(Day 10 Evening) Revelry and Remembrances (Tag Methos)

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Rose had wandered off for a 'girl's night'. She'd taken one of the teapots and sauntered off with a swing to her hips.

He looked over to where the women were laughing, and starting to drink. They were either bonding or embarassing themselves. Or both. No matter what species, women remained a mystery.

He saw Adam passing a container of something to Ripley before she moved to join the group.

It hit him suddenly. The vague feeling of having seen Adam, or someone like him before. Knowing what he now did of Adam's age, it was undoubtedly the same man. A doctor then, as well.

As Adam started to pass the leanto on the way back to the infirmary the Doctor grinned.

"Geneva, 1816." The Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed to Adam. His voice was low and didn't carry beyond the two of them. "Dinner party at George Byron's. You, Mary and myself were the only ones completely sober. Romana was just slightly affected."

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The Doctor was becoming bored. The debate had been amusing and quite enjoyable the first two hours, but as their host continues to partake of the alarmingly green liquor, his arguments became more and more incoherent. He might have lasted longer if he didn’t have the appalling habit of pouring his absinth over a cube of opium.

Romana, however, appeared to be enjoying herself too much to excuse themselves just yet. She was on her third glass of absinth, sans opium. She was apparently allowing it to affect her a bit. How ridiculous. To have a philosophical and scientific debate with two of the more poetically brilliant humans in history was one thing. But to descend into ones cups for it.

“Oh, but philosophy is much more profound when there’s a bit of inebriation involved.” Romana chided him. She’d evidently been affected enough to rudely tap into his surface thoughts.

She did look rather fetching in the empire waisted confection of pink and white striped cotton and satin. Her blonde hair pulled up into an artfully arranged mass of artificial curls atop her head.

“If you insist. But I find philosophy to be such a fluid topic on it own, the addition of another kind of fluidity just blurs it all together.” The Doctor sipped at his own drink. The anise taste was too strong for his liking. Fortunately, unlike humans, he didn’t risk madness by imbibing. Of course some would argue he was already there.

“Now, now… I find libation makes things much more interesting, my friends. Once can be excused of most anything when others think it is the result of inebriation. Indeed, I think philosophy’s rise has been directly proportional to the fermentation process in most cultures.” Lord George Gordon Byron interjected quite happily.

“Indeed, Pericles, Socrates and Plato were great admirers of wine, and boys. Not necessarily in that order.” Shelly added from his seat in the corner. He was sprawled about as it his spine had collapsed.

The Doctor stood out from the two handsome, and fashionable men. His own countenance currently consisted of rather large eyes, a toothy smile and a mop of unruly brown curls, and his attire, even divested of his long coat and comforting looping scarf of seeming unending length, was less that fashionable in the current time period. His trousers were a bit baggy, and woolen. His boots were knee high, but brown and well worn. And his loose white shirt had a single red question mark embroidered on each lapel.

“Ah, but wine was safer than water in those days, and really, you couldn’t let any fruit juice lay about in those temperatures without some fermentation taking place. But if you’re talking the more ritually prepared wines, who wouldn’t have a soft spot for a bit of Essenczian wine.” Now there was a vintage to get into. He had several bottles on the TARDIS. “And Pericles was not so interested in boys so much as boys were the only ones educated at the time, in all their times, really. It had nothing to do with droll sexuality and everything to do with the educated intellect.” The Doctor countered.

“Seems not much has changed after all.” Romana offered. “Why is education so divergent between the sexes?”

The Doctor almost choked on his absinth. Oh dear, this was suddenly going to get interesting again.

“It is because you, my dear lady, are the exception rather than the rule. Most female minds seem to bend towards emotion and fashion. Their minds full of fat babies and domesticity. They seem to have neither the tendency nor the inclination for more intellectual pursuits.” Byron well and truly put his foot into it.

“Which is why your idea of free love is so liberating? Really. 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.” Romana wrinkled her pert little nose.

Further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a fourth man. Tall and lanky, his posture seemed a bit slouched, but the grace of stride and carriage made The Doctor expect that it was an affectation. He had seen warrior types with similar bearing. Leela, for one. His dark hair and prominent nose leant towards the rather romantic mystique of his contemporaries.

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[Methos] Revelry and Remembrances (tag Doctor)

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"Quite," Methos observed dryly. "Although I had hoped to maintain forward momentum, rather than drifting back to the Bronze Age."

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This Doctor and his lady were uncommonly perceptive, Methos decided, not to mention entertaining. Their light banter and obvious ease with one another made him quite jealous, despite those with whom he kept company at present. Debates this unconventional household had aplenty, and story-telling, but once the absinthe, opium and laudanum appeared they might as well be a pack of children. Fun, yet increasingly wearisome over time. Not only that, but these guests seemed less burdened by modern thought than anyone else he'd met in a very long time - liberal by nature, not to provoke a reaction.

As Mary began to outline her plans to visit Italy, complete with occasional slaps upon her husband's arm, Methos shot an irritated glare in Byron's direction. Seeing that the poet was indulging his other muse once more - whispering drunken ditties to his earnest student - he beckoned the butler over and enquired after the evening meal.

"Awaiting his Lordship's pleasure, as always, sir," the bulky servant replied, though the impatience in his eyes betrayed him.

Methos smiled indulgently before issuing his quiet reply. "Nearly spoiled, then?"

The nod he received in return was hesitant and almost imperceptible, despite the fact that Garrett had had several months with which to acquaint himself with Methos' eccentricities. Rolling his eyes, the Immortal simply waved the man away and resumed his earlier sprawl. No doubt there would be much gossiping below-stairs tonight, particularly regarding the master's guests.

"Lord Byron - I believe it is time to feed the body, now that you have saturated the mind?"

His 'employer' merely snorted. "An unnecessary affair, surely. Neither my hedonism nor my belly is inclined towards gastronomy at this time."

"You have guests, dear sir, therefore you must entertain!"

Methos shook his head in mock-despair, though his true feelings were not so far removed. Byron's poems were tolerated far more easily than Byron himself, even down to the smallest of courtesies and while the privacy of his home was relatively safe, the Doctor and Lady Romana remained an unknown quantity despite their open-mindedness. It would be rather ironic if the man received wider acclaim after his supposed lifetime, simply because he'd been so brash.

A rumbling of his belly reminded Methos of his previous train of though: food. How best to guide their host now? Ah yes..

"I hear the new maid is being permitted to wait at table this evening."

Byron's eyes snapped open as he took the bait, smiling broadly as he planted a long kiss upon Claire's lips: a fondled promise of later pleasures that caused her to giggle mischievously, though she might not realise how many lovers Byron intended on taking that night. The news was most likely false in any case - Methos was not party to such decisions after all - however the objective had been achieved.

"Then, though it disturb my sweet repose, eat we shall! Garrett?" the master of the house called to his butler expectantly.

Bowing with perfect decorum, the man in question signaled the other servants while a footman opened the doors to the dining hall. "Ladies, my lord, good sirs - dinner is served."

Wonderful, Methos decided, sniffing appreciatively. There was a great deal to be said for modern conveniences.