Who: Death (Methos) and Duncan MacLeod and Reyna What: Meeting a horseman When: Morning Where: The boarding house Warnings: Violence and will update as needed Status: Gdoc completed in the comments
Waking up was confusing for the first time in a very long time. He wasn’t under the roof of a tent or sleeping under the stars. Instead Death awoke in the softest covers he had ever encountered inside of some sort of enclosure. The confusion had him rolling off of the bed, scattering the covers, and reaching for the sword that was hanging from the headboard.
Someone had taken him from his camp! And what they put him in looked like a perfumed bower for a camp follower instead of his own tent. It only took a minute to decide no one was going to burst in on him so Death started pawing through the clothes looking for something that was suitable to wear. Nothing was as simple as what he was used to so he was snarling lightly under his breath by the time he was dressed and ready to explore outside of the room.
The sword was hooked onto the belt he’d found and his longer hair was pulled back in a tie to keep it out of the way in case of a fight.
Once he was ready it wasn’t hard to figure out the doors and make his way to the kitchen which seemed to be the most useful room so far. He drank out of a container from a strange cold box and was pulling a butcher knife out of the block to tuck into his belt.
***
Duncan was blissfully unaware of any changes happening, let alone what was waiting for him in the kitchen. He came padding down in barefeet, a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. He was yawning as he came into the kitchen, completely at ease. The sense of another immortal wasn’t anything he felt he should worry about.
“Good morning, Methos,” he muttered as he made for the coffee pot.
***
To Methos however, the feel of another immortal scraping over his senses caused a much different reaction. The jug in his hand was thrown at the figure coming toward him and the sword was pulled from the sheath to point at Duncan. “You are the one who stole me. Return me to my brothers and your quickening will be taken quickly.” He didn’t know he was speaking a language that hadn’t been heard in millennia.
***
Milk splashed all over Duncan’s chest. He sighed thinking this was some sort of prank...until the sword was brought into play. That wasn’t something to fool around with so Duncan slowly spread his arms with his palms forward as he eyed Methos...who didn’t look anything like himself, but that would be puzzled out later.
“Methos, put the sword down.” He spoke slowly. “And speak English.”
***
Methos studied the man though narrowed eyes. He knew his name. Only his brothers in arms and his captives knew his name. To the rest of the world he was simply ‘Death’. This was not an easy situation to understand. Along with all of the strange things he was surrounded with like the torches that were like the sun and the strange textures and sounds.
Even the sword was strange. The silvery bright metal was like nothing he’d ever seen before.
”I am losing patience. Where are my brothers?” He took a step forward with the point of the sword held low and ready.
***
Duncan backed up. He was in no way prepared for this. His own sword was upstairs in his bedroom and he was shirtless. There were plenty of things to use as a distraction...including the very hot coffee that was almost within reach.
“I do not speak that language so I don’t understand you,” he said slowly. “But I’m kind of getting the idea you don’t like me much anymore.” All he needed was to move a little more.
***
Speaking slower didn’t help him understand it any more than he did before. Methos didn’t like this situation, there were too many doors in the house and too many things that could be used as a weapon. He needed more space to move.
”I don’t have time for this.: He stepped forward and swung the sword with deadly intent. Immobilize, then worry about the head.
***
Duncan lurched to the side, taking a slice across the ribs for his efforts, but he got his hands on the full coffee pot. Unlike anyone else, he knew he wouldn’t have to hold back against Methos. The glass pot was swung in the other immortal’s direction letting the hot liquid take the lead. He hoped that he could follow it up with bashing Methos over the head with the pot before that sword came back into play.
***
This Methos unlike the one that Duncan was familiar with fought and lived by his fighting skills every day. So when the scalding liquid hit him he managed to stumble back and throw up his arm to take the brunt of the blow from the glass. Unfortunately, being glass, it shattered and gouged his arm in bloody furrows which further distracted him. He’d never seen anything like glass before.
To give himself time to recover Methos kicked the nearest thing at the other man. It happened to be a chair for the small eat in table that was there. The burns hurt worse than the gashes so he was swearing and still protecting his face with his bloody arm.
***
Duncan ducked, but the chair hit him on the back. Methos still had the sword. He knew if he was going to live through this, find out what was going on he had to retreat. Damn it! Or give Methos a way out.
He picked up the chair then lobbed it at the backdoor to break it open. “C’mon, you bastard. Take the hint!”
***
Methos could feel the blisters and burns smoothing away along with the gashes. Part of him wanted to follow up the attack. Leaving an immortal behind him was dangerous. They were the one thing that could eventually track him down. But right now not knowing anything about the situation he was at too much of a disadvantage.
Run. Live. Fight again. And then revel in the blood of your enemy on your hands.
The sword never wavered as he backed a few steps toward the door. ”Don’t get comfortable. I will deal with you soon.” Without taking his eyes off his enemy Methos slipped out the back door and turned to make his retreat and regroup.
***
...just as Reyna came running through the gate. Having just come back from soccer practice, where she’d been running around on a muddy field, she’d elected to come through the yard instead of track dirt up the path and into the foyer.
She had just turned into the property when she heard the smashing of glass, and an almost feral-looking Methos came barrelling out.
“Methos?” She looked around quickly for any sign of a threat. “What’s going on?”
***
Methos’ attention shot to the girl when she said his name, what was up with them all knowing that anyway? She wasn’t an immortal and she was in his way. The sword was still in his hand so he brought the tip up threaten her. “Get out of my way” The step he took in her direction was followed with a slash of the sword at her. She’d either get out of his way or take the hit. He didn’t care which.
***
Reyna hadn't been expecting to be attacked by the man who'd taken her in, but that didn't mean she wasn't able to escape the sword with room to spare. Immortal she was not, but her mother was a war goddess. She wasn't without some skills. Unfortunately, none of those skills were helpful in figuring out why Method was speaking in tongues and trying to attack her. Possession?
She didn't have her sword with her either, but there was a rake nearby. If she could reach it, she had a better chance of at least defending herself than she had now.
“Who are you? She tried Latin, in case it worked better than English. Where is Methos?
***
That language at least sounded similar to what he spoke so Methos hesitated for a second as he tried to decipher it but it still made no sense. Methos followed Reyna, making cuts at her with the sword to test the weight and length of it, since it wasn’t his familiar one, and used that to switch places with her so she was nearer the house and he was in a position to leave.
They were serious attempts to damage her but not overly committed and with her knowledge of battle he would have to work too hard to win the fight. It wasn’t worth it at this point.
***
He wanted to escape, did he? Reyna was glad he wasn't on some kind of bloodthirsty rampage, at least. Most of his efforts at attack seemed to be intended to drive her back and free a path for himself. And as Reyna continued to dodge his attempts, she realized he was acting more like a trapped animal than a calculating enemy. With him in this state and her without a sword, she might have simply let him go and hunt him down later, but she didn't want any injuries he might cause while in this state on her conscience.
Her path to the door managed to take her to the rake, and she swung it at him to slow him down.
“Some help here!” She shouted, switching back to English in the hopes that Duncan, Percy or Jason might be at home and within hearing distance.