[oom] the longest day, continued
It happens faster than Dave's rattled mind can process. One minute there are deadly wolves growling and snapping at his legs, and he falls; then there are harmless, adorable puppies piled on his chest where the wolves' sharp claws should be; and then there's an eagle.
A impossibly gigantic steel eagle, perched on the tracks mere feet away with a man on its back.
And then Dave finds himself staring over the edge of the Chrysler Building, heart pounding in his ears, stomach twisted into nauseating knots. He talks himself out of throwing up-there could be people on the sidewalk below, after all, and that would suck for them-and then turns to face the eagle's rider.
Recognition dawns on him within seconds.
"Leave, Dave! Leave now!"
His eyes widen and he immediately shakes his head in utter disbelief. "This is not happening, this is not happening, I taste sour in my mouth-"
"Take it easy, Dave Deep breaths."
Those words belong to Balthazar Blake, the man Dave remembers as crazy, dangerous, and crazy. He looks exactly the same as Dave remembers: straggly hair, old trench coat, wild eyes-the hat's new-and all Dave can do as Balthazar coaxes the gargoyle back onto its ledge is gape.
The simple action of picking up a pigeon is what finally makes Dave snap, ten years' worth of anger bubbling to the surface.
"No, no, no no no! You are not doing this to me again! Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the last ten years?"
"I've been stuck in an urn for the last ten years."
"...so have I! A... figurative urn. Of ridicule."
Balthazar seems more concerned with the pigeon than with Dave's hysteria. Dave glares and continues, arms flailing, "Do you know that in certain parts of the tri-state area, they still refer to having a nervous breakdown as 'pulling a David Stutler'? Did you know that?"
"Try to be a good listener, Dave. That doll is called the Grimhold. It is a prison for the most dangerous Morganians in history, each one locked up in a layer of the doll. Horvath wants to free his fellow Morganians and destroy the world." He looks up from his work of tying a string to the pigeon's leg, expression somber, and emphasizes each following word: "This must not happen."
"Yeah." Dave nods. "For sure."
Great, he thinks. Apocalyptic icing on a crap cake. He doesn't want to imagine what the cherry could possibly be.
"The truth is," the older (much older) man says, bearing down on Dave once the bird's taken flight, "you have a very special gift. You need to see that."
"I just wanna be normal," Dave pleads. "Have a normal life. I wanna forget about that day at Arcana Cabana, I wanna forget about magic, I wanna forget everything!"
Something whistles in the distance; Dave looks up just in time to see his dresser hurtling through the air.
"You should duck," Balthazar advises.
He moves just in time, narrowly avoiding a concussion.
Or a beheading.
Really, the latter would seem fitting for how his day's going.
"You wanna forget magic?" Balthazar steps over to the piece of furniture, eyes narrowed. He opens the top drawer, grabs Dave's ring, and holds it up in front of Dave's nose. "Then why'd you keep the ring?"
Dave stares at it for a second, nearly cross-eyed, then shakes his head. "I... was going to sell that," he stammers. "On... uh, eBay."
This is not entirely true, and Balthazar knows it's not. "You're still a bad liar, Dave. I like that about you; it's a good sign. You have the gift."
As far as Dave's concerned, he's nothing particularly special. His only gift is his talent for physics, and it's rare that anybody is impressed with that for reasons other than math is hard. "No," he says. "I have a life."
Balthazar is running out of patience. And time.
"You're the last person Horvath saw with the Grimhold. That puts you on his list. So unless you want him to turn you into a pig who just loooves physics, then you better help me find that doll before he does."
"This is crazy. You see how crazy this is, right?"
"Alright." Balthazar looks Dave over, yielding only slightly. "Alright. You help me get it back, you're done."
Dave arches an eyebrow, skeptical. "Really?"
"You can walk away."
As crazy as Dave thinks this is and as much as he wishes this was a dream, or some glucose-related hallucination, or anything but reality, he's reached the point where he knows he has no choice but to accept what's happening and go with it. Part of him, minute and buried somewhere deep down, believes all of it.
"Can you please put my dresser back?"
The moment Balthazar knows Dave's on board he springs into action, calling up the barometric pressure spell he has attached to the Grimhold for tracking purposes. Dave watches in confused awe as thunderclouds gather in the distance, hovering over one unnaturally concentrated spot. "It displaces the atmosphere above the doll," he explains. "Looks like downtown."
Dave doesn't have to ask to know where they're going next.
A impossibly gigantic steel eagle, perched on the tracks mere feet away with a man on its back.
And then Dave finds himself staring over the edge of the Chrysler Building, heart pounding in his ears, stomach twisted into nauseating knots. He talks himself out of throwing up-there could be people on the sidewalk below, after all, and that would suck for them-and then turns to face the eagle's rider.
Recognition dawns on him within seconds.
"Leave, Dave! Leave now!"
His eyes widen and he immediately shakes his head in utter disbelief. "This is not happening, this is not happening, I taste sour in my mouth-"
"Take it easy, Dave Deep breaths."
Those words belong to Balthazar Blake, the man Dave remembers as crazy, dangerous, and crazy. He looks exactly the same as Dave remembers: straggly hair, old trench coat, wild eyes-the hat's new-and all Dave can do as Balthazar coaxes the gargoyle back onto its ledge is gape.
The simple action of picking up a pigeon is what finally makes Dave snap, ten years' worth of anger bubbling to the surface.
"No, no, no no no! You are not doing this to me again! Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the last ten years?"
"I've been stuck in an urn for the last ten years."
"...so have I! A... figurative urn. Of ridicule."
Balthazar seems more concerned with the pigeon than with Dave's hysteria. Dave glares and continues, arms flailing, "Do you know that in certain parts of the tri-state area, they still refer to having a nervous breakdown as 'pulling a David Stutler'? Did you know that?"
"Try to be a good listener, Dave. That doll is called the Grimhold. It is a prison for the most dangerous Morganians in history, each one locked up in a layer of the doll. Horvath wants to free his fellow Morganians and destroy the world." He looks up from his work of tying a string to the pigeon's leg, expression somber, and emphasizes each following word: "This must not happen."
"Yeah." Dave nods. "For sure."
Great, he thinks. Apocalyptic icing on a crap cake. He doesn't want to imagine what the cherry could possibly be.
"The truth is," the older (much older) man says, bearing down on Dave once the bird's taken flight, "you have a very special gift. You need to see that."
"I just wanna be normal," Dave pleads. "Have a normal life. I wanna forget about that day at Arcana Cabana, I wanna forget about magic, I wanna forget everything!"
Something whistles in the distance; Dave looks up just in time to see his dresser hurtling through the air.
"You should duck," Balthazar advises.
He moves just in time, narrowly avoiding a concussion.
Or a beheading.
Really, the latter would seem fitting for how his day's going.
"You wanna forget magic?" Balthazar steps over to the piece of furniture, eyes narrowed. He opens the top drawer, grabs Dave's ring, and holds it up in front of Dave's nose. "Then why'd you keep the ring?"
Dave stares at it for a second, nearly cross-eyed, then shakes his head. "I... was going to sell that," he stammers. "On... uh, eBay."
This is not entirely true, and Balthazar knows it's not. "You're still a bad liar, Dave. I like that about you; it's a good sign. You have the gift."
As far as Dave's concerned, he's nothing particularly special. His only gift is his talent for physics, and it's rare that anybody is impressed with that for reasons other than math is hard. "No," he says. "I have a life."
Balthazar is running out of patience. And time.
"You're the last person Horvath saw with the Grimhold. That puts you on his list. So unless you want him to turn you into a pig who just loooves physics, then you better help me find that doll before he does."
"This is crazy. You see how crazy this is, right?"
"Alright." Balthazar looks Dave over, yielding only slightly. "Alright. You help me get it back, you're done."
Dave arches an eyebrow, skeptical. "Really?"
"You can walk away."
As crazy as Dave thinks this is and as much as he wishes this was a dream, or some glucose-related hallucination, or anything but reality, he's reached the point where he knows he has no choice but to accept what's happening and go with it. Part of him, minute and buried somewhere deep down, believes all of it.
"Can you please put my dresser back?"
The moment Balthazar knows Dave's on board he springs into action, calling up the barometric pressure spell he has attached to the Grimhold for tracking purposes. Dave watches in confused awe as thunderclouds gather in the distance, hovering over one unnaturally concentrated spot. "It displaces the atmosphere above the doll," he explains. "Looks like downtown."
Dave doesn't have to ask to know where they're going next.