Swordbearer
by Vega
Part Ten: "Bad Replacements"
October 19th, 2006 - night
"What a pathetic excuse for a jazz bar," Adam sighed as we walked into a place called 'The Double Olive'.
"This is the most expensive martini bar in the city," I corrected as we made our way to an empty loveseat in the corner. A local band was playing something hot, heavy, and bluesy, and there were several gyrating couples on the dance floor.
I recalled a time when I danced like that with men - it was the 1940s and the hemlines just kept rising. My fencer's legs looked fabulous in those itty bitty heels and a loved the bright red lipstick.
I wondered what Adam had been doing then, until I realized that he was still mortal in the 1940s.
Had he fought in the war then? He said that he had suffered his first death by being electrocuted by a Quickening; had he been a Watcher for a soldier? Had he seen any battle? Or had he been too young? How old HAD he been, anyway?
I realized as I let him order a beer for me that I knew practically nothing about this Adam Pierson beyond the fact that he was Immortal, had been a Watcher, an spoke Latin. Garret on the other hand... Garret I had been friends with for three years, and though I hated his keeping his real job from me, I was station to miss him.
Even though Garret had been my Watcher, I think he had also really been my friend.
As we waited for the waitress to return I turned to watch Adam. He was observing the couples on the dance floor with a look of detachment. It was that "I'm-in-flashback-mode" look that every Immortal has every once and a while.
He sighed a name, "Alexa", and I think he thought I couldn't hear him. 'Alexa', huh? Who was Alexa?
"So you've been in better Jazz bars?" I prompted quietly, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking of Garret when I was with Adam. We were both Immortals. We had both lost friends, and lovers, and if he was remembering this 'Alexa' with sadness, then I felt obligated to make him feel happier.
Right now we were two people in the middle of a crowd who were very much alone.
Adam sighed and shifted on the sofa, reaching behind him to undo his back holster and lay his sword on the small coffee table in front of us, then reached over and helped me do the same with my hip holster. "There's this place called 'Joe's' in Paris. I used to know the owner - great guy. Good Watcher. Best Jazz ever. Best beer too."
"He was a Watcher?"
"We worked together. That's how I met Mac."
"Mac?"
"MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod - Joe was his Watcher."
"So you know Duncan MacLeod, eh?" I mused. "What's he like?"
Adam laughed gently. "A big old boyscout. I knew he'd end up in it to his elbows when everyone found out about us. He always tries to make everything 'fair.' Stopped it from happening in the early nineties, actually. This loser named Kalas nearly exposed us all."
"I had no idea."
"That's the scary part of it. None of us ever knew how close we were to being hunted down - Kalas had stolen a Watcher's data base disc and if things had gotten out the way he wanted them to, there would have been no question... it would have made the Salem Witch Trials look like kids squishing bugs."
I took all this in, chewing on my lip absently. "Did you know... you said you were in Paris... in the early nineties..."
"Yeah?"
"Did you know this guy named Darius?"
Adam stiffened slightly before letting out a great gust of breath and a low, mirthless chuckle. "I guess Darius knew everybody."
"What..." I started slowly. "Who took his head? I found out... found the... the.... but I never figured out who did it. I wanted to kill them so badly but then, Darius... he ... he just wanted us all to get along, and he would never have condoned it. So I let it go."
"It was Horton," Adam said, and the name was spat like a curse. "A rogue Watcher - a real bible thumper. Thought we Immortals were demon spawn and all that shit and needed wiping out. He got to Darius... Darius refused to protect himself."
I clenched a fist on my thigh.
I had met Darius during sixties in Paris. I had been high and cynical and bitter with life and was looking for someone to chop off my head. I had been roving the city, hoping to find any Immortal at all, and kept chasing after a buzz that tingled on the peripheral of my senses. It eventually lead me to a church, and I followed the mystery Immortal in.
There he had stood, clad in a monk's robes, his hands folded and his dark head bowed. There was a peaceful, gentle smile on his lips, even as I pulled my sword from my sheath and handed it to him on bended knee.
"Please," I had said.
"No," he had replied. And I had been amazed.
He took me in, cared for me for a few weeks, until I was dry and sober and ready to face the world again. He had told me that I was always welcome, that I always had a friend and confident in him. Once or twice I had gone back to take advantage of his hospitality, but not often.
Once I had killed another Immortal that was out for him before the guy could even get onto the church's property. And when I had found out that he had been killed, I had searched for months for a sign, a trace, a clue, anything. I had found nothing. So I had moved to Canada and become a student and invested myself in a life that I thought Darius would have been proud of.
I screwed my eyes shut briefly to ward away a headache. "Tell me someone got Horton."
Adam nodded sagely. "Mac got him. Mac got him good."
"Good."
The waitress returning with our beer killed any further conversation along this vein, and we were both amused to see that she skittered nervously around the table where our swords lay, as if they were going to swing up and attack her all on their own.
We listened to the band in amiable silence as we sipped our beers. Well, he chugged, I sipped.
He set down his empty bottle and sprang to his feet and held out his hand.
"A dance, milady?" he asked, and I threw back the rest of my beer and took his offer. We whirled out onto the dance floor just as the band struck up a swing number and man oh man did it feel good to dance like that again.
Adam was a fantastic swing dancer and he just whipped me along, faster and freer than I had been in a while. It felt damn good to laugh - I hadn't really done that since the VWL announcements had come out several months earlier. When the dance ended with a heated kiss and applause from all around us, I didn't even mind.
Flushed, wind-blown, and happy, Adam and I celebrated the dance with two of the stiffest martini's the bartender could make and wound our way back to our loveseat, where our swords were waiting, untouched.
"You two were awesome!" I young male voice said and we turned to find the singer for the band in a seat at our side. The band was on break. "Immortals, huh? Did you swing like that back in the days?"
"I did," I chuckled, "Adam's too young though, aren't you?"
"Naw!" he laughed, "Just old enough to sneak into the bars."
"Lemmie buy you a drink," the boy said, and we let him. Over sour apple martinis he told us how wonderful it was to see real swing-dancers going at it on the floor and expressed a wish to have a 1940s big band crooner to show up one day, a real Immortal who played in the 1940s, to show him how it was done.
"I'll look up Chuck," Adam said, "Send 'em your way. You've got talent, kid. Real talent. He likes real talent."
The boy thanked us heartfeltly and took off to do another set.
"You sure get around," I mentioned when the band had started back up. "Watchers, MacLeod, Darius, this Chuck guy. For being a relative newbie, you sure know a lot of people and have done a lot of stuff."
Adam winked at me over the rim of his glass. "Maybe I'm lying to the world and I'm really five thousand years old."
"Phsaw," I said and waved my hand at him. I wasn't entirely sober at this point. "I've met Methos, and you aren't him."
He choked briefly on his drink. "You've met Methos?"
"Yeah, 'bout this tall, short blonde hair, looked about forty. Kinda looked like Ron Pearlman, now that I think about it. Good guy. He was spreading this whole... love thy neighbour sort of thing. I heard some guy got him, though. Makes me sad. He was a wise man."
"Yeah, and Richie got that guy," he hissed under his breath. "It really is a pity that Methos is dead. I wonder who's the oldest living Immortal now..."
"Vlad Draculea," I said impishly, and he shook his head.
"Vlad's only 500 or so - I know older. Amanda Monterose is at least a thousand."
"There is a real Dracula?"
"He's Immortal, yes. Who do you think wrote the novels?"
I gave Adam a 'duh' look. "Bram Stoker."
"Uh-uh. VLAD wrote them. He was calling himself Stoker at the time."
"You're shitting me."
"Nope."
The rest of the night passed in equally meaningless yet pleasant conversation, and sometime around Last Call I called Adam a cab and walked home alone. I think he may have been disappointed that I chose not to go home with him, but ...
... well, I had been thinking about Garret all night.
As much as I enjoyed Adam's company... I wasn't sure if I was attracted to him.
But I wasn't sure if I was attracted to Garret either. Even if I was, it was probably too late.
My hands shoved in my pants pockets and my sword clanking dully against my leg as I walked, I made my way home, my heart heavy and cold.
Even though I had enjoyed my evening out... today had not been a very good day.
Author's notes:
Welcome back! Sorry for the long delay - I've been very busy lately with teaching and preparign to write my honours thesis and rehearsing for the film I'm in. Just to source a couple things in the last few chapters - most references (like the 'Dracula' thing) are from a novel little book titled "An Evening At Joes", which is a WONDERFUL compilation of fanfiction written by the cast and crew of Highlander. I deffinately recommend it.
This chapter was also written for Sarah, from my Short Story class last year, 'cause I haven't seen her all summer and what's more fun than a drunk, flirty ROG?
I'm not replying to reviews right now because I've forgotten where I've left off and there's just so damn many. I really appreciate everyone's feedback still, and am really looking forward to hearing more. You guys have no idea how much your feedback fuels my plotlines. Really, it does.
Part Ten: "Bad Replacements"
October 19th, 2006 - night
"What a pathetic excuse for a jazz bar," Adam sighed as we walked into a place called 'The Double Olive'.
"This is the most expensive martini bar in the city," I corrected as we made our way to an empty loveseat in the corner. A local band was playing something hot, heavy, and bluesy, and there were several gyrating couples on the dance floor.
I recalled a time when I danced like that with men - it was the 1940s and the hemlines just kept rising. My fencer's legs looked fabulous in those itty bitty heels and a loved the bright red lipstick.
I wondered what Adam had been doing then, until I realized that he was still mortal in the 1940s.
Had he fought in the war then? He said that he had suffered his first death by being electrocuted by a Quickening; had he been a Watcher for a soldier? Had he seen any battle? Or had he been too young? How old HAD he been, anyway?
I realized as I let him order a beer for me that I knew practically nothing about this Adam Pierson beyond the fact that he was Immortal, had been a Watcher, an spoke Latin. Garret on the other hand... Garret I had been friends with for three years, and though I hated his keeping his real job from me, I was station to miss him.
Even though Garret had been my Watcher, I think he had also really been my friend.
As we waited for the waitress to return I turned to watch Adam. He was observing the couples on the dance floor with a look of detachment. It was that "I'm-in-flashback-mode" look that every Immortal has every once and a while.
He sighed a name, "Alexa", and I think he thought I couldn't hear him. 'Alexa', huh? Who was Alexa?
"So you've been in better Jazz bars?" I prompted quietly, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking of Garret when I was with Adam. We were both Immortals. We had both lost friends, and lovers, and if he was remembering this 'Alexa' with sadness, then I felt obligated to make him feel happier.
Right now we were two people in the middle of a crowd who were very much alone.
Adam sighed and shifted on the sofa, reaching behind him to undo his back holster and lay his sword on the small coffee table in front of us, then reached over and helped me do the same with my hip holster. "There's this place called 'Joe's' in Paris. I used to know the owner - great guy. Good Watcher. Best Jazz ever. Best beer too."
"He was a Watcher?"
"We worked together. That's how I met Mac."
"Mac?"
"MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod - Joe was his Watcher."
"So you know Duncan MacLeod, eh?" I mused. "What's he like?"
Adam laughed gently. "A big old boyscout. I knew he'd end up in it to his elbows when everyone found out about us. He always tries to make everything 'fair.' Stopped it from happening in the early nineties, actually. This loser named Kalas nearly exposed us all."
"I had no idea."
"That's the scary part of it. None of us ever knew how close we were to being hunted down - Kalas had stolen a Watcher's data base disc and if things had gotten out the way he wanted them to, there would have been no question... it would have made the Salem Witch Trials look like kids squishing bugs."
I took all this in, chewing on my lip absently. "Did you know... you said you were in Paris... in the early nineties..."
"Yeah?"
"Did you know this guy named Darius?"
Adam stiffened slightly before letting out a great gust of breath and a low, mirthless chuckle. "I guess Darius knew everybody."
"What..." I started slowly. "Who took his head? I found out... found the... the.... but I never figured out who did it. I wanted to kill them so badly but then, Darius... he ... he just wanted us all to get along, and he would never have condoned it. So I let it go."
"It was Horton," Adam said, and the name was spat like a curse. "A rogue Watcher - a real bible thumper. Thought we Immortals were demon spawn and all that shit and needed wiping out. He got to Darius... Darius refused to protect himself."
I clenched a fist on my thigh.
I had met Darius during sixties in Paris. I had been high and cynical and bitter with life and was looking for someone to chop off my head. I had been roving the city, hoping to find any Immortal at all, and kept chasing after a buzz that tingled on the peripheral of my senses. It eventually lead me to a church, and I followed the mystery Immortal in.
There he had stood, clad in a monk's robes, his hands folded and his dark head bowed. There was a peaceful, gentle smile on his lips, even as I pulled my sword from my sheath and handed it to him on bended knee.
"Please," I had said.
"No," he had replied. And I had been amazed.
He took me in, cared for me for a few weeks, until I was dry and sober and ready to face the world again. He had told me that I was always welcome, that I always had a friend and confident in him. Once or twice I had gone back to take advantage of his hospitality, but not often.
Once I had killed another Immortal that was out for him before the guy could even get onto the church's property. And when I had found out that he had been killed, I had searched for months for a sign, a trace, a clue, anything. I had found nothing. So I had moved to Canada and become a student and invested myself in a life that I thought Darius would have been proud of.
I screwed my eyes shut briefly to ward away a headache. "Tell me someone got Horton."
Adam nodded sagely. "Mac got him. Mac got him good."
"Good."
The waitress returning with our beer killed any further conversation along this vein, and we were both amused to see that she skittered nervously around the table where our swords lay, as if they were going to swing up and attack her all on their own.
We listened to the band in amiable silence as we sipped our beers. Well, he chugged, I sipped.
He set down his empty bottle and sprang to his feet and held out his hand.
"A dance, milady?" he asked, and I threw back the rest of my beer and took his offer. We whirled out onto the dance floor just as the band struck up a swing number and man oh man did it feel good to dance like that again.
Adam was a fantastic swing dancer and he just whipped me along, faster and freer than I had been in a while. It felt damn good to laugh - I hadn't really done that since the VWL announcements had come out several months earlier. When the dance ended with a heated kiss and applause from all around us, I didn't even mind.
Flushed, wind-blown, and happy, Adam and I celebrated the dance with two of the stiffest martini's the bartender could make and wound our way back to our loveseat, where our swords were waiting, untouched.
"You two were awesome!" I young male voice said and we turned to find the singer for the band in a seat at our side. The band was on break. "Immortals, huh? Did you swing like that back in the days?"
"I did," I chuckled, "Adam's too young though, aren't you?"
"Naw!" he laughed, "Just old enough to sneak into the bars."
"Lemmie buy you a drink," the boy said, and we let him. Over sour apple martinis he told us how wonderful it was to see real swing-dancers going at it on the floor and expressed a wish to have a 1940s big band crooner to show up one day, a real Immortal who played in the 1940s, to show him how it was done.
"I'll look up Chuck," Adam said, "Send 'em your way. You've got talent, kid. Real talent. He likes real talent."
The boy thanked us heartfeltly and took off to do another set.
"You sure get around," I mentioned when the band had started back up. "Watchers, MacLeod, Darius, this Chuck guy. For being a relative newbie, you sure know a lot of people and have done a lot of stuff."
Adam winked at me over the rim of his glass. "Maybe I'm lying to the world and I'm really five thousand years old."
"Phsaw," I said and waved my hand at him. I wasn't entirely sober at this point. "I've met Methos, and you aren't him."
He choked briefly on his drink. "You've met Methos?"
"Yeah, 'bout this tall, short blonde hair, looked about forty. Kinda looked like Ron Pearlman, now that I think about it. Good guy. He was spreading this whole... love thy neighbour sort of thing. I heard some guy got him, though. Makes me sad. He was a wise man."
"Yeah, and Richie got that guy," he hissed under his breath. "It really is a pity that Methos is dead. I wonder who's the oldest living Immortal now..."
"Vlad Draculea," I said impishly, and he shook his head.
"Vlad's only 500 or so - I know older. Amanda Monterose is at least a thousand."
"There is a real Dracula?"
"He's Immortal, yes. Who do you think wrote the novels?"
I gave Adam a 'duh' look. "Bram Stoker."
"Uh-uh. VLAD wrote them. He was calling himself Stoker at the time."
"You're shitting me."
"Nope."
The rest of the night passed in equally meaningless yet pleasant conversation, and sometime around Last Call I called Adam a cab and walked home alone. I think he may have been disappointed that I chose not to go home with him, but ...
... well, I had been thinking about Garret all night.
As much as I enjoyed Adam's company... I wasn't sure if I was attracted to him.
But I wasn't sure if I was attracted to Garret either. Even if I was, it was probably too late.
My hands shoved in my pants pockets and my sword clanking dully against my leg as I walked, I made my way home, my heart heavy and cold.
Even though I had enjoyed my evening out... today had not been a very good day.
Author's notes:
Welcome back! Sorry for the long delay - I've been very busy lately with teaching and preparign to write my honours thesis and rehearsing for the film I'm in. Just to source a couple things in the last few chapters - most references (like the 'Dracula' thing) are from a novel little book titled "An Evening At Joes", which is a WONDERFUL compilation of fanfiction written by the cast and crew of Highlander. I deffinately recommend it.
This chapter was also written for Sarah, from my Short Story class last year, 'cause I haven't seen her all summer and what's more fun than a drunk, flirty ROG?
I'm not replying to reviews right now because I've forgotten where I've left off and there's just so damn many. I really appreciate everyone's feedback still, and am really looking forward to hearing more. You guys have no idea how much your feedback fuels my plotlines. Really, it does.