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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It's no secret that David Stutler is still prone to making mistakes when it comes to magic, even in spite of all his training. So far, he's: accidentally set fire to his apartment, created a Little Shop of Horrors situation with a house plant, and made Tank disappear. Balthazar, of course, fixed all of these, and life went on.

The situation he's found himself in now, however, takes the cake.

(He wishes there were cake. Alas.)

He's staring at the front door of the Arcana Cabana, hair smoking slightly and reeking of magic-gone-wrong-again. He furrows his brows and absently dusts his head off, not particularly caring about the smoke or smell.

"Oh, man. This... is bad," he decides. The Arcana Cabana doesn't exist anymore. And yet.

Maybe, he thinks, this is another one of Balthazar's lessons. Maybe it's a lesson on time travel! Or maybe he's just asleep. (Or maybe he just really messed up and he's in deep [expletive deleted].)

Regardless of what's happened, he can't resist the urge to pass through those doors again. He tiptoes up the stairs, carefully opens the front door, and pokes his head inside. His eyes go wide at the sight of all the familiar oddities in the shop, then drift over to the two men—

And Dave screams.

To be perfectly fair, insanity is something of a continuum. That Balthazar, in this particular incarnation, is closer to the 'quirky' end thereof than the 'dangerous lunatic' end, is absolutely true. But he's not exactly staid and grounded, either. Which is evident as he pulls a pair of antlers out of the box he's rummaging through and perches them on his head, glancing at Horvath as if to ascertain whether they match his outfit.

Fortunately, Horvath is spared from replying as the wards go off. Balthazar's wards are arranged to allow customers in, and based mostly around sensing the intent of a visitor. Dave's is certainly not malicious, so he's half expecting the mail delivery as he turns.

He's not expecting a screaming stranger. Startled, he loses his grip on the antlers, fumbles to catch them before they crack on the floor, and glares, irritated. "See, that's why I changed my hours to 'Appointment Only'. Can I help you?"

The magical atmosphere is so charged within the shop, it might take him a moment to notice some of it is very clearly clinging to, and emanating from, the unexpected guest.

The cake, sadly, is a lie. Instead of cake there is a man Dave will probably take for a mortal enemy leaning casually in the midst of the chaos of the shop, looking utterly blank and bewildered. He's a little heavier than Dave might remember, and his fingers are covered in rings the same way Balthazar's always are, but these are subtle things.

He pauses for a beat, recovering, then sticks one finger in his ear and waggles it around. Setting the statue delicately on the counter, he turns to Balthazar with a raised eyebrow and says in that familiar, dry acerbic tone, "Perhaps you should move somewhere more upscale. This can hardly be the quality of clientele you're looking for."

Dave is trying really, really hard to compose himself.

It's not working.

He points toward Horvath accusingly, Merlin's ring in full view on his right hand. "What's he doing here? Why is here even here?! And what do you mean, can I help you? I—" He clutches his head, suddenly sure his brain is falling apart.

Please hold, Dave needs to shut his eyes and count to ten.

When he opens them again, he's still staring at Horvath and Balthazar, and he suddenly feels a little nauseous.

"Oh man oh man oh man..."

Balthazar's annoyed-face develops a bemused edge as the strange boy continues to look deeply upset. His first thought is, of course, drugs. Kids these days, right?

He follows the gesture toward Horvath and starts to moves forward, either to calm or usher the boy out...and then the glint of Merlin's ring catches his eye.

The penny drops.

Dave will get time to count to ten and then some, because Balthazar's reaction is suddenly a close match for his. Oh god what just happened...

Very slowly, he sets the antlers on the counter and takes a couple steps closer to Dave, as if approaching a wild animal. Then he ruins the effect by making a grab for his wrist.

There's something chillingly familiar about that kind of response, and the first thing to jump to Horvath's mind is that this boy is somehow yet another victim of his alternate, even though he knows the one in this world is safely sealed away in the Grimhold. Balthazar told him that himself.

The ring catches his eye around the same time it does Balthazar's however, he's just nowhere near as quick on his feet. His gaze goes from the ring to the boy's face, and back to the ring, and he pales just a little.

His voice, when it comes out at all, is much softer. "Bel... don't-"

Edited 2012-01-12 19:57 (UTC)

Well.

This is all awesome, isn't it?

Dave is familiar enough with his Balthazar that he recognizes the look in this one's eye instantly and manages (by no small miracle) to pull his hand away just as Balthazar almost catches him. He clutches his ringed hand to his chest with the other, heart hammering against his closed fist.

"No." For all his confusion, his voice is surprisingly firm. "No. You don't touch me, and you—" He shifts his gaze to Horvath, eyes narrowing. "Go... stand over there." He nods to one slightly less cluttered corner.

"And no trying to kill me. Either of you."

Yep. He totally has control of this situation.

Except he's also totally expecting it to last all of two seconds before he has his ass handed to him.

Balthazar recoils, part apologetic, part cowed, and overwhelmingly confused. He manages to find his voice, however, and straightens a little. "You are in my shop, you know. No one will be killing anyone here, but I suggest you explain yourself before you start ordering us around."

Still, he has to concede he shouldn't have just tried to grab him. He raises both hands appeasingly, worried expression at odds with his verbal orders, and backs off a couple steps.

He's looking for moral support, and also it's filtering through that this boy is specifically mistrustful of Horvath, and so he subtly tries to move between them. "Maximus is my guest. He's not going to hurt you unless you try to harm him first."

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."

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Crashing a (tea) party

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