Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Site Richelieu ...
Heels clicked briskly on the grey pavement and marble steps, muffled and then began to echo as she crossed the threshold into the cool of the foyer. The Bibliothèque welcomed her back as it always did, the quiet exhale as if the building remembered, even if the inhabitants not longer could.
She walked through the courtyard and toward the Oval Reading Room, veering right to the museum section and its display of newly discovered (or rather rediscovered, as they'd been hidden away in the Stacks for a couple of centuries) books from the 1500s; there was one in particular she wanted to get her hands on again ...
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Alexandria, Egypt ... site of the Library ... year unknown ...
For a long time, Thera didn't understand the idea of a pilgrimage. Journey, yes, she'd undertaken enough of those in her time, but the idea of such a thing purely to visit a religious site was harder to grasp for someone whose Goddess was ... well, everywhere. It wasn't until later that she found something closer to it - not a religious site but one of importance to her personally, a place of meaning.
A place of memory. The Mediterranean laps at the harbor not far away, seagulls and salt floating through the morning air. The Lighthouse, what remains of it, still marks the curve of the seawall. Streets, shops and houses gather more closely than in years past, locals and travelers more abundant. And before her ...
It was here. It was here, stone columns, books and manuscripts, centuries of learning ... heat, smoke, flames raging and taking hold that even she could not stop in time. Three men riding away, and one who remained. He remains still, a silent presence at her side, eyes filled with memory and regret rather than the horror, the anguish they'd shared that day.
Methos rests an arm at her waist, quiet and anchoring, leans to kiss to her temple; where he stays, face resting among her hair. Thera turns, her own on shoulder and chest, the faint thrum of an eternal pulse under her ear. Around them the street bustles, but they'll stay here a little while more.
[Grown Adults Meme from @ofwaterandfire's Methos.]
Trying to be quiet while laughing themselves stupid.
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" ... Should we maybe just knock on the wall?"
The answer was, of course, a huge and resounding 'no'. On the other side of said too-thin wall, she suspected a young man was losing his virtue, very possibly to a Lady of the Night.
Or she was murdering him, if the pitch of his ecstatic cries were to be taken amiss.
But ... no. It would hardly be fair to interrupt his apparent first time with a fist thumping on the wall. He'd likely remember this for the rest of his life, and the mortification of having been overheard would only taint.
As would, really, the chance of him hearing them in return, the huge hiccups of laughter that so far they'd been doing their best to hide. The bedhead in the next room started to thump rhythmically against the far wall, and almost immediately after the lad's voice rose to something very close to shrill.
Thera hiccuped mightily and buried her face in Methos' neck, shoulders shaking as she tried to muffle the sound ...
"You know, I have to say I'm impressed ..." Thera dipped another potato gem in the sauce and bit into it, talking with her mouth full, "I didn't think MacLeod even knew what junk food was, much less had a stash of it tucked away."
'Had'. Past tense. Ownership of the barge was still up in the air, but naturally that didn't stop Methos from having a key, and with Duncan out of town, well ... call it a 'try before you buy'. Or ... 'break and enter', depending on your point of view.
As long as they cleaned up after themselves, who was to know? And, yes, replaced the microwave munchies they'd found in the freezer and served up to share on the rumpled sheets. Which they should also change before they left, but that wasn't going to be for a while.
"Y'know ..." Another dip and another bite, licking her lips, "this is why you ought to buy a girl dinner first."
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βπβ "Theraaaaa. I demand a kiss."
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"Ohh, do you now?" Wasn't it typical that she'd barely put her lipstick applied and perfect, when someone decided to get up to no good? She laughed a little as hands settled on her hips, Methos' - no, Adam's - breath tickling her ear.
"Well ..." She heaved a sigh that did a lousy job of pretending to be real, turned to face him so that the hold on her hips slid around to the back, "Since you asked so nicely ... scrub up so well in that suit ..." And would end up wearing a share of her lipstick, a thought that amused her as she cupped his chin, brushed lips very gently before pressing in. Slow, lingering, and well worth the few extra minutes it was going to take to tidy up her 'warpaint' once again.
"Mm ..." A small, follow-on peck before she eased away, leaving an imprint of red behind. "Are you sure you only want one?"
['Grown Adults' Meme for @musesbymarnie's Methos.]
18. Pranking someone
(Mac, because he is Duncan MacLeod) I cackled at this one.
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They were sitting on the roof of the Barge. It was a fresh, sunny day in Paris, summer turning to fall, and perfect for a picnic rug, some takeaway from the local Chinese restaurant and a six-pack of beer.
The only difference was that the Barge was now a couple of hundred meters further down Quai de la Tournelle. And they were looking back toward its usual mooring place, waiting for the moment when MacLeod came trotting down the stone stairs with his freshly bought groceries, and realised it was 'gone'.
"Gotta say," Thera took a sip of her beer, glanced briefly to where the engine was mounted in the stern, "she runs pretty well ... but I think it needs a look-over all the same ..."
[Against the Wall Meme from @musesbymarnie's Methos.]
[ HUSH ]: as a means of getting the receiver to stay quiet, the sender covers their mouth and ends up shoving them into a wall in their urgency.
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Near Pont au Double, Paris, 1990s ... early evening ...
If looks could kill ... well, Methos would most likely have kept his head, but he might feel as if he'd been skewered somewhere else. Thera couldn't say that she'd forgotten this particular wrinkle over the years, but it continued to have the most ridiculous timing.
Case in point - one second they'd been strolling along the Seine, sharing laughter, brushes of their hands and most likely little intent to read the books they'd bought for a little while, at least. The next, she had the brickwork by the bridge against her back, and his eyes were darting in a way that meant he'd sensed one of his own.
A heavy sigh puffed up to her lips, likely warming the palm he held across them, but she had the sense to keep her voice to a whisper when he moved it away.
"MacLeod?" Part logic, part hope. Mac was one of the few Immortals they knew frequented Paris, and the barge was not all that far away. And it was certainly a better option than some opportunist chasing 'Adam Pierson's' head.
"Do you want to have a look, or go back the other way?"
