taxonomites | [Voice & Location: Wandering around / IN UR BAR]

[Methos is still getting his bearings, but all in all, things aren't so bad. For all the inconvenience of being suddenly snatched away from his life into an ant farm run by giant hamsters (and he's quite eager to confirm that for himself, because really?), Methos is actually enjoying his time in Taxon so far. Much of the reason for this has to do with the distinct lack of other Immortals. He's been all over Taxon twice now, walking its streets and riding its trains, and not once has that familiar buzz dodged his steps. After becoming so used to the sort of trouble Duncan MacLeod attracts like a magnet, he's positively giddy at the change of pace.

This doesn't mean everything is flowers and rainbows, though. If Methos is anything, he's paranoid, and it's let him keep his head this long, thank you very much. The woman who'd spoken to him when he'd first shown up had been decidedly unhelpful, but he'd been able to glean a thing or two about his situation by paying an almost obsessive attention to the conversations going on over the tablets.

So while he's not even close to being properly settled in, he has warmed somewhat to the idea of actually talking to people via tablet, since they all seem to be real people and not the empty-headed automatons running around everywhere. Thus, he makes his first broadcast to Taxon at large, asking a Very Important Question:]

So. Where can I find a nice place to sit down and have a beer?

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...You actually expect me to believe you're Hermes. The Greek god, Hermes.

"It'd be nice, I'd say. And, at the very least, you can't say I don't deliver." Hermes holds up and waggles a bottle of wine while holding two ceramic goblets in the other.

Methos whirls, hand going instinctively for his sword, concealed beneath his coat. He stops just short of pulling it out as he takes in the man who'd just appeared behind him, holding a bottle of wine.

The man who'd just appeared. Behind him. Who claims to be Hermes, and was not there a second before. He takes a few moments to process this, and then lowers his hand from his coat.

"Alright, well. At least this is one step up from believing in the tooth fairy," he mutters, but loudly enough to be heard. Then, louder:

"Hermes it is, then. Adam. Adam Pierson." He isn't sure if a god even shakes hands, or if Hermes expects him to bow or something.

"A pleasure to meet you, Adam." He doesn't do bowing or handshaking, and they haven't known each other long enough for a hug. Alas. "Now, are you still in the mood for a drink? Because I could do with a nosh and a drink would go along well with it."

"It'll take more than a little teleportation to put me off my game. What have you got, a nice Cabernet?" He'll take a nice Pinot Noir too, or a Chianti, or a Shiraz.

"It's red." Which is to say a Shiraz. "And I've got cheese, crackers, various nibbly things on sticks or in little jars, and, perhaps the best of all, good conversation."

Red is good.

"That sounds like just what the doctor ordered," ~~Methos~~ Adam replies mildly. "Do you have a blanket for this picnic?"

"No, but I'm sure we could find one or rough it on the grass like manly men of yore." ...of course, Hermes. Of course. "Mmm, so, what do you do when you do that thing you do?"

"Sold," he replies, plopping down onto the grass in a manner that manages to be both graceful and not. Manly men, indeed.

"Which thing would that be?" While we're on the subject of being vague.

"I don't know. I'm sure you've got something that's your thing that you think about." Hermes pauses, frowns and then mentally reviews what he's said. Yes, that makes sense. "Are you a tinker, tailor, soldier or spy?"

[Voice & Location: Wandering around / IN UR BAR]

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