The Highlander Holy Ground Forum Midweek Challenge
Archivist’s Note: The stories and vignettes offered here from various Rysher Forumlanders have not been edited or changed other than having a spell-check performed and being reformatted for this website.
Okay, okay already. It's time for MID-WEEK CHALLENGE!
Posted by Leah CWPack on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 6:55 a.m., in response to Leah, Leah, I want the Midweek Challenge NOW!!! Please!!! n/t, posted by Viking Lass CWPack Chief MCR being slightly impatient on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 6:49 a.m.
For those who care to participate:
Write ONE, and only ONE paragraph. It can have any subject matter, setting or mood, but it MUST contain the following elements in some way: Duncan MacLeod; a loaf of french bread; a paper shredder and the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes.
ANSWER TO MID WEEK CHALLENGE: Some Cassie Angst...not my usual romantic comedy schlock...please read
Posted by Viking Lass CWPack Chief MCR on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 8:04 a.m.
Anger sang through Cassandra's veins. Somehow she had survived Bordeaux. And yet she almost wished she hadn't. She finished drawing a picture of Duncan MacLeod and laid it on the table. An stale, uneaten loaf of french bread was in a brown paper bag. Next to it was a stack of pictures of Methos, her former Master, Torturer, and Lover. Some of the pictures of Methos were of him in the Bronze Age, with the long hair and blue war paint. Others were of how Cassandra had seen him in the late 20th century, short hair, clean face, and unassuming clothes. She picked up a picture of Methos; it was a drawing of him sitting outside her cage in Bordeaux and she put it into the paper shredder. Then she picked up the next picture in the pile and shredded it also. She continued til she was halfway through the pile. If she couldn't take Methos' head left to right, in a real decapitation, she'd take it top to bottom by way of a paper shredder. She stopped and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle her nerves. She decided something mundane might calm her, perhaps perusing her mail. A bright pink envelope with bold printing on it, announced that she had won the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes. She laughed bitterly, slightly annoyed that such scams were allowed. Then she shook her head sadly and realized that much of living was potholed by scams. She thought of her life and remembered how Methos, The Master Liar, had basically "scammed" her by using her Immortality and her sexuality against her. And even her noble Solstice child, Duncan had scammed her at the hotel by telling her the phone call he received was from the front desk. She knew in her heart that he had lied to her. Gazing upon the bright pink envelope and the words "The Prize" and "You're the Winner!" she thought that it was wrong. It was so damn wrong.
Midweek challege-Let's play!
Posted by angeleyes on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 10:31 a.m.
He had made it home to the barge without anything happening. Duncan couldn't believe it. For a while there he had almost given up eating French Bread because it seemed like everytime he bought a loaf someone attacked him! He emptied his bag and pulled out the mail he had just picked up. bill, bill, bill...hey this is different! He looked at the envelope in amazement. They had found him again. He couldn't believe it! Oh how he wished for a paper shredder as he looked at the envelope from Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes addressed to Mr. Adam Pierson.
My first ever attempt at a Mid-Week Challenge...a poem.
Posted by HLassie on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 11:27 a.m.
"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod" Said the Dark One swinging his french bread.
"How can you think of food" said Richie, "When we've all this junk mail to shred?"
"Leave it for tomorrow," said TAO And then Richie began to grouse.
But smiled when he picked up one that said "You've Won" from Publisher's Clearing House.
"I guess you won't be needing this then," I'll add it to my small stash."
"You have way more than your share of jewels, antiques and cash."
"Stop right there laddie" The bread-wielding Scotsman said.
"Drop the envelope now, Or ye might lose yer head."
"I might need that check someday When all my money's done."
"Besides clearly I'M the winner Because "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE."
Midweek Challenge: Lyttonized for your enjoyment
Posted by HonorH the Arctic Wolfe on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 11:51 a.m.
Duncan MacLeod woke to the sensation of a rap band playing in his brain, and as his eyes slowly and painfully focused on the sight of an envelope reading "You, Duncan MacLeod, have won the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes! (provided you return the Winning Prize Number before July 18)," he realized he had been sleeping on the floor on account of having spent five hours at Joe's last night, drinking beer and listening to an Italian by the name of Piano or Milano tell wretchedly bad jokes and had come home to make a futile attempt at putting a loaf of French bread through a paper shredder for reasons he couldn't fathom and which, really, had no relevance to the situation anyway.
MW Challenge..with apologies to Amanda fans
Posted by Chimera on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 11:58 a.m.
Duncan stopped in mid stride as stepped into his barge, waving the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes envelope. "Look, Amanda, we've won....what the.....!" Every flat surface inside was covered in a fine white dust. Amanda, trying to distract him with a warm hug, said, "I was making croutons for the Caesar salad using my sword on the french loaf, when I saw your paper shredder on the desk, and thought it would be faster." She smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "It was."
Midweek Challenge attempt...
Posted by LA-LA lander on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 12:20 p.m.
Sorry, Leah, I blatantly ignored the "one paragraph" requirement. My muse and love of punctuation could not be reigned in...*ppppfffffttt*! Anyway, other than that I hope you like it.
Duncan put down the loaf of French bread he was slicing as he felt the buzz of another immortal and heard the motor of his loft elevator start to whir. As the elevator gate opened he looked up to see Richie grinning at him.
"Hey, Mac. I picked up your mail downstairs," Richie said, tossing a small stack of various sized envelopes onto the counter in front of Duncan.
"Thanks, Rich," Duncan said as he picked up the stack and flipped absently through it. "Aaah!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Not this again!"
Duncan held up an oversized yellow envelope with the Publisher's Clearinghouse logo on the front. In large letters it proclaimed "Mr. Dincan MacLoud, you may have already won!"
A mischievous gleam in his eye, Duncan moved swiftly across the room, holding the envelope by one corner as if it held something toxic.
With a gleeful smirk, he stuffed it in a paper shredder in the corner near his small desk, and when the grinding noises subsided, he brushed his hands together with a satisfied look. "There," he said, strutting back to the kitchen and taking up his French bread.
"Geez, Mac," Richie said. "What've you got against Ed McMahon?"
Mid week challenge...
Posted by T Rose/Tikasmom on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 1:00 p.m.
Duncan slit the still warm loaf of french bread and inserted the wedge of brie as Methos opened yet another bottle of beer. The Super Bowl had just ended and Amanda turned up the volume as the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes truck hove into view. It was only a few weeks earlier that Methos had claimed in all of his 5000 plus years he had never met anyone who had won one of these so called sweepstakes and if he ever did he would dance naked in Times Square. She smiled to herself as she recalled last night and the thousands of entries she had put through the paper shredder at the sweepstakes headquarters until she found the one she had completed in Duncan's name and substituted it for the prior winner. She only hoped that she had enough film in the new camera....
Here's my answer to the Mid-Week challenge...or is that Mid-Weak?
Posted by midnyte rumour, groaning on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 2:05 p.m.
With a weary sigh, the Mac plowed a strong hand through dark, curly locks. He’d been working at his desk for hours, and every inch of its surface was littered with tiny bits of paper and the rubbery residue of rubber cement. After completing a series of bone-crunching neck rolls and torso twists, MacLeod cast a baleful eye toward the dark figure lounging in the corner of the room. Methos smiled sweetly and patted the paper shredder resting on the floor between his lanky legs. The old man absentmindedly popped the last chunk of French bread into his mouth and watched in wicked amusement as Mac labored to glue to shredded strips of a document back together. //This is absolutely the last time I let Methos challenge me to a test of ‘skill and speed,’// grumbled the Highlander to himself and set back to work restoring the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes forms to a readable state.
Mmmm....challenge...okay..hey, one paragraph?
Posted by vixen69 on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 4:19 p.m.
Eh. Here goes:
Gray-green eyes calmly surveyed the startled Scotsman and then, barely pausing more than the second it took for him to sum up the situation, he started in on his friend, to wit: "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he drawled, with emphasis on each word, "for the record, number one, I have never lost to an opponent who came at me with a loaf of french bread; number two, you look as if you've been run through a paper shredder, and number three--you've just won the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes." He then allowed a moment for MacLeod to catch up. "Well, no. I made up that last bit. What the hell happened to you?" At that, Duncan's left brain quickly formulized that Methos' tendency to irritate seemed to rise in inverse proportion to his own ability to deal with it, and he gestured with the french bread to indicate as much.
Posted by Shelly, Guardian Angel of Connor on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 4:58 p.m.
As he stood by the stove preparing to cook spaghetti to go with his french bread, Duncan heard the doorbell ring. Ahh, why whenever I'm ready to eat this happens, he wondered. So off he went to answer the door bell....and who should appear before him but Ed McMahon...saying Duncan Macleod you just won a million dollars. Oh no, not you again....didn't I just tell you last week to stop playing these games with me? Okay, Okay I admit I'm not Ed McMahon.....but a friend of Amanda's sent to give you these. At that moment a stack of papers was shoved into Duncan's hands..as he stood there wondering what in the world they could be, the guy disappears....leaving Duncan with a dumbfounded look upon his face. So instead of looking at the papers Duncan goes to the phone, dials Amanda and as he tells her what's going through his mind, he dumps them in the paper shredder....while Amanda yells no don't do that, they were important. But alas Duncan only laughs, because finally he thinks he has outsmarted her.
Posted by Ysanne on Wednesday, 31 May 2000, at 9:15 p.m.
Thub...thub...thubba...thub...thubba Somehow the sound of two loaves of French bread meeting in battle was not nearly as stirring as the clang/spark of broadsword and katana. And the weaponry finally crumbled so badly that it looked like it had been stuffed through a paper shredder. The war over due to bread battle fatigue, Methos brushed crumbs from his baggy sweater and pried dough balls from the bottom of his boots. MacLeod shook gobbets of flaky crust out of his wavy hair and brushed a few crumbs from his eyelashes. The two exchanged a meaningful look with Joe Dawson, who silently handed over a broom and dustpan, along with an unopened bottle of the really expensive stuff and two short glasses. He sighed, disgusted with himself for making such a stupid bet, even though it had been interesting seeing two warriors beat the hell out of each other with Gallic bakery items. Who knew that it would have been a draw? He made a mental note never to bet with guys who were at least ten times older than himself unless he had won the Publisher's Clearing House grand prize.
My attempt at this week's Midweek Challenge.......
Posted by Harmony on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 9:31 a.m.
....Leah...I tried to keep it short, but it's not exactly in paragraph form. Sorry, but I just *have* to separate quoted dialogue from the paragraph body. I can't write any other way.
Also, please bear in mind that I got back from my trip yesterday and I'm not quite hitting on all eight, so this may or may not make much sense. *g*
The pretty young girl behind the counter smiled at Duncan MacLeod as she handed him two loaves of French bread neatly tucked into a white sack. He recognized her from the past few times he had frequented this small little bakery. Mac smiled back at her; noting how much she reminded him of a certain brown-eyed female Immortal. It had been ages since he had seen Amanda, and he fleetingly wondered what part of the world she was standing in, before Richie's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey Mac, check this out," Richie said.
Duncan turned to see Richie standing by a paper-shredding machine.
"Why do you suppose they have one of these here?" Richie asked.
Duncan shrugged his shoulders and shot a glance back at the young girl behind the counter.
She caught his eye and followed his gaze to the shredder. She let out a small laugh as she came from around the counter, answering Richie's question.
"For these," she replied, holding up a couple of Publisher Clearing House packets.
"We get two, sometimes three a week. Somebody, somewhere has made a mistake and put our address on duplicate mailing lists."
She walked over and stuffed the packets into the shredder, pushing the 'on' button and watching them reduced to dozens of colorful shards.
"That Ed McMahon is something else," she mused, returning to the counter. Suddenly an idea occurred to her and she looked up into Duncan's face.
"Hey, aren't you related to him?"
"Me?" Duncan returned with a stupefied expression on his face. "Uh, no. My name is MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod."
"MacLeod, McMahon, all Irish names sound the same to me," she answered.
Duncan threw Richie an exasperated look as the young Immortal burst out into uncontrollable laughter.
My Own Mid-Week Challenge Entry
Posted by Leah CWPack on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 9:56 a.m.
I couldn't resist. -----------------------------------
The night sky still reverberated with the echoes of the Last Quickening.
High atop the tor, Duncan MacLeod stood alone, head bent forward onto his chest, the point of his katana resting unheeded on the rocky soil. There in the mist and the darkness, he was still after the storm. There was no need to return to vigilence; there would never be need again. It was both blessing and curse to know that the man he had just beheaded was the last of the Immortals beside himself. It was small consolation; in the aftermath of the Quickening, he felt the familiar presences within himself of friends and foes long gone, amalgamated into his late foe. Familiar, but jumbled and no longer cohesive, as if their individuality had been put through a paper shredder and mixed. He had never been more unalone, and never more desolate.
Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, he became aware of a group of men approaching him. They stopped at arm's length and encircled him, standing in expectant silence equal to his own. Gradually, he raised his head and saw them. One stepped forward.
"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," pronounced the tallest, a white-haired, heavyset man in a business suit and tie as crisp as a week-old crust of French bread. "You are the Only One. You have won The Prize." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a small, rectangular object. "The Publisher's Clearing House is proud to present to you....."
Mid Week Challenge Entry
Posted by Lovie MacFru on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 1:54 p.m.
I sharpened my pencil.. refilled my fountain pen.. but it did little good. Here's my first try, ever.. maybe the last..
The lengthening shadows afforded little cover for the tall dark man as he inched his way along side the barge cabin. The whirring sound of what could have been a paper shredder had drawn him from the cabin only moments before. Carefully he lifted the katana over his head, pausing briefly to draw a deep breath. Every nerve in his body was on alert. He moved quickly, stepping out in the open, challenging, “I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” The deck was empty except for ragged crumbs of French bread, scattered carelessly across the planks. The tearing sounds continued. Following the haphazard trail, MacLeod carefully stepped into the open. With a surprised look, Maurice turned to greet him. “MacLeod, my friend, I have brought you great good fortune.” MacLeod lowered the steel blade and tucked it quickly inside his coat. “Maurice, what are you doing here?” Maurice smiled innocently. “Ah, my friend, I just happened to find this letter to you. I thought you would want it right away.” Nervously, MacLeod scanned the vicinity of the barge. “Found? In my mail box I suppose.” Maurice looked surprised, “But of course.” The cheerful little man continued shredding the contents of MacLeod’s mailbox. “I was in need of paper for the bottom of FiFi’s bird cage.” He bent carefully and picked up the one piece of mail that still retained its original shape. “For you, MacLeod. The most important letter.” Slowly, Duncan took the envelope, his eyes still searching the scattered pieces of mail that Maurice was sweeping carefully into his scarf. “Wonderful news, my friend,” Maurice exclaimed, “You have won the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes!! Guaranteed, it says.”
Posted by destiny, first attempt at MWC and who couldn't keep it to one paragraph if she tried.. :o) on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 2:19 p.m.
'He is Duncan Macleod, the Highlander. Born in 1592 in the highlands of Scotland and he is still alive. He is Immortal. For 400 years, he's been a warrior...a lover...a wanderer. Constantly facing other Immortals in combat to the death, the winner takes his enemy's head and with it, his power. I am a watcher, part of a secret society of men and women who observe and record, but never interfere. We know the truth about Immortals. In the end, There can be only ONE. May it be Duncan Macleod, the Highlander...
"You know, I always did like your intro the best," Adrian remarked as he turned the volume down on the tv. He walked over to the dining table and refilled Jim's wine glass. A freshly baked loaf of french bread, still warm from the oven, lay on a platter in the middle of the table, surrounded by yellow curls of fragrant garlic butter. Mounds of spaghetti, covered in homemade tomato sauce completed the picture of the excellent dinner Adrian had prepared for them tonight. Jim had brought over the copy of the Highlander The Series episode they now watched.
"Yeah, I really enjoyed doing that. Too bad the series is over. I miss all the good times," Jim sighed as he lifted his glass.
"So do I. But with our new movie coming out soon the legend of Duncan Macleod and his watcher friend Joe will live on."
"Ain't that the truth, man. Long Live the Highlander!" Jim gave that mischievous little grin of his and took a sip of the wine. Adrian softly laughed as he pulled out his chair and started to join his friend. At that moment the doorbell rang.
"Now, who could that be at this time of night?" he grumbled as he moved to open the door. He almost laughed aloud at the sight of the special delivery man standing in the doorway. He held a bright orange envelope in his hand.
"Hi! I have a special delivery for Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod," the man said in an official sounding voice. "Hey, you look just like him..Duncan..The Highlander. Wait a minute! I thought there could be only one."
"There is, my friend, and you're lookin' at him," Adrian smoothly stated, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. Without another word, he walked over to his paper shredder, envelope in hand, and dropped the stiff official looking letter in. He pressed the button and heard the satisfying whir of the machine as bright scraps of orange fell into the basket underneath. Ah, now, if only everything in life was that simple!
Mid-Week Challenge Attempt
Posted by Titania (not my usual type of story) on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 3:03 p.m.
Duncan MacLeod sat in front of the dying fire, sipping wine and nibbling on the remains of a loaf of french bread. The gentle rocking of the barge calmed his nerves. He had been avoiding this task all day. The time had finally come. He could avoid it no longer. He took the stack of mail that had been forwared from Seacouver, and started running it through the paper shredder. As he ran the last piece of mail through the shredder, a single tear gently rolled down his cheek and fell onto the Publilsher's Clearing House Sweepstakes envelope. The one addressed to Richie Ryan. "Happy Birthday, Richie." Duncan whispered.
Another Midweek Challenge Attempt...watch out!
Posted by LA-LA lander on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 5:53 p.m.
Once again I have brazenly ignored the one paragraph rule. Oh well, you get what you pay for :->.
The gate to MacLeod's loft elevator rolled loudly open. "Hey look, MacLeod, you've won the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes!" smirked the world's oldest living immortal, waving a large yellow envelope. Looking around the loft and seeing no one, he called out, "MacLeod?!"
"Dammit MacLeod! Didn't you lock the elevator?" Amanda's irritated voice emanated from under the quilt on the bed, and Methos noticed two large lumps writhing under the covers. "No! Ow! Careful not to turn on the paper shredder!"
"MacLeod? What are you two doing under there? No wait, don't tell me," said Methos with amusement and mock horror.
"Mmmffsss!" MacLeod's tossled head appeared from under the covers, a large loaf of French bread held sideways in his mouth.
"Maybe I should come back later," said Methos with understatement.
MW Challenge #2...couldn't resist
Posted by Chimera on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 5:13 p.m.
With creative credit to Ysanne for borrowing her french loaves for this scene. Unfortunately, they're no longer usable.
The beautiful newly-made immortal lay on the ground as the two old immortals gazed down, shocked that she had met her violent death stepping between their deadly duel of stale french loaves.
She revived and Duncan said, "We're sorry, lass. But your life is going to be verra different from now on."
"I sure hope so", she said. "Anything would be better than working for Publisher's Clearing House putting the "No" replies through the paper shredder."
"What's your name?" asked Methos solicitously, helping her up and brushing off the breadcrumbs.
"I'm not sure. I keep hearing this strange tune, over and over in my head. Yes, of course. My name is... Bonnie Portmore!"
Challenges...grumble...one day will do me in.
Posted by vixen69 on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 4:02 p.m.
There's the rub. See, the one paragraph *did* sound like the start of something. And so it...started something. I'm an inverterate automatic writer--I mean, uh, I just...you know, write. So, here's the beginning of...something. (Well, at least I've switched my crutch from OFC's to MWC's. Wait, is that bad? Disclaimer--sarcasm alert.)
Gray-green eyes calmly surveyed the startled Scotsman and then, barely pausing more than the second it took for him to sum up the situation, he started in on his friend, to wit: "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he drawled, with emphasis on each word, "for the record, number one, I have never lost to an opponent who came at me with a loaf of French bread; number two, you look as if you've been run through a paper shredder, and number three--you've just won the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes." He then allowed a moment for MacLeod to catch up. "Well, no. I made up that last bit. What the hell happened to you?" At that, Duncan's left brain quickly formulized that Methos' tendency to irritate seemed to rise in inverse proportion to his own ability to deal with it, and he gestured with the French bread to indicate as much.
“I ran into a friend of yours,” MacLeod grated, once his right brain had caught up.
“Who am I taking off speed-dial, now?” Methos muttered, under his breath, taking the French bread so that it could threaten him no further. He surveyed it. It came across as stale, hard, terribly dry. Just looking at it made him thirsty. He invited himself in, feet naturally pointing themselves in the direction of the fridge.
“Do you recall a man named Ketch? A very old Immortal…”
The bottle he’d located suddenly became very slippery, and he only just recovered himself before losing his grasp on it…and wasting the contents that now seemed indispensable. The only way out of this would be to lie, he reasoned, and then make a clean getaway.
“Well…there was Jack Ketch…hangman…became a household name, if you have the sort of household that regularly refers to hangmen…” His fingers trembled as he unloosened the cap. It couldn’t be…no, that man had to be dead. It had been…years. But then, one of his nightmares presented itself in the doorway, one arm wrapped around MacLeod’s shoulders. Oh, gods, no.
“And then there was me…no, it isn’t Ketch—it’s ‘Catch’. Methos can explain that one,” the man smiled, and then strode purposefully to the kitchen. He had a lean and hungry look—nope, Methos still didn’t trust him. “Pass me a cold one, old man.”
Without a word, Methos pulled out another, and then winced as the man took it, and reeled off a witticism he’d only heard a few hundred dozen times before—literally. “Methos—I still swear that’s Greek. Attic wit, Spartan frame, drunken helot. You never do change,” he said, with uncanny emphasis on the last words. Methos ducked between the refrigerator and “Catch,” and then grated, in a tone just low enough for MacLeod to hear,
“You’ve been out all night drinking…with him? Of all the people you’ve met who knew me…you let him live?”
MacLeod became flustered. “Methos…he says he’s a friend of yours. Besides…he seems harmless. He reminded me a little of you. Said you’d been friends for a long…time.” The full impact of that suddenly hit him. “A long…time?”
Methos nodded, wearily. “There’s the catch.”
Posted by Evenstar on Friday, 2 June 2000, at 4:08 a.m.
Ok, forumlanders, this is my first attempt. Here goes.
Duncan walked into the bookstore and approached the counter. The drooling, stammering clerk handed him the newspaper he had asked for. Reluctantly, Duncan tossed the wet paper into the wastepaper basket. He wondered to himself what was wrong with the sales clerk, thinking that the poor girl should see a doctor about her excessive drooling problem. Duncan turned toward the sound of the front door opening to see his friend, Joe Dawson enters the bookstore. He told Mac not to worry about the *newbie*. It seems that not only is she a new employee for the store, but a new watcher as well. Joe went to the storeroom to get a mop and droolbucket for the new girl. Duncan waited for the clerk to calm herself before he asked her why there was a loaf of what appeared to be soggy French bread on the counter. The clerk just stood there, silently. The girl had a letter in her hands. There was a letter from Publishers Clearing House. It said: Elizabeth M. Evenstar you have won ONE MILLION DOLLARS. Duncan shook his head as he took the letter from the clerk and walked over to the nearest paper shredder.
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