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Anachronisitc and Impulsive
*
Methos frowned as he dialled his own mobile number, the rotary dial of Harry's old fashioned phone turning too slowly for his liking especially with having to put in the extra numbers to block the phone's id. Ringing his own phone wasn't something he would have usually considered, but right now he was out of easy options and he didn't much like it. At least he was alive, and as he was on Holy Gound he was also relatively safe; the thought was less than comforting considering the Holy Ground was a wizard's home and that wizard just happened to be Guardian of the ghost of Hrothbert of Bainbridge, or Bob as he preferred to be called in this day and age, someone that Methos had never expected to see in his life again. He snorted quietly to himself as he waited for the phone to connect; dead or not Hrothbert - Bob - didn't seem to have changed much in 1000 or so years. At last the call connected and Methos held his breath, ready to end it if required.
The voice that answered the phone was soft, hesitant, and altogether too familiar.
"Hello?" Part of Methos was relieved, but a large proportion of him was irritated to say the least, he couldn't help but react that way. He tried to downplay the irritation; he really wanted his sword and other things back again with the minimum of fuss.
"I'm assuming that if you've got my phone you have the rest of the things you lifted from my pockets too."
"Now why do you think I'd do something like that?" Methos found that he wanted to smile almost as much as he wanted to growl, she always had that effect on him. He settled for the growl.
"Amanda..."
"Don't worry, Old Man; it's quite safe. In fact I'd forgotten what a lovely piece of work the Ivanhoe was. I'm sure I..."
"Amanda!"
"Oh keep your hair on; I'm not going to sell it."
"In that case, I'd appreciate it if you could return it. And everything else along with it *if* you don't mind."
"I think I could manage that; for you anyway. Where are you?"
"Still in Chicago." At that point Methos realised he actually had no idea what Harry's address actually was. He glanced at the wizard with his unspoken question, acknowledging him with a nod when Harry pointed out the stack of business cards placed conveniently near the phone that had been half hidden by one of the myriad books that were scattered around. "Ready?"
*
As his uninvited guest proceeded to give out his address to the woman on the other end of the phone, Harry wondered if he really wanted to know what immortals kept in their pockets, and why it was so important to have whatever it was returned; there was only one source of information that he remotely trusted in this situation, and it wasn't Adam Pierson. To Harry's annoyance, Bob was nowhere to be found so he left Mister winding himself around the immortal's legs as there was no way any person would be leaving in a hurry while they were the sole focus of his determined cat. Harry didn't have to look far to find Bob; he was in the basement lab, muttering to himself as he drew glowing sigils in the air. When Bob flat out ignored him, Harry wasn't best pleased and stomped toward the ghost.
"Would you mind telling me what all this is about?" His gesture indicated the rest of his home as well as the lab. Bob glared at him for a moment, and then returned to his sigils. Harry looked more closely at them and realised that they were variations of the don't-see-me spell that was on the lab door. He shoved his hands into his pockets and glared back. "Well?" He demanded. Bob sighed and waved a hand to disperse the sigils before turning to face Harry.
"Not a what; more of a who." He said carefully.
"A who? I don't suppose you'd care to explain that so a mere mortal can understand, would you?" Harry found himself wishing, not for the first time, that Bob was a bit more corporeal, just for the pleasure of being able to show his irritation physically by grabbing hold of his shoulders and giving him a good shake even though he knew it would not be a sensible thing to do. He settled for continuing to glare at the ghost instead, who of course appeared to remain serenely unaffected by Harry's glare, though he did answer the question.
"Amanda." Bob said tersely, as if that was all Harry needed to know.
"That's it? That's your explanation? It's a name, Bob, and as an explanation it means absolutely nothing!" Harry stopped glaring, and started pacing instead, automatically avoiding walking through Bob, who had remained standing in the position he'd been in when Harry first entered.
"Count yourself lucky, Harry." Bob sighed. "To me it has far too much meaning and I do not want my skull or anything else of value remotely near Amanda Darieux."
"Amanda Darieux? Pierson didn't mention the surname." Harry stopped pacing, his interest captured by the new information, and turned to face Bob. Bob shrugged elegantly.
"I can't think of anyone else it could be. You will just have to live with the consequences of allowing Amanda into your home, but I'm staying well out of it. In here, behind a locked door, out of sight and as far away from her as possible." He folded his arms, his face settled into a determined expression. Harry suppressed a smile.
"Bob, I hate to remind you, but you're dead. What can she do to you?"
"Steal my skull of course. What else do you think she could do? She hasn't got a magical bone in her gorgeous immortal body."
"Gorgeous?" Harry queried, feeling progressively more unsettled about his next immortal visitor as the minutes passed. Bob nodded with a gleeful smirk.
"Devastatingly."
"Um. Ah. Well." Harry stuttered, before taking a deep breath to re-engage his brain. "It's good to know about the lack of magic but if she doesn't have any, why would she want to steal your skull?"
"It's Amanda; she doesn't need a reason to steal anything. She never has and probably never will."
"Oh. And I've already given her permission to come here, so I can't exactly refuse her entry now." Harry frowned.
"Exactly."
"I'm sure you won't mind if I go and keep our guest company, then? You aren't the only thing I'd hate to lose to an immortal thief, no matter how beautiful she is."
"Harry, somehow I don't think she'll be interested in the cat..." Bob turned away from Harry, casually waving a hand to reactivate the sigils hanging in the air. Harry smiled at his back, and climbed the stairs, grabbing his staff on the way out. Bob would be fine, but there was no way he wanted to meet a potential situation in the persona of an immortal thief, devastatingly gorgeous or not, without the comfort of having all his resources to hand.