Strangeness

by Gunbunny

The man currently masquerading as Mark Ross, medical student, was bored. The party, a typical student one, wasn't dead. Far from it. He just wasn't in the mood to engage himself in the festivities.

A brown head emerges out of the crowd, attached to a stocky, medium-height body and a good-looking, but not overly remarkable or striking face, appearing to be in its twenties. The face smiles. "You look bored."

"I am. There's been no-one interesting at this party until you turned up, Stanton."

"Will I ever get you to call me by my first name or is it just too much effort?" The young man sighs.

"Far too much effort. And you're still far too wise for a boy of your age."

"In some senses I'm much older than you, Mark."

"And in others you're still the brat from Buckinghamshire."

"True. You want this beer?" Stanton asks, gesturing with his left hand to draw attention to its contents.

"If it's poisoned, definitely not." Methos says, taking the proffered can.

"It's beer. You'd drink it even if it was poisoned just for the taste."

"That's not completely true." Methos replies, taking a drink. "I have been known to refuse beer."

"What occurred for that miracle?"

"I'd been fed some awful concoction to make me sick, and beer on top of that... well, let's just say it was too disgusting for even me."

"How's the student life been treating you? I haven't seen you as a medical student since the twenties."

"Last time you were only sixteen. I still have problems with your time travel. And there's always something new to learn in that field."

"It's not time travel. You've been reading too much science fiction again." Will sighs, then sips his beer. "I've always been there. Anyone who wrote a history of that time and place would write my name down, if I let them."

Methos grins. "It's still weird. I first met you when you were nineteen, and I was barely two thousand. The next time you were with Lyon, and you were only eleven. Immortality is one thing, your kind is completely different. Especially that thing you do with your fingers."

A voice intrudes. Strong North Wales accent. "What thing with your fingers, Will? Be careful, Old One, I might get jealous."

Will speaks, teasing. "Oh, you know, that thing you enjoy so much. I've got to share it with all my friends. This is Mark Ross, old friend of mine. Complete and utter bastard. Currently doing a medical degree and some teaching on the side."

Methos, on the other hand, is taking the opportunity to study the newcomer, who's staring at him from behind tilted-down sunglasses with unblinking gold eyes, like a bird's. The rest of him... well, where Will was very normal, this young man was anything but. Tall, wiry, very handsome, but with all the colour leeched out of him, aside from the eyes. Dark clothing to emphasise the difference. And a natural arrogance you could almost touch, not counting the subtle strangeness he carries around in Will's fashion, though not an Old One.

The young man stretches out a hand. "Pleased to meet you. Bran Davies. How long have you known Will?"

"A very long time."

"He's teasing. Bran, you remember me mentioning immortals?"

"Oh, yes. That lightning storm over Bristol when we were there. The police were confused for days." The sunglasses go back up. "So this is one, hmm? Interesting. Do you have your sword on you?"

"Be prepared." Methos takes a drink. "You're the boyfriend, then."

"He will keep spreading it shamelessly." Bran grins, for an instant looking like a naughty schoolboy, the arrogance breaking momentarily. "Even though I learned long ago never to trust a dewin."

There's something about Bran that keeps niggling at Methos, as they continue to chat aimlessly. Something familiar aside from the strangeness similar in a way to what Will possesses, aside from the fact that Will hasn't used the spread fingers and 'Forget' tactic on him. It's the looks, in an odd way, and the way of standing. He hasn't seen it in centuries. That's it, in a way. The particular subtle combination of looks bran possesses hasn't been seen on this isle in centuries. Old memories of battles, and people trying to keep together a country left bereft of the old conquerors from the continent surface, during which Methos looks through his memories for exactly who this strange young man resembles.

"Mark... Earth to Mark... Come in, Mark." His attention switches back to the present. Will raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong? You've been staring at Bran."

"He reminds me of someone. Can't think who, though."

"You knew his parents."

"You knew my parents?" Bran looks surprised. "You're that old?"

"He's not an Old One too, is he?" Methos asks.

Will smiles. "Nah, Bran's not an Old One. He's High magic, though."

"Once again, Stanton, no mystic obscurity. Or I take this beer bottle and do things to you I'm sure you won't enjoy."

"Bran, help?"

"I'd set Gwen on him if she was here, don't worry. Or Jenny. She's more terrifying than my dogs when she gets going."

"That's not a nice thing to say about Jane's mother hen complex."

"Ah, but so very true."

"Stanton, explain who your boyfriend is. Now."

"Pendragon, brought up in this time. Fairly simple."

Methos raises an eyebrow. "A bloody living legend. I didn't think they were allowed in this day and age. And from your master's favourite, too."

Bran groans. "Please try to stay away from any mentions of my parents' sex life, please. Even imagining that my da had sex at any point in his life is bad enough."

Will frowns. "Hadn't thought of that one. Mark, were Merriman and Arthur-"

"Maybe. Quite possibly. I know for a fact that Arthur shagged Bevan."

"Bevan being Lancelot, I take it." Bran mutters. "It's over, it's done with, it was fifteen hundred years ago. That's all we need to know."

Will grins. "I'll make it up to you later."

"See that you do."

"If you feel the need, I believe there's a spare room in the back." Methos smirks.

"They're all occupied." Will says.

"Pity." Bran replies. "Have to wait until then, then. But you will pay, boyo, have no fear of that."

END

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