Conversations, Situations
AUTHOR: Sally Manda
RATING: PG13 for implied 'situations'
STATUS: Complete
GENRE: Humour
FANDOM: "Highlander"
DISCLAIMER: Obviously none of these characters belong to me but to the people who thought them up. I could write something very witty about me returning none the worse for wear but with (enter desired character's name here) a bit sweaty. However, that has been done way too many times now and I won't subject you to sitting through it any more. Don't sue me, I'm not American and I didn't do legal studies so I don't know the legal system.
NOTES: Thankyou to anyone who reads this, I appreciate you sitting through this crap. Thankyou to my dad, without whom, I would never have heard about the existence of spurtles or pandewiff. If I spelt anything wrong, please don't be nasty because I can't help my own ignorance. I just want to learn!
P.S.: I don't feel any particular malevolence towards Duncan Macleod, he's just the easiest character to make fun of. I think it's in his genetic make-up and you can't fight biology!
~*~
Methos snarled rather savagely as the shrill ring of his telephone pierced the warm cacoon of slumber in which he was ensconced. He knew instinctively that it would be Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod. This wasn't through any special bond that linked the two immortals, but simply because the only person who was stupid enough to ring Methos at 3.55 a.m. on a Sunday morning was the Highlander.
Using a mind controlling technique that required much concentration, Methos managed to pick up the receiver and politely inquire about the nature of the call, without the help of numerous curses that were whirring around his brain. Methos instantly regretted answering the phone, groaning inwardly at the horror of what lay on the other end of the cable. It was Macleod...and he was drunk.
"Meeeethossss!!!!!" Duncan slurred down the receiver. "I wa' callin' ta ask yer somethin'!"
Methos quickly held the receiver away from his ear. His ears were starting to bleed from the volume of Duncan's ramblings.
"What is it Macleod?" Methos asked with a longsuffering note in his voice. The Scot had already woken him up and it would take a while to get back to sleep, so Methos was resigned to listening to what Duncan had to say. After all, drunken Scots could be classified as cheap entertainment. However, he'd be damned if he were going to be happy about it.
"Welll, I wa' wonderin' if yer wanta' ta come over so we could make pandewiff wi' ma wee spurtle?"
A strange choking noise could be heard from Methos' end as the import of this question began to sink in.
"Ar' yer alrigh' Methoss?" inquired Macleod. "Yer makin' a queer noise."
Methos finally got his giggling under control and managed to convince Duncan that he wasn't being strangled.
"Look Macleod, I'm sure you have a very nice spurtle, but it's 4.00 in the morning..." Methos began.
"It's never too late fo' pandewiff!" proclaimed the Scot. "Besides, ma' spurtle is the bonniest in all the world! Ma da' helped me ta form it when I wa' a wee lad. Ma mam said tha' the best spurtles were the natural ones, not the ones tha' people tried ta change. She liked ma spurtle ver' much. I even won a prize for havin' the best spurtle in all the Highlands! I wa' ver' proud!"
Methos had to incorporate every single meditation technique he had ever learnt in all of his 5000 years on the planet in order to keep his composure. This was priceless.
"So, Duncan, how do you make pandewiff?" Methos asked innocently.
"Ai! Yer donna' kno' how ta make pandewiff? I thought everyone knew tha'!" Duncan protested. Then he began to beam. Here was something that the Really Old Guy hadn't learned during his lifetime that he knew. "I s'pose tha' the right way ta make pandewiff is a secret, but I'll share it wi' yer. The trick i' ta keep the spurtle movin'. If yer let it rest, th' pandewiff is ruined."
Duncan couldn't understand why for the next few minutes a strange snuffling noise was the only sound to come from Methos. Maybe he had a pig there with him. Macleod shook his head. Nothing beat a sheep.
"So Methos, are yer comin' over, or no'?" Macleod demanded. "If yer canna' come over, I'll call Amanda. She likes ma spurtle an' she says tha' ma pandewiff is the best she's ever had!"
Methos somehow managed to keep breathing and to decline Macleod's offer.
As Methos replaced the receiver, he began to guffaw in earnest. He had just realised that he had gotten around to installing the software that taped his phone conversations. He had a hell of a lot of blackmail mileage now!
******
Amanda answered the phone after the first ring. She had only just walked in the door and was puzzled as to who it could be.
"Amanda! D' yer wan' ta come over an' have some pandewiff?"
"Mmmm...sounds delicious Duncan. I haven't had Scottish porridge for over a year now," purred Amanda, "are you making it with your carved wooden porridge stick? Your...what do you call it? Ah! That's right! Are you making it with your spurtle?"
The End
AUTHOR: Sally Manda
RATING: PG13 for implied 'situations'
STATUS: Complete
GENRE: Humour
FANDOM: "Highlander"
DISCLAIMER: Obviously none of these characters belong to me but to the people who thought them up. I could write something very witty about me returning none the worse for wear but with (enter desired character's name here) a bit sweaty. However, that has been done way too many times now and I won't subject you to sitting through it any more. Don't sue me, I'm not American and I didn't do legal studies so I don't know the legal system.
NOTES: Thankyou to anyone who reads this, I appreciate you sitting through this crap. Thankyou to my dad, without whom, I would never have heard about the existence of spurtles or pandewiff. If I spelt anything wrong, please don't be nasty because I can't help my own ignorance. I just want to learn!
P.S.: I don't feel any particular malevolence towards Duncan Macleod, he's just the easiest character to make fun of. I think it's in his genetic make-up and you can't fight biology!
~*~
Methos snarled rather savagely as the shrill ring of his telephone pierced the warm cacoon of slumber in which he was ensconced. He knew instinctively that it would be Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod. This wasn't through any special bond that linked the two immortals, but simply because the only person who was stupid enough to ring Methos at 3.55 a.m. on a Sunday morning was the Highlander.
Using a mind controlling technique that required much concentration, Methos managed to pick up the receiver and politely inquire about the nature of the call, without the help of numerous curses that were whirring around his brain. Methos instantly regretted answering the phone, groaning inwardly at the horror of what lay on the other end of the cable. It was Macleod...and he was drunk.
"Meeeethossss!!!!!" Duncan slurred down the receiver. "I wa' callin' ta ask yer somethin'!"
Methos quickly held the receiver away from his ear. His ears were starting to bleed from the volume of Duncan's ramblings.
"What is it Macleod?" Methos asked with a longsuffering note in his voice. The Scot had already woken him up and it would take a while to get back to sleep, so Methos was resigned to listening to what Duncan had to say. After all, drunken Scots could be classified as cheap entertainment. However, he'd be damned if he were going to be happy about it.
"Welll, I wa' wonderin' if yer wanta' ta come over so we could make pandewiff wi' ma wee spurtle?"
A strange choking noise could be heard from Methos' end as the import of this question began to sink in.
"Ar' yer alrigh' Methoss?" inquired Macleod. "Yer makin' a queer noise."
Methos finally got his giggling under control and managed to convince Duncan that he wasn't being strangled.
"Look Macleod, I'm sure you have a very nice spurtle, but it's 4.00 in the morning..." Methos began.
"It's never too late fo' pandewiff!" proclaimed the Scot. "Besides, ma' spurtle is the bonniest in all the world! Ma da' helped me ta form it when I wa' a wee lad. Ma mam said tha' the best spurtles were the natural ones, not the ones tha' people tried ta change. She liked ma spurtle ver' much. I even won a prize for havin' the best spurtle in all the Highlands! I wa' ver' proud!"
Methos had to incorporate every single meditation technique he had ever learnt in all of his 5000 years on the planet in order to keep his composure. This was priceless.
"So, Duncan, how do you make pandewiff?" Methos asked innocently.
"Ai! Yer donna' kno' how ta make pandewiff? I thought everyone knew tha'!" Duncan protested. Then he began to beam. Here was something that the Really Old Guy hadn't learned during his lifetime that he knew. "I s'pose tha' the right way ta make pandewiff is a secret, but I'll share it wi' yer. The trick i' ta keep the spurtle movin'. If yer let it rest, th' pandewiff is ruined."
Duncan couldn't understand why for the next few minutes a strange snuffling noise was the only sound to come from Methos. Maybe he had a pig there with him. Macleod shook his head. Nothing beat a sheep.
"So Methos, are yer comin' over, or no'?" Macleod demanded. "If yer canna' come over, I'll call Amanda. She likes ma spurtle an' she says tha' ma pandewiff is the best she's ever had!"
Methos somehow managed to keep breathing and to decline Macleod's offer.
As Methos replaced the receiver, he began to guffaw in earnest. He had just realised that he had gotten around to installing the software that taped his phone conversations. He had a hell of a lot of blackmail mileage now!
******
Amanda answered the phone after the first ring. She had only just walked in the door and was puzzled as to who it could be.
"Amanda! D' yer wan' ta come over an' have some pandewiff?"
"Mmmm...sounds delicious Duncan. I haven't had Scottish porridge for over a year now," purred Amanda, "are you making it with your carved wooden porridge stick? Your...what do you call it? Ah! That's right! Are you making it with your spurtle?"
The End