milliways_bar | (no subject)

And Autor collapses into a chair near to him, a scholar in an oversized gray sweater, with no creaks or clinks at all. He has a book in front of his face, but he does glance up to present commentary. "You look tired."

Edited 2014-10-14 05:28 (UTC)

Balthazar firmly reminds himself that he is a Merlinian, and thus not allowed to throw balls of fire at teenagers.

...

Unless their name is Dave.

He can throw fireballs at Dave.

"Better than looking like a slob."

Well, that's startling. Autor narrows his eyes, white hot heat flooding his face. "I have never looked like a slob in my life," he says, glancing down to what he's wearing. "This is comfortable attire--because it's too cold in here."

Still, he does take the sweater off to reveal an immaculate blazer and cravat combo. He balls the gray garment up along with his rage.

"Comfortable, yes, but... not very classy." There's amusement somewhere in that rasp of a voice. Of course, he has that complaint about most of the clothing of the era he's currently living through.

"Forgive me for not realizing there was a dress code," Autor snaps. He tucks his sweater under his arm. "I can wear whatever I like."

"Yes, yes you can." Balthazar agrees solemnly, raising a hand to catch the attention of one of the waitrats. "There is a wonderful freedom to fashion. Or failing to adhere to it, as the case may be."

"Unlike some people, I have more important things to do in my life than to pay attention to the fripperies of fashion," Autor says scathingly. He'd wear a school uniform--immaculately presented--until the day he dies.

He looks over what this man is wearing to make sure there's nothing that can be said about his clothes. "Where are you from, anyway?"

Balthazar looks like a hobo... if you're not paying attention. His clothes are all high quality, if in places a bit worn, and all from different times. It's probably not intentional, but those layers echo the pattern of armor he wore, once upon a time.

"Initially, currently, or were you hoping for a travel itinerary?"

Autor is paying attention, now. His first impression was that of a tired hobo, but now he's struggling to place the man.

He blinks at the question. "Oh. Er. Most people don't world hop here, so initially would be best, and then current, if you don't mind?"

"Essex, New York City." Balthazar offers, with his accent managing to not really match either of those two locales. The tea he's been hoping for arrives, and he takes the teacup carefully, his rings glint in the fire light.

That's... a lot of rings, Autor thinks, blinking at them. He wonders if any of them act as a focus, like Rae's, or as poison immunity, like his own.

"Ah, so not so much world-hopping, but country-hopping then," he says. Perhaps. "When are you from, in your current locale?"

"So many questions." Balthazar observes, relaxing with the scent of tea. "And you couldn't ask for a fitted coat?"

Autor looks away, and his gaze happens to lay on the sweater. He blushes a little, and doesn't know why. The boy forces himself to look back at the man. "Yes. I do that," he says. "And this... This was a gift."