"Delusions are interesting things, don't you think Mac?" Methos asked as he quaffed his beer and quirked his eyebrow at his friend who was slouched in a nearby chair.
"Why do you say that?" Mac replied in a suspicious tone as he sat up straight waiting n his crafty friend's reply.
"Oh just ... you know, Ahriman and all." Methos waved his beer bottle around in a vague manner.
"Yeah, what about it?" Mac growled at the smirking ancient one.
"You're not the only Immortal to have delusions of grandeur you know."
"Really." Duncan stated flatly looking at his beer and wondering how much damage the bottle would do to Methos.
"Really. You know it runs in your family." Methos snickered, "Badly."
"What do you mean? Connor?" Mac perked up at the thought of his dour relation having problems and decided not to kosh Methos with the bottle ... just yet.
"Yup." A smug Methos looked at his friend, not realising the danger of a possible imminent koshing that he barley survived.
"You're gonna make me beg, aren't you?" Mac said with a scowl eyeing his beer bottle again.
"Yup," Methos repeated happily with a grin.
"C'mon tell me please," Mac turned his doe eyes on the real old guy.
"Oh okay, stop with the eyes already. Enough!" Methos shuddered at the woeful look cast in his direction and muttered, "I'll tell you, just save that look for the botw."
"What's a botw?" Mac asked getting sidetracked.
"Er.... nothing, just an old saw horse." Methos diverted around his faux pas. "Now ...um... Connor - remember him?"
"Humph," Duncan replied. "Go on... about Connor." He grinned slightly.
"Well, at one time he thought he won the prize. When he beat the Kurgan."
"What, really? Is that why he never mentions it? I thought it was because of Ramirez."
"Nah, anyway I soon helped him with his delusions of grandeur - after he got over the shock of there still being Immies around." Methos gave Mac a wicked grin.
"What did you do to him?" Mac asked.
"Oh... hypnotic suggestion, that sort of thing..." Methos spouted.
"He seems okay to me. What did you do?"
"Well, he thinks he comes from Zeist."
"Zeist? What's that?"
"Not what. Where. Just another planet. He thinks he's an alien," Methos chuckled.
"What!!" Mac exploded. "Why did you do that?"
".... just to deflate his dour ass." Methos stated with a superior air as he waved his beer bottle around.
"He's not dour, just well ... Does he think we all come from there?"
"Dunno." Methos shrugged then continued, "I was interrupted just as I was planting another suggestion about Ramirez."
"Do I want to hear that one?" Mac asked painfully.
"Ah, nope. Don't think you do. Besides, I think Connor pretty much disclaims the Zeist stuff now."
"At least I know why he doesn?t like you!" Mac frowned at his friend.
"I'm wounded!" Methos pouted.
"If you meet Connor you would be."
"Get me another beer, Mac - mine's empty." Methos tossed the bottle into the bin.
Mac wandered off to get some more beers, as Methos relaxed and closed his eyes. "You know Connor's just no fun, can't take a joke." mused Methos, tensing as a shiver went up his spine.
"He, he, he. Think so, old man?" came a burred voice from the dark.
Methos sat up straight then bolted, yelling, "Mac??!!" as he heard the swoosh come from behind him.
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