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.

Comments

[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."

[bitterguardian]

If that came out sounding like something unintentionally romantic, Horvath has gone so long with that aspect of his life locked away that he doesn't even notice. He just sips his tea and listens, thoughtful and feeling comfortably nostalgic.

At the last, he looks down, subtly bashful. He's not at all given to blushing, but he's always been awkward with emotion. "I missed you, too. It's... healing, to see you like this, however selfish of me that may be." His own Balthazar is still out there, after all.

[grimholdkeeper]

"I understand." He smiles wistfully. It's a relief just to see Horvath smiling, not in a bitter parody of fondness or in sly anticipation of watching him suffer, just...friendly contentment. "And Merry Christmas. Have another cookie."

[bitterguardian]

This kind of smile is as unfamiliar to Horvath himself as it is to Balthazar, but it's just as welcome, too. "Merry Christmas, old friend." He smirks a little, but takes another cookie obligingly. "These cookies are dangerous..."

Something taps Balthazar's ankle, from under the chair.

[grimholdkeeper]

"They're better than store-bought," he protests. "Healthier."

Registering the tap, he starts slightly and glances down. "...do you have pets? There's something living under this chair."

[bitterguardian]

Horvath rolls his eyes, catching a few crumbs, and leans over sideways to look under the table. "They're... they're mousers.." His tone is mildly defensive, as if he's afraid of anyone accusing him of going soft and having pets.

Of course, the tiny gray paw that keeps trying to snag Balthazar's pantleg may say otherwise.

[grimholdkeeper]

Balthazar watches the paw snag his already slightly threadbare cuffs, and grins. "Of course they are. How many do you have? If I'd know, I'd have brought them treats."

He himself has never made any pretense regarding his soft spot for the furry (and feathery) set. He's also well aware Horvath more or less shares his opinion, whether he wants to admit it or not.

[bitterguardian]

"There's only two!" Again, with the defensive tone, but he adds almost reluctantly, "That's Smoke. Just nudge her away if she's bothering you. They're not used to strangers, she may startle easily."

If Balthazar could sneak some kind of hidden cameras in here, he could get lots of shots of Horvath settled comfortably deep in a chair or sofa, reading, with both cats snuggled close or even on him. He makes an excellent cat bed, very warm and nicely soft, and he sits still for long periods of time. The cats love him, whether or not he'll openly admit to loving them back.

[grimholdkeeper]

"Two is a good number," he tries to make his voice sound placating, but he's grinning. "And I wouldn't want to startle her. I'm her guest, after all."

Because when there are cats in a dwelling, it is their dwelling, no matter what the human who lives there believes.

[bitterguardian]

Especially when that human spends so much of his time clearly being a bed for the cats.

"There were strays all over, back when... mm... ages ago, I suppose. When I moved in." He settles back again, since Balthazar seems content to let the cat add wear and tear to his already careworn clothes. He doesn't seem to think of what his offhand comment says for the place they're in. It looks downright elegant, now, but just outside the little fortress he's made his home, it's not exactly a glamorous setting.

[grimholdkeeper]

"Have you been here long?" He casually watches the paw tag his clothing. "I had the Arcana Cabana since 1888...but I didn't really live there until the 70s. This...is very nice, though. Cushy. In a good way."

[bitterguardian]

"It started as a kind of storage vault, and grew... the library was added in... 1921?" He looks distant and thoughtful, "I didn't start converting it to a proper living space until after the second World War, and I've been in residence just a little over a decade. I decided the cats were a breach in the wards. Allowing them to come and go made for a loophole. I wouldn't want some Morganian taking it into their head to shapechange or possess an animal and get in that way." It hasn't actually happened, here, he's just slightly paranoid. The wards on his home are an extraordinary piece of work, layered and detailed, built up over a century or so.

"Are you accusing me of going soft?" There's no venom in the comment, although he sometimes thinks he really is. It's safe and comfortable, to retreat down here and let the rest of the world fend for itself for a while.

[grimholdkeeper]

"That's...actually a very shrewd observation. I've never had anyone sneak in on me that way in my own place, but Ross Isaacs broke into a farm I had in the '50s in more or less that fashion. I believe he's dead in my world, now. Not by my hand." He sips his tea, reflecting and looking around him.

"No, I was accusing you of liking nice things. Which you always have, and there's nothing wrong with that." He used to tease him about it, when they were boys, and he's certainly called the Horvath of his own world a flash bastard, but legitimately earned luxuries aren't against the Merlinian code, and they both know it.

[bitterguardian]

There's a practicality to buying expensive things. All his furniture is plush and well made, sturdy, and therefore it will hold up for a very long time under a lot of use. When someone lives as long as they have, it's nice to own things that don't need replacing very often. He also has a lot of space, and a lot of chairs and tables scattered around, but everything he has serves a practical purpose. There's nothing in the place that's pure and simple decoration for its own sake. "Why would I like something that isn't?"

He sips his tea, munches another cookie, and nods mildly. "It didn't happen, but I've kept too many volatile artifacts down here to allow that kind of risk. The cats lived here first, but they had to go. It only proves the danger that one of them escaped the... ejection, and stayed." Yes, he said one.