you must think that i'm stupid, you must think that i'm a fool

[whattaprick]

Who: Nightrider Idiot and Acquisitioner Deadpan
When: D6, Early Afternoon
What: Wismuth's strange vibrancy amplifies emotions. Even emotions Lambert would prefer to pretend don't exist.
Warnings: Lambert, so. Crudeness and sexual references abound.

Childermass's report on the Starlight's warning was disheartening, and Acquisitioner ignoring him completely after their terse conversation on the radio is even worse. Still, if Childermass wants to sulk in the shadows, that's his own problem, and Lambert has no intention of apologizing for saying something that's true. If Childermass meant for it to be a secret, he should have made that clearer from the start.

Even then, Lambert would have disagreed. The potential of powerful enemies being dragged directly to their doorstep isn't a matter for discretion, like a third nipple or wart on the cock. It's a matter of security and lives -- particularly, of keeping them.

So no, Lambert decides. Childermass isn't getting an apology. And if the magician's company is something he finds himself looking for in quiet moments, glancing up expecting him to step from the shadows only to remember they aren't on speaking terms, it's not as though there isn't plenty else to occupy his time. They're not on vacation anymore, and that's a good thing.

He manages to convince himself of that right up until, of all things, he catches the smell of fried rice while he's walking down a street in Wismuth.

Lambert is dressed and glamoured to not stand out from the residents of the city. With his horns, t-shirts aren't really an option, so he wears the somewhat frumpy combination of a short-sleeved gray button up, faded blue jeans, and a red hoodie. He can't get away with wearing his sword around, much to his profound irritation, but the feather blade is tucked into his waistband if he needs it. He's not sure if he's imagining it, but the world feels brighter here, sharper in a way that makes it feel almost magical, even if he can't detect any trace of ambient magic around the place. He bought a pair of sunglasses to see if that might help. It doesn't.

It's while he's investigating that he finds the restaurant, tucked along a side street, and the memory hits him in vivid technicolor: sitting knee-to-knee in a room lit by strings of light, laughing over boxes of greasy food and awful drinks, and the taste of it lingering on their mouths. It feels like a kick to the chest and leaves him gasping, how powerfully he misses that simplicity, and his hands ache with how tightly he curls them. Who the hell gets nostalgic over food?

Apparently, Lambert does. He successfully puts it off for an hour, before he realizes he's been circling the same block and finally admits he isn't succeeding at anything except looking like an idiot. Before he can regret the impulse, he palms his radio and finds the channel he's looking for, pausing for a second before speaking.

"Hey. You want to get early dinner together?" He asks, hoping he manages to sound casual. "I found some Chinese."

Comments

[whattaprick]

Considering how often they were together back on the moon, it really is a miracle Strange didn't see anything worse. Lambert's absolutely sure if Strange saw anything, he wouldn't be talking to Childermass about 'sleepovers' (and what the fuck? Who just tells someone else they think they're literally sleeping with someone?) and would probably be bitching more about Lambert and Childermass yet again not telling him anything.

"Yeah, I guess it is." For something to do with his hands more than anything else, he reaches out to pick up the rest of the turnip cake Childermass has decimated.

"...Did you want to stop?" He keeps his eyes on his plate. That's the logical reason Childermass would be bringing this up now, right?

[atouts]

Strange does, apparently, which is the weirdest thing ever. He catches them sleeping together, literally sleeping, and doesn't figure it out? No, rather than treat this like it's a terrible ordeal, Childermass just lets out a quiet chuckle and looks up again.

"Somehow I doubt we could manage that," he points out. It would take avoiding one another constantly, that much he's sure of, and Lambert would sulk and bitch about it the whole time. So, no. He shakes his head. "Maybe we should just tell him after all... or wait until he traumatizes himself, I suppose."

[whattaprick]

Lambert looks up when Childermass laughs, caught off-guard by the sound, and ends up meeting the magician's eyes instead. If he's laughing, it can't be all that bad. Some of the tension he didn't realize he was holding slips from his shoulders as he relaxes, slowly grinning back.

They'd never explicitly agreed that there was something going on to begin with, but that's acknowledgement enough, isn't it? Although he certainly can't picture pulling Strange aside and sitting him down for a talk about how two of his closest friends also happen to be fucking each other. Just picturing it makes him snort.

"Up to you. But maybe that'll teach him to stop spying on people so much."

[atouts]

Oh, it's still pretty bad, but what can Childermass do about it? Short of pulling together a warding spell or asking for an artifact that does the same— well, maybe that is what he should do, but then it's a matter of when he can or if it'll be soon enough.

"Doubt it," he says, wrinkling his nose but trailing off into silence as the waitress swings by again with the desserts, picking up empty trays and baskets, and then moving on again. Once she's out of earshot, he'll carry on with, "He has more magic than he does sense, you know that. We may as well wait and see how he brings it up when he is that unlucky. It could be a spectacle worth seeing."

[whattaprick]

"You can say that because you're not the one he's talking about setting up with someone else," Lambert grumbles. That's a potential spectacle all on its own that he's sure Childermass would be more than happy to laugh at. There's enough dessert for both of them, and he sniffs -- neither of them smell too sugary, and it's more or less confirmed when he bites into an egg tart and makes a low, happy sound of satisfaction, chewing thoroughly then swallowing.

"But all right. Let's let him figure it out. But if he talks to you first, you'd better tell me about it." Because he's pretty sure it will be hilarious, and he'll be sorry to miss out on it. He's in no rush to tell Strange anything. He's pretty certain he's going to be the butt of a million jokes there, since teasing without physical contact is so relatively ineffective at getting under Childermass's skin.

[atouts]

"Oh, but if I do that and you're expecting him, he'll accuse us of plotting against him," Childermass says with an amused snort before picking up one of the red bean buns and taking a bite out of it. It's similarly not too sugary and he's just as glad for that. It gives him a moment to pause and chew, though, while turning the rest of what Lambert's said over in his head.

Of all the things Strange could be wasting his time on...

"Ha," he laughs again, a single noise, dry but nevertheless finding humor in the witcher's new dilemma. "I think I would like to see him try. Who would he even try and set you up with? The Ringmaster?"

[whattaprick]

"We are plotting against him," Lambert points out sensibly. Talking about how they're going to deal with inevitably traumatizing an English magician is basically plotting, whatever anyone else says. Though at the suggestion, he grimaces, not appreciating the obvious amusement in the magician's voice either.

"No thanks. Not my type," he grumbles. "He's probably just going to drag some random stranger into it. Can't imagine anyone else in the Carnival would fall for it."

[atouts]

"Mr. Lambert, this is a definite lack of plotting," Childermass refutes, complete with pointing the rest of the red bean bun at the witcher, as if that someone empathizes the point. "What we are doing is deciding to do nothing. If anyone is plotting against Strange, it's Strange. He just doesn't realize it."

Assuming he ever does, in fact, spy on something he definitely shouldn't be spying on. Seeing how he considers what he has seen as sleepovers... Anyway.

"And maybe not," he adds, carrying on with finishing the rest of the bun and shrugging as he swallows that. "There seem to be a few in the carnival who are inclined to sleep with just about anyone."

[whattaprick]

Lambert just huffs a laugh at that. He's mostly been considerate of Childermass's personal space until now, but he knocks his knee against him companionably under the table, shaking his head. He doesn't pull his leg away, afterwards, and he gives the gives the bun pointed at him a narrow-eyed look, but it's gone before he can act on the thought.

"Maybe I have standards. You ever think of that?" He pretends to be aghast at the clear slander against his character.

[atouts]

"Considering you're sleeping with me, they can't be very high ones," is what he has to say to that, though it's far from serious even if it is deadpan enough, as per usual.

[whattaprick]

"You're right," Lambert drawls, ankle hooking around Childermass's lightly. "I never thought I'd sleep with a magician, so they're lower than they used to be." He grins, making an exaggerated show of looking Childermass over.

"And it definitely wasn't your charming personality that made me change my mind. So I guess it was your dashing good looks that just won me over," he lets his voice drop into blatant suggestiveness, though he doesn't quite leer. He isn't usually so blatant with flirting, but with no one else around, he figures he can get away with it in public, for once.

[atouts]

And while he isn't usually this blatant, Childermass's reaction is the same — aside from his feathers ruffling slightly, something hidden to the mundane eye here. That is to say, no other reaction obvious besides raising his eyebrows at the witcher's flirtations. It's a look he holds for a few seconds before putting the ends of his chopsticks to the plate of buns and pushing them across the table towards Lambert.

"And I think I like you better with your mouth full," he says in complete and total seriousness (and fully aware how else Lambert, being as crass as he is, will take that). "It gives you less time to talk."

[whattaprick]

Predictably, Lambert waggles his brows outrageously, ignoring the clear cue of the buns shoved at him.

"Why don't you put something in it, then?" He does leer this time, licking his lips like a wolf running its tongue along its chops.

[atouts]

"Because you're an adult, Lambert. You're capable of feeding yourself," he says, completely misunderstanding on purpose.

[whattaprick]

"Hmm. Guess you're right about that." Lambert's grin just grows wider, eschewing the chopsticks entirely to just pick up a red bean bun and chew on it, swallowing before he adds, "But if you change your mind, just remember I always have room for dessert." Something else brushes Childermass's leg -- a tail glamoured into invisibility, running a firm, possessive stroke from his ankle to his knee.

And then it's gone, and because he said he'd be paying, he flags the waitress down to get their check. It's cheap as he thought it would be, and it's been satisfying on a number of levels, more than just appetite.