(Untitled)
The relatively scrawny young man who shuffles into the bar looks very much like he's just rolled out of bed. His hair is tousled, his Pac-Man tee is rumpled, his boxers are... well, boxers, and he's only wearing one sock.
He looks around, blinks, and decides that this is somehow Bennet's fault.
"Dude," he sighs, turning to face the door through which ( Read more... )
He looks around, blinks, and decides that this is somehow Bennet's fault.
"Dude," he sighs, turning to face the door through which ( Read more... )
That's why your hallucinations have re-occcuring themes.
Like a lanky-haired sorcerer with an odd taste in clothing.
Like that one at the bar with a cinnamon roll half the size of his head (only half, because he's already made his way through the other half).
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So much for Dave's "let's just walk out the other door a few feet away and see what happens" plan.
Instead, he's going to slowly and silently inch along the wall toward the door and hope that he can reach his escape before his old friend turns around.
As he moves, he can hear his old doctor's voice in his head spewing some gobbledygook about how hallucinations can't hurt you, but you can hurt yourself.
This is, of course, the exact moment when he trips over something that looks suspiciously like a giant rat and knocks over a chair in the process.
MISSION: FAILED.
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...
There appears to be a young man in his underwear sprawled on the floor, being scolded by one of the waitrats.
...
Well. That would be the definition of the beginning of a bad day. He asks the bar to keep an eye on his cinnamon roll, and strolls over to see if t he boy needs rescuing.
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"No, no, noooo no no no." This is all the verbiage Dave can manage as he clambers to his feet and sticks an accusing finger in Balthazar's face. "No. Go away. You're not real and I am telling you to go away. We're not doing this again, man!"
Because if Dave yells at everything, it will all go away. That is obviously how hallucinations work.
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Bemusedly, Balthazar eyes the finger that has been thrust at him. This is, actually, fairly original. Not too many people who know who and what he is choose this method of confrontation.
".... Excuse me?"
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For a moment, Dave's thoughts stray to the ring hidden in his sock drawer, but he quickly shakes his head as though banishing the notion. No. Wrong. Not real.
"I'm having an episode," he clarifies. "That probably requires medical attention. I was never supposed to see you again, you know! Or are you planning on having an imaginary, magical battle here, too? Because I'm sure all the people here-wherever 'here' is-would love to mock me for years to come just like my classmates did!"
Bitter?
Why ye-es.
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Color Balthazar very confused.
"Are you often mocked by your... episodes?" He asks, sounding doubtful, if only because 'episodes' is a stupid word to begin with. It sounds like something an overpaid psychologist would say when they really have no idea what's going on.
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It's possible that Dave's forgotten what an indoor voice is.
"You already did this once when you gave me that stupid ring, and you told me that stupid story, and then you fought that weird cockroach guy and set your stupid store on fire, and made me look stupid in front of my entire fourth grade class."
Also stupid is Dave's decision to add emphasis to every occurrence of the word by poking Balthazar in the chest.
"Well not again, buddy! Not again. We are done here."
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Very, very few people know about the ring.
This would be why suddenly the offending hand has been captured by a somewhat implacable hold.
"What ring?" It's less of a question than a demand.
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Dave knows he's not grabbing his own hand. And even though this doesn't really hurt, it's uncomfortable enough that Dave quickly reconsiders his situation.
"Um." He swallows. "The... the dragon one. With the green stone?"
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The dragon hasn't been a ring in over a millenium. It hasn't even so much as twitched. And this... boy. He says he has it.
His grip is akin to that of a drowning man's. Do you have any idea how long he's been waiting?
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But he's stuck in it now, so all he can do is stand there and stare at Balthazar with a look that says please don't hurt me.
"You can have it back, if you want," he stammers, trying to wriggle free from Balthazar's grip. "I don't want it, anyway! Really! It's all yours. I mean, I don't have it on me now, but it's in my apartment, and-"
Something about talking too much.
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But then, why would he be panicking? If he is the Prime Merlinian, and trained... he should be able to take on almost anything.
"What went wrong?" He asks, in almost a rhetorical fashion. Because something is very, very wrong.
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It's safer that way.
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That can't be good.
In all of his imaginings of how things would go once he found the Prime Merlinian, dying before he could complete the task of training the savior of everything didn't come into the picture.
...
Suddenly he just feels old. And tired. And very angry at Merlin.
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But.
"I mean, we're obviously not on the same frequency right now. So maybe we should just... sit down and gather ourselves." For both of their sakes.
"Please."
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