Dinner was served for Methos, Kronos, and the other occupants of the table. Platters upon platters of exquisite and exotic foods were displayed in front of them, while dozens of different beverages where offered for their enjoyment. Methos glanced a critical eye over the table. He then eyed the waiter serving the beverages. He then pondered over the beverages. He then glanced back up and raised a critical eyebrow.
"Beer."
The waiter gave him a confused if not somewhat disapproving look down his nose.
"Pardon, sir?"
Methos stood his ground.
"Beer."
A staring competition followed, whereupon the waiter had no chance at all against five thousand years of carefully nurtured alcohol addiction.
"Yes sir. I'll have to...check out the back...for that."
Methos smiled widely and dangerously.
"You do that. Be sure to be...successful...in your search."
The waiter smiled nervously and almost ran to the kitchen. Kronos, lounging comfortably in his chair next to his Brother, grinned approvingly at the interaction.
"So," he announced to the table in general. "What do I feel like for dinner tonight?"
His eyes roamed over the lavish display of unidentifiable foods in the fashion of one who was making an impressive attempt of pretending he knew what they were. He noted that the other occupants of the table obviously were more knowledgeable in identifying the strange meals. In the true spirit of well-learnt stubbornness and a determination not to look dumb, he made a grab for the nearest plate and placed it in front of him with a confident thump. Methos considered teasing his Brother about his lacking knowledge of upper-class cuisine, but decided he would like to keep his head where it was. Meanwhile, the possible father of the group noticed Kronos' choice of meal.
"Ahhhh," he breathed approvingly. "A personal favourite of mine, too. Superb choice."
Kronos nodded his head in thanks, enjoying the attention and complement. Turning to Methos, he raised an eyebrow politely.
"My dear Brother, are you not going to choose your meal?"
Methos noted that Kronos was enjoying his upper-class act so much that the scar-faced man had began an unannounced competition for 'Most Credible Impression of a Snob'. And Kronos never liked to lose. Then again, neither did Methos. Five thousand years had given them both a sense of pride, stubbornness, and self-proclaimed wisdom that could blow the Richter Scale to pieces. He grinned.
"Why, Brother, I was just about to. Mmmm..."
Methos made a show of pondering expertly over the choices displayed in front of him. Firstly he pointed a long finger at an unidentifiable sea-food platter, them drew it back quickly with a shake of his head. Moving on to a platter of relatively harmless looking yellowish blobs, he pointed his digit once again and signaled to the waiter by the table to serve him his meal. He then grinned smugly at Kronos who had wrongly served himself. Kronos glared dangerously but then decided that yellow blobs weren't worth losing a Brother over. This time, anyway. Once again, the spokesman for the other occupants of the table made a comment.
"You too have made an excellent choice. My wife finds boiled egg with potatoes dauphinois particularly enjoyable."
Kronos smirked then made a series of inventive hand gestures under the table to Methos which suggested that, unlike his Brother, he had chosen the manly meal; therefore had won. Methos glanced down at Kronos' choice and smiled enigmatically.
"Well, Brother. Are you going to begin your meal?"
He looked down at the skewered slimy concoction on Kronos' plate and grinned. Kronos, refusing to give in to Methos' teasing, smiled widely then grabbed a skewer and half-sucked, half chewed the foreign substance off it. He swallowed. He then made an impressive effort of disguising the choking noise which suggested his throat wished desperately to expel the food back to where it came from.
"Ahhhh...," he breathed out with somewhat overdone satisfaction and enjoyment. "I do love these things."
Methos looked with mild suspicion at his Brother, wondering how much was show and how much was actually in response to a well-picked meal. He was answered a few seconds later when the table's spokesman commented once again.
"I see we both have a love for honey covered peacock brains on a stick. How delightful."
Kronos' smile froze. So did his chewing. Methos, on the other hand, had a grin which was threatening to take over his face.
"Unusual, yet somewhat appealing," Kronos managed to say to try and save himself from total embarrassment. Looking over to his Brother, he glared meaningfully.
"One word, Brother," Kronos growled out the side of his mouth. "One word..."
Methos grinned smugly, though before Kronos could react, Duncan turned up at their table with a mild look of surprise towards the two Brothers.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," he nodded politely to the other occupants. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Might I join you?"
The spokesman nodded and offered Duncan a seat.
"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," the man commented. "Is that some kind of quaint tribal title?"
Duncan nodded. "Yes, I am of Scottish heritage."
The man raised an eyebrow with mild interest.
"Really? You know I heard there used to be an old Scottish village on this very site. I thought that was very interesting. How about you, my dear man?"
Duncan bit his tongue and nodded curtly. Kronos grinned evilly, but his attention was still focused on his previous loss over his meal choice, which Methos was still smiling smugly about. Kronos glared back at his Brother and leant over to begin a whispered argument.
"Fine, Methos," he began. "You chose the right meal. I don't care. It doesn't mean that you are the best at fitting in with these type of people. You know as much about social manners as me."
Methos raised an eyebrow.
"I know a lot more about how to fit in with these type of people, my dear Brother. I've changed, remember. You haven't. I've been to quite a few of these occasions in my time since we parted company all those years ago."
Kronos nearly choked with disbelief. So did Duncan who was listening with amusement to their conversation.
"Are you trying to tell me that you used to be like these people?" Kronos asked.
Methos smiled slightly and gave his Brother a feigned look of disapproval.
"Really, Brother," he began in a mock upper-class accent. "How little you know of me. I used to be quite the social butterfly, I'll let you know."
Kronos raised an eyebrow and mouthed an exclamation of surprise to Duncan who grinned back. His eyes twinkled as he teased his Brother again.
"Why Methos, I never realised you had such social charm."
"Oh, I used to know everything, back then," Methos continued on smoothly. "I could converse with the best of them. I knew the difference between a desert spoon and a soup spoon, as well as being able to identify fifteen different types of the most exquisite caviar. I was the talk of the town. " A thought suddenly occurred to him and he smiled cheekily at his Brother then glanced over to Duncan. "You should have seen me in those days MacLeod...mmhmm, like honey covered Peacock Brains on a stick." He picked up one of the skewers to demonstrate. "They thought I was unusually exquisite in my tastes and appearance, yet somewhat appealing," he finished by mocking Kronos' previous words.
Kronos nearly choked himself to death in outrage at being so cleverly baited by his Brother.
"Oh, Methos, you are going to pay for that," he growled dangerously. Methos just grinned, but wisely moved his chair slightly away from his Brother.
"Well...," the spokesman interrupted conveniently. "How about an after-dinner game of Monopoly, everyone? I've brought my special Historical Monopoly game set," he added proudly.
Methos, Duncan, and Kronos exchanged grins.
"Charming," they replied in unison.
CONTINUED IN...
Nostalgia 4: Ballroom Blitz
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