The Highwayman - Out takes
Early, unedited version.
The air was crisp, steaming from the mouth of the black clad man as his horse pounded along the dusty road. The moon was high and full, riding in the tips of the woodland surrounding the road. Other than the sound of the hooves thudding dully on the hard mud, and the sound of leather and metal chiming, there was no sound. Thomas took a quick look up at the dark rich blue of the sky, crouched low over the gelding's neck as they galloped towards home, and glanced over his shoulder and laughed, the sound ringing clearly in the midnight quiet. No sign of them. He reined the horse in, and let it trot along. King George's men were far behind, and he, well, he had a good night's haul.
Ahead was a carriage, moving at a fair pace. Closed, so probably more than one person. The coats of arms on the side, an odd reversed shield, suggested persons of means. Thomas grinned, and retrieved the mask. "The gods favour me indeed."
He touched his spurs to the flanks of his horse, and primed his pistols. "Halt or I fire!" he yelled, racing past the carriage and grabbing the traces, pulling the horses up before the driver could so much as cry out in alarm. The horses swerved, and clattered to a halt.
"Down from there, lads," he waved the servants away from the shooting piece on the roof. "Move it." He levelled the guns at the terrified men, and they slid off the seat, and ran.
"Craven worms! Get back here!" a woman's voice shrieked after them.
"Fair maiden," he gave her the benefit of the doubt. "Pray, alight." There was a slight scuffle inside, and Thomas began to grin. There was a firm hiss, <The lady is no lady,> Thomas reflected in amusement, as he caught the imprecations she was muttering. A tall figure jumped down, then turned to hand out a young woman. Both were dark haired, and dark eyed, and richly clad. Thomas ran a proprietary eye over their jewels and trappings, resolutely ignoring the puzzled look the man was giving first him, and then his female companion.
<My my,> He paused in his commercial appraisal of the two, and ran his eyes back over the beautiful body beneath them, following them with a slow touch of his crop running across the luscious form trembling before him.
The young man flushed furiously, and spoke. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Dear sir, may I make myself known to you? Thomas de Paris, Master of all you survey." He did them a deep courtesy, flourishing feathered hat in hand.
"A common brigand, B'Ela. Ignore him.
"Oh Harry, I implore you, let not him take our most precious things." There was a faint snort, and Thomas glared at Harry.
"And what, sweet 'sister', might those be?" Thomas de Paris (for 'twas he), asked sweetly, stepping closer, till the two younger people crowded together, and then walking slowly around them.
"Stand back!" Harry drew his oddly shaped rapier with a steely hiss. Thomas' eyes widened slightly, and he replied with his own blade swiftly drawn.
The two men circled each other slowly, then, in a flurry of movement, closed. In the background Harry's sister watched, hand over mouth, until the coachmen returned. "Shall we kill him, Mistress Bella?"
"No." she snapped, "you very probably would miss, and then where would we be. No, I have a better idea. Let us leave quickly. I have every faith in Harry's skills as a swordsman to defeat this cur, and papa will be able to send the men out to retrieve the body of the highwayman. And send help, just in case," she added as an afterthought.
The coachmen exchanged looks, but obeyed.
Harry saw them depart, and smiled grimly. "At least you shall not have her!"
"Why, sweeting, whatever makes you think 'twas her I wanted?"
There was another faint choking sound from Harry's direction. Thomas waved his sword threateningly at Harry.
"Hey, watch that. That's a live blade you nearly took my nose off with there, Tom Paris!"
"Stay in character," Thomas hissed, desperately gathering the shards of the illusion back together.
"And why the hell did you put B'Elanna in?"
Tom dropped the sword and put his hands on his hips. "Hey, I didn't crit your fantasy."
"My fantasy was somewhere warm and dry. I'm freezing here!"
"We're supposed to get warm. Together." Tom said crossly, and began walking away.
"And don't leave an edged weapon lying around on damp ground like this. These katanas are very old, and dangerous. Just because I let you talk me into using them for this doesn't mean you can treat them like that." He'd dropped to his knees and was carefully wiping the muck off the blade with a piece of chamois he'd had secreted somewhere under the fancy clothes. Tom's jaw dropped.
"Har"
"What?"
"I said no modern stuff."
"You want the swords, you put up with the chammy. I've got to look after the blades. My grandmother's ghost would find me out here and haunt me for the rest of my short and probably rapidly insane life."
"You think more of those bloody things than you do of me."
"Toooom." Harry picked up the sword and walked over to his friend, holding out his free hand. "Come on, lover. You know that's not true. Look, shall we try again?"
"Maybe in a couple of days." He glanced ruefully at Harry. "I'd rather you didn't collapse into giggles everytime I spoke, and in that case I think I'm going to have to work on the bedroom scene."
"Really?" Harry began to grin.
"No, Harry." Tom said emphatically.
"Couldn't we just have a quick peek? Since you don't want to play it through? And since we have booked it for another two hours?"
"No!" Harry kissed him. "No, really, Har, I. . ." his protests were muffled by Harry's tongue. "Well, if you promise not to laugh. . ."
"I promise." Harry hid his crossed fingers behind his back.
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Version mark two. Scene one. Take two.
"Oh really. Well, I fear I prefer them right where they are." He offered a mocking bow, and the other man drew his sword. "I never fight someone when I have no idea what name should go on the headstone."
"Harry Kim," through thin lips, "and you are?"
"Thomas de Paris, votre servitor."
Kim nodded curtly, saluted with the bright blade, and lunged. Thomas was startled and showed it, scuttling backwards like a frightened rabbit.
"Hey, I thought these were going to be just decorative in this version!"
"They're there for a reason. And remember they're live blades, Tom-love. Now get on with it."
"Ha! Have at you!"
"!"
"Ow! Owowowowowowowow ow! Who turned the bloody safeties off?"
There was a cough, suggestive of a person rigorously controlling giggles, followed by a patient sigh. "Tom, perhaps we'd better work on the sword fighting scenes. You know, show you which end of the thing to hold, that kind of thing before you hurt yourself any more. And can I just point out here that the safeties in fact only work on holographic swords, which you may recall you refused to use on the grounds of authenticity (though how a katana in eighteenth century Britain is authentic I'll never know...)"
"Are you laughing at me?"
"Me? Laugh? No. No, absolutely not," Harry snickered as he sheathed his own blade.
"You're laughing." Tom sulked and flounced away.
"It's just, well, I've never seen someone hit them*selves in the ankle with a sword before. And you did look kind of funny, hopping there."
"Hmph."
"Shall I kiss it better?" Harry leered cheerfully at Tom, whose face brightened.
"You mean skip out all the middle bit of my story?" Harry nodded. "Again?" Harry grinned and nodded again. "After I put all that hard work in on it?" Harry nodded for a third time. "Okay. Here?"
Harry stepped closer, and wound his arms around Tom's neck. "It's kind of cold here. We could go somewhere warmer. . ."
"Or we could keep ourselves warm?" Tom finished, and they grinned at each other. "Besides, " Tom whispered into Harry's ear, "you laughed when I showed you the bedroom scene last time. It needs more work on it."
"You mean to tell me your poor virginal victim doesn't have to say the immortal lines 'unhand me you cur!' any more?. But Tom, I've been practising." Harry made big eyes at Tom, batting his lashes furiously.
"Oh don't! I can't laugh and stand on one foot! Har! Oof."
"Well, why were you standing anyway?" He was asked from a distance of at least two, maybe even three millimetres.
"Harry! I can't breathe!"
"Do you really want to?" came a soft whisper. Soft lips touched his, just brushing lightly, over and over, until Tom was wriggling under him, desperately trying to keep those tantalising lips on his.
"Well, do you?" Harry repeated, smiling lovingly down at his Tom, who was writhing towards him, eyes shut, mouth open, breathing harshly.
"Huh?. . ." Harry kissed him thoroughly as a reward for forgetting everything.
"Oh Harr. . ."
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Take three:
"Oh really. Well, I fear I prefer them right where they are." He offered a mocking bow, and the other man drew his sword. "I make it a point never to fight someone when I have no idea what name should go on the headstone.
"Harry Kim," through thin lips, "and you are?"
"Thomas Paris, votre servitor."
Kim nodded curtly and saluted. Thomas was startled at his cool air of competence, and moved warily to match swords.
The weapons rang, and it was quickly clear that Harry was the superior swordsmen, as he darted in and out, surprisingly light on his feet, while the highwayman, so confident before, was hard pressed to do more than keep up a guard.
"You'll never win, you know," Harry said mildly, at a particularly reckless stroke of Thomas' sword, knocking it easily away, "And what was that meant to be? You can do better than that. Come on, Tom, concentrate."
"Harry!" Tom waved his hands frustratedly in the air, grabbing at his hair in a gesture likely to remove his head. "Could you at least try to pretend to be overcome by my superior strength and skills?"
"Oops. Sor-ry." Harry bit his lip, in a rather Tom-like gesture, in an effort to stop the grin he knew was waiting to leap out. "Skip the middle?"
"Skip the middle." Tom replied resignedly.
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Take four:
"Never!" Harry gasped, tossing his mane of black hair. "I have no sister, and I'm glad of it, glad, glad I tell you! damn your filthy soul! You hear me? Glad!"
"HAR-RY!"
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Discussion, while creating the final version.
"You know Tom, I've been thinking."
"Not again! Harry, you know we don't have enough rations left to replace the wallpaper again."
"Ho very ho. We never do play out the whole middle bit."
"Hmm?"
"The getting to know you? the sneaking around with wistful glances (and what you've been reading, I'd rather not know, but we need to work on your choice of literature..)" He jerked himself back to the original thread with an effort at Tom's muffled growl. "The battle scene? My 'father' riding ventre a terre to the rescue? The King's men arriving to tear you from my weeping arms? And where you picked up a phrase like that I'll never --"
"All right already! I know the bit you mean. Your point?"
"Couldn't we just leave it out of our version?"
"Harry, I've spent weeks getting all that stuff right. All that angst, first love, love lost, love regained. True love conquering all." He cut himself short at Harry's faint gagging noises. "And I like that bit at the end," he finished defensively.
"With me rushing up at the last minute to cut you down from the gallows? Love, I'm not into auto-asphyxiation. Too much could go wrong, even in a holodeck, and I'm not losing you for real." Harry hugs Tom tightly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought --"
"Yeah, it's a great dramatic ending, but not with a real person getting strung up. Not with you getting strung up. It gives me the creeps just thinking about it."
"But that's what makes the sex so good afterwards. . ."
"No!"
"Okay, okay." Tom grins at Harry. "I guess we just have to cut out the middle bit permanently. I think I can live with that."
Harry grins back. "Want to make sure?"
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A minor loss of concentration on part of holo-author
He tried to lower Harry to the hearth, but he resisted, and Tom leaned back again, concerned. There was a mumble, and he tried to make out the words, but it was impossible.
"What was that again, sweet?"
"I said, could we go to bed?" he repeated loudly and aggressively, scarlet with shy shame.
"If you'd rather, dear heart." Tom replied gently, placing a chaste kiss on the swollen lips. "But not just yet." He tried to meet Harry's eyes, to tell him it was just a matter of taking it slowly, but the arms tightened around him, almost desperately.
"Don't you want me?" he asked piteously, a faint twinkle in his eyes.
"No, Harry, I'm standing here with a teak woody, bristle burn and my hands in your crotch because I can't stand you any more. What do you think, Kim?" Tom started quite quietly, really, and was roaring by the end. Harry was leaning against him, sniggering helplessly.
"Har, please, just for me, just for once stick to the script!"
"What happened to spontaneity, Thomas, you bad, bold highwayman you?" Harry grinned, plastering a coy look over his face, and batting his lashes at his lover.
"Grrr....Turn round, hands against the wall, and assume the position!" Tom snapped out. Harry turned and grinned at the cool stone against his hands.
"Mmmm..." and, much later, "So, that's where the spontaneity went."
"Mmm. Right up your ass, pet," Tom grinned.
La Fin
Page last updated 18/09/2004.