foreverwarrior: (Miranda (b/w sword))
Things remained strained between Natalie and Quinn ever since Nat had talked to her Teacher about meeting two other Immortals. Both had called Nat's Training into question and one had even remarked that Teachers often took their own Student's heads. Needless to say, Quinn hadn't been very fond of that remark.

Both women remained silent as they ran along a path in Central Park. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the Park was pretty much deserted. People were either traveling or taking the day off. The early morning air was fresh, crisp and tinged with the sharp scent of fallen leaves. Deep shadows still clung to the trees, and Natalie almost missed the figure standing perfectly still in the middle of the trail nearly thirty feet away.

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Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander/Immortal OC
1830 Words
Natalie is [livejournal.com profile] jurisimmortalis & mine to use.
Connor is [livejournal.com profile] immortal_connor & written by his scribe.
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (listening red))
 Natalie didn't think Immortals could get sore, but she was wrong, again. Quinn was a hard teacher and definitely subscribed to the schools of hard-knocks and tough-love respectively. If she'd expected to be "mollycoddled" as Quinn put it, she'd have to find another teacher. Their lessons weren't always about fighting though. Natalie had learned how to change her appearance by using makeup, contacts, wigs and clothing. She'd been surprised when her eighteen-year-old self had stared back at her from the mirror. An hour later, she looked nearly sixty.

"So, why didn't you and Lance ever get together?" Natalie asked over tea one afternoon. "You know he's crazy about you."

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Quinn replied tartly.

Natalie sensed the other Immortal was still a little upset that her old protector had shown up, unannounced, and expected her to teach her without asking about it first. Natalie felt like a child all over again, not really given a choice as to what she wanted, just handed a life she didn't ask for. It didn't really surprise her when, after three days of seemingly endless fighting, Lance just tossed up his hands in the air and left, without Natalie.

"I'm plenty pissed at him, myself," Natalie replied, as though she didn't hear. "He knew I was a pre-Immortal, but never said a word, and then he just dumps me on your doorstep without even saying 'good-bye'."

Quinn harrumphed. "That's a Roman for you."

Natalie thought back to a conversation she'd had with Lance the day after her First Death. "Yeah, he mentioned something about Boudica. What's that about?"

Quinn looked at her over the brim of her teacup. "What did he say?"

"Nothing, only to ask you about it."

Quinn sighed and set down her cup. "I had met Prasutagus shortly before the birth of his second daughter. I had taken on an identity of a wise woman, a healer and midwife, and everyone knew that his wife's pregnancy was extremely high risk. What surprised everyone was how much we looked alike. We both had the same red hair, the same build. When her time came, it was all I could do to save the babe. She suffered what we now knows as a hemorrhage. In his grief, Prasutagus started calling me 'Boudica,' and I didn't have the heart to convince him otherwise. So, I naturally assumed the role of wife and mother. Taya and Ciara became my daughters. I watched them grow, taught them as my own.

"Shortly after Ciara was born, Claudius negotiated a peace treaty between the Icini and the Romans," she continued. "The basic terms were that when and if Prasutagus died, his lands would fall to Taya and Ciara with an agreement of alliance to Rome. Prasutagus lived for another fourteen years before closing his eyes for the last time. Nero was on the throne then and didn't believe that women had any right to property, and so Taya's and Ciara's claims were null and void.

"I was livid, to say the least," she added. "Who were these intruders, these bullying blowhards, to say what my daughters could and could not inherit? During the fourteen years Rome had occupied Icini lands, they had turned our sacred sites into temples to their own gods and goddesses. They completely disregarded everything we held dear, and to say Taya and Ciara were little more than chattel added insult to injury. Naturally, I argued their case in front of Governor Gaius Suetonius Paulinus."

Natalie could tell that there was some deep-seated anger, and that even after all these centuries, Quinn was still angry about the injustices.

"What happened?" Natalie asked, curiously.

Hatred glittered deep in Quinn's eyes, and Natalie suppressed a flinch. "I was stripped to the waist and flogged. Publicly. So badly I nearly passed out. And though I may not be Christian, I can certainly sympathize with what He went through."

Natalie was dumbfounded. "Flogged? Like with a belt?"

"No," Quinn answered shortly. "You know what a cat-o-nine-tails is?" Natalie nodded. "Imagine something like that only with weights attached every six inches or so."

"But what about your Immortality?" Natalie couldn't help asking. "Wouldn't they notice the wounds healing quickly?"

"I was still young then," Quinn answered. "Less than a hundred years old. It probably took a week or so before I was back to normal."

"A week? But I was only out for sixteen hours when I died."

"First Deaths are unique that way. No one knows why." Quinn took a sip of tea before continuing. "At any rate, the flogging had the opposite effect that the Roman's had planned for. Instead of taming the shrew, it actually infuriated the Icini. That someone would do that to their queen had many talking about revolt. To try and quell those ideas, the Romans raped my daughters thinking that by deflowering them, it would make them less attractive as women. Taya was sixteen and Ciara was fourteen."

Natalie couldn't help but think of little Sarah Knightly who had been raped repeatedly, nearly daily, for two years, and she wasn't even ten yet. It was enough to make her sick. "Was Lance...?"

"No, he wasn't one of the men," Quinn answered. "If he had been, you can bet I would've taken his head a long time ago. As it was, I ordered one of our Druids to make an example of someone. I didn't care who, or how, but someone, anyone, needed to pay."

Again, Natalie thought of Steve Johnson who was pushing up daisies as they spoke. She doubted she would ever see the man as anything more than a depraved child molester. In a way, she could understand Quinn's issue with Rome, even after all this time. But Natalie could tell there was more to the story. Quinn shook her head.

"No, that's not all," she answered. "Three settlements and seventy-five thousand people later, I finally met my Thermopylae."

"Don't you mean Waterloo?"

Quinn shook her head again. "Thermopylae is more apt. Waterloo hadn't happened yet, and the Roman forces only numbered around four hundred where I commanded nearly two hundred, thirty-five thousand angry Britons. The Roman's chose the battlefield well. Trees prevented us from flanking them, and the low hills served as a bottleneck. They might've had the smaller force, but they were better trained and better armed. Had I won the battle, Nero would've pulled his forces from Briton altogether, but as it was, I failed."

Natalie nodded as she took a sip of tea. "Then, to your surprise, Lance shows up centuries later as one of Arthur's best friends."

"I didn't know he was Roman then," Quinn said defensively. "He and I never met before Camelot. He never told me about his upbringing until we crossed paths again during the Middle Ages."

"Is that why you won't give him a chance?" Natalie asked, trying to be tactful. "He couldn't exactly help being Roman, you know."

Quinn sighed and sipped on her own tea. "The thing of it is, he was never man enough for me."

Natalie nearly choked on her biscuit. She remembered Lance's towering, brawny physique well. Quinn gave her a stern glare.

"I don't mean physically," she retorted. "To Lance I'm always going to be his Queen and he's always going to be a subject. He'll fight for my honour, but will never fight me as a person. Until he does, until he stands up to me, I don't see it going anywhere."

It made a strange sort of sense. Throughout most of his life, Lance had identified with the motto "to serve and protect." The man practically had it tattooed to his forehead. When Natalie had gone her own way during their investigation, didn't listen to him, and got killed in the process, it pissed him off but good. Because he couldn't protect her. Because she wouldn't let him. Even though Natalie had never been anyone's subject, she knew enough that one, except maybe a king, never, ever, negated a queen, and to use an obviously-popular quote, "not nobody, not nohow."

"And that three-day-fight?" Natalie argued.

"He was definitely going the right way," Quinn admitted. "But he still left. Now, if we're done talking about my love life, we'd best get back to your training."
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (embarassed/shy))
Where: Eastern New Mexico
When: February 14, 1986
Alias: Elaine Brown


"Marry me."

I nearly choked on my mouthful of hashbrowns, and stared at him. "I... Uh... What?"

He smiled at my nearly being speechless. "I know this isn't the most romantic spot to ask and all, but you know the kids love you."

He was right about that. A Waffle House somewhere in the middle of eastern New Mexico wasn't exactly a ritzy restaurant in Paris. I stared at him and then looked over at the two kids swinging back and forth on the counter stools.

Truth was, I loved them, too. And they needed a mom. And I liked feeling needed.

I looked at him again, speechless. There he was, in a faded cotton shirt, his best jeans, the belt buckle he'd just won, and his brown sweat-stained hat on the seat next to him, upside down. I watched as he dug around in his pocket, not an easy thing to do, given the fit of the Wranglers. He pulled something out, but kept it in his hand so I wouldn't see it.

"This was my granma's," he said softly. "It's the only thing I have of hers. Normally, I'd wanta ask your daddy first, but since he ain't here..."

My throat closed on the lie. I'd tried to avoid him out on the circuit. I wanted time to myself, time to forget about the past ninety years. But he was always there, every rodeo, every town, every motel. That had lasted all of three months. The next three months were spent getting to know him and his two kids.

"Wade, I..." I tried to protest.

He then showed me the ring: a deep green emerald in a platinum setting. My heart stopped. I didn't realize he was serious.

"But... I... you don't know anything about me," I finally managed to say.

"The way I figure it, we've got the rest of our lives to sort all that out," he answered simply. "Besides, Elaine, no one's supposed to be alone. Even you."

The small restaurant turned into a massive watery blur as I realized he was right. So what if he was a mortal and I wasn't? We could make it work, couldn't we?

Two weeks later, we were standing in front of a Justice of the Peace in Albuquerque, and I hadn't known him for a full year. Funny how things work out.
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (looking down/soft smile))
Where: Lubbock, Texas
When: August, 1985
Alias: Elaine Brown


I was standing by the trailer, brushing down Falling Water, when a child squealed happily. I looked over my shoulder to watch as a man swung a little girl up from the ground and almost over his head in one swift move. The girl, probably no older than four, shrieked with glee.

"Again, Daddy!" she demanded.

I smiled to myself as I went back to grooming the buckskin. Falling Water and I had been together almost a year and a half. He'd been named for a Cheyenne friend from long ago, and I knew he would be honored to have his name passed to such a beautiful animal.

Falling Water's last owner and I hadn't quite seen eye-to-eye. John Clark's original intention was to turn the buckskin into a saddle bronc. Anyone with eyes could see the horse didn't have a mean bone in his body, and that made training him all the easier. It had taken a few months, but Falling Water went from a skittish, abused, ex-bronc to a much happier cutting horse; once he got over his fear of saddles, of course.

"Nice horsey."

I looked down to see a small boy, probably not much older than two and a half standing close to the horse's left front leg. My back went stiff as a board. Falling Water hadn't been around kids at all and I didn't know how he'd react to the youngling.

With my heart in my mouth, I watched as he swung his head down to inspect the boy, whose shirt was covered with sno-cone syrup. The buckskin lipped at the material, but didn't bite him. The boy laughed and tried to cover up his belly.

"Tickles!"

I couldn't help smiling as Falling Water gently blew into the tyke's face before turning away. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked around for the child's parents. Luckily, I didn't have to look too far.

"Scotty!" I heard a man call out.

I turned to see the father and daughter I'd spotted a few minutes before. The little girl was now on his shoulders as he hurried over to his son.

I had to admit, he was kinda cute. He wasn't really all that tall, most bullriders weren't, and judging from the belt buckle, he'd won a few go-rounds. He was wiry, another characteristic of a good bullrider, with bright blue eyes and a chiseled face. Yeah, he was definitely cute.

"Scotty!" he scolded the young boy, as he set down his daughter. "You know better than to wander off like that!"

Immediately, the boy's face fell. "Just wanted to say hi to horsey."

"I know, but not all horseys like little boys," his father replied, then turned to me. "Sorry if he's been any trouble."

"Don't worry about it," I replied, tossing Falling Water's brush into a bucket that I used for all his currying things.

"By the way, I'm Wade Jameson, and this here's Erin," he said, patting the little girl on the head, "and you've already met Scotty."

"Elaine Brown," I replied, shaking the hand he'd offered.

"Nice to meet you," he said smiling.

It was a nice smile that lit up his face under the dark brim of his cowboy hat, and I found myself smiling back.

"You too."

"You from around here?" he asked.

"Nah, Colorado," my mouth lied easily. "Manitou Springs."

Well, it was partially true. I'd lived near there under the alias Kate Darcy for awhile, but that was over a century ago.

"So, what brings you out on the circuit?"

"Woman's gotta make a living," another lie. "Trained Falling Water and if I can make a name for myself as a trainer, I'd like to start up some kind of ranch. Maybe do a bit of stock contracting."

Sometimes, I just don't know where my mouth comes up with things like that, but as my head thought about it, I realized it wasn't such a half-bad idea after all. Wade, in the meanwhile, looked impressed.

"What about you?" I returned the question.

"Got these two to feed," he answered, looking down at his kids.

"Where's their mama?" I asked impulsively.

"Gone," Wade answered simply, looking back up at me.

I could tell by the look in his blue eyes that she wasn't "dead gone" but definitely wasn't around anymore. I felt an upsurge in anger that anyone could throw away not one, but two, kids she'd given birth to. For someone who couldn't have any kids, it just pissed me off, but I quickly got my temper back under control.

"Sorry to hear that," I replied.

"Not your fault," Wade answered. "You gonna be in town long?"

I shook my head. "Heading up to Pueblo after tomorrow."

Wade smiled, and I could see a bit of mischief behind it. "Alright, we'll probably see you there."

Just then, the loud speakers blared with an announcement for all the cutting entries to make their way over to the arena.

"That's me," I said, picking up Falling Water's saddle from nearby. Wade nodded.

"C'mon, let's go find some seats," he said to the kids, then plopping Scotty down on his shoulders, he took Erin by the hand.

"Bye, horsey!" Scotty called, waving.
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (eyebrow))
{For Mun/Immortal/Watcher Knowledge Only}

January, 1980
Studio 54, New York City


The music was loud, the drugs high quality, and the club was packed. If you could get in, you were pretty much guaranteed to bump into some of the better-known celebs of the day. I had barely walked through the door when my club friends descended on me en masse. There were, of course, the usual greetings of hugs and air-kisses before everyone climbed the stairs up to the balcony where we could see, be seen, and fly high.

I was just beginning to get a buzz from my first line of the evening when Danny plopped down on the couch next to me. He was already giddy from a cocktail of booze and probably a half-dozen or so different meds.

“Ever been to a rodeo, Nikki?” he laughed. “With actual by-god cowboys?”
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foreverwarrior: (Miranda (fearless))
Where: New York City
When: May, 1979
Alias: Nikki Charles


Getting tattooed had originally been Danny's idea. He was such a girl about it that I often wondered what had possessed him to get "inked" in the first place. So, thinking it would be gone the next day, I decided to be Danny's guinea pig.

At first I didn't know what to get. Butterflies seemed so commonplace. I wasn't into cartoons so stuff like Tigger or Betty Boop just didn't do anything for me. I still believed in the old gods, so crosses were out. But that gave me an idea. I talked it over with one of the artists, and he sketched out a black and gray fehu. The only other question was where to put it?

Artisans often drew or sculpted Freyja to the left of her twin brother Freyr, so I started thinking: left ankle, maybe? No, too many people put their tattoos on their ankles and I wanted to be different. So, I opted for the inside of my left wrist, about an inch above my watch-line. It would still be painful, but it would show Danny that there really wasn't anything to be afraid of. So, with the self-proclaimed "King of Queer" by my side, I watched as the needle buzzed black ink into my skin.

Yes, it hurt. It felt like an itching burn, but compared to the various injuries and duels I'd had over the centuries, as well as subsequent Quickenings, it was tolerable. To a point, it was almost mesmerizing to watch as though the pain, and my arm, belonged to someone else.

"So, what's it mean anyway?" the artist asked. "What'd you say it was? Fay-hoo?"

"It's an old Norse rune," I answered over the buzz of the needle. "It's the first letter in the alphabet. It's the symbol of Freyja, the Norse goddess of war, love, lust, harvest. It also means luck and hope as well as wealth and success."

"All that, huh?" Danny asked, amazed. "How'd you know about it?"

Because I'm almost 2,000 years old, I answered silently. Because I was raised on the sagas of Freyja and Freyr, Odin and Thor. Because I was named after Freyja, herself.

"Oh, I had a friend before I came here who got interested in all that runic 'new age' stuff and I thought it was interesting," I lied.

"Alright, let me just add some white highlighting to this and you'll be done," the artist said, thankfully filling any awkward space.

The needle buzzed once again and as it added white to the morass of grays and black taking shape on my wrist. Just a few more quick jolts and it was finished. The artist washed off the surface ink with some water and revealed the finished piece.

"So, whaddya think?"

"Wow," I said, honestly. "Just 'wow'."

The fehu was three inches long and about an inch and a half or so wide centered perfectly on the inside of my left wrist. I had to admit, I'd actually feel sorry to look at that spot in the morning and find it gone. Except that didn't happen.

"My turn!" Danny announced proudly.
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (b/w sword))
When: September, 1875
Where: Near Manitou Springs, Colorado
Alias: Kate Darcy

The fire was warm on her feet as she leaned back against her saddle. The smell of the venison stew filled the small clearing. It wasn't the best meal she'd had in her nineteen centuries, but it wasn't the worst. Someone (a former husband perhaps?) had once remarked that all she needed was a pot and a fire and she could cook just about anything. The memory amused her.

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Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
965 Words
In fannish memory of David Carradine. Rest in peace, Grasshopper.
Special thanks to the writer of [livejournal.com profile] dani_kypros for beta-ing this, even though it's been years since either of us have watched the show.

Music Meme

Oct. 27th, 2009 10:16 pm
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (Victorian Elegance))
Prelude from Partita No. 3 ~ Johann Sebastian Bach [listen]
When: April, 1793
Where: Yorkshire, England
Alias: Victoria Wyndham


The spring air was cool and the sky was a brilliant shade of crystal blue. And it was a day best spent out of doors. Lady Grammerly had arranged a picnic luncheon to be held at her estate and Victoria had graciously accepted the invitation, along with quite a few of the other neighboring families.

Most of the attendees reclined on a grassy hill overlooking the estate proper. A meal of fresh fruits, breads, cheeses and wines had been prepared and brought to the knoll. Soon after the picnic was started in earnest, a Mr. Thomas Remington was encouraged to produce his violin. Much pleading was required for him to play, but eventually he took up his bow.

Sweet, clear tones soon filled the meadow adding perfect counterpart to the sounds of nature. Though Victoria couldn't play an instrument of her own, she nevertheless found great joy in the beauty of the piece, and enjoyed it immensely.
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (fearless))

Wherever I May Roam ~ Metallica
[listen, lyrics]
When: October, 1792
Where: France
Alias: Gabrielle Valmont


Mist swirled around her as the horse galloped down the road. Dawn was only an hour away and she need to reach Calais. The country was roiling with words of "révolution" and "guillotine." She had to escape.

Wind tore at her coat. She wasn't so foolish as to try and ride in full skirts and corset. A tricorn was pulled to her brow and her long, red hair was tied back in a queue. Only her soft features would give clue that she wasn't what she seemed.

Though the night was silent, she could almost hear the shouts of the rioters behind her. In days past, she might've taken up their cause, but their new weapon turned her blood cold in fear. She knew it wasn't just the nobility that were hunted, but also those like herself.

Light crept onto the road and Calais was only a few miles ahead. She would miss the physical belongings she had left behind, but had decided to spare no time packing them. Instead, she simply changed into a man's costume, strapped her ages-old sword to her back, and had disappeared from the Valmont estate that very night.

Since then, she had called the road her home for nearly a week. She could've stayed at several inns along the route, but was wary of such establishments. Instead, she chose to make camp where she could. Luckily, she remembered enough woodslore to live off the land, as it were.


foreverwarrior: (Miranda (b/w sword))
Quinn and Kit as pirates.
Two strangers in a pub griping about boyfriends past.
Quinn is one of Kit's teachers.


Sorry, I couldn't resist combining them. :D

The port of Tortuga was lively that night, and the Oar and Rudder was the rowdiest grog shop on the waterfront. Voices were raised either in song or argument while billiard balls clashed in another room and rum flowed like water. It was a grand escape from life aboard ship, and Captain Jacqueline Ravenwood, Jac to those who knew her, was glad to be on shore, at least for the next few days.

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foreverwarrior: (Miranda (b/w orly))
Continued from here.

When: April, 1630
Where: Paris, France
Alias: Gabrielle Dubois Vicomtesse d'Anjou


Pacing always helped her think. She couldn't very well give Cardinal Richelieu what he wanted. A man like that? Immortal? She shuddered to think. She had to act, now. Staying there until morning would spell her doom.

Cautiously, she crept to the door and peered through the keyhole. Two guards stood at either side of the door. Getting past them would be difficult at best, but not entirely impossible. It was the rest of the palace that would present the real problem.

She continued to pace, toying with the the gold, dragon-crested ring on her right hand. Though Arthur had been dead for centuries, wearing the ring helped remind her of her role in history. A warm sense of determined fury filled her veins.
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foreverwarrior: (Miranda (Guinevere))
As requested by [livejournal.com profile] rude_not_ginger

Tourney days were always the highlight of summer. Crowds filled Camelot lands, dotting the landscape with brightly-coloured tents. Merchants brought their wares, farmers sold their crops, and the scents of roasting meat, baking bread, and bubbling pies filled the air.

She loved walking amongst the everyday crowd. To that end, she had slipped out of her rooms and donned a more humble dress. Only her dragon-crested ring marked her as anyone out of the ordinary.

She wasn't simple enough to think that her disguise was foolproof. Many of the stall-keepers and some of the other gentry knew her on sight. Most tolerated her strange behaviour with a small nod of acknowledgement, and she knew that any stall where she paused would see an influx of business within moments of her departure. Everyone wanted to know what she had said, or bought, and the merchants would be busy for the rest of the afternoon. She had just complimented a fabric merchant on a particular bolt of fine blue velvet when someone caught her eye.

He was unlike anyone else she had seen. His close-cropped brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and a most interesting suit of brown clothes hung from his wiry frame. Over the suit, he wore a strange, sleeved robe. What intrigued her the most was his manner of speech.

"Brilliant! Would you look at that?" he muttered to himself with all the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a small boy. "I've always wanted one of those!"

She approached him curiously. "Sir? Are you quite well?"

"Never better!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. "I must say, the things you humans have managed to create without electricity is absolutely fantastic!"

If she hadn't had half the conversations with Merlin as she did, she would have been utterly confused. As it was, she wondered if he was another wizard. She had just opened her mouth to speak when he spotted a jeweler’s stall and began walking towards it. Several people gasped as he turned his back to her.

"What? What is it? What happened?" he asked turning his head, looking around for the object of their chagrin.

She cleared her throat with a mild, wry smile. "My name is Guinevere Pendragon."

"Blimey! Are you really?" he asked, astonished.

"And you are?" she prompted, holding out her hand for him.

"The Doctor," he grinned, pumping her hand enthusiastically.

A few people looked at him in consternation, but she simply smiled, not letting his behaviour bother her. In fact, she found it rather charming.

"Well, then, Doctor. How do you find our little tourney?" she asked politely as they continued to walk down the row of stalls.

"Oh, I didn’t find it," he replied. "The TARDIS did. Simply mentioned I fancied a bit of jousting and here I am. Brilliant, ay?"

"TARDIS?" she repeated, confused. "What is that?"

"She, actually," he answered, almost distractedly.

"Alright, what is she?" Guinevere asked, curiously.

"Time And Relative Dimensions In Space," he muttered. Then his eye landed on a nearby fruit cart. "Gutted! No bananas! I mean, there wouldn’t be would there? They haven’t been discovered yet, have they? By Western Europeans, I mean."

"The TARDIS. Is that your…" she paused looking for the right word. "Ship?"

"Not really, no," he replied evasively and quickly walked to a glassmaker’s stall. "Hello! What have we here?"

He promptly picked up a multi-faceted prism nearly the size and shape of an apple. Holding it up to the sunlight, he was quickly covered in small rainbows.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked excitedly.

"A prism," she replied simply.

"Well, yes. Besides that," he answered. She shook her head in confusion. "I’ve been looking for one of these for ages! It’s a Multi-Beam Refractor Unit, and it’s exactly what I need to fix the TARDIS’ chameleon circuit! Brilliant!"

He then prattled on about the faulty circuit and its repairs. She quickly realized she had absolutely no understanding of half the things he said. Perhaps Merlin…

"Well! This has been interesting, but I need to be off," he grinned, and quickly started walking in the other direction.

"What about the jousting?" she called after him, most unladylike.

"Some other time!" he replied with a wave and disappeared into the crowd. "Nice meeting you, though!"

She stared after him, equal parts confused, amused, and indignant. It wasn’t often that someone rendered her absolutely speechless. Gathering her skirts, she walked quickly back to the castle to have a word with Merlin. Maybe he could explain the odd man’s even stranger behaviour.



{And thanks to [livejournal.com profile] handysparehand for the beta/review! *G*}
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (fearless))
When: October, 62 AD
Where: Venonæ, Britannia (High Cross, Lutterworth, Warwickshire, UK)
Alias: Boudica


Bodies littered the ground, broken and bloodied. Half her forces had not survived to see sunset. Half or more of those that remained told the story of the battle in wounds and severed limbs. Over a hundred thousand against maybe five hundred and still, she had lost. Carrion birds squawked and argued amongst themselves for the best morsels. Her stomach churned in revolt, knowing they feasted upon those she had just that morning called friend and ally. Wind whipped at her cloak, bringing with it the vile stench of death as the sun slowly slid below the horizon. For a moment, the sky turned as bloody as the field below.

"Lady Boudica." She knew the Druid, Irial, by voice alone.

"I am dead," she said without turning.

"My lady?"

"Tell them I am dead."

"But... why?"

"How do you expect me to face them after this?" She waved a hand in the direction of the mutilated carnage. "Taya and Ciara will understand. Our lands belong to the Romans now. There's nothing for me here."

"Where will you go?"

"North."

"To the land of the Prydyn?"

Her only answer was mounting the horse standing nearby.

"What should I tell the others?"

"That I took poison and was given a proper funeral."

Of course, that meant a pyre and her ashes scattered to the four winds. The Druids would find no shortage of volunteers to play her part.

"Be well, my lady. The gods have honoured us with your presence."

"And you have honoured them, Irial. Be well."

The Druid raised his hand in solemn salute and watched in silence as she rode into the oncoming night.



In response to [livejournal.com profile] _call_me_snake_'s question here.
Note: Names (aside from Boudica's) are fictional. Ciara is pronounced Key-ARE-ah.
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (fearless))
{OOC: I know some community somewhere has posted a "fury" prompt, I'm just too lazy to look it up.}

October, 60CE
Near present-day Norfolk
Alias: Boudica



I stormed into the tent where my generals and council had gathered. The wounds to my back still oozed blood and the warm liquid trickled down between my buttocks. They (five generals, two advisors and a Druid) looked up from the war table around which they all stood. Braziers of flame illuminated their curious glances.

“My lady,” Chief Councilor Aedan greeted me.

I ignored him and the glances of the others. Instead, I stripped bare to the skin so all could witness the results of the flogging I had received at Roman hands. They fell silent as the welts and gashes were revealed. I slammed my hand on the war table, feeling the wood shudder beneath my wrath.

“I will have vengeance!” I shouted. “Not for myself, but for my daughters.”

“Your daughters?” the Druid asked, confused.

“Yes, Irial,” I hissed. “Both were raped. By Romans.”

Scowls formed at my blunt words. Each began to murmur to the others in angered tones. This was worse, oh so much worse, than the Romans taxing our people to build their temples on our holiest of grounds.

“Someone needs to be made an example,” I seethed. “I don’t care who, or how, but they will pay for this. I will have my vengeance, or I will die trying. Rome needs to learn that they cannot simply deflower my daughters without retribution. I want Nero himself to remember my name, and my fury. And I want every last putrid Roman to leave these lands and return to Gaul with terror in their hearts. Now go!

Each bowed their heads and murmured a “yes, my lady,” before leaving the tent until only the Druid remained. I shook my head, feeling my coppery locks sticking to the blood of my back. I did not want to know what the gods had in store for one hapless Roman whose only crime was his chosen occupation.


Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
316 words



Mun note: This does not reflect on any other character(s). As far as she knows, the Roman could've been strung up by his balls to rot drawn & quartered.

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