bitterguardian | Crashing a (tea) party

If Dave was already on edge, he just may be watching him for suspicious moves. His expression is a little dazed and worried, even a little hurt, but one hand reaches to fumble around behind him, further along the counter and just out of Dave's view. The simple fact is he's reaching for his cane, because he can't get very far without it, but it has the potential to look far less innocent and far more like he's reaching for a weapon.

Well, it is technically a sword cane, but still. He hasn't used the blade part in a while.

"How... do you have that ring, boy?" It's his very best attempt to ask gently, but he's not much good at that, either.

Dave listens to Balthazar carefully, confused expression turning to utter disbelief. He then looks to Horvath and notes the look on the man's face, but continues glaring.

Yeah, right.

Electricity crackles at his fingers when Horvath reaches for his cane, but Dave doesn't attack. Something's... off. He'd like to find out what it is before he helps destroy the shop again.

He snorts. At Horvath, and Balthazar, and the entire situation. The following is directed at Balthazar: "I think trying to kill me on multiple occasions and trying to bring about the end of the world counts as harming me first. What, did he brainwash you, or something?"

And this, at Horvath: "You know where I got it. What the hell are you up to, huh?"

The snap of electricity is a clear threat, and Balthazar is not about to step back and let them duke it out, a stance which has less to do with his inventory than a shaky but quickly building attachment to his old friend. He moves again, more overtly parking himself between the boy and the older sorcerer. Arms out, his ring is still quiescent. He doesn't want to take a shot at someone who might just be the Prime Merlinian. For many, many reasons.

"I don't know you. Neither of us knows you. I'm hoping this is all a misunderstanding, but if you're any kind of Merlinian you know better than to shoot first and ask questions later. Stand down and we'll talk this over." He holds out a hand, palm up. "Look around. No one but you is making any aggressive moves."

The crackle of electricity makes him freeze, ever so briefly, and he'd really like to throw up a shield. Unfortunately the boy looks like he's on a hair trigger, and Horvath is experienced enough to realize even a defensive move might set him off. Besides, if worst comes to worst he can handle at least one blast, even if he'll be sore for it tomorrow.

He does finish reaching for whatever's behind him, which turns out to be a cane, but not the familiar straight one with his talisman set in the end- that's in a ring now, one his right hand. This cane has a silver dragon head that faintly echoes Merlin's ring, and once he has it in hand he leans on it a little, but stays put.

In a low, frustrated, weary voice he says, "I think you have me mistaken for a Morganian. I'm not what you think I am."

When Balthazar steps in front of Horvath, shielding him—protecting him—Dave's hands fall uselessly to his side in surprise, the electricity dissipating instantly.

He thinks he knows what's going on, here.

And he would really, really like to know how the hell he managed this one.

He ignores Horvath's statement for the moment, in part because his mind can't seem to grip them properly. It's all slipping around in his brain, the words hopelessly intertwined with images of the Morganian Dave knows oh so well.

He keeps his gaze locked on Balthazar's. "I'm your apprentice."

"Good." Balthazar sighs, relieved by the ease of the tension in the atmosphere. He even smiles, but there's a definite shaky edge to it, because now that the immediate threat of a fight is gone, he has to deal with the implications of this stranger being here.

His apprentice. He's not sure whether to be ecstatic or critical, stunned or furious. His gaze is hard to read, as a consequence of too many emotions stacked on top of one another, but he gives a grave nod. "And the ring chose you. Which means you must be the Prime Merlinian. Do I get a name to call you?"

Because he doesn't actually read minds. That would be unethical. Usually.

Horvath turns away a moment, eyes closed, assuming that since Balthazar and his apprentice are having a moment, he can take one of his own to fight down the surge of irrational jealousy that comes at Dave's words. It's a dangerous emotion, capable of eating a man alive until he's only a shell... something he suspects of his alternate, at any rate.

"Perhaps..." Horvath keeps his tone carefully controlled, patient and guiding for Balthazar's sake as much as the boy's. "You should lock the door to any further customers, and we should all sit down in the back room..." There's tea there, after all, and a chance to rest his leg, and the setting might calm all three of them down a little.

It's times like these Dave wishes his name were cooler. Merlin, Balthazar, Maximus...

Dave.

Pfft.

He swallows, mouth suddenly very dry. "David Stutler," he says, settling his gaze on something unidentifiable in a jar. His stomach flips again, and then he looks at the floor. "You can call me Dave. And—yeah, what Horv—"

Dave presses his lips together, corrects himself. "What he said. Sitting sounds like a good idea."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Dave," Balthazar nods again, sober and sincere, then takes a deep breath, and turns to look at Horvath. He's right, of course. This is awkward enough without inviting interruptions.

For once, he can read his old friend's expression. He isn't sure whether to be afraid or sympathetic. But since neither of those will help the situation just now, he opts for simply going to lock the door and draw the shade. "The tea's probably past bitter by now. I hope you both like it overbrewed. But there are cookies."

The Welsh cookies Horvath likes so much, specifically. He gives his friend a smile that's half hopeful, half guilty, then turns and beckons them both after him, past the curtained doorway into the back room of the shop.

Horvath makes an attempt to return Balthazar's smile, and it's shaky but he hopes will convey in a look that he doesn't hold any of this against Balthazar. He is not his alternate, whether by chance or sheer force of will, and their friendship means too much to him to let it go over this.

The smile he turns on Dave, however, twists a little with bitterness, which probably makes it chillingly familiar. He gives the young man a nod. "You may call me Horvath. I don't believe we're on a first-name basis just yet." On that note he turns away and heads for the back room with a rocking limp, using his cane.

Dave is hit with the overwhelming desire to run. He realizes it's probably a bad idea because he may have to rely on Balthazar to get him back home, but he can't shake the fear gnawing at the back of his mind.

And that smile does nothing to help.

He glances over his shoulder at the front door and sighs. Like many things in his life, this has "bad idea" written all over it, but he follows the pair into the back room anyway.

"I'm not big on tea," he announces, once they're inside. "Can I just have some water?"

His back to them both, Balthazar is oblivious to Horvath's expression and Dave's reaction, focused on turning on lights and pulling another chair out, for Dave to sit in. The back room of the shop is full of crates, some still full, and there's a long counter with a tea tray, a coffee maker, a stack of mail to be opened, and a few books in Italian and French, with familiar sigils on the spines.

There are only two cups on the tray, but there are cookies and fruit to be eaten. Balthazar glances at Dave, then back at the tray. "Sure, I can do that. Or I have orange juice upstairs. I don't really keep soda pop around, sorry."

Ignoring the boy, Horvath makes himself at home as if the place is deeply familiar, hanging his coat and hat neatly on the conveniently crooked arm of a full suit of armor that stands just inside the door, almost as if put there for that purpose. Deprived of these, he's in slacks and shirt and vest, with a knit scarf, and his hair is loose in curls instead of slicked back. He looks more like a professor than a dangerous sorcerer.

With a sigh he settles himself in a chair, stretching one leg out a little and setting the cane aside. Those cookies, however wonderful, aren't nearly as appetizing now as they were ten minutes ago.

Dave is careful to survey the room before he sits, choosing the seat farthest away from Horvath. Just to feel a little safer, he scoots it another few inches away, all the while trying not to look at the other man.

"No, um. Water's fine. I'm trying to cut down on soda, anyway..."

He trails off, slowly peering over at Horvath but not meeting his gaze, then stuffs his hands in the pockets of his zip-up NYU hoodie to keep from fidgeting. So much for that plan.

"What happened to your leg?"

Balthazar quietly brings Horvath a cup of tea, then crouches awkwardly to get a bottle of water out of a box behind the counter. It's not refrigerated, but if the temperature doesn't suit the young sorcerer, presumably he can do something about that.

And--oh, look at that, Dave's hit on the worst possible question to ask! In the process of bringing him the water bottle, Balthazar winces. Visibly. "That's a long story, Dave. Let's start with something else. What have you learned so far about interdimensional theory and/or travel?"

He glances over his shoulder at Horvath, silently begging him to attempt to be patient for a moment longer, despite the blow to his nerves and pride.

Not only has he stretched his leg out, but that foot seems stuck at a roughly 90 degree angle to it. Someone observant might wonder if he's wearing a brace, or if it's possibly not even a real leg at all.

The question is so outrageously rude, that there's a moment for Balthazar to put his words in while Horvath's shock is still turning over into rage. His hands clench the arms of the chair, briefly, and he lets out a slow, deliberate breath. His response comes out in almost a growl, but it's clearly an effort of restraint. "It got off on the wrong foot, much like you."

He takes his tea with a grateful, if terse nod to Balthazar. "Thank you."

Yeah, there's the Horvath he knows. He sinks back in his chair a little, clutching his water bottle for safety. Forget magic—he can always pitch it at Horvath's head and run!

Or not.

His apology, at least, is genuine. There's something about Horvath that actually pings Dave's empathy center. It's a weird sensation, but he can't ignore it. He's not that rude. "Sorry."

To address Balthazar's question, "Anyway, I know a little. I studied physics in college, so I have that under my belt, but I haven't really studied what the Encantus has to say about it. Not yet, anyway. So this whole thing is just... one really big accident."

Seeing that they're not about to come to blows, Balthazar withdraws and pours his own tea, then sits, more or less halfway between the other two. He's relieved he won't have to explain the concepts to Dave, at least.

"I'm not going to ask how it happened." At least not right now. "For your information, here and now the year is 1994. This is my world, and in it there has been a Horvath much like the one you seem to be acquainted with, but he's currently in the Grimhold. The one you see before you, on the other hand, is visiting me from yet another dimension. We met in a sort of cross-dimensional hub. So I understand your alarm in seeing us chatting like old friends, but in this case, we are old friends."

He sighs. "More importantly, Maximus, in his world, is the last Merlinian, much as I am here." And that's Horvath's cue to take over, should he have anything to add.

"Even here, we were old friends..." He adds very quietly, with a hint of sorrow for a friendship broken one way or another in every world he knows of. The tea, apology, and Balthazar's explanation have given him a chance to compose and calm himself again.

"I understand I am... something of a singularity," He gives a mild grimace again, and smoothes the expression away with a sigh. "You're not the first person to accuse me of wrongdoing in the name of my alternates." He glances at Dave meaningfully. "Quite frankly, it's getting a little old. I'm not him. If ever I should meet him, or you'd care to direct him my way, I'll be certain to share my frustrations over mistaken identity with him very firmly." There's still plenty of menace there, but it's not Dave it's directed at.

That silence is the sound of Dave's brain caving in from the weight of all that improbability. He wants to believe Horvath, but...

But, but, but.

He decides to take a drink from his water bottle before saying anything else. What he winds up doing is choking on the first sip, which sends him into a violent coughing fit that he tries talking through.

"Crap—" cough "I'm okay—" sputter "don't worry—."

The Prime Merlinian, gentleman and gentleman.

Once that's over, he tries to look completely cool, as though that didn't just happen. He leans back in his chair and sets the bottle on the table, then looks to Horvath. "Okay. I... guess that sounds almost plausible."

He rubs an eyebrow, then a realization dawns on him. "If you're the last Merlinian in your world, does that mean—?" The question goes unfinished, the words hanging in the air.

Balthazar gives Horvath a slightly sad smile, and an encouraging nod. However uncomfortable this is for him, however surreal it must seem to Dave, for Horvath it must be twice as bad.

Dave's coughing fit interrupts the somber mood at just the right moment, though, and Balthzar's expression reverts to bemusement. He gets up and retrieves a couple napkins left over from a takeout supper, offering them calmly to the Prime Merlinian.

The question gives him pause again, and he glances at Horvath. Slowly, he says, "Temptation comes in many forms. And sometimes people fall in ways you might not expect."

It's deliberately vague.

Horvath winces very slightly, then he forces himself to meet Dave's eyes, although he's floundering a little, mentally. This is territory he's been deliberately vague about with Balthazar himself, dancing around the topic and only dropping enough hints to let him ascertain the basic idea. His tone comes more gently, though, dark eyes locked with Dave's. "I am the last Merlinian, but our universes aren't... mirrors. No. Balthazar is not a Morganian." He can't help his gaze flickering, just a little, to the sorcerer seated between them. "In my world, he's... not really a Merlinian anymore, either. Just a wild card." His gaze drops at last, and he adds with an effort, "And Veronica is sealed in the Grimhold, waiting for him."

It's those last three words that are the hardest.

Dave is very quiet for a moment. He turns it all over in his head a few times before nodding, though the look on his face betrays his actions—he's nodding, but he doesn't understand. Not completely. The thought of everything being different isn't one he can stomach easily, not after what he's been through.

"So," he finally says, still looking at Horvath, "You'd be my master."

And very suddenly, Dave is picturing himself in Drake's role, nail polish and all. He shudders.

"If you were in his world, most likely, yes." Balthazar watches them interact. He can't quite tell if this is coming off better than expected or worse, but he does know Horvath has some worries about his abilities as a master. Hopefully this mess won't put him so far off the idea he stops searching.

"As I said, though, it's 1994 here, and not much later on in his world. Are you even born yet?" He winces and backtracks instantly. "No! Wait, don't answer that. We shouldn't be told in advance and it might not carry over here, anyway."

"Not... yet." Horvath answers slowly, and sits back in his seat, pondering both Dave's words and Balthazar's. He looks just a little dazed by the idea, but nods in agreement to the other sorcerer's warning. "It's... probably for the best we don't know too much. Neither of us has found the Prime Merlinian in our own world, yet."

If Dave turns out like Drake, he'll be deeply disappointed.

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