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Waking from hibernation
Apr. 3rd, 2015 07:17 pmAmarante's first visit to Horvath's home was brief, but the place makes an impression. Deep underground, buried in metal and concrete and layers of wards even his old master would be impressed by, Horvath is an old dragon huddled in a subterranean lair. He may have mentioned 'the vault', and he's told her before of how he guards something the Morganians would gladly kill him to get. His home is a bomb shelter, and he keeps it very tightly under lock and key.
Inside this fortress, he's made a grand space, though. His library fills most of an abandoned train station, with a cathedral ceiling that's mostly lost in shadow and rows of bookshelves that stretch further than can be seen from standing in any one spot. There are throw rugs, plush antique chairs and couches, desks and tables piled with books and papers and knickknacks, and a few display stands and cabinets that hold bizarre and impressive items collected on his travels over the ages. Lamps scattered throughout the place cast just enough light to give a warm and cozy glow to the place, without making it too bright. It's a far cry from the sanctuary Mara took him to, but the place has been molded around him like well-worn clothing or a favorite chair. Every inch of the place is very him.
Winter sent him curling up close to home, in the kind of retreat he tried to warn her he so often falls prey to. The cold has begun to creep into his bones, the past few years, and he hates to even risk slipping on the ice. It's far easier to stay down here, in the warmth and comfort of his books and his cats. He feels a little guilty for it, but with spring, it seems time to make an effort to come out of hibernation. His invitation is tentative, since she's been busy serving her Lady over the winter, and having her visit him isn't much of a step outside himself, but he's trying. With a table laid out for tea, Horvath awaits his guest, while the cats demand his attention simply because they can sense his quiet anxieties.
Inside this fortress, he's made a grand space, though. His library fills most of an abandoned train station, with a cathedral ceiling that's mostly lost in shadow and rows of bookshelves that stretch further than can be seen from standing in any one spot. There are throw rugs, plush antique chairs and couches, desks and tables piled with books and papers and knickknacks, and a few display stands and cabinets that hold bizarre and impressive items collected on his travels over the ages. Lamps scattered throughout the place cast just enough light to give a warm and cozy glow to the place, without making it too bright. It's a far cry from the sanctuary Mara took him to, but the place has been molded around him like well-worn clothing or a favorite chair. Every inch of the place is very him.
Winter sent him curling up close to home, in the kind of retreat he tried to warn her he so often falls prey to. The cold has begun to creep into his bones, the past few years, and he hates to even risk slipping on the ice. It's far easier to stay down here, in the warmth and comfort of his books and his cats. He feels a little guilty for it, but with spring, it seems time to make an effort to come out of hibernation. His invitation is tentative, since she's been busy serving her Lady over the winter, and having her visit him isn't much of a step outside himself, but he's trying. With a table laid out for tea, Horvath awaits his guest, while the cats demand his attention simply because they can sense his quiet anxieties.