Fanfic: Game Over [Highlander]
Mar. 10th, 2012 08:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
argentum_lsTitle: Game Over
Summary: Methos makes the announcement of his lifetime.
Word Count: 1500
Warning: Unedited as hell.
The studio lights burned hot and bright, laying bare the imperfections and hard lines of those within. It struck Methos as paradoxical, that the studio employees would work so hard to create one illusion, then would aim such bright lights at it, as if to strip the illusion away. Methos swallowed, more uncomfortable from the paradox than he dared to admit. With all the time over the millennia that he’d put on one kind of performance or another, he had always counted on a little darkness, a flicker of shadow, to obscure himself. Today, he would not only be fully on display, but he brought with him a truth he had waited his whole life to speak. As the oldest living Immortal, the task fell to him whether he wanted it or not, which meant delivering two revelations at once. It was the end of an era.
The talk show hostess was standing next to her chair, a paper cup of coffee clenched in one hand, while she exchanged a few final words with a guy wearing a headset and the drawn expression of a tension headache. While he watched, she traded her coffee cup for a bottle of water and brought it over to the low table that sat between her chair and his. Methos had already been provided with his own. “Just act natural,” she offered, with a smile that she had no doubt spent hours rehearsing. She had yet to meet his eyes, and these were the first words she’d spoken at all in his direction.
She adjusted her position so that she was facing the camera for the next sequence. Methos had been brought in as the second act, to give the audience a chance to settle in and get comfortable in their chairs at home. The signal came to indicate that the cameras were rolling. The hostess straightened up and held out her hands, greeting the unseen television viewers.
“Welcome back,” she said, speaking through a different practiced smile, one that showed bleached white teeth. “As you know, we have with us today Adam Pierson, one of the Immortals we’ve been hearing so much about lately.” She turned in her chair to face him, crossing her legs at the ankles, and brought her smile to bear on him. Despite her experience with the job, she couldn’t quite disguise the smile’s falter, nor the hardening in her eyes; she didn’t trust him. Good for her. “So, Adam,” she spoke, emphasizing the name as if he was claiming it unrightfully. If she were less professional, he would expect her to start putting air quotes around it. “What brought you here today?”
Methos leaned back in the chair, draping his arms across the armrests. I have nothing to hide, he let his body language say. He had chosen jeans and a button down shirt that he hadn’t gone to any special effort to iron, knowing that every one of his choices would be on scrutinized and dissected over the next several days. The wardrobe department had tried to convince him to wear a sports jacket, which he had walked off with and then somehow failed to put on. “With all of the speculation out there about who we are and what we want—“
“Immortals, you mean,” the hostess interrupted, as if his we needed clarifying.
He nodded once before continuing, “—it seemed wise to give people a chance to get answers straight from the source.” The hostess echoed his nod, her shoulders loosening at her obvious relief. Since the Immortals had been exposed, rumors ran rampant as they were wont to do. So far a full-blown witch hunt hadn’t developed, but he knew from experience that public sentiment could easily turn that direction. Derailing the simmering panic was the lesser of the tasks he had come on this show to perform. “If you don’t mind, I have something to say first….” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows at the hostess in search of her permission.
She paused for a beat, fiddled with the plastic lid on the water bottle, then returned the bottle to the table still unopened. He was leaving the script, and she was neither prepared for that nor inclined to encourage it. But, she was excellent at her job and she knew that no matter what he said, she was scoring the interview of her career. Finally, she offered him an open-handed gesture to continue.
He moistened his lips and let one hand rub against the upholstery of the chair to dry his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous about anything. “The Game is over,” he stated, looking directly at the camera for the first time. He wanted everyone to understand that what he said was important, even if they didn’t understand what it meant.
“I’m sorry,” the hostess said, sounding confused. “Did you say that the game is up?”
That too, he thought, swallowing against a surge of unexpected emotion. The Game had ruled the lives of Immortals for longer than he had been alive, but it had never been intended to be permanent. Nothing was permanent, and even (especially?) people with the potential to live forever had to grapple with that reality.
All Immortals knew the rules of The Game, but the one they thought was the most important, wasn’t. When fulfilled, any of the rules would end the Game. It was true that The Game would end when only one Immortal remained. It was also true that The Game would end when Humanity reached a point when it declared and treated the whole planet, without exception, as Holy Ground, and thus The Game could no longer be played. For thousands of years, Immortals had speculated on how to achieve either of these, with the obvious emphasis on eliminating all the other Immortals. No one paid attention to the third rule in any serious way: Do Not Be Observed.
Well over a century before, he had watched an image of himself being developed on a photographic plate and he had recognized that this invention, more than any other, was going to change his world. Just over a century later, the world had advanced and implemented photography to the point where it was impossible not to be observed. Between traffic light cameras, CCTV, and low-Earth orbit satellites, it was virtually impossible to move around the world and not be observed by someone, not be recorded and monitored. And, thus, The Game was unplayable.
His pronouncement hung in the air, the four words feeling so insignificant, not worthy of carrying the weight of their meaning. He felt like he should say more, add some explanation or maybe a new prophecy. At the same time, he knew he didn’t need to. That clip of him speaking would get copied and replayed thousands of times over the next few days, and word would spread, though it might take longer before everyone understood. He just hoped that no one tested it. The disaster of Pompeii had been bad enough once.
The hostess’s smile thinned, small, bitter lines appearing around the corners of her mouth. She didn’t understand, and she sensed that she wasn’t supposed to. This irked her, as it should. It was her show, her interview, and her guest had clearly said something profoundly important that she couldn’t work with. Her only recourse was to change the subject. “That’s wonderful,” she offered, dismissing his statement and reclaiming the camera. “So, these Immortals…” Methos leaned back in the chair, returning to his relaxed position. “…You’ve been around for a long time? Some of you are centuries old?”
The hard part was over. He could handle any of the other questions she would throw at him, no matter how difficult she thought they were. This, he had practiced, and known to practice. He blinked his eyes against the bright studio lights, and found the place of shadow inside him that would let him answer her questions truthfully, but not too much. “Some of us are,” he replied, knowingly.
The hostess leaned forward, as if inviting him to join her in a conspiracy. Methos sighed to himself. He could handle her questions; that didn’t mean he would like them. But he had effectively just announced who he was to the whole world of Immortals and ended the Game in one fell swoop. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. She drew a breath, eyes flicking to the camera as if to verify that it was still on. “So, are you the Adam?”
He grinned. Yes, this he could definitely handle. He’d had enough surprises for one lifetime.
END
Fulfills AU Bingo Square #21: Talk/News Show
Summary: Methos makes the announcement of his lifetime.
Word Count: 1500
Warning: Unedited as hell.
The studio lights burned hot and bright, laying bare the imperfections and hard lines of those within. It struck Methos as paradoxical, that the studio employees would work so hard to create one illusion, then would aim such bright lights at it, as if to strip the illusion away. Methos swallowed, more uncomfortable from the paradox than he dared to admit. With all the time over the millennia that he’d put on one kind of performance or another, he had always counted on a little darkness, a flicker of shadow, to obscure himself. Today, he would not only be fully on display, but he brought with him a truth he had waited his whole life to speak. As the oldest living Immortal, the task fell to him whether he wanted it or not, which meant delivering two revelations at once. It was the end of an era.
The talk show hostess was standing next to her chair, a paper cup of coffee clenched in one hand, while she exchanged a few final words with a guy wearing a headset and the drawn expression of a tension headache. While he watched, she traded her coffee cup for a bottle of water and brought it over to the low table that sat between her chair and his. Methos had already been provided with his own. “Just act natural,” she offered, with a smile that she had no doubt spent hours rehearsing. She had yet to meet his eyes, and these were the first words she’d spoken at all in his direction.
She adjusted her position so that she was facing the camera for the next sequence. Methos had been brought in as the second act, to give the audience a chance to settle in and get comfortable in their chairs at home. The signal came to indicate that the cameras were rolling. The hostess straightened up and held out her hands, greeting the unseen television viewers.
“Welcome back,” she said, speaking through a different practiced smile, one that showed bleached white teeth. “As you know, we have with us today Adam Pierson, one of the Immortals we’ve been hearing so much about lately.” She turned in her chair to face him, crossing her legs at the ankles, and brought her smile to bear on him. Despite her experience with the job, she couldn’t quite disguise the smile’s falter, nor the hardening in her eyes; she didn’t trust him. Good for her. “So, Adam,” she spoke, emphasizing the name as if he was claiming it unrightfully. If she were less professional, he would expect her to start putting air quotes around it. “What brought you here today?”
Methos leaned back in the chair, draping his arms across the armrests. I have nothing to hide, he let his body language say. He had chosen jeans and a button down shirt that he hadn’t gone to any special effort to iron, knowing that every one of his choices would be on scrutinized and dissected over the next several days. The wardrobe department had tried to convince him to wear a sports jacket, which he had walked off with and then somehow failed to put on. “With all of the speculation out there about who we are and what we want—“
“Immortals, you mean,” the hostess interrupted, as if his we needed clarifying.
He nodded once before continuing, “—it seemed wise to give people a chance to get answers straight from the source.” The hostess echoed his nod, her shoulders loosening at her obvious relief. Since the Immortals had been exposed, rumors ran rampant as they were wont to do. So far a full-blown witch hunt hadn’t developed, but he knew from experience that public sentiment could easily turn that direction. Derailing the simmering panic was the lesser of the tasks he had come on this show to perform. “If you don’t mind, I have something to say first….” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows at the hostess in search of her permission.
She paused for a beat, fiddled with the plastic lid on the water bottle, then returned the bottle to the table still unopened. He was leaving the script, and she was neither prepared for that nor inclined to encourage it. But, she was excellent at her job and she knew that no matter what he said, she was scoring the interview of her career. Finally, she offered him an open-handed gesture to continue.
He moistened his lips and let one hand rub against the upholstery of the chair to dry his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous about anything. “The Game is over,” he stated, looking directly at the camera for the first time. He wanted everyone to understand that what he said was important, even if they didn’t understand what it meant.
“I’m sorry,” the hostess said, sounding confused. “Did you say that the game is up?”
That too, he thought, swallowing against a surge of unexpected emotion. The Game had ruled the lives of Immortals for longer than he had been alive, but it had never been intended to be permanent. Nothing was permanent, and even (especially?) people with the potential to live forever had to grapple with that reality.
All Immortals knew the rules of The Game, but the one they thought was the most important, wasn’t. When fulfilled, any of the rules would end the Game. It was true that The Game would end when only one Immortal remained. It was also true that The Game would end when Humanity reached a point when it declared and treated the whole planet, without exception, as Holy Ground, and thus The Game could no longer be played. For thousands of years, Immortals had speculated on how to achieve either of these, with the obvious emphasis on eliminating all the other Immortals. No one paid attention to the third rule in any serious way: Do Not Be Observed.
Well over a century before, he had watched an image of himself being developed on a photographic plate and he had recognized that this invention, more than any other, was going to change his world. Just over a century later, the world had advanced and implemented photography to the point where it was impossible not to be observed. Between traffic light cameras, CCTV, and low-Earth orbit satellites, it was virtually impossible to move around the world and not be observed by someone, not be recorded and monitored. And, thus, The Game was unplayable.
His pronouncement hung in the air, the four words feeling so insignificant, not worthy of carrying the weight of their meaning. He felt like he should say more, add some explanation or maybe a new prophecy. At the same time, he knew he didn’t need to. That clip of him speaking would get copied and replayed thousands of times over the next few days, and word would spread, though it might take longer before everyone understood. He just hoped that no one tested it. The disaster of Pompeii had been bad enough once.
The hostess’s smile thinned, small, bitter lines appearing around the corners of her mouth. She didn’t understand, and she sensed that she wasn’t supposed to. This irked her, as it should. It was her show, her interview, and her guest had clearly said something profoundly important that she couldn’t work with. Her only recourse was to change the subject. “That’s wonderful,” she offered, dismissing his statement and reclaiming the camera. “So, these Immortals…” Methos leaned back in the chair, returning to his relaxed position. “…You’ve been around for a long time? Some of you are centuries old?”
The hard part was over. He could handle any of the other questions she would throw at him, no matter how difficult she thought they were. This, he had practiced, and known to practice. He blinked his eyes against the bright studio lights, and found the place of shadow inside him that would let him answer her questions truthfully, but not too much. “Some of us are,” he replied, knowingly.
The hostess leaned forward, as if inviting him to join her in a conspiracy. Methos sighed to himself. He could handle her questions; that didn’t mean he would like them. But he had effectively just announced who he was to the whole world of Immortals and ended the Game in one fell swoop. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. She drew a breath, eyes flicking to the camera as if to verify that it was still on. “So, are you the Adam?”
He grinned. Yes, this he could definitely handle. He’d had enough surprises for one lifetime.
END
Fulfills AU Bingo Square #21: Talk/News Show
