All in all, I'd say a good day.
Nov. 15th, 2005 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calimeFirst and foremost, the HLDU videos and HLWW DVD-s arrived today. I have spent over 2 productive hours enjoying Carmel's interviews with PW and now I have beer and the Immortal Cabaret waiting for me. Mmmmm, heaven.
The Highlander store is silent as grave on the topic of my order, despite the e-mail I sent. Well, if they decide that European credit cards are not good enough for them, then I'll just have to support amazon.com. *sigh*. I'll give them some more time.
And then there's something fic-like emerging that has been buggering my brain for the last weeks. I've been torturing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dresta11 with babbling about it on MSN, which has resulted in her suggesting that I need a brainwash, or probably a brain donor. She may be right, but I'm not exchanging my old brain unless I'm sure that the new one will be as much fun as the old one (and perhaps with upgraded processor *g*). And anyway, she said that she needs her own brain and she really can't think of any other normal brains available. So, if anyone would be gullible and generous enough to jump in and agree to answer my stupid questions and do anything remotely resembling betaing or just drop snide remarks, I'd be eternally grateful. Honest.
I'm posting just a small bit without beginning and without end that seems to be a part of the work in progress and which has it's roots in the ghost story challenge in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hl_challenges , but it has grown into something bigger, and frankly, I'm a bit afraid *g*.
Methos stumbled along a dark wet street and swore under his breath when a faint hum of immortal presence struck him like a not-quite-ache that seemed to concentrate into his temporomandibular joints. Loosening his jaw, he silently draw his sword and advanced to the corner of the dark building looming above him. The feel of the quickening was still faint enough, so he risked a quick turn around the corner, a maneuver that brought him unexpectedly face to face with a smallish, mostly white bipedal creature that seemed to be carrying its big, white head under its arm.
Frankly, this was not at all what he had expected and therefore a quite undignified squeak managed to escape him as reflexes honed through millenia still managed to bring the tip of the Ivanhoe up, pointing to the threat from whence the hum emanated.
The threat regarded him calmly for a moment and then asked curiously, in a small girly voice, ’Are you a hero, mister?’
Methos blinked. The headless threat took shape. The shape seemed to be of one little human with pigtails, apparently of a female persuasion, wearing something that looked suspiciously like a costume of Casper, the friendly ghost, that was a tad too small for the wearer. The sleeves ended just below elbows and the space between the cuffs of the trousers and a pair of largish sneakers was occupied by red socks. ’A pre-immortal,’ some detached part of his brain commented. ’That’s why the quickening hum seemed to come from further away.’
Little overgrown imp was apparently waiting for an answer, and if it was not forthcoming, she repeated the question, albeit with nicer manners this time.
’Excuse me, sir, but are you a hero? Or a ghost? They say that it is a haunted house here, so are you a ghost?’
Methos was not quite sure if it was a good idea to annoy little strange Caspers asking personal questions. The little bastard showed no inclination of budging and he was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps if he stood really still, she would get bored and go away?
She could not imagine how one would politely ask from a ghost if he was indeed a ghost. Finally she decided to be straight about it.
’Are you a ghost, mister?’
The dark-haired man with a long coat and a sword had apparently forgotten that she was there, because he lifted his head with something akin to startlement and looked at her questioningly. ’Am I a what?’
’A ghost,’ she repeated patiently, ’there are supposed to be ghosts here. Are you one?’
The man appeared to think about it. ’Well,’ he said, ’that rather depends on your definition of a ghost.’ Seeing the puzzled expression on her face he explained,’ I mean, what do you think a ghost is?’
The man was pretty stupid if he did not know such simple things, she thought. She was much too polite to say it out loud, though. ’Ghosts are dead people, people who should be dead and buried, but are still walking around and scaring others. It’s called haunting,’ she added to his benefit.
He considered this information for a space of three long heartbeats. ’In that case, I believe you could say that I am a ghost…especially considering that I have managed to haunt quite a number of people ...’ ’ The end of the sentence trailed away into the silence. The ghost man looked very sad all of a sudden, which made her want to say something nice to him. ’I think I like you, ’ she blurted out, ’I mean, it does not matter that you are a ghost. It could always be worse, that’s what my Granny always says.’
’The ghost let out a sudden, surprised laugh. ’Thank you,’ he said then, very gravely, making her a deep bow, like the princes and heroes did in the fairy tales and movies.
That gave her courage enough to repeat her earlier question, ’Are you a hero too? As you have a big sword and everything?’
The ghost laughed again. ’Nope, ’ he said,’ I don’t do the heroic stuff. Saving the world and all damsels in distress et cetera I leave to a certain noble warrior friend of mine.’
’Are you a good ghost or an bad one, then?’
’I don’t know,’ he said reflectively, ’I gave up murder and mayhem and eating little children quite a long time ago, but I don’t think I’d quite qualify as good.’
She considered that. ’I think you are a good ghost, 'cause you did not scare me or anything!’
’Well, that could also mean that I suck at my job, don’t you think?’ asked the strange ghost with a smile. She started to giggle at that and then laughed outright. After a second the ghost started to laugh, too.
Methos had to admit that the little girl was rather nice as children go. And though she seemed to be a bit grown out of her costume, she apparently still believed in fairytales.
’Do you have a princess friend also?’ she asked now eagerly.
Methos considered. Well, it was not as if it was an out-and-out lie. Amanda was his friend, and occasionally could be a princess as well. So he answered honestly:’Yes, I do.’
’What kind of princess?’
Methos glared a bit. Little children were really too curious for their own good sometimes. ’Lets see…a princess of thieves, Gucci and atrocious timing…that means really bad timing,’ he added seeing the little face scrunch up in incomprehension over the strange word.
Little Casper-girl giggled again. For some reason Methos felt that actually it was rather a nice giggle; he was almost forgetting his black mood and the reason why he was prowling around in this godforsaken, lanternless, dilapidated neighbourhood in the first place.
But then the expression on the girl’s face became rather sad. ’I don’t have any friends,’ she said mournfully, ’and my brother Jim says that I’m a changeling bastard and that’s why. ’
Methos found himself at a loss of words, a rare situation for him. After an uncomfortable silence he cleared his throat and tried, ’I’m sure it’ll get better…I mean I’m sure you’ll have many friends one day.’ Maybe it was the suspicious glance the little girl sent his way that made him add a bit defensively, ’Well, I’ve been called a bastard too, often, and I have several really good friends.’
The little girl brightened visibly. ’Oh, Ok. Yes, you told me, you have a hero friend and a princess friend.’ After a thoughtful pause she decided, ’ When I grow up, I’m gonna be a ghost too, just like you, and have many friends and adventures and stuff.’
’Oh, all too appropriate,’ a stunned Methos thought, and then had no more time for thought as much stronger immortal presence…no, two of them…washed over him, making him turn on his heel, lifting the sword before he recognized the two familiar figures turning around the corner. ’Fuck,’ he said, and then he had no time to say anything more, as the taller of two newcomers grabbed him, threw him against the wall, growling ’ You old bastard’ and before he could draw a breath to answer or react, he was enveloped in a fierce hug, with hot lips travelling over his cheekbone to stop briefly to deliver a hungry kiss on his mouth and then continuing their way to his ear to whisper , ’Don’t you EVER do anything like that again!’.
Amanda was eyeing the promising confrontation with a satisfied look in her eye, when she was startled by a tug at her sleeve. Looking down, she saw a little pig-tailed girl. ’Are you his friends?’ asked the little girl solemnly. Amanda squatted down to look the child in the face. ’Yes, we’re his friends,’ she crooned, ’ and you must have gotten lost trick-and-treating, little girl. Where are your friends? ’
’I don’t have friends, ’ said the little girl seriously, ’but my brother Jimmy will get mad at me if I don’t come home soon.’
Amanda spared a look at two men now talking in earnest, if somewhat irritated whispers, and decided that they could bear without her for another…oh, perhaps half an hour. Looking back at the child she asked, ’Come on, I’ll walk you home. Where do you live?’
’This way,’ the girl pointed, slipping her hand into Amandas’ in a trusting way that made somehing in her stomach flutter. Sweet girl, she decided.
’Are you a princess like mister ghost said?’, the girl asked. Amanda laughed. Mister ghost indeed. But it was really nice of Methos if he’d really called her a princess. ’Maybe I am,’ she answered, smiling down at the small figure walking beside her. The next question , however, made the smile disappear.
’But why do you have atrosho….really bad timing?’. Amanda ground her teeth together. Someone was going to pay for this.
The Highlander store is silent as grave on the topic of my order, despite the e-mail I sent. Well, if they decide that European credit cards are not good enough for them, then I'll just have to support amazon.com. *sigh*. I'll give them some more time.
And then there's something fic-like emerging that has been buggering my brain for the last weeks. I've been torturing
dresta11 with babbling about it on MSN, which has resulted in her suggesting that I need a brainwash, or probably a brain donor. She may be right, but I'm not exchanging my old brain unless I'm sure that the new one will be as much fun as the old one (and perhaps with upgraded processor *g*). And anyway, she said that she needs her own brain and she really can't think of any other normal brains available. So, if anyone would be gullible and generous enough to jump in and agree to answer my stupid questions and do anything remotely resembling betaing or just drop snide remarks, I'd be eternally grateful. Honest.I'm posting just a small bit without beginning and without end that seems to be a part of the work in progress and which has it's roots in the ghost story challenge in
hl_challenges , but it has grown into something bigger, and frankly, I'm a bit afraid *g*.Methos stumbled along a dark wet street and swore under his breath when a faint hum of immortal presence struck him like a not-quite-ache that seemed to concentrate into his temporomandibular joints. Loosening his jaw, he silently draw his sword and advanced to the corner of the dark building looming above him. The feel of the quickening was still faint enough, so he risked a quick turn around the corner, a maneuver that brought him unexpectedly face to face with a smallish, mostly white bipedal creature that seemed to be carrying its big, white head under its arm.
Frankly, this was not at all what he had expected and therefore a quite undignified squeak managed to escape him as reflexes honed through millenia still managed to bring the tip of the Ivanhoe up, pointing to the threat from whence the hum emanated.
The threat regarded him calmly for a moment and then asked curiously, in a small girly voice, ’Are you a hero, mister?’
Methos blinked. The headless threat took shape. The shape seemed to be of one little human with pigtails, apparently of a female persuasion, wearing something that looked suspiciously like a costume of Casper, the friendly ghost, that was a tad too small for the wearer. The sleeves ended just below elbows and the space between the cuffs of the trousers and a pair of largish sneakers was occupied by red socks. ’A pre-immortal,’ some detached part of his brain commented. ’That’s why the quickening hum seemed to come from further away.’
Little overgrown imp was apparently waiting for an answer, and if it was not forthcoming, she repeated the question, albeit with nicer manners this time.
’Excuse me, sir, but are you a hero? Or a ghost? They say that it is a haunted house here, so are you a ghost?’
Methos was not quite sure if it was a good idea to annoy little strange Caspers asking personal questions. The little bastard showed no inclination of budging and he was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps if he stood really still, she would get bored and go away?
She could not imagine how one would politely ask from a ghost if he was indeed a ghost. Finally she decided to be straight about it.
’Are you a ghost, mister?’
The dark-haired man with a long coat and a sword had apparently forgotten that she was there, because he lifted his head with something akin to startlement and looked at her questioningly. ’Am I a what?’
’A ghost,’ she repeated patiently, ’there are supposed to be ghosts here. Are you one?’
The man appeared to think about it. ’Well,’ he said, ’that rather depends on your definition of a ghost.’ Seeing the puzzled expression on her face he explained,’ I mean, what do you think a ghost is?’
The man was pretty stupid if he did not know such simple things, she thought. She was much too polite to say it out loud, though. ’Ghosts are dead people, people who should be dead and buried, but are still walking around and scaring others. It’s called haunting,’ she added to his benefit.
He considered this information for a space of three long heartbeats. ’In that case, I believe you could say that I am a ghost…especially considering that I have managed to haunt quite a number of people ...’ ’ The end of the sentence trailed away into the silence. The ghost man looked very sad all of a sudden, which made her want to say something nice to him. ’I think I like you, ’ she blurted out, ’I mean, it does not matter that you are a ghost. It could always be worse, that’s what my Granny always says.’
’The ghost let out a sudden, surprised laugh. ’Thank you,’ he said then, very gravely, making her a deep bow, like the princes and heroes did in the fairy tales and movies.
That gave her courage enough to repeat her earlier question, ’Are you a hero too? As you have a big sword and everything?’
The ghost laughed again. ’Nope, ’ he said,’ I don’t do the heroic stuff. Saving the world and all damsels in distress et cetera I leave to a certain noble warrior friend of mine.’
’Are you a good ghost or an bad one, then?’
’I don’t know,’ he said reflectively, ’I gave up murder and mayhem and eating little children quite a long time ago, but I don’t think I’d quite qualify as good.’
She considered that. ’I think you are a good ghost, 'cause you did not scare me or anything!’
’Well, that could also mean that I suck at my job, don’t you think?’ asked the strange ghost with a smile. She started to giggle at that and then laughed outright. After a second the ghost started to laugh, too.
Methos had to admit that the little girl was rather nice as children go. And though she seemed to be a bit grown out of her costume, she apparently still believed in fairytales.
’Do you have a princess friend also?’ she asked now eagerly.
Methos considered. Well, it was not as if it was an out-and-out lie. Amanda was his friend, and occasionally could be a princess as well. So he answered honestly:’Yes, I do.’
’What kind of princess?’
Methos glared a bit. Little children were really too curious for their own good sometimes. ’Lets see…a princess of thieves, Gucci and atrocious timing…that means really bad timing,’ he added seeing the little face scrunch up in incomprehension over the strange word.
Little Casper-girl giggled again. For some reason Methos felt that actually it was rather a nice giggle; he was almost forgetting his black mood and the reason why he was prowling around in this godforsaken, lanternless, dilapidated neighbourhood in the first place.
But then the expression on the girl’s face became rather sad. ’I don’t have any friends,’ she said mournfully, ’and my brother Jim says that I’m a changeling bastard and that’s why. ’
Methos found himself at a loss of words, a rare situation for him. After an uncomfortable silence he cleared his throat and tried, ’I’m sure it’ll get better…I mean I’m sure you’ll have many friends one day.’ Maybe it was the suspicious glance the little girl sent his way that made him add a bit defensively, ’Well, I’ve been called a bastard too, often, and I have several really good friends.’
The little girl brightened visibly. ’Oh, Ok. Yes, you told me, you have a hero friend and a princess friend.’ After a thoughtful pause she decided, ’ When I grow up, I’m gonna be a ghost too, just like you, and have many friends and adventures and stuff.’
’Oh, all too appropriate,’ a stunned Methos thought, and then had no more time for thought as much stronger immortal presence…no, two of them…washed over him, making him turn on his heel, lifting the sword before he recognized the two familiar figures turning around the corner. ’Fuck,’ he said, and then he had no time to say anything more, as the taller of two newcomers grabbed him, threw him against the wall, growling ’ You old bastard’ and before he could draw a breath to answer or react, he was enveloped in a fierce hug, with hot lips travelling over his cheekbone to stop briefly to deliver a hungry kiss on his mouth and then continuing their way to his ear to whisper , ’Don’t you EVER do anything like that again!’.
Amanda was eyeing the promising confrontation with a satisfied look in her eye, when she was startled by a tug at her sleeve. Looking down, she saw a little pig-tailed girl. ’Are you his friends?’ asked the little girl solemnly. Amanda squatted down to look the child in the face. ’Yes, we’re his friends,’ she crooned, ’ and you must have gotten lost trick-and-treating, little girl. Where are your friends? ’
’I don’t have friends, ’ said the little girl seriously, ’but my brother Jimmy will get mad at me if I don’t come home soon.’
Amanda spared a look at two men now talking in earnest, if somewhat irritated whispers, and decided that they could bear without her for another…oh, perhaps half an hour. Looking back at the child she asked, ’Come on, I’ll walk you home. Where do you live?’
’This way,’ the girl pointed, slipping her hand into Amandas’ in a trusting way that made somehing in her stomach flutter. Sweet girl, she decided.
’Are you a princess like mister ghost said?’, the girl asked. Amanda laughed. Mister ghost indeed. But it was really nice of Methos if he’d really called her a princess. ’Maybe I am,’ she answered, smiling down at the small figure walking beside her. The next question , however, made the smile disappear.
’But why do you have atrosho….really bad timing?’. Amanda ground her teeth together. Someone was going to pay for this.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-16 03:30 pm (UTC)I suppose Immortals *are* ghosts in quite a few ways.
Thanks.Yes, some rather hauntingly similar traits between them *slaps herself for not resisting a bad pun*.