milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

You know those people who only appear when you least want them? They're gone for ages and then wham-bam back again?

Dworkin is sipping wine, sitting at the Observation Window, watching the destruction outside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The 'fragile' old man almost looses his wine glass in Merlin's suddenly clumsy fingers. It's really a wonder the lad doesn't drop the item on the floor. He's also trying not to gape.

"Dworkin?"

You have never seen a person move so fluidly towards Bar before, at least not in the last couple of hours.

He laughs, raspy and like dead leaves, and watches Merlin moving.

He wishes his name always got service this good.

Merlin returns a few minutes later, having exchanged a small ruby for a second glass of what should be extremely good wine. Red, fruity, no parallels are being drawn.

"Here, sir." Bear with the half-breed, he may or may not be suffering from a case of awe.

"Thank you."

Dworkin accepts it, and savours as he takes the first sip. Someone apparently inherited some good taste.

"Sit with me."

Merlin is now remembering more of the information he was given, it had to be Fiona, right?, and settles himself on the seat next to his great-grandsire.

"You're welcome."

Those would be Chaos-trained manners.

Very refreshing.

"So. You're the start of the new chapter."

"Beg pardon?"

He didn't quite get that, unless Dworkin meant a new generation. And Martin's older than he is.

Dworkin laughs at him.

"One foot on each horse, hurtling forwards. Best do your balancing very well, boy."

"Oh."

Still cryptic, but he got that. Yay for him? Maybe hanging around Suhuy all those centuries helped in deciphering crazy relative speak.

"I'm trying to."

"How are the courts?"

His voice is absolutely hollow of anything.

As a nobleman raised in those courts, Merlin's ear is tuned towards what is not said, along with what is.

"They fare much as they always have, my lord. His Majesty is rumored to be ill of late, but I cannot count this as certain, for my eyes have not witnessed it."

Dworkin snorts.

"Poor creature."

He doesn't bother to conceal his disdain. He doesn't think much of the recent fighting. Of the reasons for Merlin's conception... though he's not holding it against him. Not overtly.

There isn't much he can say to that, at least without arousing the possible ire of a person that he knows very little about. Especially pertaining to talents and how far they extended.

So he simply removes a cigarette from th e pack in his shirt pocket, along with a lighter.

"Mind if I smoke?"

Merlin occasionally holds his own parentage against himself, so someone else doing it wouldn't be too much of a surprise.

"I do not mind if you smoke."

Dworkin assures him, humour slipping through his tone. He is very much trying to keep this conversation rational and normal. But he can feel parts inside himself rattling apart.

"Tell me something interesting, Merlin, son of Corwin."

"Thanks."

The cigarette is thusly set on fire, lighter once again tucked away into his pocket. Merlin starts when he is named so casually, and has to prevent himself from glancing around to see if anyone heard.

"I graduated from a human college yesterday with a degree in computer science. And I almost got run over by a truck the day before."

"Because they're out to get you, Merlin."

Dworkin advises him of this sincerely. He's probably kidding. Isn't he kidding? He's clearly kidding. Right? Right?

Merlin is now officially creeped out. He won't let Dworkin know if his life depended on it, and it just might, but ... his grandsire is supposed to be slightly mad. Right?

"Everyone always is."

Sigh.

"Do you blame them?"

His tone is full of scalpels. His hand curls around the wine glass.

In this instance, Merlin has decided to answer as truthfully as he can. Even if it may not make sense.

"Sometimes I do. I hate being on the outside most of the time. On the other hand, there are times I feel lucky to have been allowed to go my own way. There are so many unanswered questions in the universe. All out there waiting to be discovered."

Yes. He's rambling.

"They're wrong."

Just so that he knows.

"Nothing that happens isn't for a reason, and you, who have traced the geometry of worlds with your feet, you should know this better than the rest of them."

Dworkin doesn't get an answer right away. His great-grandson turns his attention to the window, allowing his mind to wander down well-trod avenues, and then down little-used trails until he has to concede the man's words as entirely correct.

"I should." Another low sigh. "And occasionally I do." This said with the tone of a man who loathes the idea that his future is already fully mapped out for him.

Somewhere.

They all get used to it eventually, Dworkin thinks with some amusement, even if it takes a little bit of a fight at first. That's only natural. It can't be helped. Their kind like to think they're so enlightened, but really?

Well.

"I do not have anything else to say about that for you."

What's that human saying about leading a horse to water and then forcing it to drink? Or something like that.

"I appreciate that you've talked to me at all, great-grandfather."

He is entirely serious.