Breeze
I realize I've been posting a lot of these all at once, but I was on a roll. And I only have to tweak a little to get the story to fit the prompts...
Title: Daughter of Adam, Part 12
Author: carolhelga
Claim: Duncan
Prompt: Breeze
Rating/Warnings: G (no blood, gore, offensive language, or sex--but I hope it's still interesting)
Word count: 765
Disclaimer: I do not own the Highlander universe, though I do own Brunhilde. This writing is all in good fun; I make no profit from it.
Summary: We may have the motive behind the rogue Watchers' methods.
Duncan watched Methos enter Joe's blues bar and silently wished the Old One success. He couldn't remember when he had last seen him with his guard down as it had been when he told of his loss of Brunhilde. He wondered a bit--Hilda had seemed much less traumatized at learning that Methos was around. Perhaps he could learn more from the woman herself.
He drove around Seacouver a bit, trying to find her by the buzz that indicated an Immortal presence, but after an hour of this he realized he wasn't getting anywhere, so he headed back to the dojo. To his surprise, as he arrived there, the buzz hit him and he saw her standing outside as if waiting for him.
"Looking for me?" he asked her as he drove up. She had changed, he saw. Her hair was severely bound in a bun, and she wore what passed for a professional power suit--White shirt under a pale green suit jacket and matching skirt with heels to match. She carried a large canvas tote bag that seemed to be bulging with papers.
"I was sort of hoping to talk to you," Hilda admitted. "If you don't mind."
"Not at all." No way did he intend to let her know he wanted the same thing. "Here, or would you rather go somewhere neutral?"
She opened the car's passenger door and slid in. "There's a nice graveyard not far from here."
"You think you need holy ground to talk to me?" She just looked at him. "All right. I know the one you mean, I think." She shut the door behind her and he proceeded to the hilltop graveyard. They didn't say anything until he had stopped the car and turned off his engine.
"Did you hear from your Watcher friend?"
"Joe? As a matter of fact, I did."
"Good. Come on, I need to show you something." She opened her door and got out, and Duncan followed suit, then caught up with her as she headed toward where some newly filled gravesites stood. "This has been going on longer than I thought."
"What's been going on?" A breeze had picked up, and it tugged at Hilda's skirt and hair, but she didn't even try to straighten out the damage. Duncan found it oddly appealing, but he could also tell she was deadly serious, for whatever reason.
"Immortals getting killed." She paused next to one of the gravestones, tapping it. "Read that."
Curious, Duncan did so. R.I.P. Harold Santiago. 1983-2010. "Did you know him?"
"I didn't know I did, until I saw his photo in the paper." Hilda pulled out a paper from her tote bag. She held it tightly as the breeze tried to take it from her. "Right here, in last week's public police report." She gave the sheet to Duncan. "I knew him once as Ricardo Santiago--about four hundred years ago. Police found his body, sans head, no motive, no witnesses, no suspects." She pulled out several more sheets of paper, the wind fluttering them madly. "Ysulte Borachev, same thing. And Daniel Crocker, Bertrand Corveux, Vladimir Kruchev, Oscar…"
Duncan grabbed the papers from her, and leafed through them rapidly. "How many?" he asked, his voice grim.
"Eight. So far. And that's just locally. I've been afraid to look farther afield." She looked at him directly. "MacLeod, this is all wrong. Those are--were--all Immortals. By all rights, they should be still living, unless one of us takes their head. Someone--someone not us--is culling the field, as it were. They're bringing us closer to the final time, the time where there shall be only one."
"That's the Game, isn't it? We all know that." But he was disturbed. It wasn't natural. It wasn't the way the Game worked.
"Yes, yes, I know that part. Not that I expect to be the One. But don't you see? These Immortals--they're the good guys, MacLeod. They worked to better human life. Santiago was an eye doctor. He worked to bring sight to hundreds of children with defects that surgery could cure. Borachev was a cancer researcher. Crocker worked on ways to improve the environment."
"And?"
Hilda reached out a hand and poked him in the chest. "You don't get it, do you?"
"No, can't say I do."
"If only the good guys are getting killed, who does that leave?"
Duncan looked at her, saw her sincerity and concern, and he realized what she meant. He felt like the breeze had knocked all the air out of him. "The bad ones."
Title: Daughter of Adam, Part 12
Author: carolhelga
Claim: Duncan
Prompt: Breeze
Rating/Warnings: G (no blood, gore, offensive language, or sex--but I hope it's still interesting)
Word count: 765
Disclaimer: I do not own the Highlander universe, though I do own Brunhilde. This writing is all in good fun; I make no profit from it.
Summary: We may have the motive behind the rogue Watchers' methods.
Duncan watched Methos enter Joe's blues bar and silently wished the Old One success. He couldn't remember when he had last seen him with his guard down as it had been when he told of his loss of Brunhilde. He wondered a bit--Hilda had seemed much less traumatized at learning that Methos was around. Perhaps he could learn more from the woman herself.
He drove around Seacouver a bit, trying to find her by the buzz that indicated an Immortal presence, but after an hour of this he realized he wasn't getting anywhere, so he headed back to the dojo. To his surprise, as he arrived there, the buzz hit him and he saw her standing outside as if waiting for him.
"Looking for me?" he asked her as he drove up. She had changed, he saw. Her hair was severely bound in a bun, and she wore what passed for a professional power suit--White shirt under a pale green suit jacket and matching skirt with heels to match. She carried a large canvas tote bag that seemed to be bulging with papers.
"I was sort of hoping to talk to you," Hilda admitted. "If you don't mind."
"Not at all." No way did he intend to let her know he wanted the same thing. "Here, or would you rather go somewhere neutral?"
She opened the car's passenger door and slid in. "There's a nice graveyard not far from here."
"You think you need holy ground to talk to me?" She just looked at him. "All right. I know the one you mean, I think." She shut the door behind her and he proceeded to the hilltop graveyard. They didn't say anything until he had stopped the car and turned off his engine.
"Did you hear from your Watcher friend?"
"Joe? As a matter of fact, I did."
"Good. Come on, I need to show you something." She opened her door and got out, and Duncan followed suit, then caught up with her as she headed toward where some newly filled gravesites stood. "This has been going on longer than I thought."
"What's been going on?" A breeze had picked up, and it tugged at Hilda's skirt and hair, but she didn't even try to straighten out the damage. Duncan found it oddly appealing, but he could also tell she was deadly serious, for whatever reason.
"Immortals getting killed." She paused next to one of the gravestones, tapping it. "Read that."
Curious, Duncan did so. R.I.P. Harold Santiago. 1983-2010. "Did you know him?"
"I didn't know I did, until I saw his photo in the paper." Hilda pulled out a paper from her tote bag. She held it tightly as the breeze tried to take it from her. "Right here, in last week's public police report." She gave the sheet to Duncan. "I knew him once as Ricardo Santiago--about four hundred years ago. Police found his body, sans head, no motive, no witnesses, no suspects." She pulled out several more sheets of paper, the wind fluttering them madly. "Ysulte Borachev, same thing. And Daniel Crocker, Bertrand Corveux, Vladimir Kruchev, Oscar…"
Duncan grabbed the papers from her, and leafed through them rapidly. "How many?" he asked, his voice grim.
"Eight. So far. And that's just locally. I've been afraid to look farther afield." She looked at him directly. "MacLeod, this is all wrong. Those are--were--all Immortals. By all rights, they should be still living, unless one of us takes their head. Someone--someone not us--is culling the field, as it were. They're bringing us closer to the final time, the time where there shall be only one."
"That's the Game, isn't it? We all know that." But he was disturbed. It wasn't natural. It wasn't the way the Game worked.
"Yes, yes, I know that part. Not that I expect to be the One. But don't you see? These Immortals--they're the good guys, MacLeod. They worked to better human life. Santiago was an eye doctor. He worked to bring sight to hundreds of children with defects that surgery could cure. Borachev was a cancer researcher. Crocker worked on ways to improve the environment."
"And?"
Hilda reached out a hand and poked him in the chest. "You don't get it, do you?"
"No, can't say I do."
"If only the good guys are getting killed, who does that leave?"
Duncan looked at her, saw her sincerity and concern, and he realized what she meant. He felt like the breeze had knocked all the air out of him. "The bad ones."