The Answers to an Old Man's Ramblings
By Ekat
Rating: R (for language)
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just play with them.
Summary: Duncan's darker side reacts to Methos' idea of a Quickening.
***********************
I found myself doing something I thought I would never find myself doing. I violated the privacy of a friend. When you think about it, however, it's his own damn fault. He comes over and sleeps on my couch for nights on end, eats my food, drinks my beer, and is a genuine nuisance. But he is a friend, so I let him. But eventually I would have to ask for something in return.
Last night he sat scribbling in his little book of memories for what seemed like hours. He was so wrapped up in his writings that he didn't even notice that his beer had grown warm or that it sat untouched for so long that it had gone flat.
He's always writing. Every bizarre thought, every inconsequential happening, every statement that strikes his fancy gets written into his books. Methos, the consummate historian.
Anyway, he left his memories open last night. I tried to resist the urge to read them, to respect his privacy but, alas, I failed. When I rose this morning, hours before he even thought about stirring, I found myself drawn to the little, leather covered tome. The last entry was in Latin. He has repeatedly said that he will never write his thoughts in English. English, he says, is a vulgar language that has none of the nuance and finesse that other, older languages have. But luckily, or perhaps not depending on your point of view, he wrote his last bit of thoughts in a language I am schooled in.
I wanted to know what had had his attention for so long last night. Imagine my surprise when I read the entry and discovered he wrote about what he thought Quickenings were like. I was amazed to read that he found it a very painful experience. I mean, he was "Death", he was terror, a man who fears nothing, except maybe the lack of beer and the loss of his head. Yet he described a Quickening as something to dread and fear.
I do not fear a Quickening. Even after having experienced a Dark one, it is still not something I find at all frightening. He would probably be shocked if he ever heard that I felt this way. I know he sees me as some sort of Dudley Do-Right, a champion of the weak, a fucking Boy Scout, and I play up that misconception. But I have to admit that half the reason I pursue the "bad guys" is to experience a Quickening.
Oh sure, I feel the electricity in the air as the Quickening starts, but that's what makes it so exciting. The sheer energy of it all, the raw power, how can anyone fear it? The tingle as the static dances across my skin feels like a lover's touch. Something to tease and entice, not to dread and loathe. The rapid acceleration of my heart, the quick breaths that don't really do anything but make me light-headed are all part of the foreplay.
Then the embrace of the fallen's essence- smooth as silk against the skin; butterfly kisses and caresses that only cause further arousal. The taste is just as the old fart described sweet and languid, sharp and bitter. A Quickening, like a woman, tastes like the personality of the wearer; strong and confident, timid and unassuming, bold and daring, light and dark. It's like fine chocolate, something to be savored and enjoyed. What is there to hate about that?
He then told about the lightning and how it brings with it indescribable pain. I have no clue what he's talking about. Oh sure, getting struck by lightning can hurt, but the lightning that comes with a Quickening is a different kind of power. The exhilaration of the energy coursing through my body is exquisitely painful. The kind of pain that causes nothing but pleasure. The only way to describe it is "Orgasmic". A particularly powerful Quickening will actually cause me to experience one.
As for his "visions" and "feelings" that he feels during a Quickening, perhaps he does. I certainly have never experienced the feel of my blade against my neck or seen my face in the images I see. I can't even begin to describe the colors and random designs they make that I see during the final stages of a Quickening. The closest would be to say that the experiences of those tripping on LSD come close, but still falls short.
When it's all over, one cannot help but weep. It's the most intense experience a living creature could ever hope to feel. The endorphin rush is wondrous. It's a runner's high, a drug induced euphoria, and orgasmic bliss all rolled into one. Pleasure, pure and simple.
The one thing that the old man got right was the post Quickening desire to go screw your brains out. After all, the closest thing to the high you get is the one that comes from a good old-fashioned scrump. You want the high to continue and so you seek out the only way you can that doesn't first involve sword-work and death.
Having experienced a Dark Quickening myself, I can attest that it is worth the risk just to have the experience of a Quickening. New Immortal or old, a Quickening is a Quickening. So why has the cosmos has decreed that we must play the game? As long as it rewards the victors with such exquisite pleasure, who cares? Bring it on.
By Ekat
Rating: R (for language)
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just play with them.
Summary: Duncan's darker side reacts to Methos' idea of a Quickening.
***********************
I found myself doing something I thought I would never find myself doing. I violated the privacy of a friend. When you think about it, however, it's his own damn fault. He comes over and sleeps on my couch for nights on end, eats my food, drinks my beer, and is a genuine nuisance. But he is a friend, so I let him. But eventually I would have to ask for something in return.
Last night he sat scribbling in his little book of memories for what seemed like hours. He was so wrapped up in his writings that he didn't even notice that his beer had grown warm or that it sat untouched for so long that it had gone flat.
He's always writing. Every bizarre thought, every inconsequential happening, every statement that strikes his fancy gets written into his books. Methos, the consummate historian.
Anyway, he left his memories open last night. I tried to resist the urge to read them, to respect his privacy but, alas, I failed. When I rose this morning, hours before he even thought about stirring, I found myself drawn to the little, leather covered tome. The last entry was in Latin. He has repeatedly said that he will never write his thoughts in English. English, he says, is a vulgar language that has none of the nuance and finesse that other, older languages have. But luckily, or perhaps not depending on your point of view, he wrote his last bit of thoughts in a language I am schooled in.
I wanted to know what had had his attention for so long last night. Imagine my surprise when I read the entry and discovered he wrote about what he thought Quickenings were like. I was amazed to read that he found it a very painful experience. I mean, he was "Death", he was terror, a man who fears nothing, except maybe the lack of beer and the loss of his head. Yet he described a Quickening as something to dread and fear.
I do not fear a Quickening. Even after having experienced a Dark one, it is still not something I find at all frightening. He would probably be shocked if he ever heard that I felt this way. I know he sees me as some sort of Dudley Do-Right, a champion of the weak, a fucking Boy Scout, and I play up that misconception. But I have to admit that half the reason I pursue the "bad guys" is to experience a Quickening.
Oh sure, I feel the electricity in the air as the Quickening starts, but that's what makes it so exciting. The sheer energy of it all, the raw power, how can anyone fear it? The tingle as the static dances across my skin feels like a lover's touch. Something to tease and entice, not to dread and loathe. The rapid acceleration of my heart, the quick breaths that don't really do anything but make me light-headed are all part of the foreplay.
Then the embrace of the fallen's essence- smooth as silk against the skin; butterfly kisses and caresses that only cause further arousal. The taste is just as the old fart described sweet and languid, sharp and bitter. A Quickening, like a woman, tastes like the personality of the wearer; strong and confident, timid and unassuming, bold and daring, light and dark. It's like fine chocolate, something to be savored and enjoyed. What is there to hate about that?
He then told about the lightning and how it brings with it indescribable pain. I have no clue what he's talking about. Oh sure, getting struck by lightning can hurt, but the lightning that comes with a Quickening is a different kind of power. The exhilaration of the energy coursing through my body is exquisitely painful. The kind of pain that causes nothing but pleasure. The only way to describe it is "Orgasmic". A particularly powerful Quickening will actually cause me to experience one.
As for his "visions" and "feelings" that he feels during a Quickening, perhaps he does. I certainly have never experienced the feel of my blade against my neck or seen my face in the images I see. I can't even begin to describe the colors and random designs they make that I see during the final stages of a Quickening. The closest would be to say that the experiences of those tripping on LSD come close, but still falls short.
When it's all over, one cannot help but weep. It's the most intense experience a living creature could ever hope to feel. The endorphin rush is wondrous. It's a runner's high, a drug induced euphoria, and orgasmic bliss all rolled into one. Pleasure, pure and simple.
The one thing that the old man got right was the post Quickening desire to go screw your brains out. After all, the closest thing to the high you get is the one that comes from a good old-fashioned scrump. You want the high to continue and so you seek out the only way you can that doesn't first involve sword-work and death.
Having experienced a Dark Quickening myself, I can attest that it is worth the risk just to have the experience of a Quickening. New Immortal or old, a Quickening is a Quickening. So why has the cosmos has decreed that we must play the game? As long as it rewards the victors with such exquisite pleasure, who cares? Bring it on.