[livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse #233 Uninvited Guests

Oct. 28th, 2009 12:54 am
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (eyebrow))
[personal profile] foreverwarrior
Surprise! Your mother/a priest/an arch nemesis/the tax man/dinosaurs/your ex/a famous talk show host is at the door -- and at a most inopportune moment! Now what?!

It wasn't often that I indulged in making a batch of fudge, but it was definitely one of those days when I needed a bit of chocolate. Luckily, I already had everything on hand and wouldn't need to go to the market for anything. So, into the pot on the stove went the sugar, chocolate, condensed milk, and other ingredients. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I'm a right grouch when I'm cooking. I can be a bit of a perfectionist about food, as with a lot of other things, and I don't tolerate interruptions very well. And, wouldn't you know, that's exactly what happened.

There I am, stirring what I'm hoping will turn into a right tasty bit of fudge, when someone starts in to knocking on my front door. And it's an Immortal, to boot. Problem being, I can't exactly walk away from the stove unless I want what's in the pot to turn into a congealed blob of shite. Until it started boiling, I was pretty well stuck listening to my unexpected, and much uninvited, guest bang on the door. Naturally, it didn't do a thing for my temper. Whoever it was could wait a bit before chopping my head off.

After the fudge finally came to a boil, I grabbed Bragloré from over the mantle and went to answer the bloody door. I was in a right mood, and it certainly wouldn't be my head that'd end up rolling. Swearing some very colorful Celtic curses under my breath, I yanked open the door.

"Ye'd best be tellin' me what's so bloody important I damn near ruin a perfectly good batch of fudge."

"Fudge?" the woman asked, surprised.

I stood in the doorway and stared at the pair of them. One I knew, though it'd been close-on to forty years since I'd seen him. The other was a long, lean brunette, and barely into her Immortality if I was any judge of it. I crossed my arms and glared.

"Aye, fudge," I retorted. "Live long enough, you learn howta cook. Mind tellin' me what the bloody hell's going on, Lance?"

I didn't care if that wasn't his latest incarnation or not. Thing of it was, we first met at Camelot, and I always thought "Lancelot" was a bit of a mouthful. So, I began calling him "Lance" and it stuck. To his credit, he looked a bit on the sheepish side when he introduced his ladyfriend.

"I'd like you to meet Natalie Bruenner," he replied.

I was still a bit peevish about the interruption, not to mention I wasn't too happy about Lance bringing round his latest fling when we hadn't so much as spoken in the past four decades. Add to that the fact the bloke couldn't've called first, and I wasn't exactly feeling sociable.

"And who is she?" I asked pointedly.

"Can we talk about this inside?" he asked, instead.

"Alright, fine," I said on an irritated sigh before showing them into the kitchen. "Need to make sure the bloody fudge hasn't boiled over."

I didn't miss the look one Natalie Bruenner gave Lance as I hung Bragloré in her spot above the fireplace. Apparently, I wasn't quite what she was expecting. That made two of us. I didn't think Lance was much into the beanpole type.

"So, you're the famous Guinevere," Natalie said with a smirk as she sat down at the kitchen table.

I gritted my teeth, and checked the pot. With her attitude and my temper, we would more than likely end up crossing blades at one point or another. Though it wouldn't be much of a contest. Pity, that.

"And yer Lance's new ladylove," I snarked back.

Natalie blinked at me in surprise. "You're jealous."

I simply glared at her before rummaging around for my candy thermometer. So what if I was. Though we weren't much on speaking terms, over the years, Lance had been the closest thing I'd had to a best friend. I leaned back against the counter and crossed my arms.

"Mind telling me what th'hell's going on, Lance?" I repeated. The sot still hadn't answered my original question.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I knew that meant whatever he had to say next, I probably wouldn't much like. Just terrific.

"Fer Chrissakes, Lance, jes come out an' tell me," I argued. Lance glared.

"The man died on a cross. Show Him a little respect."

"Guess who put Him there, you dolt! Bloody bunch of Romans!"

He gritted his teeth before answering. "You're not still angry about that are you?"

I glared right back at him. "Let's see how you feel after being flogged publicly and forced to watch yer own daughters bein' raped. Not t'mention what He went through, bein' humiliated an' all."

"But I didn't think Immortals could have kids," Natalie interrupted.

"Maybe not physically, but we can sure as hell love them as though they were our own," I snapped, peevishly. "You still haven't answered m'question, Lancelot."

"Natalie's a bit new to all of this," he replied finally.

"Aye, I thought as much," I answered, "but that still doesn't much explain what th'hell yer doin' here."

"I was hoping maybe you'd train Natalie," he finally blurted.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Yer outta yer bloody mind! Ye turn up here after not saying a word for forty bleedin' years, and just expect me to train yer new girlfriend outta the kindness of m'heart?"

I was surprised when Natalie actually clouted the back of Lance's head with her hand. "You jerk! You told me you called here and everything was alright!"

I had to suppress a smile. Maybe we would get along at that.

"It's not like that," he tried to argue. "Natalie isn't..."

His voice trailed off at the look in her dark eyes, daring him to complete his thought.

"Alright," I said slowly. "Best tell me what it is like, then."

"I was there when Natalie died," Lance answered.

He then went on to tell the tale of how Natalie had arrived in his new hometown looking for a little girl and how they'd followed a false lead, at Natalie's insistence, that in turn got her killed. Lance paused to glare at her for her antics, and I was a bit stunned that she actually looked a tad downcast for it.

"And this all happened...?" I prompted.

"Two weeks ago," Lance replied.

"God Almighty!" I exclaimed. She was a newborn, Immortally speaking. "I hadn't quite realized she was that young."

Natalie crossed her arms defiantly.

"Why don't ye train her yerself?" I asked.

"I could train her to fight, sure," Lance answered. "But there's a lot more to it than I could teach her, especially for her being a woman."

"And ye just show up, outta th'blue an' expect me t'take her in," I snarked.

"Look, if you don't want to do it, I can look after myself," Natalie shot back.

The timer for the fudge beeped, signaling it had boiled long enough. I turned off the stove, but left the pot. It'd be a bit before it cooled low enough for stirring.

"Can ye, then?" I snapped. "Follow me."

I led Natalie and Lance out to the converted garage where I'd kept all my workout equipment. Stepping inside the dojo-like interior, I kicked off my trainers before retrieving two wooden practice swords. I tossed one to Natalie, who barely managed to catch it, and looked mighty proud of herself when she did.

"Hit me," I commanded.

"What?" she replied.

"Hit me," I answered. "If ye can."

Natalie narrowed her dark eyes before swinging the bokken towards me like a baseball bat. I easily evaded her, bringing my own wooden sword against her back with a sharp rap. She hissed in pain, and began to fight in earnest.

I could've ended the bout quickly, but Natalie needed to know just how much she had to learn. I either evaded or blocked all but about two or three of her blows before landing one to her neck. Had I been yielding Bragloré, Natalie wouldn't've seen her next birthday.

"What was that ye were sayin' about lookin' after yerself?" I asked, putting the bokken away.

"So, you'll train her?" Lance asked as we left the gym.

"We'll see."

Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
1530 Words
Natalie, [personal profile] jurisimmortalis, & Lance, [personal profile] her_champion, are Quinn's headmates.
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