Date: Thu, 26 Oct 1995 18:30:36 EDT Reply-To: Lord Brian MacKenzie of the Clan MacKenzie Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Lord Brian MacKenzie of the Clan MacKenzie Organization: TEMPLE UNIVERSITY Subject: The MacKenzie Chronicles: Bonny Portmore, part 1 kilt? *check* claymore? *check* bagpipes? *check* MacTavish? *cross-check* (whoops!!! Flyerdian-- er, um... Freudian slip!!) Okay, kids, it's off to Scotland we go in this one!!!! oooooooooooo!!!! The MacKenzie Chronicles Bonny Portmore, part One by Brian Procopio, of the Clan MacKenzie Copyright 1995 Kaos Pictures, Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Oh Bonny Portmore I am sorry to see Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree For it stood on your shore for many's the long day Till the long boats from Antrim came to float it away..." _______________________________________________________________________________ January 3, 1995 Northeast Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ------------------------------------ I eased my automobile off of Roosevelt Boulevard and onto the less- crowded avenue intersecting it, my grip on the steering wheel loosening some- what. A red light before me allowed me the chance to work some feeling back into my whitened knuckles and to scan the surrounding street. Quaint little rowhomes lined the way, each with a well-manicured square of lawn about two feet to a side before it. A conservative mix of cars crammed themselves along the sidewalks, with a healthy portion of "family vehicles." My own Plymouth Sundance blended in well, still nice enough to draw looks from time to time, but not flashy enough to draw too many stares. It was a habit I had picked up while in the SEALs to try to remain inconspicuous as much as possible, and it certainly paid off. I turned on to the denser Frankfort Avenue, making way for a large SEPTA public transportation bus barrelling towards my car. As it passed it released a well-timed belch of inky smoke through my barely-cracked window. My eyes watered at the stench and, as a result, I missed my final turn.... <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Richie gunned his engine, shooting before my own and leaving a soot- filled cloud of particulate matter behind for me to drive through. As my eyes cleared I realized with a start that I was upon the final bend of the track allready, and leaned far into the curve with hopes of pulling the tight turn off, but to no avail. I felt a fire lance up through my left leg as the bike thudded painfully down upon it, pinning it there as I skidded several dozen yards to a final halt. A humming motor came up behind me seconds later, and Richie Ryan leapt from his seat to assist me in getting my injured leg out from underneath the jet-black Ninja. "Nice spill, Mac," commented the redhead with a worried smirk on his face. "I'll live," I groaned painfully as I shuffled my way backwards, freeing the broken limb. I rubbed my left arm, which had taken a pretty nice collision with the track as well, as I peered around at the empty racetrack. It was slightly damp out, an overall gray state of affairs as far as weather was con- cerned. With a wince I got to my feet, supporting my weight on Richie's shoulder, already feeling the healing process at work in my leg. "And *this* is what you want to do for a living?" I inquired. "Well, yeah," Ryan responded, a rather surprised look passing over his face. "I mean, haven't you ever done anything competitive besides... you know..." "Besides the Game?" I finished. Richie concurred with a nod. "Aye. I have. From time to time. I used to fence competitively a few, um, well, decades ago." I grinned slightly. "Still do, sort of. I'm a teaching assist- ant at Temple U's fencing department. I play hockey there too." "Hockey?" Richie questioned as he helped me down to the bleachers. "Now *there's* a crazy sport..." "Hey!" I snarled. "Watch it, Richie." The younger immortal cringed slightly. "Nothing personal..." I nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Tis okay. One of these years I'll get ya out on the ice, then I'll take it personally." "Oh...," commented Richie with a slightly befuddled look on his face. "That's *very* reassuring, Bri." He settled his weight down on the bleacher next to me. I chuckled somewhat, and a moment or two of silence passed in between us. "New semester's starting up soon," I began again. "Tis about time for me to head back towards Philly." Ryan nodded and looked off towards the distance. "Yep... I'm thinking of doing some travelling myself and all..." "Do you--?" I began to question. Richie shook his head. "No, Duncan's set me up well enough as far as money is concerned." As he paused I noticed the same wistful look pass over his young features. I could tell that he was still hurt by Duncan Macleod's dismissal of him after Richie's beheading of Mako. "Richie, it's okay," I reassured him. "It's usually a good thing for an immortal to spend some time apart from their mentor in the beginning. Trust me, I know," I commented, my thoughts questioning the welfare of the youngest Macleod as I spoke. "In time you two will be back and the best of friends again. You've been through too much together to let the fact that you're immortal drive you apart." The younger immortal sighed as he settled back on the bench for several moments of silence, then he stood up suddenly and clapped me on the shoulder. "C'mon, whaddya say to a pizza, my treat? Half pepperoni, the usual," he offered as he pulled me up. "You can test out the leg too, while we're at it." I playfully swung at the immortal's head. "Yeah, I think it's about good enough to let me kick *your* ass, Ryan," I challenged as we made our way to the parked motorcycles... _______________________________________________________________________________ _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sounds of Queen's "One Vision" blasted forth from the Sony mini-sys- tem, reverberating off of the walls of the cramped basement. Taking in a deep, controlled breath, David Macleod then exhaled and pressed the weights upwards once more. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as the muscles in his arms stretched with the exertion. He began his slow count of repititions, the toil a welcome exchange for the thoughts that had been running through his head as of late. It had been just a little over a month since he had faught his first battle as an immortal, just a little over a month since he was forced to take another's life, just a little over a month since the dreams, the nightmares, started. It was just a month now since he had learned of the death of his mentor, Brian MacKenzie, just a month since he had barely escaped with his own neck intact by the narrowest of margins, once more beating playing a flush in his poker game with death. Since then, it had been life as usual for the youngest immortal Macleod, or, at least, a defining of what life as normal would be for him. He worked out at home three days of the week, alternating that with classes in Aikido at a local dojo, with sword training every day of the week. In addition, he continued to work his regular job, night shift in a Dietz and Watson warehouse, lifting and carrying boxes at a slave driver's pace. In all, he stayed occu- pied most of the time, but it still left him which too much time to think. He took a step over towards the far wall, and reached up to grab the hilt of his sword. It was a beautiful piece of art, in addition to being a deadly item of war... <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< "Despite its beauty, it is also quite a formidable weapon," continued the porty auctioneer. David took the moment to peer around the rest of the dark hall to quickly survey the rest of the glass cases containing auction items. "I know what a katana is," Brian MacKenzie growled at the man. "Oh, well, yes, of course you do, *sir*." With that hastily tacked on title, the gentleman turned and made his way to the next collection of buyers. "Little rough on him, weren't you, Bri?" questioned Macleod with a grin. Brian supressed a growl. "He thinks we're just a couple of free-loading teens in here to see neat 'toys'." David stopped momentarily, his mind culling over his mentor's words. "You mean we're *not*?" he asked innocently. "Okay, okay," Brian laughed slightly. "That too--oohhhh..." He paused in mid-thought, his eyes locking onto a display case on the far wall. David turned and looked, and in that instant knew that katana would be his by day's end. He scurried over as quickly as conspicuousness allowed and peered into the case at the katana presented therein. "Brian, that's the *one*," he commented. Brian circled the case, nodding slowly. "Aye. It's a nice one." He motioned to the auctioneer, who closed in on the pair like a shark. "Is there something I could help you two boys with?" he questioned, dripping sweetness. "I would like to take a closer look at this one, please. Its records, too, if you have them available," Brian remarked, still looking down at the blade. "Ahem," the red-cheeked gentleman cleared his throat. "I really don't believe you boys are seriously considering buying this ite---" "This item is a mid-fourteenth century Katana. I know just what the hell it is, I know how much it's going for, and I know my credit limit in this house is roughly triple that number," barked MacKenzie, drawing the stares of several dozen patrons around them. "Yes, I'm sure you mean well, Mr....?" "MacKenzie, Brian MacKenzie. You can check your records, we'll wait here." With that, the elder immortal crossed his arms and settled against the wall, looking sternly at the auctioneer, whose face passed through several states of embarassed red. "T-that won't be necessary, Mr.MacKenzie, I know your file..." The gentleman fumbled with a set of keys as he unlocked the case. Reverently he removed the weapon and handed it to the Scot. For several moments Brian ran his eyes over the blade, examining the blue and gold handle. He pulled a small tool from his coat pocket and used it to help him remove the hilt. With a nod of satisfaction after checking the mark of the blade's maker, he returned the sword to its assembled state and handed it to Macleod with a look of appro- val. David knew the sword was made to fit his hand as he touched it. He slowly pulled the sheath away from the blade, its polished surface reflecting the dim overhead lights.... >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ....throwing a glimmer of illumination into his brown eyes. MacKenzie has certainly been right, it was a quality weapon, having survived his encoun- ter with Marak with only a few small nicks and scrapes to show for it. So unlike himself though. It seemed that every time David would get close to regaining meaning and order in life, someone would show up and kill off a friend or two. He replaced the sword on its stand, the "click" of the tape stopping snapping him from his revelry. He flicked the eject button of the player and removed the cassette. As he went to place it in its case his head exploded with an intensity, a presence. An immortal was close, very close. Once more David grabbed his katana from its stand. He heard a faint knocking from the front door as he made his way up the steps. "Let's hope the training pays off, he thought as he reached his kitchen.. _______________________________________________________________________________ He inched his way through the living room, glad that his parents were out for a change. The tell-tale buzz of an immortal hovered just outside the heavy oak door, which David promptly threw open to find... nothing. He stepped out onto the porch slowly, reaching out with his senses in a hope to find the immortal. He heard a squeak of rubber on concrete behind him, but as he began to spin to reaction a hand brusquely grabbed him beneath his chin and pulled back, exposing the naked flesh of his neck beneath it as a cold steel blade was placed firmly against it. David went pale, freezing into the spot in- stantly, viewing the inevitability of death once more. "Landshark!" the immortal behind him declared in a strangely familiar Scottish lilt. David released his pent-up breath in a raggedy sigh. "Mac, you're a- live," he muttered. "That's one hell of an enthusiatic greeting for your old teacher," Mac- Kenzie shot back. "Well, let's see: how would *you* respond if someone whom you thought was dead for a month now showed up at your front door all of a sudden holding a sword to your throat?" David replied dryly. "Ah, sorry, lad!" Brian clapped David on the shoulder as he sheathed his blade and released his student, who promptly spinned and clasped his mentor to him in a tight bearhug. "MAC!!! YOU'RE ALIVE!!!" cried Macleod. "Where the hell have you *been* I've been worried sick! No calls, no messages on the answering machine, no e-mail, not even a lousy *POSTCARD* for cryin out loud..." he continued into his tirade. "Eh, tis kinda a long story," Brian explained as he stepped inside the offered door that David had opened. "Well," David pondered. "We *do* have forever, last time I checked at least..." _______________________________________________________________________________ "Oh no, we *did* fight, Marak and I, that much was true," continued Brian, sipping cautiously at his cup of hot chocolate. "But what happened? Why did he say he killed you?" questioned David intensely as he placed his own mug upon the formica tabletop and took a seat. Brian reached across the table and tapped his finger against the forehead of his student. "He wanted to play with this first. You should know that, you are the psych major after all, or the maj--" "Major psycho, I know, I know...," David chuckled. "So what happened?" Brian sighed deeply. "Well, we were up near star rock, you know the place, and I only had my bokken on me, and when he pulled out that dammed broadsword of his and began to wail away at me..." "*That* dammed broadsword?" David interjected, pointing to the sword hanging on his wall with a confident grin. "Yes, *that* dammed broadsword, yes," MacKenzie chuckled as he sipped again at the warm liquid. "Anyway, I ended up doing a swan dive into a passing coal car in order to escape, and I awoke on the other side of the state." David contemplated for a second. "And it took you *this* long to get back here?" he interrogated, trying to find an explanation for his mentor's absence. Brian nodded slightly. "I had some things to take care of, and I ran into a few people too..." He stood and paced for a step or two, then leaned against the edge of the countertop. "People as in...," the younger immortal motioned with his hands. "A little of both," Brian conceded. "I met Richie Ryan-" "Duncan Macleod's student?" David questioned as a flash of name recog- nition crossed his face. "The same. We trained together a bit. You two should meet someday, you'd get along with him." The immortals stood and sat in silence, each brooding over their own thoughts and drinking their coccoa. "Can I ask you a question, Mac?" Brian nodded solemnly in return, his eyebrows raising a bit in anticipa- tion. "What was it like for you, when you took your first head?" David asked, his eyes on his booted feet. "The Quickening?" "Yes." "Hmmmm...," Brian paused in thought. "Well, to be honest, I think I should start a little before that if that's okay with you..." Macleod's face brightened somewhat. "Sure, s'ok with me. Remember, I'm the psych major, I *like* to get into people's heads..." he grinned. "Oh, well, on that note, maybe not....," warned MacKenzie with a smirk. "Let's see, now... it all really began in the spring of my twentieth year, before I became immortal, mind you. I was the fourth son of Colin MacKenzie, the eleventh chieftain of our clan. In July of the previous year Mary, Queen of Scots, was forced to abdicate the throne of Scotland, and her infant son James was crowned in her place. Now, we were one of the clans who was against the abdication of Mary in the first place..." <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< April 27, 1568 Braham Castle, Scotland "And we must help Mary regain the throne!" Colin MacKenzie growled to his guests. "Without her rule Scotland is lost forever to the English." "And in helping her we may be sentencing ourselves to deaths at the swordpoints of other Scots!" countered the chieftain of the clan Campbell. "Edinburg Castle is untakable with our armies, and the battle would weaken us to the point of instant victory should England march aganist us again, Colin. Even you must recognize that." The two other chiefs clammored their agreement to the Campbell position, but the three were silenced with a curt wave from the MacKenzie elder. "I *do* recognize that, lads, but I recognize *this* too." He motioned to his oldest son, Kenneth, who brought forth a leather-bound parchment from the back of the castle's grand hall. The assembled highlanders crowded in closer to peer at the document as Colin unravelled it. "Ah, tis a picture!," Grant identified. "It's a picture," he informed the Buchanan chieftain next to him, just in case he had missed the news. "Let me see this," growled Campbell. "Where did you get this?" he questioned MacKenzie. "This is Edinburgh Castle, is it not?" "Aye, Edinburgh it is and Edinburgh is has always been, ever since Ken- neth Org, the MacKenzie chief some sixty-odd seasons past was interred there and escaped," Colin declared proudly. "That son of a bitch mapped it, didn't he?" stated Campbell in awe. "There's a secret passage in and out of the dungeon," Kenneth piped in. "But is it safe? What if they changed it?" Buchanan added. "We cannot afford to send one of us," concluded the Campbell chieftain. "I know. I've already chosen the perfect highlander for the task," agreed MacKenzie... _______________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________ Ok, tis late and I tire, so we'll end our story here for now children. (Awwwww, but *daddie* read us another chapter!!!!!!! Pwuulleeasssse?) No, no, kids, I have work to do this weekend, so you'll have to wait til next Tuesday for the continuation... (*sigh* oh-kaaay) Sync, brian _ _ KAOS PICTURES, INC. (_)__(_) ------------------------------------------------------------ |KAOS,|/ BRIAN PROCOPIO | STEVEN DIBELLO |_INC_|› --PRODUCER DIRECTOR | --TECHNICAL DIRECTOR /› MACLEOD@VM.TEMPLE.EDU | STEVEN.M.DIBELLO@CYBER. / › HIGHLNDR@ASTRO.OCIS.TEMPLE.EDU | WIDENER.EDU =========================================================================