Pulling the heavy tome off a shelf of many similar books, Methos carefully set his journal of the last 300 years down on the desk before him. He'd been an avid journal keeper since the advent of writing, and he never missed a chance to record more of his ancient life.
It had been a few weeks since he'd had a chance to update his journal, and much had happened since his last entry. Not the least of which were his youngest child and her son coming to stay with him for a month or two. He hadn't seen Naomi since he'd helped her during her pregnancy. She'd needed the support back then, both emotionally and financially, and had come running home to Daddy. Methos had all too gladly welcomed the brief return of his adopted daughter.
Of course, he hadn't seen either one in almost a decade, but what's a decade to an Immortal? It was one of the reasons he was so dedicated with his journals, so many memories and only so much room existed in one five thousand year old brain.
Flipping to the current page, Methos lifted a pen and began to write. Once on a roll, the words seemed to flow from mind to hand. Deeply involved in his ritual, he contentedly let his mind drift. In the background, a clock was ticking its monotonous count to half past four. Naomi was in the kitchen making dinner, and the smell of her particular brand of cooking just barely sifted into the library. His grandson, Blair, was nowhere to be found.
"Hey Dad! Have you seen Blair? I want him to try this new sauce!"
Methos turned in his seat towards the doorway. "Isn't he outside?"
Naomi turned to her father aghast. "Daaaaaad! You know perfectly well that he's not allowed outside! Do you know how dangerous these woods are? My baby could get mauled by a bear out there!" The sound of her scurrying toward the front hall ended her protests.
Methos rolled his eyes and turned back to the page, hand poised for another line. "What the hell...?" He stared at the page. His eyes narrowed and he transferred his disbelieving gaze to the pen in his hand. Everything he had written was completely gone. Vanished. The page was blank.
"This can't be right," he muttered to himself as he began again. This time, he watched the words carefully as he wrote. In a matter of seconds, they too faded. Stunned, Methos stared at the pen in confusion. Then he emphatically let loose with a string of ancient curses in about fourteen different languages that would have had Naomi scolding him heartily--if she could understand them--as soon as he realized what must have happened.
"BLAIR JACOB SANDBURG! YOU GET YOUR MANGY LITTLE HIDE IN HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"
An explosion of giggles erupted from behind the door as Blair stumbled out into view, plainly trying to keep upright as he shook with mirth.
"APRIL FOOLS, GRANDPA!" he cried, still giggling. "I gotcha good this time!"
"Why you little ingrate!" Methos snapped, glowering at the impudent child. The boy's smile did not once falter and he stubbornly remained severely un-intimidated.
Blair, with all the angelic innocence of youth, just continued to smile proudly at the scowling visage of his ancient grandfather.
Methos, eyes squinting in reluctantly-amused annoyance, glared half-heartily at the grinning seven-year-old beaming up at him.
Blair didn't even blink.
Methos barely suppressed a sigh at the utter lack of fear. Gods, maybe he was finally losing his touch? Controlling the instinctive shudder of horror, he took a second to worry over that far too-distressing thought. Could it be possible? Him? The man who was Death on Horseback for a thousand years, actually losing his ability to instill fear with a single glance?
Must be the kid's fault.
"I see I've taught you well, young one." The old man pronounced gravely, looking down upon his pupil with all due seriousness, only to ruin his stern demeanor with a chuckle a moment later. "Nice work, Sprite! I'm so proud of you!" He sniffled dramatically, miming the wiping of imaginary tears from the corner of his eyes. "My little boy is growing up."
Blair grinned wider, elated by the praise, and started bouncing on his toes in his excitement. "Thanks!" the child happily enthused. Then, shaking his head with the condescending authority of all of his seven-and-three-quarters years of experience, he haughtily exclaimed, "I still can't believe you fell for that old trick!"
Naomi, who'd been watching the entire affair from across the room, discreetly covered her laughter before her adopted-father could turn his millennia-old scowl on her.