Drunken People Never Lie
OOC: After this post. http://noble-woman.livejournal.com/25903.html#comments Methos is oldguywithbeer
"I've never been this drunk before...never." Augusta was laying, in a most unseemly manner, on the floor. Her gown and petticoats were a tumbled mess, and her dark hair was splayed over several cushions that he had tucked under her spinning head.
"I have been far more drunk. Drunker. Whatever." Methos was sprawled on the small settee, his polished boot up on the silk. He owned the bloody place, so no one could scold. "If this were then, he would be drunker than both of us."
"Probably. But if this were then, I wouldn't be here. Someone else would." Gus stared up at the ceiling, wondering if it were all the same as before.
"He would have been thinking about you." Methos glanced at her, trying not to look at the bodice of her gown, which was in such disarray that a good portion of her decollatage was exposed. "He frequently was...thinking. About you."
"I'd like to believe that." She doubted it. Doubted that Byron ever thought of her when she wasn't right there.
"So would many of us." Methos' response was darker. He got up, and strode to lock the front door of the house. Lock in the ghosts. Lock in the fireflies. Lock out reality.
"I've never been this drunk before...never." Augusta was laying, in a most unseemly manner, on the floor. Her gown and petticoats were a tumbled mess, and her dark hair was splayed over several cushions that he had tucked under her spinning head.
"I have been far more drunk. Drunker. Whatever." Methos was sprawled on the small settee, his polished boot up on the silk. He owned the bloody place, so no one could scold. "If this were then, he would be drunker than both of us."
"Probably. But if this were then, I wouldn't be here. Someone else would." Gus stared up at the ceiling, wondering if it were all the same as before.
"He would have been thinking about you." Methos glanced at her, trying not to look at the bodice of her gown, which was in such disarray that a good portion of her decollatage was exposed. "He frequently was...thinking. About you."
"I'd like to believe that." She doubted it. Doubted that Byron ever thought of her when she wasn't right there.
"So would many of us." Methos' response was darker. He got up, and strode to lock the front door of the house. Lock in the ghosts. Lock in the fireflies. Lock out reality.