath, and is back to mopping his brow "Oh, God, thankyou Lamont. What am I going to do with him? I need to get him on a plane going back home before people realise we're related!"
"I can buy him a ticket, as you need. First class. I'd be tempted to send him home via cruise, but gods only know what he'd do with the crew and passengers of an ocean liner. A floating orgy…." The idea is pleasing in the abstract, but. "If worst comes to worst, I can ask a favor of the Doctor, who can ship him home instantly."
"There's something to be said for cargo hold," Lindon says. Lamont gets a look as Inappropriate Topics are yet again brought up at the Dinner Table. "I suppose the important thing is he gets home safely. Safe for everyone involved, that is." He takes another bite of his lamb and says, "Exquisite as ever, Bertie."
"First class?" Lambert bridles at the idea - the cost! - but then hesitates, and he says "…he's a menace to everyone, but I don't want to put Strange out either. I know he has cruise contacts because he sends my mother on them two or three times a year." Lambert considers, then he says "Ah! You know those motion sickness tablets that make you drowsy? Why don't we ship him off on some of those?" Lambert. No. Do not drug your father, Lambert. The satyrling shakes his head suddenly and he _beams_ at Lindon "Oh, thankyou. You two always merit my best. You know, I'm going to have to close up early. I don't want to think about what worse trouble he could get himself into, you know?"
"I think it might be the Doctor…." Lamont looks rueful. Now that's an odd favor to ask Strange. The satyr will no doubt make a pass at the Sorcerer- Stephen's a good looking guy.
A sight worth seeing! Lindon grins at Lambert. "I understand," he says, and he starts eating a bit faster. "We were just enjoying a Spring evening and couldn't think of a better place to spend it." Another bite, and then, "Don't drug your father."
"Ugh! Alright!" says Lambert, who then says "Thankyou, Lamont. I hate to say this, but I need to go and collect him now. You never know what he'll end up causing or doing. I can bring him back to the flat if you'd rather not meet him." Lambert just assumes that his father will make a pass. His father is a satyr.
"No, I haven't had my chance to meet him," Lamont says, a bit drily. "It seems hardly fair ot me to avoid it."
Lindon glances Lamont's way and says "Yes, but you won't resist any bizarre idea that pops into his head. I'll be bringing you your meals to the third floor of the east wing next thing you know." He shakes his head, and he eats primly. Tut tut. That's right, he's tut-tutting all of this.