May 28, 2010 20:05
Methos is lounging contentedly, a beer in one hand, his feet propped up on Duncan MacLeod's coffee table, reveling in the stony look the other Immortal is giving him. That table was clean five minutes ago, that look says. You know I hate it when you prop your feet on things, that look says. Methos can't keep the smile off his face.
Just as he he's sure MacLeod is at his limit and ready to forcefully remove his feet, Methos suddenly finds himself deposited on a cold, metal floor in lieu of the previously comfy couch. Disoriented, surprised, and swearing fit for a pirate, it doesn't escape his notice that the beer in his hand has been replaced with his sword.
Recovering as quickly as he possibly can, his face goes from shocked to cold in an instant. Slowly and warily, he scans the room, rising steadily, sword at the ready. He finds no immediate reason to be alarmed, other than the fact that he's just been spirited away to an unfamiliar metal room, right out of Duncan MacLeod's barge.
After a few moments of waiting, he decides to make the first move.
"Alright, I'll play. What's the game? Snatch the guy with the biggest nose? Taunt the grad student? Life and death?" Despite the mocking lilt of his voice, he sounds Very Not Pleased.
# intro post,
illyria,
{ methos