Once upon a time, there was a young Forumlander named TooYoung. TooYoung was a hard working Forumlander, so that he could give his family everything they could want or need (and to buy his buddy Alexa the black Porsche 928s - including insurance and gas - she so deserved).
One day, TooYoung sat in his office in the early afternoon with a glazed look coating his eyes. He had been working 18 hour days for ten days straight. During his six hours of freedom, he managed the few hours sleep he could afford. He barely had time to eat, or sleep, and absolutely no time to visit the Highlander Fourm. He had seen little of his family, and their faces would have begun to fade from memory if not for their pictures on his desk. One presentation after another, along with report after report were beginning to take their toll. One of the many perils of his job were these points in time of ceaseless hours of work, but nothing in the past could compare to this. The blank stare of his face said it all, and his co-workers were starting to worry. He had been sitting like that for close to an hour, not responding to any kind of stimuli. They were debating on who to call. His wife? A doctor? This was all discussed in quiet murmurs as they stood in front of TooYoung's desk, but he did not hear.
In his mind's eye, TooYoung saw the flashing of swords; little snippets of memory that were not his own. Faces with names like Kronos, Kalas and St. Cloud filtered through. Visions of good friends, Darius and Fitzcairn, who had since departed, also floated by. "Live Highlander. Grow stronger. Fight another day." The voice of Methos echoed in his ears. "Live Highlander. Live. Live. Live."
He was becoming aware of the murmuring that was surrounding him. It was like a buzz. It was in him, and around him all at the same time. Its intensity was incredible. For the first time, the glazed eyes took notice of the people standing in the office. His eyes darted over the puzzled figures, quickly trying to ascertain which of them was producing the alarm that indicated the presence of one immortal to another. The buzz was so intense he could only come to one conclusion: they must all be immortals. He quickly searched the immediate area surrounding his desk for his trusty kantana. But it was not there. He had to think quickly in order to escape with his head still upon his shoulders.
He slowly rose from his seat and stood firm on his ground. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. As I seem to be without a sword and I like my head where it is, I'll be seeing you around." And with that, TooYoung picked up his chair and crashed it through the window behind him. He leapt through and began to run.
Within in minutes he had reached the local college campus. He slowed to a walk, watching the students walking from building to building, class to class, lying in the grass trying to study and talking to friends. He wandered over to the History building where an exhibit on medieval armor was on display. The quest was to find a sword to protect his head. He spent a few quick moments looking for the weapon of choice. When he spotted it, he crashed his fist through the glass casing and took hold of a piece that looked as if it dated to the twelfth century. Not his trusty kantana, but it had a good weight. It would do. Just at that moment, he heard someone coming. But in his Highlander world into which he had made the final submersion, the pattering of feet hitting the tiled floor was translated as a buzz. He turned around to see a security guard running over to him. Without batting an eye, he brought his sword down to take the security guard's head. His body jolted with the light of the imagined Quickening, and then collapsed to the ground. When he gathered his strength, he lifted himself from the floor and headed to the door.
He bolted from the history building and into the bright sunlight. He was feeling the buzz around him again, only stronger and completely overwhelming his body. He began to take heads from left, right, and center. Heads began flying everywhere. Within a few minutes, campus security and the local police were on the scene. He now had to think fast in order to avoid being captured or, even worse, shot. He was afraid. Very afraid. He did not want to lose his head. He did not want to die. He wanted to live, to grow stronger, to fight another day.
His eyes glanced frantically around his surroundings trying to evaluate the situation, trying to figure some way out. Then he saw her. She was tall, with long flowing red hair and white Lee-Press-On Nails.
"Cassandra," he said softly.
In three giant leaps he had reached the young red-head college student and grabbed her by her arm. She started shrieking in fear.
"Hush Cassie, hush. I won't let them hurt you," he said. "We're together again, and no one will take my Cassieho away from me now."
The deranged TooYoung/Duncan MacLeod flung the terrified college student/Cassieho over his shoulder and whisked her into the computer lab.
When he stepped into the empty building, TooYoung saw what he wanted. He dropped Cassieho on the floor with a thud, locked the doors and sat himself down in front of a computer. Upon opening the Netscape browser, TooYoung typed in http://www.rysher.com/wwwboard/may97_3/wwwboard/wwwboard.shtml. He waited for the Highlander Forum to download and proceeded to scroll to the bottom. He was only half way down when the Forum ended unexpectedly. "Damn," he thought. "The 'Nothing' is eating the Forum again." He then typed in the address to post through the backdoor. He began to post frantically under the addy "dmacleod@TCBO1.com." Over and over again, the same post was appearing:
I AM DUNCAN MACLEOD OF THE CLAN MACLEOD AND NO NONE WILL CALL MY HO CASSIE (text) - Dunkie-Pooh 07:52:27 6/02/97 (0)The text within the post read: "You will now refer to her as Duncanis darling Petunia."
His fingers were flying over the keyboard with a speed never seen before, and the clicking of the mouse on the submit button threatened to crash the system. More and more posts were being made. Bandwidth was being used up beyond comprehension. The Forum reached a meg in record time. Forumlanders throughout the world were faced with massive download times that their computers did not have the memory for.
A split! The forum needed a split! Where was it? Why hadn't the forum split? Unfortunately for our little Forumlanders, Tony and Fencer, who were busy with work and school, didn't notice the excessive waste of bandwidth. Frantic little Forumlanders everywhere began to panic. At first, they had remained calm, politely calling out for a split:
Yoo-hoo! Tonnnnnyyyyy! Feennnnnccceeeerrrrr! We need a split n/t - Trollheart 16:36:12 6/03/97 (0)But soon, the faceless voices became more and more hostile:
Why donit you shut up already twit for brains. Stop wasting bandwidth with your whining - Fed-up with Whiners 22:14:19 6/03/97 (1)Flamers started attacking the innocent and the innocent soon became Flamers themselves. Before anyone realized what was happening, Forumlanders started flaming one another relentlessly. An all out Flamewar. The Flamewar to end all Flamewars.Might be nice if you learned some Netequette...PUT iNO TEXTi WHEN THERE IS NO TEXT!!!! ***NO TEXT*** - Fed-up with Flamers 22:15:56 6/03/97 (1)
HEH! YOU TALK ABOUT NETEQUTTE YOU SNOT SNIVELING LEECH?!?! STOP SHOUTING!!!! ***NO TEXT TO YOU, A%%$#&@*** - Fed up with Winning Flamers 22:16:11 6/03/97 (0)
Within twelve hours of the first Flame, a headless Forumlander was found in a potato field in Idaho. Soon, headless Foumlanders started popping up in cities and towns across the United States. Police and newscasters were mystified over the new irate cult roaming the country repeating one phrase and one phrase only, over and over again..."There can be only one....There can be only one." No one could stop them. Anyone who tried had his head severed from his body. An exodus had begun, and no one would be allowed to stop them. Forumlanders were making their way to a small city in the Northwest. They were not just coming from the United States. They were flocking from all ends of the earth. FREDERICA FROM ITALY and sleeper, who had flown in from London, were on their way, only to meet in New York's Kennedy Airport. Only one of them was able to continue with the journey to Vancouver where the Gathering was taking place. This was another piece in the puzzle that baffled the public who were following the story. The cult was flocking in droves to Vancouver, but the marauding members kept calling it "Seacouver," for some unknown reason.
By mid-summeris night, the surviving Forumlanders had reached Seacouver. Sparks from a hundred swords were flying through the air and Quickenings were happening with such veracity that the weathermen insisted that a major storm was hitting the Northwestern seaboard. The Prime Minister of Canada and the President of the Untied States ordered the evacuation of all coastal towns in British Columbia and Washington.
Far into the night, swords were swinging. Lowlander, dressed in a cheerleaderis outfit, began a cheer as his sword crossed his enemyis neck. "Two, four, six, eight! Now itis time to meet your fate! Yeeeyyyyyy Lowlitalander!"
Fifty-some-odd women of all ages, dressed like belly dancers and tugging goats on leashes, were whacking anything with red hair. Many of the women themselves had red hair, and they began to turn on each other. Big John, who was attempting to write a review of the Gathering and had just noted the look of fear on the Haremites faces as patches blew her whistle and swung her Claymore in an arc above her head, did not see one of the MacFru's approach him from behind. He turned around in time to see the sword come down across his neck while the word "Dirt" was being shouted form the MacFru's mouth.
The fighting went on long into the night until finally, the fair city of Seacouver was left empty, save for the last two Forumlanders who were left. In the dark, they couldn't see who the opponent they were about to face was, but they could feel the presence, smell the sweat and taste the prize waiting for the one who would survive. With swords drawn, they edged closer to one another. Cautiously, they took their steps, until they came face to face with one another under a street lamp. There they stood, in a circle of light with stunned looks on their faces.
"Mang?"
"Crom? Is that you?"
"Aye, my bonny heather, 'tis I"
"So, I guess weire the last ones."
"Aye, me thinks 'tis true. But alas, after seeing mi fair lady, I have ta say, mi heart is na wi battle. I canna fight you. I beg ye, put up yer sword and dinna fight me."
Mang stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the abandoned city streets, listening to the silence that fell through the air. She wondered what the point had been. All of this destruction and death over hitting one lousy meg on the Forum. She was tired. She did not wish to fight anymore. She let out a long, deep sigh, and raising one eyebrow in question, she looked at Corm and said but two words. "Taco Bell?"
A grin slowly crawled across the gallant warrior's face. "Aye, mi bonny lass. Taco Bell."
They put up their swords and began to walk to the closest Taco Bell as the sun rose over the city skyline.
And the moral of the story, little Forumlanders, is that only bad can come from Flames and Falmewars, so don't start anything that might end up hurting not just yourselves, but other little Forumlanders, too.
The End
Back to Harem Dancer's Fan Fict Links
Back Home
© 1997 tanya.hughes@usa.net
Get your own Free Home Page