...and whiskers on kittens
The G.O.P. YouTube debate is tonight. Be afraid -- be very afraid. I'm really not going to go into what I think of the whole YouTube debate idea in the first place, largely because I don't think anyone wants to read a rant on the dumbing-down of America, or my sarcastic commentary on the idea of allowing the general public to ask questions in a presidential debate.
Instead, here's the next bit of that damned Highlander AU. And there's more in progress, so it might actually turn into a real story.
Chapter Two:
"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Duncan introduced himself, staring down at the other Immortal. The young man cast a panicked look at his companion before turning apprehensive eyes on Duncan.
"Er -- good for you?" he hazarded.
Duncan frowned. From the lad's reaction to his presence, he'd assumed that he was dealing with a new Immortal, one who had no idea what he was -- but the fear in the man's eyes and the tension in his frame seemed to indicate that he knew something. His friend, too, was decidedly tense -- and he was definitely mortal.
"What's your name, lad?" he asked, gentling his tone a little bit.
"Adam," was the response. "Adam Pierson."
"You and I need to talk," Duncan told him.
"Oh, no," Pierson said firmly. "No, we certainly don't." He settled himself more firmly into his seat.
"Adam," his friend said quietly, "I think maybe you should go with him." Pierson cast an anguished glance in his direction, shaking his head.
"Adam," the older man repeated.
It seemed to do the trick. Pierson got to his feet, albeit reluctantly, and followed Duncan to a relatively secluded corner of the room. Fitz and Amanda sent curious looks in their direction, but Duncan waved them off. The lad was shaken enough -- there was no sense in making it worse by compounding the number of Immortals in what was always a complicated conversation.
They stopped just in front of one of the large windows. Pierson leaned heavily on the wall next to it, his face pale. Duncan looked him over. He was almost ridiculously young; twenty-four, perhaps, or twenty-five, and his slender build and unassuming posture made it unlikely that he had any sort of martial arts training on which to base... well, anything.
"Do you know what you are?" Duncan asked him, and the sick, miserable expression on the man's face was confirmation that Duncan wouldn't have to explain either Immortals or the Game.
"Who's your teacher?" he asked. The lad was obviously too young to be on his own, especially if he didn't know to look for another Immortal when he felt their presence.
His next words confirmed Duncan's worst suspicions.
"I don't have one." His voice was tight with strain. "Look, are you sure this isn't some kind of mistake?" He sounded half-desperate, his British accent becoming more pronounced as his voice rose half an octave.
"It's no mistake," Duncan told him. The puzzle that was Adam Pierson became more interesting by the second. Clearly, the young man knew about Immortals -- had known before Duncan walked up to him. However, it was becoming just as obvious that he hadn't known he was Immortal -- and that was more than a little disturbing.
"You already knew about us," he said, making it clear from his tone of voice that it wasn't a question. Pierson flinched.
"Ye-s," he said, drawing the word out as if reluctant to say it. "But I never thought -- I knew my parents!" His voice shook slightly. "If I'd been adopted -- the paperwork should have been in their things. Shouldn't it?" Hazel eyes fixed pleadingly on Duncan's face for a moment; then Pierson looked away, running one hand through already messy dark hair. "Christ," he said, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression was that of a man barely holding onto his self control. Duncan tried to imagine what it must feel like to know about the Game and then suddenly find that one had been thrown into it, and couldn't. The lad was quite clearly on the verge of panicking, and Duncan really couldn't blame him.
"Here, now," he said. "Take a deep breath." Pierson obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut again as he leaned his head back against the wall.
"I thought it was just a bloody headache," he said quietly.
"How did you not notice that you'd died?" Duncan asked.
"I don't know." His eyes snapped open; he looked defensive, and more than a little frightened. "I cracked my head at the shop last week -- but I was only out for a few minutes. I didn't even have much of a headache afterwards..." His voice trailed off, and he ran a hand through his hair again, looking at the floor as he scuffed one booted foot across it.
"You'll need a teacher," Duncan said.
"No," Pierson said, shaking his head again. "I know what I am now --"
Duncan cut him off. "Do you know how to use a sword?" When Pierson's eyes fell, Duncan nodded. "I didn't think so." He reached into his pocket and fished out a card, jotting down the barge's address before handing it to him. "Come by tomorrow, and I'll get you started." When Adam opened his mouth to protest, Duncan cut him off again.
"If you don't show up, I will come looking for you." The lad's reaction to his sudden realization showed real courage. It would be a shame to lose him to a headhunter simply because he didn't want to play the Game.
***
(chapter three)
***
because apparently people wanted to see more of this. Methos is a tricky bastard sometimes.
Instead, here's the next bit of that damned Highlander AU. And there's more in progress, so it might actually turn into a real story.
Chapter Two:
"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Duncan introduced himself, staring down at the other Immortal. The young man cast a panicked look at his companion before turning apprehensive eyes on Duncan.
"Er -- good for you?" he hazarded.
Duncan frowned. From the lad's reaction to his presence, he'd assumed that he was dealing with a new Immortal, one who had no idea what he was -- but the fear in the man's eyes and the tension in his frame seemed to indicate that he knew something. His friend, too, was decidedly tense -- and he was definitely mortal.
"What's your name, lad?" he asked, gentling his tone a little bit.
"Adam," was the response. "Adam Pierson."
"You and I need to talk," Duncan told him.
"Oh, no," Pierson said firmly. "No, we certainly don't." He settled himself more firmly into his seat.
"Adam," his friend said quietly, "I think maybe you should go with him." Pierson cast an anguished glance in his direction, shaking his head.
"Adam," the older man repeated.
It seemed to do the trick. Pierson got to his feet, albeit reluctantly, and followed Duncan to a relatively secluded corner of the room. Fitz and Amanda sent curious looks in their direction, but Duncan waved them off. The lad was shaken enough -- there was no sense in making it worse by compounding the number of Immortals in what was always a complicated conversation.
They stopped just in front of one of the large windows. Pierson leaned heavily on the wall next to it, his face pale. Duncan looked him over. He was almost ridiculously young; twenty-four, perhaps, or twenty-five, and his slender build and unassuming posture made it unlikely that he had any sort of martial arts training on which to base... well, anything.
"Do you know what you are?" Duncan asked him, and the sick, miserable expression on the man's face was confirmation that Duncan wouldn't have to explain either Immortals or the Game.
"Who's your teacher?" he asked. The lad was obviously too young to be on his own, especially if he didn't know to look for another Immortal when he felt their presence.
His next words confirmed Duncan's worst suspicions.
"I don't have one." His voice was tight with strain. "Look, are you sure this isn't some kind of mistake?" He sounded half-desperate, his British accent becoming more pronounced as his voice rose half an octave.
"It's no mistake," Duncan told him. The puzzle that was Adam Pierson became more interesting by the second. Clearly, the young man knew about Immortals -- had known before Duncan walked up to him. However, it was becoming just as obvious that he hadn't known he was Immortal -- and that was more than a little disturbing.
"You already knew about us," he said, making it clear from his tone of voice that it wasn't a question. Pierson flinched.
"Ye-s," he said, drawing the word out as if reluctant to say it. "But I never thought -- I knew my parents!" His voice shook slightly. "If I'd been adopted -- the paperwork should have been in their things. Shouldn't it?" Hazel eyes fixed pleadingly on Duncan's face for a moment; then Pierson looked away, running one hand through already messy dark hair. "Christ," he said, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression was that of a man barely holding onto his self control. Duncan tried to imagine what it must feel like to know about the Game and then suddenly find that one had been thrown into it, and couldn't. The lad was quite clearly on the verge of panicking, and Duncan really couldn't blame him.
"Here, now," he said. "Take a deep breath." Pierson obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut again as he leaned his head back against the wall.
"I thought it was just a bloody headache," he said quietly.
"How did you not notice that you'd died?" Duncan asked.
"I don't know." His eyes snapped open; he looked defensive, and more than a little frightened. "I cracked my head at the shop last week -- but I was only out for a few minutes. I didn't even have much of a headache afterwards..." His voice trailed off, and he ran a hand through his hair again, looking at the floor as he scuffed one booted foot across it.
"You'll need a teacher," Duncan said.
"No," Pierson said, shaking his head again. "I know what I am now --"
Duncan cut him off. "Do you know how to use a sword?" When Pierson's eyes fell, Duncan nodded. "I didn't think so." He reached into his pocket and fished out a card, jotting down the barge's address before handing it to him. "Come by tomorrow, and I'll get you started." When Adam opened his mouth to protest, Duncan cut him off again.
"If you don't show up, I will come looking for you." The lad's reaction to his sudden realization showed real courage. It would be a shame to lose him to a headhunter simply because he didn't want to play the Game.
***
(chapter three)
***
because apparently people wanted to see more of this. Methos is a tricky bastard sometimes.