The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
Beer Bad
Highlander, Methos/Duncan
Methos sips, and tilts his head to the side.
"What is this? I'm not familiar with it."
"New shipment," Joe says. "Black Frost. What do you think?"
Another sip, a thoughtful expression. "Hmm." Methos drinks half the glass before giving his expert opinion.
"Foamy."
***
"Had the earliest morality developed under the influence of beer," Adam Pierson states, every bit the watcher and student he appears to be, "there would be no good or evil. There would just be kinda nice and pretty cool." For a moment, his eyes seem ancient. "Everything would be different."
Duncan nods, and drinks some of his own glass. He never bothered listening to Methos' views on the history of the world, and he's not about to start now. Instead, he reviews the older man, reaching a new conclusion about Methos.
"Pretty."
Something changes in his expression; the brood is somehow more pronounced.
***
"What happened here last night?" Amanda. Bright colours. Bright noise.
Duncan is quick to explain. "Went to Joe's. Then came beer."
"Aha." She surveys all that's before her. "And then the group sex?"
Duncan blinks. He finds Methos is spooning behind him, sniffing his hair.
"Boy smells nice."
"I know." Amanda doesn't seem at all concerned about sharing. Methos appreciates that.
She wonders if she should not leave them alone, but decides they're big boys and can handle themselves.
***
"Shiny," Methos says, voice astonished.
Duncan reaches to the Ivanhoe between them, touches the tip and jumps back with a giggle. "Sharp."
Methos squints. Duncan furrows his brow. Sparks of a quickening heal Duncan's tiny cut.
"Shiny," Methos repeats.
***
"Fire bad," Duncan mutters.
"Fire pretty!" Methos waves a makeshift weapon made from a golf club he took from Duncan. Vague memories of pretty fire and wild sex float in his caveman brain. Somewhere in the distance, he thinks he can hear horses neigh.
"Fire bad," Duncan insists.
"Fire pretty." And then, as a peace offering, "Beer good?"
"Beer good," Duncan agrees. "Foamy."
***
"More beer!"
"Methos?" Joe takes a step back. "What happened to your face?"
"More. Beer."
Something about his stance reminds Joe of the stories Macleod told him about the Horsemen.
"Beer!" The oldest immortal probably feels right at home, banging on the bar with Duncan's converted golf club. Behind him, Macleod stands, grinning, and nods. "Beer," he agrees. Then sniffs the back of Methos' neck.
Joe pours them each a Guinness while other customers glance suspiciously in their direction.
***
"What was that?" Amanda seems amused. She tosses a newspaper on the coffee table. The tabloid's front page tells of Cavemen in Seacouver.
"I don't know, but I'm glad it wore off." Methos grumbles. He's not used to hangovers. Or to a dead rabbit in the fridge - still with its fur on. Or to Duncan Macleod sprawled on top of him, snoring softly. Still smelling nice. Was that foam on his upper lip, or...?
"So what was it like, returning to your roots?" She really doesn't have to be so bloody cheerful about it, Methos thinks to himself, irritated.
"And what have we learned about beer?" She grins. Methos knows the reply to that, at least.
"Foamy."
Info:
To understand wtf, please watch
the Buffy ep Beer
Bad.
Some dialogue credit to Joss Whedon,
who rules a lot of my world.