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Do you love Methos or Peter Wingfield? Jump on the bandwagon before it's gone forever. Beginning in early March, I will no longer be accepting new MacMINT Asylum membership requests indefinitely. So come on over and commit yourself, or this could be your last chance to be institutionalized.
I've just received confirmation that Dannell Lites has died of natural
causes. Here is all the info I have on her passing.
*
A friend to many of us in Legion fandom has gone to her eternal
reward.
It is always hard to accept the passing of a person who, by their
presence with us, has enriched us. Dannell Lites was just such a
person.
Dannell was one of those rare people who possessed both great
insight and a generous and gentle spirit. When Dannell arrived at a
comic convention, or made her presence known on a message board
or a discussion group, such as LegionPics, she always had a positive
effect. She always managed to bring out the best in her friends and
acquaintances. She showed us by her example that grace and
kindness were virtues to be greatly valued.
I will miss Dannell Lites. I know that my wife Marianne will miss
her. I know that all those who knew her will miss her, and that the
news of her passing will be so difficult for so many. My deepest
sympathy goes out to those who grieve for their friend Dannell. I
understand your loss.
I am told that Dannell Lites died of natural causes, that her physical
body simply failed her. My personal belief is that she has entered
eternity. I am comforted to know that Dannell is now free of all of
the pains that she endured in this mortal life.
Whatever your personal beliefs may be, I encourage you all to
remember our friend Dannell. She will always be special to us.
Sincerely,
Steve Lightle
::Steve Lightle was an artist on the Legion of Super-Heroes book,
and he had met her personally.::
:: Rivka Jacobs posted this to the Magneto Mailing List 10/23/02.
I called the Kansas City Star this morning, their Customer Service
number, (I-816 234-4487). (This office is open from 8 am to 12
noon Monday through Friday).
The gentleman I spoke with found an article. It said Dannell died on
September 16th, at Truman Medical Center. The article is in the
September 25th issue of the Star. No one claimed the body. The
authorities couldn't find relatives, according to the article. I took
notes, so to quote from memory, "The Jackson County Medical
Examiners office is searching for relatives of a Kansas City woman
who died September 16." They say in the article that Dannell lived in
the 3300 block of Denver Ave., which matches up with the address I
had for her. She apparently died in the hospital. Because here is still
no obituary, the gentleman I talked to said her body still might be at
the medical center, unclaimed. This makes me sick to think about.
The number given for the Medical Examiner's office is: 1-816 - 881
- 6600.
Sad news indeed. I called the Medical Examiner's Office. The
medical examiner told me what happened to Dannell in great detail.
Apparently, she felt sick on Sept. 15th, because she called an
ambulance on Sept. 16 at 12:55 am, complaining of problems
breathing, dizziness, and feeling very ill. She was taken to the
Truman Medical Center, and she herself told staff there, that she had
no living relatives. She did not tell them about any of her dozens of
friends; I guess she didn't want to burden anyone, or make anyone
worry. She died several hours later on the 16th. I can only hope she
got the very best care. The medical examiner said that cause of
death was cardiovascular disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes.
They searched for next of kin; they found her mother's name but not
a working phone number. She was kept by the Jackson County
Med. Examiner's office for one month, and then sent for "county
burial." She was sent to Watkins Brothers Funeral Home, and the
med. examiner doesn't know if she was buried or cremated. He
didn't know any other information. The number for Watkins Funeral
Home is: 1-816-861-3030.
Dave Cockrum's wife Paty, and some other of Dannell's friends,
including Steve Litel who lives in Kansas City are going to check
out all this info. They were under the impression she had died
"recently" and her family had been notified. I know Dannell was
around my age, and I don't think there were any other "Dannell
Lites" who lived in Kansas City and were around my age. I certainly
hope Dannell's family was contacted and she was buried with family
around her! It makes me sick to think of her dying all alone, and
being buried with strangers -- she was one of the most
warm-hearted, generous, nice people I've ever met anywhere. And
she had dozens and dozens of friends!
~Rivka
:: The actual article she is quoting goes like this:
Family sought The Jackson County medical examiner's office is
searching for relatives of a Kansas City woman who died Sept. 16 at
Truman Medical Center. Medical officials said Dannell Lite, 49,
apparently died of natural causes. She lived in the 3300 block of
Denver Avenue. Anyone with information about Lite is asked to call
the office at (816) 881-6600.
Posted on Oct 26, 2002, 8:54 PM from IP address 68.3.178.244
get lots of $$$!!! perfectly legal and not a scam!!!
by smartguy123
A while back, I was browsing these newsgroups, just like you are now, and
came across an article similar to this
that said you could make thousands of CASH within weeks with only an
initial investment of
$6.00 plus stamps! So I thought, "Yeah, right, this must be a scam!" But
like most of us I was curious and kept
reading. It said that if you send $1.00 to each of
the 6 names and addresses listed in the article, you could make thousands
in a very short period of time. You
then place your own name and address at the bottom of the list at #6, and
post the article to at least 300
newsgroups. (There are about 32,000 of them out there and that's quite a
large market pool). No catch, that was
it. Even though the investment was a measly $6, I had three questions that
needed to be answered before I could
get involved in this sort of thing.
1. IS THIS REALLY LEGAL?
I called a lawyer first. The lawyer was a little sceptical that I would
actually make any CASH but he said it WAS
LEGAL if I wanted to try it. I told him it sounded a lot like a chain
letter but the details of the system (SEE
BELOW) actually made it a legitimate legal business.
2. IS OK WITH THE POST OFFICE OR IS IT MAIL FRAUD? I called them:
1-800-725-2161 and they
confirmed THIS IS ABSOLUTELY LEGAL! (See 18, h sections1302 NS 1341 of
Postal Lottery Laws). This
clarifies the program of collecting names and addresses for a mailing list.
3. IS IT RIGHT? Well, everyone who sends me a buck has a good chance of
getting A LOT of CASH ... a much
better chance than buying a lottery ticket!!!
So, having these questions answered, I invested EXACTLY $7.92 ... six $1.00
bills and six 32 cent postage
stamps ... and boy am I glad I did!!!
Within 7 days, I started getting CASH in the mail! I was shocked! I figured
it would end soon and didn't give it
another thought. But the CASH continued coming in. In my first week I made
between $20 to $30.
By the end of the second week I had a made a total of $1,000.00. In the
third week I had over $10,000.00 and it
was still growing. This is now my fourth week and I have made a total of
just over $42,000 and it's still coming
in .....
It's certainly worth $6.00 and 6 stamps !!!
Also, make sure you print a copy of this article NOW, so you can get the
information off of it as you need it. I
promise you that if you follow the directions exactly, that you will start
making more CASH than you thought
possible by doing something so easy!
Suggestion: Read this entire message carefully! (print it out or download
it.) Follow the simple directions and
watch the CASH come in! It's easy. It's legal.
And, your investment is only $6.00 (Plus postage)
IMPORTANT: This is not a rip-off; it is not indecent; it is not illegal;
and it is virtually no risk - it really
works!!!! If all of the following instructions are adhered to, you will
receive extraordinary dividends.
PLEASE NOTE:
Please follow these directions EXACTLY, and $50,000 or more can be yours in
20 to 60 days. This program
remains successful because of the honesty and integrity of the
participants. Please continue its success by
carefully adhering to the instructions.
You will now become part of the Mail Order business. In this business your
product is not solid and tangible, it's
a service. You are in the business of developing Mailing Lists. Many large
corporations are happy to pay big
bucks for quality lists. However, the CASH made from the mailing lists is
secondary to the income which is made
from people like you and me asking to be included in that list.
Here are the 4 easy steps to success:
STEP 1: Get 6 separate pieces of paper and write the following on each
piece of paper "PLEASE PUT ME ON
YOUR MAILING LIST." Now get 6 US $1.00 bills and place ONE inside EACH of
the 6 pieces of paper so the
bill will not be seen through the envelope (to prevent
thievery). Place one paper in each of the 6 envelopes and seal them. You
should now have 6 sealed envelopes,
each with a piece of paper stating the above phrase, your name and address,
and a $1.00 bill. What you are doing
is creating a service. THIS IS ABSOLUTELY LEGAL! You are requesting a
legitimate service and you are
paying for it! Like most of us I was a little skeptical and a little
worried about the legal aspects of it all. So I
checked it out with the U.S. Post Office (1-800-725-2161) and they
confirmed that it is indeed legal! Mail the 6
envelopes to the following addresses:
1.Christopher L. Sloan
2200 Hickory St.
H.S.U. Box #14579
Abilene, TX 79698
2.Kristen DeJoseph
138 Jansen Street
Staten Island, NY 10312
4.Fco Javier A.
107 ote Matancillas
Garza Garcia NL
Mexico 66230
5.Cristian Rodriguez
3750 saint James way
Boca Raton, FL 33434
6. Nick Heh
1523 Pineview Lane
Conyers, GA 30012
STEP 2: Now take the #1 name off the list that you see above, move the
other names up (6 becomes 5, 5
becomes 4, etc...) and add YOUR Name as number 6 on the list.
STEP 3: Change anything you need to, but try to keep this article as close
to original as possible. Now, post your
amended article to at least 300 newsgroups. (I think there are close to
32,000 groups) All you need is 300, but
remember, the more you post, the more CASH you make! This is perfectly
legal! If you have any doubts, refer to
18 Sec. 1302 & 1341 of the Postal lottery laws. Keep a copy of these steps
for
yourself and, whenever you need CASH, you can use it again, and again.
PLEASE REMEMBER that this program remains successful because of the honesty
and integrity of the
participants and by their carefully adhering to the directions. Look at it
this way. If you are a person of
integrity, the program will continue and the CASH that so many others have
received will come your way.
NOTE: You may want to retain every name and address sent to you, either on
a computer or hard copy and keep
the notes people send you. This VERIFIES that you are truly providing a
service. (Also, it might be a good idea
to wrap the $1 bill in dark paper to reduce
the risk of mail theft.) So, as each post is downloaded and the directions
carefully followed,
six members will be reimbursed for their participation as a List Developer
with one dollar each. Your name will
move up the list geometrically so that when your name reaches the #1
position you will be receiving thousands of
CASH in CASH!!! What an opportunity for only $6.00 ($1.00 for each of the
first six people listed above) Send
it now, add your own name to the list and you're in business!
---DIRECTIONS ----- FOR HOW TO POST TO NEWSGROUPS
Step 1) You do not need to re-type this entire letter to do your own
posting. Simply put your cursor at the
beginning of this letter and drag your cursor to the bottom of this letter,
and select 'copy' from the edit menu.
This will copy the entire letter into the computer's memory.
Step 2) Open a blank 'notepad' file and place your cursor at the top of the
blank page. From the 'edit' menu select
'paste'. This will paste a copy of the letter into notepad so that you can
add your name to the list.
Step 3) Save your new notepad file as a .txt file. If you want to do your
postings in different settings, you'll
always have this file to go back to.
Step 4) Use Netscape or Internet explorer and try searching for various
newsgroups (on-line forums, message
boards, chat sites, discussions.)
Step 5) Visit these message boards and post this article as a new message
by highlighting the text of this letter
and selecting paste from the edit menu. Fill in the Subject, this will be
the header
that everyone sees as they scroll through the list of postings in a
particular group, click the post message button.
You're done with your first one!
Congratulations...THAT'S IT! All you have to do is jump to different
newsgroups and post away, after you get
the hang of it, it will take about 30 seconds for each newsgroup!
**REMEMBER, THE MORE NEWSGROUPS YOU POST IN, THE
MORE CASH YOU WILL MAKE!!
BUT YOU HAVE TO POST A MINIMUM OF 300**
That's it! You will begin receiving CASH from around the world within days!
You may eventually want to rent a
P.O.Box due to the large amount of mail you will receive. If you wish to
stay anonymous, you can invent
a name to use, as long as the postman will deliver it.
**JUST MAKE SURE ALL THE ADDRESSES ARE CORRECT.**
Now the WHY part:
Out of 300 postings, say I receive only 7 replies (a very low example). So
then I made $7.00 with my name at #6
on the letter. Now, each of the 7 persons who just sent me $1.00 make the
MINIMUM 300 postings,
each with my name at #5 and only 7 persons respond to each of the 7
original 7, that is another $49.00 for me,
now those 49 each make 300 MINIMUM posts with my name at #4 and only 7
replies each, I will bring in an
additional $343.00! Now, those 343 persons turn around and post the MINIMUM
300 with my name at #3 and
only receive 7 replies each, I will make an additional $2401.00! OK, now
here is the fun part, each of those 2401
persons post a MINIMUM 300 letters with my name
at #2 and they each only receive 7 replies, that just made me $16,807.00!!!
Those 16807 persons will all deliver
this message to 300 newsgroups with my name at #1 and if still 7 persons
per 300 Newsgroups react I will
receive $117,649.00! With an original investment
of only $6.00! And some stamps.
AMAZING! When your name is no longer on the list, you just take the latest
posting in the newsgroups, and
send out another $6.00 to names on the list, putting your name at number 6
again. And start posting again. The
thing to remember is: do you realize that thousands of people all over the
world are joining the internet and
reading these articles everyday? JUST LIKE YOU are now!! So, can you afford
$6.00 and see if it really
works?? I think so...
People have said, "what if the plan is played out and no one sends you the
CASH? So what! What are the
chances of that happening when there are tons of new honest users and new
honest people who are joining the
internet and newsgroups everyday and are willing to give it a try?
Estimates are at 20,000 to 50,000 new users, every day, with thousands of
those joining the actual internet.
Remember, play FAIRLY and HONESTLY and this will really work.
By the way, if you try to deceive people by posting the messages with
your name in the list and not sending
the CASH to the rest of the people already on the list, you will NOT get as
much. Someone I talked
to knew someone who did that and he only made about $150.00, and that's
after seven or eight weeks! Then he
sent the 6 $1.00 bills, people added him to their lists, and in 4-5 weeks
he had over $10k.
This is the fairest and most honest way I have ever seen to share the
wealth of the world without costing
anything but our time!!! You also may want to buy mailing and e-mail lists
for future CASH.
Make sure you print this article out RIGHT NOW! Also, try to keep a list of
everyone that sends you CASH and
always keep an eye on the newsgroups to make sure everyone is playing
fairly. Remember, HONESTY IS THE
BEST POLICY. You don't need to cheat the basic idea to make the CASH!! GOOD
LUCK to all and please
play fairly and reap the huge rewards from this, which is tons of extra
CASH.
Please remember to declare your extra income. Thanks once again...
"People have asked me if this is really legal. Well, it is! You are using
the Internet to advertise your business.
What is that business? You are creating a mailing list of people who are
interested in home based computer and
online business and methods of generating income at home. Remember, people
send
you a small fee to be added to your mailing list. It is legal. what will
you do with your list of thousands of names?
That's up to you." So, build your mailing list, keep good accounts, declare
the income and
pay your taxes. By doing this you prove your business intentions. Keep an
eye on the newsgroups and when the
cash has stopped coming (that means your name is no longer on the list),
you just take the latest posting at the
newsgroups, send another $6.00 to the names stated on the list, make your
corrections (put your name at #6) and
start posting again.
NOTES:
*1. In some countries, the export of the country's exchange is illegal. But
you can get the license to do this from
the post office, explaining the above statements (that you have an online
business, etc. You may have to pay an
extra tax, but that's OK, the amount of the incoming CASH is HUGE! And as I
said, a few countries have that
restriction .
*2. You may want to buy mailing and e-mail lists for future CASH. (Or
Database or Spreadsheet software.)
*3. If you're really not sure or still think this can't be for real, please
print a copy of this article and give it to
someone who really needs the CASH, and see what happens.
*4. You will start getting responses within 1-2 weeks, it depends.
***ALSO REMEMBER***
SEND YOUR $1 OUT TO EVERYONE ON THE LIST,
EVEN IF THEY ARE NOT FROM THE U.S.
Posted on Jun 1, 2002, 7:25 PM from IP address 65.81.146.39
The blade’s sharp edge slid over the rough cheek, scraping away the man’s beard, and with it, his identity. His eyes closed, wincing as the edge separated skin, calling forth warmth and tingling, and then pain. He reached his hand into the bowl, scooping up water and splashing it over his face, and the wince deepened into a frown as his fingers touched the buzzing flesh of the healing wound. It still seemed a miracle when it happened.
No—there was no seeming . It was a miracle. Even still.
He rinsed the blade and resumed shaving away the last of the hairs, and then felt his face. Smooth, but not as a woman’s was smooth. Would this be enough to make a new man out of him? Perhaps. Who had truly dared to look at his face in the last fifty years? Eyes scarcely dared meet his own-not the eyes of his men, not the eyes of his wives (dead women, now—all preceding him to the grave, and even their children in whom he played no part, these too, who seemed old men to him, they would not look into his face—they feared). Poets might sing him songs, and artists’ make stelae to his deeds—but the man they depicted simply did not exist. It seemed he walked as a ghost among them, unseen. Yet he knew the days would not be long before the spell was broken, and they would begin to see the man.
It was better to die than face exile. To be self-exiled than face dishonor. For the world to see the man as he was would be to see a monster.
Already tales had come to him that he was a man deserted by the gods. What stood him well in war was misery in peace, and any sign might mean a new king should rise. A plague there. A raid by the Gouti in some distant part of the kingdom. A storm to hold back ships. Any of these might mean the favors of the gods had been withdrawn, and well he knew how kingdoms changed hands.
Blood. His own hands were stained with it. It was not oil that anointed a king, but blood.
He reached for the bronze mirror to view his handiwork and shuddered in distaste. What manner of man was this? A scribe, the dust of clay tablets discoloring his fingernails? A merchant in the bazaar, with an eye for well-made pots and foreign gold, unalloyed? He wondered that even a Bedou would shun fighting him, seeing him as he now appeared—a bald-faced man. Only his scar made any suggestion that he was a man who had seen war.
His finger traced the line of puckered flesh that now seemed to stand in stark relief—none of his subjects remarked on that. It was not to exist, a blemish that might betoken weakness. But nothing about him had been remarked on for all his reign, but that which he made them speak of. Beloved of the god. Chosen by Inanna. God of the four corners. But of the legends he might make, the most wondrous of them was the one which simply went unsaid—that a man who lived out his three score and ten years should seem a healthy man of no more than forty—if that! Poisoned, stabbed, or fallen in the field of battle—obviously, the king was a god among them. What more need be said?
And such was the power of kingship, that nothing more was.
He needed little else to convince him that he would not be recognized as he made his departure—that beard or no beard, however, he might be recognized as a warrior, and that would be enough. And as he wet his face again, it seemed that at last he knew what he was.
A dead man. And as such, he was free. The future beckoned, inviting, like a stretch of land lying in wait to be conquered, its men asleep and their swords at rest, fine cattle, corn and women all his for the taking, and his own army at the ready—not that he had an army, at present, nor knew what land lie in wait for him, nor what else may lie in wait when he got there.
But he had a few ideas.
He knew what he expected to find were his brothers—the men he would know by the Quickening of his own blood.
He put down the mirror and dried his face, then rose and looked outside the tent at the night sky, full of stars. It was a moonless night, dark enough to aid in his flight from the life he knew. He sighed. Would faster flight come from the use of the horse which was so highly spoken of? He shook his head. A camel would serve for now—the first he’d considered his person a fit burden for such a beast as that!
Horses? He would need to learn about that, later.
He mapped it out in his mind one more time, as a general might think out the attack again and again before advancing. To the north, following the route of the merchants by way of camel, up even until he must procure the aid of their ships. And among these, he would still find men with whom he could speak, traders of tin, lapis lazuli and carnelian, men familiar with his kingdom, and speaking tongues he would know. And then, further still he would travel, where men had skins like old ivory, and where the mountains loomed from which precious metals and stone were wrenched, lands he knew of only by their names and legends, and some scarcely believable tales they oft times were at that—yet even in these reaches, there still might be men with whom he could speak.
And then he would need to climb, perhaps, or to penetrate the valley itself, there to find the horsemen who dwell among those mountains that loomed like the threat of the gods, and there in the land of the god-mountains, find that man who was god of them.
What was the manner of this man—Methos, the man whose counsel he sought? All the report that he had been given was that the man was shrewd and cruel, and yet, he was supposed to possess some heart—after a fashion, a sharp mind—and most importantly, the secret to survival. Methos could teach him much, if he did not kill him. And he had been promised that he should not be killed if he would only prove his strength.
He could dwell on these things no more—it was time to go. He left the tent with the few things he needed, and greeted the creature who would be his only companion with a look of distaste, that familiar stench of packing beast filling his nostrils. He ran his hand over the shaggy neck. He would be traveling light, with few clothes, a dagger, a bowl, a sword, some small ration of food, and wine in a skin. All his life, had had been provided for—now he would need to provide for himself.
His old self being dead, first he needed to provide for himself a life. And any newborn must have a name. There was a name he had been called once, foreign, yet fitting. It was the name he had been called when first he had been made a god, and so he would be known by that.
Kronos.
Posted on Nov 11, 2001, 6:20 PM from IP address 172.138.103.8
There was a thing that he could still remember well. It tasted good, went down easily, filled the belly, and did not fight with him. It was…it was called food . The things with the hooves and horns and the bitter, smelly sandal leather for meat beneath their lice-ridden tangles of dung-fouled hair…these were not food. Food tasted better when it was put on a fire and cooked. This meat became a greasy tooth-defying substance, a jaw-wearying affair. It was like talking with the old men of an outnumbered tribe—and swallowing it was worse. But Padma Sar behaved as if the feast of goat meat which he put out before his guest was the same meal as he might prepare for the gods, and made many sounds at the meal that seemed to suggest that he at least, enjoyed it. He grinned and kept up a constant patter to entertain his guest, and passed over a bowl of curds, the taste of which he described as “incomparable.” And yet Kronos could think of something the taste compared to.
Vomit. Starving however, he ate and ate, even cleaning out the bowl with a handful of bread. Padma Sar beamed and beckoned to his wife to fetch more.
His host’s wife was a small woman with tiny teeth of immaculate whiteness and a deeply bronzed face, half-concealed by the proudest, coarsest fall of deep brown hair, and her eyes were sharper than any camel trader’s. His host was perhaps almost as tall as himself, but was stocky with a round face and round belly, which he occasionally stroked.
“So…you have heard of the man they call Methos? From the land whence you came…”
“Akkad.”
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Even in Akkad they hear of Methos?”
“I have. I have business with him.”
Padma Sar seemed to think this a very good joke—his laugh shook the walls of his clay-daubed hut. His wife hissed at him and then darted behind a curtain, where the sounds of a young child’s whimper could be heard. The man leaned forward, his face serious. “I tell you something about Methos—he has nothing you want. Other men may have herds of goats or cattle…slaves to work mines…loyalty, honor…”
“Perhaps I have a use for the man himself,” Kronos answered. “I take it your opinion of him is not good.”
The man rested himself back, and then stroked his stomach, thoughtfully, his eyes closed. “I have better things to do than to develop opinions about men like Methos. He…seems as old as the mountain, and the men who travel with him are warriors—no weak men. But perhaps…you are a warrior yourself?” One eye opened, surveying him. Kronos could see no reason to lie.
“This is a thing I have been. I have led armies.”
“Akkad, you have said. I believe this is so. You fought for the last king, and now you are looking for Methos. You look for some one else to fight for. Perhaps there are reasons why you are here instead of in your homeland?”
At this question, Kronos saw no overwhelming reason to tell the truth, but chose to reply, “There are reasons for a great number of things.”
Padma Sar considered this another fine joke. “He knows when to speak and when not to! Ha ha! I think I have guessed very right! It is a good thing, is it not? To know when to say nothing? What you were before matters little to me…to anyone. If you wish to fight alongside Methos, it matters still less!”
“How so?”
“Because I’m fairly certain that he’ll kill you!” The stroking of his stomach evolved into a firm pat, and he broke into a fit of giggles. At length, he found his breath. “Of course, I’ll still show you where he is encamped. But you do realize that you must go to him on your own. I have no desire to make introductions!”
“I fail to see why you find this amusing, but I am prepared to meet the man.”
His eyes seemed to burn with a cold fire that made Padma Sar look away. “You have reason to believe he will not kill you. You are a brave man. But brave and wise are different things.”
“As you are speaking bravely, now?” Kronos asked, heatedly.
“And perhaps not wisely,” Padma Sar admitted. “You are…interesting. I rarely speak to one who has come from so far, and seeking such a strange thing—to meet a legend. But as you are my guest, you are right, very right. It ill befits me to say anything against your wishes. I only meant to recommend caution.” The man’s yellow teeth glistened in a wide grin, the grin, Kronos thought, of a man who was afraid.
“It is for your skills as a guide, and not your counsel, that you will be compensated…but I will consider your words.”
But in truth, he had no intention of considering words where it was too late for them. Everything he had known he’d left behind him in order to make this journey, including his life. Only Methos and the slim promise of learning from others like himself lay ahead.
“Consider them! But it grows dark. Best we sleep…it’s a hard journey we’ll be on tomorrow.”
“There are more questions…”
Padma Sar raised his hand in a quieting gesture. “All of which can be asked on the journey.” It was clear that nothing more was to be said for the evening, and so Kronos rose to his feet to stretch himself and arrange the things he had bundled in the corner. He would be making his bed on a bearskin on the floor—a far cry from the cushions on which he was wont to sit in better days. Taking note of the look on his guest’s face, Padma Sar questioned him.
“You are not accustomed to such accommodations?”
Kronos grinned, wryly. “This last year, I have made myself accustomed to far worse.”
“This life you have known…before. You had been treated well. It shows in your manner.” It was a searching comment, asking a question by way of not asking it.
“My manner is that of a man who has dealt with friends…as well as enemies, as my own man.”
Padma Sar nodded as if pleased with the response. “You are of the sort of man of whom I can admit, I feel safer with you inside my house, than outside my door. Sleep well.”
“You, as well.”
“Oh…I am a man who sleeps none too soundly.” And with that, the man slipped behind the curtain to join his wife and child. Kronos stared at the curtain awhile, considering those last words. It was a warning, perhaps that he should not consider doing anything untoward during the night—but whatever would he imagine Kronos to do? Murdering them as they slept would certainly be a shabby reward for their hospitality, and would certainly bring him no closer to Methos.
But perhaps it was only a casual warning. The man had a family and was right to be cautious. And as Kronos had easily learned, there were few men who would be willing to take in a stranger, and he knew that his own face was a tablet whose imprint was all-too-clear—people read for themselves what he was. This man, Padma Sar, however, had nearly gone out of his way to be hospitable.
He was uncertain as to how much he should trust a man like that. He thought about the journey, and slept badly.
****
The sky barely seemed painted with the red streaks of the new day’s sun when his eyes opened, finished with all hope of further sleep. His hosts were awake and speaking together in their own language, different from the trader’s jargon that they had conversed in the night before. His ears strained at the soft sounds as if trying to tease any sense out of the odd music, but barely a word here or there could be recognized, and a word here or there was certainly not enough to render meaning. Quietly, he raised himself up to a sitting position, to see what he could of their faces, and saw there meaning enough. They were arguing about something.
As if oblivious to the seriousness in their postures, he stretched and yawned. They silenced themselves at once, and appeared to look almost apologetically in his direction, or perhaps guiltily. He smiled at them, blankly, wondering if they realized that it was certainly none of his concern if they had some argument between them, and that the abruptness with which they ceased to speak looked more fraught with guilt than if they had continued to speak. It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that when he and Padma Sar set forth, he should keep an eye on his purse.
Two things the world produced in staggering abundance, and those two were thieves and fools. Although he could not always detect the former, he saw no cause to be among the ranks of the latter.
He bid them greeting, and attempted to show no disappointment when it appeared the morning repast would be curds and bread made into a gruel, and some bitter, brown fluid on which some disconcerting oil floated. He rather hoped that among Methos’ people, they knew how to eat . Once fed, the two men readied themselves for the journey. Kronos could not help but notice the long copper knife that Padma Sar strapped to his leg, but it was, of course, a perfectly ordinary thing for a man to wish to be armed. Padma Sar himself could have easily taken note of the sword he carried, and might have had cause to regard the weapon with suspicion.
Upon leaving, the wife of Padma Sar let loose with a flurry of that musical, incomprehensible language, again, to which Padma Sar responded with a sharp clap of his hands, a sound which resonated against the wind and echoed against the hills. The effect on the woman was instant—she turned pale and retired behind the skin that served as the door to their dwelling.
“The woman—she worries about me when I travel,” Padma Sar said, with a false-looking smile.
“So I gather,” Kronos responded.
“Our child is yet young.”
The words were meaningless to Kronos. He turned them about in his mind—but to little avail. What did the age of the child have to do with the woman’s concern about her man? Looking the man up and down, and considering the capability of the woman in question, he imagined the fellow to have very little impact on the child’s welfare. To his own credit, he had little himself to do with the way in which the children his wives swore were his were raised, and prided himself on the fact—he was rewarded by their neutrality to his very existence right up to the point of his supposed death. It was a far cry from the hatred he’d borne for the man who raised him. To be polite, he nodded, briefly, and said,
“I’ve had children myself.”
The face of Padma Sar became rapt with surprise and confusion. “Had? Why, a man your age—are they not still young? Surely, you must have left them still at their mother’s knee?”
“Of course,” he replied. He looked the man full in the face. The oldest perhaps a mere fifty-odd years—that would be young enough, wouldn’t it? “I’m still a stranger to your tongue,” he added.
“I see. So you must have found it difficult…leaving them?”
Silence was the only reply to that.
Posted on Nov 11, 2001, 6:24 PM from IP address 172.138.103.8
Padma Sar now inspected his acquaintance more closely--there was something regal in the bearing, a thing he'd seen before. A wall had gone up between this man and himself, but while many men had their walls , about their families they were usually open.
"Perhaps I was disrespectful," he began.
"My family is something I would rather not speak of," Kronos allowed, and fell silent as they continued the journey. And yet he thought of family--his family, as they continued in silence. His family was not the young old men who ruled now in his place, nor the wives who in all good taste, saw fit to precede him to the grave. His family was one dead woman, never to be more than a mere twenty years of age, his mother, teacher, counselor. And one man, a legend, who lay beyond the mother-mountains.
These were mountains, or never he saw them. The mother-mountains, the answer to the woman's claim that she knew mountains--she who climbed the mount called Shin as if it were a mere hill, and led men across Horemheb as if it were a plain. They loomed in the distance, and never seem closer with his approach, yet seem to slip further away, dizzying in their dance on the earth. They knew the ages, and they were of the ground. They challenged him. The sun beat down on the brown earth--the brown skin of Padma Sar and his own tan/pink flesh, and illuminated the crazy grass-strewn wasteland at the foot of the mother-mountains.
"Now, here we begin to climb," Padma Sar explained, just a step beyond their ascent.
"So." The ground swelled with the promise of the pregnant hills, and Kronos felt his steps stretch further apart, further along, further up--further. It seemed to look behind was to look below. He darted that look behind his shoulder, and saw the path from which they came.
"The ground is like rock, be careful of your feet. "
Kronos looked from whence he came into the distance, at the path they were on, and from this vantage, the lower road. "Is not the lower path the clearer and safer--it goes beteen these mountains, and seems to nest with less...height. Were that way not safer?"
Padma Sar laughed. "These mountains--I know them well! I know the safer way--the way you speak of is fraught with hidden difficulty, and is not better nor surer--but this way is sure. And, surely--it leads to Methos!"
The rocks crumbled to pebbles below Kronos' feet, and he thought at once of the climb at Shin--his name, her name, the god of the moon. I have seen slopes like these. I can manage."
"All you must do, is not look down, but keep your head to the path--mind the rock, and be aware, the air does get thnner. Harken to your heart...there's the story!"
There was a story in Kem't, told to him by the lion-faced mountain-goat of a teacher he had, about the heart--it was one's mother, always harken unto it. She knew these mountains--was this what she'd meant? he breathed, and wondered at the difference he sensed in the air, and the difference in the light of the sky, and the smell of the grasses.
"My heart?"
"When the heart stutters--cease. The air grows thin, and you must slow--you are from a different land, and not made for ready travel on this mount. You needs must adjust--and take care. Yo do not wish to fall below."
"Below?"
Padma Sar gestured to the valley. "Some patches are steep, and there are rocks, cliffs, sheer faces we will traverse. As my guest, I'd rather not see you dashed against those rocks!"
Kronos looked down from the partial height--he saw the hut of Padma Sar below.
"How do you stand it?" he began, breathing slightly exaggerated.
"Stand what?"
"To see your place in this world--so small below?"
Padma Sar looked as Kronos pointed, and what was worse--he saw. He squinted into he glaring sun, but already the sun of a mountain goat was makig his way up the pass, as if he himself knew of mountains, as if his feet were sure of the way, as if he had known the path before.
He did not like the way of the man.
Posted on Nov 11, 2001, 7:33 PM from IP address 172.138.103.8
I was attempting to upload something to the MacMINT Asylum today, and I
couldn't log in. When I checked the site URL, I got the message
"Oops... It looks like the page you are looking for is not here."
Apparently, Crosswinds has deleted the site for no reason. Due to
my being extremely busy at this time, please bear with me as we find
a new home. It may take awhile. Sorry for any inconvenience this
may have caused. I'll post the new URL hopefully at the latest by December.
You can also check the Asylum's Message Board at http://users.cgiforme.com/macmint/cfmboard.html for updates. Thanks!
Hi there, some of you might know me but for those who don't...hi! Have you voted for Peter yet?
www.mosiqa.com
Peter is at # 1 right now, you can vote once a day everyday. Even if you have different e-mail addy's.
(((hugs)))
Alexa
--Because the Alternative is Unthinkable--My Adam
Posted on Sep 1, 2001, 12:55 PM from IP address 209.202.31.241
called "Full Circle" which was set around the time of Band of Brothers. It had Darius, Greyson, Methos and a host of others in it and tells the story of the Goth general that Darius was prior to the Light Q outside the gates of Paris while at the same time, told the story in the present of Greyson and Darius with Methos thrown in between the two.
That story is finished at long last! I invite you all to come read it on my site! It is very long, novelette in length--44 chapters and a epilogue. I've broken it down into 4 parts of 10 chapters and 1 part of 4 plus the epilogue for easier reading.
Stop by and take some time to immerse yourself in the past with Darius unlike you have ever seen him protrayed in other fanfic, won't you?
I'm a big fan of highlander and the ROG! I was glad to find this board, but when I click on a message to read it, I find that my network address has been blocked??! Any help would be appreciated!
Thanks!
Susan Gross
Posted on Jan 30, 2001, 1:58 PM from IP address 141.211.121.41
Your addy wasnt one of the ip addresses I had blocked. I removed all blocked addresses. See if this helps if not email me and I will contact Network54 and see what the problem is.
Posted on Jan 30, 2001, 9:58 PM from IP address 216.93.48.226
We hope that you will continue to a part of WebRing
Anyway, I went ahead and created another Methos webring because the ringmaster (who, if you'll forgive me, I've forgotten who it was...) and I debated over who should take it over when Trollheart was putting it up for dibs.
Don't know if anyone was paying attention, but the MacMINT Asylum has been down for the past month or so. I just got it up and running again with a make-over. Check it out if you're interested.
(Happy New Year--new year, new story. Hopefully I finish the series in this year--you know, so I can start another. I think I'll get back to the theme of "In the Blood"--but I dunno. I've too many things going on in my head.)
Looking the room over, Genevieve made her way to the door. She hoped to use the tension as a distraction. After all, if Nick was looking at Amanda, and Methos and Cassandra were staring each other down, she should be able to slip out the front door--and from there?
Well, there was one place Genevieve wanted to go. It wasn't exactly the happiest place on earth, but it would give her perspective.
"Gen?" Amanda asked.
She turned, quickly. Damn, she thought, all it took was a syllable. Gritting her teeth at first, she managed to grin.
"I can't sleep, shouldn't drink, feel antsy--I could stand to take a walk, you know? I'll return."
"Sure you will," Methos commented.
They stared at each other. She *had*, after all, left in the middle of the night on him before, and only just moments ago slipped down the stairs while he dozed. She considered angrily pointing out that he was not the boss of her, but realized how very childish that would seem. Instead, she made a few steps towards him. The others in the room made it difficult for her to decide what she wanted to say.
"Then, come with me?" she finally asked. He looked away. That made her angry.
"I'm not staying here forever. I'm not...doing anything right now, okay? I need to plan...there are nine people out there, all in contact with each other. They have, by this point, probably made out that the big three are in Paris. They probably have made out that we're here at Sanctuary. The next step better be ours, right?"
Methos went to her then, and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"You really need to have another fight today, Genevieve? You really want to go walk around, exhausted--after all, didn't you just face someone..." he began, quietly, just softly enough the others knew better than to try and hear.
"Two, Methos. There were two for me, yesterday. And yes, I'm exhausted, but you know damn well I can't sleep. I'm..."
"You're too stubborn."
Her heart pounded. It was the truth. She was too stubborn to let herself rest. She was too stubborn to let herself give in to whatever was affecting her mind, as well. She let herself relax, and then closed her eyes.
"Just a walk. I could even tell you where I'm going. If you won't come with me..."
"I'll..." Nick began in a firm voice. Genevieve and Methos both looked up to see that he had stood. "You're worried that she'll be alone, right?" Nick look at Methos. Genevieve look at Nick, almost thankfully, but she knew he was offering because he was curious about her. And so she was the one to speak.
"Methos? I'll be safe." And so he didn't have time to respond, she kissed him.
Posted on Jan 6, 2001, 9:57 PM from IP address 172.138.110.110
"I'll be back, I just need to think. First time for everything, right?" she said, and took one quick, edgy look around the room. "Coat."
"Upstairs?" Methos offered. She looked back at him, smiling.
"Of course--I took it off up there...like I'm going to lay down comfortably with you know what up my back..." and then she spread her hands in an obvious shrug. And then she dashed past him. He took a moment to take the statement in--it was the things she *didn't* say that usually explained her moods. *Of course she couldn't sleep with a sword at her back.*
She was back down in an instant, tugging the trench around her shoulders. "Perfect Girl Scout me, always prepared." And with little more than that, she swept past Nick, leaving him in the awkward position of shooting parting looks at the others. He followed her out the door, where, just steps outside, she was looking up and down the street.
"Couldn't have left there fast enough?" he commented, dryly.
"Where'd you park?" she asked.
"Around the corner?" he responded, more a question than an answer. "I thought you were just interested in..."
"Right, a nice, head-clearing walk. I like to just mill around and swing my arms a bit--you're kidding, right? So, you jump in and let me off the hook with Methos because...what?" Before he could answer, she continued her thought. "Because you know I'm already thinking about what's next. And you've a....naturally curious nature."
"All right, I have a naturally curious nature--where are we going?" Nick demanded.
"To your car?" Genevieve replied, slowly. "Since you're the one driving, I'm giving the directions, okay? Don't worry--it's not like I'm going to...I dunno...take you some strange place and take advantage of you or something." She grinned at the thought. Forming a mental picture of doing just that very thing, she quickly covered up her grin, catching it before it became a laugh. She coughed, quickly, then added. "Um, just a place I know of. Humor me."
"You're used to being humored, aren't you?"
She thought about that. "It's the easier way to deal with me, yeah."
"There's the car," Nick pointed out. "Sure you wouldn't rather..."
Genevieve grinned. She wasn't really sure if driving was a recommended activity, given her level of distraction. Even at her best, she was a road hazard.
"Trust me."
Posted on Jan 7, 2001, 7:31 PM from IP address 172.132.149.94
She made him stop in front of an old apartment building. He couldn't help but notice the way she winced at his parallel-parking skills, just the way she had seemed to move her feet unconsciously as he drove, anticipating braking and accelerating--she resisted being a passenger, but she was conscpicuously quiet during the ride, saying nothing more than "Turn here," or "Another block." She stared at the place for awhile before speaking.
"I might be a while--want to come up with me?"
"That depends," Nick answered. "Where is this?"
"This, uh, Gauntlet. I don't really know what you have and haven't found out about them--do you know anything about Akkasur?"
"Only that he was the one who taught some of them--and that he was very old. He was the one who gathered the information to get it all started...and you..." He stared at her. "You killed him, and you'd know more about it."
"This is where he lived. Methos doesn't know that I tried to find out everything I could to make sense out of what happened to me. See, this guy really thought I was her--the old lady? I mean, he seriously did--it wasn't like, just, 'She looks like her,' or 'I'm psycho, so I guess I'll just go nuts over the resmblance'. He was into it. It creeped me out, and when something bothers me...I have to look deeper."
She smiled, grimly, and looked down. "I know that's pretty weird."
"You found out where he lived?"
She laughed, briefly. "I've been here once or twice before, sorting it out. Trying to get into his head. And now, I guess I'm going to try to get into...you know, their heads. Maybe it'll give me an idea of what to do." She opened the car door, then paused. "You might not want to come with. It's kind of sick."
Nick's hand was already on the door. He opened it, and began getting out of the car. Looking over his shoulder, he responded, "No, I think I want to see this."
Sheshrugged, and then got out of the car, closing the door partially, and then having to bang it shut. She rolled her eyes. "And then, ability to perform fine motor skills tapers off," she muttered to herself.
"What?" Nick asked.
"Nothing," she answered. "Just steadily deteriorating mentally. No biggie." She quickly tripped up the stairs, and then rang the bell. The concierge came to the door, and smiled when she saw Genevieve.
"AH, Mam'selle Fowler, you are back for...to see?" she asked, in a bright, but heavily accented voice. Genevieve merely nodded. Nick took note of the sharp look he then received. Genevieve caught it, too.
"Mon cousin," she confided. The woman nodded, and waved them up the stairs.
"She seems to like you," Nick whispered, as Genevieve got out her keys.
"Well, I paid off his rent. And I'm still paying his lease, if you really want to know," she answered, casually. "I was her, I'd like me, too. I was looking at the building as whole, you know? Real estate around here--tres cher, you dig? Might be an investment." And with that, she opened the door to what had been Akkasur's apartment. Nick took a look inside, and gasped.
Posted on Jan 13, 2001, 7:53 PM from IP address 172.139.152.58
"Oh, her," Genevieve said nonchalantly, eyes grazing over the sight that made Nick gasp. "I had the same response the first time I saw her, too. The rest of them are just as disturbing. He was artistic--who knew?"
"She" was a painting--a room-dominating 60" by 48" canvas of a nude barbarian woman with a bronze sword in her hand--who, nonetheless, was unquestionably Genevieve. Or rather--wasn't.
"It's...it's big," Nick managed. He looked at Genevieve. "And eerie."
She nodded. "He kind of over-idealized the nose, and I wear a lot more than her, but otherwise--yeah. It's signed with one of his aliases and dated." She paced about the room, taking on a few of the other portraits, all cast in different eras. It was easier for her to take another look at them, than to pretend they weren't there. Nick stepped towards the large portrait to inspect the signature. It read, "Attis, 1788."
"The name?" he asked, distractedly.
"Kind of a joke. Check what's in her other hand."
He looked, and went a little pale. "I get the joke."
"The joke, unfortunately, had been on him," she went on. She took a seat on the arm of an over-stuffed burgundy leather chair. "Some women leave mementos--she had taken one. And for that reason--he remembered her."
Nick walked on to the next picture--a smaller piece in tempera.
"That one is older still--they are all like that. Little hints. All the same woman. All before I was born. Just repeated again and again. He just didn't do bowls of fruit or landscapes, I guess. But when you look at them..."
"They're you." Nick straigtened up from regarding a watercolor of a young woman in a toga that had been sitting on the floor and resting up against the wall. "And since they're in different times, and dated..."
"Sure. Like Polaroids or something. Nearly proof that she sill existed." Genevieve sat with her hands in her lap, wondering if her interest in this didn't, in some way, make her nearly as obsessed and strange as Akkasur had become. Nick's eyes continued to search the apartment. Numbly, she went on. "I searched through all of his stuff for a journal or something like that--I found some papers. His computer? I couldn't get anything--and from his personal stuff--well, you see. Not really helpful."
Nick pointed to some pill bottles bottles on a counter in the kitchen, which could be seen through the doorway. "He took drugs?"
"Androgens and speed. Makes sense, kind of. I thought he needed a shave when I saw him--that was all he could..."
"Why would you come back here? This is...crazy."
That was all Genevieve needed--confirmation of her own suspicion about it. But she did have and answer.
"Yeah, but it's my link. To her."
Posted on Jan 14, 2001, 3:45 PM from IP address 172.181.39.227
dude...i didnt' think this was still here...and DUDE....the archives are still here...there are old conversations from way back in 1999 (does a little prince solo) just stoppin' in...waving....
catch ya later
siva...holder of meefie's rag.
Posted on Dec 31, 2000, 11:10 AM from IP address 205.188.193.21
I have finally found a working highlander forum!
I was wondering if anyone could help me out with finding more. I have been searching for quite a while.
Anyhoo, nice place you have here. Thanks for reading.
~Para
Posted on Nov 27, 2000, 10:56 AM from IP address 129.219.71.70
Genevieve lay on the couch with her eyes squeezed hut, wondering if her mind would only just stop racing. But it always raced like this a the moment of lying down, and would never stop until either sleep overtook her or she rose. She tried to make herself calm, but the sadness still existed--sadness for them--the Gauntlet.
She once was sad for herself, but that was a long, ong time ago. Or long by her own reckoning. But now the thought of others who would just die--die for nothing? Die for the Game? Or die because?
She knew what it was to want to die--she remembered that feeling only too well, because she still sometimes let her mind drift to the emptiness and endlessness of that. She associated "wanting to live" with her Immortality, though--it was something that felt far more normal to her than all that had gone before. Her life, as she was,with all the choices open and nothing set in stone, certainly made more sense to her than nine-to-five jobs, settling down, and paying into a pension plan.
And yet--these nine, whoever they were. However many there had been before...did they miss it? Did their Immortality take away something vital?
Oh, she knew it had. She had said so, herself--but it wasn't really true--not for her. Not really. At first it had been horrible, knowing she wasn't like other people, feeling alomst inhuman, knowing she was more like Kronos than she was like the people who raised her. And it was still horrible, knowing she was a killer, knwing she'd never have a normal life. Knowing that the distance between herself and mortals was growing, that she had less in common.
But all the same, she wanted to live. And imagining giving up anything to the Game appalled her.
She thought, but soon became aware of the sound of Methos' breathing...growing slower, thicker, more regular, and she realed that he had fallen asleep. It surprised her that he could...but not terribly. He, after all, had no reason to believe that she was still too wired, too awake...
And beginning to know, really know, how this had to be. How to get it over.
She rose, silently. Standing, she looked him over. How did it happen that she found someone who made her feel so affectionate, protective, so everything...but be so wrong?
Maybe because she was prone to feeling that way, and everything was wrong.
"Methos," she whispered. "You tried. I know you did...but...I only know one way."
She resisted the temptation to touch him, knowing she would only wake him, and opened the door. Quietly, quietly, she closed it behind her. She only wondered how she would get Nick aside to help her carry out her plan. But as most things usually did, she figured that would work itself out.
Posted on Oct 28, 2000, 8:58 PM from IP address 172.139.101.19
Cassandra sat in the cafe and stared at the window fixedly, barely touching the croissant and tea that sat before her. She reminded herself of where she was in relation to Sanctuary (two blocks up, and a left, so that would be...a right, and then down), and tied to block out the reason why she was so worried about getting lost--not like she had never been in Paris before (there was that one very nice time in the 18th century...before the revolution, of course, but the salons...ah, it was good to have been there, and felt the changes, the passing of the old religion and the speech of educated women and men, the ideas that would shake the world)--but she had good reason to remember. And she did remember. Why. Why a lot of things were the way they were. Why she would feel lost at times.
Like that night, running. No, several nights, running, it had been more than a few...no...her whle life. Escaping. And there were times when she didn't know where she was. There were no signs to mark her way--nothing but memory.
And she had known, or thought she had known, why that was--it was him. Methos. She had thought of him more than once along the way. She knew what his life had to have been--simple. He had his brothers, he knew who and what he was. The diection for him had to have been clear. He was a man, and older. He was what he was, a monster, without conscience or fear--wasn't he? And she remembered that much. Why else would she need to get away from there--not be in the same building with him?
But that wasn't really it. The worst thing the years could do had finally been done--they had made them the same. He was no better off than herself at such things--dealing with the present. Being himself, when who he was...
She smiled when the waiter passed her, giving her a certain look. He was perhaps in his early twenties, a blond boy--and, she had learned, an American studying abroad. She wondered if the look he gave her was genuine appreciation, or...she decided, rapidly, that he was appreciating her. Would he if he had any idea she could have known his great-great grandfather? There it was...or his great....great....
She herself was a monster, she noted with amusement and some horror. She thought it, and knew it was crazy, and knew it was true. Old, ageless...a killer...all the things...
She picked up the croissant between her fingers, and picked at it...lifting a piece to her lips and chewing, absently. Could it be? That the difference was really so slight? That the men she thought of as her captors--that the man she had as a master...was not so much different? That time made people what they were...who they became? And Methos and herself were only a part of time's plan...
She shook that thought off. Genevieve's influence, perhaps, a lack of sleep, and too much time on the run, lately. But no, in heart, she did know the difference between Methos and herself. She had to.
Posted on Oct 28, 2000, 9:28 PM from IP address 172.139.101.19
She had to know...but she also had to admit th degree to which they were in the same boat, right now, and she could almost make out the name--"Titanic". Under the circumstances, maybe it would be for the best if she at least try to put the past aside--or so she wanted to tell herself, as she fished out the franc notes (still crisp from making the exchange) from her purse. She knew she had better head back there before anyone noticed that she had disapeared...but imagined they would understand.
She knew Genevieve...patron of the sudden impulse, would, certainly, and Amanda seemed easy-going. And Methos would never question what she did, knowing what he had done. And who cared about the youngster...(Nick, that was it, she reminded herself) he would certainly know better than to ask.
Only twenty minutes or so, by her watch.
Genevieve leaned by the door and knew that the couple nearby had to know she was approaching--that was how it worked. But she also knew there was certain levels of etiquette that had to be followed--she neded to enter gingerly, and they needed to pretend as if they hadn't quite noticed hat someone was thouroughly invading their privacy. Such was the way one learned to behave as an Immortal.
She nudged open the door, and they both turned in her direction, looking as if a good talk had occured, and Genevieve was glad of that. She knew how Amanda had suffered over the decision she had made, and she hoped Nick told her it was right--since she herself felt it had to be.
"Gen...we were saying..." Amanda began.
"Whatever...I couldn't sleep...but Methos could, go figure," she said with a grin. "I guess he's got more to sleep on than me."
"Or he minds it less," Nick answered, grimly. Genevieve loked at him, and then Amanda, who bore a dissaproving face for a split second before recovering. Genevieve tried to cover on his behalf.
"Nah, he minds, but he's...regular. I mean, I get insomnia, and act crazy, but he's pretty stable...and...I guess he needs it. Nick, if he gave you a hard time before...well, you earned it."
"How?" he inquired, curious to understand what she thought.
"He likes to...get people...understand'em, rattle'em. Yoiu fell in there...you're new to this. He's all right, though...he probably likes you--you're smart. He's more tolerant of...you know..."
She grinned. She felt strange, mentioning intelligence. She knew that was her one bit of snobbery--brains. But he smilled, slightly.
"I'm glad."
Posted on Oct 28, 2000, 10:23 PM from IP address 172.145.135.150
She cocked her head, inquisitively, waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, she grinned.
"Well, let me spread it on, then. You figured out who I am, and you know who he is. And you decided to be here--where we--the old folks..." and here she stuck out her tongue, "are gathering...quite against the stupid rules of some twisted bar bet amongst the handful of us...ahem...Immortals."
She said the word "Immortals" with such irony that Nick found himself staring at her. Only recently Immortal,he had, nonetheless, accepted it as being his condition, and not a strange word coined to describe only a possibility in re: his soul.
"What rules of...ahem, Immortals?" he demanded, sarcastically.
"The ones that say there can be only one--believe that, and meet me, and Anath-Sin, in the alley. Do you believe I have her in me? Or Akkasur--her student--the guy who started this mess? Eight thou...four thou...and then me...did I suck it up? Those Quickenings--me. What do you think?"
He stared, and then was about to speak, but she cut in.
"I am, in all honesty, seven years in the Game. No more, no less. You are two years in. That's why I'm busting your stones. Screw what you've heard. I am Genevieve, like you said. And Methos--he doesn't know this, but he's really...not so far from his apparent age. Part of him is still the thirty-year old schmuck whose village must have gotten whacked with him in it, circa three thou B.C. And Amanda?"
Amanda nodded, knowing the point Genevieve was about to come to, and dreading it even as she knew it was true--she was still the theif who died during the plague--still the poor thing Rebecca found.
"I think...I'm still short of thirty. I never really gave it thought--but...I never did get older. Or more mature. Nick...somethings...never change. What we were when we..."
"I don't want to hear this," Nick said suddenly. "I don't think I need to...I'm not the same."
"NO...but...listen, just this once?" Amanda asked, her voice breaking.
"Please, Nick, it explains a lot," Genevieve whispered.
"The worst thing is it doesn't get worse," Amanda finally admitted. "You won't feel older. You won't feel more mature, or like you're changing. Or like you see... things differently. I'm who I am. And you...are so good, so wonderful. Why?" She bit her lip, on the verge of tears. "Why don't you see that it's a good thing? To be alive? To know you don't change...to know who you are now is..."
"It's not the same! I'm not the same man, Amanda! I'm..."
"You killed your first," Genevieve said, softly. "How was it? Was there only one?"
"I killed two," he said, bitterly.
"You did it as a mortal, too," Amanda commented.
"It wasn't the same."
"Nick-elah," Genevieve began. "It's the same. The same. The total exact same. Who should live, who should die. Who is good, who isn't. You are, they weren't. No matter what you want to believe, good is still good, bad still sucks. It's rotten, but there it is. If you were...Amanda...let me off the hook."
Amanda looked at her friend, concerned for what she was trying to say. Genevieve never considered herself good--there was her problem. She shook her head.
"Nothing changes--life is good. Tio live, love...be who you are?"
And there she stopped. Cassandra appeared in the doorway, and before her, she felt unable to speak.
Posted on Nov 9, 2000, 9:38 PM from IP address 172.161.22.22
Does this in turn validate the response we are what our environment makes us? If even immortals cannot grow and evolve in the centuries available to many of them what hope for mortals to grow wiser as they grow older? Do you think Gen is using this as an excuse or reassurance?
Posted on Nov 11, 2000, 11:03 AM from IP address 216.93.70.237
Genevieve is pretty good at making excuses, but for herself and other people. If put to the screws, or even just a really probing interrogation, she would probably say that she is what her environment made her--even if it's only because it's easier for her to see the direct cause and effect there. She knows people in organized crime--therefore she takes up a life of crime and easy money. In some ways, her upbringing was violent (I don't really elaborate on that, but it's something I want to reveal slowly) so she finds violence a little easier than most.
But on the other hand, she also acknowledges that these were and are choices she had made and more than likely will continue to make. One of the things I think is more compelling than environment for her, however, is biology--in the sense that, biologically speaking, she sees herself, and the world around her sees her, as very young. And she always will be. She is female, and Immortal; those things are simply how she is. And those things, I think, are what makes her feel more resigned to the choices she makes.
The disturbing thing about her is that she habitually tries to use situational ethics for people whose situation isn't quite like hers. She can find reasons for anyone's behavior--Methos', even Kronos', because she still desperately wants to believe there's good in everyone, and that there are reasons for things. Although she likes to think of herself as impulsive, and not a very deep thinker, the truth is, she's fairly analytical in her thinking--things ought to have patterns, ought to make sense. Cause should precede effect. If someone is *bad*--there must be a reason why.
But she also tries to reassure herself that people don't change because her one, real, horrible fear is that she will change--and not for the better. Deep down, she is certain that the life she leads will erode what's left of her morality, and she will end up like Kronos--at a level of amorality nearly impossible to differentiate from insanity. She would like to think she can hold on to the human side of herself, and not become monsterous. That a change may be for the better still hasn't dawned on her--and Methos, really, despite any *change of heart* he's ever had, doesn't serve as an example to her. Her impression is that the two of them "think alike"--i.e., he does whatever he has to do to survive, same as she does. Which is why she presumes that his ethics probably got formed the same way she imagines her own did.
Is change possible, though? Truth is, Genevieve is changing and has been from the moment she found out that Kronos was dead. She is nowhere as morally challenged as she could be (as she is in my AU). She just doesn't see it because it's happening to her. But she is becoming more aware of her choices and tries, more often, to base them on what is right, not what she wants.
Posted on Nov 11, 2000, 4:17 PM from IP address 172.161.17.166
(This takes place after "Challenges"--last posted to "the Gauntlet"--link below)
Nick shifted in his seat, uncomfortably, as both Amanda and Methos looked on him with curiosity. He wondered if it would be easier to explain anything without the presence of the older man there, but he was partially thankful that there was an outsider present—someone who existed outside of the little drama he and Amanda acted out two years ago. He was about to open his mouth in an attempt to explain when Methos stopped him.
“So, you’re Nick Wolfe?” the old man began.
“Methos, don’t start with him,” Amanda said, quickly. Methos leaned back in his chair, with a fair amount of humor playing at his lips by her intrusion. Nick caught the look, but wasn’t sure what it meant. Amanda went on. “Nick, what are you doing back? I’m happy to see you, but what is it?”
“I had reason to believe you were in danger,” Nick answered, and then gave a more careful look at the older man. The oldest man, he corrected himself. He wondered just what her association with him was, and how much trouble she had been in for it.
“And exactly what gave you that impression?” Methos asked, slowly, with the faintest trace of belligerence. Amanda stared at him, unsure of what brought on his strange behavior.
“There’s a group of rogue Immortals out there, for starters, and they’re targeting the older…”
“That much, we know—but why do you?” Methos demanded.
“Methos!” Amanda exclaimed, exasperated. She looked from one to the other, and then caught Methos’ eye. It twinkled. He was having the younger man for an early breakfast. She relaxed, realizing he wouldn’t leave any lasting marks on the younger man. Nick, on the other hand, stood.
“Why is there a…Gray Panthers’ meeting worth of older Immortals right here?” he asked in return, voice raising, just as Cassandra and Genevieve entered.
“Because we like the cozy atmosphere,” Genevieve quipped, in an even tone.
“It’s friendly,” Cassandra added.
“And it’s Holy Ground—sit down, Nick,” Amanda said, softly, but firmly. He remained standing.
“I don’t like being told what to do.”
“Are you sure?” Cassandra asked, with a touch of interest in her voice. “There are more unpleasant things than being told what to do.” She turned to Genevieve, who hid a smile. “You could have no choice.”
“I’ve gotten used to that,” Nick answered hotly, looking in Amanda’s direction.
“Not like she wasn’t warning you,” Genevieve said, in a slightly singsong voice.
“Sit down, Nick. It’s been a long night for everyone,” Cassandra then said, voice slightly resonating. He took his seat, and then stared at her.
“Great.,” he responded. “A witch, a thief, the oldest man…and…” He stared at Genevieve. She raised an eyebrow, slightly. “You?”
She nodded, without a word, and took a seat. She glanced at Methos, and shrugged, innocently, before crossing her legs. She then returned his gaze. Methos stood, and went back behind the bar, searching out another beer. He felt a need for one, or at least, he would enjoy this more with one.
“Eight thousand years old?”
“Give or take,” she smiled. Cassandra rolled her eyes, and also found a chair.
“I can’t even imagine it—tell me, what was it like, that long ago?” The younger man’s eyes never left her face, which gave away absolutely nothing, until Methos spoke.
“Oh, yes, Anath-Sin, do tell everyone.”
Genevieve gestured, spreading both hands. “What’s to tell? Eight thousand years—life was short and nasty and brutal, it rained all the time, and everywhere you went, it was uphill both ways.” She shrugged then, returning Methos’ stare. He smiled, and brought her a beer.
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I didn’t think I would either. Should I tell him?”
“I wouldn’t,” Methos answered.
“Tell me what?” Nick asked, looking at both of them.
“Nothing,” Genevieve responded, regarding him, calmly. “I’m old enough to have my secrets.” She held the cold beer up to her forehead, and sighed. Although she had every reason to believe that he was a good guy—after all, Amanda cared enough about him to save him from a certain death, she knew only too well that people could see and do a lot of things in just two years. He might even be one of the Gauntlet, by now.
“You don’t have any secrets,” he responded, making her eyes widen. “Does the name Genevieve Fowler mean anything to you?”
Trying to keep her composure, she sighed, as if bored. “I may have heard of the name. What’s she to me?”
“She disappeared, just about the time you resurfaced.”
“I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”
“She looked a lot like you.”
“And I…brutally murdered a young woman to steal her identity so I could go public again?” Genevieve offered.
“I don’t think so.”
“So, just what is it? I’d like to know what I’m being accused of so I can properly defend myself,” she snapped, leaning forward.
“You’re Genevieve.”
“And you infiltrated the Gauntlet,” Genevieve responded, not blinking. “And you’re the smartest person I’ve met since this whole stupid thing started. Wow.” She lapsed into a stoic silence, and pondered the notion of a person actually having some degree of problem-solving capacity, and using it. It was a new wrinkle.
“Anyone want a replay?” Amanda asked, raising a hand.
“I believe what just happened, is that our old lady has been busted—and so has Nick,” Methos responded. “What has yet to be explained is, what were you doing in with the Gauntlet?”
“It should be self-explanatory—I was just getting information.”
“Nick,” Amanda began, with a worried look. The look she got in return stopped her heart.
“I thought they might hurt someone I care about. It turns out, I was wrong.”
Amanda gasped and stared at him.
Posted on Oct 9, 2000, 5:45 PM from IP address 172.134.198.237
“They don’t have any interest in you,” he added. “I was surprised to find out that you aren’t in the top twenty.”
“Twenty. So that’s how many they’re targeting,” Genevieve commented. “With any success, that you’ve heard of?”
“Not exactly.”
“It figures,” Methos said. Everyone turned, and then waited for him to elaborate. He simply shook his head. “Probably isn’t a one of them over three hundred.”
“There isn’t,” Nick admitted. “There’s about nine of the group left—all under.” At this, Genevieve laughed—a terrible, not entirely sane sound. She covered her mouth and looked around, a bit surprised at herself. “What’s that about?” he demanded.
“Outnumbered. Not surprising, is it?” she said. “Twenty very old ones—nine young. You have to like those odds, right? I mean, if you were one of the twenty. With a few thousand years of experience apiece.” Her eyes met Nick’s. “How many of the Gauntlet were there to start with? More—had to have been. And they just kept…losing. And…nobody thought it was…a bad idea?” She had a catch in her voice that was semi-hysterical. She rose, and Methos took her arm. She barely noticed the touch of his hand on her. “It’s suicide.” She shook off Methos’ hand, and went to a window.
The silence that followed that was broken by Nick’s voice. “They’re only interested in you three, now. You, Methos, and Cassandra,” he said, nodding in the direction of the other two, but keeping his eye on her.
“We could wipe out nine standing on our heads,” Genevieve answered, hollowly. “Damn.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Damn,” she repeated, with force.
“You aren’t relieved,” Cassandra stated, looking at her. “It could be over, soon enough.”
“Screw that,” Genevieve answered. “Tell me what part of that sounded like it would be over? What I heard was that we’ve got nine stupid idiots to kill…who are too freaking miserably into the Game to realize they’re just…dying for no damn reason. Or else…they know they aren’t going to win, and are doing it anyway.” She wiped at her face. “For the hell of it.”
“Who said anything about killing them?” Methos began, but that made her turn, eyes flashing with heat.
“What else are we going to do? Feel like inviting them for a peace talk? No—you know better.”
“You’re right. I do,” Methos answered, very deliberately. Genevieve snorted, and turned back to the window.
“What do you know?”
She meant it rhetorically, but he had an answer for her. “I know you’re tired of it. And you know why they’re doing it…and why you can’t stand it.”
She nodded. “Sure. Sure, because you know everything. Tell me that it’s the Game, huh? They are just…playing the Game…and you know I don’t believe in it. And for that matter—you aren’t five thousand years old because you particularly believe in it, yourself. And by the way—I know why they’re doing it, and Nick knows why they’re doing it—and none of the rest of you probably even remember. Why should you? It sucks.”
“Remember what?” Amanda asked. “What is she talking about?”
“You don’t know, Amanda?” Nick asked. “I’d have thought you would, since you’ve had the experience. But I think I do know what she’s talking about. They have nothing to lose. They’ve already lost it. The way I lost it, two years ago.”
“Nick, I tried to explain. You were the one who left. You were the one who ran away. It could have been easier if you just let me…”
“What part of it would have been easier? Would it have been better if you were there when I…cut myself shaving, and almost wished it would keep bleeding, just because that would be more normal? Would you have made me feel less like a freak to myself? Or would it have been worse, knowing it was you coming into a room without looking because I could sense you—the way you had a feeling about me for a year without saying anything?”
“What could I have said?” she demanded. “Just what was I supposed to have said? I wanted to protect you. I think you can remember that—I told you to keep out of Immortal business. It was too soon.” She spread her hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I didn’t want it to be this way. It was supposed to be gift.”
“And I didn’t want it this way, Amanda. I can’t explain it. I was in an accident not long after I left you—a car crash, and I nearly expected that I would die. And as I was knitting together, all I could think was…”
“You should have,” Genevieve finished. “That it should have been something that would kill you. It should be a pleasant surprise, but it isn’t. When you live. When you aren’t hurt. And you have to live with yourself, and look at yourself differently. I would…cut myself. Just trying to understand…almost wishing it wouldn’t work, just once. I tried to tell myself I had some…scientific interest, but that wasn’t it. It was just…horror.”
“Nothing that has happened to me since has felt the same,” he said, flatly. “Some gift.”
Genevieve looked at Amanda, sadly. “I know you don’t want to hear this…but I agree with him—it isn’t always. Maybe it does get better…but where we are…it gets worse.” Her eyes closed. “Like now…I forget. I’m forgetting what it used to be like, before. I don’t want to forget, but I will. I’m going to forget what it was like not to heal. I’m going to forget…a time when I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, or waiting for a challenge, or fighting all the time. And in the meanwhile…”
“It gets better,” Amanda insisted. “Genevieve, you said you were glad you were never given the choice…”
She nodded. “Yeah. But I can think of nine people for whom it didn’t get better. Hell, I can think of thousands…that’s what the Game is. What am I supposed to think? That I’m challenged by people who don’t think they can die? Maybe they do know they can.”
“You think they’re asking for it,” Cassandra said, suddenly understanding. “That they just want it to end. It isn’t that simple.”
“Nothing’s ever simple.” She sighed. “I’m just throwing out ideas. Methos…you’re right,” she added. “I’m tired of it. And it is the Game. And I talk too much…I know you didn’t say that, but I’d be thinking it if I were you. I’m…Amanda…is it okay if I go upstairs and just…rest?”
Amanda nodded. As she disappeared, Methos shrugged, put down his beer, and followed her.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To keep an eye on her. There’s a good reason why she hasn’t slept…are your curtains flammable?” As Amanda looked on with a surprised face, he continued up the stairs. “Best we not find out.”
Posted on Oct 9, 2000, 5:49 PM from IP address 172.134.198.237
Cassandra watched Methos disappear through the door and up the stairs, and then, realized that there was no better time than then to make her exit. The tension between Nick and Amanda was something she didn't not even need to look into their faces to sense...it was papable...another being in the room. She stood.
"We never did...Genevieve and I...decide where we were going to stay. I think she half-supposed..." She trailed off, almost as if implying that it was the younger woman who had made the decisions. "Of course, I know her place is probably under surveillance."
Of course..." Amanda said, "the both of you are welcome to stay..." and then she darted a look at Nick. He didn't catch the look; he seemed to be deep in thought...or possibly, simply deeply in need of sleep. She wondered where he had--where he had been, where he would go. Not that she had wondered before about him a thousand times before...or wondered every day since the last time she had seen him. "You might as well get your bags...I'll help..."
"No," Cassandra answered, quickly. "We packed in a hurry, and there isn't much. I'll take care of them." She then looked at Nick, turning her head jst enough that Amanda would catch the implication. Making no further gesture, she left them alone. Nick acknowledged her leaving with a nod of his head, and felt almost pleased to note the he barely knew what to say in her presence--she wondered if--due to his acquaintance with her through the Gauntlet, he was simply too awed to speak.
Off and on, over the years, when she paused to count those years, she had also been awed. She thought...yes. She did understand, she did know, exactly what he and Genevieve had been saying. I t was different being young...not knowing what the years would feel like, or what they would bring. She remembered, briefly, how it was for herself.
NOt that either of them could ever have understood that. Things had been different before.
THe cool morning air refreshed her...it was easier to be alone for a moment, to gather her thoughts. She glanced down the street, the opposite of the direction she and Genevieve had walked. Perhaps she would not go to the car at all. She highly doubted she'd be greeted on the way to get some breakfast...she felt the slightest need for food, and the deepest desire for a good cup of tea.
and so she passed the car...and went.
"We need to talk," Nick found himself saying, just as Amanda was saying the same.
He paused. He had barely listened then, except in horror at what she had done. At what had happened, and what he was. He realized not long after how abrupt it had been, cursed himself for not having stayed, wondered if it couldn't still be made right. Wondered, largely, because he found himself alone. She had introduced him to the rules of her world--but he had barely thought that he, himself, would ever be living by them.
Amanda also paused, wondering if she shouldn't have paused before...and yet here he was. Alive. The very thought that he could have beengone from her...permanantly, had been something she never wanted to know. She looked at him almost in wonder--strange, that the very same thing should have brought them together again --her friends. Immortality...immortal business. The thing he was exposed to too soon--the thing he'd have to deal with.
"Amanda...I missed you," he said, then, simply.
She worked her lips, hoping that the words tosay would manifest themselves by that simple act--but they didn't. Instead, she went to him...and embraced him.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, into his shoulder.
"Don't," he answered. And nothing more needed to be said then, as they held one another, only happy to be there. Both alive. There, to tell the tale. Together, friends if nothing else.
Posted on Oct 18, 2000, 12:42 PM from IP address 24.4.252.12
Methos paused at the door. He knew she had to have atleast least expected him to follow her, even if she hadn't still sensed his presence as he followed her up the stairs. And then...she seemed to be one of the handful who possessed that lucky acuity...as he occasionally did, of knowing what immortal approached by the sense alone. He realized she had to know, and so he opened the door,
She barely moved. SHe'd dropped herself on the sofa, promising herself no more than twenty minutes' rest...hoping she needed no more than that to recharge...to feel more acute...to feel more herself. But once she accertained that Methos had followed her, her heart jumped at the very notion that he cared. And that in itself was something--she had long told herself they were together frommere circumstance alone--thatshe could expect nothing from him. ANd yet he was here.
"Sweetness, I don't need looking after," she began, turning on her side.
"I do recall there was an episode with....the fireplace," he began. She turned red, nearly charmingly. She had begun a fire, whether awake and loaded, or asleep, she couldn't quite be sure...but it helped itself onto an unfortunate area rug.
"I'm just trying to...rest. No fires. no sleep, no real dreaming...stay?" she asked then, surprising him. "Just...give me twenty minutes...because I need them..." And there her voice broke. He suspected she could do that deliberately, and sound on the verge of tears, but knew she was earnest at the moment.
"I know," he whispered. his hand caressed her face as she dropped her head back on a cushion...and then realized what she was.
Still awake. Still eyes...looking at him. unable to rest. Still biting back words.
"Geneveieve...I know you have something to say...'
"Nothing, just...." she reached for his neck. "Be closer to me...a little. There," she said, as he leaned down, to press his face against hers. They kissed, briefly. ANd then she kissed him,fiercely. "Things have changed. I know what I have to do... you're right. The Gauntlet...whomever. I have to learn to accept all of it. but...' she held him tighter. 'What about you? Me?"
He sighed. The Game never allowed it. There was no him and her. No lovers. NO friends. But he knew....he cared. All the same. As he had before...as he could. As he would again...and understood what she was saying.
They were in it together.
Posted on Oct 18, 2000, 1:26 PM from IP address 24.4.252.12
They were in it as a team--and he knew what had changed. She had no interest in trying to love him, that much was clear. But then the troubling words hit him, and he whispered, wondering if she were still awake to hear his question, "You know what you have to do?"
She stirred, placing a soft kiss in his hair.
"It has to end, and that means what it always means--more killing. I have to remind myself, sometimes. Part of me just wants to believe I have a choice. Part of me just wants it over and done with, but without the blood. And then...it just isn't fair. Me taking any of them on."
"I know...they think you're...older, more experienced. It isn't fair...but life never is about being fair. You aren't a child, Genevieve."
She stroked one restless hand down his back, and replied, "You do know that isn't what I meant. It isn't fair, because...I still...I'm still...sh*t, I should be proud of this. I shouldn't be ashamed, but I'm still here. Damn it all. I am still here. How the hell did it happen?"
He lifted his head from her chest and took a look. Tears. He remembered there was a time when they had no importance to him--and then experience made him shed a few of his own. And what she was asking was a question he'd even asked himself--how? How does one survive? And the answer was always the same--because one did and one could. One either had the skills, or the opportunity, or the advantage of less ethics...and lived. Without those...any of those...
One ended up dead. Was that what she was objecting to--killing? Or was it the surviving itself--continuing to live when others didn't? There were moments when either became objectionable--but it was a feeling never meant to last.
"You're simply good, that's all. You've..." He searched for the words. "You were better." He touched her face. She pressed her cheek into his hand and closed her eyes.
"I was lucky. Lucky in ways I can't explain. Lucky to know you. Lucky to have...just....the advantages I do. And I just have to hope it'll continue...my lucky streak. But I...can't depend on it. Tell me..." she began then, raising herself up on one elbow. "Do you think I've got a choice? That anyone does?"
"Choice? About..." Thoughts of others streamed into his mind--thoughts of people who had made choices. Darius, taking up a life on Holy Ground. Kronos, removing himself in ways from a normal human existence, becoming more inhuman just to remind himself that he was a killer. And then there was the woman who had tried both Holy Ground and the life of an outlaw, and still gave up her life to end making those choices. He shook his head.
"It's always a choice. You always can..." he started. She kissed him, then.
"Maybe after a while, I'll learn that one. But I think...I think I know that there are times, when the choice you have is hard, but you just...have to do it anyway. It's like no choice at all."
"That can happen, too," he allowed. "Sleep on it," he added. She laid back, smiling.
"Just make sure I don't...I mean, I almost bled all over the rug in here already, so I don't want to...you know... The fireplace incident."
"I'll stay." He rose, and took an adjacent chair.
No him and her...sure. And he hadn't convinced himself into loving other people time and time again, depending on them...caring for them. Like MacLeod. Like Joe. Like he almost convinced himself he cared for Cassandra, no matter how he'd used her. There was always that possibility of loss...of pain. And yet, he never could commit himself to being alone.
The old man leaned back and wondered if five thousand wasn't a terribly stupid age to be feeling his maturity.
Posted on Oct 21, 2000, 7:49 PM from IP address 172.129.45.234
I'm looking for copies of all episodes after season one for a friend who loves the show but missed a lot of them. If anyone taped them and can help me out please let me know what you have and we can work out a deal. I'd really appreciate it. Please e-mail me at sarahmetzger@hotmail.com. Thanks!
Posted on Sep 20, 2000, 9:18 PM from IP address 129.89.128.49
(No relation/no spoilers--to the Sanctuary in the movie. I'm referring to the club that Amanda ahem took over from Andre Korda (RIP) at the end of the ep "The French Connection". I personally liked "The Raven", so I definitely consider it a part of Genevieve's timeline. But in re: the movie--consider my stories as still before the movie. Who knows if I'll raise similar themes--since I've got all manner of new thoughts in my head, now.)
Cassandra stepped on the gas of the rental as she wound through the streets of Paris with a bleeding girl in the seat next to her. Genevieve shouldn't still be bleeding--she was Immortal--but she was, and she had gone pale, and seemed in shock.
"Genevieve!" she called, employing the Voice. "Say something."
"Don't do that," the girl responded, querelously. "I know when you're doing it, and when you aren't."
"Left. Rue de St. Michel. Two blocks, and a right. We're going to Sanctuary...it's cool. I know the proprietor."
"You're..."
"I can't engage in, like, detailed coversation, right now--but I'm glad to see you know where the gas pedal is. You drive alright."
"Thanks?" Cassandra said, more of a question than an honest response to her comment. She glanced overm, briefly, and watched as the young woman's features composed themselves into a blank mask of equanimity--she seemed to see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, at that moment, and even if she tried, she could sense nothing from the woman, not fear--not even pain. It was as if the girl had gone into the trance of a shaman.
She didn't know where the girl would have learned that. No more than she knew where she had picked up her manner of fighting--perhaps she had come up with her methods through nothing more than experimentation. She knew Duncan had tried to show her something, and was rewarded with disappointment. She wondered if Methos had shown her how to fight, but doubted it--she fought in a way women, eventually, must learn.
She would do anything. Anything.
The opponent had been a woman, and Genevieve tried to talk her out of the fight with the usual ruse--she was Anath-Sin--a ridiculous lie, but curiously effective amongst these creatures. And when it hadn't worked, Genevieve simply engaged, face--perhaps face as blank as it was, now. And she was losing, right up until she dropped her sword.
No, that hadn't been it. She threw it away. She threw it, and beckoned.
"This is how an old woman dies!" she had screamed. "I am yesterday, today, and tomorrow."
Cassandra wondered where those words had come from--they were familiar, as if taken from some old book. She was not old, at all--but a child--and yet, she stepped aside as the woman lunged,just at the moment she should have been run through. She grabbed the woman by the hair, wrapping it in her hand, and yanked her. The woman tried to lift the sword to such a point as she would touch it to Genevieve, but the girl put her hand on the very blade, and held it to the woman's shoulder. Genevieve was physically stronger--that much was clear.
"How old are you?" she had asked, with something in her voice--it was a lump in her throat--Cassandra knew why she was asking. And when the woman answered--"Why? I'm...I've lived...seventy-eight..." she understood. All of the Gauntlet was older than she. And yet they wanted her--*vintage* Quickening. She took the woman with her own sword, and simplydropped whn the Quickening hit, exhausted.
But then the shots rang out--one hitting her. Cassandra rushed forward, not even thinking, only knowing that she wanted to protect the younger woman while she was incapacitated. Whoever the assailant was, he ran once he knew they were two--the team of Genevieve and Cassandra--so far--was an effective one for that.
"One more person, off the social security rolls."
"I doubt she was an American."
"Really?"
"You were speaking Italian."
"Oh." She then laughed. "Italian in France? It felt like home."
"Howdid you end up with a French name then?" Cassandra asked, as she helped Genevieve to her feet--and saw she wasn't healing. She still bled.
"My mom thought it was pretty. My dad didn't care. And...I'm messed up?"
And then the girl had become the pale wrech she saw now. The wreck who now was trying to peer out the window so hard that her face was pressed against it. "I think we're close."
Cassandra stopped ruminating over the fight she'd seen. "What am I looking for?"
"Sanctuary--there isn't really a sign--this neighborhood--not so much for signs--but it's...I'll try and stay conscious...we're...like, a block away. Shooo...that guy didn't see you, did he? Eh....
"The Sanctuary. Was this a church?"
"Maybe. I think. One of the former proprietors had a sense of humor. The current proprietor--is Immortal. Amanda--she's a friend of Duncan's, too. Help me out of the car, would ya?"
"Sanctuary--a bar on Holy Ground, run by..."
"Yeha...got the joke. It's only funny to us."
Cassandra smiled. "I like it."
Posted on Sep 7, 2000, 8:58 PM from IP address 172.135.222.67
Genevieve staggered, dropped to her knees, and then put her hand to the wound, clawing at it. In horror, she pulled her fingers back from the blood. “It burns. It shouldn’t do that. It shouldn’t do that!”
A firm hand pulled her to her feet. “Don’t touch it—are you healing?”
“Yes, but I wish I wasn’t,” she answered, and then, without thinking, put her hand back to the wound. Her fingers pulled at it. “I have to get it out of me. I have to get it out.” Cassandra yanked her hand away, and twisted her arm so as to brace her up against the doorway, where she leaned as Cassandra then buzzed. She felt a moment’s hesitation—she knew Amanda by name only, and wondered if there was any good way to request entrance when one’s passport is one bleeding, delirious child. When Amanda came to the door, however, no explanation was needed.
“Genevieve!”
“Can I crash here? I’m having a bad…uh, life. This is Cassandra. Cassandra, Amanda, Amanda…eh, talk amongst yourselves.” She appeared to black out, and fell up the stairs.
“What happened to her?” Amanda demanded.
“She’s been shot with—something. I think there’s some kind of poison involved.”
The two women worked to manage the unconscious Genevieve up the stairs, Amanda pulling, Cassandra taking her by the legs. The girl came back to consciousness just before being pulled onto the rug, and squirmed.
“I’m not bleeding on a Persian rug. Towel…and alcohol.”
“We need to wash off the blood, let me…” Cassandra offered, but the now-conscious woman broke free from her attempts at further assistance, feeling and stumbling her way into the bathroom, reaching for something down by her boot. At first, the movement puzzled her, but then she saw what the woman had reached for—her knife.
“Genevieve, don’t…” Amanda cautioned, standing by the door, and then her eyes widened in horror. Genevieve sliced into her own shoulder, drawing a good quantity of blood that she mostly directed towards the sink, with general success. She put down the knife, where it clattered into the sink, and then, with the one useful hand, began rifling through the medicine cabinet.
“Let me help you..” Amanda then said. She reached for the knob to turn on the faucet, but her hand was stopped. Genevieve glared at her, sternly.
“No…water. I…have a good idea what this is. No water. You have rubbing alcohol?”
“No, I never…would vodka do?”
“In a pinch…or a shotglass,” the girl said, her voice strained. She reached for the knife again…and pushed it in deeper, as if searching for something. “I wish it would stop doing that.”
“Doing what?’
“The healing…burns…” And then, evidently, the tip of the blade found what it was looking for—she dislodged a ball from the wound, and it clattered into the sink. Her head tilted upwards, and Amanda managed to catch her as she fell. Cassandra reached in an arm, and twisted the knob. The contents of the sink steamed on contact with the water. She quickly shut it off.
“Where do you keep the vodka?”
“I’ll…you stay with her, I’ll get it.” Amanda lowered the girl to the floor, rose and brushed past Cassandra, who then knelt. Strangely, a half-remembered magical phrase drifted through her mind—something taught her by Hijad. She found herself speaking it aloud, and was caught off-guard when Genevieve chose that moment to let her eyes roll back to gaze at her directly.
“I don’t know what it means, but it sounds good,” she muttered, and then tried to rise. Cassandra restrained her.
“No, it isn’t good for you to try to stand. Let us help you.” Amanda then came in with the bottle and a hand towel. She wet the towel with the liquor, and then stooped to tear Genevieve’s shirt, which was already in shreds due to her use of the knife. The girl struggled.
“Calm down, I’ve washed out wounds before,” Amanda said. “I worked with Florence Nightengale in the Crimea, after all.”
The girl, nonetheless, reached for the towel, and attempted to pull herself up. Amanda’s eyes met Cassandra’s, who tried again to restrain her. “I’ve acted as a healer, off and on, for three thousand years, personally.”
Amanda’s mouth dropped open. “You’re that Cassandra—Duncan’s friend?”
“Hello—great you’re making each other’s acquaintance. And I have a masters in Biochemistry and a pretty nasty bit of acid still turning my innards into oatmeal, so if you don’t…” Genevieve dragged herself to her feet, and reached once again for the knife. She pulled her skin back open, and held out her hand. “The bottle?” It was handed over, and she spilled a good quantity on the wound, and then a good quantity in her mouth. She gasped. “There.” The wound began closing, and she staggered, before collapsing again, this time, for good.
“Very Rambo,” Amanda commented. “Take the feet?”
“I had the feet on the stairs,” Cassandra responded, reaching under Genevieve’s arms.
“Who did this?”
“Have you ever heard of the Gauntlet?”
Amanda nodded, slowly. She’d heard of them. She wished she never had. If it seemed bad enough calling the Game just that—the Game called the Gauntlet was even more inaptly called.
Posted on Sep 9, 2000, 7:27 PM from IP address 172.163.238.73
Well, not entirely true. I loved that it was HL and cool in that regard, but my friends and I were terribly disappointed. My friend Adam summed it up by saying it was like an episode of the series, and not one of the better ones. I agree; it was like watching an add-on to the 6th season. Connor was like Duncan in the last season, and Duncan couldn't pull him out of his funk like "Fitz" did for him. It was sad. My boyfriend was mad cuz they portrayed Connor as being somewhat selfish, and they left no room whatsoever for the events of the third movie, like Connor having an adopted son. They basically destroyed all ties with the first few movies in favor of the series. And that was disappointing. I know they couldn't reconcile everything, but it was still a shoddy job. Methos wasn't in nearly enough, neither was Joe, and Amanda's absence was very conspicuous(sp?). The woman in the movie, Duncan's Immortal "wife" who left him(he's not supposed to get that far, remember? He's cursed; I guess since she technically died that night and left, it's okay) served absolutley no purpose but a gratuitous(sp?) sex scene. The whole thing did nothing to further the plot and Duncan spouted some really lame lines, even for him when it comes to a woman. I think they should have stuck to the standard HL formula of showing the flashbacks in order to show the past story unfolding and paralleling the present day events. The flashback of why the villian hated Connor so much could have had a better place in the cemetary scene than in the begining. It would have had a bit more impact. The villian was so overly dramatic and one-dimensional it was sad; I didn't like him at all. He in no way stood in the same rank as the Kurgan, Kalas, Xavier, or Kronos. And I think the name should have been "Legacy", for a couple of reasons; the legacy of hate that perpetuated this nearly 500-year feud, and Connor's legacy to Duncan, his student and "true brother" as he calls him. Lambert looked very old and tired in this movie, and it saddened me that we almost knew how the movie had to turn out for just that reason. It's been what? 15 years? He's been Connor a very long time, and it was nice to see him there again, but still sad.
Okay, I think I'm finished. My friends and I have been going on about this since last night. If they do another movie, for God's sake, make sure Widen or Abramowitz or Lettow write the script and make it a movie worthy of the name Highlander. It was decent as a stand alone film, or only with the series, but it lacked some of the heart, humor, and general HL-ness of what we've come to know and expect. Sorry, but I'm not satisfied. If they make another one, I won't raise my hopes so high. Maybe I won't be so disappointed.
What did the rest of you think? Of either the movie, or my critique? Not my best work, but hey...
Alicia <:)
Posted on Sep 2, 2000, 5:55 PM from IP address 129.130.87.8
I actually thought that the bad guy, the character of Jacob Kell, totally ruined the movie. In the end, it was just me sitting there going, "Why?" And the actor who played him really over-acted. Methos was barely used, and Joe even less. For those who are not HL fans, the presence of Joe would really confuse people. Another gripe, I have to agree with Alicia, the gratuitous sex scene. The plot line with her and DM was useless also but my friend was grateful for AP's butt shot! I was quite surprised by the appearance of the two actresses from the first movie, shocked by Rachel's outcome in the first five minutes of the movie! But in the end, I'm grateful that they ended the first HL movie characters because Christophe Lambert looked like crap. I'd have to give this movie a C, the action sequences kept me from giving it an F. BTW, I kept laughing at the parts when they had to explain HL canon.
Posted on Sep 2, 2000, 11:24 PM from IP address 168.191.122.42
was the fact that this did fit more in line with HL:TS and not so much the movies. And, Even considering that, it still was not a good job.
There were so many continuity screw-ups that it made it hard for me not to go "Wait didn't this happen in.." Every 15 min. especially the "Duncan's wife" part. In the series, didn't they say he never got maried?
and who noticed the fact that two of those scenes between Conner and Duncan were almost exact copys of the scene between Duncan and MEthos from "DOA" and "Methos"?
And then we had the irrelevant plot pieces. The Watcher "Santuary" was an interesting idea, but once it was introduced it fizzled out and there was no other mention of it. And Kell;s mousketeers did not need to be there. I will admit that the fight scenes with them were excellent. The problem that I had was that the movie would not have changed much if they or the Watchers were not there,
I was dissapointed in the movie as well. hopefully the next one will be better.
Posted on Sep 4, 2000, 5:40 AM from IP address 207.205.222.89
I went to see it cuz I figured it'd be jumping with info on the movie and everybody'd be happy, but i can't get into any messages newer than Monday. What's up? Anyway, gonna go see the 9:20 showing tonight. Chat later.
ABD
Posted on Sep 1, 2000, 5:01 PM from IP address 129.130.231.161
I thought too many people might have been giving spoilers out and they turned it into a managed board so they would have to read the msgs before allowing them to be posted.
I just want to know if Methos makes it, and if not, who gets him.....
:-)(-:
Posted on Sep 1, 2000, 8:37 PM from IP address 207.198.234.84
It happened not that long ago once before...the board is definitely not managed, but rather, it's, as someone else once referred to it, a "ghost ship". And so when it goes down, there's a bit of kerfuffle as to "who do we tell?"--'cuz there isn't really someone to tell. We dunno if it'll go back up, but for the past week or so, most folk have been finding other Forums.
Posted on Sep 2, 2000, 9:38 AM from IP address 172.166.134.95
"All I know for sure is, we should get going--my car. They should know yours by now...which one--the Prism?" I asked, having put a "make" on that car while I was checking out the parking lot.
"Ye..." She ended the syllable with a puzzled look. I was beginning to get on her nerves--you'd think the older ones would have more patience, but her and Methos pretty much are the same on that score--I irritate!
"It has rental written all over it. You...you're not a Prism kind of girl...you'll like my car."
I was playing. Nobody loves my Camaro. Only I love my Camaro--it's vintage. It's heavily tricked out--one day, my machine is going to get stolen. I know it will. I had the paint job vamped up--candy apple red--it is a ho-mobile. Okay--it's exactly what you picture me driving. And it's fast. Man, I love my car. And you know what? I don't even know what year car it is, I just knew when I saw it that it was a fast freaking car. All I do is, pull her up to the garage and say--"Treat her right, I got the money." So you know what I do with it every other day when I'm not getting it treated right, right?
Beating the ever-loving crap out of it. That's right. You're getting to know me pretty well. Cassandra didn't even say a word when she got her gear together (girl knows how to travel light--she packed it up in minutes, like she was used to traveling), and she certainly didn't say anything when I hauled one of her shoulder bags into my machine. She simply looked at it.
"It doesn't bite...I mean, it's totally street legal."
"It will stand out like a sore thumb!" she complained.
"So? Anath-Sin's car should be nothing less," I joked. "I drive in style. We're going to buzz by my apartment."
"If they think you're that woman--they know where you live."
"So?" I shrugged. "They're the ones with the problem, if they step on my turf." I got the oddest look out of that. I elaborated. "My apartment. I signed the lease--I've got rights. Somebody home-invades my behind--I got legal issues with that--see?"
"Okay, you have a point," she admitted. "But why would we be stopping there? I saw your trunk--you've...you do have a way with...self-armament." A sly smile played at her lips--I think she was ragging me.
"I like the guns--I like the swords--so sue me." I smiled in return, just so she knew I took no offense. "I packed for the wrong thing--I knew you were seeing a little trouble--those people following...uh, us. But I packed the way Genevieve would--and, well, it's the wrong image. And besides, I have to book a flight."
"A flight--and, image?"
"Image--I have some things...I want to get myself a little--ancient. You know--I think I'm keeping the persona, because I can't get into anymore trouble than I'm already in. And the flight? We're Paris-bound."
"Paris?" She looked at me doubtfully--not in the way someone who *doesn't* know what's going on looks at another person--but in the way someone who knows exactly what's going on does.
"If you're seeing action--and I'm seeing action--Methos is seeing action. It wouldn't be right, me leaving his @ss hanging out there like that."
"And I'm coming with..."
"Yes, I'm afraid so. And, I haven't been all that thrilled with him lately myself. But, whatever you think about him--come on--we can't let those schmucks get to him, can we?"
I stopped for a stop sign (man, after a solid decade of practicing the "Philly roll" at stop signs--says something) for a bit while I got a look at her face. Part of her was perfectly cool with the idea of his antique behind getting the Ginsu treatment from these Game hags. But she knew better--and I damn well expected that she would. She paused just about forever, and then grinned.
"If we get out of this--*all* of us--he'll owe me."
"That's the spirit," I agreed. And I meant that. He could certainly stand being a bit in her debt--humbles him properly, so to speak. And maybe puts her in a position to get that "closure" he was interested in.
You know me, folks. Hopeless romantic. Can't leave stuff alone?
Posted on Aug 10, 2000, 7:17 PM from IP address 172.163.174.243
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
I could feel the tension, and rather desperately and suddenly wanted out of that conversation. My sudden thought was that she didn't need to hear anything I had to say--had more than likely been thinking about all of that for over three thousand years--and words were not helpful, and gestures were out of the question.
"Look, I'm just saying, he may have had reasons, that's all. Reasons--not excuses...I'm not trying to excuse..."
"You damn well are!" she exploded. "And you were trying the last time I saw you, too. It's pathological with you, isn't it? Trying to see things in the best light, trying to be understanding--don't you understand that what they were was wrong? They were killers, and they were more than that...more."
I stared at her in shock. My mouth hung open. Of course I knew. I'm not stupid. She had said exactly the wrong thing with me, more than likely the way I was saying the wrong things with her.
"I can understand that--okay? They raped...they killed. That was what they did--understood. Okay? And I understand that what they did to you was horrendous--again, understood. But your head could have been taken if you meant nothing. And you have survived. And as far as knowing what they were--you knew what they were--so how they treated you was a part of *what they were*, Cassandra. A mortal woman would have been useless to them--would have died--real death. Okay? Real, rotting, death. You could take it. That's was what they saw in you--Methos valued it. Kronos valued it. I'm not going to say, 'Oh they were lonely.' That's disgusting. But..." I trembled. "They were men....I mean, human. Human emotions...somewhere in there, no matter how it played out. There are reasons."
"And there are reasons why you have to lie to yourself, aren't there?" she asked me, with emotion in her voice. I glared, and then turned.
"I'm not having this conversation--you don't know me. You don't know anything about me...and I don't care if you ever know anything about me. We're in this...together, or not." I went into my bedroom, and tore through my closet. I didn't even know what I was looking for--I was just
trying to be busy. I couldn't even stand looking at her. I cursed at myself for saying anything, and cursed at her. Lying to myself? I couldn't wrap my head around that one.
I looked up, and there she was, standing in the door way. I could see her, even through the film of irrational tears I was developing.
"Kronos wanted you because you were the same...your words," she said, and I could tell she was forcing the emotion out of her voice, now--trying to keep her tone with me level. "You don't even remember that clearly, do you? You don't..."
"Cass...shut up. I close my eyes--and I see visions of stuff that didn't even happen to me. I have dreams about things that aren't my life--okay? I reminded him of someone else. I am...not...going to bring that up right now. I wanted to die and he wanted me to live...he forced my life on me. He didn't rape me because...do you know what I was? Drunk out of my skull. I *don't* remember it clearly. I didn't see it as any different from any other anonymous pick-up...except that I was drunk, and I wasn't going to get paid....except by him putting a knife into me. Okay? Here it is...I wanted it. I asked for it. I wanted him to kill me--and what did I get? I get the extreme pleasure of being Immortal. Fighting to the death. Enjoying your very pleasant company, and feeling like I have to defend myself every freaking minute of it. That's what I got. So just, shut up."
Kronos, running the knife over my skin, telling me I'd be a very good student. Methos...trying to teach me, but being so frustrated with me he couldn't even speak. My father, holding the knife on me--"What do you do?" My husband's clenched fists--when I waited, knowing full well I could kill him if he tried anything. No--I *don't* remember everything clearly--and I don't want to.
God, what would that help?
"Fine. I'll shut up--it doesn't change anything. Just so that you know--it doesn't change anything. I'm going out to the car."
I bit back an unhelpful sound, and then said--"You're still in it with me."
"Yes." And then she turned around and left.
"Talking about it doesn't change anything, either," I muttered, to no one in particular, and then remember it was the earrings I was after. And a spare trench coat--just in case. Because they are very prone to punctures and rips.
Posted on Aug 13, 2000, 11:24 AM from IP address 172.166.245.84
if it's too...anything, I'll stop. Because, between these two--the more I try to write them, with their very different attitudes, the more ugly it seems to get. It isn't what I'm used to writing, that's for sure. It's just what my muses are giving me.
Posted on Aug 13, 2000, 11:28 AM from IP address 172.166.245.84
Its ok Vix... You know sometimes you have to work thru the ugly
by
to get to the true meaning of the story. No good author writes Goldilocks and Mother Goose all the time. Without the conflict you can have no resolution. IMHO I think this story is developing well and I am looking forward to the next installment.
Posted on Aug 14, 2000, 9:00 PM from IP address 216.93.69.181
I got my gear together in a shoulder bag after forcing the bronze wires through my ears and giving my hair a quick tease'n'spritz--my hair is naturally extremely thick and wavy, and in the summer humidity, my only option is to go with it. I looked a sight--but that was the idea. With the right attitude, I can project bigger and badder than I really am, and I need every bit of attitude I can muster, most days. And then I thought of Methos--horribly missing him, and terribly concerned that he might be seeing action. I reached for the phone. And couldn't get him.
More and more, the phone seems like an enemy to me. I've gotten crank calls, bad news, and hard times on phones--this was no exception. I want to reach and and touch someone--and can't? It's holding out hope, in a way, that you can affect something at a distance, and when you can't, it's frustration past tolerance. With a strange grudge towards Alexander Graham Bell, I practically threw the cordless down on the table and ran through the usual list--it's the other side of the world, practically. He's asleep and can't hear the phone because he took the ringer off (he *wouldn't* do that, I quickly thought--he's too much like me, always on edge). He can't hear the ringer over his snoring (only when he's on his back--if you were curious). He's out walking--and getting killed by some snot-nosed punk who's all of two hundred with a grudge against the very old--
And I let out a scream of frustration. The idea of anyone so much as laying a finger on him drove me nuts. I twisted the knob of the lock, pulled the door behind me, and streaked down the stairs, trying to find my keys in my purse. They weren't there. And when I exited the apartment building, I saw Cassandra in the driver's seat.
"You lifted my freaking keys!" I said, in disbelief.
"I want you to understand something--we are Immortal...but an accident would be very inconvenient, just now." The look on her face was absolutely cryptic.
"I do not drive that badly. I simply drive very..."
"Above the speed limit. I've noticed. We have a flight in...roughly two hours. I have a friend with a private jet," she explained.
"Sweeeet," I commented, highly impressed. Slightly relaxed, but by no means completely relaxed, I took the passenger's seat. I cursed, silently. First Methos, then Cassandra. Of course, my husband and my father both said the same thing--I have a certain--*way*--behind the wheel. I was resigned to it, however. Although lifting my keys was a bit much. "You know..." I began, but she was already speakig.
"What is--"
And then we paused, each wondering what the other was about to ask, and I guess hoping it wasn't a reprisal of the blow-up from earlier.
"No, you," I said, being prepared to give way to whatever she had to say. After all, I was only going to harp on the key thing.
"Why are you--in costume? We don't...give overt signs as to our age--in fact, it's the last thing we would want to do. But you seem to be trying to stand out."
I thought about that. It's virtually true in Methos' case--I've noticed that he seems more current than I do, or at least, tries to, although there is this pair of red pants in his closet-sh*t oh dear, let me tell you! But then again, he's worn togas, bell-bottoms, and waistcoats in his time, so fashion is something of a changeable critter. But I had noticed the heavy-metal sparkler she was wearing, so I only answered, "Nice necklace, Cassandra. I'm guessing you didn't get that at Macy's."
Her face clouded. I only noticed that it was *ongepotchket*--as my grandmother would say, big, kind of brassy, and clearly not hammered out in the last twenty...centuries. I waited, because I could almost hear the wheels turning.
"Fine. It's ancient. But it has sentimental value."
"These came from my Pops..they have sentimental value," I said, wiggling my fingers. "For all anyone should know, I was a wealthy---matron or something. I married good, back in the day. Besides, after eight thousand years, I could be a nutcase, for all anyone should know. Why not stick out?" I argued.
"And another thing," she commented, after a pause. "You...have a way with words. How's your Sumerian?"
I gave that a minute. She had me there--I'd be seriously working my high school Latin if I were trying to pass for so much as as old as my jewelry. But then I shrugged.
"How good is theirs? How good is anyone's? Not everybody is, like, boning up on Woolley and Budge, and your ancient Near East experts. I can b.s. my way, I think..." I said, hoping she'd let it pass.
She looked at me. "You're a...what was it Duncan said? A prodigy. Don't tell me you've also studied history." She looked a bit disgusted. I couldn't blame her. My irregular education has left me with the equivalent of a masters' in biochem, at least an associates' in business, and a good, rounded study of dozens of other things.
"U. of Penn, my alma mater--I mean, one of them," I answered, smiling. "One of the best schools for antiquities going--they have a museum that would knock your socks off. I'm proud...and I used to stop by that museum, just thinking..."
Thinking of Kronos, actually. How he was older than half the things...more than half the things, there, and yet I'd held him in my arms. And how I might live that long, and see Rubik's cubes and whatnot in museums. And freaking out, just freaking out, at what it could all mean. Being that old. Living that long. Seeing your life through the glass of a museum exhibit. And when I'd stand there...looking at some bronze bull from Ur...I'd wonder...where would he have been when this was made? And I would realize--somewhere. Alive.
And don't get me started on mummies, okay?
Posted on Aug 16, 2000, 7:49 PM from IP address 172.165.143.164
My computer went whacko on me back in JUne - virus, cure and a second cure(the first cure screwed the computer)and I lost everything - can anybody here send me the website address for here please?
Posted on Aug 9, 2000, 11:10 AM from IP address 207.115.63.11
I read a critique of the potential movie script. And It got me thinking...how to go from here--see, my fanfic proposes a group of dudes tracking down immies so some other immie gets the Q...and they dig the vintage Q's....not sooo close to the Endgame theme--altho I sensed a "group of dudes tracking down immies" concept in there. See, sick as it is...the cool thing about there not being an active HL series is that I can just take off with my ideas--no canon after the fact will suddenly stomp my impetus. Suddenly, I've new respect for people who tried writing fanfic while the series was going. If anyone made it past the word Spoiler... has anyone ever written fanfic while a show--any--Dark Shadows, Star Trek..whatever-- was still a living culture? Did it make the whole thing kind of weird at some point? (And in some ways--I can see where this kind of thing could lead to Denial--what if I thought Genevieve should ultimately be trained by Connor...and somewhere along the line he bit it? That would put the kibosh on their meeting...period...when I had some interesting ideas....)
(Am I alone out here?)
Posted on Jul 29, 2000, 6:17 PM from IP address 172.129.193.6
...I tried writing a little fanfic (my so-so story that I posted here awhile ago) while the series was running...Then the Four Horsemen happened...And Richie died...And we kept finding out stuff that confirmed points writers had only been able to speculate about until then...I found it frustrating. Now, there's a little more freedom, but the movie will take fanfic off in other directions. Again.
Not necessarily a bad thing, though...
And btw, Vix, just WHEN are we gonna see more Cass and Gen? Hmmm? *crosses arms, taps foot impatiently, and looks at Vix expectantly until she sits back down to write again*
Talk at ya later. ABD.
Posted on Jul 30, 2000, 2:53 PM from IP address 129.130.8.199
The best thing about Highlander is the flashbacks. Remember that was how they were able to keep bringing Fitz back. As long as you placed the setting prior to Connor's or Richie's or Darius' death Gen could have been involved with any of them (that's assuming Conner dies which no one is saying).
Posted on Jul 30, 2000, 8:08 PM from IP address 216.93.69.243
Well, I've never written fanfic about a 'living' show, but I've recently started reading DS9 fic and found it really weird, because the show hasn't been dead for very long yet and most of the fanfic that's around today was written while it was still runnning, so now there are all kinds of conflicts between canon and the fanfic. E.g. Odo and Kira are often brought together in fanfic - this happened in the show, too, but a lot later than in most of the fanfic, so now, knowing the rest of the show, I find it really difficult to read fanfic about Odo and Kira that has them a happy couple in, say, season three, when really it only happened in season six or five... I usually like fanfic that 'accepts' the whole of canon best - or sometimes Alternative Universes that are explicitely alternative... I think the best fanfic is only written after the 'death' of a show - if the fandom survives that death.
Posted on Aug 7, 2000, 12:45 PM from IP address 62.104.212.85
and it makes me smile.