bitterguardian | Crashing a (tea) party

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Crashing a (tea) party

It's funny how quickly Balthazar and Horvath have become fast friends again. They were almost brothers, once upon a time, and without the nasty complication of being on opposite sides, or Balthazar being insane, they've fallen straight back into old ways.

So it's not all that unusual for Horvath to be visiting the Arcana Cabana, leaning casually against a counter and playing with a little stone statue of a bird while Balthazar rummages in a stack of cardboard boxes nearby, regaling him with stories of his travels, punctuated by the occasional sneeze from the dust he's stirring up. Horvath's hat and coat are still on, but only because he's just gotten there a few minutes ago, and they haven't moved to the back room for tea yet. Both the old sorcerers are looking forward to a peaceful afternoon of nostalgia, tea, and cookies.

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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.

Dave almost answers, but promptly shuts his mouth with an audible click of his teeth, and silently scolds himself. He should know better! It's like he hasn't seen Back to the Future over a dozen times...

"Oh."

A smirk crawls onto his lips.

"So, who wants my autograph first?"

Balthazar's already regretting his ban on discussing their possible future. He'd love to know how much longer his sentence is. Whether Veronica has made it through her ordeal...

Best not to think about that. Not with Maximus sitting right there. He's still inclined to walk on eggshells.

His slightly mournful expression gives way to a long laugh, though, as Dave's offer registers. It's so audacious. It takes him a moment to recover, shaking his head. "Not me. But I'll take a strand of your hair. We need something to work with if we're going to get you back where you belong."

Horvath actually chokes on his tea, doing a slightly more dignified impression of Dave's earlier act. He sputters and coughs into his sleeve, wheezes a little, and looks to Balthazar. "Oh, yes, he's definitely your apprentice. I can see you've rubbed off on him already."

Dave may want to take video or something, because this is Horvath exchanging friendly teasing with Balthazar.

Edited 2012-01-13 03:41 (UTC)

Happy that he managed to break the mood without getting glared at, Dave allows himself a quiet chuckle.

It's very surreal, laughing with the two of them. (He's trying very, very hard not to just focus on Horvath.

He then unzips his sweatshirt and shrugs it off, moving to inspect the hood for any stray hairs. Finding mostly dog fur, he sighs and slumps against his chair. "Okay, one of you is gonna have to pull a hair out of my head. I can't do it."

Naturally, he looks toward Balthazar for this. It wouldn't be the first time.

"That's funny, Maximus, I was about to say he seems pretty well suited to your sense of humor." Balthazar smirks at his friend. "I'm out of napkins, do you need a handkerchief?"

He raises an eyebrow at Dave, though. "You can't pull out one of your own hairs? Is your scalp that sensitive? Because I don't want you to haul off and punch me."

Nevertheless, he gets up and comes closer, trying not to look at the ring on Dave's finger.

Horvath is not even going to try coming over there, because he knows Dave is still giving him jumpy looks. He can watch the show from here, anyway.

"No, thank you..." His own handkerchief comes out, and he gives another cough into it. "I'll allow you don't have that kind of ego..." Neither does Horvath, really. Or Dave, but he opened himself up for teasing.

So. Weird.

Dave resists making a face at the pair, then pouts at Balthazar. "Dude, you have no idea how squeamish I am. Just... be gentle."

Or as gentle as Balthazar Blake can be when pulling someone's hair out.

"And I'm not gonna punch you. I'm not stupid."

That garners him a long, thoughtful look, because Balthazar does not care for the implications. But it is not his job, currently, to badger the Prime Merlinian about his history. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the back of his head. "No gray. I can't have been that bad a teacher."

He singles out a likely spot and makes a quick move, aiming for just a single strand. It's possible he'll get two or three, since he's going for speed rather than gentleness. In any case, he's quick to back away. It's not that he actually expects to be punched, but there's no need to bring extra discomfort into the process.

Meanwhile, Horvath rests an elbow on the arm of the chair, and his cheek in one hand, watching them with quiet amusement. Perhaps if he keeps Dave distracted, it'll make the whole process easier.

"Squeamish?? I thought you were the Prime Merlinian. He'd better train that out of you..." It's mocking, but gently so.

At least he can take solace in the fact that this Balthazar is still very much Balthazar. "Maybe I dye my ha—ow!"

And for that, Horvath gets a halfhearted Look. "There are many things he's trained out of me, but I'm still not a fan of things like blood or pain. No matter how many hairs he yanks out of my head..."

He rubs the sore spot with a frown, mumbling. "Reasons why I will never get anything waxed..."

He really doesn't know how Drake does it.

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