| Date: 21 December 2007
Characters: Methos, Lane Williams Location: hotel hallway Link to IJ: thread #17415 |
 The first thought that ran through Methos's head when he woke up in a room that wasn't the hotel he'd checked into the night before was that he'd break Alysse's neck, and drag her off her ship, and then take her head off. The second was that there was no motion of the bed, and the room looked remarkably like a hotel room, not the guest quarters on Alysse's yacht.
"Where am I?" he muttered as he sat up, automatically searching for the sword that should have been propped up next to his bed. Ivanhoe was missing, and he reached under the pillow next to him, hoping that at least the pistol was still there. Another negative. A curse in a long-dead language escped him, and he crawled out of bed, heading for the wardrobe that stood in one corner. He hoped his clothing, or at least clothing that fit, was in there, because he didn't like the idea that he was somewhere unfamiliar in just his boxers. All he found was a fuzzy terry-cloth robe that barely covered his arse, and he sighed, wrapping it around him as he headed for the window, twitching aside one curtain a fraction to peer out at the street. It looked pretty empty, and the buildings weren't distinctive enough for him to place a city. He shifted so he could look down the street, searching for a cross-street, and signs. He looked the other way when he saw nothing, and frowned with puzzlement when he saw none in the other direction, either. Or rather, he saw a street, but no sign, and that made his hackles stand up, every survival instinct screaming that something was wrong, and staying where he was wasn't the best of ideas. He looked around the room again in search of something he could use as a weapon, and could conceal easily. It took dismantling the lamp to get what he was looking for, and he peered out the peep-hole in the door, searching what of the hallway he could see from it. No one near the door, at least. And no other Immortals nearby, or he'd be rediscovering how well he could climb a wall. Opening the door, he peered out into the hallway, slipping out when he didn't see anyone, heading towards what appeared to be the end of the hall, and the stairs, the length of metal rod from the lamp held close to his body as he walked, keeping his limbs loose, ready to fight, or more likely run, if he had to. |
 Lane rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone wide and strong carrying what appeared to be a metal rod of some sort. He scrambled backward, almost losing his balance and already cursing himself for having his mind somewhere other than where he was. |
| Methos took a step back when someone ran into him, bringing the rod up in a defensive position automatically, coiled and waiting when the other person didn't strike, watching him.
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice wary, and himself too tense to drop into the mild and unassuming persona of Adam Pierson that he'd been using for the last two decades. "Who are you, and why was I brought here?" |
| Lane felt his body fall into a ready stance before he realized it and held up, palm out, hoping it would show he wasn't in for a fight. "Not really sure, Lane, and have no idea." His eyes were on the metal rod, already calculating distance and surroundings, the man's height and probable reach.
"Wanna put down the stick before someone puts an eye out?" |
| "Putting an eye out is usually the least of my worries." Methos didn't relax, though he did lower the rod, a little. He watched Lane, noting his automatic movement, the muscle memory that spoke to Methos of training.
"Do you know anyone named Alysse?" He still wasn't entirely convinced the bane of his existance didn't have anything to do with this, and put a slightly derisive emphasis on her name. |
| "No, can't say I do. Should I? Sounds like I don't want to." |
| Methos relaxed fractionally, shifting the rod so it grounded against his bare toes. "If you don't, you shouldn't meet her." He studied Lane for a long moment. He had said he didn't know where, which meant either Methos wasn't the only one kidnapped, or he was lying. Though Methos suspected the former rather than the latter, it didn't hurt to be paranoid.
"How do you check into a hotel and not know where you are?" |
| He smirked. "Hotel California? It checked me in on its own. No one here really knows why they're here - we're all just sortof... here. Mind if I ask when and where you were just before this?" Lane made sure he kept out of swinging reach, but loosened his posture. |
| Methos gave Lane a wry smile at the quip, and frowned at the question. "Where and when? Have I fallen into an episode of Doctor Who I haven't watched yet?" |
| "Um," Lane frowned, head tilting. "Doctor Who? Not familiar. I suppose this is where I mention that we may all have come from different times and/or dimensions? Though..." he glanced at the man's bare legs. "Not that I'm saying you don't look dashing in the getup, I suppose you've already figured out it's a come as you are kind of party." |
| "So I've noticed." Methos grimaced. "You wouldn't know where to find a pair of jeans, would you?" He didn't ask if Lane knew where he could find a weapon - knife, gun, or sword, any would be suitable - but clothing would be nice. He hadn't dressed in so little as a habit since he lived in Egypt, and he'd been a much younger man then. The world had been younger. |
| "There's a store. Had to find me something when I first got here too. And if you're wondering - they don't provide weapons, unfortunately. But so far that doesn't seem to be an issue here. Well, at least for me." |
| Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to make his weapon, though Methos suspected his skills in that department might be a bit rusty. He hesitated a moment before tucking the length of metal into the belt of the robe.
"So, where's this shop?" He made himself appear to relax, even though he continued to keep a close eye on his surroundings. |
| "Across the street. They're not picky about payment, don't seem to care. I can bring you something, if you don't want to go flashing the natives." He gestured at the rather revealing hemline of his robe. "And I didn't catch your name..." |
| "I didn't give it." Methos wasn't sure he wanted to give out his name, even his current persona, but Lane had already shared his name. "Adam Pierson. And I'd rather pick out my own clothing, if you don't mind." Not that he didn't trust Lane specifically, but that he didn't trust more than a handful of people at all. |
| "No, don't blame you on that, Adam. There's also a bar downstairs, and a place to get food. Can't offer much more, still trying to figure it out myself." Lane put his back to the wall, gesturing toward the stairs. Whatever reason people had to be cautious, suspicious, or downright paranoid, he wouldn't fault them that. |
| Methos nodded his thanks, glancing down the corridor Lane had come from before heading for the stairs at a deliberate saunter. The spot directly between his shoulder-blades itched until he was on the stairs, his back to the wall as he looked down, making sure no one was coming up before he started down. |