Summary:Cain is, in fact, a living lawn dart at Talbot Manor and thankfully is not eaten by the Phurba. Instead, he gets to enjoy spiked lemonade and soda bread with both Ambrose and Kazimira. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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A fine spring evening means some time spent outside rather than squirreled away within. After all, the grounds of Talbot Manor are greening and full of greenery, safe to wander about within, and Ambrose in a white tanktop and jeans, barefoot, is just wiping at his silvered temple with his wrist as he finishes filling in another hole in the bark patch along the house. Someone dug it…and no one's pointing fingers, but this hole was a deep one and maaaaaaaaybe in full hunt after a stray city rat.
Mira returns from putting away the wheelbarrow in the small shed nearby, herself in beige cargo pants and a plain lavender-hued t-shirt, her hair up in a messy bun. "That'll do, I think?" she asks her father.
"Yes. Kent will not know the difference," the Jackal agrees as he rises to his feet, dusting off his palms before himself. He glances over at his offspring and smiles. "I did manage to find the necessities for muddled basil lemonade and there is a pitcher in the refrigerator. Would you care for some, «Babri»?"
"That sounds great, please. I'll bring it out, we'll have some on the back porch." There away skirts Mira, back into the house through a side door, and Ambrose pauses, sighing, to observe the hole.
"…bloody fucking rat," he mutters even as he turns to walk towards the back. Something chimes loudly to his sense, attuned as they are to the guardian wards on the ground, and he wheels. The…the Phurba?! "FUCK!" He bursts into a quick sprint to come around to the front, already attempting to call down the Tibetan guardian spirit, a tiger with tusks and fiery fury and paws large enough to swat a god ass over tea-kettle.
And the day was going so well! Cain spent a bit of money on speed skater outfit, and some really sturdy boots, and a pair of goggles. Hey, not like he's a magus or a super scientist to make something better. Still, the suit is purple and silver, the goggles match, and over it he's wearing his familiar bomber jacket from WWI, also a belt with a number of pouches attached since the rest doesn't really have any pockets!
The day went south when he diverted his run due to a traffic jam, and a car almost hitting him - by stopping dead. Phase through, or jump over? He has time to think — and he likes to jump! So, jump he does, a good fifty feet long and up about ten, which just gives him enough time to see the wrought iron fencing surrounding where he's about to land.
"FUCK!" And then the man is frantically spinning his arms to create twin cyclones beneath him, surrounded by crackling purple energy his efforts DO jump him over the fence, but the angle is bad, and he ends up going ass over tea-kettle and tumbling over the grounds…of Talbot manor, quite punching through the alarm and other wardings, and triggering. "OH Mary Mother of GOD…the fuck is that thing? Nice Kitty! Nice KITTY!"
Oh, yeeeeeeah, that's the Phurba. Ambrose knows the bone-rumbling, gut-icing roar very, very well.
It spat him out just last week, after all, after dual-Bane practice gone wrong on the grounds.
Skidding to a halt on the grass of the front lawn with enough abruptness to leave the soles of his bare feet green, the master-thief pauses and stares. He recognizes the violaceous energy sparklings well enough. "NO! STOP! DESIST! «HALT! I COMMAND YOU TO HALT!»" His English tumbles into another language entirely, rusty Tibetan jogged forth by memory (Kent made him practice the commands until he could do it in his proverbial sleep). Cain will find himself narrowly avoiding the landing of two gigantic, truck wheel-sized paws on his shoulders as the translucent, striped blur of Phurba fury comes to a halt. It wheels now on Ambrose, all googly-eyed disbelief, and the Jackal swallows carefully. He lifts a hand in a specific mudra and adds still in Tibetan, "«He is guest.»"
Welp, that appears to solve just about everything. The Phurba gives Cain a lingering look dripping with predatory disdain, but still pads back through the walls of the manor, shoulders rolling as it once more descends to the basement.
Ambrose then bends at the waist, hands on his thighs, and lets out a long iteration of "Fffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me. You…are one very lucky bastard." Cain is informed of this while receiving a Bane-bright glare.
Ambrose?!?! DOUBLE FUCK! OF *course* he'd end up invading the Lieutenant's grounds and get almost munched by a big nasty cat thing with tusks, what else could possibly happen with his oddball luck? Fortunately he's quite tough really, and the rolling about did little more than get grass stains on his new outfit. "Well bugger." He states very softly as Cain sits up, and brushes some of the grass and other detritus off.
The disdainful look is sufficient unto the day to convince Cain, along with the massive paws, that indeed he IS lucky. "Yes. Yes I am, and always with the weird luck. I mean seriously…how often are we going to run into each other by happenstance, Lieutenant?" He does check the ground out, looking for any signs of a circle, because…yeah, that happened once (by Ambrose, the one from Oliver was a whole different thing).
Rising in a blur, he does look apologetic. "Truly sorry, didn't mean to invade your space. Or is this a friend's space?"
Ambrose simply can't help it: he allows his smile to slowly appear like a spread of blood on white marble. Even his canine teeth are that hair sharper than normally human.
"You are on the grounds of my home."
Says the silver-haired spider to the fly.
"Welcome," he adds with a grand, langorous gesture at the space around them both. "Be glad you did not trip the wards. They are more dangerous yet and I do not have the ability to call them to cease."
"«Baba»?" Mira's voice rises to be heard even before she comes around the corner, a dish towel drying off her hands. "The lemonade is — oh." Spotting Cain, her own brows knit. Her glance to her father is quick before it returns to the speedster again. "I didn't know we had guests coming over?"
"Neither did I," replies Ambrose very mildly, giving Cain an equally benign look in direct counter to the Bane-fueled grin of earlier.
A little taken aback by the rictus-smile, and more so at knowing now where Ambrose lives, Cain returns the smile as best he can. He remembers that showing fear, that acting like Prey is -not- a good idea around the Bane Sheathe, sort of like a Bain Sidhe, only not a dead chick herald of death. So there's that.
"I think I /did/ punch through the wards, I think I hit…what…five different tingles, but I was moving too fast for them to get a hit, I guess."
Enter Mira, and Cain's gaze shifts, his goggles lifted since their chromed lenses make communication difficult. "Hello, Kazmira." Yes, he remembered the girl's name - point for Cain! "Sorry, didn't mean to drop in like a tumbleweed…I can go, truly didn't mean to intrude."
"Hey Cain. I don't think you're intruding." Mira looks to her father again. The Jackal himself shrugs as he sidles over to stand near to his be-freckled daughter, giving Cain ample space as to not immediately be of threat. Bane-glow hasn't disappeared from his pupils, but he isn't eyeing the Speedster like Cain is…well…an ambulatory pastry for the moment.
"There is lemonade on the back porch if you feel so inclined, Master Cain? I muddled garden-grown basil and limoncello liquor into it yesterday evening, so it has had time to become quite potent," he shares. "You are welcome to join us as you'd like, given you appear to have slipped the affects of the wards for the time being."
"Well, actually, thanks. That does sound good. Should I run and grab something to contribute? I made soda bread this morning, I can be home and back in under a minute if you'd like some." This to both Athertons, pere and fille. At least he wants to contribute, that's a nice gesture. "Also hand churned, salted butter." Oh, that's dirty pool!
That the Bane-glow is there is off-putting, yes, but that he's not being eyed like a roving snack, yeah, that's appreciated.
A grin. "With my metabolism I don't think it possible for me to get /drunk/ anymore, though I have managed a good buzz now and again."
Mira grins in return. "That's a bummer, having a hard time getting a buzz. I don't think we have that problem around here." She glances over at her father. Ambose smirks to himself.
"Do not be jealous of my ability to erase what damage I incur in my forays to the bottles, «Babri»," he replies, teasing in a fond way.
"I think that's a great idea, Cain. Soda bread might go great with the lemonade. Bring the butter too?" asks the brilliantly-blue-eyed brunette, hands outspread before herself. "I'll grab one more glass and see you both on the back porch." Then she's turning to walk towards the side door again.
"I shall wait here for your return, Master Cain, the better to ward off the Phurba should it be perturbed once more." Ambrose loosely folds his arms, the muscles there flexing and relaxing, as he takes up a patient stance.
"Oh, dunno…I just metabolize it so fast that it doesn't really have time to 'take' unless I drink /heavily/. Like—kill a normal person heavily." Cain smiles to Mira, and then laughs softly at Ambrose's smirking comment. "May I ask what «Babri» means? Is it — 'daughter'? What language?" He might want to spend a few hours learning it!
A gallant bow. "of course, Miss Atherton, happy to oblige." He is about to zoom off when Ambrose speaks up. "Oh, um, yes. Thank you for that. The furby was /not/ warm and fuzzy." Hopefully one or both Atherton will catch the pun, doubly so the Phurba does not, he hopes.
With that, off the man zooms, returning in about the minute he estimated, with both soda bread and the butter. At least this time he can hop the fence or go through the gates normally thanks to Ambrose. "Thank you. I…feel kind of weird I just stumbled into your home, I didn't know, honest." This offered as they head to meet up with Mira again.
Before Cain departs, Ambrose answers his question: "It can mean 'daughter', yes, though it is more commonly used as a nickname. The language itself is Persian and the root word is 'babr'," the Jackal informs his guest. It is on Cain to look up the meaning of the word, apparently, though it's not maliciously that Ambrose denies him this information — he knows of the young man's curiosity.
The Furby reference goes flying over Ambrose's head. He squints. Mira, by the doorway, snort-giggles. She, at least, pays enough attention to modern society to have caught it.
Cain returns and the front gate is being held open, yes, with Ambrose present to shut it. It might be a bit dangerous having the master-thief this close — and absolutely, the Bane curls up in its usual intrigued state at the nearby Fae-blood Speedster — but no one gets nibbled. "As mentioned before, you do have odd twists of luck, Master Cain." This said as one of the masters of the manor leads him around to the back porch. Ambrose gives Cain a dry side-glance. "One would hope they remain to the good as a whole."
There's Mira seated at one of four wicked chairs tucked around a latticed metal table. On it, the pitcher of lemonade and three glasses, all poured to nearly the brim. She waves, comfortable with her legs crossed at the knee, and then takes her drink to sip at it.
"Persian, Babr. Got it." A bright smile, perhaps the brightest he's ever offered Ambrose. "Thanks." Clearly the young man likes him some book larnin', yo! And then off he zooms, unlike any sort of blancmange ever! He shoots a grin and a wink Mira-wards just before said zoomery.
Cain is through the gate and about three meters away in a literal eye-blink, no sense tempting fate, or a curse either. "I do. My luck was always a bit odd, but after my…awakening I guess? After that it got EXTREMELY weird. I guess there's just something fey about me." He quips.
Another smile for Mira, and then he sets up the soda bread, in a see through 'glass' baking pan, and sets a ceramic crock full to the brim with butter that looks amazing!
"Hope you like it. The Lemonade looks delish."
"I'm sure it'll be good," Mira says before she motions at one of the chairs. "Sit down and have some if the lemonade looks good. «Baba» made it perfectly."
"Of course I did." Ambrose says this as if it were a state of reality, a law of science: pfft, perfect spiked lemonade is no difficulty. He too seats himself at a measured two-thirds circumfrential distance further from Cain for the Speedster's relative comfort and takes up his own glass. A sip and a nod. Indeed, it's good.
"Did you make this soda bread yourself?" Mira asks Cain as she moves to collect herself a piece and then spread the butter upon it. Utensils were grabbed along with the third glass, apparently, and napkins as well.
"Thanks, don't mind if I do." Cain takes a seat, mainly because Mira's already seated, no doubt the girl is used to such manners in -this- household. He accepts his own glass with a smile and a. "Thank you." Before he too sips it, and the look in his deep green eyes is quite appreciative. "Oh, my…that's lovely. You could market that, well done, Lieutenant Atherton." Unlike Loki, yeah, not calling the man 'Ambrose' just yet. They're not there.
A nod to Mira. "I did! I like to cook." A moment to look to both Mira and Ambrose. "In fact…I would be delighted were you to come by sometime for a convivial evening of music and dinner, I will make my legendary shepherd's pie, more soda bread, and share some truly outstanding beer I just finished up." So — cooks, brews, runs, medic, and possibly a musician?
He looks to Ambrose. "An offer made freely, with no contract implied, only a request that no one offends the Hobs in my home, important not to thank them, or even notice them, even if you do."
"My gratitude." Ambrose's mild counter to the compliment given by Cain is accompanied by a shallow nod and short lift of the lemonade before it's sipped again. He sets the glass down and then leans back into his chair, interlacing fingers in a low bridge across his body with elbow anchored on the arms of the chair. His eerie eyes shift between Cain and Mira as they speak.
Mira glances over at her father at the invitation, still chewing on a bite of soda bread, and before she speaks, she takes up a napkin to daub at the corners of her mouth. The action has the element of sincerity, not just a showing of manners. "Hobs — wow, I haven't heard of somebody having Hobs in a long time," the dark-haired young woman says, grinning. "Is that deliberate at your place or did you inherit them?"
"We would not disturb them, of course," the Jackal then adds, pulling a hand free of the bridging in gesture. "It would be in poor taste."
Says the Bane-bearer. Bah-dum-pssht.
Blithely, Ambrose continues: "By all means, let us decided on a time and a day, and do let us know what to bring in return. We would be remiss to show up empty-handed, hmm?"
"Calling it like I see it, sir." Cain replies with a toast motion of his glass, and then another draught of the fine hard lemonade provided. Clearly the man likes him some Atherton's Special Lemonade, he does. Cain seems a lot more relaxed than he had around Ambrose than has been his wont, perhaps he's getting used to the Bane's sheath? Hard to say, might just be that Mira's present.
"I think they were attracted by my nature and my odd luck, they moved in about a month after I did." Cain admits with a glad smile. "And let me just say - they're a wonderful blessing."
At the poor taste comment, he grins. "Oh, more than that, Lieutenant. Hobs are generally inoffensive — /generally/. If you insult them however, they can be quite irritating, even dangerous." Which is likely not to affect /Ambrose/, but it would have impact on poor Cain.
"In any case, I have some accumulated time off I'm going to have to use or lose comes the end of the year so I took the next two weeks as paid leave, my schedule is at present pretty wide open so really it would be up to you. As to what to bring, yourselves of course and perhaps something to drink? I have the food covered."
Mira nods. "I'd say bring the lemonade, at least." A glance over at her father finds him faintly smiling, pleased despite himself at the sincere appreciation on display. A subtle inclination of his chin is agreement in return. "Lemonade and…I'll make something too, maybe a dessert. Unless you want us to bring something like wine or some liquor? We've got some weird stuff around the house," the befreckled brunette explains, looking back at the sliding glass door as if only just remembering where this Weird Stuff is.
"The bottled scorpion liquor is staying on the shelf," murmurs Ambrose drily as he sips at his lemonade, visually half-distracted by something along the far fenceline — whatever it is, it is of only very most minor concern.
"Oh gods, no, not that stuff, yuck," laughs Mira, her chortling glittering like sunlight on water. "Not that bottle, no way." She pauses for Cain's response and then asks, when appropriate, "What do you do that you have so much time gathered up, Cain?"
"Lemonade would be excellent. And I'll treat with some of my own attempts in the brewing department if you're of a mind to try some mead or beer, I have a cask of Mead that will be ready to broach the day after tomorrow, in fact. Blackberry Currant, unfortunately I've not tried it before, so it /might/ be a bit of a risk." And that seems like half the fun to Cain!
A blink. "Bottled…scorpion *liquor* or is it more of a /liqueur/?" Cain teases. "Truly, that sounds like something bold enough to try once and hope to survive."
A smile to Mira's last question. "Me? I'm an EMT, and just might be a tad workaholic…I have been letting my leave time roll over each year, but this year it is maxed out and I don't really want to /lose/ the time, you know? So…sort of a forced holiday, really." A nod. "Truly? I have a few ideas but more or less am floundering for anything specific to do. I was thinking of mapping more leylines, see where they go, explore…"
"That does seem like a lot of time for someone fast as you." Empathetic, Mira nods as she cleans off her fingertips; her piece of soda bread is gone and she now sips from her lemonade. "Maybe make a list and see where the list takes you?" she suggests, hands flared off to angles before herself. "I've thought about getting into the medical field once or twice, but…" She then shakes her head, her smile here and gone again. "I don't think what I can do would be easily accepted. I feel like I'd freak people out."
"It is their loss, to be certain," opines her father so very mildly in that crisp way of his. "And as to the scorpion in a bottle, Master Cain, it is for decoration only. No mortal would survive it and no immortal would dare sully their palate." His own chuckling rolls up behind his teeth barely showcased in his thin smile. "I would rather taste this berry-currant mead you mentioned earlier, experimental as it might be."
"You have /no/ idea. Fortunately I can turn the 'time sense' aspect off, it would be HELL to always live seeing in bullet time. Mind, I've learned to kick it on when needed in a fraction of a second." Probably a fraction of a millisecond, or less. "But thanks be to the Gods that I don't have to always see things that speed, it would be horrific beyond words."
A grin at the suggestion of a list. "Sort of a modified Bucket List, a Forced Holiday List?" He seems deeply amused, and then nods. "That's not a bad idea, if nothing else it can provide options to explore." He listens attentively to the girl's ruminations on medical, and then looks mildly puzzled. "Why would you freak people out? You seem a delightful person, quite charming and gregarious."
A firm nod to Ambrose's opinion. "Agreed, their loss. If you want to explore the options, Kazmira, let me know. I have some contacts I can introduce you to."
He looks even more intrigued by the concept. "Well, technically I'm fey, though I'm not sure if I'm immortal or not, so…perhaps another time." He brightens at the willingness to sample the mead. "Fair enough. We'll see together if it was success or failure."
"I would hazard that the mead might be oversweet at worst, perhaps, but then it would become something to be sipped as dessert, such as a port," muses Ambrose as he reaches for the lemonade pitcher. More for himself, it seems, ice cubes clunking into his glass as he pours. He seems more relaxed than usual here at the table (partially for the Limoncello in the drink, no doubt) and it gives him a delightfully (eerie) semblance of being entirely human — mostly. His pupils still flicker like a coyote crossing the road before dawn as he looks to his guest.
Mira, having weighed the wisdom of sharing the 'why' of her own concerns, does speak up again. "I'm nice for the most part," she firstly demurs, smirking. "I think I'd freak people out because of my own abilities. I can manipulate blood pressure and heart-related things. It's kind of…I mean, it runs in the family." A wry glance at her father has Ambrose smiling again a slivered smile. He's not bothered in the least at any macabre insinuations of his daughter's abilities.
"My thoughts exactly." Cain says in agreement with Ambrose. "Or I could make it /into/ dessert, perhaps an iced cream or the like." Cain offers his cup to be topped off since Ambrose is pouring (and Cain metabolizes things swiftly!). He definitely appreciates the toning down of the creepy, even if the red does sometimes still show. "So…can I ask what happened that you're in 'always red' mode, or is that too personal—?"
So much for being relaxed, but it is a fair question really, considering Cain is the ambulatory pastry.
He takes a moment to parse what Mira reveals, and then nods slowly. "That could be quite a boon in a lot of circumstances. So…if I were at risk of stroking out you could adjust my blood pressure and possibly offer some relief? If I was suffering heart palpitations you could smooth things out?" Freaked? not in the least. Then again the guy can run at FIVE THOUSAND miles per hour under ideal circumstances. His weird-shit-o-meter is probably dialed up a ton from Joe Norm.
"Yes, I could do both those things," the brunette confirms. "I could also kill someone if I wasn't careful. I don't…I don't really want that on my conscience." In a mirroring of her father's habits, Mira uncurls a hand up from the arm rest of her chair. "I just don't think modern medicine's ready for that kind of thing."
"Maybe so, maybe not. The world has progressed in both science and magic since I was born." Forever ago, Mister Jackal. He sips again at his lemonade. "This city in particular is forgiving of the weird, if you will. As to your question, Master Cain…"
And those gleaming Bane-glow pupils land on him again. Cain then gets a glimpse of the chilling inner core of conscienceless Jackal, where all empathy and humanity drains from his face and regard, leaving it nearly alien — a glimpse of the stone-cold killer Kent used to employ in Shanghai. "Oliver struck well when he did. Rest assured that I am gathering all my available resources to regain what I have lost and he will live to regret what he has done." This said as calmly as a total at a register.
"Slippery slope, but really—think about this; I can throw a punch that hits at mach one, easily. On impact I have been able to move a locomotive about a foot with one such punch, roughly two-hundred THOUSAND pounds. Think of what that would do to a person." Cain's smile is intact, but much dimmer. "Every talent, every gift like these has a dark side, right? There's always a way to turn a good thing into a weapon. Or so it seems. The thing is that medicine is a /calling/, not a hobby. If you're not into it, if you have doubts and reservations then it might just be something to hold off on."
A shrug. "That's just my spin, what your father says is pretty well true too. My suggestion - think about it and do what you feel in your heart, Kazmira."
Then of course the Master Thief reveals his inner curse, and Cain can't help a faintly indrawn breath, a quickening of his pusle. "That guy is a piece of work." Cain says darkly. "Completely around the bend bonkers too."
Cain now has the attention of both Athertons on him, the younger with a look of concentration, as if she'd been able to catch that trip of heightening pulse — and the elder with a smile not reaching his Bane-bright eyes in the least.
"As you Americans say, he is a few bolts shy of a full toolbox…but then again, I think after a century or so, how many of us are truly human?" A musing potentially disturbing. "I look forward to returning his favor."
"«Baba», really." Mira lifts an eyebrow and this is one-hundred percent Kent-like in behavior.
"Ah, yes, excuse me." As if shaking water from himself, the Jackal slips easily back into a far more normal, table-appropriate air. "I have been informed that I wax profoundly Byronic without knowing it. Pardon my brooding. Master Cain is correct in that medicine is not a hobby to pursue lightly." A nod to Cain.
"That's really disturbing." Cain admits to the Athertons.
A snort at the toolbox comment, and Cain smiles again, after finishing his lemonade. "I'd have said 'nuttier than a Planters factory', myself, but each to their own. He definitely made AND drank the Kool-Aid." Cain definitely understands the appeal of a revenge having partaken of it himself on occasions, rare, but he has.
A grin as Mira rebukes her dad. "At least it was Byron and not Carroll's Jabberwocky." One is dark, the other is just nonsense, though…likable nonsense at least. "Brood all you want, sir, it is your home." He nods support of Ambrose's comment in support of his own views about medicine.
"Great benefits though - long hours, high stakes, often unwilling recipients, thankless most of the time."
"I'm sorry there's not a lot of thanks involved. That must make it hard." Mira pulls her lips to one side, brows quirked. "I remember when they were still using bottled alcohol to clean wounds, or things like herbs — when they taught you to sew up your own cuts and gashes."
"Yes, well, they would have had to teach you this. Not everyone has the ability to realign their own bones or close a knife's cutting. You did well, «Babri», in this learning." Ambrose is indeed the proud father and gives her a true little smile. Mira rolls her eyes a little, but seems well enough pleased by the odd compliment.
The Bane-host's gaze again flickers towards the Fey speedster. "I will brood later, Master Cain. It wiles away the hours while my revenge stews." Melodramatic? Maybe deliberately for all the Jackal chuckles behind his teeth again before sighing and sipping his lemonade.
"Wait a second. Have you met Oliver?" Mira asks this of Cain with wider eyes now.
"Oh, there can be, but as an EMT the circumstances are often…heightened. Sometimes even violent, albeit rarely." Cain answers Mira. "Truth be told I don't expect thanks, they're like getting a tip - nice, but hardly needed." He cants his head to one side. "So…you're older than you look too." Statement; not a question at all. "Alcohol is not the best, but there's alcohol prep pads used to swab the skin still, so there's that."
The self healing, yeah, that sounds fun. Then again, Cain has to be really careful with his own injuries. Broken bones in particular are awkward as he heals so fast they have to be set really swiftly or they'll fuse wrong and need to be rebroken, which is not fun.
A smirk. "Ah, thank you for suppression of brooding, Lieutenant, much appreciated."
Mildly, Cain answers with a nod. "Oh yes. He and your father both, on separate occasions, built magical traps to contain me. It was fun BOTH times, too."
"I knew about the magical trap «Baba» made, yeah." Mira doesn't seem incredibly guilty about revealing this, given Cain is sitting across the way and seemingly no worse for the wear, at least on the outside. "I didn't think Oliver knew about how to pull that off." She gives her father a concerned look. Ambrose is, of course, now frowning behind the interlacing of his fingers before his mouth.
"That is unfortunate news. I will have to report it to my companions," he murmurs even as he shakes his head, eyes still rested upon Cain. "To the better that you escaped, Master Cain."
"No kidding," agrees the younger Atherton. "I guess if you live that long, you learn things. I appreciate the compliment though, Cain," adds Mira then with a laugh. "I've got a few more years to go before I reach one-hundred." An impish little smile shows on her lips.
"Oliver's was different, it used some sort of wisps, living and dancing lights, it was quite entrancing." A lure. "I dunno how he did it, but he did." Cain says ruefully, but then as Ambrose lauds his escaping, Cain smirks. "He wasn't prepared for me to phase-shift my body through it." So casual, to just off-handedly mention such a thing.
"See, I'd have placed you as twenty-five or maybe thirty, not a nonagenarian." Cain says with a smile to Mira. "Quite spry, Miss Atherton."
"Thank you, Master Cain." And for a very short second, Mira acts precisely as her age: she nods her head deeply, palms briefly pressed before her chest. Then, it slips away, back to the easier-going, more youthful personality than Ambrose seated near to her. "That's precisely what I want people to think. You'd be surprised at how much I get away with." She's definitely her father's daughter in the end.
"It is amazing," agrees the Jackal, his own youthful looks changed for the silvered hair. "I cannot wait to regain my previous guise. Inasmuch as I approve of the increased use of 'sir' when addressed by strangers, I do not appreciate the insinuations of age." Mira titters despite herself, earning herself a dry side-glance from the Jackal. His regard slides back to Cain. "I shall let the others know of the use of wisps in particular, and the manner of enthrallment. One would hope it affects only those of Fey blood." He still doesn't appear overly soothed by the narrower gamut of victims; Kent himself has shared lingeage in Fey blood, after all.
"Of course, Kazmira." Cain says with a smile. "You do admirably and I'm sure you get away with a lot. People tend to underestimate a pretty girl, after all." He observes, possibly to Ambrose's consternation, possibly not. When the Master Thief speaks of being able to get away with stuff, Cain grins. "Well, maybe something I can look forward to? I dunno how long I'll live, or if I'll age, or whatever. I guess time with tell."
Yes, that sort of bugs him - the not knowing is sort of off-putting.
Unaware of Kent's fey blood, Cain shrugs good naturedly. "Nobody else seemed to even see the wisps, so it was at least Fey specific, if not ME specific."
Oh, Cain gets a squint for his observation. A very paternal squint. Mira, on the other hand, takes the compliment in good stride and with a grin of agreement.
"I would hazard that it was Fey specific if only you could see these wisps. I will have to research a way to counter them," murmurs Ambrose pensively, his eyes now distant over the edge of his lemonade glass. After he throws back the last sixth of volume, he again reaches for the pitcher. Cain and Mira get their top-offs before the Jackal pours the rest and dregs into his own glass.
"If you haven't looked into books on dealing with old age, please do, Cain. There's a lot out there about being able to deal with potential memory loss, people passing…though maybe you're better equipped than most people to handle the medical and psychological stuff," Mira muses.
The squint is about what cain expected, Daddy Brose apparently being pretty darn protective of his daughter. A wink is offered Mira, again, a bit of a tweak to the elder Atherton's nose.
At the theory of it being Fey specific, Cain nods. "if you say so. I'm no expert." Which annoys him. A lot, actually, but…then his glass is topped off, and he offers Ambrose a smile of thanks.
Then Mira gets helpful, and he laughs softly. "If I start to feel old, I'll look them up. I /love/ to read." A glance to Ambrose, wryly remembering when they met in the Adventurer's Club and the -look- on his face when he realized Cain was reading the books as swiftly as he could turn the pages. Priceless. "Thank you both, by the way, for the kind invitation and not letting the giant kitty eat my head." He's using it, after all.
"«Baba» did mention you can read at a very fast pace. You should try the Library of Congress if you want a challenge. Maybe you could time yourself? It could go on your vacation to-do list," suggests Mira before she sips her lemonade. She's working through it far slower than her father, whose languid bit of a slouch suggests the alcoholic content is at work.
Ambrose lifts his glass to Cain, smirking a little. "I would be remiss in letting the Phurba injure a guest meaning us no harm, even if their arrival was unexpected. Kent would be deeply disappointed in my ability to act the part of host." There is absolutely unspoken laughter through that observation, as if it were an old argument between the pair.
"You know, I did consider that - but I worked out that it would take about ninety-one years and change to read the sixteen MILLION books there. Takes me about three minutes to read your average book." Cain says with a smile. "About 500 words per second." As for Cain, he's just fine and dandy, it takes a concerted effort to get him to be buzzed! He just metabolizes the booze too fast.
Well, he DID get relaxed, it was just over too fast to enjoy or even notice.
"Furby was scary as hell." Cain admits. "I thought my goose was cooked! Definitely a much better 'host technique' not to let the guest get eaten, or killed on the lawn."
"The Phurba should be as scary as hell." Ambrose agrees so very blandly and knowingly. "It would not be an effective deterrent otherwise." More lemonade appreciated, more slouching spreading into his poise.
Mira nods as she reaches for another slice of soda bread, the better to spread a thick layering of butter on it. "It's kept some crazy things off the property. I'm glad Kent managed to get it installed here, there's probably few more safe places in the city. Still, maybe not take on the Library of Congress then — or maybe only a section of it. Stay there for a week, see how much you can get read?"
"Oh, he was. Very much so. Or she. Or it." Like Cain knows? He didn't check the dangly bits and really 'Phurba Sexer' is not a skill on his resume. Not yet, not ever. "Quite effective as a deterrent. Very much so." Cain says with fervent sincerity.
His own soda bread is consumed, and he is gratified by Mira's enjoyment of it.
A snicker as she mentions just a section. "Maybe. I would really have a hard time picking a section though, granted - I would enjoy ANY of them." Yes, bibliophile philes hisself some biblios! For reals. "Thank you for a pleasant afternoon and congenial company." A wink. "And yours too, Kazmira!" Doh! Bratty speedster is bratty! "Shall we plan on dinner in two days time then?"
Ambrose again levels a squint at the Fey Speedster and just sips at his lemonade, allowing the Rikki-Tikki ruby-glitter of his pupils to communicate his thoughts on matter. He does smile though, faintly, proving himself to be more present than the Bane.
Mira dusts off her fingertips before using her napkin at her lips again. Her slice of soda bread is indeed gone. "I think two days out should work, sure, as long as nothing crazy comes up. Even I haven't been able to predict what's going to happen with «Baba»'s affairs."
"Quite the affairs," agrees the Jackal lazily. Buzzed-ly. Both. "But yes, two days hence. I shall be certain to confirm with you one way or another on the day, Master Cain. Oh, and make more lemonade, yes."
He then gestures languidly towards the side of the house. "I do suggest you walk slowly as you leave and close the front gate firmly behind you. I can sense that the Phurba has not ceased to eye you…best not to give it reason to be tempted, hmm?"
All the squintage, Cain feels good about the job he's been doing here today. Except for the bit with the entrance - what is truly embarrassing? He should have just run UP the side of the car that causes his crash on the lawn, up and over or through…instead, he reacted instinctively and thudded onto the lawn of doom.
Figures.
The empty sodabread container is reclaimed, and Cain offers a respectful and very proper bow to Ambrose, and if Kazmira permits, he'll kiss the back of her hand. "Well then. I will take my leave of you both then, and look forward to dinner." He doesn't have a business card to offer, he's not fancy like that, instead he just takes out a notebook, tears a page out of it, and jots down his number with his fountain pen and offers the scrap to Mira. "Just in case."
Rather than tempt fate, Cain does walk to the exit normally, and is quite firm with the gate when he closes it. "Thanks again, guys." He says with a bright smile, and then he vanishes in blur of crackling purple energy as he returns home.