RR Rules: There are things I will not tolerate.  Students loitering on campus after school.  Horrible murders with the hearts being cut out.  Also smoking. Rules are courtesy of Principal Snyder, BtVS

Part One
Doc Anvil

Okay, so it's weak as titles go. But since I have no idea where this thing will end up, it seemed rather presumptuous of me to give it a proper title. I'll leave that for someone later :)

Being first in the Round-Robin order is kinda like being put in charge of your younger siblings when your parents go out for the evening (I'm have flashbacks to things at the deep extent of my memory). I get to make some decisions but I can hear the rest of you all chiming in to chant, "You are not the boss of me." ;)

So, welcome to Fair Seacouver, where I've set out scene. I've chosen to introduce two characters into the story right up front. Part of the fun of the round robin, I would think, is the potential to play with each other's OC's and since Matt gets very jealous whenever I write without him, I decided to introduce him first off. Then, to keep him from getting bored, I have our old buddy Joe Dawson, co-starring in the second scene.

Matt, for those of you first meeting him, looks remarkably like Kenneth Branagh. And he has Ken's same fondness for Shakespeare. He's a chronic pediatrician and a recurrent emotional punching bag for Amanda, for whom he holds a little too much fondness. As the story opens, he works at County General Hospital in Seacouver, as a pediatric intensivist (one of the attending physicians in the pediatric intensive care unit). His friend Dr. Anne Lindsay talked him into taking the job (in case that becomes important).

Use the boy as you will (or put him aside if he doesn't help you advance your part of the story).

That all said, I believe I've prattled on long enough. And so.....

IT BEGINS (have I said that already?)
 

He hurt.

No, that was unfair. To say that he hurt was to say that Adam Pierson was "not young", or that Amanda "had issues with ownership." Or that his old friend Renoir had "dabbled in oils."

At that particular moment in time, Matthew Brennan's pain was all that he was.

He remembered hearing a neurologist once claim that there is a part of every man that actually, perversely, enjoys pain. Matthew was struggling to get in touch with that particular part of himself. Because as pain went, his was glorious.

It was so intense as to be exquisite, so real as to be a thing he could touch. And it filled him with an urgency that was the absolute last moment before ecstacy.

Or before death.

His pain had color: Purple, with streaks and flashes of bluish-white that pulsed with heat.

It had sound: The deep bass rumble of an expertly played tympani, or the promise of distant thunder, filling his ears and shutting out all else.

It smelled of a spring rain, and ozone and sulphur, and it tasted of iron.

No, that would be blood.

As he struggled back through the lower forms of consciousness, re-entering life, and more of his neurons began to fire, the pain took on shape and definition, and it localized. It no longer enveloped and consumed him. It receded enough to allow other perceptions.

Like the soft, almost mushy consistency of the wet cardboard boxes upon which he'd landed - and subsequently smushed to paper thinness. And the light tinkle of falling rain, and the growing wetness and warmth on his left leg.

Wait. That wasn't rain.

His eyes flew open, and the tinkling abruptly stopped. Matt's eyes focused in the dark on a grizzled figure standing at his feet. The drunken man shrugged an apology of sorts, then zipped up his pants and staggered on, heading toward the nebulous fuzziness of what Matt took for a streetlight.

Matt's head sagged back to the ground again and he cursed in a language he hadn't used in a handful of centuries.

*****

With the office door closed, Joe Dawson didn't have to pretend his stumps weren't killing him.

His fake feet damn near scraped across the floor until he finally was able to collapse into the chair at his desk. He sat still there a moment, enjoying a long relieved breath through pursed lips. <They hurt like a sunuvabitch,> his mind admitted, <but bitching about them won't make them hurt any less.> It was the line he had to squelch every time he saw someone's eyes soften at his limp.

The well deserved moment of self pity now aside, he turned and switched on his desk lamp.

He wasn't sure if it was the hint of movement, or the hint of a groan that made him aware he wasn't alone in the office. He had his right hand in the desk drawer and wrapped around his old Colt service weapon before the other man could react in any way. Squinting into the dimness past the small desk lamp, Joe could see the man stretched out on his back on the couch. "I'm not going to have to shoot you, am I?" he asked.

"God, I hope not, Joe," was the groaned reply. The voice was instantly familiar, from more than just a few philosophical conversations over Jameson the past few weeks. "I don't have the energy to come back to life again tonight." The hand came away from the face, and Joe could now make out the short chestnut beard.

"Matt?" Joe asked. "Matt Brennan? What the hell are you doing sneaking into my office?"

"I didn't think I'd meet your dress code," Matt muttered, "what with blood all over me, and urine all over my leg...."

Joe grunted and closed the drawer on the Colt, remembering at that particular moment a story Amanda had told him about the Immortal. "Do I, ah, have to check my safe, Robin Hood?" he asked, mostly teasing.

"I only steal from the rich, Joe," was the reply.

"Ouch."

Matt rubbed at his eyes. <Okay,> he told himself, <you've been supine too long. Sit the hell up. You fell off a building before you could lose the fight, so it's not like your head's gonna fall off.> So he sat up.

And his head fell off.

"Oh my God," he groaned, grabbing at the offending body part. The room was spinning around him.

"You look like you could use a drink," Joe said.

"Several, actually," Matt managed, gasping against the pain in his head. It still wasn't shaped right. As his fingers met and laced behind his skull, he could still feel the flatness there, and the uncanny softness. And, of course, the matted blood.

Joe was already out of the room, and Matt hadn't noticed him stand.

***

(Tag - Erch's it)

RJ Ferrance, DC, MD

Internal Medicine/Pediatrics Resident

Medical College of Virginia Hospitals

[email protected]

ICQ: 8175270

http://views.vcu.edu/~medtoast/anvil.html

***

RR-- it continues (aka part 2)
Erchomenos
[email protected]

Ha! So I’m it, eh? Okay, then, allow me to add my OC who’s in a story that hasn’t been posted yet. This should be . . . interesting, to say the least. Um, things to know . . . Rena’s husband’s name is Joshua Gregory, and she knows Methos’ real name, just in case those things ever come up. Gee, you have no idea how many times I’ve written my section of the round robin, deleted it, wrote something else, deleted it, wrote--you get the idea. Anyway, here’s my part. If it is the most terrible thing you've ever read, and if I have characterization wrong, I apologize. Oh well, at least I tried. I believe Holly is next . . .

***

Somewhere, someone entered the other room. And Matt Brennan, dazed though he was, knew that it was an Immortal on the other side of the door. "Oh no," he muttered to himself. Forcing himself to stand, he fought off the pain and dizziness before remembering the futility of even attempting to leave the room. First there was the fact that if he were to be challenged, the chances of him surviving were about equal to that of an ice cube’s in hell. Second, there was his attire. Looking down at his pants, his brow creased before he sat down again, much to his screaming head’s relief.

<Ah well, might as well let whoever’s out there come to me if they want to fight that badly. I don’t really need to know who it is if they don’t want anything, > he reasoned. <Nah, > he then decided, opening the door a crack and positioning himself as to make it possible to peer out.

***

Joe looked up as a woman approached him. She had long dark hair and an unremarkable angular face, with a noticeable scar running from the edge of her left eyebrow almost to her temple. She was moving with a purpose, and Joe didn’t like the look of it. She also had that "there’s an Immortal nearby" look on her face, one that he had seen quite often.

"Excuse me," she said, "Are you the guy in charge?"

"Yes . . . why?"

"Because. Um, someone told me that you know someone named Matthew Brennan," she now seemed a little nervous for no apparent reason. Before Joe had the chance to say anything, she continued. "Doesn’t matter who it was, really. But if you want to know, it was Adam. I know that HE knows him too, but I asked him and he was in a bad mood. He told me to ask you and someone else. I have their name written down, but I lost it. You are Joe Dawson, right?" as she spoke, she seemed to rock back and forth on her heels nervously. Joe soon realised that it was because she had no idea who the other Immortal was in the building, and her guard was up.

Nodding in answer to her last question, Joe offered his hand. "And you would be . . .?"

"Oh, sorry," she said, appearing to calm down a little. "I go by Irena Gregory. Except everyone calls me Rena."

"So, Rena, what exactly do you want?" Joe asked, wondering if it was she who had been fighting with Matt.

"Just wondered if you could pass a message on to him. Mr. Brennan, I mean. No use denying the fact that you know him, right?" When Joe nodded, she continued. "Could you tell Mr. Brennan that I’m sorry that I challenged him, and that it won’t happen again? I really wouldn’t want him as an enemy. Oh, and tell him that the reason I challenged him was because someone had told me that he was the one taking young children and I didn’t want him to take my daughter. Tell him that . . . I have an experience with kidnapping and I get nervous, and when someone told me that I rushed in without thinking. Again, I’m very sorry. I guess I’m just very protective of my family."

Looking at her in surprise, Joe asked, "You want me to say all that? Well," here he seemed to hesitate a little before continuing, "If you really want to tell him, I’m sure you could do a much better job of it then I could. He’s in this building." He watched her face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to his words. To his surprise, she seemed relieved, and visibly calmed down.

"No. My husband and daughter are alone at the hotel we are staying in. He has the flu, and I have to get back to them both. Kathryn’s only three," she explained in a quiet, not unpleasant sounding voice. There was a note of urgency in it though, and Joe couldn’t decide if it was to leave or to be with her family. Perhaps it was both.

"It might be better for both of you if you spoke to him in person. He was really out of it when he arrived."

Rena thought about it for a while, and then nodded.

"Good. He’s in there. Tell him I’ll be right there with his drink."

Rena nodded and moved to the room, and opened the door. There she saw Matthew Brennan, sitting on the couch where he had moved about thirty seconds after standing by the door. He looked miserable. "Hello again," he greeted her. "'Ôwrtâvekchôshek, isn’t it?"

"Yes," she agreed, standing in the room. She didn’t seem nervous here, now that she could see Matt. "Only I go by Irena Gregory. And you’re Mr. Brennan?"

"Doctor. And yes."

Rena looked at him in silence for a moment, and then apparently reached a conclusion before plunging into her explanation. "I’m sorry that I challenged you. I thought you were the person taking the children away from Immortal women who had adopted. I received notes, and things, saying who was next. There were three before me, and then one, and then mine was the only one left. I was told it was you. So I brought my family to Seacouver to find you. Only now I find that it’s not you. It was Adam that told me that I was wrong. I trust his judgment."

<That’s a relief, > thought Matt, nodding in what agreement, though he himself wasn’t so sure.

"Mr. Dawson said to say he’s coming with your drink, by the way." She paused a moment before continuing. "I wonder who it was . . . do you think we have any common enemies?"

"I think it’s probably not one of your enemies, but one of mine. After all, you were after me."

***

RR Part 3 (A family reunion)
Holly McMiller
[email protected]

Hi all, it's Holly. All right first things first the character that I'm introducing is one of my official female characters by the name of Beth Dawson, Joe's niece who's also a watcher. I apologise for this part being so short. I just didn't feel comfortable writing the conversation between Matt and Rena. I hope you enjoy this part. On with the story.

***

Joe was taking his time fixing Matt's drink. He wanted to give Rena enough time to explain to Matt why she came after him and to apologise. The bar was starting to get a few more customers when the phone rang.

"Joe's."

"Joe, it's Mike." said Mike in a rather raspy voice.

"You okay man? You don't sound so hot." said Joe.

"I won't be able to make it in tonight. I came down with something fierce. I should be better in a few days. I'm sorry to leave you in a lurch like this." said Mike.

"Don't worry about it. Just get some rest. I'll manage. Just take it easy. I'll see you in a few days." said Joe.

"Thanks, boss. I owe you one." said Mike as he hung up the phone. When Joe got off the phone with Mike he heard the door open and looked up to see who was. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was a face he hadn't seen in years, his niece Beth Dawson.

"Beth! When did you get into town?" asked Joe as he slowly made his way out from behind the bar to give her a hug.

"Just a couple of hours ago. It's good to see you again." said Beth who's blue eyes sparkled in the bar's lighting.

"Same here. What brings you to town, you know I'm a phone call away." said Joe as he sat down in front of the bar and kept his tone of voice down so as to not be overheard by the other patrons if it was Watcher's business.

"Well, headquarters said that you could use a few extra researchers and field agents in this region and I volunteered." said Beth.

"You gave working up at Headquarters to come here?" asked Joe not believing what he just heard.

"Don't look so shocked, I needed a change of scenery and I was getting a little homesick. I miss not being around here. So, can you use me?" asked Beth with a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, Mike called in sick, so we're a little short handed, you wouldn't mind bartending would you? I'm sure I can find something for you to do, I've got a small backlog of reports that need to be uploaded on the database. I'll be right back. I have to take a drink to someone." Said Joe as he made his way to his office with glass in hand. Beth shurugged her shoulders. She knew that her uncle had live acts come in and perform on a regular basis, maybe there was a solo artist tonight and he or she was using his office as their dressing room.

As soon as Joe had left the door to the bar opened and a man with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail walked into the bar. Duncan MacLeod looked to see who was tending the bar and saw that Joe wasn't there and Mike wasn't either. He didn't remember Joe telling him that he had hired a new bar tender. And not to mention the fact that he felt the presence of at least one Immortal somewhere in the bar.

***

"Can I help you?" asked Beth when Duncan approached the bar. Duncan smiled at the brown haired, blue eyed bartender and said, "Is Joe in?"

"He'll be back in a few minutes he had to take care of a few things in the back. Can I get you something to drink?" Beth asked biting back Duncan's name. She didn't want to put him on edge by using his first name since they had never met before.

"I'll have some ale." Said Duncan trying to sound relaxed and not on edge.

"Coming right up." Said Beth as she grabbed a glass, put a few ice cubes in it and poured a good measure of the dark liquid into the glass. By the time she set the drink on the table Joe was making his way to the bar.

"Hey Mac, everything going all right Beth?" asked Joe.

"Just fine Joe." Said Beth.

"Hey Joe, you didn't tell me that you had hired a new bartender." Said Duncan.

"I didn't. Duncan, I'd like you to meet my niece Beth Dawson, Beth, I'd like you to meet Duncan MacLeod, a good friend of mine. Mike called in sick tonight and Beth agreed to help tend bar with me tonight." Said Joe.

"It's nice to meet you. " said Duncan smiling at Beth wondering which side of Joe's family Beth belonged to.

"Same here. I just got done teaching classes at a small local university in Virginia and I decided to come back here for a visit and I just sent my application in to the local university here in their foreign language and English departments." Said Beth who was glad that she was wearing a long sleeved shirt so Duncan couldn't see her Watcher's tattoo. Best to let him think that she was just a college professor and that she didn't live a double life, mild mannered professor by day and Watcher at night. The door to the bar opened before Duncan or Joe had a chance to respond to what Beth had said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag Amanda :-)

***

rr 4
Amanda Killgore
[email protected]

***

Something made MacLeod look up as someone entered Joe's Bar. Only half looking at the door, he glanced at Joe. "Busy day for getting new comers, eh?"

Then, his breath stopped, and he was a young boy again with no concept of immortals and swords.

Deborah Campbell walked into Le Blues Bar.

No, that was impossible, he had seen her fall to her death more than four hundred years ago.

But he could not be mistaken. Every line of her beloved face was etched on his mind, just as it had been in their moments of joy and sorrow. Just as she had looked longingly at him one last time before the ground gave way and she plunged to her death.

He had thought that the wound placed on his heart had healed from that incident.

He was wrong.

Almost as if in a trance, he walked to her. "Deborah?'

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry. No. My name is Emily. Emily Campbell. That's funny though. I was doing some geneology awhile back, and it turns out I did have a many times removed aunt with that name. She killed herself when she could not marry the man she loved. His name was - something like that cake mix Macleod?"

"Duncan."

She smiled. "Yes. That's it. I knew it wasn't Betty." She laughed. "Anyhow, I was in an antique shop in New York tracking down some family heirlooms, when a Mr. Nash suggested that I might be able to find out about my ancestors if I came here, though why he would send me to a bar of all places.."

Joe had come over to "watch". He could not help but shoot her a murderous look, insulted on behalf of the bar.

"Because I am Duncan Macleod. Or rather his descendant," Mac stated, covering his near slip hastily.

"How interesting."

***

RR5

Laura Milanovich
[email protected]

Laura is my counterpart in the HL universe, she is a news reporter from the local TV station KCVR. She is also a Watcher under Joe. She works at the bar a couple nights a week and keeps up with her job the rest of the time. (If this is an Alternate universe then she is assigned to Ryan's chronicle, if not then choose someone else.) KCVR has been known to be the first on scene to most of the major crimes, including the "Headhunter" murders. She is 27, five nine, one hundred forty pounds, has blue eyes, brown hair, glasses, and a penchant for getting into trouble.

***

Laura walked into the bar with the familiarity of someone who worked there, which she did three nights a week. She had tried to call Joe earlier to tell him she was running late because of work at KCVR but she had been unable to get through.

She walked into the back office to lock up her purse and other items and was surprised to come face-to-face with an Immortal. If the state of his clothes was any indication, an Immortal who had just barely avoided losing his head.

She ignored the form slumped partially on a chair and partially on the floor, as if it were an every day occurance. The man appeared to be in no mood to talk, which worked for her because she had to talk with Joe, and soon.

She walked back out to the bar proper and grabbed a rag to wipe down tables with. She caught Joe's eye as he headed to the back office. She made the slight wrist turning motion that meant "Watcher business" and walked off towards the less populated areas of the bar.

Once Joe had gotten there, she wasted no time. "Joe, I talked to Drew this afternoon."

Joe leaned on his cane. This couldn't be good. Drew could only be one Person, Andrew Benson. Drew was the coroner at County General Hospital, and a Watcher.

"What about?" Joe wondered if he really wanted to know.

"He positively ID'd a John Doe," she held the barkeep's gaze for a moment. "It was Bruce."

"How?"

"Not certain, he hadn't finished the autopsy, said he can't be certain yet but the preliminary finding is Death by Misadventure. Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull." Laura stopped. "Personal opinion is that he got too close to a light show and got hit by flying debris."

Joe nodded, this was not going to be the nice quiet night he wanted it to be. This was quickly turning into a nightmare. "Keep me informed. I'll notify HQ to start the paper work to release his pension and insurance monies pending compleated autopsy."

Laura nodded and watched Joe walk away towards the back room with a drink in his hand. Then she looked around and noticed some of the other patrons, this was going to be an interesting night.

RR Part 6

Date: 05/28/2000

To: [email protected]

I got into this RR after all. :-) Thanks! With all the people at Joe's, I was thinking of bringing in Hercule Poirot to interview the suspects, but we haven't got a murder... yet. I hope I don't mess up anyone's OC's.

Dr. Matthew Brennan sat straight up in the chair in Joe's back office, feeling better after receiving yet another drink from the woman who put him in that predicament in the first place.

"Why does it take you so long to heal?" Rena teased, "Was I too much for you?"

"I've had a long day. You were just the capper," he groaned. That urine on his leg reeked. The matted blood on his head was becoming annoyingly itchy. The sword in Rena's coat glinted in the light reminding him of the challenge he'd just as soon forget. What he wanted more than Rena leaving him alone was a shower. Rena dismissed herself as Matthew stood, wobbled, to the bathroom to wash up. As he tried to clear his head, a thought came to him. She didn't poison his drink, did she? Catching his reflection in the mirror above the sink, he knew he had to wash that blood off before heading back out in public, so he stuck his head under the faucet in the sink and had to use bar soap as shampoo wasn't in the vicinity.

As he was drying his head and hands, he spied the closet, decided to take a gander at what was inside. Aha! A pair of khakis that seemed to be around his size. "Bless you Joe," he smiled. "I owe you another one."

When Rena and Duncan regarded each other in the bar, she wondered if he was the kidnaper she'd been worried about, or maybe one of those enemies of Matthew's. She'd decided to get back to the hotel to relieve Joshua from taking care of Kathryn, but she wondered if she should stick around to find out who the ponytailed immortal was. When Joe asked her if she'd like one for the road, she accepted. The last thing she wanted was to lead the kidnaper right to her daughter, if that's what he was, and would slip out when he wasn't paying attention to her.

Duncan's focus drifted from the female immortal at the bar looking him over, to Beth behind the bar to decide if her facial structure consisted of Dawson or Horton genes, to Emily sitting at a back booth, and to Laura serving her a wine cooler.

He'd seen Laura work at Joe's in the past, but wondered why a news reporter would need to moonlight at a bar that Duncan knew was a watcher haven. He watched her as she put the empty tray back on the bar and fell into an easy conversation with Beth. Did they know each other more than just through Joe, one's boss and other's uncle? Very interesting. Duncan glanced at their wrists, but both were wearing long sleeves and he couldn't get enough of a peek to see if they were marked by tattoos.

As he stood up to join Emily at the booth to figure out who she was and if anything, to find out what Connor had been up to, both he and Rena reacted to a new buzz sensation and their eyes left each other only to take in their surroundings.

Methos had his hand on the door to Joe's as he stood outside, felt at least one immortal in there, but figured it was only MacLeod and entered. When he saw the woman immortal at the bar after his pupils adjusted to the dim lighting, he was relieved to see it was Rena. But, it was the second time that evening they'd run into each other. A pattern may be developing.

"One draft coming up, Adam," Joe said, filling the iced glass mug before Methos could take a seat at the bar.

"Glad I have you so well trained, Joe, but we have to talk," Methos seriously said, making Joe, Duncan, Laura and Beth all focus on Adam Pierson. "In private."

"Sure," Joe uneasily said. Whenever Methos turned down at least a swallow of beer in favor of private conversation, something was up and Joe usually didn't enjoy what Methos had to say. Nevertheless, Joe tilted his head toward the office. Might as well get it over with.

Duncan, Methos and Rena all reacted to the buzz Brennan radiated as he emerged from the office. Joe noted the pair of pants and shirt, that Joe hadn't even had the chance to wear yet, hang on Matthew's body. "Love your wardrobe, Matt," he commented as Methos followed Joe into the office.

"I'll get them back to you," Matthew promised, which only made Joe chuckle, knowing better.

As soon as Joe and Methos were in the office and Methos had shut and locked the door behind them, he asked, "Who's Bruce Montgomery?"

Joe did a double take, Methos never ceased to amaze him. Laura only mentioned his death a few minutes ago and how would Methos know? "That's watcher business," he curtly replied.

"No," Methos argued, trying to keep his voice down even though he was seething. "It's my business when it deals with me."

"Bruce has nothing to do with you."

"Could you trust him?"

Joe looked at Methos. "Could? Past tense?"

"He couldn't have been that smart," Methos paced around Joe sitting at the desk. "Isn't there something in the watcher training manual about getting too close to quickenings, my friend?"

"You took a head today?"

Methos shrugged, tilted his head to the side. "C'est la vie..." Methos pulled a chair closer to Joe and huddled in as he quietly told him, "I saw a dead guy laying in the bushes. I could only come to the conclusion he was a watcher and got too close to the action."

Joe smiled when Laura's term, Death by Misadventure, came to mind. It was too bad. Bruce was a good watcher. Diligent. He would be missed. "And you pillaged his pockets to find out who he was?"

Methos stuck his hand into one of the huge pockets on his long coat and held up a micro tape recorder for Joe to take a gander at. Joe tried to grab it out of Methos' hand, but Methos was too quick. "That's watcher property!"

Methos pushed play. The static of lightening flashes and whirling wind was the backdrop to Bruce's excited voice, "I can't believe it! Calvin Trimble IS... THE Methos! I knew it! And he's in combat with my immortal, I have to figure out why--."

"Good thing I have sticky fingers," Methos pushed stop and put the recorder back in his pocket. "Little Bruce has done his homework. What kind of access to watcher records did he have? Field watchers can find out a superficial name I used 80 years ago?" Methos' words grew louder with each word that fumbled out of his mouth. "I used the alias Calvin Trimble for only a few months back in the 20's. How many watchers do I have now? Do I have to plan a decapitation hoax and beat it for good?"

"Simmer down."

"Easy for you to say," Methos muttered, standing.

Joe grabbed his arm, "Don't go anywhere. I don't know how he got that information. Hell, I didn't know you..." Joe stopped, the name made him smile. "Calvin Trimble? Jeez, Methos," Joe shook his head. "I could have come up a better name than that."

Because Duncan was huddled with Emily at the back booth, Rena took the opportunity to get back to the hotel. She stood and told Matthew, "Well, sorry again for the mistaken identity."

Matthew nodded, then motioned for Beth to get him another. As Rena leaned down to pick up her purse, Methos rushed out of the office and crashed into her, making her fall onto the stool. "Excuse me," he stopped, helped her back to her feet.

"Adam," Rena said, "What's the rush?"

"Places to go, people to see..." He followed her to the door, and even opened it for her when a sudden rush of chivalry overtook him. As Rena stepped over the threshold, she let out a blood curdling scream.

***

Lore?

***

RR7

Lore Krajsman
[email protected]

Sorry for the delay, but other than that Spike had to be in it, I couldn't really think of much to write.

I'll enter two characters in the RR

Spike, a vampire from the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

He's dangerous, sounds a lot like Methos, tends to be dressed like a punk and is drop dead gorgeous. In Buffy's fourth season a organisation implanted him with a chip that's supposed to stop him from harming living beings. He hates it.

The other character is my OC Temlan. Temlan also known as Loki, but called Temie by his friends, is 5.000+ In my stories he's Methos kid brother. They were raised by the same mother. A fellow immortal. He's about a 150 years younger than Methos is, but looks like a teenager. (about 16) He knows Joe but the Watcher doesn't like him much. He thinks the kid's a psychopath because he knows of Temlans headhunter days as Loki back in the Bronze Age. Not to mention that his students include guys like the Kurgan, Hyde and Grayson. He also killed Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Duncan doesn't know this yet and Methos hasn't dared tell him he knows who killed Connor. (if you want to ignore this part, just do it, it's just something in my stories) Temlan's stayed away from Methos for the past few months for that exact reason.

Oh yes, Temlan adopted Spike when the vampire was 5 and has also been captured by the Initiative. He has a chip like Spikes in his head as well, but unlike Spike, Temlan can handle the pain if necessery. He wants Methos to get the chip out of his head so that he can do the same for his wife Lilin.

End of rambling. Start of story.

***

As Rena stepped over the treshold she let out a blood curdling scream. A very pale blond man stood grinning in the dooropening. "Well dad." he said to the boy standing next to him. "You still got it."

The boy frowned deeply.

"Shut up Spike." The vampire smiled. There was nothing as much fun as annoying his former fosterfather. Well aside of a little blood and mayhem. But with that damn chip.

Rena stood frozen. She couldn't move, breathe, do anything.

"Loki." she whispered.

The boy looked at her.

"Do I know you?"

'Does he know me? He doesn't even remember me.' The shock of it was almost to much. After all he'd done to her, he didn't even remember her. She took another look at the childkiller in front of her. At least she'd found her kidnapper. No doubt about it.

*** 1225 BC ***

Rena woke up in the red hot sun. She tried to get up. To find a place to hide, but she found herself tied up helplessly. What had happened? Her memory was still a bit hazy after coming back from dead like this. Suddenly she sensed an immortal coming closer. The woman looked up, straight at the young boy her friend had taken as a student. For a second hope welled up in her heart. Mayzon had been so proud of the boys progress in such a short time. But then the boy came closer and Rena could see his eyes. And remembered. The eyes stood as dead and empty as they'd been when he attacked her and Mayzon earlier. Those eyes, combined with that mad grin, it was simply gruesome.

"What did you do boy? Why? Mayzon was trying to help you."

The boy didn't respond. He just stepped out of her line of sight. "What are you doing?" she yelled after him. He still didn't answer.

She could hear sounds, childrens sobbing. She recognised some of them. The children from the village. What was he planning with them. One of the children was pleading for mercy. She tried to turn, to look behind her, but she couldn't move an inch.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Suddenly the boy stood in front of her, pulling a young boy along by his hair. The kid was begging for anyone to help him.

"Please no." The words came out in a whisper. Her mouth hurt from the dryness in the air.

The boy didn't pay her pleas any mind. He pushed the child on a wooden board lying on the ground before him and held its little hand to it as he pushed a nail through. Rena couldn't watch.

Then the boy looked back, at her. A cruel smile on his handsome face. "We are going to play a little game woman."

Rena shivered under his voice. "I am going to ask you for names. Each time you refuse I will kill a child. Each time you lie, both you and the child suffer. Any hesitation will cost the child. I've got twenty of them. Don't make me waste them to quickly."

"No you can't do that."

He brought the knife to the childs chest, drawing lines of blood. "Lesson one, you do not tell me what I can or can't do."

Rena had no choice, she told him anything he wanted.

*****

Temlan looked at the woman in front of him. Someone he'd known as Loki. He tried to shift through his memories. There were literally thousands of faces waiting for him in the shadows of his mind. Probably even more.

All he could come up with was a woman he'd used at the beginning. Before he just killed every immortal he met. Nothing special. He'd used the same routine countless times before. Well he didn't usually left them burried alive. Most he left without their heads.

He looked at her, the terror in her eyes. He noticed that everyone was looking at him. Damn the room was filled with those damn Watchers.

Spike tapped him on the shoulder. "Uhm Moore? Father?"

Temlan turned around, clearly annoyed. "What do you want Spike?"

"Just wondering, but if you take her head, can I have the blood." He pouted: "I haven't had human blood in months."

Temlans eyes filled with rage. Sometimes that demon made him want to kill him so much ... Well most of the times actually.

Why in the spirits name had he ever decided to take the vampire with him to visit Methos. The Slayer would have looked after him if he'd asked. And Lilin was still in Sunnydale. But no. He had to be stupid and drag him along. Just so Lilin wouldnt get to attached to having their son back.

He was a bit out of it and Rena almost hit him in the face before he could stop her hand. Great the woman wouldn't let it go. And as with Nekron, killing her would be wrong. The both of them had the right at their side.

"Not a good idea."

"Murderer!" He shrugged. What could he say to that. It had been reality to him for over 300 years. Longer actually if he counted his actions before and after Loki.

"Have you been killing children again Loki? I'm sure it was you. I should have guessed before. It is your MO. Killing children to get at the immortals raising them. But this time you'll pay for your crimes."

***

Maya?

Oh man I hope I haven't ruined this thing to much. My idea of rating is pretty much terrible, so if you think I've gone to far, please let know and I'll rewrite the post.

***

Round Robin Part 8

Maya Aranya
[email protected]

OK, here's my contribution. Ob disclaimer: not my sandbox, not my characters, just having fun here :-) It's a little long, sorry. Also, I cheated a little bit, since I'm introducing a character off-screen. The bar was getting too crowded ;-)

----------

Rena stood, her wrist locked in the the other Immortal's grip, her whole body trembling with rage. Rena's scream, followed by her violent confrontation with the young looking man at the door was attracting a lot of attention. Joe threw a worried glance around the bar - too many civilian witnesses!

"Come now, Rena, I don't think it's a good idea airing the family dirty linen in quite such a public fashion," an amused baritone interjected, manoeuvring between the two principal participants in the little drama.

Temlan relaxed when he recognised the lean, dark-haired Immortal who had just stepped in front of him, and relinquished his grip on Rena's arm. Methos took the precaution of taking the liberated limb into a firm but reassuring clasp which served to calm the furious woman slightly, and prevented her from launching a fresh attack on the man she believed was responsible for the threats directed against her adopted daughter.

"I think we should all go back to Joe's office and talk about this calmly," Methos continued, with a meaning look at Temlan, who nodded curt acceptance.

Spike, who had observed the proceedings with extreme interest, chuckled. "You must be M..."

Temlan whipped around and directed a freezing glare at the blond vampire, cutting him off in mid sentence. "This is Adam Pierson," he stated coldly.

"...my Uncle Adam, yeah," Spike finished, unfazed. "That's what I thought."

Methos stopped and half-turned, looking the vampire up and down, and flashed a sardonic half grin at him. "And you must be little Willy," he said sweetly.

Spike's eyebrows came down momentarily in a murderous frown, but his expression cleared almost instantly, and a wry smile acknowledged the shot.

"Spike," he corrected. "They call me *Spike* now, *Uncle Adam*," he said, in an earnest schoolboy fashion. He hesitated momentarily at the doorstep.

"Well, come along in, Spike. Musn't keep the family reunion waiting." Methos turned toward the office, taking Rena along with him. "Spike," the ancient Immortal repeated, shaking his head. "What a ...unique name."

"It's a sight less unique than 'William the Bloody', mate," the blond vampire muttered, sotto voce, following the other three. He threw a quick look around the bar, checking for entrances, exits, and potential enemies. His gaze lingered for just an instant on a woman seated at a table: she was quite beautiful, with a spectacular mane of red curls floating loose around her shoulders. Spike's nostrils flared slightly, but he did not pause. He did notice that her companion was a broad-shouldered man wearing a pony tail.

Methos paused beside Matt Brennan, who was nursing a drink and talking to Laura. He bent down and whispered something in the doctor's ear. Sighing, Matt put down his drink and got up to join the procession to the back room.

Joe Dawson trailed along behind the group, his eyes bright with curiosity. Temlan he recognised, with a twinge of alarm and distrust. But the young peroxide-blond Sid Vicious lookalike with the accent was no one he had ever heard of. /Uncle Adam?/ Joe mouthed to himself.

He turned to see what MacLeod was making of all this, but the Highlander only waved absently at him; he was obviously more preoccupied with Emily Campbell.

Both Laura and Beth, on the other hand, were visibly eaten up by curiosity. The two women directed speaking expressions at the senior Watcher. He signalled unobtrusively for them to stay put. On his way to the office, he stopped to speak to Beth and a couple of other staff briefly, asking them to start ushering the 'civilian' customers out as soon as possible. The bar would be closing early that night. Laura settled into her chair to wait, scenting a good story.

Methos pushed the office door in and waved Rena in ahead of him, before walking in himself, followed by Temlan and Spike.

"Murderer!" Rena burst out again, glaring at the apparently teenaged Temlan, voice throbbing with fury. "Baby-killer! Monster!" Her scar had turned livid, Matt noticed, and she was literally trembling with fiercely contained rage. Possibly more than a touch of fear there as well, he realised.

"He may have been all of those things, Rena, but he's not the one who's threatening your Kathryn," Methos told her gravely. He took her hand in his again.

She turned a disbelieving, desperate stare on him. "You don't know what he is, Adam! The horrible things he's done - he is the one - I know it!"

"I have a very good idea of what he is and what he's done, Rena," Methos said sadly. A look of infinite pain shadowed his changeable eyes. "But he's not the one who's been targeting Immortals and their adopted children. I swear to you, he's not guilty of that."

Joe entered the room and tried to blend into the furnishings as unobtrusively as possible. Not that it mattered. With the exception of Matt and the blond punk called Spike, no one appeared to have noticed his entrance.

Rena jerked her hand free of Methos' grasp. She stared into his hazel eyes for a long moment and then inclined her head in a miniscule nod. "I trust your word on that, Adam."

With great dignity, she turned to face Temlan, whose expression was unreadable. "That does not change the fact that I will take your head," she said flatly. "For what you did to the children, you must pay."

Temlan met her challenging glare steadily. "Lady, I am certain that I deserve your anger for whatever trespass I may have committed. But I won't fight you." His tone was formal, even courteous.

Rena was about to retort angrily when Methos held up a hand and forestalled her.

"We don't have time for this right now. Rena, if you want to keep your family safe, there's something we all need to deal with."

Temlan scowled. "Adam, I didn't come here to..."

"Shut up, Temlan. This is Immortal business, and it concerns all of us." Methos turned to Dawson. "Joe, get MacLeod in here."

The Watcher gave him a cock-eyed look, but walked out of the office to comply.

"What's this all about, Adam?" Matt inquired, as the various occupants of the room settled themselves warily to wait for enlightenment.

"All in good time, Matt," Methos said, slanting an oblique look at his old friend.

MacLeod and Dawson entered, and the Highlander looked questioningly at 'Adam Pierson', after a brief grin in Matt's direction.

"I suppose I should introduce everyone," Methos said drily. "In clockwise order - Rena Gregory, Temlan, Temlan's adopted son, Spike -" there were some peculiar looks at that, since Spike looked a good ten years older than his adoptive father, "- Joe Dawson, Duncan MacLeod, and Matt Brennan. Joe knows all about Immortals, Rena," Methos finished.

"It's come to my attention that there is someone, or a group of someones, targeting Immortals and their adopted families. From what I've learned so far, the modus operandi is as follows: this group tries to start fights between Immortals, using their families and children as bait. Once they've drawn a pair of Immortals into a fight, they *capture* the winner while he or she is still weak from the effects of the Quickening. As for any innocent bystanders who are unfortunate enough to get in their way, they dispose of them permanently by bashing in the backs of their skulls."

Both Joe and Matt sat up sharply at that last statement.

MacLeod had already assumed his trademark 'Highlander' expression - the purposeful look that said he meant to put a stop to these nefarious goings-on, as soon as he could get within sword range of the perpetrators.

"Who are these people, Methos?" he asked grimly. "And why are *they* after Immortals?"

Spike had been staring at MacLeod since the man had entered the room. He had surveyed the Highlander - his clothing (black jeans, black rollneck sweater, and long black leather jacket), looks, and general demeanour - with a sort of fascinated horror. At the Scot's question, he rolled his eyes and turned to the bearded Watcher next to him.

"Does he dress like this all the time?" Not waiting for a reply, he continued, with his face twisted into lines of comical dismay. "I suppose he goes prancing around rescuing damsels in distress, righting wrongs and generally making a bloody great heroic nuisance of himself?" Spike asked plaintively.

Taking the stunned silence that followed as an affirmative, Spike's expression grew even more pained. "And I suppose he broods a lot too. In a typical, brooding-tragic-Celtic sort of way?"

Joe found himself nodding involuntarily.

"There was a doomed romance somewhere, right? And a ruddy prophecy or two?"

By this time, Duncan was looking thunderous. Spike, apparently oblivious to the Highlander's gathering wrath, continued.

"I knew it! I sodding well knew it. I'll bet he even uses the same nancy-boy hair gel as that other poof, too." He paused to consider this final injustice. "At least he's not Irish,"** the vampire consoled himself.

There was a pregnant silence following this incredible outburst. It was broken by Methos, whose suppressed but increasing hilarity throughout the diatribe finally gave way to very loud laughter. He was joined by Matt, and then by Joe, who threw an apologetic look at MacLeod, but helplessly succumbed to his amusement. Even Rena joined in, progressing from politely mild giggles to full fledged laughter. Matt soon had tears running down his cheeks, and Joe had to hold on to the table to support himself. The only members of the party who didn't join in were Temlan, a very annoyed Highlander, and Spike himself, who appeared to regard Duncan MacLeod's existence as a personal insult.

The youthful-looking punk was actually wearing a convincingly injured expression, Joe noticed. He did not so much as crack a smile. But there was a gleam of unholy amusement lurking in his eyes.

Joe switched his attention to MacLeod, who by a truly commendable effort had managed to restrain himself from perpetrating physical violence on Spike or his very loud friends - all of the latter were still venting their hysteria at top volume. He had, however, turned a very interesting shade of purple, and there was a pulse throbbing visibly in his temple. Joe, gasping for breath, mused that it was as well Immortals couldn't die of strokes.

"Sorry Mac," Joe finally gasped, "But that was too..." He gave way again after a glance at Methos' face.

The mirth only subsided when Temlan impatiently broke in on it. "So who the hell is this group that's after Immortals, anyway?"

"They call themselves 'Fiat Lux'," Methos said, restored to sobriety. "And their members apparently include..."

"Zachar demons," Spike finished, surprising everyone. Methos levelled a questioning stare at him. "Well, everyone knows that," the vampire shrugged. "So that's why there's one of them hanging around in the bar out front, eh?"

"What?!" "Demons?" "Where?" "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't think the Slayer's come up against one of these buggers," Spike ruminated aloud.

"Slayer?" Joe asked Methos quietly.

"Vampire Slayer," the dark-haired Immortal said off-handedly.

"There's no such things as vampires," MacLeod stated confidently.

"Ooh, that's a relief, mate. I can start looking in a mirror when I shave, then," Spike remarked derisively.

"Vampires exist, MacLeod. So do demons. Remember?" Methos said seriously.

The Scot looked uncertain. Methos turned back to Spike.

"You say there's a Zacharos in the bar right now? Point it out."

The vampire grinned. "Not so fast, mate. First, we talk about you getting this blasted chip out of my head. Then we talk about your little problem."

Methos looked mildly astonished. "What makes you think I can do that?"

"You're supposed to be a bloody medical genius, right? That's why my Da here dragged me along to see you?"

"You've got the wrong guy. Matt here's the medical genius, not me," the Immortal said, deadpan.

Matt grinned. "And I'm just your friendly neighbourhood pediatrician," he said. "Don't know anything about vampire physiology. What is all this about a chip in your head, anyway?"

Temlan cut in. "A quasi-military group calling themselves the Initiative has been experimenting on so-called paranormals - Immortals, vampires, demons - planting mind control devices in their heads. They got me and my wife. That's why I came here to see M...Adam."

"'Methos' is fine, Temlan. Everyone here knows who I am."

"All right, Methos, if you can't do anything about this implant, why did you call me here?" Temlan asked, angrily.

Methos exchanged a glance with Matt. "Between the two of us, we might be able to think of something," he admitted.

"You'd better think of something bloody fast then, mate, if you're expecting my cooperation," Spike interjected.

"Oh no. You're not part of this deal, Spike," Methos stated gently. "I'll still expect your active cooperation, however."

Spike snarled at him, his face undergoing a horrifying transformation. His features writhed into the menacing mask of a hunting vampire, his eyes glowed yellow, and his fangs slid out. Everyone but Temlan and Methos recoiled. MacLeod's katana appeared in his hand as if by magic.

"Cooperate with you buggers? And just why in the seven hells would I do that?" the vampire growled.

"Let's see now, *William*: you can either toe the line, and leave here as the walking undead, or you can refuse, and we'll send you back to Sunnydale in an urn. MacLeod here has a nice collection of pottery, I'm sure we can find something appropriate," Methos told him, with implacable good humour.

Spike glanced at the Highlander, who grinned evilly at him. Then he turned back to Methos and let his 'game face' subside. "Since you put it that way... Right bastard, aren't you, mate? Especially since I'm all defenseless against you ponces at the moment," the vampire allowed his apparent good humour to resurface.

"I've been called worse," Methos observed dispassionately. "Back to the Zacharos, Spike. I want an ID - now."

Joe had picked up on an essential part of the last exchange, and chose to interrupt. "Defenceless?" he asked, incredulously.

"Harmless as Gandhi, ducky," Spike concurred cheerfully.

"Spike's little trip to the vet left him unable to harm living beings, Joe," Methos informed him.

"But that's enough about me, mate, let's get this demon of yours in the bag, so I can get out of here," the vampire said impatiently.

He and Methos stepped out of the office, followed by the rest. Laura hurried up to Joe, her face revealing extreme anxiety.

"I just got a call, Joe," she said, drawing him aside. She whispered into his ear.

Joe turned to face the Immortals, a stricken expression on his face. "Mac, I'm sorry - I think they've got Amanda."

----------**

The unflattering comparisons Spike is making are to his 'sire', the souled vampire Angel, who runs a Private Investigation firm in Los Angeles. The adventures of this other brooding Celtic hero with a tragic past are told in "Angel - The Series." :-) I love Duncan MacLeod, and Angel - but I do sometimes sympathise with Spike's opinion ;-)

Nyssa?

***

Round Robin Part 9

Sonja Peterson (Nyssa)
[email protected]

***

He and Methos stepped out of the office, followed by the rest. Laura hurried up to Joe, her face revealing extreme anxiety.

"I just got a call, Joe," she said, drawing him aside. She whispered into his ear.

Joe turned to face the immortals, a stricken expression on his face. "Mac, I’m sorry-I think they’ve got Amanda."

Well here it goes Part 9

This is the first fan fiction that I have ever written. I hope my first attempt was ok. If not please be gentle.

No-one said anything for what seemed like for ever. Slowly everyone turned to see what Duncan would say or do about this latest bizarre twist in what was happening. Duncan however said nothing.

Duncan looked deathly pale and gripped the back of a chair. It appeared to be all that was keeping Duncan from falling over.

As the silence continued, Joe hazarded a long look at Duncan and did not like what he was seeing in the face and stance of one of his closest friends. Duncan it appeared was on the verge of a nervous collapse. Joe knew that the last few years had not been kind to Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod. He had lost many close friends to the game, hatred, and through acts of revenge. Duncan McLeod could not handle losing any more of his friends and family. He could not afford to lose Amanda to this bizarre nightmare that was currently causing havoc in the immortal community.

Dawson broke out of his reverie and put his hand on McLeod’s shoulder. Then very quietly he said, "Mac, are you okay?"

Duncan silently nodded. He slowly sat down in the chair that had been his lifeline for the last minute or so. He had almost lost it. For a few minutes he had been totally unaware of his surroundings. The initial shock of hearing the news had almost totally overwhelmed him. As he came back to himself, Duncan realized that he did not like how vulnerable he had been for the last few minutes. Now was not the time to brood. Duncan needed answers and only Joe and the Watchers could supply him with the facts that surrounded Amanda’s disappearance. Her watcher had to have seen everything surrounding her disappearance. The Watchers maybe held the clues that would help them get to the bottom of this mess.

"Joe," Duncan said quietly, " I need all the information surrounding Amanda’s disappearance."

"I’m on it," Joe said without hesitation as he went back to his office to see what information was available through the Watcher Data base. He also needed to find out who Amanda’s watcher was and what he/she had reported regarding this incident. Joe sighed; he had a lot to do the sooner he started the sooner they would have the answers to who was behind this nightmare.

As Joe quietly left the room to begin his research, Methos was once again amazed how easily Joe would violate his watcher oath when Duncan asked him for information. Joe just could not say no to Duncan McLeod.

He slowly shook his head and started to walk out of the bar. He saw Rena as he walked out of the bar and decided to let her know that he was leaving. With the way things were going it was more important than ever that everyone kept in touch. He quietly told her that he was heading back to his flat and that he could be reached via his cell phone if Joe discovered anything new surrounding Amanda’s disappearance.

He walked out to the parking lot and opened the door of his rented SUV. He had a lot of new things to ponder and he was beginning to realize that all the new pieces of the puzzles did not make sense with his original hypothesis. It appeared that something more sinister was going on. But, how it affected himself and his friends it was still to early to tell. There were still too many pieces missing. Hell, even after all of his research he still did not know who was behind it. Until he was able to discern that, all of their lives were in danger. Methos knew he should just disappear, but Duncan and his friends were in peril; and strangely enough that nullified his natural tendency to disappear. He would stay; and he hoped this decision would not kill him. He had decided to stay but even though he had made his decision he could not help wonder who really was behind all of this trouble.

A VICTORIAN HOUSE ON THE OUT SKIRTS OF SEACOUVER

In a darkened office a man sat waiting for the latest report from his lieutenants about how his plan was progressing. A man who could have answered all of Methos’ answered questions.

As he sat contemplating the beauty and intricacies of his plan there was a knock at the door.

"Sir I have the latest reports. May I come in," said the voice on the other side of the door.

"Come in Wilson. What’s the news? Has Dawson been informed about Amanda’s disappearance yet?"

"According to our informant Dawson was informed about an hour ago. He let McLeod and the others know. Duncan McLeod however is not taking the information well at all."

"Good very good and what is Adam Pierson doing," asked man behind the desk.

"Adam Pierson left the building sir."

"Excellent, excellent we can now begin the next phase of our plan. Adam Pierson is going to disappear. However, this disappearance will be for real and sadly his friends will never realize that he has been kidnapped."

"This is what I want you to do……"

ADAM PIERSON’S FLAT THREE HOURS LATER

Methos sighed as he gazed blurry eyed into the screen of his laptop. He could not sleep despite the late hour. It might have something to do with all the coffee that that he had consumed throughout the evening; but somehow he did not think so. Caffeine had never affected him like this before. He had a terrible suspicion that the cause had more to do with the events that were currently occurring in his life. Events that were quickly spiraling out of control and could prove disastrous if he wasn’t able to get a handle on this situation.

Methos sighed again and inserted a music CD into his laptop. As Methos was contemplating all that had occurred during the day, he heard a knock at his front door. He slowly got out of his chair and cautiously went across the room to see who was knocking at his door at this late hour.

He knew for certain that his nocturnal visitor was not an immortal. That got his curiosity up. But he knew that he was not going to just open the door. He also knew that he could not just pretend he was not there, because every light was on in his apartment. Also, his CD was still playing in his laptop and most people do not keep music playing when no one is home to listen to the music. That was just not logical. Methos quietly looked out the peephole and to his surprise there was no one there.

" I know I heard someone knock at the door but maybe I am finally losing it. Too much caffeine, and not enough sleep is making me hear things that are not there."

As Methos pondered this new mystery he came to a realization. He had to get some sleep. His mind had to be running at peak efficiency. This was not going to happen if his body and mind were functioning on caffeine and adrenaline and paranoia. He needed to call it a morning and get at least eight hours of sleep.

To help him relax, Methos decided to read the early morning edition of the paper. Now that he thought about it that was probably the knocking sound that he had heard, the newspaper hitting his front door as it was being delivered. He glanced at his watch and slowly pushed down on the door handle of his apartment. As the door swung out, he bent down to pick up the newspaper that was lying perfectly centered exactly twelve inches from the door as if someone had carefully placed it there. He began to suspect that he had fallen neatly into a trap. As he came to this realization, he felt a tiny stinging sensation on the side of his neck. He quickly became dizzy, disoriented and he was not able to move as his world began to spin around him. He vaguely saw blurred images that he supposed were the bastards that had set up this trap. His last conscious thought before becoming unconscious was " Who had gone to all this trouble to kidnap me?"

As he slowly crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap, several individuals gathered around their victim. They silently handcuffed and tightly tied and gagged their helpless captive so that he would not be able to escape once he revived from the strong tranquilizers they used to immobilize him. As they dragged him away, one of his captor’s sleeves was pushed up to reveal a blue tattoo, a tattoo that Methos would have recognized, if he had been conscious. His kidnappers were Watchers.

***

next?

***

My odd RR part THE BIG NUMBER TEN!
Laydee Pixie
[email protected]

Looks like it's the pixie's turn! I added Amory, Narcissca, and gave our villain a name. this is a little odd, so bear with me.

Amory is a three or four thousand year old Immortal who looks fifteen or sixteen. Poor thing. ::smirk:: He died his first death at the hands of Caspian and spent a good while as a slave of the Horsemen; however, unlike certain people who shall remain nameless whose initials are CASSANDRA, he does not hold grudges. He is kinda Goth and he's married to a vampiress named Narcissca. He hates the Watchers because they kidnapped his sixteen-year-old stepdaughter, Tynara.

Narcissca is a vampire in my in progress novel. She wears black a lot, has pale skin and black hair and has an attitude.

Here goes nothing!

*****************

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE IF THAT'S A NO PARKING ZONE?!" A loud male voice shouted. The group within the bar turned as one. The door flung open, slamming hard into the wall. A young boy, probably about sixteen stopped in, glaring through black eyeliner. Even MacLeod was startled out of his dreary thoughts by the kid's leather pants, tight black shirt, and multiple piercings.

Joe slammed his head against the wall hard. "Please no. . . . Not now. . . . "

"Hey old man, w'sap?" The kid's voice was icy cold. "*I'll* tell you what's up! They did it again! The Watchers have screwed with my family for the last time." He stomped behind the bar and began to pour random choices of alcohol together.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

Temlan slowly began to smirk. "You're that kid. . . . Methos' slave. Amory was it?"

Amory spun around, throwing his drink in Temlan's face. "Oopsies," he muttered innocently. He glanced around. "Well if this just ain't a bloody Watcher convention." His eyes trailed back over to Temlan. "And if it ain't His Royal Highness Mr.-Too-Good-To-Help-Out-The-Slaves-Loki." He reached into his coat and removed a long, sharp implement. The room got silent very quickly.

Rena was the first to speak. "I-Is that a-a *machette*?"

Amory spun, his predatorial eyes as cold and hard as marble. "No, it's a toothpick. Listen here, sistah, I am not having a good day. Don't piss me off." He sneered, his lip ring brushing the unshaved stubble just below his nose.

"Ami," Joe soothed, "calm down and tell us what happened."

Amory sighed and tossed down the machette. "Okay, I'll tell you what happened. They took Narcissca, *that's* what happened."

"Yeah, well, she was a twat anyway," Spike muttered. "What kind of sorry excuse for a Vampire Mistress works *with* the Slayer?"

Amory growled. "I seem to remember you doing something similar *Spike*." He paused, "Besides, our daughter was in trouble. If you had a family, you'd understand. I mean, you would have done anything for *Drusilla*, as crazy as she was."

Rena held up her hands. "Wills someone *please* tell me what's going on?! Should I be worried about my family? And who *are* you? And why do your pant-legs lace together in the back?"

Amory lowered his gaze to hers, moistening his black painted lips with his tongue. "They're called bondage pants. And if you have family, yes, I'd be pretty damn worried about them." His voice morphed smoothly into a hoarse whisper, "If it were up to me, every Watcher from here to Timbuktu would have their intestines removed through their nostrils."

MacLeod spoke for the first time. "Wait a minute here. I lost someone too, but it's not fair to blame the Watchers for this."

Amory hissed--literally. "Not fair? They kidnapped my daughter. Now they've got my wife. Explain to me how it is "not fair" for me to want to kill them. Narcissca isn't even a part of the Game! She isn't an Immortal--she's a vampiress!"

Rena shook her head. "This is too much, way too much. Demons and vampires? Slayers? Watchers kidnapping Immortals? What is going on?"

Amory shrugged, running one hand through his black-dyed hair. "How should I know? I come back from a Challenge and Narcissca's just gone, my daughter is sitting in one corner sobbing about men with funny tattoos like the ones who kidnapped her last year, and my Tomagotchi had been stolen!"

Beth stared. "Your Tomagotchi?"

Spike smirked. "Three thousand years old and he's still a kid at heart!"

Amory gave him a look. "You are such a juvenile." He turned to MacLeod. "Okay Mr.-Holier-Than-Thou. You're the Boy Scout, what's the plan, Stan?"

MacLeod dropped his head into his hands. "I don't have a plan," he admitted. "I guess we find them."

Amory and Rena exchanged glances. Finally Amory took a deep breath and pulled out a cell phone--black of course. "You," he pointed at Rena, "call your family, make sure they're okay. I'm gonna call Meth."

Spike smirked. "Meth?"

Amory shrugged. "Hey, if the shoe fits. . . ."

*********************

Tears fell from Rena's eyes, tracing the line of her jaw. "My little, little girl is gone. . . ."

Amory sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So you've told us--thirty million times. Nobody is caring."

Joe smacked the Goth in the back of the head. "What is your problem? You have your dog collar on too tight?"

Amory glared and tapped his black nails against the bar top. "Okay, look, Meth wasn't home. If he ain't home, he's either missing or at a strip club. To be safe we had better say he's missing. Therefore, we have to play Rescue Rangers for lemme see," Amory began to tick off the names on his fingers, "Narcissca the lovely, Amanda the whore, Kathryn the daughter of Rena, and Adam the idiot."

"Yes to all of the above except I think Narcissca the lovely should probably be changed to Narcissca the bitch," Spike growled.

"Shut up." Amory sighed and turned to MacLeod, pleading. "Do something." His voice hardened. "If you won't, I will. I'll go and I'll rescue my wife," his eyes trailed to Rena, "and pick up her kid for good measure. But trust me, I *don't* spare mortals."

MacLeod stood up, rubbing his eyes. "All right, I'll do something! Can't you see I'm trying? What more do you want? I DON'T HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS!"

Joe tapped a spoon to an empty beer mug. "I just got a phone call. I know where they're being held."

IN THE VICTORIAN HOUSE

The dark shape paced back and forth across the floor. He got a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the window. Tall and dark with wispy brown hair and dull eyes, Mark Hampsher was not one to catch the attention of anyone. He was normal beyond belief and it served him well.

The demon clan would reward him for his good work. It was brilliant really. As a research Watcher he had access to all the Immortals' records. He knew where they lived and who their families were. A perfect set-up. And his plan was so, so simple. Unlike Horton, Hampsher knew that Immortals truly were just humans. Their weaknesses were the same; they would do anything for their family.

All he had to do was set up an Immortal to feel as though another threatened its family and there would be a challenge. The strongest would win and while it was weak from it's Quickening, Hampsher's men would kidnap it and take it to the demons.

The demons had explained why they had wanted the Immortals; however, on that point Hampsher was still not clear. As well as Hampsher could understand, the demons drained the Immortals' Quickenings and used them to increase their own power.

Hampsher frowned. The old plan had been so good. But no, it wasn't good enough for the demons to have random Immortals, they wanted the oldest and the strongest.

The tall man moved over to his desk and picked up the list, scanning down it. He had baited almost every Immortal on the list: Duncan MacLeod, Amory of the Horsemen, Temlan formerly Loki, 'Bwrt'vekch!shek, and Methos. The doctor would be an added bonus. They had Amanda and Adam to lure MacLeod, Narcissca to bait Amory, and Kathryn for 'Bwrt'vekch!shek. Temlan would undoubtedly follow MacLeod straight to the lion's den.

Only one Immortal was giving them a problem: Methos. A myth, surely. If he wasn't real, how did the demons expect Hampsher to bring him to them? The Watcher shrugged it off. If he brought the others, the demons would forgive him for that little blunder, Hampsher was sure of it.

***

Next?

***

Part the Eleventh
Shadowlight
[email protected]

Alright, so it’s finally my turn. I’m gonna risk it and fool around with a few characters, just to get involved and all. Please, anyone whose character has been portrayed badly, tell me what I did wrong and how they would <really> act, so I can do a better job if ever I get the chance. *g* I let a lot of things go unanswered, so whoever's next can fill in the blanks. *snicker* Yeah, I'm lazy....

I’m adding my OMC, Greg, to the picture. He’s about twenty, has dark brown hair, huge green-grey eyes, average built…hmm, oh, and is mortal. He doesn’t know about the Game, the Watchers, he’s totally clueless. And there’s something…weird about him. This is the first fic I’m putting him in, so I haven’t got everything about him figured out. *sigh* Okay, I think I’m ready.;-) Here goes half of something….

**************

The ‘strong tranquilizers’ could have taken out a horse, it seemed, and resulted in the throbbing in Methos’ head when he woke from a disorienting haze. This was not the first time he’d experienced the feeling, but in the past few years he’d intended to stay away from situations such as these.

He allowed himself a second to let his vision clear before pushing himself forward to discover he was bound by the hands and feet, lying clumsily on his side. The room was dark, the floor was cold, the ropes were tight, and Methos felt like utter crap.

Still groggy from the drugs, the immortal lurched forward, pushing himself upwards with his elbows, and rose to his feet, ankles still bound. Now, to find the light switch. He dared a small hop forward, but that threw everything off, sending his head into a shard of glass. He swayed for a moment to keep his balance, then fell back down on his bum.

"Oh, hell," he moaned.

He cupped his aching head in the crook of his elbows and concentrated on the gawdawful night he was having. Someone should be coming soon. Maybe MacLeod realized he was missing and was looking for him. He just needed a couple minutes to clear his mind of all the junk that was filtering through it right now.

He didn’t have that long, though. Not a minute after he’d retreated back to the floor, the door squeaked open, letting in an uncomfortable amount of light. Methos squinted against the brightness, letting his eyes adjust as they examined the tall masculine silhouette standing in the doorway. He was holding something. Something long that was reflecting the light coming in from outside of the chilly room. Methos swallowed.

"That wouldn’t happen to be an umbrella, would it?"

No response. Not promising. The man walked up to Methos, still sitting immobile on his derriere, and reached out with his free hand. Methos braced.

He tugged something above Methos’ head, there was a <clink>, and a light came on.

The immortal stared at him for a moment, pupils dilating rapidly, and said, "Oh. That’s better." He didn’t recognize this man. Tall, dark, a little lean, he was very ordinary looking. The grim look he was wearing suggested he wasn’t in a mood to drag anything out, which didn’t buy much time for Methos, whose mind was already working around the escape. The forty-five watt bulb revealed a small room with two windows and a small chair and table in the far right corner. Yes, well, the chair could work. Except they were on the other side of the room in the far left corner.

"Adam Pierson." The man’s low tone sounded like he was doing roll call.

Methos looked up at him almost quizzically, attentive. This man was already beginning to annoy him.

"It has come to my attention that you are not, in fact, the Adam Pierson you say you are."

Make that ‘hellish night.’ This was not going well at all. Methos chose his words carefully. "Who, then, are you suggesting I am?"

"Why don’t you tell me?" It sounded like a challenge.

"My name is Adam Pierson," Methos pronounced slowly, drawing out the lie as if he were speaking to a small child. "And what might yours be?"

The man had a very grim look on his face, and swiftly let the metal object rest on the immortal’s shoulder. An acidic zap of pain rushed up his arm, reflexes jerking it back. He stared up at the man, annoyed.

"Oww, do I really look that much like a cow?" The bolt was strong, and he silently cursed the bonds that were preventing him from rubbing his upper left arm, still tingling with pain.

The man ignored his comment, speaking in the same objective tone that made Methos think he’d pull a gun out and shoot him in mid-sentence. "Evidence has proven that you are actually the immortal called Methos."

<Well, this put a whole new twist on things.> Methos almost sighed heavily, then checked himself. This man must have gotten his information from the Watchers. But even they weren’t able to locate the myth; except for the evidence he’d found on the dead Watcher tonight. The man wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave more clues lying around in his home, would he?

"Well, I’m flattered, really." The ancient almost grinned, casting his captor a look of dignified hatred, if that was possible.

The bolt came down again, this time below his shoulder, for a good few seconds longer. Methos hissed in pain, steering his body away from the jolt. The man was beginning to seem like a mad killer. The kind without a motive.

"You’re over five thousand years old." The man sounded almost like this was humorous, as if daring his captive to agree. <As if anyone could live that long.> The attitude was fine for Methos. Maybe this man could be easily convinced.

"I’m sorry, I think you have me mixed up with my brother."

But there was that zap factor, and this time the guy was going for his neck. Surrounded by a cloud of fiery pain, Methos had the feeling he’d be out cold in another minute if he didn’t shut up.

The man leaned in closer, saying, "If you’re talking about Kronos, he’s dead. But you know that, don’t you?"

The statement knocked Methos off balance for a moment, allowing a look of surprise to pass across his features. Too fast for his captor to see, though.

"Your friend MacLeod killed him," he continued. "Who is here too, by the way. I was hoping we’d get something out of him, but he refused to talk."

"Where is he now?" Methos asked ominously, ignoring the fact that his arms and legs were tied.

The man sighed. "Oh, probably downstairs. They keep the furnace down there, you know. It would be best if we killed him, so—"

"No, you can’t do that," the immortal told him sternly. "Don’t, call your men, get him out of there. Do you hear me?"

Evidently not. "He’s probably already dead. Although, those guys do like to fool around a little before an execution, so you never know."

"This isn’t an execution, this is murder!" If all else failed, he’d have to go for the chair on the other side of the room. Things didn’t look promising, especially with the zappy thing. "I want to see him."

The man was silent for a moment, pretending to ponder the demand. "No. Neither of you have been cooperating."

Methos sighed. This man was making him jumpy. "Alright, Sunshine, what is it that you’d like?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan winced in pain, unsure if he could bear any more of it. He was shown no mercy, though.

"Spike, you’re on my *foot*!"

Spike glanced up at him, a look of mock surprise forming his features. "Am I? Sorry, mate, didn’t even notice…"

And that car was so cramped! Duncan didn’t see why they couldn’t just take Rena’s van. He glared at blond vampire, shoving him five feet away. He bumped into Temlan, who had just stepped out of Joe’s tiny car and was examining the huge Victorian house. The immortal cast the vampire a bemused look, but said nothing.

Spike regained his balance and cast Duncan a vengeful looked. The Scot grinned wickedly. "Sorry, mate. Must’ve slipped."

"Look at this house," Matt spoke to no one in particular. "It’s like it appeared out of nowhere."

"It’s exactly what this sob needs," Joe said bitterly, stepping up beside Matt. "This stinks of crooked Watchers." He’d wished he’d brought Laura and Beth along now. Despite their protests, he’d sent them to headquarters to do research on whoever this group was. He hoped they’d show up sooner or later.

"Let’s not waste any more time," Amory countered, stepping up and shoving his way past Matt. The younger immortal reached out, catching Amory by the sleeve.

"So you’re just going to go in?"

"No, there’s a diner right out back, I thought I’d cut through the yard and get me a cappuccino," he seethed. "Now let go of me!"

"Wait, Matt’s right," Duncan said, letting himself into the little circle that had formed around the two men. "The house will be heavily guarded. We need another way to get in."

Silence floated over the group for a moment as the group examined the pensive look on each other’s faces. Joe watched as Rena’s lit up, about to ask what she was thinking.

"A window." Everyone stepped aside as she passed through the circle and climbed deftly over the iron gate. The rest of the group followed suit. The immortal made her way to the side of the house and stopped at a basement window, triumphant. "We go in through the window, and work our way up."

"Brilliant," Temlan breathed, surprisingly uninterested.

"Alright." Duncan started abruptly, going into action mode. "Matt, Rena and I will take out whoever’s guarding the door. Joe, Amory, Temlan and Spike, you snoop around upstairs and see if they’re up there."

"Who died and put you in charge?"

Duncan turned to face Spike, who was looking distastefully at the highlander.

"Oh. Yeah, I forgot. The—chip, thing. Well, if you run into anyone up there, you might try asking them to please sit down and wait until you’re finished."

"Let’s not waste any time out here." Rena said as she shoved open the window and made her way through. "Who knows what they’re doing to them in there…" She trailed off, sounding unpleasantly anxious.

Sudden images of Amanda hit Duncan with a pang, and he made his way past Spike and climbed in behind Rena.

The basement was a dimly lit junk heap, and the group had to sidestep old furniture and walk over huge cardboard boxes. The last to come through, and with some difficulty, Joe was tempted to look inside one of them. There may have been evidence of Watcher activity going on in this house. There was a large furnace in the far corner, burning weakly.

At the doorway, the group split up into two, as Duncan had instructed.

"Be careful, Joe," Matt advised, resting his hand on Joe’s shoulder for a moment. The Watcher revealed his weapon, hidden in the fold’s of his jacket, and grinned.

"Watch yourself, too, Matt." Joe turned and climbed the stairs, a step behind Spike, who was following Temlan, led by Amory.

The stairway was a winding one, bringing the foursome up to a plush hallway with three rooms on either side.

"They could be guarded," Joe spoke, looking around warily. "Maybe we should check each room together."

"Nothing to worry about, old man," Amory provided, pointing to the second door on the left. "They’re all in there."

The group made its way to the door, and Spike tested the knob, turning it slowly. Temlan stood watch. The door creaked open, and the blond poked his head through. He grinned. "Coast’s clear."

The big room had two other doors that branched off into other rooms. There was only one person here, a young man. His captors just a short time ago must have visited him, as the man’s right eye was swollen shut. Amory kneeled and ripped the grey strip of tape from his mouth.

"Who are you?" The captive asked wearily, staring up at Amory bewilderedly.

"The guy that just saved your ass. Who’re you?" The immortal was busily undoing his binds, as Temlan and Spike walked through another room that was branching off, looking for the others.

"Greg," the man responded quietly, rubbing his wrists tiredly. "Do you know why they’re doing this?"

"We were hoping you might know something about that," Amory sighed, studying Greg. He looked about twenty, had a roundish face, short dark hair. And he hadn’t seen eyes that big since…Asia, in—

"How’d you find this place?" Greg stood, looking around the room as if for the first time.

"Ah, a fair amount of digging," Joe supplied hastily, careful not to blow the Watchers’ cover.

Greg leaned against the wall, tensing at the pain in his muscles.

"You don’t look so hot, Greg," Amory pointed out, wondering how many of the others were beaten.

"Ha, you’d be surprised," the young man grinned weakly, doing an incredible job at hiding his fear. "I don’t understand what they want with us."

"I’m guessing your existence is reason enough," Joe said, an edge of bitterness to his voice.

"But why me? I didn’t do anything to them…not that I know of, anyway."

Amory sighed. "We’ll figure this out when we get everyone back. We could use you help."

Greg was silent for a moment. "I—don’t fight too good. I mean, I’m still learning."

"So…you’re pretty much a child," Amory stated, eyeing him curiously. This immortal was strange in some way.

"As far as fighting goes, yeah," Greg said, sounding apologetic.

Joe walked towards the remaining room, saying, "Here’s a chance to hone your skills." He turned to Amory. "Temlan and Spike took that room; let’s see what’s in here."

The trio searched the next room, finding nothing. "They must be in the other room," Amory concluded, turning around. Greg caught his arm.

"Don’t you think we should check downstairs?"

"We’ve already got some friends down there," Joe provided.

Greg didn’t look satisfied, the green in his eyes changing darker in the differing light as he stared up at Joe. He sounded confused. "No; no I think we need to go down there."

"Listen, man, they’re all in the other room! We need to—"

In the next second, a shot was fired, something or someone fell to the floor, and Amanda’s voice could be heard crying her lover’s name.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Next? By the way, this could go either way, with the Dunk being captured bit. Mark Hampshire could be lying to Methos about him being caught, or everything that just happened could’ve taken place right before he talked to Methos. And who gets to decide? You do!!!! Hee;-)

***

RR #12

Shomeret
[email protected]

Sorry this is short, but I live in a chaotic household where the quiet I need to write fic is scarcer than hen's teeth. I hope Amanda Kilgore isn't offended about what I did with her OC, but I thought it would make a good story. The character I am adding to the RR is Melanie Hind, who is mentioned on the Watcher CD as Cassandra's Watcher. She is the one who reported to Watcher HQ that Adam Pierson is Methos.

Shomeret

***

Duncan rushed into the room where a number of the hostages were being held in time to see the woman he had known as Emily Campbell shoot Temlan who collapsed to the floor with a bullet in his chest. He could hear Amanda shouting "Duncan!" No doubt she was impatient to be freed. He'd caught a glimpse of her suspended from the ceiling when he entered the room, but the woman with the gun was his most immediate problem. He tackled her from behind with a flying leap and disarmed her.

"You hero types are good for something at least," Spike reluctantly remarked as he assisted the reviving Temlan to his feet. "Thank you" was completely outside the acerbic vampire's vocabulary.

The Highlander had begun to wonder about the veracity of Emily's story, and whether she really had been sent by Connor. Even if she was descended from the Highland Campbells, why would she resemble Debra so closely? This reminded him of "Lisa Milion", the counterfeit Tessa who had been sent by Horton as an agent of his destruction. This "Emily Campbell" person must have sent to gain his confidence and act as a spy for Fiat Lux. It was the only thing that made sense.

Duncan resolved to find out from her where Methos was being kept. He grabbed her, placed the barrel of the gun against her cheek and demanded that she take him to Methos. She sullenly agreed and they headed toward the door.

"Duncan!" Amanda shouted again, indignant that he had made no move to help her. She wriggled futilely in the suspension harness. Ironically, it was the same sort of equipment that light fingered immortal had often used to rob museums of their most precious artifacts.

"Later!" Duncan said over his shoulder as he exited into the corridor with his duplicitous prisoner. He hated leaving Amanda in distress and threatening this woman who looked so much like his first love, but he feared that Methos was in real danger.

Amory wasted no time in freeing Narcissa, who had been bound with hemp rope that had been soaked in a garlic infusion. Narcissa wondered how long it would take to rid herself of that offensive stench that weakened vampires so thoroughly. Spike backed away from Narcissa wrinkling his nose.

"Heel, Spike!" said Amory in a threatening tone.

"Oh no insult is intended to the sainted Narcissa," Spike responded sarcastically as he continued his backward retreat, "but she stinks. No doubt it's the odor of sanctity. I would worship at her shrine, but honestly I can't bear the presence of so much holiness."

"Don't mind, Willy, dearest," said Narcissa sweetly while Amory glared at Spike with open hatred. "He obviously got the decoder ring in the Cracker Jack box with the instructions that read 'Open mouth. Insert foot.' "

At that moment Rena raced into the room trailed by Joe who had gone to notify her that they'd found Kathryn. Rena quickly unbound the terrified girl who hurried into her adopted mother's arms trembling with relief.

************

Meanwhile behind the door of a basement cell, Methos had just asked Mark Hampsher what he wanted in a resigned tone.

"I'll take over from here, Mark," said an extremely attractive statuesque blonde commandingly as she entered the cell. She looked like a model, and had easily passed for one in New York's competitive high fashion world. This had allowed her to keep close tabs on Cassandra in her latest identity as a fashion model based in the Big Apple. "The demons are becoming impatient. Go and feed them a quickening," she told Hampsher dismissively.

"Yes, ma'am," said Hampsher in an oily ingratiating tone as he slithered out. There was no doubt in Methos' mind that Hampsher had fallen hard for his female confederate. The oldest immortal filed the information away for future use.

"Well, if it isn't Cassandra's Watcher," said Methos. "Melanie Hind, isn't it?"

"I've been reassigned," she said icily.

"And you've thrown in with this lot? Not a big fan of the non-interference oath, I gather."

"My motives aren't any concern of yours, Horseman," she hissed. "Where's the Kronos Plague?"

"You mean the virus Kronos wanted to release in Bordeaux?" Methos asked incredulously. "That's what you people want? You're insane!"

"What happened to that vial that Kronos planted in that Bordeaux reservoir? Answer me, Methos, or your quickening will be sucked out of you by a Zachareus demon!"

***

Next?

That's all so far.  :)
 

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