Light flickers on rain-soaked streets, while the low sussurus of rain
blends with the occasional wash from a passing car into a dull roar. A
lone figure huddled against the rain approaches, hands plunged deep into
pockets and shoulders hunched against the rain. Methos' dark eyes flick
nervously into the inky shadows cast by yellow street lights. He pauses
imperceptibly as he feels the long familiar wall of vertigo strike him.
Stepping into the shadow of an alley he casts around for the unseen
Immortal. His hand slips into the folds of his voluminous coat to
settle on the well worn hilt of his sword. The welcoming neon of a bar
beckons across the street, but that was too obvious. Slipping
cautiously into the alley he sees a figure emerge from behind a fire
"Adam Pearson?" a young man in shapeless grey clothes peers cautiously,
almost nervously at the older Immortal. His hand is in his jacket, but
no sword is drawn. He moves easily with practised ease. The rain runs
down the cold hard lines of his face, the deep brow eyes deepened by too
much death, cold, detached.
"Do I know you?" the ancient Immortal edges round keeping his back to
the rough wall of the run-down tenement. The man appears to be alone
but Methos hadn't lived for 5,000 years without learning caution...
The stranger looks down at his feet and then cocks his head up on one
side with a faint smile, "No, but I know you." Suddenly he springs into
action, pulling a bulky handgun from his jacket, he fires a three round
burst into the other man, "Goodnight, Methos!"