but people have always eaten people... what else is there to eat?
...re-read Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal while waiting to board at Dulles today. Why don't people write that sort of scathing commentary today? The world is too politically correct, dammit.
Am not even going to comment on the sheer annoyance that was airport security, save to say that there is no need for me to be strip-searched every single time I bloody fly.
Moving on. That Highlander AU thing seems to be writing itself at a rate of something like a thousand words a day. So here's some more of it.
Chapter Four:
"Yeah, right," Don said, when Joe had finished filling him in. "I don't care which one of you jokers came up with this, but it isn't funny." He brushed past Joe and up the stairs, calling for Adam as he went. Joe followed him, and took a certain malicious pleasure at seeing him stop abruptly at the sight of Adam's face.
"Aw hell," Don said, and crossed the remaining space between them to put a hand on Adam's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay." Joe watched as Adam gave Don the same curiously piercing look he'd worn when Joe had promised to keep silent. Don just squeezed his shoulder and sat down next to him at the table. Joe went over and joined them, grateful for the chance to sit down. It had been a long day.
"So," Don said after a minute, "Joe says that Duncan MacLeod's offered to teach you." Adam nodded, and Don looked at him sternly. "You're going to take him up on his offer."
"Oh, no," Adam said. "No way. I'm not getting anywhere near that --" He stopped speaking abruptly, and settled for shaking his head. "It's not happening, Don."
"Yes, it is," Don said implacably. "You've got no guarantee that the next Immortal you come across won't take your head -- and even if they did offer to teach you, you'd still be better off with MacLeod. Don't be stupid, Adam."
"Maybe I don't want to learn how to use a sword," Adam fired back, sitting up straight in his seat. The stricken look on Don's face, though, seemed to cut his anger out from under him. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes, as if trying to keep them from seeing the emotions playing out beneath his lids.
"Fine," he said, opening his eyes. He sounded infinitely weary. "I'll go play warrior-prince with the bloody Highlander." He shook his head. "I need a beer."
***
Joe and Don were reluctant to let Methos go off by himself. He finally gave in and let Don drive him home, then waited until he'd seen Don's tail-lights disappear into the distance before pulling his coat back on and slipping out the back door. He didn't think anyone was following him, but a little extra paranoia never hurt anyone.
The night air was chilly, and Methos pulled his coat more closely around himself as he made his way down the nearly-empty streets of Paris. His breath was coming in white clouds and the wind felt like a blade on the exposed skin of his face, so his step was quicker than usual. He soon found himself in the nave of St. Joseph's, Darius' familiar Quickening ringing in his head like church bells. After a few minutes, the priest himself made an appearance, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw the identity of his late-night visitor.
"Adam? What are you doing here?" He beckoned Methos back to his private office. Methos followed him silently, and remained quiet until the door was closed. Six inches of cork set into the walls and a soundproof door that had been ahead of its time when Methos helped install it two hundred years earlier helped keep the office safe from prying Watchers -- as did Darius' regular sweeps for recording devices. There was some Immortal business that not even the Watchers needed to know about, and Methos placed his own existence firmly in that category.
"I didn't expect to see you again for at least another twenty years," Darius remarked. He went to the elegant cabinet at the back of the room and removed a bottle of brandy and two glasses, while Methos settled himself into an overstuffed armchair that looked like a refugee from the Victorian era.
"Something came up," he admitted, taking the glass of brandy from Darius. "I ran into Duncan MacLeod today."
"Did you?" Darius murmured. "What did you think of him, then?"
Methos regarded the brandy in his glass, swirling it thoughtfully before taking a sip. "Honestly? I think he's an honourable fool, just like his cousin."
"And yet Connor managed to dispatch the Kurgan."
Methos snorted. "The Kurgan. I'd be more impressed if he'd manage to take out Kronos when they crossed paths twenty years ago." The bogeyman status that the Kurgan had achieved among younger Immortals had been a source of great amusement to Methos. The man was a primitive, stuck in the past and easily dispatched with a gun and a sword, had anyone been ruthless enough to do the deed.
"Relieved, as well," Darius pointed out. Methos acknowledged the hit with a tilt of his head. "And what did my honourable fool make of you?"
"Of me?" Methos lifted one sardonic eyebrow. "You know me better than that. He met Adam Pierson, painfully new Immortal, and is now determined to teach and protect the poor bastard."
"Methos," Darius said disapprovingly.
"Well, I had a bloody Watcher in tow, didn't I?" Over several more glasses of brandy, he explained the whole complicated mess to his friend. Darius listened solemnly enough, but Methos could see the gleam of amusement in his eyes, particularly when MacLeod's tendencies towards large doses of healthy exercise was mentioned.
"At least Amanda has promised to cooperate," Darius remarked, once Methos had finished his multi-lingual diatribe against bloody interfering Boy Scouts and the concepts of chivalry and honour, both of which he roundly condemned as archaic and obsolete codes of conduct fit only for the hopelessly stupid.
"True," Methos said pensively, "though I get the feeling that she's going to enjoy herself even more than you will."
"I will admit," Darius said -- and there was that damned smirk of his, creeping across his face -- "that seeing you caught up in your own plots is... amusing. Particularly as you appear to be in no real danger."
"Ha, bloody ha," Methos responded, and got his revenge by finishing off the rest of the brandy.
***
(chapter five)
***
Author's Notes: Thanks of course to everyone who's commented so far. You guys are awesome. As always, feedback makes my day. Up next? Duncan drags 'Adam' out of bed and forces him to go running. Amanda is amused. Fitz is suspicious.
Oh, and if anyone was wondering about the subject line of this post, it comes from a song by Flanders and Swann. Who were sheer comic genius, and if anyone has even heard of them you get virtual cookies. Or maybe even a drabble. Because they were that freakin' brilliant.
Am not even going to comment on the sheer annoyance that was airport security, save to say that there is no need for me to be strip-searched every single time I bloody fly.
Moving on. That Highlander AU thing seems to be writing itself at a rate of something like a thousand words a day. So here's some more of it.
Chapter Four:
"Yeah, right," Don said, when Joe had finished filling him in. "I don't care which one of you jokers came up with this, but it isn't funny." He brushed past Joe and up the stairs, calling for Adam as he went. Joe followed him, and took a certain malicious pleasure at seeing him stop abruptly at the sight of Adam's face.
"Aw hell," Don said, and crossed the remaining space between them to put a hand on Adam's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay." Joe watched as Adam gave Don the same curiously piercing look he'd worn when Joe had promised to keep silent. Don just squeezed his shoulder and sat down next to him at the table. Joe went over and joined them, grateful for the chance to sit down. It had been a long day.
"So," Don said after a minute, "Joe says that Duncan MacLeod's offered to teach you." Adam nodded, and Don looked at him sternly. "You're going to take him up on his offer."
"Oh, no," Adam said. "No way. I'm not getting anywhere near that --" He stopped speaking abruptly, and settled for shaking his head. "It's not happening, Don."
"Yes, it is," Don said implacably. "You've got no guarantee that the next Immortal you come across won't take your head -- and even if they did offer to teach you, you'd still be better off with MacLeod. Don't be stupid, Adam."
"Maybe I don't want to learn how to use a sword," Adam fired back, sitting up straight in his seat. The stricken look on Don's face, though, seemed to cut his anger out from under him. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes, as if trying to keep them from seeing the emotions playing out beneath his lids.
"Fine," he said, opening his eyes. He sounded infinitely weary. "I'll go play warrior-prince with the bloody Highlander." He shook his head. "I need a beer."
***
Joe and Don were reluctant to let Methos go off by himself. He finally gave in and let Don drive him home, then waited until he'd seen Don's tail-lights disappear into the distance before pulling his coat back on and slipping out the back door. He didn't think anyone was following him, but a little extra paranoia never hurt anyone.
The night air was chilly, and Methos pulled his coat more closely around himself as he made his way down the nearly-empty streets of Paris. His breath was coming in white clouds and the wind felt like a blade on the exposed skin of his face, so his step was quicker than usual. He soon found himself in the nave of St. Joseph's, Darius' familiar Quickening ringing in his head like church bells. After a few minutes, the priest himself made an appearance, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw the identity of his late-night visitor.
"Adam? What are you doing here?" He beckoned Methos back to his private office. Methos followed him silently, and remained quiet until the door was closed. Six inches of cork set into the walls and a soundproof door that had been ahead of its time when Methos helped install it two hundred years earlier helped keep the office safe from prying Watchers -- as did Darius' regular sweeps for recording devices. There was some Immortal business that not even the Watchers needed to know about, and Methos placed his own existence firmly in that category.
"I didn't expect to see you again for at least another twenty years," Darius remarked. He went to the elegant cabinet at the back of the room and removed a bottle of brandy and two glasses, while Methos settled himself into an overstuffed armchair that looked like a refugee from the Victorian era.
"Something came up," he admitted, taking the glass of brandy from Darius. "I ran into Duncan MacLeod today."
"Did you?" Darius murmured. "What did you think of him, then?"
Methos regarded the brandy in his glass, swirling it thoughtfully before taking a sip. "Honestly? I think he's an honourable fool, just like his cousin."
"And yet Connor managed to dispatch the Kurgan."
Methos snorted. "The Kurgan. I'd be more impressed if he'd manage to take out Kronos when they crossed paths twenty years ago." The bogeyman status that the Kurgan had achieved among younger Immortals had been a source of great amusement to Methos. The man was a primitive, stuck in the past and easily dispatched with a gun and a sword, had anyone been ruthless enough to do the deed.
"Relieved, as well," Darius pointed out. Methos acknowledged the hit with a tilt of his head. "And what did my honourable fool make of you?"
"Of me?" Methos lifted one sardonic eyebrow. "You know me better than that. He met Adam Pierson, painfully new Immortal, and is now determined to teach and protect the poor bastard."
"Methos," Darius said disapprovingly.
"Well, I had a bloody Watcher in tow, didn't I?" Over several more glasses of brandy, he explained the whole complicated mess to his friend. Darius listened solemnly enough, but Methos could see the gleam of amusement in his eyes, particularly when MacLeod's tendencies towards large doses of healthy exercise was mentioned.
"At least Amanda has promised to cooperate," Darius remarked, once Methos had finished his multi-lingual diatribe against bloody interfering Boy Scouts and the concepts of chivalry and honour, both of which he roundly condemned as archaic and obsolete codes of conduct fit only for the hopelessly stupid.
"True," Methos said pensively, "though I get the feeling that she's going to enjoy herself even more than you will."
"I will admit," Darius said -- and there was that damned smirk of his, creeping across his face -- "that seeing you caught up in your own plots is... amusing. Particularly as you appear to be in no real danger."
"Ha, bloody ha," Methos responded, and got his revenge by finishing off the rest of the brandy.
***
(chapter five)
***
Author's Notes: Thanks of course to everyone who's commented so far. You guys are awesome. As always, feedback makes my day. Up next? Duncan drags 'Adam' out of bed and forces him to go running. Amanda is amused. Fitz is suspicious.
Oh, and if anyone was wondering about the subject line of this post, it comes from a song by Flanders and Swann. Who were sheer comic genius, and if anyone has even heard of them you get virtual cookies. Or maybe even a drabble. Because they were that freakin' brilliant.