"Could be worse. At least you aren't literally on fire." Because yeah, he's seen some of those around. Feathers are normal, comparatively. While John tosses the feather away without much thought, the flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye is enough to make Lambert reach out to snatch it out of the air before it can hit the ground. He doesn't think too much about what that probably looks like, or why it feels so satisfying to do that, and mulls over the changeling's words.

"Another one of those showing up is the last thing I need," Lambert mutters, with a fervent conviction. In that light, being considered a stupid mortal thing doesn't seem that unattractive. One True Fae is one fae too many, in his opinion, and he'd be more than happy to never see one again. Somehow, though, he doesn't think he's getting that wish -- not with how things are turning out.

He drains his mug and sets it back down on the table, running the tip of his tongue along his lip before he leans back against the couch.

"So, you really think it'll come down to a fight?" What is that even going to look like? Crows coming down to scratch out peoples' eyes?