1965-04-26 - First Feast of Dionysis
Summary: Lambert celebrates, offering fine wine and poetry, and the passersby wander in, including a mechanic, an Elf, a Prince of Asgard, and a Sorcerer Supreme.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
julie loki strange lambert kai 

Spring has a number of celebrations in New York, everything from flower shows to athletics carnivals. This one is a little different - the main restaurant of Saganaki is closed to the public for one of several 'religious observances' for the satyr-kin. Outside here in the courtyard, everything has been decorated with garlands of flowers, and there are trails of thick honeysuckle and fragrant lavender everywhere. Copper bowls of water float burning wax candles scented heavily with spices and herbs, and there is the low thrum of music from within the restaurant.

Outside, there is a great tub of wine, freshly cracked, with dippers and wooden bowls near by for drinking. Pomegranates and apples, and many other fruit imported from warmer climes. There is an entire roast haunch of deer over the open fire, slowly turning, and plates, and fresh bread and home churned butter. There are pillows strewn here and there, and an electric, almost acid taste of Old Magic in the air.

Lambert himself is wearing a pair of raw cotton shorts, and the rest of his tanned body has been painted up with various pastes ground from a number of hallucinogenic plants. He wears a wreath of white snow drops across his brow, designed to highlight his tiny horns, and is sitting on a chair, playing a syrinx.

Seeing as he was in the neighborhood and, thinking of the baklava which regularly graces the kitchen countertops of the Sanctum, Strange meanders by at a pace indicating little hurry. He wears a white dress-shirt beneath a black overcoat, nothing so heavy as the Belstaf required for winter, with black slacks to match. After all, the weather is kind, and…that's a fascinating set-up beyond the fencing of the courtyard. Inhaling, he can scent the sweetness of the flowers. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rise as the Old Magic calls on another level of sense entirely, setting his nerves a-tingle. It's concentrated here. No wonder the pigeons are confused.

One way or another, he finds a way into the courtyard proper and grins, almost to himself, at the sight of the owner. "Mister Petropoulos. This is a spectacle. What's the occasion?" He takes a few steps farther in, glancing upwards at the trailing bowers of bright foliage.

Loki sneaaaaaks along behind Strange, and whispers, "its called fun. You should try it." Then he passes by him and into the party, scooping up a glass of the wine for himself. He moves gracefully with a sly smile, green eyes flicking around to see who else is around the place.

"It's the First Feast of Dionysis," explains Lambert to Strange, his eyes alight - almost literally. While they are normally a good natured, soft brown, right now there is a lambent green to their edges. There are other folk here, though the night is young yet - and most of _those_ are keeping to the shadowy areas. Friends from Monster Town, or so it seems. Lambert nods approvingly as Loki sweeps up the wine - which may as well be brandy given it's alcohol content. It is rich, and red, and as slow as blood, glistening in faintly strange ways from the residual magic of its creation. There is, for Loki, an edge of frost to it rather than heat. In vino veritas, as it were. Juniper, and chill, and old, old ways. Lambert hops up lightly, holding his pipes in one hand "Tonight we celebrate, and we let no one tell us that what we are is wrong. This is the First Night of it - no Maenads. So no blood sacrifices to clean up."

Strange stiffens at the comment in sotto-voce and then gives the younger Prince of Asgard a flat side-eye as he comes around into view.

"I believe our definitions of 'fun' differ," he mutters before appearing to soothe his own mildly-ruffled feathers with a sigh. The dignified air returns and he turns attention to Lambert now, his own eyes gathering a bit of ambience in turn: silvery about the pupils bleeding outwards into a rich amaranthine in irises, admixture of crimson and sky-blue.

"I know of the Feasts of Dionysis, yes. I appreciate the lack of Maenads especially. Blood sacrifices are terribly messy things to clean up." An undertone of disapproval melts away as he glances around once more, tracking the beings in the shadows and dismissing them in turn. His polite smile returns, with dimples to be found. "I came looking into some baklava, but I can return at another time. I don't wish to draw you away from your celebrations."

"So you say…but…I tend to recall that you are rarely caught doing it." Loki argues as he scoops up another wine and offers it over towards Strange. Then he looks to Lambert, "What is your favorite feast, Lambert? This one? Or…the more raucous one?"

Julie hrms, a bit, brushing something off her leather jacket as she decides to take the sign at the back entrance up on its invitation. Which, by chance, she'd happened to encounter while cutting through. Perhaps the classical themes proved interesting, but she…decides to pretend to mingle a bit. She spots Lambert among the proceedings, and gives a little Girl Scout salute. She doesn't particularly look like one, though, really.

"Oh, it's usually bulls and stags," says Lambert to Strange, as if such a thing were perfectly normal "You know, the thing is, with their teeth -" And he smiles. Lambert himself has carnivore teeth, though his usual friendly sweetness tends to detract from any threat "-and claws. Well, I suppose, often it's satyrs. When father transformed Lindon, he really wanted to get himself killed first." Never mind, indicates his tone of voice! He actually slings an arm around Strange, the one with the pipes. And he pats him with the other, familiarly "Of course we have baklava! We came up with it first - made from the grains of the field, honey from the hive. I'll put it in your usual package to take home for Wanda. But you should bring her here! And you should drink, Strange." Normally a companionable suggestion, Lambert's words have a more than usually seductive weight tonight, a press back on the will. Do As I Require. Not that a Sorceror is going to be heavily influenced, nor a Godling "Oh, thankyou Loki!"

And then he says to Loki "The more raucous one. It's just…" His ears twitch with a minute sense of frustration "Well," Lambert finally says "People. Have. Some pretty strange ideas…don't they?" He shakes his head sadly to the adopted Asgardian, and then he waves to Julie and he gestures, as if to indicate she should join them.

Those bright eyes, their color a direct challenger for sun-drenched lilacs, roll over to Loki again. "I make play at being normal when I'm in public. It's very fun," he replies, smirking to himself. The Sorcerer looks to consider Lambert again and the flash of teeth are enough to catch his attention. He blinks at the informal arm about his torso and then at the suggestion that follows.

"I…suppose I could consider it," he replies, glancing over at the ambient light's reflections from the wine's surface. Is he speaking to the drink or to bringing Wanda? Either way, it's a polite enough answer, a little touched as it is. He remains where he is, too proud to excuse himself from the friendly side-hug. Movement nearby makes him shift his regard to Julie and he returns her wave with a nod and polite smile. He's everything Mundane this evening…except for his aura reacting to the Old Magic around him. It crackles to those who can see it.

Loki bows his head faintly. "I do that sometimes as well. It never lasts very long." Then he flits off towards the back to someone to harass.

Julie comes on up. Sensitive to Old Magic, the young lady may not be… Lambert's satyr-ness, though, she seems to be capable of casually-seeming to ignore, however, giving Strange a nod of greeting. "Hey, nice shindig, what's the occasion?"

"I believe it's a celebration of Spring, if memory serves me right," Strange replies, briefly glancing to Lambert for confirmation. "However, I'm here for the baklava." He eyes the sleek disappearance of the youngest Prince with mild envy and a small curl to one side of his lips before bringing his attention back to Julie. "If you haven't tried his food, I suggest it. I hear excellent things about their vegetarian options in particular."

Lambert himself cannot perceive it at all. What he is, what he radiates, is something that is natural to him, and it just happens. He cannot manipulate nor touch it - it is as under control as the content of carbon dioxide in his breath. Since Strange has not removed himself from the hug, Lambert continues it…uncomfortably long. And then, finally, he says "Baklava, have it - oh, stop being so nervous, Strange. Hello Julie! This is a religious observance, for my people! Yes, a celebration of spring - and all the good things Spring provides." He beams.

Julie ahs, and smirks to Lambert, her own accent's Italian, but of the very local New York Italian-American variety. "Well, that's worth celebrating, spring. Time to yank your snow tires, tune your carbs, and throw some flowers around, maybe. Just someone's been holding out on us if they got good baklava." She winks to Lambert there. She does look around the place. "I guess your people know how to have a thing, though." There's more than banter behind that, …since the notion just seems to make sense to her, odd ideas of what spring means aside.

The good Doctor shifts in place, his expression going somewhat flat as he considers just how long this hug has gone on for. Yes, a while now. Long enough that the image of friendship is thoroughly solidified. What would Wanda do? No, never mind that; that's chaos to even consider.

"If I were nervous, you would have more to be concerned about than Maenads," he murmurs to Lambert, giving the Satyr a toothy smile back. "But yes, it's a celebration," he continues, at proper conversational volume to include everyone present. " — and a proper one at that. I haven't attended anything like it in some time." Oh my, the implications to be found there. "If you try the wine, may I recommend that you start with a small serving at first. Sometimes, it goes right to your head." He says this to Julie in particular, well-meaning by nature.

Julie nods to Strange, there, and shoots back a cuff to glance at the inside of a wrist, where she wears a rather bulky racer's watch not made for girls, but consults some lap timers there. She'd been on foot for reasons in the first place, since she'd had something earlier. Nods to Strange. "Yeah, I guess so. Wouldn't wanna go messing up no poets or nothing," she winks.

Lambert glances as Loki heads off, and frowns a little, then asides to Strange "Do you think he gets uncomfortable if he's not in control of a situation?" He rubs his horns lightly and then he says to him "I'm never in control of anything!" And he leans in to examine Strange "Something feels weird about you…" Now he pulls back and he bounces up to offer Julie his hands. Lambert isn't wearing much - just some very plain cotton shorts that on closer inspection are cut so old fashioned they may as well have existed for decades. He has a distinct line of fuzz down his spine which terminates at a goat tail.

Lambert then says to Strange "Have you _met_ Maenads?" He wrinkles his nose, then waves a casual hand "Tonight, let us not worry about such dubious things. Oh, let her go with the wine, that should be fine. Messing up poets?" He tilts his head "I don't get it." The wine is as strong as brandy. Ridiculously alcoholic. Such things do satyrs brew.

"I'm not certain what poetry will be recited here, but no doubt it'll be entertaining," he replies to Julie. A glance to their host now, curly hair and horns and all.

"Entirely possible," Strange asides back to Lambert. He looks back over his shoulder to attempt to seek out the Prince in the moderate throng, but alas — no dice. The man disappears well when he chooses to, as befitting of a person of his station in regards to the Mystical Arts. "Would you believe me if I said that I'm more than I seem?" A sly grin in passing before his expression settles out formally once more. "And yes, I have met Maenads. We couldn't agree as to an outlook on life." His comment is a dry one.

Julie smiles, and does take Strange's suggestion about the modest helping of the wine. Has a taste, with a raise of the glass and a Salute‘, and sets one of those lap timers running. "Well, this ain’t exactly Mount Ida, but it ain't bad," she smirks to Strange. "But you find all types in New York. She's always been fond of the Classical myths, generally, for all she may be less-aware she's really standing around some, more or less.

"Oh, we have quite a lot of poets," says Lambert grandly, and he hops himself up onto a chair, balancing easily on one foot. Those feet, naked, are human. Mostly - the first two toes are larger and have broader nails, and his legs have faintly different musculature. Just enough to edge towards the uncanny valley. He then says to Strange "You should show yourself as you are here! Like there rest of us do!" Then Lambert clears his throat and he declares loudly

"Again love, the limb-loosener, rattles me
a crawling beast.
As a wind in the mountains
assaults an oak,
Love shook my breast.
You came, Atthis, you did so good
You refreshed my heart that was burned by desire."

Not, then, modern works. He beams at Julie, and then he throws his arms wide "Drink it all up!" he says. The satyrwine, for her, is swirling. Slowly. Round, and round. As if rotating. God only knows what _Strange_ sees in his likely untouched own.

Watching the antics of the Satyrkin with a private smile to himself, Strange is nudged at his elbow. A silent waiter offers him a goblet of the wine and he takes it out of manners before the figure vanishes into the shadows with relative ease. A few blinks at the entire moment before he glances down at the drink.

Starlight, pure and undiluted — as if the moon's reflective glow were melted and poured in slowly-blending runnels through what appears to be watercolor shades of red, every hue from summer-cherry to blood-dark depth. He outright stares at it, momentarily devoid of clever words. It's mesmerizing, in its own way, and he looks up with some effort. "I…suppose, yes," he mutters before sipping at the drink — and oh…oh dear. That's…very good stuff.

Julie raises the glass about the poem, there. Well, there's someone she loves, after all. She gives a salutation in Italian, and then eyes are drawn to the fact the liquid's …turning, apparently.

Magic is a funny thing - so often used for flare, effect, or necessity. But not for food or brewing, or the growth of grapes like this. Whatever each of them sees, whatever Lambert sees - all a reflection of inner desire or aptitude. Perhaps that is why Loki left. Lambert, up there, has no end of constant prayers to adoration, love, devotion and obsession:

"I pray you, Eros, in the name of my muse I pray you,
Oh let me sleep and forget for a while this lust for Heliodora.
My god, I pray by your bow which doesn't know how to shoot
At anyone else but day and night sinks shafts of screams in me!
Alright, no more prayers, you sonofabitch, you won't get away with it.
With my last strength I write this poem for the police-
It was love-
Love killed me."

And then he is hopping back down and he examines Strange for a moment as he drinks, and Julie as she looks "I don't make this the rest of the year. This is just for the First Feast. Wine made from grapes tended by my Grandfather, sweetened with honey from Mutant Town."

Strange's tongue mulls another sip around his mouth even as he considers their host. The sweetness of the bee's gathered balm brings to mind aspects of mead in one second, but then comes the lush rush of tannins, dark berries, and even butter, if his senses aren't failing him. He inhales and nods, replying to Lambert,

"It's a singular blend, Mr. Petropoulos. Well done indeed." He lifts the chalice in a small salute. At the back of his palate, the sparkling taste of magic interacting with something…else in the wine continues to draw his attention, to make him want to take yet another sip. For now, he has self-control. Well…as much as can be managed. His eyes still glow that supernatural pale-violet and the very air around him has gained a corona of twinkling, as if tiniest mica flecks dance about.

Julie applauds, a bit, and takes another sip, possibly a bit tentatively. "They got beehives in Mutant Town?" she wonders aloud.

Look at that. Lambert is swatching Strange, curiously, as if each movement of muscle, hair, or breath could provide him with clues as to how his drink is being taken. And then he laughs, and the sound is rich, and deep, and he says "See? Nothing wrong with it - but why do you buy baklava that you never eat? What _do_ you eat?" Trust the chef to be curious about _that_. Lambert's own eyes are becoming a deep emerald green. The forest calls, even here. Even in New York. Central Park might be dangerous later…and then he reaches out to pat Julie on the shoulder. More than friendly "Oh yes," he tells her "There are beehives everywhere there are humans. They are the first beast humans domesticated. Well before cattle. Before, even, goats. So there are hives in Mutant Town on rooftops - just as there are in other places in New York. And the honey is supposed to come from mutant tropical flowers that live all through winter here." Sonorous, his voice is, right now, slow and delighted and full of tones and personal attention. Just for her.

The wine hits like a bull. A kindly bull - one with garlands of flowers. But still a one tonner. Julie will have a headache the next morning.


Another sip of the wine brings forth more flavor still. Velvety leather intertwines seamlessly with a rich bouquet of attar of roses, the famed Halfeti blooms of the Turkish summer. Above and about and within, the fluid slither of cloves and the nimble spritz of high-mountain, snow-chilled pine.

Strange allows himself a furtive smile, as if pleased by the line of questioning in some bizarre way. "I have my fiancee to please, and sometimes it is as simple as arriving home with a box of pastries. She's enamored with your honey, in particular. If you ever sell it, I'd gladly be a regular buyer." Surely that jogs the memory of a small jar of the golden deliciousness and a silver spoon, last the Sorcerer and Witch attended upon the restaurant. The next mouthful of wine is enough to make him hum happily in the back of his throat. "Insofar as to what I eat? The best way to define it is…delicacies not of this realm…or reality proper," he explains. A languid blink and, to him, it seems the ambient lights have an extra glow about them now, almost feverish. He's relaxed, but only in the sense of a leopard sprawled upon a limb. His attention slides to Julie and back to Lambert, well-aware of the shift in color within the Satyr-kin's eyes. The Mystical sort know to watch for this, and him in particular. So many things in Heaven and Earth and, a few times, the Sorcerer's curiosity has been rewarded with a slap on the knuckles or potential scarring. A shiver traipses down his spine, equal parts fascination and caution. Old Magic is always capricious.

Above and about and within - as above, so below. Basic Hermetic magic there. Lambert remembers the Sorcerer's mate clearly, because his smile is a bit too broad right now. He tips back his own drink, and he has pointy ears and a lot of the various attributes to appropriately mark a fey creature. Lambert leans in, as Julie is smart enough to dart away, and he says "That sounds fascinating! I want to know everything about it. But isn't it…hard always having to go somewhere else _completely_ in order to find food? Is ours just not fine enough for you?" A challenge. Lambert shivers, tipsy, and lifts a foot to use a too-agile toe to scratch an itch on his chin. Wouldn't want to disturb the bowl of wine in both hands.

There's a party? How did this escape the elf's notice? Kai enters as is often his wont, by scaling the courtyard wall and perching atop it, looking down at what the courtyard has to offer to day. His expression brightens. Today it offers wine and ceremony and Lambert as well as Strange. He's just a little too late to see his love, but they'll cross paths later at home.

He's not the quietest creature, but he is very nimble, pushing himself off the wall and landing on a table in a crouch, and the occasion brings out something wild in him, some sparkle in his eyes and a wickedness to his grin. "He dosn't eat," he says by way of greeting.

Strange's subtle smile sharpens at the unspoken challenge posed in the Satyr-kin's question and he replies smoothly,

"When one plays on the field of the gods, the payment comes in whatever way they deem most appropriate. They exact it by requiring that I consume fare not of this Earthly plane in turn. It's far easier than most would suspect. My saving grace is the nutritional powder that blends into milk when my fridge is lean." He's not ashamed to admit it, picky as he's become in his palate. No one's attempted to poison him lately anyways. He eyes the insane flexiblity of the foot with only mild surprise. After all, Lambert is supernatural to his observations thus far.

The Sorcerer glances over at the Elf's sudden arrival and shoots him a foxy grin in turn. "Ah, Kai. I wondered if we would see you. The Prince is…" He looks over his shoulder and then waves a dismissive scarred hand. "He's disappeared off over there somewhere."

Lambert is dressed briefly - literally, since he is only wearing a rather decrepit set of beat up cotton brief-short things, which may well be older than he is. They are of raw material, not dyed, and his tail projects over the top. The rest of him is out to the elements, though on a warm spring night he is easily sturdy enough not to find it remotely a concern. He pauses, and he lowers his foot, and then he picks his wine up and drinks it "So you can't eat _anything_ made by people on earth?" he says, and then he shudders, deeply. He has seen many strange things, but this is apparently the most terrifying.

Lambert looks up at Kai, and he says "Come down, let me give you a bowl of wine! Come on - this is the honey wine from the honey we collected earlier. Come on, Kai." And the elf is being offered it - a large wooden bowl with bitter herbs floating on top. Lambert's eyes are alight with sorcery, uncontrolled though it is, and his grin is _very_ toothy "Our friend here has been telling me about lots of things. And he has been having fun. Wouldn't you like to have fun, Kai?"

Kai skims the courtyard in case there's at least a glimpse of inky black hair, but alas. "He's probably got work to do." Kidnapping someone, no doubt, showing them their greatest fears, for no other reason than it amuses him. Kai knows what (and who) he signed up for.

He hops off the table and ambles over to where Lambert sits. Strange gets a bright smile. "It's so good to see you. It's always a pleasure." Then he takes hte offered bowl of wine. To Lambert, he says, "You should know the answer to that question." Then he drinks, trusting his stamina to stand up to the wine.

Strange sips another mouthful of his wine. About a third of the goblet has disappeared, rather faster than he intended, no doubt. Still — this is smooth, rich, far easier to stomach than anything bottled in any vineyard or found on a liquor shop's shelves. His Sorcerous mantle is keeping the worst of its effects at bay…for now. Time may tell otherwise, and he might be on the receiving end of a floral-crowned bull's worth of a hangover.

"No, Mister Petropoulos, I cannot eat anything of this realm, cooked or not." His attention slides to Kai and the sheer volume of wine now in the Elf's possession. "I suppose your metabolism is going to shield you from the worst of that then, Kai?" He asks, sorely tempted for a moment to spin his fingertip within the contents of his own goblet, if only to see if the liquid starlight wending through it disperses like watercolor in a glass of clear liquid.

Kai comes up for air long enough to says, "I sure hope so." Then he goes back to drinking. The more he drinks, the more he relaxes, not that he was overly stressed to begin with. When he finally lowers the bowl, he looks around the courtyard like a cat who's one twitch away from freaking out and running back and forth. "It's going to get green soon," he tells Strange. "Can you smell it in the air? Even in New York you can smell when it's springtime."

He sets aside the (now mostly empty) bowl, and his fingers twitch. He cracks his knuckles and looks around. People tend to get careless with their belongings when they drink. Further, a dim silvery glow radiates softly from his skin.

"In Alfheim," he says, "there would be music and dance. I miss dancing. Oh, Stephen, I miss home. Sometimes. Like right now."

The lines of Strange's goatee break for the more mild curve of his lips.

"So the wine brings on nostalgia in your case, hmm? I understand, in a way." He looks in the direction of the west, where the sun set hours ago, and there the moon will disappear given enough time. Overhead, the stars wheel on and to his drink-touched vision, they sparkle with an extra luminescence. He looks back to Kai again. "I miss home…until I realize that I don't miss home, I miss a spate of time. A freeze-frame in my life. I can't go back to the farm now and find the same joy that I once took. I have changed. The world has changed," and he brushes a hand through the air before himself, leaving the faintest comet-trail of magic in the wake of his fingers. "Instead, I savor the memories."

"I feel that way about Scotland," Kai says. "It was the happiest time in my life, but it was a long time ago, and after going back a little while ago, it was just so different. I just…" He looks around, looking for trouble, no doubt. "I want to see trees again. Not the tame ones in the park. I want to see forests."

He sits down on one of the tables. "Alfheim was never home like Scotland was, but there's part of me that just wants to be there. Maybe there's some genetic pull."

In his dark jacket and slacks, cutting the city-slick figure that he does, the Sorcerer remains standing near one of the hanging garden lamps. Moths flit about its light and about the heavily-scented garlands of honeysuckle that hang in a gentle arc from bowers above them.

"It is your home world. I would think it's to be expected," Strange replies. "It's incredibly difficult to separate oneself from the place they were born, much less the world they existed in for a good portion of their life." Another swallow of wine brings another iota of relaxation to his frame; the cautious nature is slowly thawing. "I would enjoy the novelty of living in another world for some time, but not for eternity. I would miss Earth." It's an easy thing to admit.

"Technically, I was born in England," Kai says. "But I was probably conceived in Alfheim. They weren't on the run long before I happened." He stretches out, making himself quite comfy atop a surface where people are supposed to eat. He's in jeans, himself. Jeans and a stripped buttondown. And an aura of moonlight. "When I went to Alfheim for the first time, I hated being there because of my gran, but I loved being there because it felt right. When I could avoid her, I loved it."

Kai tilts his head and regards Strange with a decidedly less human expression. He usually has at least a little bit of illusion up to humanize his features, but at the moment he's got those deep blue eyes with silver flecks and his slanted ears are more noticeable. "Why don't you come to Alfheim sometime? I could show you around."

Strange tilts his head in a manner of contemplation. "It's tempting. I'll have to consider it. I don't get vacations, you see, not since assuming the mantle." Of Sorcerer Supreme, rather, not of the Cloak, wherever the familiar relic is at this time… Probably somewhere sneaky on the man's body, masquerading as something mundane rather than Shakespearean.

"If I'm able to sneak away and Wanda has no issues, I'll be certain to spend an afternoon there. I can't dedicate more time, unfortunately. I'm always on-call." The wry smile is accompanied by another sip of wine.

Lambert has been very quiet, but after a moment, he looks up, and he says "Farm? You lived on a farm?" to Strange. He does not use the man's first name, avoiding addressing him directly at all. Just in case. Names have a certain amount of power, sometimes, and Lambert's unclear understanding of it all has him doing any number of superstitious things to avoid too much trouble. "I grew up on a farm," he says "The family always goes somewhere that neighbours aren't too close. I'm the only one who can pass." And even that is getting harder "Why can't you take vacations? Just like…declare it. LET IT BE SO, I AM GOING TO PALM SPRINGS." He leans over to refill up Kai's wine.

Kai takes up the bowl again, happy to drink more. Then again, when isn't me? "Bring Wanda," Kai suggests. "There are amazing foods in Alfheim she might like. The candies are decadent, and even the normal day to day stuff is exquisite. I'll grant Alfheim this much: they do know how to enjoy life there."

To Lambert, he says, "I'll bring you some Firefly wine. The moon elves make it, and my gran owns a vineyard and winery." Then he deploys the big sad elf eyes at Strange. "Surely if you checked back at home halfway through you could spend the night."

"Yes, I was raised in Nebraska," the Sorcerer replies to the Satyr-kin. A wise thing, to avoid using the man's first name, especially at a time and place like this. It might ring to his Mystical senses like tinfoil on teeth fillings. Lambert's question is enough to goad Strange into warm laughter at the perceived absurdity of it. Then follows the puppy-dog look from Kai and the goblet of wine is nearly sloshed in good humor.

"It could only be an afternoon trip at most," he insists. "I am Sorcerer Supreme. If reality itself, and the universe within in, would declare itself 'on vacation' — " Oh yes, there's a one-handed pair of quotation marks there. " — then I could indulge myself. Unfortunately, I cannot. It used to bother me, but puh. Waste of time worrying out it when I have more important things to consider."

"Why don't we just go to Alfheim tomorrow?" suggests Lambert to Kai. Drink up, Kai, for the satyr and his Madness are already there "You know, we should just go there and be all charming and nice and I bet they'll give us lots of things…we should bring Wanda. She can report back to the Sorceror. Do cameras work in Alfheim?" So many ideas! They just all come at once. And he moves to sit next to the faintly glowing Kai. Lambert is examining him, on and off, just a little. Kai kind of looks chaseable. For some reason.

"Nebraska," he says, skeptically and he tilts his head "So what do you have to do? I mean. What is the kind of work that you do? Is it…worth it?"

Kai takes a long drink of wine, still regarding Strange as though he were, even now, kicking an entire universe full of puppies and it was upon Kai to convey their pain. "But don't you get bored waiting around for something bad to happen all the time?" he asks.

Then he turns his attention to Lambert, blinking away the puppy eyes and releasing Strange from their mercilessness. "If Loki wants to take us there. I don't know how else to get there," Kai says. He eyes Lambert sidelong, possessive of his bowl of wine as he continues drinking it.

"I am never, ever bored," Strange emphasizes, the wine sloshing in his goblet as he sighs heavily. "The job of Sorcerer Supreme is to protect existence. Existence," he reinterates. A hand on his sternum splays briefly. "No more me, potentially no existence. It's always worth it because, if we get down to the grit of things, everyone continues to exist. Everything." A finger circles to include the entire fete and all its components, down to guests and food, and then the city beyond it, and the sky beyond it, and on and on.

"And when there's no extradimensional threat, I have relics to acquire…books and scrolls to read… What peace I find in my tea and readings is a wonderful thing." He smiles as if pleased by the notion itself, the expression gone softer for the effects of the wine. It takes years from his face.

"There has to be other ways to get there than Loki," says Lambert thoughtfully "I mean, your parents got here - there must be a way to get there. We have legends of elves for a reason, right?" He then says to Kai "Has anyone ever told you that a Maenad would really like to meet you? Because. A Maenad would really like to meet you." He beams. And eat you. Lambert then looks down to his bowl of wine, and then he says "So why is there only _one_ of you guys! Tch! That seems like not hiring enough waiters to me. But don't you worry - Kai and I will stand in for you if you are ever indisposed."

"There's artifacts in Alfheim," Kai mentions. Probably not ones for sale or barter, but Kai doesn't mention that part. He finishes his second bowl of wine and starts to look a little bit affected. That's such a novelty for him! He grins as he sets the bowl aside. "Yeah, we'll stand in for you if you get too busy." He then tells Lambert, "I don't know how they got here, but they probably stole something to do it. Besides, I can't go to Alfheim and not bring my husband. I want gran to meet him." So the old bat can have a heart attack.

"Stand in for me, hmm?" Another roll of warm laughter follows Lambert's remark. "It's a job you audition for. Before the gods. And I'm not talking Asgardians. I'm talking beings that existed before all conceptualization of this reality. You're kind to offer, but it will never happen, not so long as I live." Ah, therein lies the rub. It takes Death herself waltzing his soul off into the wild blue yonder to pass on the mantle…and immortality kind of puts a damper on her boney-knuckled fun.

One last deep sip of the wine and while he seems to hesitate to set aside the unfinished goblet…the willpower he's so famous for wins out. "Speaking of baklava, however. Another time, perhaps, Mister Petropoulos, when you're not celebrating. Kai, good to see you. I was expected back some time ago and it doesn't do to worry Wanda. I'll bring your greetings." A smart little wave, partially a salute in a way, and then a Gate upon the air beside him. One step through, into the Loft, and the oculus then collapses in a twinkle of dying firefly-lights.

Lambert pours himself yet _another_ bowl of wine. And he says to Kai, a bit thickly "We should totally go and get. Some of those artifacts. I bet that, you know, people basically really need cheering up. Jush about everywhere." How many bowls has he had? Lambert's ear twitches, this way and that, and then he says "Oh, well. The Gods are _bastards_. No, I've heard a lot about Zeus and so forth…" He waves happily, and he says "Good - oh, he's gone. That looks so useful. We need to be able to do that, Kai."

Kai waves to Strange and says, "See you! Don't worry, we'll take care of things while you're gone." Hey, it's just a small sliver of the universe, but they'll be here holding it down. To Lambert, he says, "I know, we have to get our hands on one of those." He taps his fingertip to his lip, then suggests, "We could check around the Embassy, see if anyone there can access the bifrost. Except why shouldn't Loki bring us? Maybe your gods are bastards, but ours are… look, it's complicated."

Lambert lifts the bowl, and his adams apple moves as he drinks, bobbing up and down. He puts down the empty thing and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and he beams at Kai, his expression bright and a little too clear "Let's do that," Lambert says "We should go, and - well. It isn't like I'm completely human, so they should let me travel on it, right?" He does _not_ know what he is talking about it "And since Strange is stuck protecting the universe, which is totally weird, you and me can go and be super rainbow travelling friends!"

Kai regards Lambert blankly. He's beginning to feel more than tipsy. "Sure," he says. "I'm not sure what the rules are. I know you ask Heimdall to open the bifrost, and if you're ont he list of people he actually listens to, then he does. I don't think he'll listen to us since we're not royals."

Kai leans against Lambert. "I'm one more drink away from saying let's go run through the park. Clothing optional."

"You see, the _thing_ is, Kai. The _thing_ is that we're not royals, _but_ I can brew beer from hell, _and_ bring along wine my grandfather made," says Lambert, tapping the side of his nose wisely "So the thing is…that I think you and I can _really_ get Heimdall to listen to us. I mean, why don't we say: HEY WE ARE BRINGING A PICNIC for you, and who knows what might happen?" And then…then he grins. And he offers a bowl over. More wine, Kai?

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