A drabble is a story based on a thought and expressed in an exact number of words (for this purpose 100). I belong to a community called HIGHLANDER 100 that issues a challenge for a new drabble each week. I will post them here as I write them.
HIGHLANDER DRABBLES
This Drabble require you to change the sex of a major character.
REALITY
It was difficult spending time with the three of them. The air was fogged with sexual tension and you could never figure out exactly which way it was running. These Drabbles feature some of Methos’ many wives.
RITA – 1966
Amanda and Duncan were a given, but she was such a slut she probably would have slept with Methos, too. Those looks Duncan would give Methos when he did something he didn’t quite approve always made you wonder if the two of them were lovers or maybe all three just tumbled into bed together.
Sex was fun to think about, but Josephine Dawson realized that legless grey-haired women never got laid.
She was my flower-child-bride with long, curly red hair, pale skin, freckles, small but perfect breasts. She never wore a bra or lipstick -- rarely shoes. She liked beads --- and fringe --- and floppy hats.
TECHNOLOGY
We’d get stoned – on Thai stick or blotter acid -- and make love all day and night. She was wild like a tiger and cuddly like a bunny.
Sometimes to amuse her I’d cut my hand -- or my wrist --- she’d watch the blood spurt and then watch it heal.
One day she was home alone -- bored -- stoned she tried it on herself.
This Drabble was submitted as a crossover but also was written for Methos’ wives.
DEIANIRA
We weren’t really married. Which is why always waiver when asked – 68 or maybe 69; but we lived together for two years. This Drabble was to be part of a Watcher’s chronicle.
SOMETHING MISSING
(from the Chronicles of Joe Dawson.)
Duncan MacLeod is rarely without a woman, but his latest, Anne Lindsey, doesn’t give him what he seems to want or need. It’s not for lack of trying. She has the key to his apartment and often spends the night, but the spark he had with Tessa is not there. This drabble featured centuries. SIXTH CENTURY
“What became the sixth century was really the thirteenth century ab urbe condita.” Methos began. “Romans calculated from the founding of Rome. Even though the Greeks, Egyptians, Babylonians and a host of other civilizations flourished before them. The Christians used the Roman calendar. This Drabble is based on Reunions CLASS OF WHAT? They
sat arm-to-arm at long tables and hoisted litre-mugs of malty-dark beer. Methos
had surveyed the members of the class of ’53, but they were all really old
guys. He felt a lot more comfortable with the class of ’83 so he altered his
badge with a felt-tipped pen. Reunions at Heidelberg were always fun.
This Drabble is based on a picture of Methos hanging up bits of paper. SAVING WHAT?
He would have understood if they had been consumed by fire. He just never
thought of them drowning. Was it fruitless trying to save them? Still, they held
the story of his long life --little things that only he would think significant.
They were personal items -- not worth places in library collections – but
spanning years of emotions. Most of them had been written in water-based ink; so
even if they dried, they would probably be unreadable. Still he hung them with
love and care; what did it matter if others couldn’t read them, he knew what
they said. CASTING CALL
“We stare, look at one another, short of breath. Walking proudly in our
winter coats.” The man with long, dark hair majestically moved across the
stage. Although the leads were cast, there were minor rolls available. STUDIES IN LIGHT
The breaking day provided just enough illumination to accentuate Methos’ thin
angular frame as he stood at the window. In another week, night will have
claimed these morning minutes as the autumnal darkness extended. Another summer
was over. MacLeod knew that mortals since the beginning of time had had feelings
of approaching death this time of year and created a plethora of harvest
festivals to distract their minds. He realized that for immortals it was
different; they didn’t celebrate autumn as a mark in the passing of their
lives, but rather as just a decrease in the amount of daylight. SEARCHING Every full moon, Duncan went into the woods searching for the mysterious
woman. He’d seen her once. Talked to her. Kissed her. She had to be here. JUST VISITING
From time to time I
would look in on Cassandra. It was reasonable that she would still want to kill
me, but I needed to know she was alive. I had learned the value of survival her;
it saved me even when I so wanted to die. This drabble is based on the Queen song FLICK OF THE WRIST
Methos had not yet
opened his eyes. His attention focused on the wood in his groin and a primal
desire to do something about it. He wrapped his fingers around himself and knew
that with a flick of the wrist his problem could be alleviated. Things had
changed: he was not alone. He had a lover. Not some fleeting one-night stand who
may or may not have disappeared into the dawn; but a real lover with which he
shared his bed, his life, his true identity. He rolled toward MacLeod and knew
that this was why mornings had been created. This drabble
features THE WATCHERS
“Adam Pierson’s been hinting he might want to try field work. He’s a month from finishing his degree.” Don Salzer volunteered.
“Don’t think so, Don.”
“Why not. He’s young; he’s got the energy to follow him. I can almost see him on a motorcycle.”
“Somehow I just can’t see Pierson being that tight with MacLeod.”
Dawson nodded.
THIS DRABBLE features me (McJude)
She rolled up the center door. The garage was crammed from floor to ceiling with antiques her father had collected over his lifetime.
“Some things here could be very valuable. The molding planes are highly collectable, not to mention still used by those doing restoration carpentry.”
“What do you think they're worth? We could have an auction, but . . . "
“I can give a bulk estimate. Sold separately, individual pieces could bring more, but you’d have to inventory, catalog and market.”
“Thank you Mr. MacLeod. It is most unfortunate that he sold his Civil War sword on E-bay.”
THIS DRABBLE features Kronos
The captive woman with her straight black hair, almond-shaped eyes and wheat-colored skin quickly became Methos’s favorite. She would cook wild grain, shape it into rolls, and top it with raw fish. Even Caspian didn’t eat raw fish, but Methos seemed to relish it. Kronos rarely found women willing to fix him food and quickly became jealous.
“What’s this?” Kronos asked as he watched Methos dab a green paste on the fish.
“It’s a root from her homeland. As precious as gold some say.”
Kronos dipped two fingers into the bowl and placed them in his mouth.
“Wasabi.” Methos grinned.
This drabble features
Horton:
PLAY
Who’d have thought his young colleague would have been so kinky . . . and have
all the right tools and toys. Horton lay blindfolded, spread-eagle on the narrow
bed, hands and feet cuffed to the posts as the slender figure fucked him with
long hard strokes. The kid was talented. This drabble features
Maurice: LAUNDRY A man of his stature should
not hobnob with the unwashed backpackers at the coin-operated laundry. Maurice
knew MacLeod would gladly provide a quarter kilo of detergent, a few
fabric-softening sheets, and his washing machine to keep that from having to
happen. Especially if Maurice did the laundry stacked in the basket near Mac’s
bed. These drabbles featured
Anne: ANNE's E-MAIL Dear Sis, THE TEST If she had only made
love with Duncan that night after attending the concert, she could at least
rationalize a chance . . . A catch up week -- three
drabbles based on previous topics. ART (based on the
concept of firsts.) He remembered the first one
he’d found. It was a rock about the size of a head with veins that looked like
lightening bolts. Kronos had questioned his stopping and picking it up, and he
had told him that he thought the veins might be gold. That wasn’t the truth;
of course, he just thought it looked interesting – and pretty. YARD SALE (based on the
idea of swords) “What’s this?” Duncan
asked. He pulled the sword, a modern imitation of a Norman battle sword,
festooned with jewels and engraved with the world “Excalibur”, out of the
back of Adam’s car. GAMES (X-over with Tying
up Gerald.) Gerald gasped as the
blindfold was removed. It wasn’t Vanessa, the woman who’d provided his
“therapeutic sessions” for the past five years; it was his wife. All decked
out in tight black leather and wearing a jaunty little cap. No wonder today had
seemed different from the usual “punishment” provided by Vanessa. He’d
liked it, too. This drabble features
Charlie: BATTLE “Get down.” Two drabbles featuring
Fitz: Duncan found it difficult to
accept Fitzcairn as dead. Duncan always pictured his friend full of life with a
beautiful woman in one hand, a bottle in the other and a big smile on his face. TERMINAL REPORT. “Are you ready for lunch,
Don?” YOU'LL DO “He painted my nose.”
April 28, 2004 - Drabble featuring Connor.. APOCRYPHA
I thought I had won.
This week’s drabble featured Joe
– and generated a lot of controversy. Après “Been
a while, right, Joe.” This week’s drabble featured Tessa. METAL Tessa
knew that the heat of the torch and the beat of the hammer breathed life
into metal. You could feel the
metal start to live as you ran your hands over it.
There was love there, too; she could feel it in her heart. She spent her days on a tourist
barge, sharing the stories of Paris, the city of love, and thought about
transforming pieces of metal. Then one day she learned more
about life, and love, and metal than she ever cared to learn.
She learned of swords and a story she couldn’t share with the tourists. This week’s drabble featured
Duncan, (and a very bad Scottish accent.) DUNCAN
DONUTS “Wah
tis Dis? Tis na ah scone?” This week’s drabble was to feature Richie.
NOT A TOY
Inflate it with air and pull it over your head. It fits tightly like a tall hat. Pull it over your eyes and your vision starts to blur. Pull it over your nose and you look like a scary monster. Pull it over your mouth and your exhaled breath collects inside until it clings tightly to your face and you can’t pull it away. You feel yourself dying, slowly under your own control. OPEN THIS
Here make yourself useful. Open this.” Amanda handed him a chilled champagne bottle. The hand-blown, unlabeled bottle was probably part of a boutique vintage available only to selected clientele. “Please don’t try to impress me by using a sword. I used to date this dental student who thought it was too kewl to open them that way.” I'LL MISS HIM
Amanda held the point of her blade against Jon’s neck. "WHEN PIGS
FLY" -- (Impossible situation challenge. Andromeda X-over) TREASURE Harper cut open the
metal barrel with his nano-welder. Without labels, he could only guess as to its
contents; but it had been heavy and difficult to move. As the air had had gushed
inside, he swore he heard a gasp followed by a cough. “I’d not believe
you except that I was caught in a black hole for three centuries.” The two men long
separated eyed each other as Duncan walked down the ramp from the lander. WORK (based on a four
word challenge) “You look particularly nice
today.” Joe commented. AMANDA AND CLYDE (Put HL
characters in classic movie challenge.) Amanda stood at the open
window and watched the man walking around the old car in the driveway. He
wasn’t an immortal, but he sure seemed interesting. SPRING (based
on a dream challenge) Rivulets streamed from the
towering white cliff dampening the gravel. It was a sign of spring after what
had been a thousand winters. He knew that at any minute a boulder-sized ice
chunk could fall trapping him there in the cold . . . wet. . . .
She wasn’t young, she wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t personable; but she was pregnant.
She had been a one-night stand, someone he was planning to forget even before she'd gotten into bed. Her lack of innovation and excitement belied the fact that she was not a virgin. She seemed almost bored with it all.
Her father came after him with a vengeance and a huge sword. Swearing that he would have his head if he didn’t return and marry his daughter.
Methos didn’t think of her often, but when he did he was always thankful that eventually someone invented the shotgun.
She had been left on a tiny farm with three little children. He’d gone with his “best friend” to fight a
war or a monster or something. At first I just was hired to help; but eventually well . . . you know my eventualities.
"I can’t understand how anyone could leave a woman like you.” I said as I held her close.
“It’s just Hercules. He has to go fight. He thinks he is some kind of an immortal."
I don’t believe he is able to share the fact of his immortality with her. Perhaps because she is a medical doctor and would be very skeptical. Perhaps because he doesn’t really love her. Perhaps he needs to see things from a different perspective. I don’t know what it is.
“But anyway, old Dionysus Exiguus figured out that Christ was probably born in 754 so he conceived calculating years based on Christ’s birth. AD, BC. No year zero though.”
“Yea, so what?” Joe growled.
“I think I lost a year of my life.”
“That’s not counting the one’s you forgot, right?”
“Might have been a good one.”
The balding man across the table kept staring at his nametag.
“What’s the matter, don’t you remember me.” Methos asked. “I must have
been in the other section.”
“I was just trying to figure out how you did a double major in med’cine and
dueling.”
This drabble is based on “Highlander the Musical” This line from HAIR took
on new meaning when I watched HIGHLANDER.
“Nice voice.” The producer noted
“Nice coat, too.” His assistant snarked.
“Good dancer.”
“Great hair.”
“Too bad we can’t use him.”
“We can’t? But, I SO wanted to see him without his clothes.”
“He’s just not a convincing hippy.”
“Maybe we could cast him as a soldier or a cop?”
“Would you cut that hair?”
“And, he wouldn’t get to take off his clothes.”
This drabble is based on a Highlander episode title
He had convinced himself that he could sense her. It was a strange feeling, not
like those roused by the village girls when they teasingly pointed at his kilt,
exciting and personal.
If that were the case, she was certainly nearby. Somewhere hidden in the mist.
He saw movement. All he needed was a glimpse. Then realized it was only a tall,
slender man with a large nose. Moonlight was a notorious misleader.
I watched through the window of her hut. I may have read it wrong, but she was
kissing a young boy. One so beautiful that Greeks gods would have fought over
him.
I left them to their own accord and visited a hermit who lived nearby. I had
learned much from him too. MORNING
ASSIGNMENTS
He pulled out and shot his load on Horton’s hairy back. A leather covered
ping-pong paddle lay beside the bed.
“Say it,” he oozed. Twack. The paddle hit Horton’s white ass.
“I said . . . Say it!” Twack.
“Pierson, you fuck like . . . like . . . an immortal.”
It was easy to differentiate MacLeod’s fine unmentionables from his own --
finely knit cotton socks, ribbed boxerbriefs, and dark T-shirts. When he hung
the T-shirt to dry he noticed the holes – going right through in the center of
the chest – the heart.
“Sacre bleu!”
Sorry haven’t written. Been working long hours. And . . . you know there’s
an “and” . . I met this guy.
He’s drop dead gorgeous and great in bed, but . . . and of course there’s a
“but”. . . I can’t figure him out. He seems to draw trouble like a magnet.
People keep dropping dead – and strangely enough coming back to life -- around
him.
Then he’ll turn around and invite me to a concert by monks who sing like
angels.
Sorry, have to rush, just got message to meet him. Later.
Anne
Suddenly Duncan was dead and she was drowning her sorrows in scotch and the bed
of her old friend Richard. She should have known better – now she had slept
with everyone Richard had – but at this minute it was the least of her
concerns.
Still, as she gazed at the end of the pregnancy test wand, all she could think
about was the fact that Joe Dawson had called and wanted her to come over
immediately.
Now, as he carefully wrapped the items that lined the shelves in his Paris
apartment, Adam Pierson wondered why he had let art become such an important
part of his life --especially that insignificant piece sculpted by Tessa Noel.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s a piece of junk -- Totally worthless. Why did you buy it?”
“Found it at a yard sale, the owner said she’d bought it at an auction
because someone said it a reproduction was a sword someone at some time might
have used against Methos.”
“Kinda opens up a whole universe of products. Those D-P guys must be really
hard up for money.”
However, upon recognizing his wife, he also realized that it wasn’t a crook
lying across his neck – it was a sword.
“There can be only one.” She said -- jokingly?
Methos sucked in his breath. He’d thought this alias would have been safe
somewhat longer.
The bullets were flying just above his head. He couldn’t believe they were
missing and then he realized they weren’t. It just took a while for the pain
to register.
War is always hell. Still Charlie DeSalvo loved being a soldier. He knew the
risks. Sometimes you got shot. Sometimes your buddies died. Sometimes the dreams
stayed with you.
This had to be such a dream. But if it was, why did the wounds feel real, and
why did he see his friend Duncan MacLeod take three hits in the chest and fall
down the elevator shaft – dead.
Of course, there was that one night, long ago, when there were several bottles,
no women, a cold room and a shared bed. As Fitz’s body spooned against his,
Duncan lied to himself that he was feeling a sword. Now he could only speculate
as to how his life would have been different if he had only had the courage to
roll over.
Adam Pierson always hated waiting; and besides, he was getting hungry.
“Give me a few more minutes.” Salzer said, “I need to finish this terminal
report.”
“Not another dead immortal?”
“Yes.” Don shook his head and stared at the computer screen.
“Who?”
“Hugh Fitzcairn. Kalas got him last night.”
Don’s fingers searched for the proper letters on the keyboard; computers were
not really his forte.
“Wasn’t he a friend of Duncan MacLeod?” Adam asked.
“Yes.”
“Does the report, by any chance, say . . . exactly . . . how good of a
friend?”
It had to be flirting. Surely “painting” was right there in the meta-sex dictionary between “pain-in-the-groin” and “pair-bonding”, but Adam couldn’t find it.
What was so special about Duncan MacLeod? Why was he so attracted to a man who had women jumping in and out of his bed like water droplets on a hot griddle?
There was only one solution. He had to find himself a woman. He looked down at the waitress taking her order from the bar. She was small and pale and wore her hair pulled back – like Duncan’s.
“You’ll do,” he thought.
When I killed Kruger experiencing what I thought was the ultimate quickening, I went back to Scotland and basked in the glory. I lived every day as if I were the winner of the game.
Then I began to hear rumors of people I had thought long dead including one of students, one of my relatives. He was living in North America with a mortal woman . . .
I was surprised to find, not only him, but also an inchoate immortal. Was the legend wrong? Was the Gathering as apocryphal as the Christian rapture?
Methos ran a finger down the spine of the man lying face-down beside him on the
bed.
“Honestly . . . I never thought . . . it would happen again. Thanks.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you.” He cuddled Joe closely and
kissed the back of his neck.
“It’s hard . . . when you’re . . . flawed.”
“You’ve got all the parts, Joe. Just not all in the same place.” He
glanced over at the artificial legs leaning against the wall. “Just one
question?”
“Chamber pot. Women ask it, too.”
“Don’t you like it?” the young woman asked.
“Tis nad dat I don lie tit, but . . .”
The piece of pastry dissolved into a puddle in his mouth. He had never eaten
anything so light or sweet. Not a hint of oatmeal anywhere, but lots and lots of
sugar and honey.
“It’s what we French eat for breakfast on special occasions.”
“Brakefest n France tis almoss tas goo tas de nigh bafar.” He grabbed the
woman’s fine arse and pulled her to him. It was time to be special again.
“Richie, for god’s sake, can’t you read?”
He gasps in the fresh air. Alive again.
“It’s printed right on the plastic bag. THIS IS NOT A TOY.”
This week’s drabble was to feature Amanda
“He didn’t know; did he?” Methos asked.
“Of course not. It was just a college fling.”
“You went to college?”
“Yea, there was this museum collection that was on loan only for student research . . .”
“Don’t tell me. I know.”
* * * *
Note -- my dentist actually opens champagne bottles with a sword.
This was a response to a series of drabbles where Jon MacLeod kills Duncan. The concept of Jon MacLeod,(as developed in the series of drabbles), belongs to Kijikun READ MORE OF HER WORK
“You killed him.”
“That I did.”
“Obviously, you never had him entwine his fingers in your hair and pull your mouth to his . . . while his tongue searched for your soul.”
“No . . . “
“You’ve never been made love to by someone who truly cherished life . . . and sex . . . and women.”
“He killed. . . ”
“We all kill. He’s gone and I’ll miss him. Let there be one less!”
His head bounced.
“She’s free to date,” Methos thought as the quickening enveloped Amanda.
He pulled off the cover and stepped back, unsure if he wanted to look inside.
He didn’t have to look. A tall, dark man rose from the barrel. He was as tall
as Captain Hunt and as burly as Tyr.
“I never thought I’d says this,” Duncan MacLeod said, “but take me to
your leader.”
Dylan surveyed the longhaired stranger carefully. “That’s quite some story
you tell about a race of immortals. I’m surprised I’ve never encountered
one.”
“There’s one in particular I believe might have survived.”
The man reached in his pocket and showed him a faded picture. Dylan smiled.
“So, you have seen him.”
“He goes by the name of Lach and is on only inhabited planet in the Trillin
system. But . . .”
“But . . .”
“He has the plague.”
“He’ll live.” Duncan sighed.
“Why it’s Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” Lach smiled slightly. “I
figured you were dead.”
“I was for a few thousand years, until the barrel I was sealed in was salvaged
and opened.”
“By the crew of starship Andromeda none-the-less.”
“It is truly amazing that its captain not only believed my story but knew
where to find you. He told me about your illness from which you now seem to have
recovered.”
“Did he tell you I bit him on the neck?"
“I went to a job interview. Got it,” Methos smiled wryly.
“You? Work? Aren’t the Watchers paying enough?”
“I don’t work for money, I work for passion?”
“But . . . “
“I know, my cover as a Watcher is tenuous at best. But, when it’s something
in which I truly believe I can no longer keep my silence.”
“And what would that be?”
“Beer.”
“Of course, what else.”
“You’re looking at the spokesman for Highland Ale brewed with roasted
barley, black malt and Scottish oats.”
“But, won’t Mac be jealous?”
“We’ll see.”
She yelled, “Hey, boy! What you doin' with my mama's car?”
He looked up, only then did she realize she was naked. Grabbing her dress she
ran down.
“I was thinking of buying a car like this.”
“You haven’t got the money to buy lunch, let alone a car.”
“Not now, I just got out of State Prison. But I will soon. My name is Clyde
Barrow and I rob banks.
Amanda smiled.
He tossed, shrugged and sleep came.
Deep mud oozed between his toes. He extended his long neck and submerged his
head biting the tender roots of a fern noticing the small fish swimming by.
His eyes popped open and he rubbed them until tiny stars appeared. How old are
you anyway, Methos?