Title: Pearl of Great Price Author: Kat Solano Email: orchydd@hotmail.com Rating: PG-13 Keywords: Action, Clan Denial admirer Characters: DM, M, J, RR, lots of OFC's Summary & Disclaimer in 0/5 ****************************************** Flip G-11: DeSalvo’s Dojo, Seacouver, USA... He was going to sell everything but the island. The only reason he kept that was because one of his friends might have need for it in the future; he doubted he would. In fact, after he cleaned up here in Seacouver, he was never coming back. He and Tessa had been about to move anyway, as soon as they got married. Nearly twenty years had passed since he settled down in this city, far longer than he’d ever been in one place. South America was looking good this time of the year. It was strange; he thought cleaning up would hurt a lot more. Now, as he packed up the last of Tessa’s sculptures for the Belkane Art Museum, he found himself looking for those sharp aches that always shot through his entire body every time he was reminded of his lover. There was nothing. With a sigh, he resumed his packing. He was so intent in his work that the intruder got within ten feet of him before Duncan whirled around, sword out in ready position. The intruder was painfully fair: his hair so light it resembled ivory, his eyes were a bleached green, and his clothing white on white. He, too, held a sword but it was in a resting position, its point resting lightly on the floor of the loft. In his other hand was a strange looking gun, something out of those Star Wars movies that Methos loved so much. “I am looking for MacLeod,” said the stranger. “You found him.” Duncan’s grip on his katana tightened, his cat-like body coiled to spring if the man so much as breathed in a way that rankled him. The stranger’s eyes raked him up and down. “You are not MacLeod. Not the one I seek.” “So sorry to disappoint you.” Duncan’s tone belied the statement. “Do we fight?” “If you would protect one such as he, so be it.” Before Duncan could tell his arms to move, he was blasted across the room. He felt his head crack against the brick, heard the sound of a melon being struck by a bat. Only after his entire body had kissed the wall and slumped to the ground did Duncan realise that his shoulder was on fire. Gasping with the pain, he looked to the wound. A fist-sized hole in his flesh shone black and red and bearing a gruesome resemblance to ground beef. The skin around the revealed area was bubbling and peeling off. Duncan had once hand his hand dipped in boiling oil. The feeling was similar but with the added sensation of being bashed by a twenty-pound mallet wielded by a three hundred pound body builder. His entire right side was limp. His body started to go into shock. ::I’m going to die.:: The thought didn’t devastate or frighten him. He would be with Tessa and Richie, Little Deer and Darius and Fitz and countless other friends and lovers. ::The bastard’s not even Immortal.:: “Who the hell are you?” he managed to whisper. “I am Vengeance,” replied the stranger in white as he walked to his downed opponent’s side. The point of the sword tipped Duncan’s head up and he was forced to look into those cold icebergs that were his eyes. “I am Justice. I am every nightmare the chaos-wreakers have in the deepest pit of their black souls. I am the one who will bring Noel MacLeod to his rightful end.” ::Who?:: thought Duncan MacLeod before he keeled over. ~*~*~ Eastside Seacouver... Contrary to popular belief, being an intragalactic warrior was not all explosive fun, games, and scantily clad members of the opposite sex. As spies and Caribbean cruises were highly overrated by the movies, so were Balancing missions. At this moment, Mikala and Noel, painfully unseductive in his and hers bleuch-grey sweatsuits, had their eyes glued on a small screen which was, in turn, connected to a powerful telescope. This was then pointed towards one of the seedier brothels in the city. It specialized in sadomasochism and not in a very sanitary way. But then again, nothing in this part of town was on a right side of a mop and bucket so it blended in rather well. It was not the prostitutes themselves that the Xenos were waiting for--though Mika was ready to just blow the place up to get rid of the traumatizing images she’d had to view in the scant four hours they’d been there so far today. No, their prey was the white and gold van that had been slowly parading up and down the street. “Save Your Souls, Ye Wicked!” proclaimed the golden letters amateurly painted on the sides of the vehicle. A garish symbol integrating elements of a crucifix, a tai-chi and the Sikh triple blades decorated the hood. They were waiting for the van to make a move. In the week that they’d been investigating the city, they hadn’t spotted a thing. Which made for some very bored intragalactic warriors. “Ye’re a pencil-dust snorting, rubber-band chewing, fruit fly-nail painting pullet,” Noel said after a thoughtful pause and a swallow of lukewarm diet soda. “You’re an 80’s Adidas licking, varnish-bathing, eye crusted, rotten moss eater,” Mikala returned without taking her eyes off of the screen save to yawn. “That was verra well done.” “Thanks.” “Well then, um... a chewed-gum collecting, brake-fluid baking, slime-mould marrying boy-band lover.” “Oooh, you’re pulling the big guns on me, are you?” “Bleedin’ straight, mo cridhe.” “You die tonight, you skirt-wearing, knobby-kneed, furry-assed, Dougie-Howser haired bastard son of a foot fungus and wilted spinach leaf.” “Och, I’ve heard the bit about knobby knees and skirt wearing a hundred times before.” “I’ve been practicing varieties on themes.” “Aye, well, I’ll get ye first ye coconut-shell wearin’, pig torturin’, fat-hipped, lawn-mower haired descendant of a nymphomaniac an’ a third-rate basket weaver.” Unable to conceal a smile, Mika conceded. “Bite me.” “I’d love tae, lass, but I’m a taken man.” Noel’s eyes twinkling, he added, “But if ye dinna tell Frankie, I won’t either.” “Sorry to break your heart, MacLeod, but Frankie and Eachann have officially become exclusive.” “They are? The bastard!” A full, heart-pure chuckle came from the Scot. “He swore I was his true love!” Mikala followed him in the suit. “From what I hear, the first time Frankie came onto you, you were so taken aback, you tripped your way from the council chamber to your room and promptly locked all entrances.” “I was young and foolish,” joked Noel. Then, more seriously, he added, “If he dares tae have the mating ceremony wi’out me, I’m replacing his lubricant wi’ those muscle relaxants that heat up after five minutes.” “Hey, what ever floats your olive is fine by--" A strange shift in the scene outside caught Mikala’s eye. Her stillness prompted Noel to stand and watch the screen as well. “What? Is yuir wicked witch sense tingling?” “Shaddup and switch the scope to frame two.” Obediently, Noel whispered the Underground word, locking the command with a hand signal. The image in the screen tilted then zoomed through the walls of the ratty old building. A very embarrassed man was scrambling to get his pants back on; his thinning brown hair doing nothing to hide to blush on his shiny crown from the alien spying-device. His humiliation was not lessened by the fact that the two other occupants of the building were completely ignoring him. The two women were vastly different: one chemically blonde, on the softer side of pleasantly plump and decked in black leather. The other was emaciated, her prim white blouse and ankle-length skirt hanging lifelessly off of her frame. “Do you not realise how degrading you have made yourself?” argued the skinny one, eyes blazing with indignation (yes, the telescope caught that, too) “Not to mention the harm you’re doing to the grace of your chi..." “Oh, spare me a fucking dime, lady!” The dominatrix chewed her gum. Probably as completely bored as she looked. “If you assholes didn’t need ‘ho’s, we wouldn’t be around. If you unbuttoned your fucking chastity belt, maybe ol’ Chukie wouldn’t sniff around our pussies.” At this point, most preachers would have sputtered at the very least, especially taking into consideration the number of vulgarities that’d come from the prostitute’s mouth. This one blinked; Mikala could almost see the bits and bytes computing up in that little brain of hers. Then she took out a Glock and shot the leather-clad woman between the eyes. “Those who are pure cannot allow darkness to taint the world,” she whispered, “May your soul be damned.” The dominatrix’s body burst into red flames, the heat of it sending the preacher back with a mewl of pain. A thick red-orange fog slowly crept up the room’s walls. Baritone laughter, bone chilling and loud as a cannon, echoed throughout the small chamber. _________________________________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com.