You know, I flatter myself on occasion thatI'm not bad-looking. I mean, I know I'm on the cute side--I'm young. My skin is good, because Immortal skin is never bad. I'm fit...okay, I'm a little too muscular. I'm like, hard, and stuff. ButI could make money, and I mean good money, at having people pay me to get *dressed*, because anyone whose ever watched me do it has gotten amused at it. Methos once stared...nah, on more than one occasion, has stared at my getting my act together--the knives and gun and make-up and stuff. And, damn if Cassandra didn't do the same. I dunno--I must have some quirk I'm not aware of.
"That's very...Egyptian," she commented, as I put on another coat of liner. I took it in stride.
"That's the idea--I wear a lot of make-up to look older--I mean, I look like a well-developed teenager, so I have to do something, you know? I come off older with the right...uh...warpaint." I kept working the pencil...I don't do a Tammy Faye job,but something a little more like Joan Collins from "Dynasty"--you know, with that kind of cat's eye thing going. Or maybe Liz Taylor in Cleoptra. "I've always worn too much make-up--I used to get demerits for it back in school. My dad would holler at me--'YOu know what you look like?' And you know what I looked like," I went on, feeling a bit more at ease once I got myself looking as bad as I wanted to.
"What did he tell you?" she asked, and she asked as if she knew what I was going to say. Her face was dead serious, as if she was seeing something in me that she didn't before, and it made me kind of uncomfortable.
"He said I looked like a whore. Joke's on him. I look like 'The Whore,'" I answered, and I didn't see it as funny, althought I could see the joke about myself. I mean, that's the stupid thing--my old man. He said that was what I looked like--so what did I do? Right. And who was I now? Funny. Ha-freaking-ha. "Anyways, I have some jewelry...these are cool...my pops got them for me."
My grandfather went to Italy...he was so excited, because he'd only been there, like, four times before, and twice while he was so young he didn't even remember it all. But he went crazy hen he saw this little place that had "genuine Roman bronze rings." I know--that's gotta be, like, a tourist trap in the making, only I think these are legit. He brought me back all these two thousand year old rings because he thought they were so pretty--and they are. He had them cleaned--I know that's probably killed the value on them, but they look so good--like gold. Anyway, he got me enough I could put one one every finger--they must have had small fingers back then--some I can fit on my second knuckle. I got open my jewelry box, and decorated my hands.
"Check these out," I said, coming back into the main room. She looked at my hands.
"Like a Roman holiday," she said, shaking her head. "Those are from Rome?"
"They're old--from the old co...a little place in Sicily...I got some Etruscan earrings, too...My pops--my grandfather? He went over, and kind of got all these things for me...I'm the favorite."
"His favorite grandchild?" she asked.
"Yeah, well, I had more aptitude for the things he appreciated. I had the business sense in my family. When he saw me, he knew what I was--and knew where my talents were.""
"What you were?
"A businesswoman. Streetsmart. Practical. He knew I could earn. We would talk a lot, me and my grandfather. And he would say I had a lot going on--he's the best," I admitted. He still is. And it doesn't bother me at all he's a soldati...I could be, myself, if things were different. He's semi-retired, he's more for advice, anymore.
"But he knew you were adopted..."
"I guess." He made sure my parents never mentioned it to me.
"My father...the man who raised me..knew what I was," she began.
"He knew about the Voice, that you'd have that?" I asked.
"Perhaps. I can't be sure--sometimes, I don't even know if I remember it clearly..." And then, I could hear something in her voice...something so sad, I didn't know what to do, so I just went over to her. I put my arm around her, and I could feel that she was shaking. "He killed him...he..."
"Your old man?" I asked. "Who?"
"Methos. And Kronos...killed me."
Sweet Jesus, lord. It dawned on me, she and I. I took a look at the blade that killed me-it was one he'd had a long time. Did she and I die by the same hand--the same blade? I held her then, and I don't know why I said this, I just did, "Honey, I never knew--it makes us the same."
She stiffened, and looked at me. She didn't see it the way I did, and I can't blame her. I looked into those eyes--dark green, luminous, large, full of soul.
"We are victims, and victors. We both died, but lived...because of what they were...what Kronos was. He had to have known you were...going to be Immortal, when he killed you," I said, wondering how she saw it. Her eyes widened, and she was disgusted, I knew.
"He knew I would live...but I never understood why! Methos..made me believe that I lived...because it pleased him! He never let me know it was what I was! I never understood until I stabbed him!"
"You stabbed Methos?" I asked, my breath coming in gasps.
"Kronos...you don't know how it all happened, do you? I'll tell you everything, it's only right you should know," she said, and then, I was treated to an earful. One I never expected. One I didn't know if I needed to hear. And I learned more about Methos. More about Cassandra. And, even if she didn't know if she was telling me--more about myself.
I listened, and knew what I had to do. I had to let her know Methos was not the same man--oh God... he was, but he wasn't. And I had to make her understand, that Kronos knew--why couldn't he have known? Why couldn't it be? The he wanted her just as much as Methos did--had to--saw her as a Prize--the same way-- sh*t--
The same way he saw me. A woman, Immortal. A proper woman. One worth having. Maybe neither of them had the wits or tact or anything else to explain it, but I understood. She was Methos' woman--he tried to train her--but never understood how. He didn't know what he was dealing with--and he screwed it up--he made her hate him--he was so wrong. But I saw--
Maybe Methos did love her, then.
"Cassie...don't you get it? You're better than me, because I think you do get it, and I didn't at first," I began. I hoped she'd see it my way. But I'd given up on the idea that anyone older than me would try to see things my way--Methos made it clear--I'm an idiot. A gifted idiot--but an idiot all the same. "It's about pain...and being Immortal. He tried to tell you you could suffer...and wouldn't die..."
"I died," she answered. "I died...over and over and over again. Methos was death---you are the one who doesn't understand."
Posted on Aug 10, 2000, 8:17 PM from IP address 172.135.70.81