LJ WIP Amnesty
Feb. 6th, 2004 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sinanjuThere's a meme of sorts going around on Livejournal--a WIP Amnesty. WIP means "work in progress"; i.e., a piece of fanfic that you started but have never--or haven't yet--finished. You're supposed to drag them out into the light of day, with no obligation to finish them either express or implied.
This is one of mine. It was the beginning of a story for the Highlander Photo Wheel--instead of sending around lyrics, everyone sent the next person on the wheel a photo, which they were to use as the basis for a piece of Highlander fan fiction. I got the photo described in the story, and then I discovered the snopes.com website, which debunks (or confirms) urban legends. I looked for and found a story that suited my story idea, and the rest--what there is of it--was history.
Methos breezed into Joe's Place about nine p.m. It was a Tuesday night and things were slow. Not more than half a dozen people occupied the place, and most of them were alone at their respective tables. Dedicated drinkers, all.
Joe spotted Methos when he entered the place and greeted him.
"Joe," Methos replied. "What's new?"
"Nothing much," Joe said, and Methos knew from his tone that Joe was about to clobber him with something. "I just wondered if you'd ever seen--this." Joe laid a photograph next to the beer he'd handed Methos. It was a color print of Methos in profile. He was dressed in forest camouflage and gazing balefully into the distance. Another man in green camo and a black beret stood very near, as if they'd been conversing. He too was glaring at whatever had caught Methos' attention.
"Bloody hell!"
"So that _is_ you?" Joe asked quietly.
Methos ignored the question. "Where did you get this?"
Joe didn't answer immediately. He paused long enough to let Methos know he was voluntarily giving away the information. "It's a blow-up of a surveillance photo on Undercross," he said, tapping the image of the man in the black beret.
Methos gave Joe a disgusted look. "I know _that_. I mean, I thought I'd gotten them all. Where did _this_ one come from?"
"What were you doing talking to Undercross? And why are you in an army uniform? You weren't in the military then. In fact, you were supposedly working in the archives in France at the time. What were you doing in Germany?"
"Keeping a secret," Methos replied.
"What?"
"You know the old saying--three people can keep a secret if one of them is dead."
"I thought that was _two_ people."
"Usually. But in this case, Undercross and I had a mutual interest in seeing that the third person who knew our secret came to an untimely end."
"Would you care to enlighten me?"
"Our grisly tale begins in December of 1993," Methos began. "I can still remember the newspaper stories."
FULDA, Germany, Dec 8 (AFP) - An American soldier cut off the head of
his pregnant wife's lover and put it on her bedside table in the hospital
here where she was about to give birth, a spokesman at the German
public prosecutor's office said on Wednesday.
The angry husband struck on Tuesday when his rival, a fellow GI in the
American 11th cavalry regiment, was phoning the woman from nearby
Sickels military airfield.
The first soldier cut off the second one's head with a knife, then drove to
the hospital and showed it to his wife and left it there. The victim just
had time to call down the telephone, "Your husband is coming," the German
sources said.
An American army spokesman confirmed a decapitated body had been
found in a telephone box at the military airfield. U.S. military police
held the first man for questioning. He was not immediately named.
"So then what happened?"
"What do you think happened? The police were called. They arrested Schap and eventually turned him over to the military for trial. He was convicted, of course. Got life without parole."
"Life? But--"
"Exactly."
"So what happened?"
"Well, thereby hangs a tale," Methos said. And then he stopped. He gazed steadily at Joe until Joe rolled his eyes but produced another glass of beer. Methos took a long drink and smacked his lips appreciatively.
"So?"
"So there was another immortal in that army. Reginald Undercross. He knew he had to get Schap out--but he couldn't do it alone. So he called me."
"You?"
Methos put on a hurt expression. "I do have some few small skills, you know."
Joe waved aside his complaints. "Yeah, yeah. I'm surprised you were willing to stick your neck out."
"Schap was a threat to all of us, Joe. Bad enough that he was immortal and locked up for life. He was seriously deranged as well. If he spilled our secret, every government on the planet would start looking for us."
"Okay, but what was your part in this scheme? I know you didn't take Schap's head."
"No, Undercross did that. I just had to arrange the opportunity. I slipped onto the base, Undercross had a uniform waiting for me. He arranged for a computer terminal, and these magic fingers did the rest."
"You got Schap out?"
"Hell no! Get someone out of a military prison--a life prisoner, at that? I couldn't possibly do that. No, I got Undercross into the prison, and arranged for fewer than the normal number of guards. I also arranged for a...diversion.
"When Underhill took Schap's head, there was nobody around to see it and no surveillance, either."
"Oh come on, Methos. Underhill took a quickening in a prison and nobody noticed?"
"You'd be amazed how little evidence is left after a quickening when the room consists of concrete surfaces and steel bars, Joe. A few scorch marks, maybe. A--I repeat, a--broken lightbulb overhead. A few scorch marks on the walls."
"They knew somebody had killed Schap, of course. It's hard to miss a decapitated corpse lying in a cell. But they never had any clue who had done it. The official theory was a revenge killing--why else would someone take his head? It was a reasonable supposition, given what they knew.
"We'd counted on that, by the way. There was no connection between Underhill and Schap or Underhill and Glover. Underhill might have met them, but nothing more."
Well, they say confession is good for the soul. We'll see.
This is one of mine. It was the beginning of a story for the Highlander Photo Wheel--instead of sending around lyrics, everyone sent the next person on the wheel a photo, which they were to use as the basis for a piece of Highlander fan fiction. I got the photo described in the story, and then I discovered the snopes.com website, which debunks (or confirms) urban legends. I looked for and found a story that suited my story idea, and the rest--what there is of it--was history.
Methos breezed into Joe's Place about nine p.m. It was a Tuesday night and things were slow. Not more than half a dozen people occupied the place, and most of them were alone at their respective tables. Dedicated drinkers, all.
Joe spotted Methos when he entered the place and greeted him.
"Joe," Methos replied. "What's new?"
"Nothing much," Joe said, and Methos knew from his tone that Joe was about to clobber him with something. "I just wondered if you'd ever seen--this." Joe laid a photograph next to the beer he'd handed Methos. It was a color print of Methos in profile. He was dressed in forest camouflage and gazing balefully into the distance. Another man in green camo and a black beret stood very near, as if they'd been conversing. He too was glaring at whatever had caught Methos' attention.
"Bloody hell!"
"So that _is_ you?" Joe asked quietly.
Methos ignored the question. "Where did you get this?"
Joe didn't answer immediately. He paused long enough to let Methos know he was voluntarily giving away the information. "It's a blow-up of a surveillance photo on Undercross," he said, tapping the image of the man in the black beret.
Methos gave Joe a disgusted look. "I know _that_. I mean, I thought I'd gotten them all. Where did _this_ one come from?"
"What were you doing talking to Undercross? And why are you in an army uniform? You weren't in the military then. In fact, you were supposedly working in the archives in France at the time. What were you doing in Germany?"
"Keeping a secret," Methos replied.
"What?"
"You know the old saying--three people can keep a secret if one of them is dead."
"I thought that was _two_ people."
"Usually. But in this case, Undercross and I had a mutual interest in seeing that the third person who knew our secret came to an untimely end."
"Would you care to enlighten me?"
"Our grisly tale begins in December of 1993," Methos began. "I can still remember the newspaper stories."
FULDA, Germany, Dec 8 (AFP) - An American soldier cut off the head of
his pregnant wife's lover and put it on her bedside table in the hospital
here where she was about to give birth, a spokesman at the German
public prosecutor's office said on Wednesday.
The angry husband struck on Tuesday when his rival, a fellow GI in the
American 11th cavalry regiment, was phoning the woman from nearby
Sickels military airfield.
The first soldier cut off the second one's head with a knife, then drove to
the hospital and showed it to his wife and left it there. The victim just
had time to call down the telephone, "Your husband is coming," the German
sources said.
An American army spokesman confirmed a decapitated body had been
found in a telephone box at the military airfield. U.S. military police
held the first man for questioning. He was not immediately named.
"So then what happened?"
"What do you think happened? The police were called. They arrested Schap and eventually turned him over to the military for trial. He was convicted, of course. Got life without parole."
"Life? But--"
"Exactly."
"So what happened?"
"Well, thereby hangs a tale," Methos said. And then he stopped. He gazed steadily at Joe until Joe rolled his eyes but produced another glass of beer. Methos took a long drink and smacked his lips appreciatively.
"So?"
"So there was another immortal in that army. Reginald Undercross. He knew he had to get Schap out--but he couldn't do it alone. So he called me."
"You?"
Methos put on a hurt expression. "I do have some few small skills, you know."
Joe waved aside his complaints. "Yeah, yeah. I'm surprised you were willing to stick your neck out."
"Schap was a threat to all of us, Joe. Bad enough that he was immortal and locked up for life. He was seriously deranged as well. If he spilled our secret, every government on the planet would start looking for us."
"Okay, but what was your part in this scheme? I know you didn't take Schap's head."
"No, Undercross did that. I just had to arrange the opportunity. I slipped onto the base, Undercross had a uniform waiting for me. He arranged for a computer terminal, and these magic fingers did the rest."
"You got Schap out?"
"Hell no! Get someone out of a military prison--a life prisoner, at that? I couldn't possibly do that. No, I got Undercross into the prison, and arranged for fewer than the normal number of guards. I also arranged for a...diversion.
"When Underhill took Schap's head, there was nobody around to see it and no surveillance, either."
"Oh come on, Methos. Underhill took a quickening in a prison and nobody noticed?"
"You'd be amazed how little evidence is left after a quickening when the room consists of concrete surfaces and steel bars, Joe. A few scorch marks, maybe. A--I repeat, a--broken lightbulb overhead. A few scorch marks on the walls."
"They knew somebody had killed Schap, of course. It's hard to miss a decapitated corpse lying in a cell. But they never had any clue who had done it. The official theory was a revenge killing--why else would someone take his head? It was a reasonable supposition, given what they knew.
"We'd counted on that, by the way. There was no connection between Underhill and Schap or Underhill and Glover. Underhill might have met them, but nothing more."
Well, they say confession is good for the soul. We'll see.
