MORE DRABBLES – These drabbles were written for HIGHLANDER 100 between October 2004 and May 2005. Please note that some of these drabbles contain slash, violence, and/or a sick sense of humor.  They are not children’s stories.

 

 

COMMANDO  (Freedom)

Duncan sipped on his Scotch and watched the attractive young woman as she twisted on the barstool. She was constantly tugging on her short skirt that seemed to ride up every time she reached for a beer or tried to cross her legs. He was certain that he was not alone among the men at Joe’s sharing the pleasure created by the glimpse of her purple lace panties. He was probably alone in his thoughts that she would never know the total freedom he felt when he wore his kilt. If they did, they’d probably wish she knew it, too.

 

QUIET AFTERNOON (It happened at Joe’s)

Methos poured himself a cold beer and sat down.

“What you doing, Joe?”

“Taking advantage of a slow day and doing a little net surfing.”

Methos grinned.

“Did a Google on Highlander and you won’t believe what I found.”

“Lots of stories, right? Sexy stories.”

Joe blushed.

“There are a lot of women out there who like stories like that. Write them for fun.”

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled. “But these are different.”

“How different?”

“These are about us.”

Methos clasp his hands behind his head and leaned back on his chair. A wonderfully beguiling smile grew on his face “Bout time.”

 

IMMORTALITY (Pets)

“Why can’t there be immortal animals,” Duncan mused looking at the Rotweiller puppies.

“There are, met one once, a cat.” Methos sniped.

“Yeah, I know all cats have nine lives, but they’re far from immortal.”

“This one was, pretty little yellow-striped tiger, flattened by a passing cart . . . mush. You should have heard her meow when she came back to life. I held her in my lap, felt her purr, told her what she was, and how I wished I could teach her to fight.”

“Think she’s still alive?”

“Probably not, it was outside a Chinese restaurant. Those cleavers are sharp.”

 

LIFE (Pets)

When you live forever, pets are problematic. Methos often contemplated the absurdity a creature whose life was measured in “dog years”. Goldfish were like a bottle of beer, gone before you had a chance to enjoy.

Once he had a parrot: it died. Galapagos turtles had the proper life expectancy, but were not exactly apartment friendly.

Then in the early 1970’s he thought of something that would live as long as he did and keep him company. His only mistake was showing it to that California salesman who took the idea of a pet rock and created a world-wide fad.

 

IF YOU WERE HERE (Poe lyrics)

“If you were here, I would not be here. I would not have to learn to forget. My faith, my fate, would not be in the hands of eastern mystics.

I would be there, in Paris, laughing with those that I love -- including you.

I remember that night on the bridge, with the bottle of old cognac, I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know. I couldn’t find the words.

Of course you can’t remember now, can you?”

Duncan fought to clear his mind, but the thoughts of that night and the decapitated body would never go away.

 

CONDOMS (Confession)

“What’s this?” Mac asked in a puzzled voice.

“They’re mine.” Methos realized that perhaps an explanation was necessary. He shouldn’t have left them in the bag with the beer. It wasn’t how he had planned approach the subject, but maybe. . . “They’re condoms, prophylactics, French letters.”

“I know what they ARE, but why? The new waitress at Joe’s worried about getting pregnant?”

“MacLeod, MacLeod, MacLeod, you know how they always say, when you have unprotected sex, you’re also experiencing everyone your partner’s ever had sex with?”

No response; no clue.

“Well, some of my partners just wouldn’t really appeal to you.”

 

THE CHOICE (Crossover)

No one on the crew would discuss it. The doctors said she was perfectly healthy. She had signed a release. Still the video showing the explosion, fire and her lifeless body being dragged from the river were terrifying, even if she seemed fine. Even her bruises had faded quickly.

Despite the selection of actors, models and dancers, she found herself drawn to the ordinary looking man with the less than ordinary nose. There was something magical about him; he even made her head throb when he walked in the room.

She smiled softly. “Adam Pierson, will you accept this rose.”

 

HE KNEW IT WAS A BAD IDEA (First line given)

 

He knew it was a bad idea going into it. Joe Dawson’s life plan had always been firmly locked to the real world. He had pictured himself teaching and coaching football -- playing a little blues on the side -- a regular kind of life.

Now he was off in Europe studying a group of men and women ripped from the pages of fairy tales. His new future would be fraught with swords, beheadings and electrical quickenings. His charge was to watch and record and not interfere.

Joe glanced down at his artificial legs and muttered, “I couldn’t interfere if I tried.”

 

AXE (Action Scene)

 

An occasional hone of the blade was sometimes needed or a round-house swing checking the balance. When your weapon was this fine, differentiating between mortals and immortals required only slight adjustments.

With an immortal it took a nice clean swing, breaking through the neck severing skin, muscles, sinews, tendons and bone. With a mortal a swing that was slightly harder and a few inches higher was required to produce the desired trepanation.

Both produced their own rewards -- one all the fiery excitement of a quickening and praise from Kronos and Methos; the other tribute from Caspian for a delicious meal.

 

IN HIDING  (Based on a random generated quote.)

Darius banged on the door with his fist, but there was no response.

“It’s OK, you can come out. She wasn’t after your head . . .or mine.”

There was no answer .

“It was just this woman named Amanda looking for ten-year-old immortal.”

He thought he heard a chuckle.

“She was really beautiful and you don’t know how difficult it was to convince her I was a monk.”

The laugh became louder and he heard another bottle hit the floor.

It was several days before Methos opened the door. Only after Darius had promised to brew him another batch of mead.

 

THE HAND ON THE WALL (Art)

He wanted to be remembered. Those he traveled and hunted with called him “the one who doesn’t die.” He knew what they were speaking of because he had killed animals. He had even killed other men. Yet, when he was cut his skin closed quickly.

His tribe had not yet learned to write. He took a reed and dipped the end in finely ground ash. Holding his hand against the cave wall, he blew out, spreading ash around his long fingers. That would help people remember him. Who knows, in a few thousand years, they might even call it art.

 

PRAYERS  (Lyric challenge)

She looked past their faces -- their forms -- to the dark river. The words she recited had ceased to have meaning, at least to her, but they hung on each phrase she said. She was an artist, making metal come to life, what was she doing here showing English speaking tourists the sights of Paris?

Suddenly it came as a brainstorm.

“Take me away from the norm.” Almost like a plea -- a prayer.

At that very moment, a dark man, obviously being chased, jumped on the boat as it pulled away from the dock. One must be careful what they pray.

 

THEIR GATHERING (Absinthe)

Absinthe was the favorite drink of many immortals . . . this vile colored liquid that smelled of anise and turned cloudy when water was added. Oil of wormwood purportedly induced madness to which they were immune. So when an immortal went missing and a bottle of absinthe was found amongst his possessions, young watchers would gather, toast, and consume the illegal liqueur. They saluted their immunity; it was as close to being immortal as they could get.

Adam Pierson was often invited to such parties. He felt it prudent to attend, but declined to imbibe. After all, he really did prefer beer.

 

WISHBONE (Food – and a horrible Thanksgiving.)

Duncan dug into the roasted flesh of the Thanksgiving turkey, extracted a V-shaped bone and pointed it toward Methos.

“Grab an end and make a wish?”

Methos returned one of his totally uncomprehending looks that always made Duncan wonder how, even after living over two-thousand years, a person could be so totally oblivious to popular culture.

“It’s a wishbone. You pull it until it snaps and whoever gets the biggest piece has their wish come true.”

“Oh, the wish game.” Methos returned his sweet smile. “Caspian used to like to play it with our captives. We’d each grab a leg.”

 

REMOTE (Mundane)

“Duncan, what did I do?” Methos asked sheepishly.
“Probably pushed some button.”
“How do I fix it?”
“No clue. I usually ask Anne.”
“But she’s not here.”
“I know.”
“And I am. So what do I do?”
Methos began pushing other buttons – none of which produced the result he desired. Duncan scowled. Faced with such a dilemma there was only one solution.
The Ivanhoe cut through the plastic and metal circuitry with the same ease it cut through bone and tendon.
The screen went black.
“All I did was roll over. You know this couch of yours is very uncomfortable.

 

COLD (Cold)

Still soaked with the murky waters of the Seine, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect as the blade pressed against its front. If he really had wanted to die, give his powers to MacLeod, all we would have had to do was learn forward. There was no way that MacLeod would have been able to keep the katana from taking his head.

After 5000 years Methos finally realized what death felt like. It was cold. Yet from somewhere, deep inside him, warmth was rekindled and manifested itself as the smallest hint of a smile.

 

DANIEL  (Lyrics)

He hated goodbyes, but this one was going to be harder than he had thought. After they had hugged outside airport security, the young man shouldered his backpack and fought back tears.

“It’s a new beginning, Daniel.”

“But Michigan’s so far away.”

“There’s so much to learn.”

“It’s cold there.”

“I’ll think of you shivering.”

“Adam, you’re older than me, but do you still feel the pain of the scars that won’t heal?”

“Scars? Heal?” He looked down at his palm, always smooth and white, and remembered all those he’d thought he’d loved until he revealed to them his immortality.


NEW BEER (Something New)

When Joe first poured it into the glass it didn’t look all that different. The color was a little paler, the bubbles more randomly disbursed, and the head perhaps a few millimeters thinner. Perhaps the average man would not have noticed. They were banking on the fact that average man would not care.

As it hit his palate the rejection response was more than expected. It tasted like nothing. Bad nothing! Nothing pissed by a skunk. He coughed the vile fluid out his nose.

“I take it then. Adam,” Joe remarked, “That you really don’t care for Ultra Light Beer.”


THE BEACH (Holidays)

She turned over every fifteen minutes. He wasn’t sure it was because the stony beach was horribly uncomfortable or because she wanted to keep her tan even . It didn’t matter. Every fifteen minutes the view changed from her pert breasts to her wonderfully rounded bum.

She had to know he was watching her, but Methos was still surprised when she strode over to his side and bent down near him.

“Can you tie this for me?”

His eyes questioned.

“My top. I’m going into the water – for a swim.”

“Ah, Greece! Was never like this in the Hellenistic period.”

 

THE MASK (Halloween)

The powdered woad mixed with lard produced a blue stain that served the same function as tattoos without the pain. He carefully rubbed the color onto half his face highlighting his chiseled cheekbones and sharp nose.

“You need a mask. You can’t be death if people will recognize who you are.” He heard Kronos call.

He glanced at the broken skull on Caspian’s table. His brother said that human brain was delicious, but then he ate rats and snakes.

Tying the top half of the scull to his face with a cord, he smiled slightly and mouthed “Trick or Treat.”

 

JUST A GAME (Combat)

 

Well for me the war is over. The searing pain in my legs is incredible; it almost makes it impossible for me to think.
I grew up fighting. Other boys on the playground -- hit him again Joe! The football field -- come on team fight! Basic combat training -- I’m gonna kill o’Charley Cong! Then I experience the real thing here in ‘Nam -- no one is cheering.

As I lay here -- it hurts to even wiggle my toes -- all that keeps running through my mind is, “do people really have to fight and kill to stay alive or is it a game.”

 

 

 

 

 

Free Counters