[ It's better than nothing and as Nate rubs his eyes, feeling the exhaustion creep in and expecting to be told to get some rest, Stephen speaks. His brow wrinkles almost immediately, leaning heavily on the precedent he knows the man set when they last sat down for real drinks in a real restaurant.
The reprieve is nice. ]
You're a sorcerer.
[ He repeats slowly, and without thinking glances at Stephen's hands, one of the only things he hasn't pressed on. Again: old, probably from his world. If he'd come into this one and gotten injured here the repair work would have been a lot cleaner, if not entirely unnoticeable. ]
[ A slanting expression at Nate's chosen magician of the hour, but it slides otherwise off his back. Telling the tale isn't entirely the point. He needs the spotlight, but not for the full scope of his brief history of magic. ]
It's a story for another day. The point is, I trained in Kathmandu, we go by the Masters of the Mystic Arts, and as you can no doubt imagine from the name we have a lot of ancient and interesting magical tools and artefacts at our disposal. Such as—
[ And herein lies the purpose of the detour, arrived at with a thundering swiftness that's far from his past wont but perhaps serves the same smokescreen purpose. He looks away from Nate and down to his own chest with the kind of lingering draw that might be expected of the showman he'll claim not to be - a chest that's now glowing. Not from power use or from the bond, there's no subtle touch waiting on delayed emotional transference. He's glowing because something's emerging.
From the center of his glowing chest, apparently unconcerned by flesh or clothes and easing its way out of the light itself, comes a small metal object. It's oddly shaped, the design a muddle of rigid geometry and looser weaved rope etched into the old metal. Two metal loops curl underneath, making space for two fingers. ]
... If you could.
[ Retrieve it, he means. He's not sure whether Nate's done much experimenting with the objects they store in their chests, so the prompt is a just in case.
If he does take it, the essence that accompanies it is perpetual forward momentum. Infinite potential and desire to learn. Condensed, he's an eager freefall into bottomless wonder, and all of that drive is imbued into the little object lit up by blue and suspended in nothing, waiting to be plucked. ]
[ Having volunteered an otherwise exhausting amount of personal information Nate simply watches him, listens, opens his mouth at least once and shuts it again because his many questions - sudden, and numerous - spawning about the subject should be forced back down, and does his best to understand the connection.
It's a lot to absorb, more so when Stephen begins to glow and Nate's brow furrows at the small object that floats out like something from a bad, science-fiction B movie from the fifties. Except the effects are a little more impressive, and it's something he can actually touch. A kind of strange ring, some piece of jewelry in a style that looks vaguely familiar but only because of his wide exposure to various artifacts.
Stephen doesn't have to tell him twice. Ever tactile, Nate reaches out curiously without thinking and pulls it from the air.
The metal is warm and it feels a little bit like stepping off a building, a sensation with which Nate is regrettably familiar. Everything that follows is a flash in the pan, experience shockingly similar to what he already knows from personal experience, paired with a hunger for knowledge that Nate sees in a different light reflected in somebody else's mirror.
It's dangerous. Tempting. He's felt that before. Lightly: ]
[ It's the only response he really needs to give. Truthfully, he doesn't know what that little object feels like himself. But Nate has clearly felt it in the transfer, and that's all he needs. It works. That's good enough. ]
You can keep it for a while.
[ If he wants to. If it'll help. There's no obligation, but without any other means of offering respite it's all he can think to give. ]
[ Nate doesn't entirely know what to do with it, speaking with reluctance, rubbing his thumb against the ridged edges of something that looks as though it shouldn't actually have a physical form. His hand falls to his side and he assumes that if he doesn't drop it into his duffel bag or pocket, it'll sink into his skin when he's not looking.
That's how these things are supposed to go, right? ]
[ Paired with a sheepish smile— this really isn't his area of expertise, but the offering seems to have fallen somewhere close to the mark. That's good, even it leaves him suddenly adrift. He'd planned this far, not any further. A second feels a little like five.
Stephen abruptly sucks in a breath through his teeth, brows raising, and uses the shock of it to nudge the topic an inch or two to the left. ]
I think you can have a drink now. Something stronger, or shall I put on some tea?
[ Does alcohol still run the risk of feeling like a crutch, or would it be nice to have one or two? ]
[ Nate tucks it away into his back pocket and promptly tries to forget about the fact that he was extremely vulnerable three minutes prior, sucking his lip between his teeth and contemplating the wisdom in getting hideously drunk before sinking into a liquor-fueled sleep.
He knows better than to do that, unfortunately. Propping his elbow on the counter while the tension bleeds from his shoulders, Nate smiles. ]
Actually...and this is gonna sound surprising, but. Tea sounds nice. Got any varieties from Nepal?
[ A playful little lift of a brow - Do I? - and Stephen raises a finger to indicate Nate should wait there, "One minute", before disappearing off to the kitchen to set up the brew. The perks of owning a bar with a commercial kitchen, you never have to wait for hot water.
He doesn't have any Nepali blends that authentically pack the full punch of the leaves he's used to, but he does have a batch of Himalayan leaves that Silena kindly amped up to fit the flavour for him. It's close enough.
He returns with two ceramic, handleless tea cups in one hand and a tea kettle in the other, setting down the cups so he can shift a bar towel to protect the counter before putting the kettle down too. ]
Salvaged from the wreckage of the safehouse, no less.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The reprieve is nice. ]
You're a sorcerer.
[ He repeats slowly, and without thinking glances at Stephen's hands, one of the only things he hasn't pressed on. Again: old, probably from his world. If he'd come into this one and gotten injured here the repair work would have been a lot cleaner, if not entirely unnoticeable. ]
Okay, Howard Thurston. Go on.
no subject
It's a story for another day. The point is, I trained in Kathmandu, we go by the Masters of the Mystic Arts, and as you can no doubt imagine from the name we have a lot of ancient and interesting magical tools and artefacts at our disposal. Such as—
[ And herein lies the purpose of the detour, arrived at with a thundering swiftness that's far from his past wont but perhaps serves the same smokescreen purpose. He looks away from Nate and down to his own chest with the kind of lingering draw that might be expected of the showman he'll claim not to be - a chest that's now glowing. Not from power use or from the bond, there's no subtle touch waiting on delayed emotional transference. He's glowing because something's emerging.
From the center of his glowing chest, apparently unconcerned by flesh or clothes and easing its way out of the light itself, comes a small metal object. It's oddly shaped, the design a muddle of rigid geometry and looser weaved rope etched into the old metal. Two metal loops curl underneath, making space for two fingers. ]
... If you could.
[ Retrieve it, he means. He's not sure whether Nate's done much experimenting with the objects they store in their chests, so the prompt is a just in case.
If he does take it, the essence that accompanies it is perpetual forward momentum. Infinite potential and desire to learn. Condensed, he's an eager freefall into bottomless wonder, and all of that drive is imbued into the little object lit up by blue and suspended in nothing, waiting to be plucked. ]
no subject
It's a lot to absorb, more so when Stephen begins to glow and Nate's brow furrows at the small object that floats out like something from a bad, science-fiction B movie from the fifties. Except the effects are a little more impressive, and it's something he can actually touch. A kind of strange ring, some piece of jewelry in a style that looks vaguely familiar but only because of his wide exposure to various artifacts.
Stephen doesn't have to tell him twice. Ever tactile, Nate reaches out curiously without thinking and pulls it from the air.
The metal is warm and it feels a little bit like stepping off a building, a sensation with which Nate is regrettably familiar. Everything that follows is a flash in the pan, experience shockingly similar to what he already knows from personal experience, paired with a hunger for knowledge that Nate sees in a different light reflected in somebody else's mirror.
It's dangerous. Tempting. He's felt that before. Lightly: ]
Oh.
no subject
[ It's the only response he really needs to give. Truthfully, he doesn't know what that little object feels like himself. But Nate has clearly felt it in the transfer, and that's all he needs. It works. That's good enough. ]
You can keep it for a while.
[ If he wants to. If it'll help. There's no obligation, but without any other means of offering respite it's all he can think to give. ]
no subject
[ Nate doesn't entirely know what to do with it, speaking with reluctance, rubbing his thumb against the ridged edges of something that looks as though it shouldn't actually have a physical form. His hand falls to his side and he assumes that if he doesn't drop it into his duffel bag or pocket, it'll sink into his skin when he's not looking.
That's how these things are supposed to go, right? ]
I mean it.
no subject
[ Paired with a sheepish smile— this really isn't his area of expertise, but the offering seems to have fallen somewhere close to the mark. That's good, even it leaves him suddenly adrift. He'd planned this far, not any further. A second feels a little like five.
Stephen abruptly sucks in a breath through his teeth, brows raising, and uses the shock of it to nudge the topic an inch or two to the left. ]
I think you can have a drink now. Something stronger, or shall I put on some tea?
[ Does alcohol still run the risk of feeling like a crutch, or would it be nice to have one or two? ]
no subject
He knows better than to do that, unfortunately. Propping his elbow on the counter while the tension bleeds from his shoulders, Nate smiles. ]
Actually...and this is gonna sound surprising, but. Tea sounds nice. Got any varieties from Nepal?
no subject
He doesn't have any Nepali blends that authentically pack the full punch of the leaves he's used to, but he does have a batch of Himalayan leaves that Silena kindly amped up to fit the flavour for him. It's close enough.
He returns with two ceramic, handleless tea cups in one hand and a tea kettle in the other, setting down the cups so he can shift a bar towel to protect the counter before putting the kettle down too. ]
Salvaged from the wreckage of the safehouse, no less.