There's some magical bullshit going on, and Lambert doesn't like it.
Still, when it comes to magical bullshit, he's at least lucky enough to know the number one expert. That means after a short, maybe slightly frantic call to Strange to confirm his location ("And stay there," Lambert snarls into the radio, before slamming the connection shut) it won't be long before Strange hears the revving of a motorcycle engine.
With a screech of tires as it skids to a stop, a sleek red-and-gold motorcycle pulls up to wherever Strange is at, a wild-eyed Lambert straddling it. He looks ... well, eye-catching is the least of it. Most of his clothing seems to be some level of 'skin-tight,' 'gold-sequined' or both, and there isn't very much of it. And he's -- brimming with magic, and so is his bike, both burning like stars in the dimming sunlight.
"Strange," Lambert says, with no preamble, "What the fuck is happening?"
"Lambert," the sound of a woman's voice, gently sighing, comes from the motorcycle. "If you'd let me explain--"
Lambert blanches, scrambling off his ride and turning to face it head-on, comically flustered as his tail stands ramrod-straight behind him. "You shouldn't even be able to talk!" He yells, throwing his hands up.
wismuth; the 16th
Still, when it comes to magical bullshit, he's at least lucky enough to know the number one expert. That means after a short, maybe slightly frantic call to Strange to confirm his location ("And stay there," Lambert snarls into the radio, before slamming the connection shut) it won't be long before Strange hears the revving of a motorcycle engine.
With a screech of tires as it skids to a stop, a sleek red-and-gold motorcycle pulls up to wherever Strange is at, a wild-eyed Lambert straddling it. He looks ... well, eye-catching is the least of it. Most of his clothing seems to be some level of 'skin-tight,' 'gold-sequined' or both, and there isn't very much of it. And he's -- brimming with magic, and so is his bike, both burning like stars in the dimming sunlight.
"Strange," Lambert says, with no preamble, "What the fuck is happening?"
"Lambert," the sound of a woman's voice, gently sighing, comes from the motorcycle. "If you'd let me explain--"
Lambert blanches, scrambling off his ride and turning to face it head-on, comically flustered as his tail stands ramrod-straight behind him. "You shouldn't even be able to talk!" He yells, throwing his hands up.