Christmas tea for two

[bitterguardian]

It's been a very long time since Horvath celebrated any kind of holiday at all. Apprentices, friends, anyone who'd give him a reason to recognize one day of the year might be different from any other have all fallen by the wayside a long time ago. He's never had a very good track record with either, anyway.

Now that he's found the Nexus, and both an informal student and a very surprising friend through it, Christmas has come to his attention at last. He's badly out of practice. All the traditions seem to have changed and he trained himself to 'bah-humbug' and generally ignore the shopfront decorations that seem to get more garish with each passing decade, or even year. Affording gifts are no problem, he has plenty set aside and continues work as a researcher, which gives him an active income he doesn't even really need. Gifts themselves don't really seem the spirit of the thing, though. Somebody was speaking out against the crass commercialism of the holiday not so long ago, Dickens, wasn't that his name? He said the true essence of the holiday needed to be brought back.

In that spirit, Horvath offers Balthazar Blake the best gift he has to give; trust. It's also been a very long time since he let anybody into his home, which is tightly warded and concealed into a magical masterwork of a fortress. Altering the shields to let him in is enough work in itself, but he's also laid out a nice formal tea, with two cups and little cakes and finger sandwiches. The books are cleared away from a table, and two large comfortable chairs set up at it, facing each other. Next to all that effort, the little box in neat gift wrap with real fabric ribbon is merely a trifle.

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[grimholdkeeper]

At first, he isn't sure whether he can accept the invitation at face value. Partly mistrust of his own world's Horvath has become ingrained in him, and partly the idea of taking time out for social niceties hits just as foreign a note to him as it does to his counterpart. It takes him a couple hours to respond to the PINpoint text, and when he does, it's halting and awkward, but he agrees to come, with thanks.

Now, on the occasion itself, he arrives on time and as well-groomed as he ever is, shaved and with his long hair tamed and pulled back. The suit he wears is probably from the '40s, but it's clean and in good repair. He carries a gift bag with a bow, and a plate of Welsh cookies, and looks sheepish.

[bitterguardian]

If he'd turned it down for fear of a trap, Horvath would not have been offended or surprised.

He lands in a very grand space, but it's clearly some kind of library or study, so not the kind of place either of them would want to start a fight. Books are just too important to put at risk like that.
The high, arched ceiling and other details above and between the bookshelves hint at the structure they're in, and there are no windows at all. The place almost gives the sense of someplace underground, like a long-abandoned subway station. There are both candles and electric lights, they're just not enough to actually make the space bright, although the books and sturdy antique furniture warm the place up. There's a small labyrinth of shelves to one side, and artifacts under bell jars and books and clutter on small side tables, making it feel very lived-in and used. There's also a grey streak vanishing under a chair.

Standing beside the neatly appointed table, Horvath looks a little like Balthazar feels, uneasy and wary and not quite sure if this is a good idea, but also sheepishly hopeful. He's in shirtsleeves and vest and slacks, neatly groomed and well dressed as usual. His dark gaze takes in Balthazar's unusually tidy appearance, but then settles almost greedily on the plate. "Are those...?"

[grimholdkeeper]

Balthazar takes in the look of the room in one brief sweep, and lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Not only is it clearly not a trap of any kind, seems very likely he's in Horvath's living space. His gaze gets drawn first to book titles, then to artifacts on display, and he's slow to actually focus on his friend. When he does, he breaks into a small smile at his expression.

"Welsh cookies. Of course. I just made them this morning. There's the normal kind on the right side, and the left side has some with chocolate and toffee pieces." He offers out the plate. "Seemed like sacrilege at first, but then I tasted one."

[bitterguardian]

"I haven't had those in..." He pauses and shakes his head, taking a couple of rocking steps closer to take the plate. His cane stays leaning against the table, which is another sign of trust in itself. Not that he's ever been terribly agile, but he can't get more than a few paces without it.

He does have the manners not just take one, although he eyes them with clear interest, as he makes an awkward little welcoming gesture and carefully takes the few steps back to add the cookies to the spread on the table. "Make yourself at home, I suppose. Ah... Merry Christmas? And happy New Year. All that business."

[grimholdkeeper]

"Happy Christmas, Maximus," he says softly, smiling awkwardly, but with genuine pleasure. A couple steps take him to a chair, and he settles bashfully, still holding the gift bag.

"How...are things?" What the hell kind of question is that? 'How are things?' He tries again, "I hope the cookies are good. I haven't made them in a couple years, but I didn't burn any."

[bitterguardian]

The chair is big and sturdy and antique, like the rest of the furniture, and quite a lot like the owner of the whole place, too. Horvath is a big bear of a man, and living alone he's set the place up to make himself feel at home.

"They look just like I remember them..." There's a definite hint of wistfulness to his tone, but he stays standing so he can pour tea for Balthazar first, making sure the milk and sugar and whatever else he might need will be in his reach. It's not a big table, anyway, more of a largish desk that until recently held a pile of books and odds and ends. "Things..." He glances at Balthazar with just a brief hint of a smirk that says he registered the awkwardness there, "are much the same as ever. The earth continues to spin on its axis, people continue to find new ways of making trouble for each other, and I try to keep to my books until the next Morganian comes along to throw a plasma bolt at me."

Horvath's verbosity and dry sense of humor hasn't changed, either.

[grimholdkeeper]

"Are there many in this world?" Talking shop is easier. "Where I come from, newer lines of thought outnumber Merlinian and Morganian sorcerers. Maybe that's just the way it's meant to be."

He accepts the tea with a murmur of thanks, breathing in the steam.

[bitterguardian]

It's black tea, with hints of cinnamon and other spices, because Horvath had to guess but he knows Balthazar well enough to make very good guesses. Now that the tea is poured he sinks down in his own seat with a grateful sigh, and takes a welsh cookie, the traditional kind first.

"That rings true here, too, but it still seems there's always a few too many. There aren't... I haven't had any students in a while- I don't do well with apprentices, and I haven't heard from any other Merlinians in a long while..." He studies his cookie and tea, expression carefully neutral.

[grimholdkeeper]

He studies him a moment. "I haven't had an apprentice since the '20s. Haven't been doing much at all since the '50s, really. I know I'm the last."

He takes a cookie, himself, and nibbles around the edges, which may be a familiar habit to Horvath's eyes. It's strangely childlike, anyway.

[bitterguardian]

"No? I can almost see you as a teacher. You're good with people." He rouses himself from the hint of melancholy, regarding Balthazar thoughtfully, and picks up his own cookie. He takes a bite, and closes his eyes, savoring the taste more than actually chewing. It's just like he remembers.

[grimholdkeeper]

"I've had...one hundred forty-six apprentices, over the years. Usually individuals or in pairs, but sometimes more at a time. And I've had non-magical students, too. I taught grade school in the 1800s, and again in the '50s." He savors the tea, shivering a little at the contrast between cool air and hot steam. Mm.

[bitterguardian]

His eyes open again slowly, and his eyebrows rise a little. "Goodness. I've had... perhaps half that. Or less. It suits you, though." He takes another bite, and gives a little sigh when he's chewed and swallowed, settling back with his tea. "Could I bribe you to make these again? They're wonderful." He hasn't even tried the chocolate and toffee ones yet.

[grimholdkeeper]

"What would you bribe me with?" He grins. "Try the chocolate ones, too."

"Speaking of bribes, I brought you a present." He leans across the table to offer the gift bag. "It's just a little thing, though."

[bitterguardian]

"I've no idea, I'm not much of a baker. More tea?" He gives a little smile, and leans forward to take the gift bag with one hand, and another cookie with the other. He also gives a nod to the wrapped gift sitting near Balthazar's plate.

"I suppose I can let you open that one, then. I would have just on the basis of the cookies alone, really."

[grimholdkeeper]

"Tea might work." He returns the smile and picks up the wrapped gift, but waits for Horvath to open his first.

Inside is a large journal with a leather cover, embossed with a detailed image of a gryphon. Next to it is a gold-colored pen, shaped to look like a quill, and a bottle of india ink. At the bottom of the bag is a little box of honey-filled hard candies.

[bitterguardian]

He hesitates just a little, taking a bite of the other cookie and pausing with another blissful expression, setting it aside, and realizing Balthazar is waiting for him, before he starts to look in the gift bag. Each item is pulled out in turn with mild reverence, and he lines them up on the table beside his plate. When the bag is empty he strokes the cover of the journal, a fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "This is all... thank you. I wasn't expecting anything at all, you know, but this..." The smile is slow to break, as if his face isn't used to the expression anymore, but when it does it's open and warm.

[grimholdkeeper]

"I thought the gryphon would bring back fond memories," he says, smiling back. He seems more relaxed now, himself. It's strange, but it feels right to be spending time with Maximus. Like this is the man he grew up with, not the angry Morganian locked in the Grimhold.

After a moment, he begins unwrapping his own present carefully, as if to save the paper.

[bitterguardian]

Horvath seems to feel the same way, although he has trouble forgetting that his own Balthazar is not in a fit state to be sociable, and that just makes this all the more precious. The mention of the gryphon actually gets a laugh, brief but deep and rolling. "It does... although I couldn't have imagined it in those terms at the time..." It's surprising sometimes to realize how close their early lives run, as if it were one dimension that just split somewhere along the way.

The paper the package is wrapped in is plain gold, and the ribbon is white, neither of them specifically Christmassy. Inside is a wooden box, very simple but polished and a little old. The lid lifts with a simple brass latch, and inside, nestled in a scrap of black velvet, is a silver torc with hawk heads set at the ends. Their eyes are tiny specs of topaz, glints of yellow-gold against the silver. It's old, and recently polished. In the center of the torc there sits a single sprig of real holly, more of a token for decoration and old time's sake than anything he's expected to keep.

[grimholdkeeper]

He laughs, his own not quite so deep, and with a more mischievous edge. "No, not when we had to spend months cleaning up after it and making reparations for the livestock it ate. But we deserved that. You did, anyway."

He sets the paper aside and winds the ribbon around his wrist. When he opens the box, his eyes widen. Clearly this is not what he was expecting. "God...Maximus..." he breathes softly, "it's beautiful."

[bitterguardian]

"Me! It was your idea!" His voice rises a little, an echo of the youthful complaint, but without any of the actual resentment of the time. He's still grinning, partly at the memory and partly at Balthazar's reaction to the gift.

"I know it's terribly dated... moreso than your current wardrobe, " It's a gentle jibe. "But I thought you might like it anyway. It made me think of you..."

[grimholdkeeper]

"That's not the way I remember it." He makes a face at him playfully, then lifts the torc out of the box, stroking the hawk faces.

"It's not dated. It's...classic." He's genuinely touched, and quick to try it on.

[bitterguardian]

Horvath gives a quiet little snort of amusement. "'Classic'. Hmm. I'll remember that one on my next birthday." He watches Balthazar place the torc around his own neck, topaz hawk eyes winking across the table at him, and the smirk smoothes away into a more relaxed, mild smile. "It definitely suits you." His eyes twinkle a little, "and you're welcome to think of them as gryphon heads if you like."

[grimholdkeeper]

"It's a good word. 'Timeless' works, too, but maybe not so much for people." He smiles, stroking the torc. "Thank you, Maximus. It's perfect. But I choose to believe they're phoenix heads. It seems more appropriate, somehow."

[bitterguardian]

"I don't feel timeless..." He heaves a tired sigh, watching Balthazar thoughtfully. "I suppose one does reinvent oneself, over time, if only so much..."

[grimholdkeeper]

"That's not quite what I meant," he says. "I meant...this. Us."

Wait, that sounds like he's coming on to him. He smiles awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. "Being friends, I mean. I missed you."