the present now will later be past; methos (achanging) wrote in rooms,
Immoral? Amanda's ways were petty crimes at best. Duncan needed to grow up if he ever wanted to survive. One day, Methos might stop sticking his own neck out to help the Scot's latest crusade.
As long as she wasn't putting their lives at danger, she could steal whatever she liked. But they both had their swords, and while her platinum hair might be too bright, his trenchcoat fit right in.
"It looks better on you anyway," he complimented lightly as she took his arm. Her rehabilitation didn't last long, but Methos wasn't surprised. If someone changed, they had to want to do it themselves. If she tried to change only because Duncan told her to, it would never stick. She'd been who she was for so long that maybe she--and he--could never change their instincts: her to steal, him to hide.
"It's so dark I couldn't see the cover," he responded smoothly. "I was just crossing my fingers for a place that said more Bora Bora, less...slums." Well, he had survived in worse conditions, and he didn't see anything that sent off immediate warning signs for his survival. "Let's figure out what world we're in," he suggested, because that would determine how long he would stay--and if there were any baubles. You can take the thief out of Paris...