(no subject)

[kristallprinz.livejournal.com]

Date: May 20, evening
Location: In the manor, first restaurant, then wherever it goes
Status: Public
Summary: If no one here has a spaceship, I might just as well leave again... or not...

As he finished his dinner and savoured the red wine he had ordered with it, Atlan wondered what do to with himself now. Maybe a change of plan was in order. Maybe returning to his undersea dome would be a good idea.

What? That all-too-independent part of his brain supplied sarcastically. You mean you went through all the waking up procedures just to go back to sleep?

Well, maybe not so good. Maybe teaming up with some of the others would be helpful. The whole place was set up so that anyone arriving could make up a wild tale about his origins and everyone else was apparently supposed to believe it. Oh well, that wasn't the worst kind of place for someone like him to be.

Still in thoughts, he put his utensils aside, emptied his wine, left money and a tip next to his plate and got up. He'd continue thinking on the way over to the bar.

Comments

[kristallprinz.livejournal.com]

"I educated you," Atlan returned. "I have you knowledge you would have had to work for centuries to develop on your own. I brought you out of your pitiable little caves and made you somethign bigger. I sped you on on the way towards power."

He resisted the urge of reaching up and rubbing his cheek. The barbarian certainly had put a lot of enthusiasm into his slap.

[old-and-wise.livejournal.com]

"You are one arrogant, self-important son of a bitch," Methos observed icily. "We weren't looking for power. We were living in peace before you came along."

[kristallprinz.livejournal.com]

"I've been called worse," Atlan said coldly. By my own brain too boot. "If that was supposed to insult me, you need to do better. Now if you'll excuse me - I've got business to attend to."

With that, he turned and walked towards the bar without giving Methos a chance to retort.

[old-and-wise.livejournal.com]

Methos stared at the man's receding back, torn between running after him and demanding some answers to questions he hadn't even begun to ask, thorwing a dagger at him or simply ignoring him.

He settled for the latter, if only because the door to the bar fell shut behind him.