The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
Lines in the Sand
Memories. Methos, Kronos
Lonely night, everything silver and black like an old film noir. The room is warm and there's a scent he can't quite pinpoint, something earthy but faint wafting in the air. Inhaling deeply, he still can't identify it but the memories flood him and he sits down on the bed, face in hands, and thinks back.
A night in the desert, moon bright above them as they snuck quietly, tracking down a fox to its den in the dry, cold air. It took half the day and most of the night and brought no profit, no glory. But they did it and enjoyed it, and after they found the fox, they released it. They brought nothing but fear and blood and death to men, but saw no reason to harm the beautiful, sleek creature. And when the sun rose, they saw each other's faces, bare of the threatening marks and dyes. The sun and earth and sweat had wiped off their identities, their masks, and all that was left was bare skin, pinked by the sun, and a thin layer of ochre dust. They laughed then at each other, drew dark yellow lines on the other's face.
Companionship.
Methos glances to the bed. He can see Kronos there, familiar figure under the covers, face naked of any hint of dye, calm in sleep. The eyes he feared are closed now.
His bare feet hardly make a noise as he pads outside to the small plot
of land by his apartment building. He kneels there, buries his hands in
the earth, feels the cool, moist dew in the sand. He brings up his fingers
and touches them to his face, sketching old patterns.