In search of... (part 2)

[bitterguardian]

After years of living in his subterranean home around the vault, Horvath is unused to being woken by sunlight. To fall asleep comfortably sunk deep in a plush chair is familiar, but the chair is not his own, and to wake with a cat sleeping on him, and another running around playing is familiar, but these are not his cats and there are more than two. Also he rarely has the foresight to pull a blanket over himself. To feel so much at home in a place that is not his home comes as a strange surprise.

Last night before he dozed off in the chair, however, he had a great deal of food and alcohol, and his body would urgently like to remind him of that fact. He's grateful for the new set of crutches in easy reach, and he hauls himself up on them and swings along off to the bathroom, letting the cats scatter in his wake.

Once he's tended to the basics, and ascertained that while he is hung over, it's not a bad one, he notices the note from his host conveniently stabbed through on a prong of the antlers around the bathroom mirror. She had some foresight, indeed.

Bonjour Max! I hope that your sleep was a deep, healing one and that you woke to a better day! I had an errand to run early this morn, and might not make it back in time to be there when you wake. So! There is food, coffee, tea - and I shall return with fresh eggs for breakfast if you sleep so long.
Mara

The towels from yesterday have been replaced with clean ones, his clothes are washed and mended on the bed, and there's the salve still waiting back on the footstool beside the chair in which he slept. Thanks to the ambient light of day waking him, it's not late by any means, so he takes time to wash, to put salve and a bandage over the blistered stump of his leg, and to dress in his own clothes once more. When he emerges to investigate the kitchen, Horvath feels more like himself than he has since his encounter with Shub niggurath sent him questing. Pantleg folded up and tucked neatly (a trick he learned back in the army hospital when he was first learning to adapt to the amputation), moving faster on the new crutches than he can with a cane, he murmurs to the cats, and seeks out a cup of tea to help drive away the vestiges of a headache that's not strong enough to dampen a good mood.

Comments

[bitterguardian]

"Morganian as in a follower of Morgana's school of sorcery, yes. She taught that magic should be self-serving, and woe betide anyone who might get in the way..." He did mention Morgana, at least, in his tale, but may have neglected to lay out the lasting conflict of ideologies between her students and theirs versus Merlin's followers.

"And I'd say he does..." He's amused at the idea of unleashing this enthusiastic chef on his friend. "Admittedly I might be biased," He smooths down his vest front, self-consciously. "But he's always been inclined towards scrawny. Bust don't tell him I said so!" There's a barely-restrained laugh in his voice. He and Bel are easy enough with each other these days to tease and prod, and he won't be sorry at all if the other sorcerer is slightly flustered by this new friend. "And you'll have to ask him which name he'd prefer yourself. I would like for him to meet you, I think. He's better with people than I am, and quicker with songs and stories, but I imagine he could use a few more friends, too." Now that he's explained to her who the man is, he has nothing but compliments about him.

[sunandshadows]

The image she gets into her mind of Max's 'scrawny' friend may make him look far thinner than the man truly is; but that simply means that she can spend even longer in the kitchen. "I would never say such a thing to a person, and most certainly not to a friend of yours. Have no fear of that, mon ami."

"And it is highly unlikely that I could find the right ingredients in time, in this nexus of yours to create a proper meal. So, either you allow me to borrow your kitchen for a spell, or you must bring your Bel here." And yes, that was deliberate on her part. Friends that they were, and able to joke and tease each other - still she would never say something that could be taken so badly as 'you must bring your Bal when you come'.

"If this is to be the case, we should make a party of it after dinner, with each of us bringing something to share. We shall build up a fire in the fireplace, and you Max, you could tell one of your wonderful stories! History or mythology, or imagination, it would be your choice! Bel could perhaps sing a song, and I? Um. Hmm." She stops to think about it. "I could either play one of my harps, or perhaps a dance by firelight."

[bitterguardian]

There have probably been times in his history when Balthazar was genuinely underweight, and for that matter there were times when Horvath tightened his belt- which used to be shorter than it is these days. She may be disappointed to find Balthazar a reasonably healthy weight, but both men will enjoy her cooking anyway. If Balthazar knew what was being plotted for him, though, his ears would be burning now.

"He's quite a good singer... and we'll both appreciate your company for a story or a song or even just to talk. I suppose we're both lonely old men." It's a very enticing thought, to share the peace and joy of this place with his best friend and his new friend both. Horvath hopes, however cautiously, that this might actually come to pass.

"I... should warn you though, just because the Nexus has an anti-violence field doesn't make it safe in every sense. You'd best stick to ingredients from home, because food and drink there can carry... tricks. They call them LOLs, but it's usually worthy of fae pranks. And don't pick up any random objects you see lying about for the same reason."

[littlemischief]

"These past few days are a rarity for me, I spend so much of my time in transit between one court and the next; brokering deals and carrying messages. It also means long hours alone as I travel the paths on the overworld." Mara shrugs then, and slowly begins to gather up empty plates and utensils to bring back into the house.

"Linette's jobs carry her far from here, and most times we meet up it's in our home in California. This is - this place is for quieter times. Not the chaos that comes from living with a group, a community." Or rather, a family made up of different species of shape-changers. "So I would be glad to have the company of two fine gentlemen such as yourself and your close companion, when I am home."

The look she gives him now is sharp, one eyebrow raised. "Tricks? Do you mean fun and mostly jokes to be had at one another's expense? Or..." Biting her lower lip, Mara looks down at the table, slowly pulls the juice container to her. "Max, I must warn you. Here, in the world we inhabit now?"

Her face is somber now, any trace of joviality gone. "Fae pranks can be dangerous, even deadly. They are called pranks because they are amusing - to the fae. Boggarts, pucca, there is a historical basis to many of the legends spoken, and many of the old wive's tales told."

"The outer shell does not always show the rot within. It is truth as much for the shining folk as any other I'd say. So if these ah, these El-oh-el's of yours are truly fae in nature? They may cause dark times indeed."

Her mood brightens up a bit however, and she finishes with "But I shall try not to pick up just anything I see laying in wait for me." Besides, there won't be shiny things lying around for her eyes to catch on, right? No sparkly trinkets or unusual objects? Nooo.

[bitterguardian]

"Pranks." He gives a firm nod, and picks up the crutches to pull himself carefully up. Carrying things is trickier when both hands are occupied with the crutches, just one reason he prefers the prosthetic and cane, but he makes an attempt at gathering up a few things he can manage with one crutch mostly tucked under his arm. "By which I meant it's a mix of both. Some LOLs are relatively harmless, like being turned into an animal for a few hours, or younger, or some other temporary inconvenience. I've also heard some have far deeper and more dire consequences, and sometimes mentally traumatic ones. I'll admit I visit infrequently enough I've dodged them for the most part- I told you I tend to hide away with my books, but I have heard stories." He'll let her lead, and get the back door for them both, since he just doesn't have a free hand to be that gentlemanly.

"Once, Bel's car was turned sentient for a day, and that was mildly entertaining. But the Nexus is also where I encountered... well. The reason for my current quest. The anti-violence field may have prevented direct harm, but sometimes that isn't enough..."

[sunandshadows]

Her foot holds the door open for him as her arms are full, but she begins giggling even before they get to the kitchen. "A sentient car? Truly?" Giggles turn to outright laughter.

"Oh my. Did it at least assist in warning of other lights and drivers? Was it overly cautious, or did it wish to drive too fast?" First set of dishes are down, and she's spinning around the other side of the island in the middle of the room, heading back outside for more.

"Hmmm. There is violence, and ah, violence. Physical, mental" She pauses to look back at Max "Spiritual, emotional. What is violent to one race or culture might not be to another. So I would presume that this 'violence' field you speak of is mainly physical in nature? Force on force?"

And then she's gone, back through the kitchen into the dining area and the door to the outside once more. "Hold the door open please?" She calls, as she starts her journey back inside once more. Once inside she picks up right where she left off.

"So though I may not strike another, my words may cut as deep and sharp as any blade - if I choose to use them that way. I will remember this, and take care to be both cautious" She sneaks a wink "And upon some of my better behavior."

[bitterguardian]

Carrying things slows him down, but once he's put the cups in the sink, he's quick to follow and catch the door for her. Holding that is an easier form of help, and he waits obediently with it while she brings the rest of the dishes inside. "Primarily physical violence, yes. It certainly doesn't curtail speech in any way." He glances out to the table to make sure they've gotten everything before following her back inside.

"And the car ended up loose in the Nexus proper, rather than out on the streets. It... played keepaway, I suppose you could call it, for quite a long time, but it did seem attached to him all the same. Lovely old thing, a Rolls Royce Phantom. I marvel over some of the similarities in our paths through alternate worlds, both on Merlin's quest..."

[sunandshadows]

"Do I take it to mean that you too own a lovely old phantom, Max?"

Her focus now was on making certain that the kitchen dishes were done. And since he had cooked for her, she insists on being the one to do the majority of what was left to clean up. But if he wants to help dry the dishes, well - how can she say no to that?

The morning passes by to afternoon, and either she's asking questions about his books, his cats, his friend Bel, or his nexus; or she's taking him around her yard and showing off her apple and pear trees; her tiny vineyard, or her herb garden. And several times, she finds that he interrupts her, or she interrupts him, to discuss the mundane, medicinal, or magical potent of the plants they are gazing at. It's relaxing, and actually refreshing in a way for her to be able to speak with someone who already knows this subject, and can give his point of view.

As the day passes on however, she finally looks at the sky and has to excuse herself for a while to her bedroom to lay down for a short nap. Dinner is heating in the stove, and when she finally comes out the place is scented by both the food, and some of the bee's wax candles that Max has lit in the meantime.

When she does come out, Mara has another slip-dress on, square-necked and short sleeved a of dark grey-green. This one is clean however, and unlike what he'd seen her in the first time, there are no holes or rips in this outfit. Her hair is tightly braided, and there is an alert look in her eyes as she goes to the front window and looks out at the large oak tree, the garden, and the wooden gate that separates them.

"I'll be leaving soon." She turns her head slightly, to watch as another cat winds in and about the legs of the table nearby. "I was told that I would have an esc" Her voice breaks off as something outside catches her eyes. If he comes closer, he can look over her shoulder and watch for himself.

Out of the very earth is rising a bank of fog, flowing along the old stone wall and growing larger, blotting out sight of the trees, the lake, even the distant mountains. Where was once a knee-high wooden gate is becoming obscured, growing hazy and then disappearing into the mists. In it's place, an ornamental wrought-wooden gate appears. Mara continues to stand there looking out the window without bothering to back the curtain, watching as the gate silently opens to show a path into the darkness beyond.

Out of the mists stalks a tall, lean figure dressed like something out of a renaissance legend. Clad in all black from fine silken shirt, to the leather trews tucked into knee-high folded boots, the man halts just beyond the gate. His cloak whips in a sudden wind behind him, and his hair is loose and long, nearly as dark as the cloak on his back. He turns his head slowly, taking in all he can, with one hand free and the other resting on the pommel of the long, slender sword at his side. And when he faces the house only one dark, and sharply piercing eye can be seen. The other, if there is any eye there at all, is hidden behind an eye-patch of sable velvet.

And though she knows she's hidden behind the curtains, somehow Mara knows that the figure beyond knows exactly where she's hiding. "It's him!" She whispers, her lips barely moving. "It's Le Comte de... my queen's own consort!"

Spinning about, she takes a step and leans against the wall, her eyes wide. "I had no clue that they would - that he would himself lead this hunt. But then, it makes sense that... " She shakes her head suddenly. "Oh, I am sorry Maxim. I blather on, and time is so short!" Pulling herself away from the wall, she reaches out for a quick hug and a "I will return, but do not wait up for me. I will return, I promise!" before she racing to the front door.

She composes herself just as she puts her hand on the doorknob however, and with a last swipe of her other hand at her hair, brushing down any stray bangs; she is out the door and shutting it silently behind her.

Mara's walk is completely different now. Stately, shoulders back and head high, she picks her way down the walk toward the old oak, and the figure standing in it's shadow. Roughly three steps from him she drops into a low, graceful curtsy, holding it there and then rising slowly to speak to the black-clad warrior before her. If her time bobbing and spinning about the kitchen that morning with Max was one type of a dance, here then in another - a waltz, stately and dignified, and almost unearthy in it's grace. A hand, gloved in leather comes up and gently strokes the faeling's cheek, words are spoken in a voice so low that it is doubtful they can be heard more than a few feet away. And a gesture is made, toward the mist-filled gate to the overworld.

The woman only nods once, and heads into the mist without hesitation. The man in black hesitates however, and his head comes up to stare at the front of the house with it's curtained windows once more. Then the man nods his head, and turns away to be swallowed into the fog as he too begins to walk the path through the hedge of fog and stone.

Moments later, as swiftly as it came up, the unearthly wall and gate dissipates; and the grass, the garden, and the mountain is seen clearly once more. There is nothing there to say that two people stood in that very spot under the oak tree only moments before.

[bitterguardian]

"Oh, no, I have an antique white Bentley." He smirks faintly, because of course he's proud of his car, even if it's never come to life and had to be chased around the Nexus. "But they're both antiques, imports, and we've both had them from new." He's quick to pull a chair over to the sink, where he can sit to dry the dishes, even if he'll need help putting them away after.

Horvath tells her of his vaults carved out of an old abandoned train station in New York, and the library that's built up there. He tells her about Smoke and Whisper, born in his wardrobe and abandoned by their feral mother. He had to nurse them on bottles of kitten formula, and then stepped on Whisper by accident when she was barely six months old and ran under the prosthetic foot while he was walking. Stroking one of the resident cats, he freely admits to his terror at how badly he might have hurt her, and his immense relief when she turned out to be relatively unharmed apart from a lasting fear of feet. He tells her about Bel, too, with an affection and flattery that rivals the way he talks about his cats. Bel is, she may guess, his only close friend, his only family. Being together again as friends makes them both forget their aches and the long ages, and he sheepishly says they're sometimes downright childish at each other. He's looking forward to Bel's welsh cookies for Christmas, and to spending the day with him, a bright spot in the gloom of the impending winter.

It's a little hard for him to not talk about Bel, once he's started. She may notice references to the other sorcerer having done or said this or that slip into his conversation often.

The walk around the yard and gardens is leisurely and pleasant, and he's a fairly knowledgeable herbalist, even if it's not his primary focus. He insists on helping with a midday tea, to tide them over until supper, and shoos her off to nap as soon as she mentions the need for one. He'll content himself with the cats and any books he finds, and keep half an eye on the oven. He's not used to spending so much of the day talking and being with anyone, and the chance to sit and rest quietly is welcome on its way. Her home is peaceful and welcoming even while she's dozing, and when she wakes she'll find him in the same quietly content mood she left him in.

He's quick to catch the difference in her mood, though, sobering a little at her proclamation. It's been a wonderful day, but they both knew the hunt was waiting at the end of it. It was pleasant to put off thinking about it for a while, but now she has a duty ahead, and all he has is the waiting. Horvath rises on the crutches with a nod, heading for the kitchen and thinking to say something about offering to serve her dinner, but then she's drawn to the window, and cuts herself off mid-sentence, and that throws all else out of his mind. In a few strides he's close, frowning mildly at the sweeping fog that can only be a supernatural element. His view over the top of her head is clear enough, and he knows exactly what to think of a gate that appears out of the mist, so like how she brought him here.

He doesn't draw away from the view until she already has, making an exclamation of surprise over her escort. Who the man is precisely, he doesn't know, but obviously he means much to her. The sense of urgency is clear to read, though, and he puts one crutch aside quickly to give her a one-armed hug when she hugs him, and gives her a reassuring little smile when she pauses at the door. There's a farewell nod, his expression gently encouraging, then she's away and he's left alone to the house and the cats and the uneaten dinner. Taking up the other crutch again, he moves back a step or two to watch her through the window, marveling at the many faces she wears. Everyone has their masks in life, but hers are more varied and artful than most. He watches until the figures and the gate have gone, then considers the view of the mountains a moment more before he moves away.

There's food, and she'd be upset if he didn't eat, but his appetite is considerably less, tonight. When he's had what he wants, he makes sure the rest will keep warm for at least a number of hours. Quietly he cleans up after himself, and stirs up the fireplace, and settles in the same chair he spent the night in. With the cats for company he tends to his leg again, and works on recharging his rings, and when there's nothing practical left to be done he simply watches the cats and candles on the mantel.She said not to wait up, but how can he do anything else? Alone in the night, warm and safe though he is, he recalls their moments of terror huddled together in a cold scrape of a cave, with the monster breathing down their necks.

He may doze a little, fitfully, but never for long. It's a vigil, however pointless, but he's a little too anxious over his new friend to do anything else.

[sunandshadows]

Its the dead of night, nearly 3 AM, when one of the cat's perks up it's head from where it's lying in Max's lap. And after the first, another and another until each animal is awake and alert, heads turned and all staring at the front of the house. Staring at the door and the windows.

It's only a few minutes later that the door slowly opens, and a small, stumbling figure slips between door and doorframe to lean against the wall as she shuts the door against the night. She's a stark contrast from the well dressed young lady that walked out several hours earlier. Hair askew, dress ripped and dirty, covered with dark patches of dirt and blood. The woman too is dirt-stained, blood-stained. Whats more, there is a bandage of black cloth wrapped around nearly the full length of her left forearm that she's holding close to her chest.

She opens her eyes to candle light, and the gleam of the eyes of nearly a half-dozen cats. And one human sorcerer.

"You should have been in bed long before now mon ami; I did not expect you to wait up." Mara's breath hitches, catches as she speaks soft and low, stumbling over the words. And that's when a tear falls, starts tracing it's way down through the dirt on her face. The first is followed by another, and another, and the faeling drops her head to hide her face from the Merlinian's gaze.

[bitterguardian]

Recharging his rings, while not exhausting work, can be a little draining. He's been dozing some, but lightly enough that the first movements of the cat on his lap is enough to rouse him. As soon as he sees a few more have picked up on someone coming, he slides the cat off gently and levers himself up, heading slowly for the door in anticipation of her return.

When Mara opens the door, he's a looming figure silhouetted by candle-and-firelight, the cats meandering around his feet, but also looking to her. Her appearance, his own mental sluggishness, or a combination of both, renders him speechless for a moment. "It's all right, I was..." He pauses, seeing the tears fall, and begins to flounder mentally. Emotional affairs have always been tricky ground, for Horvath, and crying women or children make him awkward. He's never quite sure what to say or do to make it stop. Only one thing does ever seem to help at all, and after a little wordless stammering, Horvath crosses the remaining distance between them in a few quick swings on the crutches, then props the left one against the wall so he can sweep her closer in a hug. "Easy... are you badly hurt?" The bandage hasn't escaped his attention, although he suspects she wouldn't have been sent home if she were seriously injured, at least physically.

[sunandshadows]

"Not bad, no." She's not ready to talk about her wound, not yet. There will be time enough for that explanation later. Maybe much later.

"The creature is dead. Dead, and burnt, it's ashes blessed. As blessed as we could make it, our priest died in the hunt. And too." Mara wishes she could erase the memory of the sight, it's far too like the ones she's been repressing from her childhood.

"Max," Mara leans back in the hug, her arms are still around him but now she can see his face. "When it's initial prey got away. The beast found, it found another prize. An easier catch before it went back to it's lair." She is dragging the words out, she really doesn't want to tell him. But then, he is an adult, a warrior and a magic user. He has every right to know, and though she would wish it otherwise, she feels she has a responsibility to be honest about it.

"A father and son, camping up on one of the hiking trails, about five miles from the cave at the edge of the brook. It." She scrunches her eyes closed and shakes her head. "We made it look like lightning strike had started a fire in their camp, set their tent ablaze. We could do no more for them."

"It's why it took so long, the beast was already full by the time we began the hunt. We had to resort to other measures to get it to come out of hiding."

[bitterguardian]

"Ohh... oh goodness." There's a sigh, and of course he thinks it's terrible, and he's kicking himself a little for not trying to take the beast down, for all that an attempt would not have ended well. But he's also seen so much loss in the world; the crusades, the inquisition, world wars... it's hard to give more than a respectful moment of mourning, and move on. He didn't have to see it firsthand, so that helps, but also Horvath is an old soldier through and through.

"You did all that could be done. Shhh..." He rubs her back a little, and strokes her hair, then reaches for the crutch and tries to position it so she won't have to let go if she doesn't want to. "Come sit by the fire? You... you need to recover..." The father and son are dead, and so is their priest. He'd rather focus on the living.

[sunandshadows]

It is awkward moving and it's compounded with the knowledge in her mind that he is so neat and clean, and she herself is just the opposite. Still, she has no desire to let go, not yet.

The cats are moving, circling around the room silently, but this time they do not play their game of weaving in and around feet. This time they are alert, watching. And there is no way they are getting close to her right now. Not with what they are smelling on her skin.

The fire is warm and inviting, and she's bending her knees to sit in a chair, when she shakes her head and rises back up.

"I can't. I have to" She gestures "I can't rest like this. I'm sorry. I'll be back, but I - no. Just no." Shaking her head, she wipes the back of her good arm across her face, across her eyes, then attempts a lopsided attempt at a smile.

"If you are still awake, I would love a glass of watered wine. But I understand if you sleep. You deserve it.." She takes a step, another, then turns to look back.

"It was a wonderful thing you did, Maxim; waiting up for me. Truly wonderful, and it is much appreciated. Merci beaucoup mon ami." From there she slowly fades into the shadows as she walks out of the room. Moments later the bathroom door closes, and the sound of running water can be heard.

[bitterguardian]

Sitting down only to get up again quickly is simply not something he can do, but he lets her go, a brief flash of surprise melting into an understanding nod. After his encounter with Shub Niggurath, he was too rattled to anything sensible, and went looking for a drink once he could think of anything at all. It took Bel's guiding hand to send him off to clean up, and getting the stench of the eldritch thing off himself (at least as much as he could) was the best thing for him. What she went to fight this evening wasn't quite the same sort of creature, thank goodness, but the idea may still hold true.

"I'll still be here, when you've cleaned up." He nods, and gets up again more slowly. By the time she returns, he's settled against one arm of the couch, gazing contemplatively into the middle distance. He is, truth be told, a little tired. There are two glasses of red wine, watered down a little, on the nearby coffee table, and he looks up with a gentle smile when he notices her.

[sunandshadows]

When she finally comes back, she is much more her normal self. Hair washed and tamed, tightly braided down her back. Her deep blue under-dress is almost hidden by the deep blue embroidered, floor-length and sleeveless overjacket she wears. The sleeves of her dress flow down to her wrists, and are loose, edged in wide, embroidered trim and an inch-wide edge of black fur. And when she moves, the the bottom of her dress is finished in the same manner, the black fur tickling the top of her bare feet. Her feet that make no sound, but there is a slight 'swish' as the cloth trails over the floor when she moves.

In silence she looks at the chair, positioned so that it can take in the most of the fire's warmth; then at the sorcerer sitting on the couch on the side. Decision made, Mara walks over to the coffee table, raising a glass and nodding to the man; then turns and stares into the fire.

I toast to those gone beyond, may they find the paradise they seek, not found here; and may the gods find mercy for them. She thinks, raising high her glass and taking a sip, then another. One sip for the innocent father and son - caught unaware by an ferocious beast of myth and magic; a sip for the priest who died, another victim of the vipercat. And then finally, she takes a sip for the vipercat itself.

Her shoulders unstiffen, formal moment of remembrance and dedication finished. She turns to look back at the chair once more, obviously empty and open so that she can relax in full view of the fire; then turns and walks over to the couch. One hand holds the wine glass, the other picks up a sleeping cat from where it is resting beside Horvath. Swift and gentle the cat is deposited on the floor and then she is climbing onto the couch, curling in, leaning in - perhaps even on - Maxim's own lap.

The cat behind his shoulders, lying on the back of the couch just raises it's head, stares and sniffs, then lowers it's head once more, uninterested.

[bitterguardian]

She's elegant, in her fur-trimmed dress, and while he feels far more comfortable back in his three-piece suit, it's just a little shabby and threadbare. His clothes tend to be well-made and tailored to fit (his build is too odd for anything to fit well otherwise), but this also means he keeps on wearing them until they're quite old, and for his journey in the woods he'd picked clothes that were nearing the end of being wearable anyway. Is it any wonder he feels old and shabby and flabby, watching her glide across the floor in half-fae grace and beauty?

At her toast, he is silent, but he does pick up the other glass, lifting it as well. He did not know the ones who've died, tonight, but he guesses at that salute, and will drink to their honor. When he's done that, he sets the glass down again, still mostly full. This nightcap was more for her sake, and he's tired enough without alcohol. Horvath sighs quietly, settling back a little, while she finds her peace of mind gazing in the fire. Once she's on the move for a seat, he thinks little of it, and he's not entirely surprised that she might prefer to sit on the couch companionably.

That is, he expected she'd settle at the other end of the couch. To have her land more or less in his lap sends his eyes widening in surprise. He actually freezes, for just a moment, weary mind suddenly very much awake and spinning pointlessly. Is he supposed to hug her again? Is she about to start crying? Did something even more terrible happen that she has yet to tell him? It reminds him, in fact, of a night when his last apprentice was very young. It was more than a century ago, back when he had both legs and roughly fifty less pounds, and the world was a few wars younger. The child hadn't been his apprentice even a year yet, but just long enough to lose some fear of the grim figure that was his new master. He'd had a nightmare, and small wonder since he'd lost his family in a terrible way, and when Horvath had gone to see what the noise of alarm was about he'd been crying. After he sat down to try to talk to him, the boy had climbed into his lap-just so, and clung, and cried, and eventually fallen back to sleep.

Horvath had rubbed his back, awkwardly, floundering for words of consolation that never came. The apprentice before that one had left angry, had told Horvath he was a cold dead old beast, and that he hated him. But the last apprentice, the one who once cried himself to sleep in Horvath's lap, had parted as an adept on reasonably good terms.

Awkwardly, floundering for words, Horvath shifts just a little and very tentatively lets a hand rest on her back. He's very warm from sitting by the fire, or maybe just because he's a natural furnace himself. He's the right balance of solid and squishy for hugging or curling up against, and he is, however awkwardly, rubbing her back.

[sunandshadows]

She finishes off her wine in a few gulps, then leans forward and drops the empty goblet the last few inches onto the floor. It hits the floor, tips, and rolls a few inches before stopping. She'll pick it up later. Right now it's just not important.

A tug of bunched cloth here, a slight shifting there, and then she's getting all comfortable and starting to relax. And no, seriously no, she is not in the mood to talk for a little while. But then, she's not going to break down crying either. It's enough that she is alive, and he is alive and human, warm and trusted and awake and present. After taking part in so much death, it's good to be able to reach out and be able to hold on to living, breathing, life. It's good to not have to be alone tonight.

When she realizes what he's doing, she starts to chuckle. Twisting, she manages to grasp his hand with a few fingers, then pulls his arm around to circle her waist. She leaves it there as she leans in and rests her head on his chest with a soft, contented sigh.

"I'm glad you are here, Maxim. This night would be very cold without you." No, she's not talking just about the temperature.

[bitterguardian]

Horvath is very alive, heartbeat strong and a little quick against that barrel chest. She may be able to tell, from the stiffness of his movements, just how awkward he is right now. She's allowed to manipulate his arms wherever she wants them, though, and after she's settled in he begins gradually to relax. This kind of contact with anyone is all too rare. He can't help but take some comfort from the arrangement, as well. She's warm and kind, and looking to him for comfort, a service he's always wished he felt adequate providing. For her, he seems to be enough right now.

"I'm not... good at this, you know..." It's a sheepish mumble, and of course she'd probably beg to differ. Free arm resting along the arm of the couch, other arm resting around her waist, he's surprisingly comfortable himself. Without the prosthetic on, there's no concern for any position putting extra pressure against that. She's warm, too, a human blanket across his lap and chest. Is this what friends- or even family is supposed to feel like? He'd forgotten, even with Bel there's still a lingering care, the quiet shadow of the deeds of their alternates.

[sunandshadows]

She has been aware of his blushing, and his unease in certain 'personal space' situations. And she is very aware that he is unused to this being close, touching thing. So in her mind she's aware that right this very minute she's probably - at least slightly - causing him a certain amount of anxiety and distress, distress that hopefully calm in time. She doesn't tell herself that 'she needs this' or that he does; its more primal than that. More instinctive.

Soon however, Mara does quirk a hidden grin and comes very close to nearly telling him to treat her like an overgrown cat if it would make him feel better.

However, in the end, perhaps discretion would be best. He's just beginning to relax, after all.

"Hmmph. You think not? I was about to get up up, however I realize that more practice is called for. So Maxim, you are, as they say, stuck with me awhile longer." And that settles that in her mind. Of course she says this lazily, only moving her head a bit to lift it off his shoulder and look up at his face before dropping her head back down.

Point of fact, he can probably tell that her body never moved, no muscles shifted, nothing tensed up. So she may have been exaggerating a bit when it came to the 'about to get up' part. More likely it was considered, and discarded, right about the time that Maxim decided to speak up and get self depreciating. Again.

She is silent a while, enjoying the peace and quiet between herself and the man she was curled up against. And finally, quietly, she begins to speak.

Without going into details, she describes the hunt, the realization that the beast had fed, and the sudden need for something new to draw the beast out. Some sort of bait that would be certain to bring the vipercat out from where it is resting. She mentions how the priest offered to take the bait himself, to guard and protect until the beast came out of it's hidden lair. How the monster charged, enraged and furious, just as they had hoped. How it's speed and fury overcame the priest, wounding him mortally - but not killing him outright. And how the others rushed in, surrounding and subduing the animal - both on this plain and the other - and how, once it lay dead, the twisted magics that created the vipercat were neutralized, and dissipated into the mists by the priest, though the cost was too high for his body to survive.

The vipercat was burned, the priest's body returned to the Fortunate Isles, and she was escorted home and protected until she arrived at her doorstep.

Her voice is sleepy, her words quiet but clear as she recounts the story. It's a pick and choose, several things were explained, other's were deliberately left out for now. But finally she falls silent with a few last sentences.

"Did I cover it all, Max? Oh, and there is one more thing. I was told to thank you; your deeds will be known, and your story told as well when they speak of this night. Your courage and bravery, your steadfast strength of will, your knowledge and power harmed it terribly in the overworld. Had you not done what you did, Maxim - it is likely that this story would have had a far different outcome."

"Merci tres beaucoup, mon chere ami" And at that, he gets another soft kiss on the cheek, then she sighs softly and goes silent again.

[bitterguardian]

About to get up indeed, she feels awfully well settled for that. When she lifts her head to look at him at close range, he's got that slightly sheepish, faintly blushing, flattered-but-embarrassed look that's becoming so familiar already.

As she tells the tale of the hunt, however, any blushing fades. It's a moving tale, one that would be epic told over drinks at a distance, with another brief toast for the fallen, but tonight it's still close and raw, and he hardly blames her for being distraught. Some part of him is annoyed nobody saw her any further than the door, but then, perhaps they knew he'd be here waiting for her.

When she's finished, he gives a mild shake of his head. "I don't know how badly I really wounded it, in the end, but thank you..." If she looks hard enough, she may find old tales of terrible monsters being taken down by a lone Merlinian sorcerer named Maximus, and often without aid, but his deeds have grown quieter over the years as he retreated from active work. "I do wish I could have done more. Perhaps if I'd been fresh when I went up against it..." He sighs, distracted, and this time the kiss gets only a mildly shy smile. It's very comfortable here with her cuddled against him, and he's finally relaxed.

[sunandshadows]

"Oui, and if wishes were wings then all fairy's could fly". She shakes her head, and sits up carefully to speak. This, for her, is important.

"Maxim, you cannot change the past. And if you could, it still would not be right. Things happen the way they do, not because of fate, but because that is simply the way they happen. Life is hard, and rarely if ever fair." If he has a free hand, she is reaching for it with both of hers, to hold while she speaks.


"You do yourself no good service to try to blame yourself for what 'could have been'" She whispers.


Then louder, she speaks "So do not, please do not begin to second guess yourself now. What you did was exactly what you could do, and exactly when you were able to do it. Feel good about your success!"

"Feel good my friend, about your survival. Our survival." And with that, his hand is dropped in her lap and her arms are reaching around him to hug the bigger man.

[bitterguardian]

He gives a quiet 'oof' when she hugs him, but manages a small smile, and gives her a gentle squeeze back. "I am glad for our survival, and... you're right, of course. I probably spend too much time dwelling on the past, on what-could-have-beens... I'm afraid the Nexus does little to discourage that, when you half expect to run face first into just that at any moment..."

Horvath sighs, settled deep in the couch cushions, and feeling unexpectedly comfortable with her arms around him. He's tired, but he doesn't want to move. "But just remember your own role. I would have been stumbling in the dark and easy prey, alone. And to face that thing a second time was very brave of you."

[sunandshadows]

She nods her agreement. Yes, as a matter of fact, she does think he spends far too much time dwelling on the past. Still, its just something she's grown concerned about with him. Especially since she simply cannot see how someone she has come to regard so well, saying such things about himself.

Everything is fine until he mentions her role, and especially the fact that she went back. Now it's her turn to stiffen slightly, it's her turn to feel awkward. And where he would be self-depreciating, she only says "I was protected well, and too, I was not alone" and pushes away any compliments and talk of whatever role that she may have played.

In other words, 'hello pot? Kettle calling'.

The fire is low, a few pieces of log, and bright embers. And it is warm, darker too. The sun will come up in a few hours, but fortunately this time of year there is no 'false dawn' to wake them too early.

"If you'd like, I can get up now. I know I likely feel heavy, especially since you've had to hold me a while. And we both need sleep." Mara murmurs, her eyes closing longer, and not opening as fast.

"Or we can just nap here for now. Its up to you, Maxim. I may be able to reach the throw rug on that end of the couch from here - but your arms are longer." It is very much up to him. Because at this particular moment, she's not about to move unless he wants her to. Tired faeling is tired.

[bitterguardian]

For just a moment, he feels a pang of disappointment that she's about to get up. She's warm, and he certainly wouldn't call her heavy, and he's gotten very comfortable in this pose. Then she suggests an alternative.

He doesn't even bother with a verbal answer, but reaches very carefully, not wanting to dislodge her, fingers stretching to get a grip on the blanket and tug it closer. He pulls it across and over them both, a little haphazardly, and then with a gesture and a brief glow of one ring he stirs the fire just a little. There's no need to add fuel, they don't want a full fire going while they sleep, but it's enough to stir up what's there and keep it going a little longer. She's just gained a living bed, and hopefully sitting up means he won't snore...