Hard to know what is real when you beg and you steal....
Who: The Really Old Guy (wasthenightmare ) and That Coyote Chick (vw_coyote )
When: July 21st, late afternoon.
Where: QUIET. THIS IS A LIBRARY.
Summary: Mercy has a stick problem. Methos has a lot of creepy knowledge. Together, no crime is fought.
Warnings: Excessive nerdiness.
Two bloody months- going on three now, he supposed. Time really stopped mattering when you were an Immortal, even when you were stuck in prisons- and oh, had he been stuck in prisons. This one may have been a little bit roomier, but that didn't change what it really was. In those three months, he'd come no closer to getting an answer to it all... Which shouldn't surprise him. Some things didn't have answers. The history of Immortals was forgotten when he was a boy and the Game was just forming. The Core might be similar.
It annoyed him not to know every fragment of history of a place. If this were his universe, he could stand on any spot he'd been once before and recall with near-perfect clarity what it was like thousands of years before it became what it was now. If he had always been here, he might be able to tell which way was up, rather than doing research whenever he wasn't doing the occasional easy odd job and fake appraisal- no one said earning cash was a fair gig and no one said it had to be difficult either- he was spending time in the library. Joe the Cat had actually taken to following him every afternoon, to which he usually responded with casual indifference as to the cat's well-being out on the streets when people were herding stray cats like sheep. Thus far, the cat remained untouched.
Methos had just pulled a tourism guide off the shelf in lieu of anything else to search through and was flipping through the pages when his foot caught the edge of a chair and he nearly tripped. Fighter's reflexes allowed him to correct himself before he knocked both the chair and the person in it over and he ended up in an awkward half-pirouette on the other side of the table when he managed to find his balance.
"Sorry," he nodded, awkwardly. He didn't just reveal that under the scholarly veneer, there was a swordsman's grace. Absolutely not. He was a simple nerd and nothing more.
When: July 21st, late afternoon.
Where: QUIET. THIS IS A LIBRARY.
Summary: Mercy has a stick problem. Methos has a lot of creepy knowledge. Together, no crime is fought.
Warnings: Excessive nerdiness.
Two bloody months- going on three now, he supposed. Time really stopped mattering when you were an Immortal, even when you were stuck in prisons- and oh, had he been stuck in prisons. This one may have been a little bit roomier, but that didn't change what it really was. In those three months, he'd come no closer to getting an answer to it all... Which shouldn't surprise him. Some things didn't have answers. The history of Immortals was forgotten when he was a boy and the Game was just forming. The Core might be similar.
It annoyed him not to know every fragment of history of a place. If this were his universe, he could stand on any spot he'd been once before and recall with near-perfect clarity what it was like thousands of years before it became what it was now. If he had always been here, he might be able to tell which way was up, rather than doing research whenever he wasn't doing the occasional easy odd job and fake appraisal- no one said earning cash was a fair gig and no one said it had to be difficult either- he was spending time in the library. Joe the Cat had actually taken to following him every afternoon, to which he usually responded with casual indifference as to the cat's well-being out on the streets when people were herding stray cats like sheep. Thus far, the cat remained untouched.
Methos had just pulled a tourism guide off the shelf in lieu of anything else to search through and was flipping through the pages when his foot caught the edge of a chair and he nearly tripped. Fighter's reflexes allowed him to correct himself before he knocked both the chair and the person in it over and he ended up in an awkward half-pirouette on the other side of the table when he managed to find his balance.
"Sorry," he nodded, awkwardly. He didn't just reveal that under the scholarly veneer, there was a swordsman's grace. Absolutely not. He was a simple nerd and nothing more.