lostcarnival | all we need is a magic formula, a whole new backbone

Strange had talked with Childermass first. He had to, the man deserved to know before anyone else did. But, now that their conversation had finished, Strange realized Lambert deserved to know as well. So, it was thanks to a series of spells that Strange found Lambert's location, found a nearby puddle, and cast the magic to appear from the puddle, water that someone had splashed up from the hot spring.

Unfortunately, nowhere in this magic did Strange connect the dots that Lambert was at the hot springs. If asked, he'll blame his tiredness--because hoo boy does Strange look tired. He seems paler than usual and his messy hair can't hide the bags under his eyes.

"Please tell me you're wearing trousers," he grumbles, not even bothering to announce his presence. After all, either Lambert will smell him or the medallion will hum at the magic used, he doesn't have to do things like 'make a visible approach' or 'get Lambert's attention in a different way.'

Siobhan arrives through the puddle as well. There's a moment before she lazily swims over towards Celandine, seeming just as tired as her other half is. Still, that doesn't stop her from giving the polecat an affectionate nudge with her nose.

As it happens, Lambert is wearing shorts under the water, as he proves by rising to his feet at the hum of his medallion against his chest (because of course he's wearing it even now). Once he realizes it's just Strange, though, he relaxes -- Celandine is much quicker on the uptake, though she makes a squawk of protest when Siobhan noses her.

He's about to say something snarky, possibly something disparaging, when the state of the magician actually registers a beat later and he frowns. "What happened to you? You didn't try to get on that island, did you?"

Strange gives Lambert a small smile. Ah. Yes. He looks like shit and he knows it. Strange stays away from the water, a good enough distance that he won't get splashed when Lambert comes out of the water.

"I went home," he answers. And the small smile just shifts to a more gentle and relieved one. "I saved her. I saved Arabella."

For as simple as the words are, they elicit a very different reaction from the witcher and his daemon. Both of them freeze for a moment, looking at Strange and Siobhan without comprehension, before they burst into action, though to no surprise, it's to do quite different things. Lambert lurches out of the hot springs with a splash, face flushing as he gets ready to yell Strange's ear off, while Celandine drops onto Siobhan's back and clings on, chittering with distress.

"You did what?!" "Are you okay?!" They speak at the same time, one worried and one unbelievably pissed. Lambert comes to a stop in front of Strange dripping water and hand raised to fist into his shirt, though he holds back at the last minute, searching his expression for any sign he's being fucked with, here.

"Explain," he demands, after a moment. Sorry, Strange, this is kind of a lot to process right now.

Edited 2017-09-26 00:01 (UTC)

There's not any sign that Strange is messing with Lambert. His expression is a mix of sincere, tired, and downright confused. Because what? This is good news! Why the hell does Lambert sound so angry at him? Shouldn't the witcher be happy to hear that?

"It's a long story," Strange explains, taking a step backwards because he'd like to stay dry, thank you very much. "But to sum it all up, I asked the Ringmaster if I could return home to accomplish what I needed to do. I've been contemplating it ever since the Summerlands but it was only here that Siobhan and I could talk it out and I came to that conclusion. I returned to Venice, went into faerie, and freed Arabella from her enchantment before returning her to our realm. I had some help, of course."

His expression brightens for a moment as Strange just looks so rapt and a little awestruck, confusion fading from his face. "The magic that I did to save her! I doubt my marriage means that much to you, but how I wish you could have seen that."

While he talks, Siobhan floats back towards dry land, landing softly so she can lay down while Celandine...does whatever polecats do. Though, laying down is easier for sloppy seal cuddles which is Siobhan's end goal. "We're fine now," she mutters, more for Celandine's sake than the other two men. "Cursed, of course, but still fine."

Lambert listens to it all without interrupting Strange, though his expression grows increasingly stormy as he goes on. If Strange thought nattering on was the way to placate Lambert, he'd clearly forgotten more in the short time he's been away than he even realizes. Because sure, it's good to know Strange has apparently saved his wife, but first of all, was he ever planning on telling Lambert he was going in the first place? He'd been planning this?

Witcher hearing, of course, picks up the one relevant word all too clearly from the murmured conversation off to the side, and his tail lashes, sending a spray of water droplets flying.

"Did he go mad again? What do you mean, cursed?" The questions are directed Siobhan, since she's the clearly not the one with the bulk of the crazy here. Never mind that Celandine is practically plastered to her, fur prickling as she stares between the magician and the seal unhappily.

Siobhan doesn't move, instead giving Lambert a frown from where she's laying. "We mean cursed," she simply says, before turning her attention back to Celandine, turning her head slightly so that she can look at the polecat. "If you wish to know, then I'll tell you and you can do what you want with that. He'll just shout at me but not do anything."

But then again, what could Lambert do in the first place? Absolutely nothing about the situation, which both seal and magician know the witcher won't take well at all Strange has joked about it before, but Lambert's method of solving problems tends to boil down to hit it until it stops moving. The witcher wouldn't take well to the problem being something he can't solve.

"Lambert, it doesn't matter," Strange pleads, knowing full well that it does matter and this is the reason why Lambert looks so angry at him. "I brought magic back to England, I summoned the Raven King, and most importantly, I saved Arabella. Shouldn't that matter more than a faerie's curse?"

Lambert looks at Strange like that's a stupid fucking question.

"That's a stupid fucking question!" he shouts, ignoring Siobhan, who Celandine has clung to all the tighter as the magician's gone on. (Tight enough that those little blunt claws might be pricking that blubber a little, assuming she can actually feel it -- sorry, Siobhan.)

"What am I supposed to say, 'I'm happy you got everything you wanted and got cursed'?! You couldn't have said something?" He hadn't even noticed he was gone, and the thought makes him all the angrier. "I thought you were--" The witcher cuts himself off sharply, turning away and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Lambert," Celandine says, quietly. She's been steadily shrinking in on herself as Lambert yells his ire for all the Carnival to hear, but finally finds her voice, untucking herself from the seal and drifting back over. She shoots Siobhan a look -- she could have told her they were leaving, too! -- but he comes first. She perches on his shoulder, ignoring the hand that comes up to try and shove her away, and aggressively cuddles against his neck, murmuring something too soft to hear.

Edited 2017-09-30 21:55 (UTC)

His expression turns on a dime as Lambert continues yelling, going from pleading to annoyed as Strange just glares. Because Lambert knows. Lambert knows how important Arabella is to him, Lambert knows how important magic is to him, Lambert knows how important the Raven King is to him. Yes, Strange did get cursed. But shouldn't all the wonderful things that happened outweigh that in the first place? Lambert doesn't even know the nature of the curse in the first place!

As Lambert yells at him, Strange stands strong, fists clenched and claws digging into the palm of his hand. He had to just keep telling himself that he should have expected this. This is Lambert. If he couldn't deal with a problem by stabbing it to death, then he would try and deal with it by yelling. And the damned fool didn't realize this wasn't a problem he could solve in the first place.

Though that half-finished statement grabs Strange's attention more than Lambert probably wanted to. "Finish your thought," he calmly responds. "You thought I was what?"

Siobhan, who hadn't moved while Celandine clung onto her back, still doesn't move but looks from witcher to polecat to magician, as if weighing the options of what to do next.

"It doesn't matter," Lambert snaps, defensively, rearing back and away like he's been struck. Celandine, digging her claws into his shoulder to avoid being shaken off, practically resembles a puffball in her distress, is far more candid. If he isn't listening to her, maybe Strange will.

"Our friend." That gets Lambert to pay attention, a half-formed protest at the back of his throat; she slaps a paw over his mouth before he can get any further.

"Shut up. You want to still be friends, don't you?" And to Strange-- "Can you give us a minute to talk? He isn't Childermass, you know."

Well that's unexpected. The anger fades from Strange's face at Celandine's remark and Lambert's reaction to it. He was expecting something like I thought you were smarter than that, I thought you weren't mad, not I thought you were our friend. It's right back to pleading from Strange, though the hint of irritation still lingers in his voice.

"It's precisely because we are friends that I didn't say something! You—" But if Strange is ignoring Celandine's request, Siobhan isn't. With a huffy little sigh, she swims through the air, stopping in between Strange and Lambert. There's nothing like a buffer for conversation like a four hundred pound seal suddenly in your way, so Strange's protests die off.

"We aren't going anywhere," Siobhan calmly remarks, looking directly at Celandine. "Take as long as you need."

'As long as you need' turns out to be less of a minute and more like ten minutes -- heads bowed as the witcher and his daemon engaged in vicious, hissing conversation at the edge of one of the hot springs, with the occasional nip from and cursing from Lambert. Yet the literal distance from the situation, or just getting to take out his anger on something he can't actually hurt, cools him down far faster than even Lambert himself expected.

Assuming Strange and Siobhan haven't stalked off in disgust in the meantime, Lambert and Celandine will finally rejoin them, the witcher having sulkily retrieved his clothes from wherever he put them and pulled his shirt back on. He still looks faintly murderous, but it's in less of a specifically directed at Strange way and more of a normal Lambert level of resenting the world and everything in it.

"We think," Celandine speaks for both of them, even as Lambert scowls and looks away, "It would be better to talk about this somewhere else."

Start with the simple stuff and go from there, right? Besides, it's not lost on Lambert how shitty Strange looks. Steaming hot springs probably aren't helping any.

Edited 2017-10-01 05:06 (UTC)

The conversation between the magician and his daemon goes much smoother. In fact, Strange and Siobhan talk for about a minute and a half. There's a lot less biting and a lot less cursing because honestly, Strange is damn tired. Now that he doesn't have to expend so much energy defending himself and yelling at Lambert, then he's not going to use that energy in the first place. Especially since, Lambert being Lambert, he's most likely going to end up using that energy to yell at the witcher later.

That's why, when Lambert and Celandine return, they'll find Strange and Siobhan on the ground, Strange trying to nap and trying to use the seal as a pillow. "Jonathan," Siobhan mutters, before nudging Strange with one of her flippers. Blinking slightly, Strange gets to his feet, right as Celandine asks for them to talk about this somewhere else.

Well. At least Lambert still wants to talk about this.

"As you wish," Strange simply remarks, stifling a yawn. "Do you want to go back to one of our trailers? I know there's an open puddle near the supervisor's grove—if I use my magic, it would be faster than walking." And considering how awful Strange looks, he really doesn't want to walk right now.

'Mad hobo' really isn't a good look on Strange, but Lambert nods, stiffly. Whatever Celandine's talked him down to, at least he's willing to be cooperative, and he feels a little guilty seeing Strange so obviously exhausted (but well, they can fix that).

"More room in mine, so let's go." Plus, unlike Strange, he doesn't have to worry about disturbing a roommate, so it's what makes the most logical sense overall. Though Celandine will chime in on that:

"Do you still have the gem the Ringmaster gave you? The one that shows you memories of your wife?" Lambert and her both suspect Strange would rather cut off his right arm than lose that thing, but she has to ask... "Maybe you could use it to show us what happened."

That, and from Strange's reaction to it last time ... nothing calms him down and lifts his mood faster than that freaking thing, no matter how much it creeps them out.

As Celandine mentions the gem, an expression comes over Strange's face like he just realized the gem could be used in that manner. Right. He could tune it to certain memories, he could use it to show Lambert him rescuing Arabella. Of course, he'd still have to explain a lot, but at least he wouldn't have to explain everything.

"I do," Strange responds, with a nod. "But it's back in my trailer. I'll drop us off in the supervisor's grove, then grab the jewel and come to yours." And, while he's there, he can grab a few items that he's been meaning to give Lambert: some books from the Ringmaster and some jewelry from Greysol.

"Make certain your mirror isn't blocked," Siobhan chimes in, looking at Celandine. He should be able to travel from puddle to puddle then mirror to mirror but really, the easiest Lambert could make this, the better.

"We will," Celandine promises. Lambert usually turns his to face the wall, like an asshole, but with so many teleportation-happy magicians for coworkers, he has to take what precautions he can.

Of course, accepting the offer of a ride means he has to take it in the first place, so... once they shuffle over to the puddle to take them through, Lambert offers him his hand a bit awkwardly.

Idly, Strange has to wonder if part of the conversation Lambert and Celandine had ended up with the polecat biting the witcher until Lambert actually shut up. Because he is being remarkably quiet during this conversation.

Still, at least he's not whining about the whole magical teleportation thing. Taking Lambert's hand, Strange can't help but give it a bit of a gentle squeeze. And then a few uttered words later, the humans and daemons are pulled through this puddle, to one in the supervisor's grove, behind one of the spare trailers. "I'll be back," Strange explains, before walking away from Lambert, towards the main tent area.

It takes him about five minutes before Strange returns, passing through the mirror into Lambert's trailer. Thankfully, he doesn't knock over anything on any counters in front of the mirror or anything else in the way. Looks like Strange has gotten better at this. Siobhan floats through the mirror also. She's got an expensive looking necklace from Greysol in her mouth while Strange is holding two books in one hand and his creepy wife gem in the other.

"Ah, Celandine?" And Siobhan gives Strange a little nod like yup, that's the daemon's name, you remembered right. He calls out, loud enough for the polecat to hear. "Celandine, would you mind grabbing the necklace from Siobhan? Lambert, these books are for you as well."

This is not a bribe in the slightest (okay it's kind of a bribe).

The answers is a lot, a lot of biting. Strange will find the mirror turned facing out and placed against a wall, the bathroom pointedly lit. When Lambert hears the first thump of feet come through, he calls from further inside:

"Through here."

What passes for a living room is set up with a couches and a table, Lambert and his daemon occupying one side and Siobhan and Strange clearly meant to take up the other. They both look up, only to start in surprise when they see what they're carrying.

"What's this?" Lambert asks in confusion. Celandine, being that lizard part of his brain that only exists to adore shiny things now, launches herself directly at the other daemon to take the necklace, exactly as requested.

"Gifts!"

As Celandine launches herself towards Siobhan, the seal drops the necklace so that Celandine can grab it...and then just straight up attempts to grab the polecat with her flippers and draw her into an awkward hug. Because Strange might not have said it during their earlier conversation, but it really is nice to see Lambert again, after that time back home.

He can't help but smile gently at the daemons' antics before turning back towards Lambert and walking over towards the main area. "I still owe you for my book. So, I pawned most of my Portland attire and that was enough to buy the necklace. These," said as he sets the two books on the table, "I asked from the Ringmaster when I asked for a few texts for myself. And yes, both of them are gifts."

The books are two different books on military strategy in the peninsular campaign. Granted, running a group of five or so is different than running an entire army. But perhaps they might be able to help somehow. After all, for all of Lambert's talk about being a witcher, being literally made to kill things, and so on and so forth, Strange never really heard the man talk about working with others. Even now, Strange hasn't fully shaken his grudging admiration for Wellington: the man could be an ass, but he won them the war. Even if Lambert could get only one piece of strategy or advice from the books, then it was worth asking for them.

Celandine squirms, of course, but the protest is half-hearted at best. She doesn't really mind being held, even if it embarrasses Lambert how honest she can be. Of course, it's not going to entirely distract her from trying to inspect the necklace while she's being flipper-hugged.

Strange's explanation distracts Lambert from worrying too much about it, anyway. His brow knots in confusion, picking up one of the books curiously, then snorting when he reads the title.

"You know we're not an army, right?" He only vaguely remembering the conversation they'd had what feels like a lifetime ago about this topic, but he does remember that it did come up. Despite the complaint, he still flips the book open, skimming through the pages with a wry smile. It looks even more dense and guaranteed to put him to sleep than Strange's book.

Guess what Celandine, it is still time for hugs, as Siobhan just isn't really letting go. She can inspect the necklace while being hugged at the same time, the polecat won't mind!

As Lambert picks up one of the books, Strange just flops down on the couch. And hoo boy does he look tired. It's a sort of tired where Lambert had better be careful, otherwise Strange is liable to fall asleep on the couch then and there.

"I know," he simply explains, matching Lambert's wry smile with one of his own. "But I couldn't think of any examples of someone leading a small battalion important enough that a book could be written about it." Because of course Strange defaults to books as the answer. Try as he may to ignore it, he's a big huge nerd.

Although she squeaks again, Celandine will continue examining the necklace and let herself be held. Lambert can't even look embarrassed; the interaction between the daemons soothes a part of him he hadn't even realized was ruffled, and as the polecat settles down, so does he.

"Probably because they all died," he will say though, ungraciously, because it's just not him without giving Strange some shit. "That doesn't make for a very inspiring story." Maybe if he runs out of strategy, he could always hit them with one of these. They seem solid enough, after all. He knows Strange well enough to recognize the spirit in what its meant, and it's still touching.

However, he's not going to forget why they're here in the first place, and Lambert sets the book down gently before leaning back in his seat. "Are we going to need drinks for this?" It kind of sounds like he's going to need drinks, at least.

Edited 2017-10-12 02:32 (UTC)

There's a moment or two more of hugging before Siobhan loosens her grip, letting Celandine wriggle free if she wants. Of course, if Celandine doesn't wish to wriggle free, the seal hugs will continue. It's just so nice to be close to someone again, after all that time that he wasn't. Logically, Strange knows that it must have only been a few weeks, maybe a month or so that he was in the darkness, but it felt like an eternity. Just her reaction, that feeling of his daemon being so close to someone else, is enough to fill Strange's desire for contact and closeness.

Aaaaand then Lambert mentions drinks. It's a bit hilarious how Strange's expression goes from calm to annoyed to resigned.

"We're going to need plenty of drinks," Strange gripes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid this is a long story with far too many players I'll have to explain." He knows that this conversation is going to end with Lambert yelling at him somehow. After all, the story involves a laundry list of mistakes that Strange has made, it's only a question as to which of them is going to serve as the breaking point for Lambert.

Why can't he just focus on all the cool shit Strange did instead? He saved his wife! That's amazing! And he brought magic back to England, which of Lambert's sorceresses could change the shape of magic itself?

Celandine doesn't really try to wriggle away after that -- at least, she doesn't put a serious effort in. She's more honest than Lambert in some ways, but she does try not to look overeager.

Strange's response has Lambert snorting, getting to his feet. If he's going to be yelling, may as well not get thirsty during it. English magic's a headache, as far as he can tell, and Strange is a headache himself, and on top of the curse business he has yet to explain? Triple headache.

He returns with a pair of whiskey glasses, pours them both a generous measure, and pushes one across the table to Strange.

"If it's going to be a long story, you'd better start or we'll be here all night."

Taking the measure of whiskey, Strange just straight up downs it. This...is going to take a while and he knows it. His expression is odd, a mixture of not wanting to talk about it but resigned to the fact that he is going to talk about what happened back home. After all, this is Lambert. He deserves to know this.

"You know that I arrived here mad. Unfortunately, that meant when I returned back to England, I returned just as mad as I was when I arrived. Any memories of the carnival were shunted away with the pineapples and the cats." Said as if that's a perfectly logical sentence and Lambert should know what he's talking about—though Strange visibly shudders as he mentions pineapples. He still loathes the things.

"You also know that Arabella was captured by a fae, kidnapped away to faerie. I found a way to enter the realm of faerie and, while I was there, confronted the gentleman who took her. It ended poorly." Understatement of the century. "I was cursed, trapped in a pillar of darkness."

Lambert, for once, is not so quick to throw his glass back. Celandine settles down, too, looking over to Strange with concern, then up at Siobhan. She doesn't need to be told she wasn't there with the magician -- it would be a very different story if she had, probably.

"A pillar of darkness," the witcher echoes, frowning. "What does that actually mean? And if you were trapped there, how did you get back?"

"It means what I say it means," Strange explains, not at all helpfully. Though he will pause, frown, then try again. After all, it's not Lambert's fault that he wasn't there.

"The spell was tied to my being—I could move around all I wished, traveling from Venice to Yorkshire, going through the city, et cetera. But I was surrounded by eternal night. Obviously I couldn't see what the shape of the spell looked like, but others called it a pillar or a tower. Others could also enter and leave if they so chose—with a few exceptions, but I shall explain that later. But there was no way to dispel the darkness, remove it from my person, or break the spell. Likewise, the longer I remained in the spell, the faster it started to kill me."

And Strange pauses again. Partly to make certain that Lambert understands everything, partly because this is Lambert, he might deal with the news that Strange almost died by shouting at him.

Lambert's scowl suggests he'd very much like to yell at Strange, but Celandine's already slipped out of seal flippers to push him back against the couch where he's begun to lean forward.

"You asked, didn't you?" She chides. "Let him finish first, then we can yell at him." Which, you know, isn't the most reassuring thing, but it's the best she's got right now.

It still takes a few moments for Lambert to wrestle down the impulse to grab Strange and shake him, but he does eventually settle on--

"Well, you're obviously not dead now." He folds his arms, frowning. "What'd you do, make another contract?" That shouldn't be possible, not by the rules the Ringmaster seems to play by.

He knew there was going to be yelling, he just knew it. Though thankfully, the tiny little polecat is at least staving off the yelling for a little bit.

"Thank you, Celandine," Strange simply says, giving the polecat a little nod. "The curse didn't affect me while I was in Faerie. As the enchanter used elements from Earth, the curse only struck me there—and I believe he only used elements from my Earth, explaining why the spell hasn't affected me in Greysol. I believe that's the loophole that's keeping me alive and well in the carnival." And Strange could go on and on about loopholes and certain texts and the importance of specificity and what have you. But the effort would be wasted on Lambert, so he doesn't.

"Truth be told, I've no reason why the spell is still on me, as Norrell and I helped to kill the enchanter." Surprise, they assisted in faerie murder. It really is amazing how more and more parts unravel from this story the longer Strange talks about it.

"Don't thank me yet," the little polecat says ominously. "I'm still deciding if I should bite you, too, you know."

Nonetheless, they both settle in for the duration of the story, though of course it won't be long before it's interrupted again.

"Shows how much you know about breaking curses," Lambert responds, thoroughly unimpressed. Is it a little impressive that Strange apparently helped kill a fae? Sure, but he got himself friggin cursed in the process, that's less impressive!

"It doesn't always end when you kill the caster. Otherwise, don't you think people would solve all their magic problems by stabbing them?" Well, that's how Lambert solves most of his problems, but! "Dying curses are a thing, you know. Guess you lucked out on that loophole." He frowns. "Until your contract ends and you go home."

Strange just gives Lambert a look. Because yeah, he knows that Lambert solves most of his magic problems by stabbing it, he can't really talk.

"Of course I don't know much about breaking curses. My world just received English magic back and Norrell probably thinks that curses aren't respectable." It's hard to know about something when you don't have much practical experience with it.

"And the curse was cast before the enchanter died. That fae cursed me, Norrell and I rescued Arabella and killed the fae, the curse continued. Assuming dying curses means 'curses cast when one is dying,' this isn't it." Strange is just getting more and more comfortable as the conversation goes on, settling down in his chair as he continues to talk shop with Lambert. He's enjoyed bouncing ideas off of Norrell, but Lambert had different experiences and different thought processes that he could never recreate with the other magician.

"When you're dying, I'd say respectability ought to be the least of your worries," the witcher answers dryly.

Lambert isn't a sorceress, so he can't approach this the way another magic user might -- but he does have some experience trying to clean up their messes. He takes another drink while Strange speaks, slouching down and frowning.

"How'd he cast the curse?" is what he'll start with instead. That's simple enough to start with. "I mean -- can you describe what he was saying or doing?"

Edited 2017-10-26 22:36 (UTC)

"He gestured at me and said...something." What an amazing answer. Strange knows that's a shit answer so he continues, frowning slightly. "A flurry of leaves surrounded me and I vanished from his realm back to my apartment in Venice. Only this time, I was surrounded by the darkness of the curse."

The more details come into this story, the more it becomes apparent that Jonathan Strange had no clue what the fuck he was doing. He owes so much of his survival to simple dumb luck.

"Of course, he was a fae in his own realm when the curse was cast. I imagine it was as easy for him to cast the curse as it is for the Ringmaster to shuffle things around here."

Lambert's expression says volumes about how highly he rates that answer, but he won't call that out for now, drumming his clawtips on his glass and obviously thinking.

"Was Arabella there when he cast it?" He asks, finally. Celandine did ask Strange to bring the gem, and he looks at her now -- she nods in turn. Now's a good time to whip it out as any, and the witcher gestures at the table.

"Show us as much as you can remember."

Edited 2017-10-28 23:39 (UTC)

Strange shook his head. "She was there when the faerie was killed, not when the curse was cast. However, since I've a feeling you'll ask about that as well, I should probably show you anyway."

Placing the gem upright in his palm, Strange closes his eyes, thinking of the specific memory. It's so easy now to think of the memory and use the gem's magic to show it. Could he make it be this specific before? Strange isn't too sure. Madness and the darkness really have changed him, in new ways Strange hadn't expected. The memory starts to play.

And look, you've seen the canon, it's basically the scene where Stephen Black's opening a can of whoopass on the Gentleman with thistle-down hair. Problem is, that's happening entirely in the background: the main focus of the memory is Strange smooching Arabella, talking with Arabella, and shoving her through a mirror. And, true to form, Strange is slowly starting to ignore Lambert as he focuses on the memory.

If Lambert had the vocabulary for it, he'd say this is a bit like those internet videos where someone's filming something totally innocuous on their home camera without realizing there's a rando taking a dump in the background. At any rate, since he doesn't, he's unfortunately stuck trying to squint around the memory of Strange smooching his wife (why did you have to close your eyes at that part, Strange, that was actually the potentially useful one!) until he's to the point where he has to give up and genuinely focus on what Strange is doing there.

"Why'd you stay behind?" Lambert asks, quizzically, looking at Strange with raised brows. "You couldn't have left through the mirror, too?"

And Strange shook his head. "The pathway through the mirror was made just for Arabella, tailored to keep out any resident of faerie that wanted to pay Venice a visit." Especially considering that the exit through the mirror is in the living room of one Flora Greysteel. Poor Flora's been though enough as is, dealing with all of Strange's mad bullshit, he's not going to leave her in the clutches of the fae.

"Besides, I wasn't going to leave Norrell." Since Lambert has no idea what Norrell even looks like, Strange gestures to him in the background of the memory...only to realize that no, Norrell isn't even visible right now, there's just too much kissing going on.

"Well, he's in there somewhere," Strange lamely finishes.

"Seems like you could have planned that better," Lambert answers, dryly. But then again, if Strange was already cursed, that could have gone poorly. Nonetheless, he and Celandine both settle down as the memory continues to play out. When Strange gestures weakly, Lambert finally bursts out into a guffaw, meaning Celandine will have to say what he's thinking for both of them.

"Talk about a one-track mind!" the polecat snickers, hopping onto the table like it'll give her a better view of what's going on, but nope, it's just endless smooching. "How'd you ever get any magic done?"

Edited ( ) 2017-11-08 23:29 (UTC)

"We broke apart eventually," Strange grumbles. And then, as if on cue, the memory continues. In the memory, Strange breaks apart from Arabella, just looking so damn happy as the conversation continues. The mirror is a passage for you, it's made for you alone. I'm not going to leave you, Jonathan (and oh does Strange's calm expression falter a little bit on that).

And that sure is a dude getting trapped in a tree in the background. It's a damn pity that the metaphorical camera isn't lingering on him.

"I did plan it better, by the way. But something or someone dismantled those plans." A someone by the name of Henry Lascelles, the jerkwad. "This was taking the remnants of those plans and finding a way to make them run as smoothly as possible."

Looking at the scene is a little uncomfortable for long. Celandine glances between the witcher and the magician, then heads for Siobhan instead, the necklace from earlier now loosely looped around her furry neck as she scurries up onto the other daemon to nuzzle against her.

"Well, it looks like it turned out about as well as any of your plans ever do." And then Arabella's being pushed into the mirror, and because she's no longer in the frame, the memory ends. Lambert reaches over to pick up the bottle, raising a brow at Strange as he tops up his glass again. He isn't good at sympathy, but he sure can be good with distributing alcohol, if nothing else.

"So. That was a thing."

"That was a thing indeed."

Lambert's rubbish at sympathy. But Strange knows Lambert's rubbish at sympathy. The other man doesn't have to say 'I'm sorry you lost your wife again' for Strange to realize that Lambert's sorry Strange lost his wife again. Strange downs his glass as Siobhan moves a flipper to pull Celandine back towards her.

"The mirror trick worked, by the way. I managed to talk to Bell again, through a reflection—that magic works better than I thought," he adds on, as a bit of useless commentary. Talking to Arabella across realms...he had no idea he could do that to begin with. "She's safe."

Lambert's lucky Strange knows how to read between the lines like that. Celandine sighs, huffing against the larger daemon, but doesn't interject.

"You can talk to people through mirrors now, too?" Lambert raises his brows. That mostly sounds like a whole new way for Strange to annoy people, but also something they could use for the nightrunners, sometime. But even he knows that's not the thing to say right now...

"Safe, but her husband's stuck with a curse," he points out, dryly. Sorry, Strange, he just can't let that go. "Can't imagine shes too happy about that. But considering you're alive, that's probably a better outcome than anyone else who's tried."

"Through any reflection, not just mirrors." And that's how Strange yelling at Lambert via puddle inevitably happens. And oh, here we go, back to pointing out the whole 'Strange is technically cursed' bit. Honestly, the fact that Lambert is so hung up on that detail is damn annoying...but then again, it's also damn touching. After all, he wouldn't keep mentioning it if it didn't annoy him and it wouldn't annoy him so much if Strange was just a random carnival worker.

"Better a cursed husband than a dead one. In finding a way to destroy the faerie that held Arabella captive, Norrell and I have done what was once thought impossible for magicians. Of course we shall find a way to return to England."

"So we hope," Siobhan quietly murmurs from the corner, voicing the doubt that still plays in the back of Strange's mind. He tries to ignore it, but it's obvious from a brief frown that he heard what his daemon said.

Strange never shuts up about his wife, magic, or the peninsula: he can handle an occasional 'hey, so you're fucking cursed you idiot' reminder thrown at him every so often, considering how eager he seems to be to act like it isn't a thing for something Lambert's only had all of an hour or so to even accept.

Along the same vein, the witcher doesn't miss Siobhan speaking up, and Celandine certainly doesn't. She looks up at the larger daemon before nosing gently at her bulk. Lambert's less subtle.

"Hopefully before a few centuries pass." Because yeah, he read your damn book Strange -- or at least enough of it to know that's what happens to people who stay in a realm not their own. "How'd you end up stuck with Norrell, of all people? I thought you had a fight."

"We did," Strange answers, with a little nod. "And in all likelihood, when I return home our fight shall resume. But I was dying, my wife was trapped, and I needed all the help I could get to free her."

One doesn't just forget the fact that someone else tried to utterly destroy their book, after all. Strange is confident that once things become relatively stabilized, now that Arabella's free and he isn't dying, Norrell and he shall resume their normal habits of finding the other utterly intolerable while at the same time wishing the company of no other.

"I asked the help of so many people and things," Strange mused, leaning back in his chair slightly. "I count myself lucky that the requests were answered."

all we need is a magic formula, a whole new backbone

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