boundprometheus

Mon, 07 Feb 2005 23:10:58 GMT

Richie, you have quite ruined me. All this time in Sri Lanka and I am absolutely craving a cheeseburger.

I will scold you fiercely when I've returned. In the meantime I've discovered that despite my very many uses, one thing I am completely no good for is the role of pack mule. I cry, I whine, I moan. I protest this tendency to drop everything onto my shoulders.

Ah well. Doing some good, at least, even though it'll take years to work these kinks out. It's hard to find time to do anything other than work and sleep. You lot had better not be getting into any trouble.

Who am I kidding? Of course you are.

Mon, 10 Jan 2005 01:39:18 GMT

Maybe I should hold off on the pink ponytails, Richie. I've been thinking of heading over to Thailand, actually, and seeing what's what. Some of my Aide groups are down there and I feel like a useless bint for not chipping in when I really should. Talley ho and all that.

When you get home we'll talk about it. Jamie, feel free to follow Richie around-- he's far more likly to get into dashing sword battles. Most I'm liable to do is throw out my back and get a bit of a sunburn. Nasty thing, sunlight.

Happy Medium

Thu, 30 Sep 2004 02:38:29 GMT

I must say, I make a fabulous woman. It's the long body. I wear wigs well. Richie is a bit too muscular and broad across the chest to really pull it off, but he wore spiked gogo boots without managing to fall. Honestly, is there any more talent more important.

What? What is this "swordplay" of which you speak? Though, honestly, watching him try to figure out how to hide his sword in his micromini was... vastly amusing. I must pause to chuckle over the memory.

...

There, better now.

Of course now Richie has to take me on some kind of manly motorcycle testosterone exhibit so we can retrench from all the queer. A bit of both worlds is best, I imagine. Poor Jamie doesn't quite fit into either. He made the sulkiest woman and will no doubt pout on the entire penis-enlarging machine porn adventure Richie takes us on. I swear I spend more time cajoling my Watcher into a better mood than I do writing or drinking beer.

Ah. Beer. I fancy one now.

I also fancy a cause. What's interesting in Paris?

Fri, 24 Sep 2004 02:52:00 GMT

Well, one thing I can say about that dreadful mishap: as I was standing there (well, laying there, rather) waiting to get my head handed to me, I had a rather startling epiphany:

I really need to get a hair cut. I simply cannot be beheaded with my hair looking like this.

Anyone able to recommend a good barber?

Mind the Gap!

Mon, 23 Aug 2004 19:29:31 GMT

Private

Ah, the locust trick never gets dull. Jamie always comes out of his tent screeching like a harpy before realizing that, yes, he's in the middle of camp in his Wonder Woman underoos and, yes, we are all laughing at *him* thank you much.

What a blessing it is to have a vastly amusing Watcher. What a blessing it is to have Richie traveling with me.

Not that he doesn't complain sometimes-- or, at least, he did at first. He's gotten quite good at this until lepers and AIDS babies and starved villagers are... well, not second hand. Never second hand. But something he can handle. Something he can see as a cause.

The Pupil exceeds the Master. Taught you well, I have. Great knowledge you posses. Great wisdom, you have found. Supersized fries, I will consume.

Even when he insists on duct taping the damnable sword to my side (it's dreadfully inconvenient to have a very heavy phallic symbol strapped onto you without the slightest intention of irony or foreplay) I can't help but appreciate him. Ah, but the pleasures of a helpmeet. Now for the pleasures of a real home again. I've been itching to write and I think Richie is missing his motorcycle porn. It will also be nice to have an actual wall to hang Vast Stupidity on. I prop it against the tent wall every night and toast it, thinking of Adam and wondering where he's scampered off to.

Probably found the last remaining harem in continental Europe. Bloody wanker.

Vast Stupidity

Sat, 26 Jun 2004 18:21:03 GMT

Right, so I have a lovely new decoration on my wall. Seems like Adam sent me a letter that I'm not supposed to open. Being the upstanding, morally superior, most excellent friend that I no doubt embody on at least every other weekend, I did not open the letter. I did, however, use a rather neat trick I'd picked up in India to skim most of the contents using light and a clever solution of water, lemon juice and I'm not telling you what else.

I have henceforth framed the (still unopened!) letter and have hung it on my wall. It is a bit of modern art that I like to call Vast Stupidity. If you wish to come marvel at Vast Stupidity, my flat is open at all times.

I'm also brewing up a batch of spiced mead and fudge if anyone is hankering. Nothing cures the ailments brought on by dismal weather and residual strains of worry than drunken indulgence.

Or so I hear.

Jamie's still causing quite a stir at the women's shelter. I think they've finally decided that he's not my angry boyfriend and instead have figured that he's in love with me and is trying to get me to run away with him to Istanbul. While they are not terribly far off the mark (though Jamie is dull enough that he'd rather go to Wisconsin, bless him, than Istanbul) I cannot allow them to keep calling out those rather vaguely pornographic suggestions to him. Not because watching him blush and bluster isn't terribly diverting but because it's sending the nuns into fits of crying. While I am sure a hysterical fit now and again cannot help but do the sisters some good, in this weather it's quite a deplorable thought. So I have dragged Richie along with me to prove that Jamie is no suitor of mine (except in his flights of fancy and those increasingly less rare times when he Watches my arse. You know-- in case my arse does something historically significant). The women are quite fond of Richie already. I discovered one trying out to be an Arse Watcher herself. Not that I blame her.

As this is a family channel, I will desist. I will however mention that the shy little boy has been spotted again. The delightful thing actually thinks he's managing to hide from us. I play The Cure for him when Richie comes over. I'm sure Jamie doesn't appreciate it, but you have to show kindness to the new Watchers or they get all out of sorts.

**

Percival Shelly's Cliff Notes-- because his entries are too damn cumbersome.

- Vast Stupidity on my wall
- Drunken Indulgence in my flat
- Jamie is an Arse Watcher
- Richie is an Arse Watchee
- New Watcher looks like a girl and wears X-Files teeshirts
- Adam is a stroppy bint

Misc and Sundry

Wed, 02 Jun 2004 19:13:34 GMT

Have been pondering possible uses for myself. The only thing I can really come up with is dangling me from a height and letting me mock the buggar into attacking. Then the brave heroes come rushing in on the offensive.

I'd have to practice my insults, of course. Somehow I don't think hollering "you manky git" will enable me as bait.

Hrm.

On other news, who is that young, sulky looking creature stalking Richie? Good Lord, he looks like he stepped right out of a very illegal, very naughty little school boy drama. Speaking of which: Adam, it's been almost 200 years. I want the knickers back. You very well know which ones.

I've been doing work down at the hospital and am contemplating volunteering at the women's shelter. For some reason, I fit in quite well at women's shelters. I can't quite put my finger on why. Could it be my dashing good looks? My inescapable charm? My bubbling wit?

Most likely it's because I'm a poncy old git. Either way, I get along swimmingly with pregnant teens and abused wives and am quite content in this.

Jamie, on the other hand... They give him the Evil Eye and hiss. I think he has too much testosterone, poor boy. Mayhaps we will find a way to leech it out of him.

Random Thoughts

Mon, 24 May 2004 00:57:27 GMT

There are many good and bad things about living in this century.

Good: Medical facilities. Good Lord, you have no idea how obnoxious it was to live in a time when you couldn't do *anything* fun for fear of your health. Better methods of communication. Better methods of travel.

Bad: Infernal wiretaps and spying devices. Air pollution. Telemarketing.

What I miss most? Being able to run mad. Now adays, everyone is so uptight and contained. I miss the days when one could simply run mad at the drop of a hat then recuperate for a few years in some nice english seaside town. One was never seen as overly strange or freakish. The upper classes quite often broke under the strain of being wealthy.

No, I do not miss the hysterics or the duels, but I do *so* miss running mad.

Of course, if the cease of blood-stained colonialism is the price I must pay for no longer being able to go leaping around naked in a thunderstorm, I must say I will live with the change.

On another note, I went down to a hospital ward today. I believe I may find my cause for this decade. Did you know that many of these poor souls are shunted into little white rooms and practically forgotten? Tch.

Progressive era my ass. Jamie, we may infect you with an interesting malady yet.

Sun, 23 May 2004 21:48:57 GMT

You'd think asking a rental company if they had any apartments with hard wood floors and a fireplace that *weren't* lofts would be a reasonable enough question. Wouldn't you?

Good Lord, no. I may as well be after the Virgin Mary's virtue for all the horrified stares I'm getting.

I think I'd actually have more luck getting into Her panties than I will getting a good apartment.

Thu, 20 May 2004 15:43:01 GMT

I think I've decided to stick around here for awhile. Though the weather is atrocious, the other Immortals are extremely pleasant company. And here I thought Byron and I were Adam's only friends worth anything.

This whole danger thing isn't so pleasant, however.

Percy strolled down the street, hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune.

Jean-Paul Daniels was walking down the opposite way, stopping suddenly when he felt another immortal presence and grinning wolfishly.

Percy felt the presence of another immortal and grinned, wondering which of Adam's many friends he'd be running into next.

Jean-Paul walked casually toward the man wearing a grin; obviously someone as eager for a fight as he. "Hello, My name is Daniels. Might have I the pleasure of a conversation with you?" he asked, tilting his head toward a startlingly convenient alleyway, his hand already under his coat and over his sword hilt.

"Sure," Percy said, "though I'd far prefer a bar. Alleys are quite famous for their smell, you know." He grinned. "Shelley. Are you one of Adam's, then?"

"Bars are crowded." Jean Paul said shortly, withdrawing into the alley and dropping his coat on the ground as he unsheathed his sword.

Percy followed, then blinked when he saw the sword. "Ahh... something tells me you weren't looking for a bit of leisurely conversation about Shakespeare."

"The only dead brit I care about is the one who'll be in front of me soon without his head." Jean-Paul grinned wolfishly

"Ooooh, clever," he said, looking at him warily. "Do you come up with your own pre-battle quips or do you have someone penning your lines? You know, with your acid tongue and shocking wit, you could make a killing in Hollywood-- pardoning the pun, naturally."

Jean-Paul frowned. "Do you even know what you are? Or are you that new?"

"Do any of us really know what we are? I mean, really. What are you?"

Jean-Paul lowered his sword, frowning at Percy. "Are you using drugs, boy? They have a bad effect on immortals you know."

"No, actually, I'm quite clean. I've been off drugs-- well, unless you count alcohol and caffeine, but really, do any of us?-- for at *least* fifty years." He paused. "Well, there *was* that time in South Africa, but I hold that that was more a cultural-slash-religious experience than a social one."

"So you know you're Immortal." Jean-Paul said, lifting his sword again.

"Oh, is THAT what you meant? Why, yes. Hello. So very glad to be on the same page."

"So draw." he ordered, waving his sword a bit.

"I don't have the knack, I'm afraid."

"What?" Jean-Paul asked, looking flummoxed.

"Don't have the knack. Look, are you quite sure you want my head? Do you have *any* idea what comes with my head?" He lowered his voice. "Show tunes. Lots and lots of show tunes. If *I* were you, I'd rethink this rather hasty decision and go someplace warm where I could hunt saner, more obliging Immortals in comfort *and* get a nice tan in the process."

"But there can be only one?" Jean-Paul asked, sounding more confused than anything and lowering his sword.

"Are you *sure*?"

"That's what everyone says..."

"Daniels-- what's your first name?"

"Jean-Paul.." he said slowly.

"Jean-Paul, are you really going to let the propaganda machine dictate your *life*? There are so many wonderful things going on this world and you're allowing yourself to be pigeon-holed into a false sense of competitiveness based around ignorance, fear and probably too many beers one night, I'd wager."

Jean-Paul scratched his head. "So there can be more than one?"

"There can be dozens! Tens of dozens! This is the age of wonders, my friend."

Jean-Paul frowned. "That's...strange. I think I need vodka. Lots of vodka...." he wandered off, looking vaguely puzzled.

Percy watched him go, then grinned, patted himself lightly on the back and strolled off to Richie's apartment, whistling that jaunty little tune.

Nice man, actually. Jean-Paul, if you're out there: best of luck to you.

Well, I have a hot date tonight, so I'd better get to planning. I'll put out feelers for an apartment starting tomorrow. Where's a good area to live?

Hrm

Tue, 18 May 2004 00:14:26 GMT

I suppose it just goes to show that you do not, in fact, get smoother with age. If anything, I've become more of an awkward git that I used to be. And I *used* to run around reciting poetry on a whim and communing with mother nature.

It depresses me, really, to remember.

The phone rang.

Yawning, Richie grabbed the phone, turning down the television with the other hand, then using the remote to scratch his chest. "Hello."

"Hello," an only vaguely familiar voice said. "I'm looking for a dashing young man with a very vague grasp on the classics who can't hold his liquor. Do you think you could direct me?"

Richie laughed and frowned, trying to place the voice. "Sorry, only me. I've got two of the three though?"

"Perhaps if you stretch a little." The voice was very amused. "Do you even remember me or do I need to be broken-hearted this weekend?"

"I can too hold my liquor, Percy." Richie grinned, recognizing the amused tone. "I'm heartbroken you think I can't."

"You remember! The peasants rejoice!" He snorted. "And you can hold your liquor about as well as I can which means the Pope's wee mother, bless her, would drink us both under the table."

Richie snickered. "Kind of sad actually. How'd you get my number, I was thinking I'd never hear from you again."

"Yes, I know, you did your very best to outrun me but I am sneaky and have more contacts than you can possibly imagine."

"I know, I mean, why wouldn't I want to run away from the first person I've had a good time with in ages."

"Precisely! Though the waking up with a headache made the experience bad enough to allow me to call you."

"You had a headache?" Richie asked smugly.

He grumbled.

"You were absolutely shitfaced, after all."

"And you were shitfacedier. I was only staggering so you wouldn't feel so alone in your drunkenness."

"That's not a word. You're the writer. And I was holding you up for part of the time."

"I made it a word. One of the liberties of *being* a writer, you saucy minx. And, true, but the building was holding *you* up." There was a sound of a mattress creaking.

"A saucy what?" Richie laughed. "And I love that building. It's been a great friend during a great many benders."

"Minx! Good lord, you must use books for more than killing roaches and leveling tables, you know."

"Paper weights?"

He snorted. "Curse you."

"I do read. Just not...stuffy wordy stuff. Stuff for math. Otherwise it's all blah blah blah alas. Blah blah blah woe."

"You just need the correct incentive. And the correct books, naturally. Oh, and blah blah woe."

"Incentive?" Richie raised an eyebrow. "What kind of incentive. Last time I got incentives for reading was extra cookies in third grade. And what kind of books? Ones without woe?"

"I'm sure we could think of an incentive. And yes, woeless books would be best, I think."

"I'm a big fan of cookies. They're great rewards for books well done. Or something." The grin was evident in Richie's voice. "What is a minx anyway?"

"I will have to bake you some in that case. And minx: origin unknown. Meaning a pert girl or, in its obsolete form, a wanton. In British slang, mostly meaning someone saucy or lippy."

"Hmm. So I'm both pert and a girl? I don't know if I like that so much. And I'm obviously going to have to work on my British slang because...I don't think you speak the same English I do."

"You speak American. That is not English." He sniffed.

Richie cracked up. "That's what Tessa always said. She also said I was illiterate and I think I’m going to stop this train of thought because it's creeping me out."

"Who's Tessa?" he asked, settling comfortably on his bed.

"Mac's girlfriend when he took me in. They'd been together forever. She was....I don't know."

"Like a mother to you?"

"Hey, look a bright and shiny new change in subject." Richie said cheerfully. "So any particular reason you called or just to hear my charming voice?"

"Just to hear your charming voice, actually."

"Oh." Richie said quietly, obviously surprised and a little confused.

"Is that a problem?"

"No! I mean, no. Not at all. Just...er. whoa?" He laughed. "I've reached my limit on making an ass of myself tonight; I need a certain blood alcohol level to go beyond this. How are you? Are you good? I'm not babbling."

"No, *indeed* you're not babbling," he teased. "You'd need at least one comment about the weather for that. And I'm good. A little annoyed. A little sad. But good."

"Why annoyed and sad? And the weather's lovely isn't it?"

"I met with Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod today. And it's raining. You git."

"not in Mac's fan club I take it? And some people like the rain."

"Well, he did behead my lover."

Richie choked, quickly turning it into a cough. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. You didn't do it." He sighed. "I wasn't suppose to know *who* did it, but I'm almost rather glad he spilled. At least I know it *wasn't* you. That would be awkward."

"To say the least." Richie sighed. "Still. He's still my fa...my teacher and well...I don't know. I am sorry, Percy. That has to be...I'm going to stop harping now."

"You're not harping, Richie. And, honestly, I don't completely blame him. Byron was... he'd been asking for it for years."

"Still." Richie sighed. "Is there anything I can do to create not sadness or annoyance? Besides stop talking crap."

"You could accept my invitation for dinner."

"I.." Richie looked down. "Will have to get dressed but then yeah, I can do that."

"So the outrageous flirting *wasn't* just alcohol?"

"Outrageous?"

He coughed lightly. "We were both fairly flirtatious. I do understand if you were simply drunk. Or simply a flirt. I am a horrible flirt, myself."

"Actually, I'm not. Not with guys. But hey, if you are it's cool we can forget.."

"Oh. Oh, well. I see." He was very confused. "But... I was under the impression you dated Adam?"

"Not flirty with guys I mean. Not...just normally unless I really....I'm making an ass of myself again." Richie sighed.

"But you are attracted to men?"

Richie flushed, thanking god Percy couldn't see that. "Yeah, I told you that."

"So, again. Would you like to go to dinner with me?"

"yes." Richie nodded. "When? Where?"

"What do you like?"

Richie laughed brightly. "I'm stuck in a nineteen year old body. I like food of any kind. My metabolism is never going to stop."

"I'm shockingly tempted to growl. All right, hm. Ethiopian?"

"Growl?" Richie asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in the good way. "But yeah, sure. Ethiopian." he finished, the trepidation carrying through.

"You know, Richie. Sounds an animal makes? Or a Klingon, actually. Or my mother."

Snickering, Richie answered. "I speak that much English. Just...why?"

"It was a rather poor joke about 19 and high met-- 19 year old things. I will not sully myself by explaining the mechanics of my dirty mind."

"One day I want to know all about your dirty mind." Richie teased, standing and groaning softly, trying to tilt the phone away as he stretched.

"Well, then. That sounds entirely too promising. What time should I pick you up?"

"Any time beyond the next twenty minutes?"

"8:19, then?"

Richie frowned then looked at his clock and laughed. "Sure, I'll see you then. I'm guessing your sources went to my phone number but not my address?"

"I think he didn't want me stalking you." He sounded amused.

"I could do with a good stalking." Richie laughed then added hurriedly after a moment's thought. "From someone sane."

"Oh, then I guess I'm out."

"Not homicidal insane."

"Oh, no. Not homicidal anything. Actually, I quite despise violence." He paused. "Of any sort. Even the necessary sort."

"you're a pacifist?"

"For the most part, yes. If challenged, I'll first try to talk my way out of it, then try good, old-fashioned running away. If neither works I try to remember where I left my sword, swing it around with my eyes clothes and pray for the best." He chuckled. "It's a wonder I'm still alive, really."

Old Friends

Wed, 12 May 2004 22:21:09 GMT

Adam looked up as he felt another immortal nearby. He'd finished off the rest of his beer after finding out Joe and Donna had been sent back to the States. The nearest place had been closed, forcing him through a nearby square, where a crowd of students seemed to have congregated for the afternoon. "Shit," he muttered, not really wanting to meet up with another immortal posing as an academic.

"And above all," Percy said, voice raised, then paused. He scanned the crowd, sensing another immortal. His brows creased and he tensed: surely no one would be foolish enough to attack him in a crowd?

Trying to skirt the larger knot of people, Adam looked up as he heard a familiar and completely unexpected voice.

"Above all," he said distractedly, scanning, scanning, scanning... He paused, spotting Adam. His blond brows arched in surprised recognition and he grinned brilliantly. "And above all, buggar the system for a lark and never buy American beer! Thank you!" He hopped off of the concrete slab he'd been standing on and wove his way through the crowd of now very confused students.

Adam laughed at his last words and shoved a few disgruntled academic types out of his way. "I believe you are the tenth to last person I would have expected to see here."

"Only tenth to last?" he asked brightly, darting around a hulking senior and flashing a grin. "I must work harder at being mysterious and difficult to read. Now come here and give me a sodding manly hug, you wanker."

"Well I do know a bloody godawful number of people you realize!" Adam hugged Percy and pulled back to look at him. "Now this is a surprise. Glad something decent came out of this trip."

"Are you insulting me by calling me decent or did you just meet some tall leggy young thing?"

"Oh hardly, it's just been a hell of a lifetime." Adam shook his head. "So what are you up to? Inciting the masses to riot?"

Percy snorted. "These louts? Hardly. I'd have to wave Guinness in front of their maws to incite them to anything." He looked Adam up and down. "How about you? What are you doing about?"

"Attempting to help a friend, and failing miserably." Adam shrugged. "I ran out of beer though, and I am in desperate need for more."

"Dear gods, we can't have that. Do you mind company?"

"Not at all!"

"So," he asked, falling into step beside Adam. "What do you go by now?"

"Adam Pierson... for the moment. It's getting a bit old to be honest, I think I'm ready for a change of pace. You?"

"Percy Shelley." He winked.

"How clever." Adam looked around. "Any suggestions or do we just walk until we find alcohol?"

"I thought your great snozzer would sniff it out."

"Ah! A nose joke! How I missed your wit!" Adam chuckled and steered them towards the other end of the park.

He winked. "It's sharp and cunning and ever vigilant, I can tell you."

As Adam spied a pub, he headed straight for it. "God I really need a drink."

"Things are that bad?" Percy followed, glancing at the sign curiously. "The Rose and Crown. Is every bloody pub in England called the Rose and Crown?"

"Yes... and yes." Adam shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"The situation or the pub?"

"Situation. What's to talk about the pub?" Adam shrugged and shoved his way up to the bar.

Percy followed, pulling out his wallet and laying out money for the both of them.

Adam took a sip of the beer the bartender set down in front of him and sighed. "I think I've had enough of the academic act."

"Academia not suiting you?" he asked quietly, sipping his own beer. He felt a little off-balance, not sure what was going on with his old friend that he hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Suits me fine, it's teaching that doesn't, and I've been at it for a few decades now. Time for a change."

"You should look into the lucrative field of transsexual porn star," Percy offered with a small smirk.

"Why that's a spectacular idea!" Adam rolled his eyes. "I was thinking of merely taking an extended leave of absence from the university and lounging around at home drinking beer."

"Oh, well, I suppose that *would* suit you better," he admitted with teasing reluctance.

"So you're living in London these days?" Adam asked.

"Actually, I was in Africa for some time, and Tibet before that. I'm just here on layover before I head over to the states. I think that's where Byron was last and I'm on his tail, as it were." He grinned. "How about you?"

Adam paused. "You're looking for Byron?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Why, have you seen the wanker?"

Sighing, Adam looked at him. "Byron's... Byron's dead I'm afraid."

Percy nearly choked on his beer. He set the glass aside, coughing and looking up at Adam with huge eyes. "He's-- he's *what*?" he asked finally, voice strained.

"Unfortunately... he met a challenger he couldn't beat."

"Oh." His face seemed to shut down, bright eyes going clouded. "Headhunter?"

"Not really. Argument... " Adam shrugged, frowning.

"Did he start it?"

"He lived it."

Percy sighed and rubbed at his face. "God damn it. God damned *arse*. I knew he'd get himself killed someday. I fucking *knew* it."

"The really shocking thing is that it took so long I suppose." Adam took a long drink of beer.

He closed his eyes, struggling against emotion. "Yeah," he said finally, relying on good British stability to keep him going. "He always had a talent for pissing people off."

"Now there's the understatement of the century." Adam was silent for a little while, paying close attention to his beer.

"Who?"

The question nearly made him choke on his beer. "Who?"

"Who? Who killed him?"

"Ah... a friend of mine actually." Adam looked around the pub, avoiding Percy.

"Was it over a woman?"

"No."

"Can you tell me what it was over?"

"A mortal... dead." Adam motioned to the bartender for another beer as he finished off his first.

"He accidentally killed a mortal?" He paused. "He... purposefully did it?"

"He allowed it to happen. The boy was talented."

"Jealousy always was his greatest sin." He wiped at his face again. "Damn. You know... don't tell me the name of who did it. I'd hate them when I really have no right."

"Listen, you want to go get some beer, or something harder, and drink ourselves into a stupor back at my flat?" Adam finished off his second beer in one long swallow.

"Fuck yes," he said at once, finishing up his beer.