Larkangel - A Highlandish Story by Joanne Madge (j0lander@juno.com) --------------------------------------------- ***SPOILER ALERT!*** ***SPOILER ALERT!*** ***SPOILER ALERT!*** If you have not seen the season five episode, ARCHANGEL and do not want it spoiled, stop reading now! Also contains minor guest-star spoiler for the final two episodes of season six, TO BE and NOT TO BE. If you missed Adrian's Paul's announcement on his fan club's web page regarding who would appear in these episodes and you don't *want* to know, then turn back now! S P O I L E R S ! ! ! ! DISCLAIMER: Highlander and its characters belong to Rysher. No infringement intended, no profit being made. This is a work of parody. -------------------------------------------- Dunkin' MacClod and Itchie Lyin' strolled side-by-side, happy together down the street, enjoying each other's company and discussing the fact that they had nothing even remotely in common. A few minutes into the conversation Itchie made an observation. "You know, Mac? Last time we had a talk like this, some crazed Immortal jumped up out of nowhere and shot up a store full of innocent people. You remember that?" "Ah, Itchie...." Mac shook his head and smiled. "What are the chances of something that terrible happening again? Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, you know." "Well.... actually it does. Frequently." Mac scratched his head. "Really?" Just then a disheveled, gray-haired man ran up to them and grabbed Dunkin' by the front of his jacket. "Are you Duncan MacLeod?" he gasped. "Dunkin' MacClod," Mac corrected. "Close enough!" the old man wheezed. "The time has come! The fox is in the hen house! The cock crows at midnight!" Mac stared at him. "Uhhhh...." The man clutched him desperately. "There was a farmer who had a dog, and Bingo was his name-o!" Mac glanced at Itchie. "Er, aren't we late for something, or something?" The man shook him violently. "Only you can save us all!" Itchie suddenly pointed up in the air. "Oh, my God, LOOK OUT!" The man gasped in terror, let go of MacClod and looked in the direction Itchie was pointing. "What? What?!" Nothing was there. When he looked back, Mac and Itchie were scurrying back the way they'd come. "No, wait!" he cried. "I haven't told you about old MacDonald, yet! I.... I.... Aaaarrrrggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh...." Well down the street at this point, Itchie turned and grinned at his teacher. "Geez, was he a crackpot, or what?" Mac smiled back at him. "Yeah. Poor old...." he broke off and stared in space for a moment. Then he pointed. "Oh, my God. LOOK!" Richie chuckled. "Heh-heh, nice try, Mac." "No, look! It's Horrorton! James Horrorton the Hunter!" Itchie looked. A melodramatic, red fog was forming along the stairway behind him, but otherwise nothing unusual was to be seen. "Mac, I think the Paris pollution is getting to you. Let's find an open pub somewhere, and...." Mac knocked Itchie to the ground. "Don't worry, I'll protect you! Yaaaaaahhhhh!" And with that, he charged into the fog toward the looming figure. "Damn it, if there's one thing I can't stand it's a mortal who won't stay dead!" Horrorton just laughed. "What makes you so sure I'm real?" MacClod snorted. "Well, if you're not real, what are you?" Horrorton glowered at him, his eyes glowing like little, red, Christmas lights. "Maybe I'm the demon that old man tried to warn you about! Maybe I've come to destroy you!" Mac shook his head. "Nah, you'd be smarter than to go and reveal yourself to me if that was the case. I mean, it's not like I was *listening* to the old coot!" Horrorton went a bit pale. "Oh.... Yes. I guess I wouldn't. Never mind!" He vanished instantly. "Mac!" Itchie came pounding through the fog behind MacClod, rubbing a large bump on his head. "What's the deal, are you crazy?!" Mac smiled. "No, just hallucinating a little." He slapped Itchie on the back. "Now about that pub...." ### Well, wouldn't you know it, they found the crazy old guy dead on their way back and decided to investigate. Soon, Mac was sitting in a pleasant English -- er, French sitting room with an attractive young French -- that is, English lady. "So, live around here much?" Mac asked, gazing deeply into her eyes. She cleared her throat nervously. "I really hope this isn't too forward, but I must ask...." Mac leaned in a bit closer. "Yes?" "Did my grandfather.... say anything to you?" Mac sagged visibly. "Oh. Well, yeah. He said something about hens and foxes and farmers and stuff. Mean anything to you?" She brightened up. "Not a thing. He was a bit loopy. Why don't I show you his scrapbook?" Mac smiled hopefully. "I'd love to see your.... scrapbook." To his great disappointment she indeed produced an aged looking volume and set it on the table before him. She began turning pages. "Here's where he traveled though the Middle East, taking extensive notes. And here's where he found some good, cheap souvenirs. Oh, and here's where he discovered a long lost secret cave full of untold treasures!" MacClod whistled. "Geez, lucky guy." She blanched. He blushed. "Oops. Sorry. Well, anyway, I still don't see.... hey!" "What?" He pointed to a detailed drawing of one of the cave walls. "Am I nuts, or does that have, 'Dunkin' MacClod is a great big wuss' carved into it?" She peered closer, squinting. "It does! Oh, my God.... then that means you're HIM!" Mac pouted. "Am not." She shook her head. "No, no, I mean you're him. The great Champion! The one who must battle the Big Red Evil Whatever and save the world!" Mac turned that over in his mind a few moments. Finally he said, "So that means I'm not a wuss?" "Certainly not!" "Oh." He shrugged. "Then I guess it's okay." That sat gazing at each other, she with a look of admiration, he with.... well, anyway. Ten minutes passed. Mac blinked. "I have to battle the WHAT?" ### Hours later, back in his barge, Mac mulled over what the granddaughter had told him. Could it be that it was all real? Could it be that Horrorton had been more than a simple hallucination? Could it be that some terrible evil was about to attack the world and *he* alone could stop it?!? Mac took a sip of wine. "Naaaahhhhhhh." Just then, the figure of a man appeared in the room with him. Tall, handsome, dressed in leather, his face painted wickedly. "Greetings, MacClod!" Mac leapt to his feet. "Kroneold!" Kroneold snorted. "Pretty good recognition considering you have no idea what I looked like in the bronze age." Mac drew his katana. "But you're dead! I took your head months ago!" He lunged, swinging fiercely. Kroneold vanished in a puff of red smoke, his evil laugh echoing in his wake. Mac looked around in confusion, then ran to the front door and charged outside, taking a swing at everything that moved. Fortunately, Meefus was a quick ducker. "Hey!" Mac took a step back from him. "Sorry. I was looking for Kroneold." He ran off into the night. Meefus stared after him. "Well..." he murmured to himself. "Either Mac's gone off the deep end - again - or he's got some *damn* fine beer in there." He strolled up the gang plank and into the barge's open door. ### Needless to say, as the next couple of days went by, things only got worse. Mac was seeing dead enemies left and right, Itchie and Joe Duhson didn't know what to do, and Meefus hadn't found any beer. The three of them strolled along the chilly Paris streets, discussing the situation. "Look," Joe sighed, "I don't know what, but we've got to do something! Meefus, can't you think of anything?" Meefus shrugged. "Hey, who was it who dragged Mac to the holy hot tub the *last* time he went off his gourd? Why do I always have to be the know-it-all?" Itchie spoke up. "Listen, you guys. I happen to know for a *fact* that Mac is not losing it, so everything he is seeing *has* to be real!" "I stand corrected," Meefus mumbled. Joe snorted. "How crazy is this? A Zoroastrian demon comes up out of the blue every thousand years and starts insulting people? And Mac is the only one who can stop him? It's nuts!" (<----helpful plot reiteration for those who missed it the first three times or have started nodding off by now). Meefus nodded. "Talk about delusions of grandeur." Itchie set his jaw stubbornly. "Well, I still say he knows what he's doing." Meefus turned his head toward Itchie. "Funny how you seem to trust him so completely, considering the number of times he's tried to kill you. Not to mention how long you've spent this year not trusting him at all." Itchie shrugged. "Yeah. I dunno, Meefus, I just haven't been feeling very consistent lately." Meefus smiled reassuringly. "Well, try not to worry too much, Itchie. I'm sure it won't last." ### Later that morning, the three discovered that the granddaughter had been murdered during the night by someone fitting Mac's exact description. Fortunately, the Paris police - who had *very* short term memories, and had forgotten their previous two hundred run-ins with MacClod - did not come calling on him. That bit of luck aside, Joe and Meefus had to come to the sad conclusion that not only was their good friend a loony-toon, but he was a *dangerous* loony-toon. "Hey," Joe suggested, "Maybe we could get Sean Ferns, the Immortal shrink, to talk to him." Meefus shook his head. "Mac killed him on his last trip off the deep end." "Darn, I forgot." Joe thought for a moment. "Well, how that nice-looking lady Immortal who came calling on him a few months ago. They're old friends.... no, wait, Mac killed her, too." He sighed. "Isn't there *anyone* Mac might listen to that he *hasn't* killed?" "Hey, guys." the youngest member of the threesome caught up to them, munching on an ice cream cone. "Anyone hungry?" Meefus and Joe looked at each other, eyebrows raised. ### "C'mon, Mac," Itchie sat across from his friend who was sulking in the barge. "Don't be so bummed. Whatever this thing is, we'll figure it out." Suddenly, a black cat leapt through one of the open portholes, ran across Itchie's path and jumped out another one. "I mean," he continued, "how dangerous can this thing be?" He propped his feet up on a rung of the ladder he was sitting under. Mac shrugged gloomily, staring at the open scrapbook in front of him. "I dunno, Itch. I just wish I could figure this thing out." He glanced up at his friend. "Why are you holding an open umbrella?" "There's a hole in the roof. So, anyway, the thing I just want you to know is no matter what happens, Mac, and no matter who else doesn't believe you, *I* do and I'm gonna stick by you no matter what, buddy!" Thunder crashed outside. The lights blinked out briefly, casting Itchie in a deep, ominous shadow. Mac grinned, blushing. "Aw, Itch. Thanks. Really." A dead albatross suddenly fell through the hole over Itchie's head, bounced off his umbrella, and landed with a damp 'thud' at his feet. "Wow!" Itchie said, laughing. "Am I lucky, or WHAT?" ### "What?!?" "I said," Meefus repeated, "you need help." The afternoon had not gone well for MacClod. Not long after Itchie left, an apparition of the granddaughter had appeared before him, wearing nothing but a lace teddy and a smile, then vanished just when things had started getting.... interesting. Now here was the world's oldest Immortal along with his best mortal pal telling him he was crazy. "Look, you guys, " he huffed. "We've been though and awful lot together and it really hurts when...." he suddenly spun around and pointed an angry finger at the wall behind him. "The same to you and more of it, Kroneold!" He turned back to them, "....when you don't believe me when I tell you this is REAL!" Meefus and Joe exchanged worried glances. Mac sighed sadly. "Boy oh boy.... I tell you, things do *not* get any worse than this!" The phone rang. "Excuse me," Mac said to his two ex-friends in a petulant tone. I need to get that. Maybe it's someone who *cares* about me!" He picked it up. "Hello? What? Slow down! I.... No, wait, I'll be right there!" He ran past them, tossing the phone to Joe. "Itchie! Racetrack! Horrorton! Bye!!" "Huh?" Joe called back to him, but he was already gone. He put the phone to his ear and heard a dialtone. He shook his head. "Just another hallucination." Meefus patted him on the back. "We tried." "Yeah." They stood there, lost in thought for a few minutes. Joe glanced at the phone in his hand. "Uh...?" "Hmm?" "Did you hear the phone *ring* when Mac answered it?" "Hmm." Meefus considered. "Yes, I did." "Yeah." Joe scratched his beard. "So did I." They looked at each other. "Itchie!" ### Mac entered the old, abandoned racetrack building with slow caution, sword at the ready. There had been some kind of party held there recently and he glanced nervously at the piles of abandoned confetti on the floor - a *sure* sign that a Quickening would be happening soon. He tiptoed around the corner past an old escalator, which for some reason was actually *working*. There was a groan. Mac glanced up. Itchie was sitting on the descending stairs, his head buried in his hands. "Now they get a movie deal, now they get a movie deal...." he seemed to be mumbling, but Mac couldn't be sure. He took a tentative step forward. "Itchie?" Itchie's head snapped up, his eyes glowing red. "Hahhhhh! Fooled ya!" He jumped from the escalator and whipped out his sword. "Whoa!" Mac stepped back from him. "Now, c'mon, Itch. Just because *I* got to be evil for a couple episodes doesn't mean...." Itchie laughed. "Guess again!" Mac gasped, realization sinking in at last. "You!" The demon snarled. "You? Me? You, me, you? Me, me you-me-you, me?!" He was beginning to look desperate. A voice whispered from off to the side, "You don't even...." "Thanks. You don't even understand what's going on here, do you?!" Mac paused. Stared into space. Scratched his head. "Uhhhh...." "Idiot!" the demon shrieked, and launched itself at MacClod, sword swinging. Mac parried then gasped. Kroneold was now standing before him, laughing. Then Horrorton, then Itchie, then Kroneold again, then Joe, then all of them at once, then.... Mac crossed his arms and frowned. "Now this is just getting silly! How is anyone going to get excited over this sword fight when it's obvious I don't have a chance in He...." All the figures vanished, except one: Itchie. Mac grinned. "Now *that's* more like it!" He lifted his sword, charged forward and.... NOW JUST HANG ON A SECOND!!! Am I *really* supposed to tell you intelligent people that Itchie just stood there like a statue and *let* Mac chop his head off? Am I supposed to, in one fell stroke of the keys, totally invalidate the one scrap of common sense this poor character has ever been allowed to possess?!? Damn. I was afraid of that. Uh.... just then Itchie allowed his mind to wander, and.... Well, let's just say that unfortunately he wasn't a quick ducker. ### Meefus and Joe pulled up just in time to see the tell-tale signs of a Quickening in progress. They ran inside to see Mac kneeling before a headless body. *Itchie's* headless body. They stood there, numb with shock as Mac abandoned his sword and ran out into the night; a heart-broken, sobbing shell of his former self. Utterly devastated at what he'd done. Until the next episode, where he would be magically transformed into a centered, toned, more-seriously focused, peace-loving, demon-destroying, Zen master dude with a haircut and cooooool shades! (Oh, and a really ugly jeep). But that's another story. Meanwhile, Meefus and Joe were left alone, looking down in sorrow on what was left of Itchie' Lyin'. Meefus put a comforting arm around Joe. Joe in turn, bowed his head, whipped out his guitar and began to sing in a voice that could move Eric Clapton to tears: Would you look what you've done, You great overgrown jerk? Some fans don't seem to care. Others going berserk! Just what is it they want? What the hell can we do? Ooohhh..... When fans say, "We want him back!" And they laugh at the BREW? Who was it dreamed up this plot? Did they think it was deep? Do they say viewers are shallow If some think that it reeked? They moan, "We might lose ratings Points that we need to keep!" "Hey, I know!" "Let's just bring Stan Kirsch back for the May ratings sweeps!" Ooohhh..... "For those big ratings sweeps." Heyyyyy, ooohhhhh! End?