Brightknightie's friends

"It's the principle involved," Connor said firmly. "Against the rules to hit the driver. Period. Full stop. I have spoken."

"You know the question 'Who died and appointed you god' takes on entirely new ramifications when one is Immortal," Methos said thoughtfully as he bit into a deviled egg.

Connor laughed. "Doesn't it, though? Between the two of us, I'm sure we've accumulated a sufficient number of deaths to appoint anyone we damn well please."

"And I fucking well can eat Cheetos without turning everything orange—"

"Thereby being unique among all living creatures—"

"Known many dead creatures who eat Cheetos?"

"You're about the only living creature I know who likes Cheetos enough to accept that absolutely foregone conclusion that at minimum your fingers will most certainly turn orange—"

Methos, looking thoughtful again, interrupted, "Did you know that it's a strange and totally weird scientific fact that if you eat ten or more carrots a day for several weeks, you will turn orange."

Both Connor and Richie burst into startled laughter. "Why—why—why—would anyone eat ten or more carrots every day for several weeks?" Connor choked out between rasping laughs. "And why—why—why do you know that?"

Methos shrugged. "Dunno," he mumbled around a swallow of tea.

"Why—why—why do I bother to ask how you know any of the esoteric and bizarre things that you know?"

Methos looked thoughtful again. "While I'm quite sure that factoid is bizarre, I'm not at all certain it could qualify as esoteric."

"Conceded," Connor agreed. "Not quite rarefied enough to truly be esoteric."