1965-02-14 - Enter Strangeness
Summary: Strange comes to visit Elmo and Lindon.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
elmo strange lindon 

Since Lindon has already had Elmo at the manor, there's little harm in having him at the manor again. It's safer than the apartment, and Lindon is going stir crazy working from home by his lonesome while Lamont is off taking care of Lamont things. Though 'alone' might not be entirely on the mark. There are three kittens sprawled on the couch around him in the parlor. One of them is huge for his age, and he lays closest to Lindon, cleaving to his side.

Lindon leans forward to pour Elmo some tea. "So we have the house to ourselves today," he says. "Remind me to show you the library." One of the kittens has sidled over to Elmo to see if his shirt needs any white fur on it.

Elmo taps the kitten on the nose, light as a soap bubble coming to rest, then fuzzles its tiny head. "Which one is this, again?" He can't keep track. Glancing up at Lindon, he smiles. "Library, gotta see the library. That's your big one, right? Well, I guess it's Lamont's, you know what I mean." He is here to keep Lindon company and annoy kittens.

"That's Pyewacket," Lindon says with almost paternal pride. "The shy one is Athena." Athena is tucked on Lindon's other side, leaving him bracketed by kittens. Pye purrs and headbonks Elmo's hand, then attempts to climb on him. She's an intrepid sort. "Actualy a decent portion of it is mine," Lindon says. "The books at the apartment are overflow. I brought in shelves upon shelves when I moved in, but Lamont had quite the collection already." He sips his tea, holding the mug in one hand while his other one stroke Puck's head. Puck purrs loudly.

Elmo scoops up the kitten to let her climb on him without the danger to her (and him) of falling off and trying to stay on with claws. "Pyewacket, ain't that from a book?" Of course it is, everything is from a book, when it's Lindon. "You feeling any better?" he asks, attempting to keep it casual, which fails. He's concerned and there's no hiding it.

"It is," Lindon says. "Lamont named her. They're thick as thieves, those two." In the absence of Lamont, though, Pye's making friends with Elmo, purring up a storm. Lindon watches them with a small smile and says, "I'm doing all right. Trying to remember the merits of boredom, those being free time and no one actively trying to get at me right now." His gaze strays toward a window. "Even so."

Elmo scoffs. "Free time, who needs it. Boredom's the worst." He spends most of his time actively avoiding it, after all. "I don't envy you, Lindele." He's looking at Lindon looking out the window, while the kitten gets her claw stuck in his tie. Carefully he frees her while she mews pitifully.

Lindon is like a sick kid staying home from school looking out the window where other kids are playing. How quintessentially unfair it is! But rather than complain, he says, "It won't be forever." He smiles faintly and looks back to Elmo. Then his features soften at Pye's pathetic mew. "Oh, poor sweetie." Then to Elmo, "She's better at getting into situations than out of them." He's quiet a moment, then adds, "I'm glad you're here. There are so many authors in my collection I'd like your thoughts on."

Elmo slides Lindon an amused look. That man is a sucker for his cats. "Well, she ain't the only one," he says. "Bert wanted—eh, you know what he wanted. Had to turn him down. I'm making stuff bad enough as it is." The offer of more books to read makes him perk up, some. "Yeah? Like who?"

"You don't have to turn him down on my behalf," Lindon says. "I wouldn't even think it's all that weird." Puck flexes his massive paws as he's pet, and the rumbling purr keeps coming. "I don't think you're making anything bad, either. I don't know. You're not making anything bad on this end." As for authors, he replies, "I've the new Bradbury, of course, and there are some lesser known authors."

Time for a check-up! Or check-in. Pick your concept. Either way, the manor's wards likely recognize the nearly-silent roll of a dress shoe's sole upon the front steps. Another step brings the man in the black Belstaff to the front door and there's the knock, following the pattern of: shave-and-a-haircut

…wait for it…

two bits.

It's the good Doctor, of course, standing there with hands in his pockets, waiting to see who's home. He glances over his shoulder to be certain that he's not being followed, purely out of habit. Otherwise, his air is markedly unconcerned as he stands there. The crimson scarf's tassles riffle lightly without the wind. This must be the Cloak in disguise! He shushes it absent-mindedly.

Elmo tips a hand back and forth. "It's not you who'd have the problem. I'm tryin' to make things work with Jay and…I'm doin' a real bad job." He winces to himself. But— "Bradbury, huh? Lemme at 'em." There's the knock and he looks up, then at Lindon.

"Ah, well do what you feel is best there," Lindon says. He smiles at Elmo and pats his knee. "I just want you to know that we're good." Then comes the knock. He exchanges a look with Elmo, then he rises to his feet, courting a complaint from Puck. "The house is well-warded," he explains. "No one could get in who isn't a friend without Lamont knowing of it." He goes to open the door, and Puck slinks after him so that, when Lindon opens the door, Strange has a kitten judging him with clear blue eyes. Lindon smiles to see who it is and says, "Doctor Strange, please come in. I've already made some tea, won't you join us?"

Puck continues to stay close to Lindon as he leads the way to the parlor. "Elmo, this is Dr. Strange. Lamont and I told you about him a little bit? Doctor, this is Elmo Rosencrantz. He's a very dear friend of mine." For various definitions of 'very dear.'

It's Lindon who answers the door and Strange offers a polite smile in return to the greeting.

"I certainly won't say no to a cup of tea. Not with this weather," he says, glad to be stepping in out of the February chill. Metal pins in his hands chime in with their various aches, truly bone-deep. The heat of a hot cuppa always takes the edge off. Puck is given a more sly curve of lips and the Sorcerer clicks his tongue once or twice at the cat in pseudo-affection for the growing kitten. The size is impressive, though Aralune still outweighs him by a good ten pounds of sleek Fae muscle.

His tall form follows behind the Archive and he does recognize the face of the other guest. "Ah, yes, I believe we've met before. The tea shop, if memory serves me correctly." He gives Elmo a subtle nod of greeting, still aloof and dignified in his air. "Good to see you again, Mr. Rosencrantz." Glancing to Lindon again, he asks, "What are you serving then?"

"Yeah, I remember," Elmo says, getting up, with a handful of white kitten. "You wanted to hear what Lindon was saying, with the—" He gestures to his head. "Whatever you call that thing in there. Yeah, nice to see you again. Great suit."

"The vision?" Lindon suggests. He pours Strange a cup of the Ceylon he favors, this blend flavored with black currant. "It's from a blend that on of John's friends brought over once. He's a nice man. He brings me tea and I bring him whiskey." Man, vampire, whatever. He doctors the tea to Strange's tastes, then offers it over. Puck blinks slowly, then hops up on the couch in anticipation of his human's return.

Pye cuddles up to Elmo's chest when he gets up. Lindon says, "I don't remember who was there that night. You, doctor, Elmo, and Lamont? Was Michael there, too?" He calls Morbius by his first name, despite the confusion.

"With the Archival symptoms, yes — and thank you." Strange finishes removing his Belstaff to reveal a light suit-coat overtop his crisp white dress-shirt. Black slacks attract little slivers of cat hair, of course, about the bottoms simply for walking about the manor. Nothing new there, Aralune will shed like a fiend come springtime. The black coat remains slung over his arm, though the scarf unwinds itself from the reverse drape knot of its own volition before the Sorcerer can so much as begin the task himself and lies flat now, each length lying along his lapels. The slow sigh is mitigated by a tight little smile, as if silently stating: you saw nothing. "I had to stop by the hospital briefly to deliver a lecture," he explains to Elmo in regards to the suit.

The cup of tea is accepted from Lindon with a murmured thanks and he sips at it, glad for the seeping of heat into his scarred fingers. "I believe Doctor Morbius was there as well, when this vision occured. Have you had any other visions since?" He remains standing for now.

"Morb was there. Morbius," Elmo corrects himself, and is about to say more when the Scarf moves on its own. His eyebrows go up. "Wow," he says, but Strange's expression dissuades him from going on.

Lindon glances to the scarf, and he smiles a little at the rascal, one relic to another. "Was it a boy or a girl?" he says, of Strange delivering a lecture. Then he laughs a little, lamely, and sits down again. Puck hops onto his lap and curls up, causing Lindon to 'oof' a little. The kitten is going to be a big cat when it grows up. Lindon pets the cat like a Bond villain. "I haven't had any visions since that one, but I'm under lockdown for the moment because one of Hargrove's agents tried to have me kidnapped. Elmo stopped it."

The good Doctor snorts delicately.

"It was a fellow doctor calling in a favor," he replies as Lindon settles into place. "One of the interns has a decidedly antagonistic attitude when it comes to guest lecturers. He didn't hold the attitude for long." Boy, that sliver of a smile is sharky on Strange. Another sip of his tea and he listens to the update. The admission of a foiled kidnapping is cause for a passing stormy glower, but as he looks the Archive over from head to toe, he notes nothing particularly unusual or lingering injuries.

"A wise decision, in regards to staying in a place of safety. I know that Cranston's wards are alert by nature and…there's always the basement." He glances down at the floor. His aura ripples once to those with the Sight, silent greeting to the creature beneath their feet. Otherwise, it just seems as if he's suddenly distracted by the flooring itself. He looks up now, to Elmo, and nods again, more deeply. "You have the thanks of the Sorcerer Supreme. It would have been disastrous if he had fallen into the wrong hands." The scarf moves again, waving fringes at Elmo and the Sorcerer sighs again long-sufferingly. Cheeky relic indeed.

Elmo rolls his eyes at Lindon, fondly. It's a unique expression, paired with a tug of a half-smile. When Strange nods to him and thanks him, he gets flustered, turning a little red around the ears and dropping his gaze. "Eh," he says. "They were twistin' this poor guy's arm. He needed help." He lacks anything in the way of magical perceptions or abilities, but he doesn't need those to see the scarf waving at him, which makes him laugh. "So can I ask, what /is/ that?" indicating the relic.

Lindon grins at Elmo's eye-rolling, and he keeps petting Puck, who purrs and gives both men a look as if to say 'I've got his lap and you don't, chumps.' To some creatures, Lindon-lap is primo real estate! "Yeah, he was a friend from work. They were holding his sick daughter over his head. They think I have the Archive. I don't think they know I'm it. We helped him, though. Well, Elmo's friends did. They healed up his daughter. Lamont's taken them to a safehouse."

"Excellent. Cranston acted precisely as he should have." The Sorcerer glances down as the scarf ripples along, the wave traveling from one fringed end to the other as a sports audience might stand and 'do the wave'. "I suspect they aren't aware of your status, Lindon… Otherwise, the outcome may have been much different. …alright, fine," he grumbles to the crimson relic and rolls his shoulders as if helping to shrug it off.

The scarf lifts from the man's neck and twines about like a celestial dragon in the sky before unfolding in impossible flows of brilliantly-red cloth. It's as if supple carmine ink spreads across the pane of reality itself. Within the matter of two blinks and an intake of breath, the relic settles once more on Strange's shoulders in its natural state, checkered lining and all.

"The Cloak of Levitation," says Strange, by way of introduction. A collar wiggles in greeting once again.

Elmo steps back as the Cloak unfolds itself. "Wow," he repeats, grinning openly now. "Nice to meet ya, Cloak." Pyewacket watches with big eyes, reaching out with a paw. Elmo looks at Lindon, like 'can you believe this?', honestly delighted. "That's pretty ginchy. Anyway, yeah. My team's got a healer. We got Jim's daughter fixed up." His delight fades. "God, I'm glad I didn't have to hurt him. When I saw the gun, I didn't know what I was gonna have to do."

"Isn't it amazing,?" Lindon says to Elmo as the Cloak unfurls. Hey, relics have to stick together. Lindon glances to Pye with a warm smile. Intrepid kitten! Then his features grow more serious as Elmo mentions the gun. "I was out of it for that part," he says quietly. "The guy had something cast on him that would neutralize the Archive when he touched it and I kind of lost my mind for awhile." He shakes his head and sighs quietly. But then he says, "You guys got a name though, didn't you? From Jim? The guy who put him up to it. What was it? Hurling? No, uh… Haley? That's not it. I could have sworn I heard a name, though."

The Cloak deigns to lift up a rounded corner and pokes back at the kitten's reaching paw — boop, it's a little pat, before it settles down at the sternest look from Strange yet. Oops, mustn't annoy the Master. He takes a formal step backwards before upturning his palm off to one side. A graceful break of the wrist, complete with a precisely-formalated mudra, allows him to rise from the floor itself. Not too far up, but hey, he's beyond the immediate reach of the kittens. Settling an ankle on a knee, he leans back against the support of the relic and sips at his tea again. It seems he's sitting in an invisible chair, albeit four feet off the ground.

"Do you hear that, you're amazing. Settle down now?" The Cloak pats his cheek with a collar and its master shakes his head the slightest. "Relics," he mutters. "I don't recognize either of those names, unfortunately, Lindon." His bright eyes flick to Elmo now.

The kitten mews because her new friend is going away! Elmo sets her down, observing dryly, "S'why it's the cloak of /levitation/, I guess." Straightening up, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, selfconscious. Strange, the handsome and powerful, is watching him, and it makes him nervous. "Hayden. Hayden Spurling. I wrote it down."

"That's right," Lindon says. "Hayden Spurling. Remind me to meditate on the name. I see nothing when I take a casual look, save that it's not a terribly common name. I suspect he's a minion rather than some kind of confidante. Still, having a name is better than nothing, right?" He smiles a little, apologetic. He hasn't been delving a lot lately lest the Abyss gaze back at him.

Lindon takes the levitating and such in stride. Strange is impressive, and Lindon sits up a little taller when he's there. The Cloak however is a familiar acquaintance. "Doctor, I hope you don't mind, I gave Elmo contact information in case something really bad happens and Lamont isn't available. He and I have been spending quite a bit of time around each other lately." Elmo gets a small, sly smile.

"Spurling…" Strange echoes in a thoughtful baritone. He commits to taking a longer drink of his tea, appreciating the nuances of dark summer berries intermixed with the notes of the black tea. The honey helps to smooth any edges from the tongue. A squint beyond the immediate walls of the manor reveals a quick flickering through mental files. "Indeed, a name can imbue significance, though…nothing comes to immediate mind. If I think of any pertinent connections to the name, I'll be certain to pass them along — and no, Lindon, I'm not concerned that you passed along a means to reach me. If Cranston is unavailable, it is logical to contact me." After all, as Sorcerer Supreme and keeper of many relics, he is next in line to vouchsafe the Archive. Those darkly-lashed eyes shift to Elmo once again; if he's paying close enough attention, he might catch the vaguest light-play about the Sorcerer's pupils, a faint flooding of ultraviolet glow, a natural state when the Arts are at play.

"I suggest giving me a phone call first, Mr. Rosencrantz. I may not answer; you may get my Consort, Wanda, instead and she has the means to contact me even when I am beyond this world and reality. If neither of us are present to answer, I suggest meditation followed by a call of my mantle title: Sorcerer Supreme. It may reach me through the Astral Plane."

"Lindon," Elmo protests in an undertone, turning totally red now. Does he really have anything to be embarrassed about? Maybe it's just that Lindon's showing him off a little bit in front of this exotic stranger. He's avoiding Strange's eyes, but glances back in time to see the delicate glow. It makes his own eyes get wider. "Uh. Meditate? I don't, uh, I don't know how to do that."

"I can teach you how to meditate," Lindon says. "I do it all the time to quiet my mind. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me sane." He scritches Puck under the chin, and Puck looks so smug. Aw yeah, chin scritches. Pye meanwhile hops up on the couch where her sister is sleeping peacefully, and she pounces on her, biting her ear. That's it. It's on. They start trying to maul one another. Lindon clucks his tongue, but he knows better than to get in the middle of those two. "How is Wanda these days?" Lindon asks, all innocence.

"I suggest that you both take the time to review this practice," says the Sorcerer once the offer to teach Elmo is mentioned by the Archive. "As Lindon said, it quiets the mind at the very least. In the case of reaching me beyond the telephone, it may be the only method available to you, Mr. Rosencrantz. It could even mean the difference between life and death." No pressure, man.

Kitten spats warrant an amused smirk briefly and then his attention's back on Lindon. "I feel comfortable speaking in her place as to her contentment. Reality is stable. I believe she's looking forwards to the cold weather breaking and the coming of spring. We're due for a walk in the botanical gardens." Who's interested in garden walks now? Reality or the Witch? …both? He sips at his tea and pauses before swallowing his mouthful. "Did I say Consort earlier? I meant fiancee." There's the news, in case Lamont hadn't passed on word to Lindon.

"Okay," Elmo says, gamely, like this isn't simultaneously embarassing and weird. "Sure. How hard can it be." This talk of reality and the stability thereof makes him shoot Lindon another glance, brow furrowed. Is it just him or does almost nothing Strange say make any sense?

Lindon's eyes widen. "Fiancee! Congratulations to you both." Lindon may have a quasi-crush on Strange's squeeze, but he show genuine pleasure at the prospect of an engagement. After all, it must make her very happy. Lindon catches Elmo's glance, and he leans over to give Elmo's hand a squeeze. Subtle, he isn't. Dr Strange must be one of those he deems 'safe' in all this mess. "You get used to it," he says. "When you keep company with men who treat reality as a mere serving suggestion."

"Thank you," Strange replies, his smile small but true and prideful as they come. Preen, peacock, preen. "Nothing is set in stone, but I'm certain that details will come with time." Lindon's last suggestion is enough to entice a low laugh from the Sorcerer. "Nonsense, Lindon, you're going to convince him that I can do things like invert gravity or make it rain fire upon my very whim." He hides away the grin as best he can behind finishing the last of his tea. "Besides, that particular trick belongs to the Witch moreso than myself," he adds, revealing his teeth in a foxy smirk. Yep, that's pride again. Uncurling his rested leg, he suddenly drops to the floor, landing with a surprisingly light thump for the speed of descent. The tea cup is set aside on a table and he glances at the Cloak. "Alright, you know the rules."

Can a drapery in crimson sigh? Consider that it does as it lifts from his shoulders and shrinks down into that very ordinary-looking scarf once more. It settles about his neck and curls like a friendly serpent, even knotting itself skillfully.

"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. If you'll excuse me, I can sense something that needs attending. Please pass word to Cranston that I need to speak with him." Uh oh, fauxpprentice called to the office, ooooooooh. With one final nod to each, he draws up a Gate to the Loft proper and then steps through it. The spark-crackle of the portal fizzles out and leaves reality as it was moments ago.

Elmo watches Strange's teleportation theatrics with growing bemusement. He glances at Lindon with a quick smile, squeezing his hand back. "What a showoff," he says, without censure. "Guess if I was some hotshot sorcerer, I'd show off, too." He leans over to kiss Lindon's brow. "Helps me feel better, knowin' people like him and Lamont are looking out for you."

"Elmo, that's the Sorcerer Supreme," Lindon says in a low tone, still a little starstruck even though he's known Strange for awhile now. A showoff indeed! Well, okay. Lindon relents, "He is somewhat showy. Maybe a little." Kittens end up scampering up and around his shoulders in their ongoing war, and he captures Pye, the ringleader. Holding her up, he tells her, nose to nose, "You're a rambunctious little sweetie." Yeah, that'll learn her good. Pye pats at his nose with her paw and mews, and he puts her down again. He then rises to his feet, sweeping Puck up in his arms. Purr purr purr. "Let's go see the library," he says.

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