Gundam Wing: The Highlander
CHAPTER 5 - What Solo Told Him
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, hints of 4xU and 4xH.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Quatre sat in the sunken lounge, sharpening his Samurai sword with a jeweler's file in front of a crackling fire.
Sighing as he finished and placed the sword on a nearby coffee table, he couldn't help but smile as he re-read the title of the newest addition to his vast collection of books.
"A Metallurgical History of Ancient Sword-Making," he mumbled. "By Hilde Schbeiker."
He studied the smiling photograph of the author, noticing for the first time how much she reminded him of Une. Such a beautiful woman, yet strong-willed with a good head on her shoulders, too.
He paused to read the biography, taking particular interest in the fact that Hilde did forensics work for the City of New York.
The brightly coloured tropical fish in the aquarium surrounding him glided through their watery environment with impeccable grace. He watched them absently, his mind drifting back through time to 1541.
Solo and Quatre were in a boat, heading for an island in the middle of the loch. Resplendent in a feathered hat, jewelled tunic, cape and boots, the Spaniard manned the oars easily.
But Quatre was alarmed, his knuckles white as he gripped his claymore tightly and faced Solo.
"I don't like boats," he managed to choke out. "I don't like water. I'm a man, not a fish!"
Solo narrowed his eyes at the other man. "You complain endlessly. I wonder if I'm wasting my time with you, brother."
"Stop calling me yer brother. Ye look like a woman, ye stupid haggis."
Solo was puzzled. "Haggis?" he repeated slowly. "What is haggis?"
Quatre grinned triumphantly. "A sheep's stomach stuffed with meat an' barley."
The Spaniard was visibly intrigued. "What do you do with it?"
"Why, ye eat it," Quatre said slyly.
Solo could feel his stomach turn. "How revolting," he said in a weak voice.
Resting the oars, he took a pinch of snuff, inhaling deeply. Perhaps too deeply, as his loud sneeze caused the boat to rock violently.
"Be still, for God's sake!" Quatre hissed, shaking in fear. "Ye'll tip us over!"
"What's your point?" Solo asked boredly.
"I can't swim, you Spanish peacock!"
The two men's angry voices carried themselves across the loch.
"I'm not Spanish! I am Egyptian!" Solo demanded.
Quatre eyed him suspiciously. "Ye said ye were from Spain, ye liar."
"Well, you smell like a dung-heap! You have the manners of a goat, and no knowledge of your potential," Solo said gleefully as he purposely began to rock the boat.
Quatre was terrified. See-sawing wildly, he grabbed for an oar.
Seizing his chance, Solo threw him overboard.
There was a huge splash, and a fit of yelling as Quatre disappeared below the water's murky surface, then bobbed back up every so often, flailing his arms.
"Help me!" he gasped. "I'm drowning!"
Solo smirked and rowed for the island. "You can't drown, you fool," he called over his shoulder. "You're immortal."
Quatre sank in a mass of bubbles as his 'brother' continued to row.
Hilde was now parked outside 1182 Hudson Street back in the twentieth century. Getting out of her Pontiac, she checked the address that had been hastily scrawled in her notebook. Across the street was a sign that read "Q. Winner -- Antiques."
She smiled triumphantly as she headed for the door. "Found you, you adorable bastard," she mumbled as she walked in.
Quatre was staring into the fire in the sunken lounge. A flashing red light suddenly distracted him, causing him to flip a switch on the intercom. Two voices rang through the room.
"I'm sorry, Miss Schbeiker," his secretary was saying. "Mr. Winner is unavailable."
Hilde's voice was bordering on annoyed. "But I need to talk to him now!"
"I'm sorry miss. That's impossible."
"Can I call him at home?"
That was enough for Quatre. Taking one last glance at her book that was still lying on the coffee table, he got up and pushed a button, opening the door that lead to the outer office.
In the outer office, Dorothy Catalonia, a sour-faced woman in a pantsuit and glasses, was sitting behind a desk talking to Hilde. Antiques of every shape and size surrounded the two women.
"I'm afraid not," Dorothy said in an equally annoyed voice.
Quatre appeared in the doorway. "Hello," he said.
"Oh, Mr. Winner," Dorothy said politely, ignoring the smart-assed smirk that Hilde flashed at her. "This is Hilde Schbeiker."
"Ah, Schbeiker. So that's your last name," Quatre chuckled. "We've already met, Dorothy."
He sat down in a chair near Hilde's. "So? What can I do for you?"
Hilde took a deep breath. "I'd like some advice, if you please."
Quatre smirked. "Are you the kind of woman who takes advice?"
"That depends."
Hilde met his gaze, enjoying the mild sparring going on between the two of them. Once again, she found himself falling into his luscious blue irises, thinking how wonderful it would be if he were to kiss her...
"Advice about what?" Quatre asked, his words cutting into her daydream.
Hilde regained her composure. "What can you tell me about a seven-foot lunatic hacking away at people with a broadsword at one o'clock in the morning in New York City, 1985?"
Quatre grinned. "Not much."
Hilde eyed him suspiciously. "Then how about a Japanese sword made in 600 B.C.?" Noticing the man's reaction, she quickly added, "The metal in the blade folded 200 times."
Quatre shook his head, but the woman kept coming.
"Then what about--"
"Listen, I don't deal in exotic weapons," he said, taking her arm and gently guiding her to a display case. For just a moment, their souls touched, too.
"Can I show you something in 18th Century silver?" he suggested, trying to hide his enjoyment of being so close to her.
"That's not why I came here," Hilde stuttered, "and you know it."
Their eyes met again, the closeness unsettling both of them.
"Do you cook?" Quatre blurted out.
Hilde was taken aback. "Why?"
Quatre looked down for a moment, then reestablished eye contact. "I thought we might have dinner together."
"Oh, did you?" Hilde asked provocatively.
"Yes." Quatre found her aggressiveness so sexy that he couldn't help but long for the gentle touch of her lips. The two of them leaned in for a brief kiss, but before anything could happen, Duo Maxwell burst into the shop.
Quatre and Hilde quickly separated, watching as Duo scrutinized a tapestry, featuring delicately embroidered mermaids frolicking with horrible sea monsters.
"The Rape of Neptune's Daughter By The Fish Creatures," a voice from Duo's elbow explained.
The detective paused his contemplation of the garish creation and blinked.
"Do you like fish?" Quatre continued.
"To eat, you mean?" Duo responded in a confused tone, but his words fell on deaf ears. Quatre was already several hundred years away.
Solo reclined on the island by a crackling fire, facing the loch. The boat was tied up on the beach, the bright sunshine reflecting off the water, adding to the stunning effect of the scenery. He enjoyed the solitude as he absently patted the sword lying at his side on the ground.
Fifty yards behind him, the lake surface swirled silently as Quatre's glowering head appeared above the water. He rose quietly out of the lake and, spotting Ramirez, waded cautiously to the shore.
Covered in duck-weed and slime, he drew out his claymore, creeping silently behind the Spaniard. He raised the sword in both hands high over Solo's head, intending to cut the bastard in half.
"What took you so long?" Solo asked boredly.
Quatre brought his sword down quickly, but Solo grabbed his Samurai, parried the blow, and was up and facing him in one lightning motion.
Quatre watched in awe as his claymore flew from his hands and landed on the beach fifty feet away.
"As I asked before, what took you so long?"
MacLeod shook his head in disbelief. "This can't be," he gasped. "'Tis the Devil's work."
Solo broke out into laughter. "You numbskull!" he cackled. "You clod! You're no better than the villagers who threw you out!"
The livid highlander spluttered water and stared out at the loch, trying to make sense of what was happening to him and the sudden desire to kill the cackling Spaniard.
"You cannot die, MacLeod," Solo said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Accept it.
Two fish wriggled themselves free from Quatre's tunic, flopping wildly on the sand and causing Solo to break into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Ye damn hyena!" Quatre hissed through his teeth. "I hate ye!"
Solo nodded. "Excellent! That's a good place to start!"
MacLeod found himself sparring with Solo beneath a waterfall shortly afterwards, steel clanging against steel. Rainbows of spray spanned the deep gorge, misting Quatre's body as he took strong swings at the Spaniard that were at the same time quite awkward. Solo laughed as his Samurai swung in a brilliant display of swordsmanship.
"No no, my friend," Solo called as they fought. "Protect your stupid, ugly head."
Angered, Quatre thrusted, only to be blocked by his opponent.
"Concentrate!" he continued. "You can survive anything but steel against your throat. If your head leaves your neck, it's over for you, brother."
"Stop calling me that!" Quatre bellowed as his strike was easily deflected.
"Come on, move your feet," Solo encouraged, advancing on the other man. "We must fight until only one remains. There can be only one."
When Quatre did not do as he was instructed, Solo's patience began to wear a little thin. "Move your feet, I said!"
He ducked a wild swing. "You are safe only on holy ground. None of us will violate that law."
An exhausted MacLeod staggered, then collapsed, gulping for air in the soft grass. Solo was relentless, poking the highlander in the butt with the very tip of his sword as he took a final swing that missed him all together, smashing brush and demolishing trees.
"Ye overgrown haggis! I'll split ye in half!" Quatre gasped.
Solo was not amused. "Get up," he ordered.
"Go to Hell. I've had enough."
The Spaniard's expression changed as he sat beside the young charge, watching the thundering waterfall thoughtfully.
"You must fight," he explained. "You must learn to keep your head. On you may depend the fate of mortal men."
"I don't care," Quatre answered defensively. "I don't want it."
"Now you're just being selfish," Solo scolded. "None of us chose this. Believe me."
Quatre blinked. "If you didn't choose it, then for God's sake, how did it happen?"
Solo chuckled. "How does the sun know when to come up?" He pointed at a group of squirrels, chattering aimlessly underneath a gigantic oak. "Those squirrels all look alike, do they not?" he asked.
Quatre frowned and nodded.
"Indeed, they do. But sometimes one is born different. With blue eyes. Or maybe fur as white as the snow. Others of its kind try to destroy it or drive it away."
He flicked a bee off his pantaloons, then moved into the oak's shade, shooing the squirrels away. Quatre followed him, still full of questions.
Before he could ask any of them, Solo glanced at him and spoke again. "You must learn to conceal your special gift," he warned. "To harness your power...until the time of the Gathering."
"What Gathering?" Quatre asked, bewildered.
"Questions, questions," Solo chuckled again. "Too much talk."
Slicing the air with his Samurai, he waved Quatre to his feet.
"I'm not moving," the man said sourly.
Solo shrugged. "Then I'll cut you where you sit."
Quatre wearily rose to his feet as the Spaniard advanced, pounding him backwards.
"It is said that when only a few of us are left, eons from now, we will feel an irresistable pull to a faraway land," he said as the two men fought.
"For what purpose?" Quatre called over the clanging of their swords.
"To fight. To fight for the unknowable Prize."
CHAPTER 5 - What Solo Told Him
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, hints of 4xU and 4xH.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Quatre sat in the sunken lounge, sharpening his Samurai sword with a jeweler's file in front of a crackling fire.
Sighing as he finished and placed the sword on a nearby coffee table, he couldn't help but smile as he re-read the title of the newest addition to his vast collection of books.
"A Metallurgical History of Ancient Sword-Making," he mumbled. "By Hilde Schbeiker."
He studied the smiling photograph of the author, noticing for the first time how much she reminded him of Une. Such a beautiful woman, yet strong-willed with a good head on her shoulders, too.
He paused to read the biography, taking particular interest in the fact that Hilde did forensics work for the City of New York.
The brightly coloured tropical fish in the aquarium surrounding him glided through their watery environment with impeccable grace. He watched them absently, his mind drifting back through time to 1541.
Solo and Quatre were in a boat, heading for an island in the middle of the loch. Resplendent in a feathered hat, jewelled tunic, cape and boots, the Spaniard manned the oars easily.
But Quatre was alarmed, his knuckles white as he gripped his claymore tightly and faced Solo.
"I don't like boats," he managed to choke out. "I don't like water. I'm a man, not a fish!"
Solo narrowed his eyes at the other man. "You complain endlessly. I wonder if I'm wasting my time with you, brother."
"Stop calling me yer brother. Ye look like a woman, ye stupid haggis."
Solo was puzzled. "Haggis?" he repeated slowly. "What is haggis?"
Quatre grinned triumphantly. "A sheep's stomach stuffed with meat an' barley."
The Spaniard was visibly intrigued. "What do you do with it?"
"Why, ye eat it," Quatre said slyly.
Solo could feel his stomach turn. "How revolting," he said in a weak voice.
Resting the oars, he took a pinch of snuff, inhaling deeply. Perhaps too deeply, as his loud sneeze caused the boat to rock violently.
"Be still, for God's sake!" Quatre hissed, shaking in fear. "Ye'll tip us over!"
"What's your point?" Solo asked boredly.
"I can't swim, you Spanish peacock!"
The two men's angry voices carried themselves across the loch.
"I'm not Spanish! I am Egyptian!" Solo demanded.
Quatre eyed him suspiciously. "Ye said ye were from Spain, ye liar."
"Well, you smell like a dung-heap! You have the manners of a goat, and no knowledge of your potential," Solo said gleefully as he purposely began to rock the boat.
Quatre was terrified. See-sawing wildly, he grabbed for an oar.
Seizing his chance, Solo threw him overboard.
There was a huge splash, and a fit of yelling as Quatre disappeared below the water's murky surface, then bobbed back up every so often, flailing his arms.
"Help me!" he gasped. "I'm drowning!"
Solo smirked and rowed for the island. "You can't drown, you fool," he called over his shoulder. "You're immortal."
Quatre sank in a mass of bubbles as his 'brother' continued to row.
Hilde was now parked outside 1182 Hudson Street back in the twentieth century. Getting out of her Pontiac, she checked the address that had been hastily scrawled in her notebook. Across the street was a sign that read "Q. Winner -- Antiques."
She smiled triumphantly as she headed for the door. "Found you, you adorable bastard," she mumbled as she walked in.
Quatre was staring into the fire in the sunken lounge. A flashing red light suddenly distracted him, causing him to flip a switch on the intercom. Two voices rang through the room.
"I'm sorry, Miss Schbeiker," his secretary was saying. "Mr. Winner is unavailable."
Hilde's voice was bordering on annoyed. "But I need to talk to him now!"
"I'm sorry miss. That's impossible."
"Can I call him at home?"
That was enough for Quatre. Taking one last glance at her book that was still lying on the coffee table, he got up and pushed a button, opening the door that lead to the outer office.
In the outer office, Dorothy Catalonia, a sour-faced woman in a pantsuit and glasses, was sitting behind a desk talking to Hilde. Antiques of every shape and size surrounded the two women.
"I'm afraid not," Dorothy said in an equally annoyed voice.
Quatre appeared in the doorway. "Hello," he said.
"Oh, Mr. Winner," Dorothy said politely, ignoring the smart-assed smirk that Hilde flashed at her. "This is Hilde Schbeiker."
"Ah, Schbeiker. So that's your last name," Quatre chuckled. "We've already met, Dorothy."
He sat down in a chair near Hilde's. "So? What can I do for you?"
Hilde took a deep breath. "I'd like some advice, if you please."
Quatre smirked. "Are you the kind of woman who takes advice?"
"That depends."
Hilde met his gaze, enjoying the mild sparring going on between the two of them. Once again, she found himself falling into his luscious blue irises, thinking how wonderful it would be if he were to kiss her...
"Advice about what?" Quatre asked, his words cutting into her daydream.
Hilde regained her composure. "What can you tell me about a seven-foot lunatic hacking away at people with a broadsword at one o'clock in the morning in New York City, 1985?"
Quatre grinned. "Not much."
Hilde eyed him suspiciously. "Then how about a Japanese sword made in 600 B.C.?" Noticing the man's reaction, she quickly added, "The metal in the blade folded 200 times."
Quatre shook his head, but the woman kept coming.
"Then what about--"
"Listen, I don't deal in exotic weapons," he said, taking her arm and gently guiding her to a display case. For just a moment, their souls touched, too.
"Can I show you something in 18th Century silver?" he suggested, trying to hide his enjoyment of being so close to her.
"That's not why I came here," Hilde stuttered, "and you know it."
Their eyes met again, the closeness unsettling both of them.
"Do you cook?" Quatre blurted out.
Hilde was taken aback. "Why?"
Quatre looked down for a moment, then reestablished eye contact. "I thought we might have dinner together."
"Oh, did you?" Hilde asked provocatively.
"Yes." Quatre found her aggressiveness so sexy that he couldn't help but long for the gentle touch of her lips. The two of them leaned in for a brief kiss, but before anything could happen, Duo Maxwell burst into the shop.
Quatre and Hilde quickly separated, watching as Duo scrutinized a tapestry, featuring delicately embroidered mermaids frolicking with horrible sea monsters.
"The Rape of Neptune's Daughter By The Fish Creatures," a voice from Duo's elbow explained.
The detective paused his contemplation of the garish creation and blinked.
"Do you like fish?" Quatre continued.
"To eat, you mean?" Duo responded in a confused tone, but his words fell on deaf ears. Quatre was already several hundred years away.
Solo reclined on the island by a crackling fire, facing the loch. The boat was tied up on the beach, the bright sunshine reflecting off the water, adding to the stunning effect of the scenery. He enjoyed the solitude as he absently patted the sword lying at his side on the ground.
Fifty yards behind him, the lake surface swirled silently as Quatre's glowering head appeared above the water. He rose quietly out of the lake and, spotting Ramirez, waded cautiously to the shore.
Covered in duck-weed and slime, he drew out his claymore, creeping silently behind the Spaniard. He raised the sword in both hands high over Solo's head, intending to cut the bastard in half.
"What took you so long?" Solo asked boredly.
Quatre brought his sword down quickly, but Solo grabbed his Samurai, parried the blow, and was up and facing him in one lightning motion.
Quatre watched in awe as his claymore flew from his hands and landed on the beach fifty feet away.
"As I asked before, what took you so long?"
MacLeod shook his head in disbelief. "This can't be," he gasped. "'Tis the Devil's work."
Solo broke out into laughter. "You numbskull!" he cackled. "You clod! You're no better than the villagers who threw you out!"
The livid highlander spluttered water and stared out at the loch, trying to make sense of what was happening to him and the sudden desire to kill the cackling Spaniard.
"You cannot die, MacLeod," Solo said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Accept it.
Two fish wriggled themselves free from Quatre's tunic, flopping wildly on the sand and causing Solo to break into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Ye damn hyena!" Quatre hissed through his teeth. "I hate ye!"
Solo nodded. "Excellent! That's a good place to start!"
MacLeod found himself sparring with Solo beneath a waterfall shortly afterwards, steel clanging against steel. Rainbows of spray spanned the deep gorge, misting Quatre's body as he took strong swings at the Spaniard that were at the same time quite awkward. Solo laughed as his Samurai swung in a brilliant display of swordsmanship.
"No no, my friend," Solo called as they fought. "Protect your stupid, ugly head."
Angered, Quatre thrusted, only to be blocked by his opponent.
"Concentrate!" he continued. "You can survive anything but steel against your throat. If your head leaves your neck, it's over for you, brother."
"Stop calling me that!" Quatre bellowed as his strike was easily deflected.
"Come on, move your feet," Solo encouraged, advancing on the other man. "We must fight until only one remains. There can be only one."
When Quatre did not do as he was instructed, Solo's patience began to wear a little thin. "Move your feet, I said!"
He ducked a wild swing. "You are safe only on holy ground. None of us will violate that law."
An exhausted MacLeod staggered, then collapsed, gulping for air in the soft grass. Solo was relentless, poking the highlander in the butt with the very tip of his sword as he took a final swing that missed him all together, smashing brush and demolishing trees.
"Ye overgrown haggis! I'll split ye in half!" Quatre gasped.
Solo was not amused. "Get up," he ordered.
"Go to Hell. I've had enough."
The Spaniard's expression changed as he sat beside the young charge, watching the thundering waterfall thoughtfully.
"You must fight," he explained. "You must learn to keep your head. On you may depend the fate of mortal men."
"I don't care," Quatre answered defensively. "I don't want it."
"Now you're just being selfish," Solo scolded. "None of us chose this. Believe me."
Quatre blinked. "If you didn't choose it, then for God's sake, how did it happen?"
Solo chuckled. "How does the sun know when to come up?" He pointed at a group of squirrels, chattering aimlessly underneath a gigantic oak. "Those squirrels all look alike, do they not?" he asked.
Quatre frowned and nodded.
"Indeed, they do. But sometimes one is born different. With blue eyes. Or maybe fur as white as the snow. Others of its kind try to destroy it or drive it away."
He flicked a bee off his pantaloons, then moved into the oak's shade, shooing the squirrels away. Quatre followed him, still full of questions.
Before he could ask any of them, Solo glanced at him and spoke again. "You must learn to conceal your special gift," he warned. "To harness your power...until the time of the Gathering."
"What Gathering?" Quatre asked, bewildered.
"Questions, questions," Solo chuckled again. "Too much talk."
Slicing the air with his Samurai, he waved Quatre to his feet.
"I'm not moving," the man said sourly.
Solo shrugged. "Then I'll cut you where you sit."
Quatre wearily rose to his feet as the Spaniard advanced, pounding him backwards.
"It is said that when only a few of us are left, eons from now, we will feel an irresistable pull to a faraway land," he said as the two men fought.
"For what purpose?" Quatre called over the clanging of their swords.
"To fight. To fight for the unknowable Prize."