see massive disclaimers in part one. *** "So, what happens to Mac now? Joe asked. His ears pricked forward. He was anxious to hear the little outcome of their experiment. "Well, everything having been done, I think we can safely say that both you and I did the job," Methos sighed. "You by intent, and I by default." His face betrayed his utter lack of understanding. "It is most frustrating, but then again, we aren't made to know." Joe's grunt was all that needed to be made to express the angel's utter disagreement with that idea. Methos smirked. "I hate to mention the big 'D' word and all, but--" Joe groaned. "Don't say the 'D' word." "Divine plan." "THERE IS NO DIVINE PLAN!" Lucifer shrieked. "Don't you see that!" The guitar slammed down in its stand, and Joe rose, shaking. "There never was a divine plan. You weren't there, the plan he had made; it just stretched out, yawning into nothing. You didn't see." Micha-el parted his hands, surrendering to his outraged friend. "No, I was not there. Only you know those things." Then he shook his head. "And it is not for me to know. I do what is required of me, and nothing more." The room stilled. The Lord of Light resumed his seat and scratched his beard for a few seconds before laughing. "What?" "You, following Him. It's 'the blind leading the visually challenged.'" Micha-el cracked a few vertebrae in his neck. "You spied on us." Lucifer spread his hands out wide and did his best "insulted Jawa" impression: "What!?" *** "It was that final word on people dying that did it, you know," Joe told him. "'People die, Immortals die.'" He looked up to catch Methos's eye. "That was precious." Joe strummed the strings of the guitar and Methos's heart hurt. The angel's fingers moved over the metal strings with the wanton speed that only alcohol, holiness, or hell could give. In this case it was all three. Te fratrem, cum flamma adoro "Then perhaps," he muttered, "what you say is true," he admitted to the bluesman. "Mind you, this is nothing worth falling for--" Joe snickered. "Anything worth anything is worth falling for. How old are you? How long has this body been walking the earth?" "Five thousand plus years," Methos told him. He was a little proud of that. Five thousand years in one body, doing this and that. It was an accomplishment. "Angels don't delight in self-accomplishment," Joe chided, wagging his finger. "Only in the pleasure that is--" "Go fuck yourself," Methos shot back. In five thousand years, he had learned how to deal with Lucifer. And Lucifer knew how to deal with him. "You're just pissy that it was your final slam that drove the nail shut on the Highlander." Lucifer, Satan-el's eyes sparked; something was hidden behind them. "It was your encouragement that sent him off the edge. God set you up to be my patsy." "He would never do that. Not knowingly--" Methos stopped, realizing what he had just said. Joe seemed satisfied. He leaned back on two legs of his chair, and folded his hands on is stomach. "He-- he did know. Why did he know? Why would he think that--" Joe simply shrugged and raised one hand. Methos glanced up at the roiling thunder and shook his head. "No, he wouldn't send me to do something like that. He doesn't trip men on purpose. He *loves* them, truly." There was a sharp laugh over the groaning crackle of the heavens. "The Highlander is mine. Life's not fair. No one plays fair. Right now, Duncan is being stripped of one of his most valuable physical assets." He snapped his fingers and a long lock of hair appeared three feet above the center of the table. It fully materialized, and fell, landing amongst the empty shot glasses and ashtrays and beer nuts. "And voila," the devil mocked. "Other parts will follow, until there is nothing left, and then we'll start all over again." The guitarist gave him a generous smile. "Prometheus. It appears Hamilton did teach me something of use." "Lucifer," Micha -el murmured, "who taught you to be so cruel?" The devil scrolled his hand. "Oh, I don't know, Micha-el. Perhaps it was the divine plan." Methos stared t the brown locks on the table. He tried to think of the silence in heaven. He tried to silence the screaming he heard through the walls as Lucifer piped the music of hell into the bar. If only he could imagine the silence then the shrieks of the Highland warrior, the one he had followed since he had first been fostered in 1592, would cease. In heaven, all silence killed all pain. Why had he not visited heaven more often? Why had he shunned it politely? Why couldn't he imagine that perfect veil of noiseless existence? Duncan cried out to G**. He asked G** to deliver him. He had been a good man. He had been a man who had tried to do what was right. He had fought for the right things. But his voice was lost in the music of hell, a hundred million souls begging upwards in Lucifer's grand choir that only he could direct. Methos pictured the silence. He would not become one of those millions. He would no ask that question. He would go n not know, not caring, jut obeying... And then Duncan cried out to G** again, and would never really know that it had been his creator who had planned to forsake him and follow through upon it. Micha-el felt the scream in his own lungs more than he heard it. It started low in the throat, like a deep choking, a gag reflex that he had to get out. He swallowed. He would not let this come out. But then suddenly he could control it no longer. The thunder came into the bar, it warned him of what he was about to do. Micha-el simply didn't care anymore. Lucifer grinned, waving four fingers at Methos as he choked and cried. "Bye bye." And then Micha-el fell. *** END Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. The lyrics were "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." by the Charlie Daniel's Band. Man, did I hit this one on the head or what? I don't think I've ever been this close to the actual idea of the song before. I get a Scooby Snack. Oh, except for Satan Joe. That was all me. Woot. The Devil went down to Georgia by The Charlie Daniel's Band The Devil went down to Georgia He was looking for a soul to steal. He was in a bind, cuz he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal, when he came upon this young man, sawin' on a fiddle and playin' hot. And the Devil jumped up on a hick'ry stump and said, "Boy, let me tell you what!" I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too, and if you care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you. Now, you play pretty good fiddle, boy but give the Devil his due. I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, cuz I think I'm better than you." The boy said, " My name's Johnny and it might be a sin, but I'll take your bet and your gonna regret, cuz I'm the best that's ever been." Johnny rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard, cuz hell's broke loose in Georgia and the Devil deals the cards. And if you win you'll get this shiny fiddle made of gold, but if you lose the Devil gets your soul. The Devil opened up his case and he said, "I'll start this show." and fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow. And he pulled the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss. And then a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this. (Cue Devil Fiddle Music) When the Devil finished, Johnny said, "Well, you're pretty good, old son but sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how it's done!" (Cue Johnny Fiddle Music) Fire on the mountain, run, boys, run! The Devil's in the house of the rising sun. Chicken in the bread pan, pickin' out dough ?????????????? The Devil bowed his head, cuz he knew that he'd been beat. And he laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny's feet. Johnny said, "Devil, just come on back if you ever want to try again! I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best that's ever been!" He played Fire on the Mountain, run, boys, run! The Devil's in the house of the rising sun. Chicken in the bread pan, pickin' out dough Amand-r One should part from life the way Ulysses parted from Nausicaa--blessing it rather than in love with it." <Nietzsche>