nysalogs | [open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[Hmm, well. Clearly there are some discrepancies, here. Prior beckons Merlin to keep walking, falling into step with his longer legs. His own seems to bother him less with the distraction.]

Now, this is testing my loyalty to anything Disney but lacking princesses, but in my version of events, Arthur was a child everyone called Wart. He doesn't become King until he pulls a sword out of a stone. And there's a whole thing where he's an ant, and a fish, and something with a mad witch I can hardly recall.

[He shrugs.]

Chinese whispers, I guess. Your story's had a long season of being passed around. My ex boyfriend happened to be a carbuncle, though, so I can sympathise.

[What's a Disney. Either way, this is certainly a decorated version of events - but then, also, most people think Merlin was born 80 it seems, so this... he probably should have expected.]

He was most of a donkey once. Braying and everything, very regal. And the sword— [mmm, okay. Okay, in the interest of not poisoning the well of times too much, maybe he won't go around telling people he made that all up, where the sword was involved. Someone out there would get offended.]

Well, the sword wasn't the reason he became king, but it certainly helped later on. Sorry about your carbuncle.

Oh not to worry, he cut himself out. It's barely even sore now.

[Stings like a bitch, fuck you Louis Ironson, but never mind that now.]

Most of a donkey. I imagine there might be some parts a man would trade but - was that you? Your... magic?

Hmm. [Merlin's never had a breakup to relate; he can offer a sympathetic nod, though? That's close enough.]

Just what kind of treason are you accusing me of? [Were it such that he could take full credit—] No, not the whole time. Goblins, actually.

Oh, goblins.

[Like oh, sliced bread. Prior's learning the way not to go entirely crazy here is to grin and pretend things are normal.]

That explains everything. [Though he could be over sugaring the pill at this point.] You can do magic, though? I'm impressed by someone stealing my nose, it doesn't take much.

[Goblins are real, Prior!!]

Oh—sure, of course. That part of the story's actually true. Here- [Here, he can do magic tricks on command, sure. He's done this for other people here before, so - he holds up a hand and closes it into a loose fist. His eyes flash gold for a second, and he opens his hand again to reveal a tiny blue butterfly.

There it goes, fluttering away like he didn't just make a butterfly out of nothing. Tada.]

[It's not the only thing fluttering. If he's quick he'll see - or hear - Prior gasp. He lifts his hand to trace the butterfly's path through the air.]

Where did that come from? Can you do more of those? You could make a killing at uptown weddings.

It's magic. [Obviously - it's probably not technically alive and just elaborate light tricks, but let's not try to explain where the creating life line is to cross in magic. It's inconsistent.

Anyway it's pretty, which is the point.]

I could make as many as I want, I suppose. Enough for a wedding would take... well, I've never tried. Hours?

Worth it. One day of butterflies and you could take the week off. And so much less likely to shit on you than doves.

[Forgive him, there is party planning in his past]

Anyway, they're pretty, which is the point. What else can you do?

A day off would be something to behold... [When did he last have a day off? He honestly doesn't know.]

I could do—well. Not to sound smug, but whatever I want, I suppose. Certain things are harder than others...

It's not smug. If I could even do the butterflies I'd have a whole variety act around it.

[He looks away - they're leaving the residential area for the fringes of the entertainment district, and the scenery's starting to change. No tumblers yet, though.]

...But I mean - forgive me if I'm asking too many questions, it's probably mundane as hell to you - where does it come from? Are there spellbooks or is it just... in you?

I don't mind. [He loves magic... and tumblers, so hopefully soon. Although he's not sure what time of day they all come out, actually. Hm.]

Magic is all around everything, more or less. I was born with it, but spellbooks have been a help here and there. Some people haven't got any magic at all.

All around everything. [There's a Sunday School air to that, and maybe that's what Prior's trying to get at.] Like, something divine?

Like... air.

[Magic is about as instinctive to him as actual, literal breathing, but he also genuinely means like the air. He shrugs.] It's hard to avoid is what I'm getting at, I suppose.

[Prior nods, finding himself taking a couple of deep breaths without even realizing it. Like air. It doesn't sound like his world, where the air tastes of traffic pollution and street corner hot dogs, and cut pine trees in December and ice cream in July but never like magic at all. The idea it could be as natural as breathing isn't quite a concept he can grasp, but impossible things are starting to be a daily reality to him.]

So, anyway, I'm a prophet.

[About as casual as someone might announce being vegetarian. Or it would be, if he didn't keep cutting nervous sideways glances to check Merlin's response.]

[Well, that's one kind of segue, he supposes. He blinks, surprised, then makes a face like this requires very serious thought. Or rather, he makes it a whole two more strides forward before he finds his question,] Like a seer?

[God, he's already offended one seer in this world, do not be a total ignorant turnip about it, Merlin—] How does that work?

[Its the only kind of segue Prior knows for this. Since we're on the subject of crazy things - try this on for size - though he's told less people than he can count on one hand, so there hasn't exactly been a chance to practice.]

Like a seer. I see. Things I don't want to and no one should. Terrible things sometimes. If I knew how it worked maybe I'd have been able to turn it off by now but there is this... text... in me. In me and it speaks to me of the things it says will come to pass. Destiny. Which is a lot of bullshit in my opinion but I wasn't given much chance for debate.

[Merlin frowns sympathetically - he knows the burden of seeing terrible things in the supposed future and, worse, being an instrument in their coming true... but only once. He can't imagine being tormented by something like that all the time.]

My destiny advice used to come from a dragon, [he says, for lack of anything better to say. There's a shrug, and after a moment, he shuffles into place beside Prior and holds his arm out for him again.] Let's go see the tumblers and I'll listen to whatever you want to say, if you like.

Mine comes from an angel. Do you have those, or is it still all standing stones and sun gods?

[The number of people here who don't seem to know something so ubiquitous in his own world and time makes the question necessary. Christmas here is going to be dull.]

Anyway, when it comes to terrifying winged visions, I'd take a dragon any day of the week.

[Hypothetically. Haha they're... not... real.]

The dragon's a bit ornery, but that's because he's old, I suspect.

[Also: very, very real. He just shrugs away the idea of angels - the Old Religion has High Priestesses and Triple Goddesses but he doesn't get too deeply involved in all of those details.

But he won't know Christmas, no. Tragic.]

How can you tell? Do they go gray?

[Leaving Angels aside for the... well, for as long as possible, really. Prior doesn't speak about this often, or to many people. For the moment Merlin at least doesn't seem to think too much of it, so he might as well quit while ahead.]

[After everything else, Merlin can't actually consider something like angels strange just because he's never seen one - and he's known seers, several of them! So. Close enough?

But dragons, dragons are good.]

No, they just act like angry old men. And the one I helped hatch from its egg had been in that egg for hundreds of years. If a baby's hundreds of years old, then it stands to reason my friend is... well, getting on in years.

Hundreds of years? Unbearable. Personally I've always imagined my nine months to have been interminably dull. Nothing but my parents arguing and new age whale music to keep me occupied.

[As if all this is normal, really, even if there's something deep in Prior's psyche lightly screaming about how crazy this is. He's here, so either it's real or there's some kind of traumatic brain injury he'll never come back from: might as well make the best of the hallucinations.]

Are there many dragons in England, then?

[whale music... Truly, everything Prior says is a mystery. Merlin manages a- chuckle? He hopes that's supposed to be funny.]

Just two left. [a beat] And it's Albion, but I suppose someone could have changed the name in, oh, centuries.

Albion. [Prior's turn to look confused, although... maybe in a movie?]

No, I think I've heard of that. It's weird, right? How I'm hundreds of years in your future, and in this future things have swung right back your way. I feel... constantly out of my depth.

[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

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