Gundam Wing: The Highlander
CHAPTER 7 - The Party
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence.
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*
(Note: Ahmad is a character from the Shinkoidousenki Gundam Wing: Episode Zero manga, featured in Act 4.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Quatre strode through Central Park, pausing to watch the skaters gliding across the ice for just a moment. The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile as he noticed a group of kids fighting with wooden swords nearby in Sheep Meadow.
Behind him, the faithful Duo Maxwell was trying to look inconspicuous while still dogging his tracks.
A sudden gust of wind whipped Quatre's blonde hair out of his face.
Ahead, just past the trees, he could see an elegant, dark-skinned Arabian man in blue-gold robes, his head crowned with an ermine-trimmed cap. This was Ahmad Kastagir, a very old friend of Quatre's.
Ahmad was standing on a stone bridge over the lake, feeding bread to the ducks that gathered anxiously below. Footsteps clacked across stone, coming to a stop right next to him.
He glanced up, locking eyes with Quatre, both men tense and ready for anything.
"MacLeod!" Ahmad laughed, grinning wall-to-wall teeth and grabbing Quatre in a huge bear-hug. "It is good to see you! It seems like a hundred years!"
Quatre chuckled. "It has been a hundred years, my friend."
Ahmad's eyes took on a mischevious glimmer as he withdrew a small flask from within the folds of his robes. "A little something to put hair on your chest?" he asked slyly.
"What is it?" Quatre asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.
"Boom-Boom."
Quatre sniffed the open flask and nearly reeled back from the smell. "That's a hell of a drink," he choked.
The Arabian nodded. "You've become so strong, MacLeod. Surely, you're not afraid of a little Boom-Boom," he teased, raising an eyebrow like an old movie villain. "Do you think I'm trying to poison you?"
The two men shared a hearty laugh. Quatre took a small drink and, upon retrieving the flask, Ahmad took a long swig.
"You're crazy, Ahmad," Quatre said, trying not to let the strong drink overtake him. "You always were."
Ahmad offered him the flask again. "Have some more."
Quatre politely took another drink as the other man turned to feed the hungry ducks.
"The Gathering is here," Ahmad said quietly. "Time has almost caught us, my friend."
Quatre grinned, closing the flask and handing it back to him. "Has it really? Then do you think we should go on?"
Ahmad waggled his eyebrows. "I think we should have a party."
They laughed and took off across the park, Duo emerging from some nearby bushes to follow them.
The detective soon found himself in Jolly Roger's Bar, a popular steel-and-neon Village hangout. Sawdust covered the floor.
Stealthily, he made is way to a nearby booth to spy on Ahmad and Quatre from behind a New York Post. He watched them intently as they drank and talked, and occasionally glanced in his direction.
Quatre and Ahmad unexpectedly left their table and walked over to Duo's. "Mind if we join you?" Quatre asked.
Duo folded his paper and tried to gather his wits, realizing with a heavy feeling in his stomach that his cover was blown. But was this the opportunity he was waiting for? After a brief moment of silent deliberation, he decided to play along.
Somehow, the detective managed a weak nod.
Quatre and Ahmad sat down. "Ahmad Kastagir, meet--- I'm sorry, what's your name?" he asked Duo.
"Maxwell," the man grunted. "Duo Maxwell."
"Ah," Quatre said with a grin. "He's a cop. He questioned me after Fasil lost his head. He's trying to pin a murder on me."
He paused and winked at Ahmad. "If I'm guilty, they'll give me the death penalty."
Quatre and Ahmad roared with laughter, Maxwell's eyes narrowing as he made several mental notes.
A gum-cracking waitress in a pirate costume appeared. "Want anything?" she asked Duo in a bored tone of voice.
"I'll have what they're having," Duo said just as boredly.
"Bring more!" Ahmad boomed triumphantly as the waitress left.
And bring more, she did. The waitress brought endless rounds of drinks and, amidst all the raucous laughter, the trio soon became terribly drunk.
His thoughts clouded by all of the alcohol, Maxwell began to have fun as he finally went to work on Ahmad's flask of Boom-Boom.
The three men were completely potted as they slumped at their table, now a forest of empty bottles.
"D'you remember the night Washington lost his teeth at Valley Forge?" Ahmad asked Quatre, slapping his knee and laughing as he recalled the event.
Duo nodded, almost falling over as he did so. "I was in Washington once," he slurred.
Quatre and Ahmad both ignored the detective. "How could I forget? Freezing our asses off, crawling around in the snow looking for a set of wooden dentures..." Quatre giggled.
A puzzled expression came over Duo's face. "Which Washington are we talking about?" he asked Quatre.
Ahmad snickered. "Ever fight a duel, Mastelle?"
"Maxwell."
The Arabian shook his head slowly. "Me neither." He gestured towards Quatre. "But he has."
Duo squinted and tried to focus his vision on only one of the three Quatres that he was seeing at that point.
"It was in 1797," Quatre explained, his words running together. "I was using the name Adrian Montague. I insulted the wife of a pompous Boston lawyer named Barton. Bloom, his second, dragged me to Beacon Common." He laughed. "I was so damn drunk."
Duo blinked as he stared at the blonde. "1797--?" But his gaze was left un-returned. Wherever Quatre was staring, it was very, very far away from the bar.
"Barton chose rapiers at dawn," Quatre remembered. He could still see himself, red-eyed and dishevelled, his gait weaving from side to side as he stumbled onto the Common.
A corpulent, ferret-faced Barton tested his blades underneath a tree, horses grazing nearby. Bloom, a tall, lantern-jawed toad, brushed his master's coast off.
"The heavier blade," Bloom suggested. "Mr. Barton, I implore you."
Barton shook his head fiercely. "You are my second, Bloom. I am fighting this duel, not you."
He watched in amusement as Quatre, or Adrian, as he was now known, tried to kill an innocent bystanding bush.
"See if the imbecile is ready," he chuckled. Bloom nodded and rocketed over the grass, keeping clear of Adrian's unpredictable thrusts.
"Mr. Barton is waiting, sir," Bloom informed the drunk man.
Adrian whipped around, nearly dislocating his neck.
"I'm Bontagu, not Marton," he slurred, his wig sliding over his eyes. "Christ! I've gone blind!"
"On guard, sir," Barton called, advancing. Bloom waited for the kill, watching Adrian stumble about, his vision impaired by the powder-white wig.
"Fair enough," Barton shrugged, pulling his rapier back and running the man through.
Seeing that it was finished, Bloom ran onto the field and kissed his master, escorting him back to his horse.
But Adrian staggered back up, his wound healing and the pain in his head pounding like the repeat of a firing musket.
"Barton!" Adrian called. "Is that you?"
The dumbstruck men wheeled around and stared as Adrian waved at them.
"You missed him, Mr. Barton," Bloom sighed.
"I did not miss him, you idiot!" Barton said sourly. "I ran him through!"
Adrian blinked and looked at the sword in his hand, wondering what it was.
"Regardless, he is still standing, sir," Bloom argued.
Shoving his second aside, Barton lunged, running Adrian through again. Adrian fell to the ground.
Quatre's mind returned to the twentieth century for just a moment. "Barton kept running me through," he laughed. "And I'd fall down."
He remembered the frenzied attempts by Barton, each time receiving kisses from Bloom.
"Bloom would embrace Barton and they'd head for their horses. But I'd stagger up."
Quatre's eyes grew distant again as he had yet another flashback.
Adrian was rocking on his heels, babbling incoherently about something or other. Barton was horrified.
"This must be a nightmare," he gasped as Bloom shoved a pistol into his hand.
"Shoot him!" Bloom screeched. "Shoot him in the head!"
The alcohol wearing off enough for him to finally grasp what was happening, Adrian raised a hand.
"Stop sir," he gasped. "I beseech you."
Barton cocked the gun, Bloom urging him on.
"I apologize, Mr. Barton, for calling your wife a bloated warthog," Adrian said as he unsteadily got to his feet. "I trust that honour has been satisfied, and do bid you good day."
He staggered off into the mist as Bloom tried to wrench the gun from Barton's grip.
"Let me do it," Bloom hissed. "You botched the whole thing!"
Wrestling the gun away from him, Barton wheeled around in circles, looking for someone to kill.
Bloom had a sneaking suspicion that he would be the target. In fear of his own life, Bloom turned and fled as Barton raised the pistol and fired.
Back at Jolly Roger's, Ahmad was howling with laughter and pounding on the table. Still drunk, Duo staggered up, knocking over bottles as he did so.
"I wanna thank--" he slurred, but blinked, unable to finish the sentence. He couldn't remember any of their names. Hiccupping, he weaved off, mumbling things under his breath.
"Wonderful evening," his voice rang out one last time.
Neither Quatre nor Ahmad noticed that he had left. The pirate-waitress loomed over the table, the two men squinting up at her.
"Avast, ye bonny wench!" Ahmad cackled, imagining that he was in a century long-past.
Quatre laughed. "Bring us two barrels of scurvy and a bucket of cleats!"
The waitress was not amused. "Okay, that's it, guys. You're history," she said.
And she was quite right. The party was over.
CHAPTER 7 - The Party
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence.
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*
(Note: Ahmad is a character from the Shinkoidousenki Gundam Wing: Episode Zero manga, featured in Act 4.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Quatre strode through Central Park, pausing to watch the skaters gliding across the ice for just a moment. The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile as he noticed a group of kids fighting with wooden swords nearby in Sheep Meadow.
Behind him, the faithful Duo Maxwell was trying to look inconspicuous while still dogging his tracks.
A sudden gust of wind whipped Quatre's blonde hair out of his face.
Ahead, just past the trees, he could see an elegant, dark-skinned Arabian man in blue-gold robes, his head crowned with an ermine-trimmed cap. This was Ahmad Kastagir, a very old friend of Quatre's.
Ahmad was standing on a stone bridge over the lake, feeding bread to the ducks that gathered anxiously below. Footsteps clacked across stone, coming to a stop right next to him.
He glanced up, locking eyes with Quatre, both men tense and ready for anything.
"MacLeod!" Ahmad laughed, grinning wall-to-wall teeth and grabbing Quatre in a huge bear-hug. "It is good to see you! It seems like a hundred years!"
Quatre chuckled. "It has been a hundred years, my friend."
Ahmad's eyes took on a mischevious glimmer as he withdrew a small flask from within the folds of his robes. "A little something to put hair on your chest?" he asked slyly.
"What is it?" Quatre asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.
"Boom-Boom."
Quatre sniffed the open flask and nearly reeled back from the smell. "That's a hell of a drink," he choked.
The Arabian nodded. "You've become so strong, MacLeod. Surely, you're not afraid of a little Boom-Boom," he teased, raising an eyebrow like an old movie villain. "Do you think I'm trying to poison you?"
The two men shared a hearty laugh. Quatre took a small drink and, upon retrieving the flask, Ahmad took a long swig.
"You're crazy, Ahmad," Quatre said, trying not to let the strong drink overtake him. "You always were."
Ahmad offered him the flask again. "Have some more."
Quatre politely took another drink as the other man turned to feed the hungry ducks.
"The Gathering is here," Ahmad said quietly. "Time has almost caught us, my friend."
Quatre grinned, closing the flask and handing it back to him. "Has it really? Then do you think we should go on?"
Ahmad waggled his eyebrows. "I think we should have a party."
They laughed and took off across the park, Duo emerging from some nearby bushes to follow them.
The detective soon found himself in Jolly Roger's Bar, a popular steel-and-neon Village hangout. Sawdust covered the floor.
Stealthily, he made is way to a nearby booth to spy on Ahmad and Quatre from behind a New York Post. He watched them intently as they drank and talked, and occasionally glanced in his direction.
Quatre and Ahmad unexpectedly left their table and walked over to Duo's. "Mind if we join you?" Quatre asked.
Duo folded his paper and tried to gather his wits, realizing with a heavy feeling in his stomach that his cover was blown. But was this the opportunity he was waiting for? After a brief moment of silent deliberation, he decided to play along.
Somehow, the detective managed a weak nod.
Quatre and Ahmad sat down. "Ahmad Kastagir, meet--- I'm sorry, what's your name?" he asked Duo.
"Maxwell," the man grunted. "Duo Maxwell."
"Ah," Quatre said with a grin. "He's a cop. He questioned me after Fasil lost his head. He's trying to pin a murder on me."
He paused and winked at Ahmad. "If I'm guilty, they'll give me the death penalty."
Quatre and Ahmad roared with laughter, Maxwell's eyes narrowing as he made several mental notes.
A gum-cracking waitress in a pirate costume appeared. "Want anything?" she asked Duo in a bored tone of voice.
"I'll have what they're having," Duo said just as boredly.
"Bring more!" Ahmad boomed triumphantly as the waitress left.
And bring more, she did. The waitress brought endless rounds of drinks and, amidst all the raucous laughter, the trio soon became terribly drunk.
His thoughts clouded by all of the alcohol, Maxwell began to have fun as he finally went to work on Ahmad's flask of Boom-Boom.
The three men were completely potted as they slumped at their table, now a forest of empty bottles.
"D'you remember the night Washington lost his teeth at Valley Forge?" Ahmad asked Quatre, slapping his knee and laughing as he recalled the event.
Duo nodded, almost falling over as he did so. "I was in Washington once," he slurred.
Quatre and Ahmad both ignored the detective. "How could I forget? Freezing our asses off, crawling around in the snow looking for a set of wooden dentures..." Quatre giggled.
A puzzled expression came over Duo's face. "Which Washington are we talking about?" he asked Quatre.
Ahmad snickered. "Ever fight a duel, Mastelle?"
"Maxwell."
The Arabian shook his head slowly. "Me neither." He gestured towards Quatre. "But he has."
Duo squinted and tried to focus his vision on only one of the three Quatres that he was seeing at that point.
"It was in 1797," Quatre explained, his words running together. "I was using the name Adrian Montague. I insulted the wife of a pompous Boston lawyer named Barton. Bloom, his second, dragged me to Beacon Common." He laughed. "I was so damn drunk."
Duo blinked as he stared at the blonde. "1797--?" But his gaze was left un-returned. Wherever Quatre was staring, it was very, very far away from the bar.
"Barton chose rapiers at dawn," Quatre remembered. He could still see himself, red-eyed and dishevelled, his gait weaving from side to side as he stumbled onto the Common.
A corpulent, ferret-faced Barton tested his blades underneath a tree, horses grazing nearby. Bloom, a tall, lantern-jawed toad, brushed his master's coast off.
"The heavier blade," Bloom suggested. "Mr. Barton, I implore you."
Barton shook his head fiercely. "You are my second, Bloom. I am fighting this duel, not you."
He watched in amusement as Quatre, or Adrian, as he was now known, tried to kill an innocent bystanding bush.
"See if the imbecile is ready," he chuckled. Bloom nodded and rocketed over the grass, keeping clear of Adrian's unpredictable thrusts.
"Mr. Barton is waiting, sir," Bloom informed the drunk man.
Adrian whipped around, nearly dislocating his neck.
"I'm Bontagu, not Marton," he slurred, his wig sliding over his eyes. "Christ! I've gone blind!"
"On guard, sir," Barton called, advancing. Bloom waited for the kill, watching Adrian stumble about, his vision impaired by the powder-white wig.
"Fair enough," Barton shrugged, pulling his rapier back and running the man through.
Seeing that it was finished, Bloom ran onto the field and kissed his master, escorting him back to his horse.
But Adrian staggered back up, his wound healing and the pain in his head pounding like the repeat of a firing musket.
"Barton!" Adrian called. "Is that you?"
The dumbstruck men wheeled around and stared as Adrian waved at them.
"You missed him, Mr. Barton," Bloom sighed.
"I did not miss him, you idiot!" Barton said sourly. "I ran him through!"
Adrian blinked and looked at the sword in his hand, wondering what it was.
"Regardless, he is still standing, sir," Bloom argued.
Shoving his second aside, Barton lunged, running Adrian through again. Adrian fell to the ground.
Quatre's mind returned to the twentieth century for just a moment. "Barton kept running me through," he laughed. "And I'd fall down."
He remembered the frenzied attempts by Barton, each time receiving kisses from Bloom.
"Bloom would embrace Barton and they'd head for their horses. But I'd stagger up."
Quatre's eyes grew distant again as he had yet another flashback.
Adrian was rocking on his heels, babbling incoherently about something or other. Barton was horrified.
"This must be a nightmare," he gasped as Bloom shoved a pistol into his hand.
"Shoot him!" Bloom screeched. "Shoot him in the head!"
The alcohol wearing off enough for him to finally grasp what was happening, Adrian raised a hand.
"Stop sir," he gasped. "I beseech you."
Barton cocked the gun, Bloom urging him on.
"I apologize, Mr. Barton, for calling your wife a bloated warthog," Adrian said as he unsteadily got to his feet. "I trust that honour has been satisfied, and do bid you good day."
He staggered off into the mist as Bloom tried to wrench the gun from Barton's grip.
"Let me do it," Bloom hissed. "You botched the whole thing!"
Wrestling the gun away from him, Barton wheeled around in circles, looking for someone to kill.
Bloom had a sneaking suspicion that he would be the target. In fear of his own life, Bloom turned and fled as Barton raised the pistol and fired.
Back at Jolly Roger's, Ahmad was howling with laughter and pounding on the table. Still drunk, Duo staggered up, knocking over bottles as he did so.
"I wanna thank--" he slurred, but blinked, unable to finish the sentence. He couldn't remember any of their names. Hiccupping, he weaved off, mumbling things under his breath.
"Wonderful evening," his voice rang out one last time.
Neither Quatre nor Ahmad noticed that he had left. The pirate-waitress loomed over the table, the two men squinting up at her.
"Avast, ye bonny wench!" Ahmad cackled, imagining that he was in a century long-past.
Quatre laughed. "Bring us two barrels of scurvy and a bucket of cleats!"
The waitress was not amused. "Okay, that's it, guys. You're history," she said.
And she was quite right. The party was over.