Caught off balance, Methos froze mid-step. He turned to the Doctor and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Excuse me?"
"Nice little place by Lake Geneva, summertime," the Doctor continued cheerfully, as if he'd won a prize. "Cold that year, wasn't it? Wet too. Nice sunsets though."
Methos' first instinct was to play innocent, while the second was to knock the man down and demand to know what he knew. The third was that the man was a time traveler and given everything else he'd seen and heard recently, a prior meeting wasn't entirely impossible - apart from one small thing. Methos remembered that year without summer, courtesy of Tambora's eruption, and though he hadn't thought of it in decades he remembered the evening in question just as well. A man calling himself 'the Doctor' had been present, tall with a strange sense of humour, but the face was altogether different.
He unclenched his jaw and frowned drolly. "You cut your hair."
Methos smirked as he brought his horse to a stop inside the gates of Byron's residence by Lake Geneva, waving away the footman who'd scurried to get a stool for the guest to dismount upon. He'd used the damned things occasionally, but only when protocol insisted he must - there was only so much eccentricity one could get away with without being noticed, and only those who were already noticed due to wealth and position could get away with the consequences. Take Byron for instance: how an Immortal foundling had been placed in such a prominent family was anyone's guess, but he'd certainly reaped the benefits and pushed every boundary he could lay his hot little hands on. Given the opportunity Methos would far rather do away with the ridiculous collars forced upon the men of this era, but he trusted that fashion would change in time.. hopefully to something much less constricting. It wasn't as if the extra cloth protected his neck after all, not when faced with a sharp blade.
Jumping down from the saddle, "Dr Adams" took the steps two at a time and stretched his senses to feel for Byron's Buzz. There was an unusual carriage in the driveway so he knew the man was in, but he didn't remember being told about any other guests being due. Methos frowned as he tucked his tall hat under his arm, resolving to give the younger Immortal a piece of his mind later on. He'd told him time and time again that even trusted friends could unintentionally bring a headhunter to his door, and after that fiasco with Marti Pestalozzi last month there was also the possibility that others might seek revenge for his head. By his own admission risks made Byron feel more alive, but the silly fool had yet to grasp the idea that a sword could end his life just as easily as a mortal's if used correctly. Current notoriety was all young George cared about, and the latest claim of impregnation by the English aristocrat was surely proof that he was succeeding... that, and the local girls were rather free with their affections.
How in heaven's name will he survive when he has to leave this name behind?
"Which is why your idea of free love is so liberating? Really," a female voice observed dryly, the sound echoing through the marbled hall. "It's more an excuse to free you from obligation rather than freeing anyone's mind. Give way to hedonism and take no personal responsibility for any results. It's all very juvenile."
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timeasmymeasure
[Methos] Revelry and Remembrances (tag Doctor)
Date: 2006-05-19 10:07 am (UTC)"Nice little place by Lake Geneva, summertime," the Doctor continued cheerfully, as if he'd won a prize. "Cold that year, wasn't it? Wet too. Nice sunsets though."
Methos' first instinct was to play innocent, while the second was to knock the man down and demand to know what he knew. The third was that the man was a time traveler and given everything else he'd seen and heard recently, a prior meeting wasn't entirely impossible - apart from one small thing. Methos remembered that year without summer, courtesy of Tambora's eruption, and though he hadn't thought of it in decades he remembered the evening in question just as well. A man calling himself 'the Doctor' had been present, tall with a strange sense of humour, but the face was altogether different.
He unclenched his jaw and frowned drolly. "You cut your hair."
---------------------------------------------------------------
Methos smirked as he brought his horse to a stop inside the gates of Byron's residence by Lake Geneva, waving away the footman who'd scurried to get a stool for the guest to dismount upon. He'd used the damned things occasionally, but only when protocol insisted he must - there was only so much eccentricity one could get away with without being noticed, and only those who were already noticed due to wealth and position could get away with the consequences. Take Byron for instance: how an Immortal foundling had been placed in such a prominent family was anyone's guess, but he'd certainly reaped the benefits and pushed every boundary he could lay his hot little hands on. Given the opportunity Methos would far rather do away with the ridiculous collars forced upon the men of this era, but he trusted that fashion would change in time.. hopefully to something much less constricting. It wasn't as if the extra cloth protected his neck after all, not when faced with a sharp blade.
Jumping down from the saddle, "Dr Adams" took the steps two at a time and stretched his senses to feel for Byron's Buzz. There was an unusual carriage in the driveway so he knew the man was in, but he didn't remember being told about any other guests being due. Methos frowned as he tucked his tall hat under his arm, resolving to give the younger Immortal a piece of his mind later on. He'd told him time and time again that even trusted friends could unintentionally bring a headhunter to his door, and after that fiasco with Marti Pestalozzi last month there was also the possibility that others might seek revenge for his head. By his own admission risks made Byron feel more alive, but the silly fool had yet to grasp the idea that a sword could end his life just as easily as a mortal's if used correctly. Current notoriety was all young George cared about, and the latest claim of impregnation by the English aristocrat was surely proof that he was succeeding... that, and the local girls were rather free with their affections.
How in heaven's name will he survive when he has to leave this name behind?
"Which is why your idea of free love is so liberating? Really," a female voice observed dryly, the sound echoing through the marbled hall. "It's more an excuse to free you from obligation rather than freeing anyone's mind. Give way to hedonism and take no personal responsibility for any results. It's all very juvenile."