The Holy Ground Highlander 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.
Early mid-week challenge
Posted by Celedon on Tuesday, 16 May 2000, at 2:03 p.m.
since I won't be here to try my hand at it, let's see what you can do with these three things:
I dare ya! *snicker* I DOUBLE dare ya all!
I'll catch them later.....
Early mid-week challenge
Posted by stitches MacWench on Tuesday, 16 May 2000, at 9:09 p.m.
Ring, ring, ring "pick up the phone! You'd think I have all day!" Ring. "Pick it up!"
"Duncan, is that you?"
"Who else would it be? Stitches? Are you ok? You sound frantic."
"Duncan you have to help me! Can you come over? I'm in big trouble!"
"Sure be right over. Can you give m..." click! Duncan grabs his coat and rushes out the door. Starts the car but nothing. "Come on, start." Tries again. Nothing. "Never fails, when your in a hurry." Truning the key one last time it starts. "Good girl, let's go help stitches."
BUZZZZ!!(doorbell) "Duncan?! Oh! thank God your here!" she says while throwing her arms aronnd his neck.
Detangleing himself form her and setting her on the couch he says, "Tell me what's wrong and what I can do to help."
"Come with me." stitches leads him into her bedroom, it looks like a tornado hit it, clothes are thrown everywhere.
"What happened? Where you robbed?"
"No, but you must help me! I cant'seem to controll myself!" She then hands Duncan a couple of silk scarves.
"And what pray tell do you want me to do with these? Tei you to the bed?"
"If you don't mind?"
"I will not!"
"But you have to! You see this is the only way to stop me! Please just do it." stitches gives him one of those sad helpless looks that he can't resist.
"The things I do for you." He then kisses her and precedes to tie her to the bed. "Ok, I did what you asked. Will you tell me why?"
"Oh, Duncan, I'm a mess. The convention is next week-end and I can't wait! I tried everything to keep me from packing early. Meditation, cleaning the appartment, polishing the silver, you name it I did it and nothing helps! This/You are my last hope! Whatever I say or `Promise" don't untie me! Deal?"
"Deal? What deal? Ok, just stop looking at me like that!"
"With those puppy eyes. You know I can't resist them." Leans over and kisses her again.
"Duncan, your a saint!"
"I don't know about that. If you knew what I'm thinking You just might...good thing your hands are tied." raising one eyebrow and grinning. "As a matter of fact, good thing your hands are tied." VBEG:
"Duncan, you wouldn't" giggling:
Just than Duncan sits up with this questioning look on his face. "Wait, I just thought of something. You're not even going to Legacy! So why all the fuss, the clothes, the suitcase, the silk scarves?"
Turning her head and blushing stitches replies, "A girl can always dream can't she?"
Have fun everyone, Peace, stitches
Early midweek Challenge--not terribly funny...
Posted by vixen69 on Tuesday, 16 May 2000, at 4:21 p.m.
But it left an nifty image in my head:
"I'm not interested in discussing it. I said I forgive you; that's that," Methos said firmly, but he was clearly agitated. He should have kept the door locked, and he knew it. He certainly hadn't lived this long by being sloppy--particularly about things like locked doors.
Joe averted his eyes and pretended to be inspecting the polishing job he'd done on a glass--but it didn't *quite* get the picture out of his head. He rather wished the mental image would go. Regardless of what some might think--he hadn't found it a particularly edifying sight. There are certain things a Watcher doesn't care to observe.
"Look, it isn't the most shocking thing I've discovered about you," he then said, gently, trying to smooth over the tension. "I mean..."
From his corner-stool vantage, MacLeod couldn't resist jumping in. It was almost as if he was taking pleasure in making Methos uncomfortable about this. "After all, you've said yourself, you've done many things in your five thousand...years."
The look he got for that stunned him into silence. Perhaps he'd goaded the man a bit too much in the last hour or so. Again, Joe attempted to be conciliatory.
"It isn't like we don't all do strange things. In fact, I hear a lot of people...do that."
Methos inspected his beer. It was still there. He had to do something about that. He did, and then tried to explain.
"But you walked in on *me*....with the bucket, and the mop, and..."
"I know...I know," Joe nodded. "But still, I've seen stranger things." Although, in fact, he wasn't certain that he had. He gave it some thought. He realized this wasn't what Methos wanted to hear, but perhaps it needed to be said.
"C'mon. So what if you do housecleaning in the buff?"
(I always seem to apologize after these....)
Re: Early mid-week challenge
Posted by Leah CWPack on Tuesday, 16 May 2000, at 3:19 p.m., in response to Early mid-week challenge, posted by Celedon on Tuesday, 16 May 2000, at 2:03 p.m.
"You missed a spot," Joe observed.
His tone of voice was perfectly neutral, his words innocuous, but Methos still felt the familiar surge of fury rise in his veins and sinews like molten lava. The Watcher was enjoying this far too much. Without looking up, Methos let loose with a brief obscenity that temporarily turned the air blue around him and set up several car alarms in the street beyond the doors of Joe's Bar.
Joe Dawson chuckled in response, unfazed. "You should't bet if you can't stand losing."
Methos rose to this knees from all fours and tossed the scrub brush back into the steel bucket at his side. It swallowed the brush with a soapy splash. He put one hand behind his back to rub at an ache that had developed there and glared at the bartender. "I'm not mad that I lost. I'm mad because losing was a fluke."
Leaning on the bar, Joe shrugged. "I didn't come up with bet, pal," he reminded. "You did. It ain't my fault if you don't know the names of all the castaways."
"I had better things to do in the sixties than watch sitcoms. That's the last time I watch a quiz show along with *you*." He reached back into the bucket and fished for the brush.
"No it ain't. Mac was right. You can't resist challenging those things, can you? You got some kind of hidden vice, or is it just showoff value?"
"Give the Watcher thing a rest," Methos grumbled, returning his attention to the floor tiles.
"Okay." Joe worked his way out from behind the bar and over to the stage. He picked up the guitar and settled himself at the stool, plucking experimentally at the strings."I'll do the musician thing for a while."
Grumbling to himself as Joe began to play, Methos worked his way across the floor of the empty bar, scrubbing with angry deliberation. An indeterminate amount of time passed in this fashion when he suddenly felt the approach of a fellow immortal.
*Great,* he thought. *Here comes Mac, right on time. *I needed a witness to complete the humiliation.* He'd only do this for Joe. Dieties were dieties and kings and emperors came and went, but a man had to appease his bartender in any Age.
The door opened. Methos continued his task, waiting sullenly for the Scot to make the inevitable comment.
"You missed a spot," said Cassandra.
Methos' head shot up--and smacked solidly into the bottom of a table. He yelped at the blinding pain and his elbow struck the bucket as he scrambled to get to his feet. Soap and water cascaded across the tiles. Sliding, he collided with several chairs in a mad dive for his coat and sword. One tangled with his legs and he landed solidly on his rump. He sat there, defeated, glaring up at his ancient nemesis.
She was smiling, nothing more than a purse in her hand. Without a word, she turned and strolled out.
As the door shut behind her, Methos could have sworn he heard the sound of muffled laughter beyond. He turned at the chuckle from the stage, murder in his eyes. "You bastard. You *knew* she was coming, didn't you." It wasn't a question.
Joe didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, I knew. She called this afternoon. Wanted to come by and talk with me."
"About what?" Methos demanded, looking at his sopping hands in dismay and shaking the dirty water from them.
"About you. Whether or not you'd changed." Joe paused in mid-strum and raised an eyebrow. "I guess she didn't need to ask."
Mid-Week C also the end of Star Trek/HL x-over
Posted by Robin on Wednesday, 17 May 2000, at 10:59 p.m.
Joe and Methos are at Joe's. Methos was nursing a beer. Jos was polishing glasses.
"You never did tell me what happened between Cassandra and Capt. Kirk." Joe said looking at Methos.
Methos grinned. "Cassandra's house finally reappeared after ten days. Capt. kirk was dressed in his pants, boots and an apron."
Joe interrepted, "No shirt?"
"No shirt." Methos smiled. "Dr. McCoy said Kirk was suffering from exhustion and Cassandra's house has never been so clean. Kirk got around the Voice after a day. So they played The slave and The Mistress."
"A varition of an old game?" Joe asked sarcasticily.
Methos ingored him. Then continued,"Amanda asked Cassandra 'So, how was he?' "'Not as good as he thinks he is.' Then she looked at me. 'Then again they rarely are.'"
"Ouch. A slap at you." Joe grimced.
"You know the saying 'There is nothing better once you've had the best.'" Methos finished and grinned smugly.
Joe rolled his eyes and through a bar towel, wrapping it around Methos' face.
Okay, here is my attempt at the alternate MW challenge (slightly PG13).....
Posted by Harmony on Sunday, 21 May 2000, at 10:35 p.m.
...the one which had to have Joe, Methos and housecleaning as elements. I preferred this one to the relay race. It gave me just a bit more latitude. *g*
"He's going to kill you." Dawson said.
"Shut up, Joe and help me out here." Methos replied as he bent over to pick up several empty beer bottles lying on the floor. This little maneuver gave Joe a perfect view of the old Immortal's rounded derrière, tightly encased in a worn out pair of jeans. Joe shook his head and let out a small laugh.
"You know, from this angle you look just like a woman I once dated."
Methos straightened up and turned a virulent glare on his fellow Watcher.
"I don't friggin' believe you said that!" Methos' tone was incredulous. "You know, I *have* been known to take a few mortal heads in my time."
Joe held up his hands, palms outward.
"Hey, it was just an observation. I didn't mean anything by it."
"Yeah…..right," Methos replied. Joe continued.
"What in God's name possessed you to throw a party here without asking MacLeod? Last time I checked, this was still *his* loft."
"I already told you several times, I didn't plan on it becoming a party. I needed a place to...ahem...entertain a friend. My apartment is just too tacky. I mean, this Adam Pierson, poor starving student cover has really begun to cramp my style in a big way. Besides, MacLeod told me I could make myself at home here while he was away."
Joe snorted. "Well, from the looks of this place, the two of you must have had one hell of a time. And I think when Mac told you to make yourself at home, he didn't have in mind destroying his in the process."
Methos didn't say so, but he had begun to suspect that there had been more than just him and the girl partying here last night. He couldn't really remember anyone else, but how could a simple seduction have turned into this mess?
Who was he kidding? His Roman orgy days made this look like the remains of an ice cream social.
Methos put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. There were empty beer bottles on almost every flat surface. The kitchen counter contained several dirty glasses, a couple of empty scotch bottles and various remnants of food that Methos found completely unrecognizable. Plus, there was the distinct odor of cigar smoke lingering in the air.
The cushions from both the couch and its mate, an overstuffed leather chair, lay strewn all over the living room floor. Mac's desk, the one he always prided himself on keeping neat and orderly, now had papers and folders scattered all over the top; with the bottom drawer pulled all the way out, it's contents spewing over on the floor underneath.
Then there was the bed. MacLeod's bed. Methos slowly walked over to it and shook his head. The duvet cover and the 200 thread count sheets were a mass of gray, silver and navy crumples in the middle of the mattress. The wall tapestry hanging above the bed was falling down, held precariously in place by one corner bracket. Several beer bottles had somehow made their way over to the nightstand and now lay on their side, one still dripping amber liquid onto the floor. Methos tried to remember exactly how the bed had gotten to this state, but all his mind saw were fuzzy images of a woman's bare legs, arms and...well...it was all just too fuzzy. Joe walked over and stood beside Methos, looking at the bed.
"Doesn't look like anything human slept there, does it?" Joe remarked.
"I don't believe sleep had any part in this," Methos said in a frank, rather off-hand fashion.
"Whoa! I don't want to know the gory details buddy," Joe said as he glanced down at something shiny on the floor beside the bed.
"Good. Cause I don't remember them," Methos said. "What have you got in your hand?"
Dawson turned around, holding up a torn aluminum condom wrapper.
"This can't possibly be yours, can it?" Joe chuckled.
Methos grabbed it out of Joe's hand.
"I must have been out of my mind to call you over here to help." Methos remarked.
"Methos...why were you using a condom?"
Methos looked at him. "I know, I know...it's a year's supply, right?"
Joe gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind...bad joke. Look, when ladies think you're mortal, there just isn't a good enough reason to refuse to wear these. I mean, dating today isn't like it was when I was young. Back in Charlemaine's time, there was this device you could..."
Joe cut him off. "Spare me, Methos. Discussing medieval contraception techniques with you is just too much for me to handle today. Besides, we have to get this place cleaned up before Mac..."
Joe stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Methos stiffen and look around. It could only mean one thing...an Immortal was approaching. Oh great, he thought, MacLeod was back from Chicago a few hours early.
The elevator made squeaking sounds as it lumbered up to the loft. In a moment the grate opened and out stepped Richie. He took one look around the loft and let out a low whistle.
"What the hell happened here?" he asked.
"Methos decided to entertain a friend last night," Joe answered.
Richie plopped down on the couch, then a moment later reached underneath his butt to pull out a bra he unknowingly sat on. He held it out to Methos.
"Here, you keep it, it's not my size."
Methos grabbed the flimsy undergarment out of Richie's hand.
"Very funny. If the only thing the two of you are going to do is rib me about last night, just get outta here. I need some real help, not two amateur comedians."
Richie looked over at Joe and they quickly reached a silent mutual decision to knock off the ribbing and get down to some serious cleaning. It took all three of them several hours to set the loft right again. And even then, it didn't quite look the way Methos had found it.
As they cleaned, Methos tried again, in vain, to remember the exact events of the previous night.
He had met Jordan McAlister a few weeks back while doing some research at the Seacouver library. She was a grad student at the university and something about her smile and smokey eyes had cast somewhat of a spell over him. Upon further exploration, he had discovered her to be intelligent, charming and thoroughly available and amenable to his attentions. Just what the doctor ordered to provide a little titillating distraction from the rut he had recently begun to discover he was in.
By the time he decided to make his move on her, he realized his apartment was decidedly not the place for this momentous event to take place.
And MacLeod *did* offer him use of the loft while he was away overnight on business.
Methos had taken her to a movie and dinner, then they headed to the loft. Methos remembered putting on some soft Jazz music and fixing them a drink. Scotch...not beer. Then some dancing, some talking and things progressed to a little heavy petting. More drinks, more making out and he vaguely remembered fixing something for them to snack on. He also decidedly remembered guiding Jordan over to MacLeod's bed. Things started to get fuzzy about what happened next. He remembered the condom, which Jordan had produced. They had made love, he was almost certain of that. Afterwards he faintly recalled hearing voices, but it was all so indistinct. Methos shook the vague memories from his mind and concentrated on cleaning.
Taking a well-deserved break, after several hours of house cleaning, Methos and Joe sat down on the couch, now complete with cushions, while Richie made them sandwiches. When the food was ready, Richie sat it on the table before them.
"Anybody want a beer with their sandwich?" Richie innocently asked.
"Ugh!" Methos answered, noting it was perhaps the first time this century he had refused his favorite libation.
Joe, however, was more than happy to accept.
Richie returned from the fridge with a frown on his face.
"There isn't any beer in there. The orange juice carton is empty too. How about milk?"
"Nah, just forget it" Joe said. "It's just as well there isn't any beer around. We still have some things to do before Mac gets home."
"Like what?" Methos queried, looking around the freshly cleaned loft.
"Well, for starters how about we go out and grab some groceries to restock his larder. You and Miss...what did you say the lady's name was again? Joe asked.
"I didn't." Methos countered.
"Well?" Joe said.
"Well what? A gentleman never kisses and tells." Methos retorted.
"A gentleman, eh? That's rich, Adam." Joe chortled.
"What do you mean by that?"
Richie was watching these two bate each other when the elevator started up and Richie and Methos felt the buzz. In less than a minute Duncan strolled in, looking around in surprise.
"What happened to this place?" Duncan asked. "It looks great. Did you guys do all this?"
Methos had a puzzled look on his face. "What do you mean? he said.
"Well, I came home earlier than I expected last night and had a few friends with me." Duncan remarked. "Oh and...ah...I'm sorry about interrupting you and your friend. Anyway, it all turned out all right. I mean, it was a helluva party, right? Don't you remember?"
Methos was hesitant. "Not exactly. Are you saying Jordan and I weren't responsible for all this?"
Joe raised his eyebrows at Richie. "Ah, Jordan," he said.
Methos shot him a go-to-hell look. Duncan shook his head at Methos.
"You? No way. You and....Jordan....pretty much kept to yourself in the corner all night while the rest of us partied up a storm. But, I seem to remember you getting pretty plastered once the beer showed up. You had quite a hangover this morning, so I took Jordan home before I went jogging. Then I had some errands to run . I didn't wake you because, frankly, you looked like you needed your beauty sleep...Tiger. Are you sure you're okay?"
Methos squinted his eyes, giving Mac an irritated look.
"Let me get this straight," Methos replied. "We've spent all morning picking up the mess you and your friends made?"
Duncan gave him a big grin. "Yeah, looks that way."
Richie, Joe and Methos exchanged glances.
The dojo patrons watched with amusement as Duncan ran across the gym floor with three former friends in hot pursuit.
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