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crack_van2010-04-29 01:59 pm
carenejeans.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-04-29 01:59 pm
Entry tags:
Man Walked Into a Bar, by Jay Tryfanstone (All Ages)
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Duncan MacLeod/Methos; also starring Joe
Length: 1,660 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tryfanstone
Author Website: Terra Incognita
Why this must be read: A lot's said in this story that's unspoken. Humorous and tense, bittersweet and full of promise, the story beautifully captures the checkered relationship between the three friends. And the punch line -- definitely a winner!
There is a man in his bar. Wide shouldered, narrow hipped, Trench-coated. Hair ruffled to a crest by the November wind. On the flagstones his feet in their thin leather-soled shoes are motionless, stopping him, the showy bastard, under the only spotlight left lit.
"So this man walks into a bar," Methos says. Shadows across his eyes, cheekbone, nose, line of his upper lip cut out in light. "No one gets him a drink. What kind of bar is this? he asks."
Joe stands up and has to sit down again in a hurry.
"Oh, don't mind me," Methos says. "I'll just get it myself."
He looks no different. He looks like Methos, bony hands reaching for a glass, angular stretch over the counter for the tapped casks.
If Duncan were a cat, he'd probably be spitting. Joe ignores him, lump of an over-sensitive Scotsman the man is at times. He tilts his chair back and rocks it a little, holding the guitar steady - it's his favourite guitar, the rosewood Gibson with the pre-amped pickup, and he's not having it damaged. Fingers steady on the frets, keeping the strings from singing.
"So this man walks into a bar," Joe says. A different joke from the one he started with. "It's a bar in Paris. His bar. But there's an envelope in the post that says something about zoning permits and then, he's a man who doesn't own a bar."
Methos rolls a chair down from the corner table and lets himself slide into it, easy and slow, no sudden movements, although the briefest of glares intimidates his pint glass into steadiness. Not a drop spills.
"Funny thing happened," Joe says.
"That's my sweater," Methos says to Duncan. He blinks, obvious as a pointing gundog.
"Yeah?" Duncan says, tone of a man willing to make a point.
Joe says, "Funny thing happened. Just about a week after there was no bar, this man gets a letter from a law firm in London. Seems this man has a Great-Aunt Eunice. And this aunt, she just happens to own a bar. Owned a bar. Odd thing, for a woman in her nineties to own, but hey."
"Raining outside," Methos says. Droplets still misted in his hair. There's a line to the slant of his eyelashes that can be nothing other than sly.
"More logs in the basket," Joe says. "Eunice had a cellarful."
Man Walked Into a Bar
Pairing: Duncan MacLeod/Methos; also starring Joe
Length: 1,660 words
Author on LJ:
tryfanstoneAuthor Website: Terra Incognita
Why this must be read: A lot's said in this story that's unspoken. Humorous and tense, bittersweet and full of promise, the story beautifully captures the checkered relationship between the three friends. And the punch line -- definitely a winner!
There is a man in his bar. Wide shouldered, narrow hipped, Trench-coated. Hair ruffled to a crest by the November wind. On the flagstones his feet in their thin leather-soled shoes are motionless, stopping him, the showy bastard, under the only spotlight left lit.
"So this man walks into a bar," Methos says. Shadows across his eyes, cheekbone, nose, line of his upper lip cut out in light. "No one gets him a drink. What kind of bar is this? he asks."
Joe stands up and has to sit down again in a hurry.
"Oh, don't mind me," Methos says. "I'll just get it myself."
He looks no different. He looks like Methos, bony hands reaching for a glass, angular stretch over the counter for the tapped casks.
If Duncan were a cat, he'd probably be spitting. Joe ignores him, lump of an over-sensitive Scotsman the man is at times. He tilts his chair back and rocks it a little, holding the guitar steady - it's his favourite guitar, the rosewood Gibson with the pre-amped pickup, and he's not having it damaged. Fingers steady on the frets, keeping the strings from singing.
"So this man walks into a bar," Joe says. A different joke from the one he started with. "It's a bar in Paris. His bar. But there's an envelope in the post that says something about zoning permits and then, he's a man who doesn't own a bar."
Methos rolls a chair down from the corner table and lets himself slide into it, easy and slow, no sudden movements, although the briefest of glares intimidates his pint glass into steadiness. Not a drop spills.
"Funny thing happened," Joe says.
"That's my sweater," Methos says to Duncan. He blinks, obvious as a pointing gundog.
"Yeah?" Duncan says, tone of a man willing to make a point.
Joe says, "Funny thing happened. Just about a week after there was no bar, this man gets a letter from a law firm in London. Seems this man has a Great-Aunt Eunice. And this aunt, she just happens to own a bar. Owned a bar. Odd thing, for a woman in her nineties to own, but hey."
"Raining outside," Methos says. Droplets still misted in his hair. There's a line to the slant of his eyelashes that can be nothing other than sly.
"More logs in the basket," Joe says. "Eunice had a cellarful."
Man Walked Into a Bar