As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a warm glow over downtown Atlanta, the streets buzzed with the energy of the evening rush. Among the throngs of pedestrians, two figures stood out: Brick and Bumpa Boston. Brick, clad in a dark trench coat that flared slightly with each step, moved with purpose, while Bumpa, his orange skin a stark contrast against the urban backdrop, struggled to blend in. He kept his missing hand concealed beneath the coat, a reminder of his mistake from earlier.
"What are we doing down here?" Bumpa asked, his voice tinged with irritation as he hurried to keep pace with his brother.
Brick shot him a sidelong glance, his expression hardening. "We're gonna need some bigger guns after your little fuck-up."
Bumpa bristled, his temper flaring. "Hey, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let them slip past me."
"You could've called me sooner and followed them," Brick replied, his tone clipped. "But don't worry about it. I've got someone who can help narrow the search."
They approached a sleek, modern building adorned with large glass windows that showcased the latest in high fashion. The sign above the entrance read "Elysium Designs," a name that resonated with the elite of the city. Brick pushed the door open, and a soft chime announced their arrival.
"Uh, Brick, I know we said we gotta update our wardrobes, but—" Bumpa began, but Brick silenced him with a sharp look.
"Quiet," Brick commanded, his focus unwavering as they stepped inside.
The interior of the fashion house was a blend of elegance and chaos, with racks of vibrant clothing and accessories lining the walls. Models flitted about, their laughter mingling with the sound of heels clicking against the polished floor. Bumpa tried to maintain a casual demeanor, but the curious glances directed his way made it difficult. He felt like a sore thumb in a world of high fashion.
"Where's Faith?" Brick asked, his voice low and authoritative as he approached a sales associate who was busy arranging a display of handbags.
The associate, a tall woman with sharp features and an air of indifference, looked up at him, her brow furrowing. "I'm sorry, but Faith is not available right now. She's in a meeting."
Brick leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell her it's about the 'Red Velvet' project."
The mention of the secret code caused the associate's demeanor to shift. Her eyes widened slightly, and she nodded, her previous aloofness replaced by a sense of urgency. "Right this way," she said, leading them through a hidden door at the back of the store.
As they followed her down a narrow corridor, Bumpa felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about this place, something that hinted at secrets buried beneath the surface. The air grew heavier, and he exchanged a glance with Brick, who seemed equally attuned to the shift in atmosphere.
They entered a dimly lit office, the walls adorned with sketches of avant-garde designs and photographs of models draped in the latest fashions. At the center of the room sat a woman with striking features. She had short, rose-colored hair that framed her face, and her brown eyes held a fierce intensity. Dressed in a dark red long-sleeve top and black pants, complemented by sharp black high heels, she exuded an air of authority.
"Brick, Bumpa," she said, her voice smooth yet commanding. "I've been expecting you."
Bumpa felt a wave of unease wash over him as he took in her presence. There was something undeniably powerful about her, a force that made him instinctively wary. He could sense an immortal energy radiating from her, a reminder that they were not in the presence of an ordinary fashion designer.
"Faith," Brick acknowledged, his tone respectful but firm. "We need your help."
Faith leaned back in her chair, her expression inscrutable. "I assume this isn't just a social call. What's the situation?"
Bumpa shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her gaze making him feel exposed. "We need some weapons and we're looking for someone. The Macleod wannabe ."
Faith's lips curled into a slight smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Tempting…But you know I don't get involved in your… extracurricular activities without a good reason. What's in it for me?"
"Come on, Faith, we know you and your crazy boss hate that Clan's guts, help us out and I'll force out some intel on where we can find the other two." Brick said as he leaned against the desk with an arrogant smile, lowkey putting the moves on her.
Faith considered this, her gaze flickering between the two brothers. "Very well. But I expect full transparency.
Faith presses a hidden button underneath her desk opening the wall nearby, making Bumpa's eyes widen in amazement.
The atmosphere in Methos' home was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the air earlier. Gathered around a rectangular wooden table, Methos and his guests enjoyed a meal that was both hearty and comforting. The aroma of grilled chicken breast wafted through the air, accompanied by a side of perfectly cooked pasta, glistening with olive oil and herbs. Laughter and the clinking of cutlery punctuated the otherwise quiet evening, as Max and the others savored the food.
Gabriella, seated on the left side of the table directly across from Max, glanced around at the group, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The silence that had settled felt heavy, and she decided to break it. "So… hope we're not going to leave each other in the dark about you two knowing each other, right?" she asked, her tone light but probing.
Max shot her an annoyed look, his brow furrowing. "Gabby," he warned, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
"It's alright, Max," Methos interjected, his voice calm as he leaned back in his chair, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was seated at the end of the table, his gaze shifting to Lilith, who sat at the opposite end, her expression unreadable.
"Is it?" Methos asked, raising an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.
Lilith took a sip from her can of beer, her demeanor relaxed yet guarded. "Shoot. Just don't flip the story," she replied, a hint of challenge in her voice.
Methos scoffed, a playful glint in his eye. "I NEVER flip my stories… I will exaggerate them, however, but for the most part, they're 99% accurate."
Max leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "What's the 1%?"
Methos met his gaze, his expression turning serious for a moment. "Things that are better left unsaid."
As the words hung in the air, the scene began to shift. The camera zoomed in on Methos' eye, and the world around him faded into a blur, transitioning into a flashback that would reveal the truth behind the enigmatic connection between him and Lilith.
The year was 1745, a time when the winds of rebellion swept through the Scottish Highlands. The Jacobite risings had ignited a fierce passion among the clans, and the air was thick with the scent of impending conflict. Amidst the rugged beauty of the Galloway hills, a young woman named Liliandra, known for her fiery spirit and fierce independence, stood at the edge of a glen, her heart racing with the thrill of the fight that coursed through her veins.
Born into the Galloway clan, Liliandra had been raised with the expectation of becoming a proper lady, but the constraints of her upbringing felt suffocating. She longed for the freedom to wield a sword, to fight alongside her kin, but her family forbade it, insisting that she embrace the role of a demure woman. Yet, the fire within her could not be extinguished.
As she practiced her swordplay in secret, the sound of hooves thundered in the distance, shattering her concentration. A group of bandits, their faces obscured by the shadows of their hoods, emerged from the treeline, their intentions clear. They were a ruthless lot, known for raiding the lands of the clans, and today, they had set their sights on Liliandra.
Before she could react, a figure appeared on horseback, galloping toward her with a sense of urgency. It was Methos, though he was not yet known by that name. Clad in a simple brown coat, he was a healer, a man of knowledge and compassion, who had wandered into the Highlands seeking solace from the chaos of the world. His keen eyes took in the scene, and without hesitation, he dismounted, rushing to Liliandra's side.
"Get back!" he shouted, positioning himself protectively in front of her. "You don't want to tangle with these men."
Liliandra's heart raced, not from fear but from the thrill of the impending confrontation. "I can handle myself," she retorted, her voice steady despite the danger. "I won't cower behind you, Englishman."
Methos shot her a glance, a mixture of admiration and exasperation in his eyes. "This isn't a game, lass. They're armed and dangerous."
But Liliandra was already stepping forward, her sword drawn, the blade glinting in the fading light. "Then let's give them a fight they won't forget."
With a fierce battle cry, she charged into the fray, her movements fluid and precise. Methos, realizing he had no choice but to follow her lead, joined the fray, his own skills honed from years of practice. Together, they fought against the bandits, a whirlwind of steel and determination. Liliandra's spirit shone brightly as she parried and struck, her laughter mingling with the clash of swords.
The battle was fierce, but their combined efforts proved too much for the bandits. One by one, they fell, retreating into the shadows from whence they came, leaving Liliandra and Methos standing victorious amidst the chaos.
Breathing heavily, Liliandra turned to Methos, her eyes sparkling with exhilaration. "You fought well, for an Englishman," she teased, a playful smirk on her lips.
Methos chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "And you, Liliandra, are a force to be reckoned with. But I must ask, do you always charge into battle without a plan?"
"Plans are for those who fear the fight," she replied, her spirit unyielding. "But I do have a challenge for you."
Methos raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A challenge?"
"A duel," she declared, her voice firm. "I want to test my skills against you. I've heard tales of your prowess."
He shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'd rather buy you a drink instead. We can celebrate our victory in a more civilized manner."
Liliandra's expression softened, the fire in her eyes dimming just enough to reveal a hint of curiosity. "A drink? You're not afraid I'll take your head while you're distracted?"
"Not at all," he replied, his tone light. "I have a feeling you're one of the good ones, Liliandra. Besides, I'd like to know more about the woman who fights like a warrior yet dreams of being a lady."
With a reluctant smile, she nodded. "Very well, then. Lead the way."
They made their way to a nearby pub, the warmth of the hearth welcoming them as they entered. The atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and the clinking of tankards. They found a corner table, and as they settled in, Methos ordered a round of ale
As they settled into a corner table of the bustling pub, the warmth of the hearth enveloped them, contrasting sharply with the chill of the evening air outside. The atmosphere was alive with laughter and the clinking of tankards, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafting through the air. Methos ordered a round of ale, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched Liliandra's fierce demeanor soften in the cozy surroundings.
"Tell me, Liliandra," he began, leaning forward, his voice low enough to be heard over the din. "What drives a woman like you to fight when the world expects you to be a lady?"
Liliandra took a long sip of her ale, savoring the rich flavor before setting the tankard down with a determined clink. "I was born into the Galloway clan, raised to be a proper lady, but I've always felt the call of the sword. Fighting is in my blood. I want to carve my own path, not be confined to the expectations of my family."
Methos nodded, understanding the fire that burned within her. "And yet, you still have a sense of honor. You fought to protect yourself today, not just for glory."
"Honor is a luxury I can't afford," she replied, her expression turning serious. "Not when there are men out there who think they can take what they want. I've seen too many of my kin suffer at the hands of bandits and tyrants. I refuse to be a victim."
He admired her resolve, the way her spirit shone even in the face of adversity. "You're a rare breed, Liliandra. Most would shy away from conflict, but you embrace it."
"Perhaps," she said, a hint of mischief returning to her eyes. "But I still want to test my skills against you. You may have fought well today, but I suspect you're holding back."
Methos chuckled, shaking his head. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. But I'm not here to take your head, not today. I've seen too many good fighters fall to pride."
"Pride?" she echoed, her brow furrowing. "Is that what you think this is about? I want to know if I can stand against you, to see if I'm truly worthy of the title of warrior."
"Then let's make a deal," he proposed, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. "If you're still eager for a duel after we've had a drink and celebrated our victory, I'll gladly accept your challenge. But for now, let's enjoy this moment."
Liliandra considered his words, the fire in her heart still burning bright but tempered by the warmth of the ale and the camaraderie they had forged in battle. "Very well, Methos. I'll hold you to that."
As the evening wore on, they shared stories of their lives, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the pub. Methos spoke of his travels, the places he had seen, and the people he had met. Liliandra, in turn, recounted tales of her clan, the beauty of the Highlands, and the struggles they faced against the encroaching English forces.
"I've always hated the English," she admitted, her voice low as she leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "But you… you're different. You fight for the right reasons."
Methos raised his tankard in a toast. "To the good ones, then. May we find more of them in this world."
"To the good ones," Liliandra echoed, clinking her tankard against his, a smile breaking through her fierce exterior.
As the night deepened, the pub began to empty, the laughter and music fading into the background. Methos glanced at the door, sensing the time had come for him to take his leave. "I should be going. The road ahead is long, and I have more to do."
Liliandra felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving. "Will I see you again, Methos?"
He stood, adjusting his coat, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "If fate allows it, I hope so. And remember, if you're still so eager to take my head, I'll be waiting for our duel."
"Don't think I'll forget," she replied, her eyes sparkling with determination. "I'll hold you to that promise."
With a final nod, Methos turned to leave, but not before casting one last glance over his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Liliandra. The world is a dangerous place, and you're too valuable to lose."
As he stepped out into the cool night air, Liliandra felt a strange sense of connection to the man who had fought beside her. Despite her initial disdain for the English, she found herself intrigued by him, a feeling that was both foreign and exhilarating. She watched as Methos disappeared into the night, his figure gradually swallowed by the shadows of the bustling streets.
As the flashback faded, the warm glow of Methos' dining room returned, and the atmosphere shifted back to the present. Max and Gabriella exchanged impressed glances, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.
"Wow, good to know the Scots and English made up around that point," Max remarked, leaning back in his chair, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Methos chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Oh, far from it. We were still on rocky waters for the next few years that followed."
Gabriella leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Did you add that to the Methos chronicles?"
Methos nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "A while ago, yes."
Lilith, sitting at the opposite end of the table, interjected with a nonchalant air. "AND he fucking flipped it!"
Methos looked incredulous, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I did not! What part?"
"The part where you were doing tag teams and not getting a single hit on you," Lilith retorted, her tone teasing. "They were stomping the shit out of you until I jumped in from behind."
"Now don't get me wrong," she continued, a smirk on her lips, "you were good—were GOOD—but you weren't great."
Max chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "I believe it. He's the one who helped train me, and I beat him on my first try."
"To this day, I still question if this guy's the real Methos," Max added, a playful glint in his eye.
Lilith nodded in agreement, her laughter infectious. "I know, right!? Like seriously, this scrawny little DOCTOR WHO reject survived over 5,000 years!?"
The room erupted in laughter, with Lilith and Max sharing a moment of camaraderie. Gabriella placed a hand on Methos' shoulder, her own laughter bubbling to the surface despite her efforts to contain it. Methos frowned, feigning indignation at their teasing.
"Oh, piss off, all of you," he grumbled, standing up and taking his finished plate to the kitchen.
"Hey, no racism intended…" Lilith called after him, her voice trailing off as she pondered aloud, "Is that racist? The Doctor Who bit?"
As Methos entered the kitchen, a sudden loud yell pierced the air, causing him to rush back into the dining room. His heart raced as he found Max on the floor, writhing in pain. Gabriella crouched beside him, her expression a mix of concern and urgency, while Lilith looked on, worry etched across her features.
"What happened!?" Methos exclaimed, rushing to Max's side.
Gabriella looked up, her voice trembling with worry. "I don't know! He just started shaking and yelling out of nowhere."
"Max, breathe! Listen to me, you're gonna be alright, just br—"
Suddenly, Max's eyes glowed a vibrant pink, static electricity crackling around his head, sending small zaps that startled Gabriella. "AH!" she yelped, jumping back and putting her finger in her mouth, the sting of the shock surprising her.
Methos' expression shifted to one of alarm. "It's his quickening! Something's happening to it."
Meanwhile, in Faith's secret office, the atmosphere was charged with tension. Bumpa knelt on the floor, his eyes closed, seemingly in a trance. Faith stood before him, her own eyes glowing pink, a powerful energy radiating from her.
Brick sat in a chair nearby, his posture tense as he eagerly awaited news, concern etched on his face as he watched Faith's intense focus.
"Do you see him?" Faith asked, her voice steady yet commanding.
Bumpa nodded slowly, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. "Yeah… and the girl from earlier."
Faith's expression shifted, a mixture of intrigue and determination crossing her features. "Good. We need to know what's happening. Focus on them, Bumpa. We need to understand the connection."
To Be Continued...