[ The title of Merlin has gone to Highland Witches for as long as Kingsman has existed, as tradition would dictate. Not a man of war or a man of honor in combat but a man of magic, the origins of espionage stretching back millennium. His predecessor was a witch and the one before him as well, but they had not all been quite as hands-on as him. Time not spent as a watcher and a teacher was spent working; experimenting with technology that he could add his own personal boost to, mixing potions to create toxins that could kill a man in seconds. They are his pet projects so to speak, his designs and creations in the lab for the Knights to use, and sometimes he just can't help himself.
The problem with not being able to help himself is that sometimes mistakes happen. Mistakes that he saw coming, but decided that he could circumvent in one way or another.
This time, the concoction in question was supposed to, if balanced properly, erase certain degrees of memory based on how much was consumed. A few drops for a few hours, a whole vial for a lifetime. What it wasn't supposed to do, was explode in a cloud of purple smoke when combined with an electrical pulse.
His magic came on instinct, of course. It shielded him from shattered glass and kept him from inhaling the gas. When it cleared though, he felt odd. Odd enough to check his reflection, and what he saw had him cursing. ]
Jesus Christ.
[ Not a minute later, a text message was sent to his young and relatively new boyfriend, before returning his attention to more pressing matters: namely, fixing this. ]
I'm afraid I won't be able to make dinner tonight, love. An experiment's gone tits up and I'm going to need to fix this before I can leave the building.
for prettywoman
The problem with not being able to help himself is that sometimes mistakes happen. Mistakes that he saw coming, but decided that he could circumvent in one way or another.
This time, the concoction in question was supposed to, if balanced properly, erase certain degrees of memory based on how much was consumed. A few drops for a few hours, a whole vial for a lifetime. What it wasn't supposed to do, was explode in a cloud of purple smoke when combined with an electrical pulse.
His magic came on instinct, of course. It shielded him from shattered glass and kept him from inhaling the gas. When it cleared though, he felt odd. Odd enough to check his reflection, and what he saw had him cursing. ]
Jesus Christ.
[ Not a minute later, a text message was sent to his young and relatively new boyfriend, before returning his attention to more pressing matters: namely, fixing this. ]
I'm afraid I won't be able to make dinner tonight, love. An experiment's gone tits up and I'm going to need to fix this before I can leave the building.