A
Altoz
Guest
Lindsey MacDonald leant back in his red truck, stretching and looking blearily into the mirror, rubbing his stubble. He was unprepared for the reflection that suddenly shone from his mirror. Huh? What on Earth...he'd last heard of him back in Los Angeles. Getting up from his carseat, he stepped across the road, pondering the relative quietness of the Los Angeles evening: "Lorne?'
"Lindseycakes! Hey! Good to see you, sweetcheeks."
"I see you have an ensemble. Couldn't happen to a better guy."
"Nope, sorry. I'm in a sticky position. I was trying to launch a singing career but this gangster guy, DeMarco, tried to exploit me to get a grip on futures. So, I was counting on Angel and Charlie Gunn to get down here and help me out, only something's gone wrong back in Los Angeles."
"I see you resolved it yourself, though. But I thought you were a lover, not a fighter."
"What about you? You're not going back to Los Angeles, are you?" Lorne asked.
Lindsey shook his head: "Wolfram and Hart is yesterday. I'm never goin' back there. I don't intend to chance it. It might draw me back in again, corrupt me."
"Say, would you mind doing a number for me?" Lorne asked.
"Sure. Got the guitar in my car. Which one would you like?"
"How about a Beatles vintage number... Working Class Hero?"
"You're kiddin', right? Shit, I learnt to play when I was listenin' to some of Dad's old Beatles records. One'a my favourite tunes. Sure, buddy."
Lorne leant back and listened to the cover and how enthusiastically Lindsey tackled the evergreen ballad, how effortlessly, how passionately. He frowned and then gasped at the sounds and the empathic resonances that were coming through. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but there it is. Lindsey MacDonald's fate wasn't in Los Angeles any more, he was clean now...and something else. And he could see something that awaited him on the road, only hours from now. And another encounter with ..Angel...no! Lorne looked away, sick at heart at what he'd just seen. So that was it, was it? He'd never see his friend Angel again, or Cordelia, or Charlie, or Wes. A lump came to his throat and he began to cry. As Lindsey finished his number, he noticed Lorne's reaction:
"Wow. That good, eh?"
"I've never heard quite that take on it, before."
"Hey, it's been good, but I promised an old friend from law school I'd get back to California by tomorrow. Long drive. Good catchin' up, Lorne dude. Take care."
And with that, Lindsey MacDonald walked out of Caritas Las Vegas, out of the bar and his life. For a moment, he thought he should warn Lindsey about what would befall him. No. No, that might change Lindsey's destiny. And that must not happen. With a heavy heart, he looked down at the portal medallion on his chest. Sighing to himself, he turned and walked into his office, locking the door behind him. A minute later, it shone blue and there was a faint smell of lemongrass and lavendar. From that day, no-one saw him or even recalled the existence of the gentle Pylean empath. Timelines unravelled and destinies rearranged themselves around his absence. Lindsey MacDonald would not eat the corrupting apple of resentment and envy that would have led him back into the clutches of Wolfram and Hart, because Angel would never take that step as the already corrupted, dark Angelus.
Several hours later, in Death Valley, Lindsey drove across the border into California. He was unaware that something was observing him, tracking the movement of his car. It looked down at its GPS and noticed the absence of traffic along the highway. Not even long-distance trucking. It would make an excellent opportunity to nip the fledgeling before he realised what he could become. He had been born only roughly thirty years ago, he could have no awareness of what was involved in interpersonal combat, even given his prior legal services role to the Wolf. the Ram and the Hart.
But in the truck below, Lindsey felt his Nepalese pendant start to glow red. As it was jade, he frowned. Then he realised. He saw the helicopter then, and started to weave as a fusillade of bullets raked into the asphalt to the side of his car. Lindsay slammed on his brakes, threw himself out of his truck, and picked up a hunting rifle from his seat. He drew a bead on the oncoming helicopter and hit it, as if he had developed some paranormal sense. But then he noticed the copter autorotating down to a safe landing. He wasn't sure what was going on here. A tall, menacing figure leapt out in black leather, carrying a broad sword. Unbelievably. as Lindsey centred it with his sniper sight, he found he could not shoot the newcomer. He looked... archaic, somehow... like some sort of primitive warrior. Then he realised that there was a weight on his back. He drew out a samurai sword, an elegantly carved blade.
"I was mistaken. You do recognise what you are."
"Oklahoma farmboy, high-flier corporate lawyer, community lawyer, sometime musician if I can get a gig."
"Or then again, perhaps not. This will be brief, but I cannot declare it merciful."
"Look, man, can't we work this out like two normal human beings?"
"Do you not realise? Neither of us are that puny baseline. I have not been for many centuries. Nor will you be for much longer."
He couldn't work this out. This was morning and therefore this figure could not be a vampire or werewolf. It was obviously sapient, so it wasn't one of the more elder variants of the undead, like a wanderer mummy or zombie. And the intruder had given no evidence of wiccan abilities. And why was he suddenly feeling this blood and fire coursing through him, as if he was somehow metamorphosing. And there was something else. Lindsey felt the burning incandescent desire to fight this creature, to best it, to slaughter and decapitate it. Why was he thinking like this?!
Then he saw the murder in the other's eyes, the arrogance and overconfidence and fury filled him. With a battlecry, he closed the distance and slashed the sword across, The other man seemed shocked and only just parried it. He found himself recalling the fencing days of his Oklahoma boyhood- hey, it was a free class, and he appreciated the opportunity to learn some self-defence tips. But this wasn't surrogate conflict, with masks and specialist suits and blunted blades. This was in deadly earnest. And on one level, Lindsey was ready to die. On one level, he wondered if the obvious experiential gap between them would start to tell and he would end up dead in the adjacent cactuses, bleeding into the desert heat. But no, something else had happened. It was as if the presence of the other stimulated him, metamorphosing into his new state. He felt like a chrysalis. What was going on here? He slashed down onto the other's arm. The intruder snarled in defiance, bewilderment and rage. He intensified his onslaught against Lindsey, but to Lindsey's surprise, he found he could match it, thrusting the intruder back. Then he felt a sharp, searing pain in his side as one swordblow connected hard. Through the pain, Lindsey parried the blow with difficulty, stumbled and fell backward. With a vicious snarl on his face and a victorious sneer, he brought the blade down at an angle, to shear Lindsey's head off. Adrenalin blurred Lindsey into motion and power as Lindsey rolled, brought his own blade up and swept across the desert morning.
In a minute, his world changed forever. The blade sliced through the other's head and oddly enough, no blood coursed outward, splattering him. Instead, a blinding vortex of energy shattered the other's body and arced toward Lindsey. In an instant, Lindsey was transfixed in light and power and startled, he felt his body healing almost instantaneously. He let loose an exalting yell and felt himself levitate from the ground. As he gradually recovered from his metamorphosis, Lindsey saw someone else. The stranger smiled:
"I see that you bested the Thracian. Well done."
"Look, if you're here to finish off what he started."
"You do not understand, Mr McDonald. My name is Methos. We have not met, but I am an Immortal. And now, so are you."
"Wha...? So that's what happened?! It's some sort of Hobbesian contest, survival of the fittest."
"Unfortunately, yes. It is how the process of emergence and transformation occurs, what we call the Quickening."
"I don't believe it. I...wanted to be like this so much and now...what do I do with this?"
"You will live on, Lindsey McDonald. You will need training and further discipline. But accident barred, you will live forever."
THE END
"Lindseycakes! Hey! Good to see you, sweetcheeks."
"I see you have an ensemble. Couldn't happen to a better guy."
"Nope, sorry. I'm in a sticky position. I was trying to launch a singing career but this gangster guy, DeMarco, tried to exploit me to get a grip on futures. So, I was counting on Angel and Charlie Gunn to get down here and help me out, only something's gone wrong back in Los Angeles."
"I see you resolved it yourself, though. But I thought you were a lover, not a fighter."
"What about you? You're not going back to Los Angeles, are you?" Lorne asked.
Lindsey shook his head: "Wolfram and Hart is yesterday. I'm never goin' back there. I don't intend to chance it. It might draw me back in again, corrupt me."
"Say, would you mind doing a number for me?" Lorne asked.
"Sure. Got the guitar in my car. Which one would you like?"
"How about a Beatles vintage number... Working Class Hero?"
"You're kiddin', right? Shit, I learnt to play when I was listenin' to some of Dad's old Beatles records. One'a my favourite tunes. Sure, buddy."
Lorne leant back and listened to the cover and how enthusiastically Lindsey tackled the evergreen ballad, how effortlessly, how passionately. He frowned and then gasped at the sounds and the empathic resonances that were coming through. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but there it is. Lindsey MacDonald's fate wasn't in Los Angeles any more, he was clean now...and something else. And he could see something that awaited him on the road, only hours from now. And another encounter with ..Angel...no! Lorne looked away, sick at heart at what he'd just seen. So that was it, was it? He'd never see his friend Angel again, or Cordelia, or Charlie, or Wes. A lump came to his throat and he began to cry. As Lindsey finished his number, he noticed Lorne's reaction:
"Wow. That good, eh?"
"I've never heard quite that take on it, before."
"Hey, it's been good, but I promised an old friend from law school I'd get back to California by tomorrow. Long drive. Good catchin' up, Lorne dude. Take care."
And with that, Lindsey MacDonald walked out of Caritas Las Vegas, out of the bar and his life. For a moment, he thought he should warn Lindsey about what would befall him. No. No, that might change Lindsey's destiny. And that must not happen. With a heavy heart, he looked down at the portal medallion on his chest. Sighing to himself, he turned and walked into his office, locking the door behind him. A minute later, it shone blue and there was a faint smell of lemongrass and lavendar. From that day, no-one saw him or even recalled the existence of the gentle Pylean empath. Timelines unravelled and destinies rearranged themselves around his absence. Lindsey MacDonald would not eat the corrupting apple of resentment and envy that would have led him back into the clutches of Wolfram and Hart, because Angel would never take that step as the already corrupted, dark Angelus.
Several hours later, in Death Valley, Lindsey drove across the border into California. He was unaware that something was observing him, tracking the movement of his car. It looked down at its GPS and noticed the absence of traffic along the highway. Not even long-distance trucking. It would make an excellent opportunity to nip the fledgeling before he realised what he could become. He had been born only roughly thirty years ago, he could have no awareness of what was involved in interpersonal combat, even given his prior legal services role to the Wolf. the Ram and the Hart.
But in the truck below, Lindsey felt his Nepalese pendant start to glow red. As it was jade, he frowned. Then he realised. He saw the helicopter then, and started to weave as a fusillade of bullets raked into the asphalt to the side of his car. Lindsay slammed on his brakes, threw himself out of his truck, and picked up a hunting rifle from his seat. He drew a bead on the oncoming helicopter and hit it, as if he had developed some paranormal sense. But then he noticed the copter autorotating down to a safe landing. He wasn't sure what was going on here. A tall, menacing figure leapt out in black leather, carrying a broad sword. Unbelievably. as Lindsey centred it with his sniper sight, he found he could not shoot the newcomer. He looked... archaic, somehow... like some sort of primitive warrior. Then he realised that there was a weight on his back. He drew out a samurai sword, an elegantly carved blade.
"I was mistaken. You do recognise what you are."
"Oklahoma farmboy, high-flier corporate lawyer, community lawyer, sometime musician if I can get a gig."
"Or then again, perhaps not. This will be brief, but I cannot declare it merciful."
"Look, man, can't we work this out like two normal human beings?"
"Do you not realise? Neither of us are that puny baseline. I have not been for many centuries. Nor will you be for much longer."
He couldn't work this out. This was morning and therefore this figure could not be a vampire or werewolf. It was obviously sapient, so it wasn't one of the more elder variants of the undead, like a wanderer mummy or zombie. And the intruder had given no evidence of wiccan abilities. And why was he suddenly feeling this blood and fire coursing through him, as if he was somehow metamorphosing. And there was something else. Lindsey felt the burning incandescent desire to fight this creature, to best it, to slaughter and decapitate it. Why was he thinking like this?!
Then he saw the murder in the other's eyes, the arrogance and overconfidence and fury filled him. With a battlecry, he closed the distance and slashed the sword across, The other man seemed shocked and only just parried it. He found himself recalling the fencing days of his Oklahoma boyhood- hey, it was a free class, and he appreciated the opportunity to learn some self-defence tips. But this wasn't surrogate conflict, with masks and specialist suits and blunted blades. This was in deadly earnest. And on one level, Lindsey was ready to die. On one level, he wondered if the obvious experiential gap between them would start to tell and he would end up dead in the adjacent cactuses, bleeding into the desert heat. But no, something else had happened. It was as if the presence of the other stimulated him, metamorphosing into his new state. He felt like a chrysalis. What was going on here? He slashed down onto the other's arm. The intruder snarled in defiance, bewilderment and rage. He intensified his onslaught against Lindsey, but to Lindsey's surprise, he found he could match it, thrusting the intruder back. Then he felt a sharp, searing pain in his side as one swordblow connected hard. Through the pain, Lindsey parried the blow with difficulty, stumbled and fell backward. With a vicious snarl on his face and a victorious sneer, he brought the blade down at an angle, to shear Lindsey's head off. Adrenalin blurred Lindsey into motion and power as Lindsey rolled, brought his own blade up and swept across the desert morning.
In a minute, his world changed forever. The blade sliced through the other's head and oddly enough, no blood coursed outward, splattering him. Instead, a blinding vortex of energy shattered the other's body and arced toward Lindsey. In an instant, Lindsey was transfixed in light and power and startled, he felt his body healing almost instantaneously. He let loose an exalting yell and felt himself levitate from the ground. As he gradually recovered from his metamorphosis, Lindsey saw someone else. The stranger smiled:
"I see that you bested the Thracian. Well done."
"Look, if you're here to finish off what he started."
"You do not understand, Mr McDonald. My name is Methos. We have not met, but I am an Immortal. And now, so are you."
"Wha...? So that's what happened?! It's some sort of Hobbesian contest, survival of the fittest."
"Unfortunately, yes. It is how the process of emergence and transformation occurs, what we call the Quickening."
"I don't believe it. I...wanted to be like this so much and now...what do I do with this?"
"You will live on, Lindsey McDonald. You will need training and further discipline. But accident barred, you will live forever."
THE END