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He sucks in a slow breath, and tugs on his goatee. "...Do you think I could hold on all right?" Because he really wants to, but he's come to seriously doubt his physical prowess over the past few decades.

"Your arms are stronger than mine are." Balthazar shrugs. "As if I'd let you fall if you lost your grip."

He shakes Balthazar's hand eagerly, though he notices the slight flinch. "I've spent most of my life as a sailor. I learned to play violin first. Nowadays with the synthesizer, you can carry a piano with you as easily as a guitar."

He's always been stronger, better at wrestling and the sword, and using a cane keeps up his strength there. "Point... I could catch myself for that matter, I just wasn't certain what there is to hold onto..." Surely there must be a decent way to ride them, if Balthazar's managed it. "I'd... like that."

"Ahh. I've worked as a fisherman before, but that's not quite the same. When crossing the ocean, I'm mostly a passenger." His gaze goes distant a moment, lost in nostalgia, but he continues to respond amiably.

"I've never touched a synthesizer. There's something about the wood and strings that feel right. I suppose I could learn to like the electronic stuff."

"There are bars, behind the head. You'd be just fine." He gets up and offers Horvath a hand. Clearly the decision is made. Flying time!

His look of restrained hopefulness breaks into a little grin. He still has faint dimples. Today, he'll take the hand up without reservation, ready to follow Balthazar all the way to the top of the Chrysler building, and out into the air.

He really doesn't get out enough.

"I've always been a sailor, never a fisherman," Morgan nodded. "I like wood and strings myself. Somehow the music is much more alive. Even the electric guitar relies on them for its sound. I've not bothered with the electronic stuff much myself."

"It might be partly a psychological thing," he says. "But plucking the strings lets you feel the vibrations, too."

He shrugs and leans his elbow on the arm of the chair he's in. "Do you do much composing, or writing lyrics?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm not good at composing or writing lyrics," Morgan knew his limits. "But I do love to play and sing good music." He smiled softly. "I'm particularly fond of the Blues."

Edited 2012-01-14 16:25 (UTC)

"I always thought of myself as a lyricist rather than a composer, but every now and again I'll hear something I wrote long ago get recycled...it's flattering."

He sighs. "I missed out on the early blues singers, I'm afraid. I've heard recordings, though."

"Oh, is it anything I might know?" he is truly interested.

"I missed out on those myself. I have too. They're quite wonderful and rustic. I didn't get into the Blues until a lot of pop stars in Britain did back in the early nineteen fifties and sixties. They all wanted to be Elvis, even John Lennon did until he and McCartney worked out a unique voice for the Beatles."

Edited 2012-01-15 05:46 (UTC)

Balthazar gives him a long look. "...hard to say," he answers. "You mostly hear my compositions in Celtic pop anymore. Anonymous ballads and such. I'm older than I look."

There's an understatement. He's not usually so forthcoming, but something tells him he can take a chance on at least part of the truth with this fellow.

"Really?" he had a large repertoire, he was even more curious to know if he had played one of Balthazar's songs himself. He gave a soft snort. "You're not the only one." he admitted.

He could tell Balthazar wasn't the same sort of Immortal that Morgan was, there was no tell-tale buzz in the back of his head. But the man had a quiet sense of contained power about him.

"So I've heard," he smiles wryly. "But there are different types of longevity."

On the flip side, Balthazar can tell Morgan is no sorcerer. That doesn't leave a huge number of other options, but he's not ready to make assumptions yet. "Shall we level with one another, or just go back to the musical discussion?"

"True. I'd like that. It would be a refreshing change," it was nice for a change not to have to fall back on the cover story. "And then perhaps we can continue with our musical discussion."

"I think I can agree to that. Let's see...I was born in 537 A.D. Am I older or younger?" It is a game!

"Hmm. Older. Care to guess how much?" he enjoyed this game too.

"Hmmm...I have no way to know. I'll say...three hundred years." It's an arbitrary number.

"I was born in 1542," Morgan smiled softly. "It's not often that I meet someone that much older than me."

"Oh, I was way off," he sighs in mock-dismay, then sobers. "It's an enchantment, in my case. My master cast it on me when I was thirty-eight. I'll go on until I complete a certain quest."

"Interesting. So immortality was a choice for you," his own was not. "If you finish your quest, what happens?"

"More or less. I didn't ask for it. But I could have refused, theoretically." Refusing would have required him to turn his back on everyone he considered family and all the teachings he had received, but he could have said no.

"When I finish, I start to age like any ordinary mortal. I could probably slow it down, if I had to. I don't know whether I'll have reason to."

"I died for the first time in 1584, at the age of thirty-eight," with his Immortality he had lost everyone he cared for. "When I came back, I was Immortal. I didn't even know that until another Immortal, my first teacher, found me and demonstrated to me what I was."

He almost says he's met another man with the same background. Connor wouldn't thank him for that, and fortunately he realizes that before he speaks. It would be futile to hide that he has some knowledge of the Game, though, so he nods slowly. "Very different circumstances. If I die, I'm not likely to get another chance."

"1584..." He tilts his head back thoughtfully. "I was still in the Andes, then. Trying to slow the spread of smallpox and influenza, for all the good that did. Where are you from?"