This is something a little different.
Normally I can't even fathom a story without Forever Knight but this just occurred to me and who am I to neglect a muse when she sees fit to call. So mote it be.
All righty now ::cracks knuckles:: Lets get all the legal stuff out da way.
Disclaimer..uh.duh. The usual spiel will suffice.
Pre-Story Anecdote: I could help but notice a familiar face in the latest Xmen 2 movie. I know I remember seeing it because I had to pick popcorn out of my hair after screaming "Methos!" out loud in the theatre. Well, of course we all know it wasn't Methos... Well how do you know that? Huh? It never said it wasn't. He's sort of a military man right?
Anyway, I hope he forgives me because I know I am going to hopelessly slaughter his character. I haven't seen highlander in a looooong time.
One with the show.
As usual, I only plan the opening paragraph so lets both sit back and see what my fingers come up with this time!
Ahem.
Methos awoke with a start and gasped for air but found only water. He wretched on the cold fluid and nearly gasped again in reaction. Stopping himself and quickly reining his body under control, it took all 5000 years of accumulated patience to keep him self from sheer panic. He was trapped underground in a dark tunnel, a lovely dark tunnel which was now filling slowly with water. As he stood and blinked in the inky darkness he could feel the water creeping up to his knees. Something in the water shifted. Something that felt ominously like a body part floated past him. Methos inwardly cringed and turned his mind away from bodies and/or body chunks that were sharing the tunnel with him. He remembered the flash of light, his surprise as the pin in his grenade had miraculously lifted.
Oh. So that's how he had gotten himself into this. Damn mutants.
Confuscate and bebother the lot of them.
Methos, get a grip.
You get a grip, I think I'll go crazy now.
No,. focus.
But insanity is so much better. You know what will happen when there is no more air. You'll die again and again and again and again.
Stop it!
Wouldn't you rather just not be aware? Let's go crazy.
FOCUS!!
What do I know? I am at the door that's just down the tunnel to the left from the entrance. Okay. If water is coming in, that means the dam must have burst. So that means I have to use one of the emergency exits located on the upper levels. What if there are no upper levels? Worry about that when it comes.
Burn that bridge when you get there,
Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
What did I tell you?
Right, focus.
Methos sloshed quickly through the frigid water. There was no light to see where he was going and he hugged the wall and struggled to remember which door led to safety.
"Isn't there always supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel." He muttered sarcastically and he sloshed along.
After a quick tally in his mind Methos reached a reasonable estimate of the number of passageways between him and freedom. He ran his hand along the wall and counted the doorways. One, Two Three. Turn! Up the stairs. The water was rushing quickly higher. The water lapped at his heels and he vaulted up the stairs and he sloshed forward as fast as possible. At last his hand brushed against the wheel of an exterior door. Wrapping his hands around the latch he wrenched it as hard as he could.
Nothing.
He tried again. His numb hands slipped and he fell into the frigid water. He stood, found the wheel again and pushed with all his might. The latch gave way a fraction and the creak echoed eerily in the quickly filling hallways. The water lapped around his waist and with a sigh, Methos surrendered to sheer terror.
He has told me not to reveal what happened in those last few moments before the water closed in around his head. (I highly suspect he cried). But, somehow in those desperate last few moments he managed to undo the latch and push against the door. It wasn't until the water had completely filled the tunnel that the door finally swung open and Methos quickly realized why. Outside was completely flooded. The meager sunlight that seeped through the water illuminated ghostly swaying branches of submerged trees and buildings. The door swung outward so it wouldn't have moved until the pressure equalized.
Duh.
Not one to waste time, Methos kicked for the surface and managed to poke his head above just as his lungs felt like they would burst.
Reaching shore Methos pulled himself onto the blessed dry ground and surrendered to the darkness.
--
Sometime later he awoke. He was still sitting on the frozen shore and the sun was riding high in the sky. Stretching, he worked blood into his frozen limbs and by some miracle managed to stand. Offering up a quick IOU to whatever god was on duty at the moment he set off in search of civilization.
Much of the landscape had changed, being underwater and all, and he had some trouble getting his bearings. However, in the end his sense of direction reasserted itself and he set off in the direction he strongly believed would be the quickest route to civilization.
"Mac, I don't know how you did it."
Methos mused to himself. He recalled his friend's reputed years as a wanderer and scratched aimlessly at some residual scabs on his hands. Apparently it had been harder to undo that latch then he remembered.
As he trudged along through the woods and brambles he reflected on his situation. How had he ended up helping that Striker fellow anyway? He remembered.something. and a fight maybe. Oh, it was no use. and pointless. It didn't matter where he had been, only where he was going. He absently rubbed the back of his neck and marveled at a small scar he felt. Running his finger along the edge he discovered it was in the shape of a circle.
"What the."
Then he remembered. years of fog. He remembered feeling like he couldn't control what he was doing and just when he thought he was coming back, there would be the pain in the back of his neck again.
How long had it been?
Gods, it must have been *years*.
"Don't look back old man." He pointedly reminded himself and trudged on. But, that was easier said then done. His mind kept turning back to all the things he had done. Done to mutants. He had raided a school? Gods.
Not that he was partial to children but there were some things his pride just couldn't take.
They had sent him, after little children. Mutants, sure, but they were still kids.
Oh, if he wasn't already dead he would kill that Striker fellow.
In the back part of his mind Methos heard a small voice wonder, are those kids all right?
Stupified, he stopped for a moment. What had happened to those kids? Normally, Methos wasn't the type of person to worry about much other then himself but for some reason he felt somehow responsible for the kids he had hurt. After all, they were just *kids*. Mutant or not.
With a sigh Methos muttered to himself about turning into Duncan the Overgrown Boy-scout but he still made the decision to find out about the school. Methos knew enough about himself to know that if he didn't take care of this it would bother him. Running away from fights was one thing but.
Shrugging his shoulders, Methos turned his steps in the direction (he hoped) of the nearest outpost of civilization and from there, New York and Xavier's school for the Gifted.
---
Let me know!!
Review or I won't update. Nah!!
Rachel (
Normally I can't even fathom a story without Forever Knight but this just occurred to me and who am I to neglect a muse when she sees fit to call. So mote it be.
All righty now ::cracks knuckles:: Lets get all the legal stuff out da way.
Disclaimer..uh.duh. The usual spiel will suffice.
Pre-Story Anecdote: I could help but notice a familiar face in the latest Xmen 2 movie. I know I remember seeing it because I had to pick popcorn out of my hair after screaming "Methos!" out loud in the theatre. Well, of course we all know it wasn't Methos... Well how do you know that? Huh? It never said it wasn't. He's sort of a military man right?
Anyway, I hope he forgives me because I know I am going to hopelessly slaughter his character. I haven't seen highlander in a looooong time.
One with the show.
As usual, I only plan the opening paragraph so lets both sit back and see what my fingers come up with this time!
Ahem.
Methos awoke with a start and gasped for air but found only water. He wretched on the cold fluid and nearly gasped again in reaction. Stopping himself and quickly reining his body under control, it took all 5000 years of accumulated patience to keep him self from sheer panic. He was trapped underground in a dark tunnel, a lovely dark tunnel which was now filling slowly with water. As he stood and blinked in the inky darkness he could feel the water creeping up to his knees. Something in the water shifted. Something that felt ominously like a body part floated past him. Methos inwardly cringed and turned his mind away from bodies and/or body chunks that were sharing the tunnel with him. He remembered the flash of light, his surprise as the pin in his grenade had miraculously lifted.
Oh. So that's how he had gotten himself into this. Damn mutants.
Confuscate and bebother the lot of them.
Methos, get a grip.
You get a grip, I think I'll go crazy now.
No,. focus.
But insanity is so much better. You know what will happen when there is no more air. You'll die again and again and again and again.
Stop it!
Wouldn't you rather just not be aware? Let's go crazy.
FOCUS!!
What do I know? I am at the door that's just down the tunnel to the left from the entrance. Okay. If water is coming in, that means the dam must have burst. So that means I have to use one of the emergency exits located on the upper levels. What if there are no upper levels? Worry about that when it comes.
Burn that bridge when you get there,
Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
What did I tell you?
Right, focus.
Methos sloshed quickly through the frigid water. There was no light to see where he was going and he hugged the wall and struggled to remember which door led to safety.
"Isn't there always supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel." He muttered sarcastically and he sloshed along.
After a quick tally in his mind Methos reached a reasonable estimate of the number of passageways between him and freedom. He ran his hand along the wall and counted the doorways. One, Two Three. Turn! Up the stairs. The water was rushing quickly higher. The water lapped at his heels and he vaulted up the stairs and he sloshed forward as fast as possible. At last his hand brushed against the wheel of an exterior door. Wrapping his hands around the latch he wrenched it as hard as he could.
Nothing.
He tried again. His numb hands slipped and he fell into the frigid water. He stood, found the wheel again and pushed with all his might. The latch gave way a fraction and the creak echoed eerily in the quickly filling hallways. The water lapped around his waist and with a sigh, Methos surrendered to sheer terror.
He has told me not to reveal what happened in those last few moments before the water closed in around his head. (I highly suspect he cried). But, somehow in those desperate last few moments he managed to undo the latch and push against the door. It wasn't until the water had completely filled the tunnel that the door finally swung open and Methos quickly realized why. Outside was completely flooded. The meager sunlight that seeped through the water illuminated ghostly swaying branches of submerged trees and buildings. The door swung outward so it wouldn't have moved until the pressure equalized.
Duh.
Not one to waste time, Methos kicked for the surface and managed to poke his head above just as his lungs felt like they would burst.
Reaching shore Methos pulled himself onto the blessed dry ground and surrendered to the darkness.
--
Sometime later he awoke. He was still sitting on the frozen shore and the sun was riding high in the sky. Stretching, he worked blood into his frozen limbs and by some miracle managed to stand. Offering up a quick IOU to whatever god was on duty at the moment he set off in search of civilization.
Much of the landscape had changed, being underwater and all, and he had some trouble getting his bearings. However, in the end his sense of direction reasserted itself and he set off in the direction he strongly believed would be the quickest route to civilization.
"Mac, I don't know how you did it."
Methos mused to himself. He recalled his friend's reputed years as a wanderer and scratched aimlessly at some residual scabs on his hands. Apparently it had been harder to undo that latch then he remembered.
As he trudged along through the woods and brambles he reflected on his situation. How had he ended up helping that Striker fellow anyway? He remembered.something. and a fight maybe. Oh, it was no use. and pointless. It didn't matter where he had been, only where he was going. He absently rubbed the back of his neck and marveled at a small scar he felt. Running his finger along the edge he discovered it was in the shape of a circle.
"What the."
Then he remembered. years of fog. He remembered feeling like he couldn't control what he was doing and just when he thought he was coming back, there would be the pain in the back of his neck again.
How long had it been?
Gods, it must have been *years*.
"Don't look back old man." He pointedly reminded himself and trudged on. But, that was easier said then done. His mind kept turning back to all the things he had done. Done to mutants. He had raided a school? Gods.
Not that he was partial to children but there were some things his pride just couldn't take.
They had sent him, after little children. Mutants, sure, but they were still kids.
Oh, if he wasn't already dead he would kill that Striker fellow.
In the back part of his mind Methos heard a small voice wonder, are those kids all right?
Stupified, he stopped for a moment. What had happened to those kids? Normally, Methos wasn't the type of person to worry about much other then himself but for some reason he felt somehow responsible for the kids he had hurt. After all, they were just *kids*. Mutant or not.
With a sigh Methos muttered to himself about turning into Duncan the Overgrown Boy-scout but he still made the decision to find out about the school. Methos knew enough about himself to know that if he didn't take care of this it would bother him. Running away from fights was one thing but.
Shrugging his shoulders, Methos turned his steps in the direction (he hoped) of the nearest outpost of civilization and from there, New York and Xavier's school for the Gifted.
---
Let me know!!
Review or I won't update. Nah!!
Rachel (