Write a letter - for charloft

[no_bedof_roses]

[OOC: Written in the future, and found by Mark after her death. Methos/Adam is oldguywithbeer.]

The letter, written by hand on soft linen stationary, is tucked into his leather carry on bag that he always throws things into when he takes off quickly, and tied to a small brown leather pouch.

My Cassius,

Comments

Re: OOC

[no_bedof_roses]

Oh, I know. But she would have had to say it. *hugs our poor pups tight*

[oldguywithbeer]

If there was one thing that Methos had learned, over the centuries, it was that humans were a sentimental lot, even at their worst. From a distance, he had stood watching as the man she had chosen staggered to her 'grave'. Methos knew that her body wasn't there, any more than it was under the slab in Paris that had her name over it. Alexa Bond was somewhere else, somewhere that science ruled over religion

[oldguywithbeer]

Methos sighed, an expansive and slightly mocking gesture. This was his third time losing her, the first being to death and the second being to the man sitting on the ground. He had to remind himself that Mark had only lost her this one time.

"I rather thought so." The glib retort was unfiltered. Methos had little patience with those who wallowed in misery. After five thousand years, he had learned to let go, move on, and embrace the next love or experience. Of course, Mark's Immortality was different, and Alexa had often scolded Methos for not understanding that. "Monuments and memorials never help the living, and do nothing for the dead. Useless, really."

Against his better judgment, Methos found himself doing something for this one, and he cursed himself and Alexa, as the words came out of his mouth. "Instead of drinking that, why don't you join me at a pub in town. I'll buy you something that won't take paint off the walls, and you can talk, or not."