Magic gone very wrong.

[bitterguardian]

From the time Morgana took on her first apprentice, Morganians and Merlinians have fought each other. The Grimhold didn't start the conflict, it simply upped the stakes.

For Maxim Horvath, there's a definite air of the endless repetition of history as he trades plasma bolts with another Morganian sorcerer. This time there are two of them, one to distract him while the other works at some ritual he hasn't quite puzzled out yet, but knowing Morganians it's bound to be trouble for him if they complete it. It's taken time to track them here, to the empty cargo hold of a decaying freighter ship. The docks this rusting hulk sits at are quiet at night, even though it's an ideal place for shady doings. Maybe the sorcerers have scared away all the usual drug dealers and homeless vagabonds. Or maybe they have the sense of self-preservation to avoid a decommissioned ship that crackles with dark electricity.

He's slow on his feet, these days, but he's been at this game longer than any Morganian left alive. When he falters, it's an act, and the underhanded spell he throws while his opponent is gloating slams the man against the metal wall with a sickening thud. Horvath winces, but this is the price of a sorcery battle, and there are big things at stake, here. Already inside the Morganian pentacle, the very air seems to be warping and it hurts to even look too long at it. Violently interrupting the ritual now could be even more dangerous than whatever their end goal originally was, so instead Horvath hobbles close and cuts through to the remaining sorcerer with the power of his own voice, magically amplified. "This ends now. Back down, before I have to-"

Even that distraction, it seems, was too much. The Morganian in the pentacle twitches at the first words, startled, then gives Horvath a momentary look of sheer panic. His concentration is already broken, and it's too late. That much becomes pretty clear when the Morganian's head begins to stretch and twist, roughly five seconds before the spellwork implodes. The shockwave flings Horvath backwards, and the entire hull of the ship bows and dents outward with a warning creak. Of the Morganian, there's not much left at all, but the pentacle etched into the metal floor is not empty...

Comments

[bitterguardian]

Balthazar should feel well-anchored, at least physically, as Horvath hasn't let go either. If anything, that look of utterly distraught confusion makes him grip the man even harder. He's lost one Balthazar to madness already, he doesn't want to watch another version come unglued.

The allusion to Veronica makes him turn his face away, though, and swallow hard. Dave probably should have thought of that; if he's afraid hinting about her would affect Balthazar, there's no telling what effect it might have on Horvath, too. He just gives a slow nod and a deep breath, though, pulling himself together by necessity as he always has. "My home. I think I can just manage that, yes." He's glad they're all physically connected, for the moment, as it makes things just a little easier. Bracing himself slightly, he lifts the hand holding the cane in a sweeping gesture, the grim, rusty hold of the old cargo ship dissolving around them.

It takes a moment to adjust the wards for Dave, but the teleport lands them in a much cozier setting, some kind of library with a dim vaulted ceiling, but warm floor lamps and cozy chairs scattered around. The furniture is much like Horvath himself; sturdy, well-cushioned, and antique. Old oriental carpets and a few antique desks are around, too, the latter covered in papers and books and other odds and ends. The bookshelves are tall, both along the wall and free-standing, stretching into aisles too dark to see down. It's comfortably warm, cozy, and very much lived-in even if it does look more like a wealthy eccentric's library than a normal home.
There are also no windows whatsoever, and hints of brick or tile on the wall above the shelves. Something about the dimensions of the place would be very familiar to somebody who spends time in an old subway turn-around.

[grimholdkeeper]

Being at the center of a chain of physical and emotional support for a moment serves to both ground Balthazar and confuse him in a pleasant way. As his brain catches up with the rest of him, he looks sheepish; it's not completely unprecedented for him to go somewhere else mentally, even as Dave knows him, but his timing is usually less awkward. It probably wouldn't be a great first impression to give the Prime Merlinian. Luckily, it's not a first impression for Dave.

He searches the young man's eyes briefly, quietly touched by the mixture of compassion and determination--yes, he can definitely see this kid as a good Merlinian--and smiles. "I think...I'm honored to meet you. And thank you."

He's cognizant of how the comment about Veronica might affect Horvath, though, and when he turns away, it's to put a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "You do the teleport, I'll make the tea?"

He's only been to Horvath's lair a half dozen times (and he does think of it as a lair; this version of Maxim is strangely draconic in a way that's both charming and reassuring), but he knows which way the kitchen is, and he's comfortable enough. "The poor cats. They won't know what to do with two guests at the same time, will they?"

[dragonring]

Honored. The word echoes in Dave's mind, distracting him from anything else going on. This is such a different first meeting (if it can be called that), and well, different anything. Dave has to wonder what kind of image this Balthazar is creating of him, because something tells him it's more than he deserves.

It's the sudden pull of the teleporting spell that makes him snap out of it. Having teleported before, there are no silly shocking effects, just a shake of his head to get his mind back on track again. A quick look around definitely tells Dave this is Horvath's place, but one thing catches his attention the most: the bookshelves. They're surrounded by books and his little nerdy heart must allow himself to take a closer look, a hand resting on the spines of the book as he watches with wonder.

He should mention how he prefers coffee to tea, but that question of Balthazar was left forgotten on the ship. Right now, there's another subject he has to comment on.

"Cats? Oooh boy. Nnno, no, I don't think they'll appreciate a guest that smells like a dog."

[bitterguardian]

"Oh, I don't know, they don't seem to mind Balthazar much..." What he means by that is that Balthazar has a dog at home, but it strikes him less than a second later that this could be taken entirely the wrong way. Rather than look apologetic over it, Horvath breaks into a smirk, glancing Balthazar's way. Some people, under shock and stress, freeze up. Horvath cracks sarcastic jokes.

He limps to the nearest chair, though, and sinks into it gratefully. He's going to be sore for days, from that fight, and Balthazar did say he'd make the tea. "Why... don't you sit, boy..." The way Dave is looking at his books hasn't escaped Horvath's notice.

[grimholdkeeper]

"What, precisely, are you trying to say, Maximus?" Balthazar looks at him primly, clearly getting both the intended meaning and the semi-intentional joke. "I left the flea collar at home this time, at least."

Breaking into a faint smile, he adds to Dave, "These cats have never seen a dog in their lives. They won't care. I have one of each at home, anyway."

He moves toward the kitchen, pauses to shed his coat and hat on a desk, and vanishes into the next room. He is still within earshot, though. "Anybody hungry? There are apples and crackers..."

[dragonring]

Funny that, Dave is an expert at throwing sarcasm during the worst situations, so Horvath's comment gets a chuckle out of him. Balthazar's, however, surprises Dave, so he doesn't manage to answer before his master (if he can still call it that) disappears into the kitchen.

A home and dogs. Does this Balthazar actually have a life? Such a difference. Even in his own world with Veronica and all, things are taking time to get back to normal.

"Just... coffee is fine." He doesn't think he could eat anything right now. Hands going to the pockets of his jeans, he turns to look at Horvath with all the awkwardness he's capable of (and that's a lot coming from Dave).

"Ah, I-- I'm just fine over here. Yeah." Differences or not, the sight of Horvath gets on his nerves - no way he's getting closer. How is he even supposed to make conversation with an alternative version of the man who tried to kill him? "...you have a great collection here."

[bitterguardian]

"Just an aspirin Darling..." Horvath lifts his voice a little to answer Balthazar. One can only hope Dave won't misinterpret the term of affection. Even the Horvath in his world called him 'Sweetheart' once. Both these sorcerers are men from an entirely different era than this, and older habits of speech sometimes slip in. Their version of a life, too, may not be what Dave would consider living. They do have their pets, for company. They also both spend a lot of time inside, surrounded by their own collections of books and artifacts. It helps to look a little less crazy, talking to oneself, when there's something furry around to hear it.

While the Prime Merlininan slouches nervously by the bookshelf, Horvath slumps deeper into hi chair, hands folded loosely over the dragon head of his cane. With his greater weight, less severe grooming, and penchant for waistcoats, he looks more like a professor. A very tired one, at the moment. "...Thank you. The longer one lives, the more one seems to acquire... things. Eventually you have to either chuck it all out or find a place to put it all, and who can bear to throw away good books?" The smile is deliberately gentle. He can tell he's making the boy nervous, and he feels badly for that, but he's not sure what he can do about it.

[grimholdkeeper]

Well, he lives over the Arcana Cabana. It's not as domestic as it sounds, and to be fair he was mostly talked into keeping animals by friends that the version Dave knows has never encountered. All of these things play a role, and so has meeting this alternate Horvath. It's a hell of a thing to have your best friend turn against you and try to kill you, and a whole other hell of a thing to get him back, centuries later.

There's a soft chuckle from the kitchen, and the sound of clanking dishes. Balthazar is still well within earshot, in the other room, but he comes back out a moment later (after putting on the kettle and starting up the coffee pot) with an aspirin bottle and a cup of water for Horvath. "You really trust the little white pebbles these newfangled doctors try to sell you these days? Whatever happened to a nice willow-bark tea?"

[dragonring]

"More people than you think." Dave comments with obvious disapproval. He's seen many people moving to New York and leave their books behind, or the other way around: graduating students that go back home and leave their texts too. Nobody should treat books so badly.

His finger brush the spines again, the smell of old books helping him to calm down a bit, but when Balthazar returns and comments on Horvath's usual preference of medicine... welp. This young scientist doesn't like what he's hearing. He arches an eyebrow at both men.

"What's wrong with pills and doctors?"

[bitterguardian]

"Mmm... well I am a bit out of touch..." Says the man wearing a suit that was probably made in the late 1940's. "But that's a shame. Of course, when the printing press began to gain popularity, there were detractors who said it would devalue books and the knowledge they contained..."

He gives Balthazar a mild raised eyebrow, opening the aspirin bottle and popping a few with the water. "But I'm not so out of touch to turn up my nose at modern pharmacology. These are stronger. Pills are fine, as long as you understand what's in them. Doctors, on the other hand..." He makes a face. Merlin's immortality spell seems to ward off most common illnesses. Horvath hasn't seen a doctor in decades, and doesn't intend to see one any time soon.