From news.spc.edu!news.new-york.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!Supernews60!supernews.com!Supernews69!not-for-mail Thu Nov 27 03:32:55 1997 Xref: news.spc.edu alt.tv.highlander:143701 Path: news.spc.edu!news.new-york.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!Supernews60!supernews.com!Supernews69!not-for-mail From: dmckee@uci.edu (Terra Ignis) Newsgroups: alt.tv.highlander Subject: dread pirate duncan:Warning: long post Date: Wed, 26 Nov 1997 08:47:14 GMT Organization: All USENET -- http://www.Supernews.com Lines: 507 Message-ID: <347be061.88446553@news.calpha.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: 27871@207.215.173.10 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Here's the continuation of the Princess Bride/HL crossover story I'm working on. I hope you enjoy it, and I absolutely ADORE feedback. Creative criticism is well received. Any characters which appear here and which belong to someone else, well, belong to someone else. Fezzik and Inigo: William Goldman or Del Rey Books. Duncan, Methis, et all: Panzer and CO.. I'm borrowing them for my purposes and because they indicated to me that they were a little bored..wanted some adventure. Anything else that resembles creativity is mine. The Further Adventures of Inigo and Fezzik By Terra Ignis Duncan stumbled out into the chill. Seacouver's night, wet and cold, felt good after the stuffy warmth of the bar. Duncan ambled along the walk for a few minutes enjoying the pleasant fire smoldering in his belly. Joe had just finished singing, and Duncan wanted to savor his bluesy mood alone for a while. A slight wind whistled between the buildings. He stood enjoying it's bite, eyes closed, savoring the sharp chill on his face and the pleasant glow in his belly. Duncan had only been outside a few minutes when a familiar, slightly sickening sensation joined the glow, disturbing Duncan's moment. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," came a menacing, Spanish sounding voice. Duncan froze at the angry, almost whispered words. Cursing under his breath, Duncan spun to face to speaker. Standing before him were an odd, but familiar couple: a wiry, little Spaniard with long dark locks and a pair of straight scars on his cheeks and a lumbering giant of a man standing a step or two back with arms crossed in front of the original "barrel chest." Duncan shook his head. Grinning in spite of himself he said, "Inigo, my friend, I think I know your name by now. And you ought to know I did not kill your father; the six-fingered man did. Furthermore, you have already killed him." The Spaniard leaned forward menacingly. "Oh, no you don't," he spat, a bit desperately. "You have cheated me of my vengeance for the last time." Inigo took a step toward Duncan. "What you have done, sir, it is a crime," offered the giant with a voice like muffled thunder. "Good god, not the rhymes!," shrieked Duncan. "Damnit! You have me doing it!" Stepping back warily he offered, "Look, let's all go have a beer and we can..." He pointed back toward the bar suggestively. In an instant Inigo had produced his rapier. Almost before Duncan could register the slight ring of it's being drawn Inigo thrust it at him. "Fight me you coward!" "This time you will be overpowered!," exclaimed the giant, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle immensely. Standing behind Inigo with massive arms crossed and a big, lopsided smile on his face, he was the most intimidating cheering section Duncan had ever seen. Jumping back Duncan laughed, "Your going to kill me with *that*? "Of course!," declared Inigo triumphantly, thrusting again at Duncan's belly. Leaping back a second time Duncan lost his footing. He was able to roll away, just avoiding Inigo's next attack. Sparks flew from the pavement where the thin blade struck. Leaping to his feet Duncan instinctively reached into his coat for his blade. "Bloody hell!, he cursed" Of course the sword was in the bar. His pleasant buzz was fading fast. A stroke from Inigo buzzed by his ear. "Draw your sword and fight me, fiend. I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my fath..." "I know! I know!," Duncan interrupted in exasperation, a cloud of warm breath bursting into the cold night air. "Good god, you loony Spaniard, I know who you are! And I don't *have* a sword with me!" The giant lumbered over to the two combatants, placing a huge paw on the Spaniard's shoulder. "That's hardly fair Inigo. If you are going to have a sword fight, you ought to both have swords." "Yes," agreed the Spaniard, squinting at Duncan and shaking his head ironically. "I want to earn my vengeance, not steal it." Duncan gaped incredulously at them both. "You two are a remarkable pair. How long have you been chasing me? almost 300 years?" Duncan wondered if he could outrun the Spaniard. Maybe not. In any case, it would likely do no good; Inigo would track him down again. Inigo pointed his rapier at Duncan's chest. "I have been chasing you since you killed my father, 523 years past. And I will continue to do so until I have avenged my father's humiliation." Inigo's black eyes gleamed. Hands spread Duncan rejoined, "Is it at all significant to you that I am only 400 years old? I could not possibly have murdered your father." The giant calculated something on his thick, stubby fingers as Inigo spat," You will not confuse me with your logic. Where is your sword? You always have a sword." His own sword pointed menacingly at Duncan's chest. "It's stowed away in a safe place. And, I'm not going to get it. If you refuse to talk this through with me, you'll just have to murder me in cold blood." If Inigo were really so concerned about getting 'honorable' vengeance, Duncan thought, then maybe this ploy would work to delay the matter long enough for reason to have some affect. Then again, how reasonable could he expect an immortal who tried to kill other immortals with a rapier to be? Raising his blade so that it framed the right side of his face, pointing to the sky like an antenna set to receive divine blessing, Inigo said, "It is your choice, murderer. I can only assume you accept your guilt if you refuse to defend yourself." Duncan, infuriatingly sober now, irritably chilled, was becomming a bit desperate to extract himself from the absurdity of the situation before someone unaccustomed to urban sword fights saw them. He looked at the giant who was still working out some apparently complex arithmetic on his fingers. "You, big guy..." Irritated the giant grumbled, "My name is Fezzik, mister. You made me lose my place." "I am truly sorry," offered Duncan, clearly not sorry. "Look, you were with Inigo when he killed the six-fingered man; isn't that right?" "Yes..?" he assented, rubbing life back into his chilled fingers. "Then will you *please* tell him he has already avenged his father's death?" "OK." Looking down at Inigo the giant declared, "You have already avenged your father's death." The Spaniard sighed. "Fezzik, you are the one who is always complaining that I am an alcoholic. And we both know that I became an alcoholic *because* I had not yet avenged my father's death. Now, don't you think that I would have stopped drinking if I had avenged his death?" Inigo's voice had raised a couple octaves in his frustration. With an expression of sudden understanding brightening his face the giant turned to Duncan. "See, mister, he *is* still an alcoholic. So he has not avenged his father's death, and the six-fingered man is still alive." Fezzik paused, raising a hand to cup his chin; he seemed to be thinking deeply to unravel the knotty threads of this mystery. "Aha," he exclaimed, pointing a chubby finger at Duncan. "But the six-fingered man didn't kill his father; you did." Fezzik turned smiling to the Spaniard for affirmation, "right, Inigo?" "Something like that, Fezzik" Inigo agreed, glaring at Duncan. "Then I am sure he simply forgot that he has avenged his father's death," Duncan countered. "Drunks often have memory problems, do they not?" The giant seemed convinced by the argument until Inigo suggested, "Ah, but that's not what happened at all! I simply imagined all that in a drunken stupor. Who has ever heard of a man having six-fingers anyway?" The giant smiled contentedly at Duncan, "See, mister, Inigo is smart. That's why he is my friend." "And I always will be until the end," added Inigo, patting Fezzik's arm. Fezzik looked down at the diminutive Spaniard. "Inigo," he asked, "could you hurry up and avenge your father's murder? I'm cold." A giant with chattering teeth, thought Duncan, is a pathetic sight. "It is as well as done!," Inigo announced, turning with a flourish to face Duncan once more. "Here it ends!" "Wait! Wait! Wait!," Duncan barked, jumping back a step. "OK, fine, I'll fight you. You can have your chance to avenge your poor father. Alright? But, first, let's go inside and have a drink. It will warm us all up, so we'll enjoy the duel more. OK?" "I suppose it is only fair to let you have a final drink," the Spaniard allowed guardedly. "Fine," said Duncan. "It's settled. Let's go back to Joe's, and I'll buy." Duncan led the way back toward the bar, shaking his head. Putting away his blade the Spaniard followed, excitement for a free drink vying with his drive for vengeance. "Well, Fezzik, it's well enough he wants to buy us drinks. We're broke." Bringing up the rear the giant exhaled deeply a few times. "Inigo," he exclaimed happily, "my breath...it turns into smoke!" ******** Approaching the bar Duncan saw a tall figure propping up the wall by the entrance. Methos took a loud sip from a steaming mug he held cupped in his hands. Licking his lips he looked over Duncan's shoulder, taking the measure of the motley pair following him. "Any problems, Mac?" he asked, all seriousness. "Just buying drinks for a couple of old friends," Duncan answered cryptically. He stepped aside as the giant and his vengeful friend came closer. "I am Fezzik, mister," the giant introduced himself in his deep, grumble of a voice. With a homely attempt at a disarming smile he offered a tremendous hand for shaking. Methos shook his hand -- tried hard not to wince -- and wondered if anyone in the bar were drunk enough to bet against this giant in arm-wrestling tonight. Grinning at himself he looked at the Spaniard. The man seemed grim, sorely in need of a drink if Methos were any judge of such things. He figured he'd been around long enough to make an educated guess. Inigo just stared at his boots, disinterested in greetings and introductions. "OK...well," Methos sighed, fixing Duncan with a amused, inquiring gaze. "Shall we?" He opened the door and disappeared into bar. Duncan motioned for the others to enter. Inigo, shoulders slumped, went first. Fezzik, smiling a big, goofy smile, winked at Duncan then followed. Duncan shook his head, wondering how these two had managed to keep theirs for so long. *** Once inside Duncan found them a reasonably private corner. A terrific creaking caused some concern when Fezzik plopped into his chair, but the chair held. Duncan wandered over to the bar. "What's with the cute couple?" asked Joe, taking his time to pour a Guinness for Duncan. "Oh, it's a long story." sighed Duncan, looking back at the Spaniard and his large friend. The giant had a paw on Inigo's shoulder. He was leaning in, speaking quietly to the wiry little fighter. "They seem almost affectionate. Brothers?" Asked Joe, sliding the pint across the bar. "No." Duncan stared at the glass for moment, watching the little white motes swirl and dance, slowly forming a thick head on his drink. "No, I don't think so. Immortals." He announced, looking up at Joe, the watcher's eyes lighting with question. "Really? Adam acted like he sensed something." Joe shoved another glass under the tap. "Is there a problem?" he asked, taking a closer look at the pair. "The little guy thinks I killed his father half a century past. He's been after me as long as I can remember. Every now and again he pops up and tries to kill me." Duncan chuckled and took a sip of his bitter ale. "And he's still around for you to buy him a drink?" Joe mused. "I would have thought one of you would end up headless." Finished with the second drink, Joe started a third. "He unbeatable?" Joe gave Duncan a wicked grin. "Hell, Joe, he might be...on his own terms. I've never seen a better fencer in my life." Duncan said smiling at the thought. "Fencer..?" asked Joe looking up. "Yeah," said Duncan taking another drink of his Guinness. "He's wicked with a rapier." Joe's laughter nearly drowned out the sound of a near full pint of ale smashing into the floor. "Nothing, it's OK,", Joe sputtered, waving away curious looks from around the bar. Leaning over to Duncan he whispered, still merry, "He tries to kill you with a rapier? Are you kidding?" "It's the god's honest truth. I don't know what his problem is. I guess he really doesn't know what's up. You OK?" "Yeah, yeah," Joe said, looking down. "I dropped it on my foot. It didn't hurt much," Joe grinned, joking obliquely about his prosthesis. "Has no one ever explained things to them?" he asked, beckoning for someone to mop up his mess. "Well, I've tried. God knows I've tried." Duncan smiled," usually the poor guy won't listen to anything I say. He always greets me with: 'I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.' The he tries to poke me full of holes" Duncan's impression of a vengeful Spaniard sent Joe reeling again. "My oh my, that's rich. Is he serious?" Joe wiped at tears. He hadn't had this good a laugh in weeks. "He's serious enough. He drinks near as much as he breathes from what I can tell. He may be half crazy for all I know." Duncan finished off his pint. Joe rolled his eyes. With one pint drunk and one spilled this fourth pouring left him one drink short of three. "You know, buddy, pouring a Guinness isn't quite the same as breaking open a brew. You should take it easy on your poor barkeep." "I'm sure you can handle it, old man," Duncan smiled. Looking over at the two Duncan reminisced for Joe, "the first time I ever met these two the Spaniard was face down on a bench in some little pub in Dublin. There was another fellow with them then...a self-possessed little prick. What was his name? Roberts I think. He claimed to be a pirate." 'A pirate, huh?" queried Joe, stepping aside as someone behind the bar mopped up the spill. "Yeah. We got to talking, having a few drinks. We were having a fairly nice time. Sometime during that evening the Roberts fellow told me a story about the Spaniard. Someone had killed his father, and he had spent 20 years of his life searching the culprit out. They, the three of them, supposedly shared some rather preposterous adventures together. But, eventually, they caught up with murderer and Inigo, the Spaniard, ran him through." Joe looked as if he weren't following well. "But, why is he after *you* then?" 'Well, that's the mystery isn't it? About a year after that night...I hadn't seen them again, mind you...those two show up, and he tries to drill me. Somehow he had managed to forget he'd killed the six-fingered man, and decided I was the true murderer if his father." "Six-fingered man?," asked Joe, his interest suddenly piqued. "Yeah," Duncan said, trying to pick up the three heaping pints. "The guy supposedly had six-fingers on one of his hands. Weird huh?" "About as weird as a bunch of immortal's running around Seacouver, swords in hand," Joe suggested. "Uh huh," agreed Duncan, concentrating on balancing the three pints as he walked over to the table. Absorbed in his task, he didn't see Joe beckon Methos, excuse himself and rush into the back. *** Methos poured into the office, a bottle of very cheap scotch in hand and a bemused look on his face. "What's up, barkeep? And who the hell are those two Duncan's drinking with?" Joe ignored the question for a moment as he fired up a laptop. After a minute of typing he looked up at Methos, now languidly draped across a chair. "What is it, Joe?" asked Methos, registering the serious look in Joe's eyes. "Mac said there wasn't a problem?" Joe's modem chirped and clicked. Joe looked down, pressed a few keys. Fixing Methos with a quizzical look he asked, "Ever met anyone who had six fingers?" "Well, I...." "A Watcher with six fingers?" Joe interrupted. Methos leaned forward, setting the bottle on the floor. "Yes, I do, in fact, know a Watcher with six fingers. As it happens, he's an immortal. His name is Rugen. Why? What's up?" Joe typed while he talked. "Well, I've never met him. But, one of those guys out there, the little one, thinks his father was killed by a six-fingered man. Or his adoptive father was killed... Whatever." "And..?" Methos asked, frowning at the unfolding mystery. "More, tell me more." "Well," Joe continued, "he spent two decades tracking his father's murderer. He found the man and killed him" Joe raised a finger, assuming a professorial demeanor. "But, he, this Inigo, has forgotten all this. And he's been after Duncan for some time now, thinking Duncan is to blame for father's murder." Methos scratched his head, trying to work this out. He grabbed up the bottle, thinking a swallow might lubricate his brain a bit. "So, how does this relate to a six fingered immortal Watcher? You say Inigo killed..." "Aha! Yes, but get this. Inigo fights with a rapier. 'Best fencer in the world,' Duncan claims. He never beheaded the man. And, I don't think he knows he is *supposed* to behead anyone." Methos shook his head, chuckling. "This really makes no sense at all. Anyway, Duncan would have killed him." Joe looked down at the diminutive screen and typed a few strokes. "That's what I thought. Duncan feels sorry for him, apparently. Says he ain't dangerous since he uses a rapier." Joe laughed. "Give me a swig of that. This is really too much." *** Duncan sat across from Fezzik and Inigo, setting the drinks on the table. "Have a drink, guys. Only the best for my guests." Inigo took a sip from his pint. Looking across the table at Duncan with hooded eyes and foam in his mustache he said, "You're very kind, considering I will be killing you shortly." Fezzik took a tremendous swallow of his drink, belched, and announced, "All this drinking has made me portly." He smiled hugely at his own wit, rubbing his impressive belly. Duncan rolled his eyes. Inigo patted Fezzik's arm. "Indeed, my large friend. You're almost as big as a house." Fezzik retorted, "And I eat cheese like a mouse!" "Please!" begged Duncan. 'Please stop the rhyming game. I'll chop off my own head if you don't stop." "Alright," agreed Inigo. "Since this is your last drink, we'll indulge you." 'Do you really think you will be able to kill me?" asked Duncan, trying hard to conceal a grin. "I do not mean to brag, but there is not a fencer better than I, not since the dread pirate Roberts," Inigo stated matter-of-factly. 'I don't doubt that," Duncan allowed. "But this time will be different," announced the Spaniard. "Each time before you have tricked me and escaped. This time I won't be fooled so easily." Visibly excited, Inigo brought the remaining half-pint of Guinness to his lips, gulped, and brought an empty glass back to the table. Inigo rose and scanned the room. "Where is the toilet?" "Back to your left," Duncan pointed. "Fezzik, watch this man," the Spaniard commanded. As he crossed the room and disappeared into the restroom he called out, I'll be back in a sec, then we'll finish this." The giant yelled after him, "OK, shorty, enjoy your..." "Don't!" Duncan hissed, slapping the table. Fezzik's throat made a sound like rocks tumbling. Duncan assumed from his merry expression he must be giggling. "Why does he insist that I killed his father?" Duncan asked the huge man. Fezzik's eyes narrowed. He fixed Duncan with a gaze that was considerably more intelligent than anything he had shown thus far. "Mister, Inigo is a very sad man. Since his father died, he just, well, he's alone." "He has you," Duncan suggested. Fezzik slid his glass around the table in tiny circles. "I know," the giant smiled, staring into the swirling drink. "I try to be a good friend to him. He sure is a good one for me. I guess it's not enough." Duncan stared at the giant for a moment, disoriented slightly by the sudden change in mood. Looking back toward the restroom he asked, "But why me? Why does he think I killed his father?" Fezzik took a swallow of his drink. "After he killed the six-fingered man, he had a funny feeling. he always felt like he had failed, like he might not have killed the six-fingered man after all. Then, one day, he got a note. It just appeared in his pocket. It said that he had killed the wrong person. That the real murderer was still alive." Duncan nodded, intrigued by this very strange story. "But, why me?" "Inigo felt really bad after that. He started drinking again. Then, after we met you that time, he got another note that said you were the real killer." Fezzik raised his eyebrows and his lips tightened in an odd expression. "You don't believe the notes do you?" asked Duncan. "I mean, who was giving them to him?" "Mister, may I be honest with you?" asked Fezzik. "Of course," answered Duncan, leaning forward on his elbows. "Mister, I don't know who gave him the notes. I don't know who killed his father. I just know that he is my friend. He has always been good to me. I just try to be a good friend for him too." Before Duncan could reply someone spun a chair around backwards and landed in it quite gracefully next to him. Methos slapped Duncan on the shoulder. "Duncan," he said, "we have got to talk." To be continued