The Holyground Highlander Forum Midweek Challenge
Archivist’s Note: The stories and vignettes offered here from various Holyground Forumlanders have not been edited or changed other than having a spell-check performed and being reformatted for this website.
The Challenge by Leah CWPack
How to Get Out of a Ticket by MissyD
Little Red Corvette by Hayden
Don’t Buzz and Drive by Ghost Cat
MWC: STEER CRAZY
Your challenge, should you choose to participate, comes to us courtesy of a suggestion by Hayden:
Write a short story or scene about one or more Immortals and a traffic violation, or the consequences of a traffic violation. Any mood may prevail.
DISCLAIMER: If you want your story archived among the MWC archives, make sure "MWC" is in the subject line of your posting.
MWC - How to Get Out of A Ticket
Duncan roused from the stupor caused by his latest quickening to look in the side mirror at the blue lights flashing behind them. In fact, it had been the brief burst of a siren that had caught his attention. He sat up straighter in the passenger seat of his classic thunderbird and looked at the driver expectantly.
“Well?” He questioned.
”Well, what?” the driver responded.
He glanced over his shoulder. The police cruiser was close enough that Duncan could see the impatient expression on the officer’s face. Duncan knew instinctively that the officer wasn’t going to wait much longer before taking some kind of action.
The immortal Scotsman turned to Amanda. “Aren’t you going to pull over?” he asked.
“Why should I do that?” Amanda glanced in the rearview mirror. She shrugged and traced the corner of her lips with a bright-red fingernail to remove a smudge of lipstick. “He’ll eventually get tired and give up.”
Duncan sputtered a moment in indignation. “To be twelve hundred years old, you sometimes have the most idiotic notions. He’s not going to just give up and go away. He’s going to get made, and we’ll probably both regret the consequences.” He raked his eyes over Amanda’s form-fitting outfit – not a pocket in sight and he hadn’t seen a purse. “Do you even have your driver’s license with you?”
“Of course I have my license with me.” Amanda replied. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she reached under the seat with her other hand and extracted a small purse. She tossed it into Duncan’s lap. “Except, I think it may have expired.”
“Oh, that’s just great.” Duncan opened the purse and pulled out the small laminated card. She was right, it had expired. “Two years, Amanda? You neglect to get a new driver’s license for two years?”
“I’ve been busy. You know how it is,” Amanda replied in her own defense, knowing the Duncan wasn’t going to buy a word she said.
“I think you’d better pull over now and hope for the best.”
“Oh, very well.” Amanda reluctantly pulled over to the side of the road and lowered the car window. She drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel as she watched the officer approach the car through the side mirror. She hissed to Duncan, “pretend you’re sick.” Duncan, deciding to play along for the time being, watched in amusement as Amanda’s body language changed before his eyes from confidence to worry.
The officer approached the car. “May I see your license and proof of
Amanda swallowed nervously, and nodded. She reached to unfasten the glove compartment door to retrieve the insurance card for the thunderbird. Duncan chose that moment to let out a groan. She glanced in his direction then handed the requested documents over to the officer.
“Ma’am I’ve been following you for at least 3 miles. Why didn’t you stop.”
“I . . . I’m sorry, officer. But, I’m so scared,” Amanda said, flutter her eyelashes for added effect. “My friend is so sick. I’m trying to get him to the hospital. He refused to let me call an ambulance, and I’m afraid he may be dying.” A tear trickled down her cheek. Another groan, this time seemingly to portray more distress than the previous one, sounded from the passenger seat.
The officer looked past Amanda to Duncan. The Scot was slumped in the seat, clutching his stomach. His eyes were tightly closed, and his skin still bore the sickly sweat that resulted from the quickening. He groaned again.
The officer handed the license and insurance card back to Amanda without even glancing at them. “The hospital is about three blocks from here. Would you like me to escort you?”
Duncan almost smiled at their good fortune of choosing a route back to the dojo that took them past the city hospital. Instead, he let out another groan.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, officer. After all, as you said, we’re almost there.”
The officer nodded. “Still, I’ll follow you to make sure you get there safely.” He turned and walked back toward his cruiser.
Duncan opened his eyes and looked at Amanda. “I’m not letting you drive ever again. And you’re going down to the Courthouse first thing in the morning to renew that driver’s license.”
MWC-Little Red Corvette
Posted By: Hayden
Date: Tuesday, 3 July 2001, at 1:23 p.m.
Well, be gentle, I'm definitely not a writer of fiction but this idea
wouldn't leave me alone.
Little Red Corvette
Control this is car 1204. We have a red corvette speeding down Lincoln at a high rate of speed. All units should proceed to intercept.
Car 1204, this is unit 1609. We are traveling east on Main. Anticipate interception at 8th and Lincoln.
As Officer Adamson veered onto Lincoln; he saw the driver of the corvette speed by at an alarming rate of speed. Within minutes of his joining the chase the corvette suddenly pulled off and came to a complete stop.
The officers quickly surrounded the car with guns drawn. The suspect remained seated behind the wheel as if waiting for something.
Officer Adamson stared at the small form, recognition dawning. He holstered his weapon and angrily paced up to the driver. "Amanda, what do you think you are doing?"
"Nick dear, you wouldn't return my calls."
MWC: Don’t Buzz and Drive
Posted By: Ghost Cat <firstname.lastname@example.org>
The motorcycle was tearing down the highway at speeds even a veteran biker would never consider. Sunlight reflected off a closed visor, hiding the haunted look in the rider’s eyes. His awareness of the road was pure instinct; Richie’s thoughts ran around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. Mac was right to let me go after what happened with the girl—and Mako. It was the only thing he could have done; a line had been crossed. It was my own d*mn fault that I hadn’t been able to see that line until it was blazing fire through my soul. He was still dealing with the strange sensation of being More than he had been a mere few days ago, of sharing his mind with thoughts, memories and emotions that were not his own. You were wrong, Boy. I hope you can see that now.
I did what I had to do, he wanted to shout, I made a choice, and I followed that choice all the way through. It may have been a mistake, but it was my mistake, my choice. I have the right to make my own choices, even if some of them are wrong. He remembered Mac’s friend Gregor, looking him in the eye and asking if he was real, or just MacLeod’s shadow. Those words had cut deeply. But Gregor had been crazy—hadn’t he?
Richie didn’t even know where he was, or where he was going. After he had left the loft, he had gathered up everything he could fit into one backpack, picked one of the coastal highways, and just let the road take him where it may. How long ago was that? He wasn’t sure. He hardly noticed when the bike crossed the city limits of yet another anonymous metropolis. He reduced speed—barely—and searched for the shortest route back onto the highway. He had plenty of daylight left and no desire to stop. Still trying to escape Boy? “Shut up!”
Halfway through the downtown core, Richie was hit by a screaming Buzz that raged through his skull like nothing he had ever felt before. An Immortal: where? Somewhere close, and getting closer. He panicked. Run boy! Turning down a random alleyway, he raced through narrower and narrower passages; still he couldn’t shake his unseen enemy. Desperate, he left the roads entirely, crossing through two public parks and down a steep ravine. The bike lost control abruptly and he went into a skid, moving at full speed horizontally. Friction had torn the top layers from his leathers; he didn’t even want to think what his leg would have looked like without protection. Still pinned half under the machine, he heard footsteps approaching: slow, measured. He felt dazed, his vision fuzzy. He struggled off his helmet, it wouldn’t be of much use in what was to come anyway. A shadow fell over him, he looked up—
“You’ve gotten yourself in trouble, now, haven’t you?” The first thing Richie noticed was the shine on the black leather shoes, a true spit-polish if he’d ever seen one. Only two kinds of people were ever that obsessive about their footwear; his suspicions were confirmed by the knife-sharp creases in the man’s midnight blue slacks, and the items hanging conspicuously off a heavy belt. “You need help getting to your feet, Sir?”
Richie blinked confusion; since when had an enemy ever called him Sir? Since when had anyone outside of Paris called him Sir at all? Too stunned to do anything else, he accepted the outstretched hand, wincing painfully as he tried to put weight on his leg. Back on his feet—barely—he found himself eye to eye with the worst combination he could think of at the moment: an Immortal cop. There was no expression whatsoever on the man’s face, he was utterly calm as he reached into one of his many belt-pouches and pulled out… a ticket book.
“I haven’t seen that many violations at one time since the DWI who first killed me. I could fill half my book here: speeding, disobeying the rules of the road, reckless endangerment, trespassing on public property…”
Richie was too startled to be polite, “Hey Mister. I only did that stuff because—“
“Because of me? I don’t think so; I was just doing my job. It’s not my fault if you panic under pressure. Now, can I see your license?” He saw Richie’s hesitation; “I don’t care what name it says, as long as it’s valid.” I know exactly what you are, that statement implied Of course it’s going to be a fake ID, just make it one that’s good enough that I can pretend it’s real. Richie cautiously moved back toward the bike; “And I wouldn’t go reaching for anything else. I’d hate to see this situation step beyond a mere professional relationship.”
“God,” Richie muttered, half under his breath, “This guy’s as bad as Mako.”
The officer looked up; “Mako? He was my teacher for a while.” Richie went pale. “Personally, I think he was a bit… extreme. But he taught me three important things: Do your job, do it well, and don’t let anything get in the way. Did he mentor you too?”
Well boy, why don’t you tell him? He gritted his teeth against these foreign thoughts. Some things were better left unsaid. “Yeah, you might say he taught me a lesson.”
The officer tore off a couple sheets from his book, handing them to the boy. “Well, try to stay out of trouble while you’re in my territory. And don’t be offended, but I hope I never see you again.”
The man simply walked away, leaving Richie standing there with a fistful of tickets and a bemused expression on his face. At the last moment, he turned around. For the first time, there was a real human expression on the officer’s face, a wry smile. “And remember, helmets save lives. Don’t lose your head.”