I know what I'm doing tomorrow...
My favorite Highlander has a birthday coming up -- his 495th, to be precise. (Connor MacLeod, born January 1st, 1518; still with us. What fourth movie?) So I thought I'd spend the day before Connor's birthday writing short fics* -- a few sentences, three or four paragraphs -- if you guys wanted to give me prompts, other characters for him to
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The intruder ignored him -- rude, that; Bob could tell this one had heard him -- and kept building up the fire. He knew what he was doing, Bob'd give him that much at least. Minimum of kindling and paper, maximum air flow to start the fire blazing quickly, and then he had enough sense to leave it alone to grow properly.
Meanwhile, the man nodded and started stripping out of his wet clothes. Well. If he was that soaked, Buck wouldn't mind the loan of his cabin, even if it had taken him a month of weekends to fix up the damage from the wendigos. Then he took a better look at the knives strapped under the clothes.
"Well, well. Beautiful steel in those. Gomai layering?"
That brought him around. No shame about being naked either, just a narrow-eyed glare. "You can see through sheathes?"
"Ghost?" Bob pointed out. "And you broke in."
"More importantly," and what was that accent? Some Dutch, maybe some French, Bob would have to keep listening, "can you see through the walls?"
"If I had to. Why?"
"Because the man who chased me into the river is probably still coming," he said bluntly.
"I wondered how you got so wet."
"You thought I was stupid enough to horse around in a snow bank, you mean." He was pulling on dry clothes, quickly and efficiently despite fingers that were almost blue with the cold. "Yell if you see him. He'll do more damage to this place than I did."
"Don't think you won't be rehanging that door," Bob warned him.
"I can't if I don't live through this," was the blunt reply. The stranger settled himself almost in the fire, soaking up heat as fast it was produced. His sword was in front of him, still sheathed but ready, and his knives were already back on his arms.
"Those will stay cold for a while, then they'll oveheat your arm." Bob added, "And haven't you ever seen sparks? Don't catch yourself on fire, either."
"Lousy way to die," he agreed. "Let me thaw my hands, I'll write you an IOU for the repairs."
He looked perfectly serious about it and he was willing to haggle with a ghost. Bob sighed. "Oh, all right. Give me a description to look for. And a name."
That got a sudden grin. "His or mine? He's a couple inches shorter than I am, twenty pounds heavier -- most of it in the shoulders and chest -- and he's got dark olive skin, black hair if it's not still under that navy blue hat, and he was wearing a camo-pattern coat and dark gray pants. You're likely looking upriver; he had snowshoes, not a snowmobile." He flexed his hands, working blood and mobility back into them and added, "And I'll trade for my name, man."
"Italian looks or First Nation?" Bob asked. "Bob Fraser. Sergeant, actually."
That got a quick grin. "First Nations. Nice to meet another sergeant, then, even if you are a Fraser." Bob started to take offense, right up until he heard, "I'm Connor MacLeod."
Bob flickered in and out as he looked through Buck's cabin, through the hills, and finally said, "Hmm. Well, that explains your manners.... Ah, there he is. Well, well! Him again! You've got at least an hour, Connor. Joe's entirely the wrong side of the ridge."
That finally got him a startled look. "You know him?"
"Yes, although he ought to be a ghost by now. Much less back on this side of the border. I arrested him, oh, must be sixty years ago now for bringing out knives in a bar fight."
That got a raised eyebrow but, interestingly enough, no active disbelief. "And you remember him?"
"Oh, yes. Bloodiest bar fight I'd seen yet -- I was a young Mountie then -- and the paperwork for an international incident since he turned out to be from the US. And, well, there was this very pretty blonde who offered to patch me up afterwards. You understand," Bob said, grinning at the extremely understanding look he was getting.
"Well, sixty years gone now, surely you could tell me about her without it being any harm to the lady's reputation." Bob started to draw himself up, but MacLeod grinned and went on, "No names of course, and purely to pass the time."
"Oh, well, in that case--"
* * *
Buck never even noticed the repairs to the door.
ETA: Somehow, take two at posting lost the TITLE.
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I especially liked:
Buck wouldn't mind the loan of his cabin, even if it had taken him a month of weekends to fix up the damage from the wendigos.
Bwahahahaha!
and
"...Bob Fraser. Sergeant, actually."
That got a quick grin. "...Nice to meet another sergeant, then, even if you are a Fraser." Bob started to take offense, right up until he heard, "I'm Connor MacLeod."
..."Hmm. Well, that explains your manners...."
HA! and Ha ha!!
Delightful, m'dear!
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Yeah, it was pointed out by Dragon that I had just put a MacLeod coping with a Fraser. ::grins:: Those lines were last second additions. Glad you liked them, I snickered too!
Thanks!
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