| Vital Statistics by Diana DeShaun June 1998 Disclaimers: All the characters except Mona belong to Rysher Entertainment and Panzer/Davis Productions. I'm just borrowing them for fun. No copyright infringement is intended. Mona belongs to herself. Rating: O for outrageous. Comments: To Ruth--thanks for everything. Feedback appreciated. [email protected] Vital Statistics "I'm telling you, mine's bigger." "I hardly think so." "Oh, I know so." "Fine. Prove it." "What do you mean, prove it?" "You heard me, MacLeod. Put your money where your mouth is. Put up or shut up. Prove it. Whip it out here and prove it." "Methos! We're in public here. The bar is hardly the place..." "How predictable. I knew you wouldn't do it. Because you know mine's bigger." Feeling every drop of the scotch he had been consuming, Duncan MacLeod let out a low growl of frustration and shoved himself away from the table. Looking down at the smirking Immortal next to him, he bit out, "Let's go." With wide, innocent eyes, Methos slowly pulled himself upright then stood swaying. "Go where?" "Out back to the alley. We're going to settle this once and for all." Grabbing the ancient Immortal's arm, Mac began to tug him clumsily towards the door. "Wait, MacLeod. Wait! It's too dark back there. We need to be able to see what we're comparing. You can't rely solely on touch with something like this. What's wrong with Joe's office?" "Someone might walk in on us. This is private. There's enough light in the alley if we stand under the street light." "But it's raining." "Are you afraid it'll melt or are you afraid you'll be proved wrong?" Snorting inelegantly, Methos made an exaggerated gesture toward the door. "Fine. Let's go. I suppose as long as we keep our coats on and our backs to the street....But if a cop wonders by, you get to explain it to him." As the two passed the bar, Joe looked up. "Hey, you leaving already?" "No. We'll be back in a few minutes. Just something we need to check on." "But MacLeod....Mac!" Too late, the Immortal pair had already left. Joe shook his head, amused and perplexed. The two of them had been acting increasingly strange over the last few weeks. Then a sudden thought struck. Had they sensed another Immortal? Was there going to be a challenge? It made sense the way they had charged out into the night. However, neither of them was in any shape to face a new born kitten much less a man with a sword. As MacLeod's Watcher, Joe was obligated to follow. As Mac's friend--and Methos' too...Turning, he signaled to Mike then made his way back to the office to get his coat and the loaded pistol he kept there. He had long ago bid farewell to any objectivity he had regarding these particular two Immortals--if he needed to use the gun to keep them safe, so be it. Opting for the back exit, he quickly crept into position where he had a clear view of the alley's lighted area and sat back to watch. Outside, MacLeod led the way to the streetlight. When Methos bumped up beside him, he had to grin. The old Immortal had a scowl on his face that told more eloquently than words his opinion of standing outside in the rain. Draping an arm around the other man's neck, Mac leaned close to whisper, "Want to forget the whole thing and go back inside?" He punctuated the question with a sharp little nip at Methos' ear. Methos leaned in as if he were going to return the favor, almost lost his balance, then drew away with a shake of his head. "Certainly. As soon as you concede that mine's bigger." Stiffening, the Highlander stepped back with a huff. "Methos! You're like a dog on a bone! Why can't you just drop it? You're only going to humiliate yourself when you see that mine's obviously much larger." "Prove it." "Okay, you asked for it." With much fumbling and rearranging of clothes, MacLeod finally manuevered it into the light. "There, what do you think of that?" "Pfffttt. Adequate I suppose. But compared to this..." Methos had his own clutched firmly in his hand as he thrust it more fully into the hazy nimbus of light. "What did I tell you? Bigger. Obviously bigger." "How can you say that? Stick it over here and hold still. How am I supposed to compare them if you keep bobbing up and down like that?" Joe Dawson cursed silently to himself as he struggled to creep closer to the two men at the street light. Damn! They were huddled together and turned just enough sideways that he couldn't tell what they were so engrossed in. Obviously there was no challenge--at least from another Immortal. But if the conversation between them was about what it sounded like it was about... Alternating between being appalled and amused, Joe settled behind a convenient crate, as he continued to watch, and more importantly, to listen. "Ha! See Highlander? I told you mine was bigger. Not to mention straighter. It's a mystery to me the success you claim to have had with that thing curved like that." "Just what do you mean by that? Just because yours pokes out there like a stick. And, I'll have you know that mine is two and a half inches longer than average." "So? MacLeod use your eyes. No better yet, use your hands. Here, grab hold. That's right. Now, feel. Not only is mine longer, it is also thicker, more substantial. I tell you when I poke this into someone, they know it. Where as yours..." "Where as mine what?" "Well gods. It's such a skinny little thing really isn't it? And by the time it tapers off at the end like that---I'm surprised you don't have to announce before you pounce." "Aarrgh! I seem to recall it being poked into you a couple of times, old man. If the squeals were any indication, you knew it was there all right." "I do not squeal." "You squealed." "You're drunk MacLeod. Five thousand year old men do not squeal. Groan maybe. Maybe even moan a bit in an extreme situation. But me, squeal from that? Not bloody likely." Joe wished fervently that he had stayed inside. He really didn't want to hear this. Not only was it not about a challenge, it was patently obvious that what it was about was private--or it would have been private if the two soused oafs hadn't made such a fuss about it. Turning, he began to ease back towards the door, but before he could take more than a couple of steps, it opened and Richie Ryan stepped out into the night. He had a wary look on his face and his hand was inside his coat as he quickly scanned the alley. Joe gestured frantically for him to go back inside, but Richie wasn't about to do that until he had assured himself that his friends were safe. He stepped quietly over to Joe, wondering why neither Mac nor Methos seemed to sense his presence. Indeed they were both huddled together under the street light, murmuring to each other, seemingly oblivious to the outside world. "Joe, what the hell is going on?" Richie hissed, peering over the crate trying to get a better view. "Believe me, you don't want to know." Joe stage-whispered in return. "Richie, you don't need to be out here. Let's go back inside....please." Shrugging off the hand Joe placed on his shoulder, Richie remained where he was, leaning forward a bit as the conversation under the street light again picked up in volume. "Alright, MacLeod, I'll admit it is impressive. Do you mind if I touch it?" "Please, I want you to touch it. Ah....ah....careful now...you know how the tip is." "Oh my, yes. Very nice, very nice indeed. You know, no matter how many times I have it like this, something about it just calls to me. I have this overpowering urge to possess it, to use it as it was meant to be used." "I know what you mean. I feel the same way about yours. Let's go back to the dojo where we don't have to worry about keeping them covered with our clothes." "Sounds like a plan to me. I'm so glad you decided to be reasonable." "About what?" "Don't start that again, Mac. You know about what. About the fact that mine is definitely the longer of the two." "Oh no you don't, you old reprobate. If we have to find a tape measure, we will, or...." Turning his head, MacLeod made it obvious that he had known someone else was in the alley all along. "Richie, that is you, right? Joe, you there?" Rising slowly from their place of concealment behind the crate, the two red-faced men stepped forward. "H--how did you know it was me?" Richie asked feebly, still debating whether it would be more prudent to run or just get it over with. Methos peered over a shoulder and smirked. "We knew Joe followed us---he always does. When he didn't raise an alarm at your entry, well, who else could it have been?" "Oh. Sure. Well, anyway, I was, er, I was just leaving. You coming, Joe?" "Wait right there a minute guys. Let me just talk to Methos." "MacLeod, do we really want to drag them into this?" "Why not? I have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you?" "At my age? Don't be droll. So, we let them decide?" "Right. You and I are both too emotionally involved to be objective. They have nothing to lose by being honest." Turning to the two reluctant observers, MacLeod gestured them forward. "C'mere you two. We want your honest opinions on something." Joe protested. "You have got to be out of your minds! Immortals or not, the alcohol has finally pickled your brains. There is no way I'm coming over there to look at--at what you want me to come over there to look at. And as for Richie! He may be an Immortal too, but I'll have you two debauched perverts know he is still way too young to be exposed to...to...." Joe's voice trailed off as Mac and Methos turned fully around to face him, blatantly exposing their....swords. Methos had a puzzled expression on his face as he asked in a befuddled voice, "Joe, what are you babbling about?" Joe's jaw worked briefly as he cast about frantically for an explanation. "I, ah, that is...." Richie injected smoothly. "So, you guys are arguing about who has the longest sword?" MacLeod frowned at Joe. "That's right. It's perfectly obvious but Methos needs someone else to tell him mine is longer. So go ahead, Richie, tell him." Richie studied the two swords carefully. "Well, guys, it kinda depends on what you mean. I mean, look. Hold them out here, side by side. Methos, anybody can see that blade tip to pommel tip, Mac's is longer." "Ha!" MacLeod gloated triumphantly. "But, on the other hand, if you're talking about the actual blades, Methos' is longer." "Ha!" Now it was the old man's turn to gloat. Shaking his head in amusement, Richie concluded, "So, I'd say...it's a draw. Mac's is longer overall but Methos has more to, er, do business with, so to speak. Sorry, guys." "A draw. A bloody draw." Methos grumbled. "Oh well, I guess I can live with that. How about you, Highlander?" "I guess so." Mac kicked at the pavement, still wanting to pout a little. Then a thought struck him, "Wait a minute. Joe, what did you call us?" "Call you? I call you lots of things. Mac, MacLeod, Highlander, you name it." "That's not what he means. I remember what you called us. You called us 'debauched perverts'. I'm sure you must have a very good reason for that. What is it?" "That's right! I knew it was something nasty. Just what did you mean by that, Joe Dawson?" "Debauched perverts? Well, ah, well..." Again Richie leapt into the breech. "Ha ha. It's really pretty funny. Really. You see, Joe here thought you two were comparing...." He gestured vaguely. "...your other swords." Both MacLeod and Methos appeared to get the reference at the same time. Methos said nothing while Mac drew himself up into 'moral outrage' mode. "How dare you? Do you honestly think that we would be so...so..." "Crass." Methos offered. "Yeah. Crass. Do you honestly think that we would be so crass as to invite you and Richie to have a look? No, don't answer that. It's obvious that you do. That hurts, Joe. That really hurts." "I agree, Duncan. I am deeply offended. I think we should go home now." "So do I." With a martyred air, Methos announced to the alley at large, "We're going home now. I'm sure we'll get over this grievous insult to our good names eventually. Good night, Richie. Good night, Mr. Dawson." Turning, he stalked off down the alley. MacLeod looked after him for a moment before turning back to Joe and Richie. "What he said." Sprinting after the ancient Immortal, he called, "Hey, Methos wait up." Turning to go back inside, Joe rubbed at his head in frustration. "God, what a mess. How could I have thought that, even for an instant? I mean, my God. Mac and Methos? That's about as likely as someone pairing you and me up." Snorting, Richie placed a consoling hand on the Watcher's back. "You know, it's funny you should say that. Remember that girl, Mona, that I brought to the bar last week? Would you believe she got all jealous of you? Said something about how she would hate to stand in the way of two people who so obviously belonged together." Joe laughed aloud. "No way. She said that?" Opening the door for his friend, Richie grinned. "Yeah. She said that. Some people get the craziest ideas. Passing through the wet, dark streets of Seacouver as quickly as possible, Mac and Methos were anxious to get back to the loft. "I'm telling you Methos, mine is bigger. You've seen it up close and personal enough now that you should know it." "MacLeod, don't start this again. I'm 5000 years old. Mine is bigger." "What does your age have to do with it? It's not as if it grows each time you use it." At a snort from Methos, Mac laughed. "Well, you know what I mean." "You're right. If exercise would lengthen it, you wouldn't be able to get through the door by now. But, since frequency of use has nothing to do with it, and since I have seen it often enough to make an accurate comparison..." "Fine. Come on." "What? Wait. Where are we going?" "To find a streetlight." --the end-- Author's note: Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Get your mind out of the gutter. Of course they were talking about their swords...what else? Mac's katana is 42" long. It's blade is 30" long ( a full 2.5" longer than the average katana's). Methos' Ivanhoe is 40" long. It's blade is 32.5". I want to thank Els and Olympia for providing me with all the factual information on the guys' swords. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ back to Main page back to Highlander fanfic email: [email protected] |