Methos lounged in the only corner of the tiny cottage that allowed for lounging, on the bed. Discontentedly he looked at the bottle in his hand. He was methodically binge-drinking his way through an entire case of beer. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. No oblivion, no nirvana, no unconsciousness, nothing. Ugh. They just didn’t make beer like they used to.
The beers of old times — ah, he could make do without them. But there was something much more important that he had lost. And no matter how much alcohol he battled his sanity with, he would remember it was gone.