In the Right Company; Highlander, X-Men; R
Apr. 1st, 2010 12:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: In the Right Company
Co-author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
auberus
Fandom: Highlander, X-Men
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Characters: Victor Creed, James Logan, Methos, Kronos
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Word Count: 5242 (24,566)
Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5
In the Right Company
Chapter 5
"The Burmese border's only about half a day from here," Methos said, covering over the remnants of the previous night's fire. "I'm assuming you've got the necessary papers." Kronos nodded once, and Methos turned his attention to Logan and Victor. "You two, on the other hand, I'm sure do not." He smirks. "Fortunately, Asia tends to be a bit more lax than Western countries when it comes to the ethics of giving and accepting bribes." Kicking the last bit of dirt onto the fire-pit, he lifted an eyebrow at Kronos. "How much money are you carrying?"
"Enough," Kronos said, shrugging. "Burmese border guards don't make millions."
"You two? Anything at all?"
"Didn't have anything but a few bits of change before we were shot, and there hasn't exactly been the chance to pick up some spare cash while we've been traveling." Logan answered before Victor could provide something ruder. The snort he got from his brother was commentary enough, and he was fairly certain that Victor's idea of a bribe at the moment was to give someone a chance to run, instead of killing them outright. "Not enough to even make it worth while to attempt to bribe them out of our pockets."
"Then it's a good thing I always carry a reserve, isn't it?" Methos asked cooly. Not in cash -- currency that was accepted in one place wouldn't always be welcome in another, or could draw unwanted attention. Gold, however, had been considered valuable for most of his very long life. He re-opened his pack and dug through it until he found one of the five small bags he'd thought it prudent to bring along when he left California. He tossed it at Kronos, who caught it easily, then lifted his eyebrows at the unexpected weight.
"Gold?" he asked. Methos smirked.
"Enough for our purposes, wouldn't you say?"
Kronos opened the bag and whistled softly. "More than enough." He tossed the bag back to Methos, who pocketed it before turning to Victor and Logan.
"When we get there, the two of you stay behind me and keep your mouths shut." He glanced briefly at Kronos. "That goes for you, too. The Burmese spent a long time under British rule, and they're not terribly fond of foreigners. Especially arrogant foreigners."
"I can do humble," Kronos said. Methos rolled his eyes.
"Tell it to someone who hasn't seen you flinging insults while in chains." Kronos grinned, unapolagetic. "Do you at least speak Burmese?"
"I can get by. I spent some time here when the British were in charge."
"Don't talk unless you have to. British-accented Burmese won't do you much good with the current regime." He turned back to Logan and Victor. "I can't emphasize enough the need to stay quiet. I really don't feel like ending up in a Burmese labour camp."
Victor chuckled softly, a small smirk curling the corners of his mouth, though he didn't say anything. That he didn't think the Burmese would get them to a labor camp without whoever had the misfortune of escorting them being turned into so much carrion went without him having to say a word. It would appeal to his rising impatience, though he wouldn't actively do anything to endanger their crossing.
"Quiet isn't a problem." Logan shrugged, unconcerned with the orders, and moved to shoulder his pack, falling in behind Methos when they started moving through the jungle again. He kept an eye on Victor as they headed for the border, wary of what his brother might do if provoked, and hoping he'd have enough warning to keep Victor from doing something stupid.
"No?" Methos asked, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. "From what I've seen, the pair of you are about as discreet as the four of us used to be."
"We were discreet," Kronos said. "Sometimes. If we wanted something badly enough."
"No," Methos corrected him. "I was discreet. You and Caspian were sneaky. Silas usually had to be left with the horses."
"You said quiet." Logan let out a small snort of laughter. "You never said anything about being discreet. That's a bit harder."
It wasn't like either of them had any practice in being discreet, since it hadn't been a necessity when they were fighting, and the near-wilderness areas they'd retreated to between wars weren't places that they attracted too much attention. Beyond the uptick in reported bear maulings.
"Have either of you ever spent any time in a police state?" Methos inquired. "They can -- and will -- arrest people for such trivial offences as 'looking suspicious'. And they strongly dislike Westerners." He hated being unable to blend in. It was one thing to revisit old times in the middle of the jungle; another thing entirely to walk into an overwhelming number of mortals as a highly visible outsider.
"And I'm supposed to not look suspicious how?" Victor gave Methos a sarcastic look, his claws reflexively lengthening a moment before he reined in the impulse to shred something. For now, at least. "Or am I supposed to play the tame pet cat?"
Methos rolled his eyes. "You keep your mouth shut and your hands in your pockets. No matter what the provocation is." He smirked. "Though I'd quite like to see you pretending to be tame. I'm not planning on heading into any heavily populated areas."
Victor laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement and a hint of barely contained violence. "Tame it is, then." At least, as tame as he ever got, which wasn't all that much. He almost hoped the border guards would do something that would give him a good excuse to take his hands out of his pockets, and set a few heads rolling.
Logan kept silent through the exchange, watching the jungle around them, the itch between his shoulders coming back with a vengeance. If something was going to go wrong, he was hoping it would do so sooner, rather than later. If only to get rid of the feeling he was in the sights of a sniper.
"This should be interesting," Kronos observed, sotto voce, then switched to Hittite for greater privacy. "Victor's about as tame as I am."
"It's an unusual border guard that won't take bribes," Methos told him. "And gold opens more doors even than dollars." Switching back to English, he asked, "What papers are you carrying?"
Kronos shrugged. "Russian, Spanish, American, and British."
"Stick to the Soviet papers," Methos advised. "An American passport would be a liability."
Neither Logan nor Victor were carrying papers, and their dog tags were tucked into their packs for now, safely out of sight so long as the border guard didn't think to look through them. Though Logan doubted that would be the biggest problem if the guard decided the bribe wasn't enough, or didn't take the bribe at all. It didn't help the feeling something was going to go wrong.
It took slightly less than half a day to get near the Burmese border. Logan and Creed were both in peak physical condition, and Methos and Kronos had been that way for millenia. When they were perhaps two miles from the border itself, Methos stopped, looking around.
"We need to find a road," he said. "The last thing we want to do is come walking out of the jungle in sight of the soldiery. Being on foot will be suspicious enough."
Kronos looked around, then shrugged. "I didn't spend much time in the jungle last time I was here," he admitted.
Victor looked over at Logan, raising an eyebrow a fraction in question. He'd been smelling the faint hint of mud and dung and exhaust that clung around roads in the jungle for the last hour, and he'd almost wager there was a road a couple hundred yards to their right, roughly paralleling their way through the jungle. He hadn't mentioned it, not wanting to be exposed out in the open like that, but if Methos wanted a road...
"That way." Logan jerked his head in the direction of the road both he and Victor had picked up. "Can smell it, the damn things stink of exhaust, even here."
"Well, aren't you useful," Kronos said, smirking. "Come on, brother; time to head back into civilization. Who are we this time?"
"If pressed? KGB." He looked sidelong at Kronos. "You shouldn't have a problem pulling that off, and I don't think the Burmese will want to annoy the Soviet Union."
"And them? No one's going to buy them as secret agents of any sort, or even as Russians."
Methos shrugs. "Prisoners. American soldiers, to be transported back to the Motherland for questioning. It'll explain the uniform, at any rate." He lifted an eyebrow at Logan and Victor. "Besides, it'll give them a reason to stay quiet."
Logan wasn't certain how well the idea of him and Victor being prisoners would be accepted, but at the moment, he didn't have any better ideas to get them across the border without leaving a rather visible trail of dead bodies behind them. He shrugged, and headed toward the road, not looking back to see if the rest of them were following, though he could hear Victor falling in beside him, the brothers moving quietly and without speaking.
The road itself was little more than a muddy track, wide enough for maybe one car, if the driver were lucky, or didn't care about the condition of his vehicle. It was also empty, which was fortunate.
"All right," Methos said. "Time for all good prisoners to put their hands on their heads. Kronos -- tell me you've a Russian pistol somewhere in your armoury."
"Will a Stechkin do?" Kronos asked, pulling the weapon from the small of his back. Methos rolled his eyes.
"Trust you to have one that goes to full automatic." He himself had a Tokarev, and he took it out, flicking the safety off. "I need any weapons the pair of you might be carrying," he tells Victor and Logan. "They probably won't search us, but they might search you."
Victor snickered, grinning at Methos. "Now why would I be carrying extra weapons?" Unless he'd been handed a weapon by the army he was working for, he rarely carried one, preferring to work with his hands and the claws at the ends of his fingers.
"No weapons they'll be able to find by searching me, and Victor's you can see without looking too hard." Logan shrugged, lacing his fingers together behind his head. It wasn't as if they were actually restrained this time, and it wouldn't be too difficult to attack, even from this position, if he needed to. "Play nice, Victor."
"Where's the fun in that?" Victor rolled his eyes at his brother, still smirking with amusement as he echoed Logan's stance, even if he looked far too at ease for a prisoner.
"Forget I asked," Methos said, rolling his eyes. "And at least try to look as if you've been mistreated and told you're heading towards a Soviet prison." He sighed. "It's Russian for the two of us from here on out. Do either of you happen to speak the language?"
"Just some insults." Victor shrugged. "Never needed anything else."
Logan echoed his brother's motion. "A little. Not enough to hold a conversation."
Methos turned to Kronos. "Russian accents, then, if we have to speak to either of them. And we start now. I'm not getting arrested because you can't be bothered to maintain a disguise."
The look he directed at Victor and Logan was flatly uncompromising. "That goes for you two as well. The only way to play a part convincingly is to be that person, even when no one else is around. Understood?"
"He should know," Kronos remarked drily. "He's spent the past two thousand years pretending to be a regular, civilised human being."
Methos bit back the retort that rose to his lips, and motioned with his pistol at the waiting road. "Move," he ordered. "You two first. Victor, hands behind your head. Let's not give our fraternal socialist comrades any reason to look too closely."
Victor gave Methos a dirty look, but he put his hands behind his head as ordered, fingers interlaced carefully to avoid slicing his scalp open. The sullen expression came easily, though the reasons behind it weren't what the border guards would be meant to assume.
Logan hadn't taken his hands down, and he moved forward without saying anything, his own expression stoic, as if he had resigned himself to being his fate, but didn't intend to actually give in to his captors. So long as it got them past the border, he was willing to pretend anything for a while.
They'd gotten on the road less than five hundred yards from the border crossing, and rounding the first bend brought the guard shack into view. As they approached, Methos glanced over at Kronos.
"Do your papers say KGB?" he asked in Russian. Kronos answered in the same language.
"Of course they do. I'm a Captain."
"Then I outrank you, Captain--"
"Timochenko. Vladmir Ivanovich."
"Vassily Petrovich Ushenko. Major."
The corner of Kronos' mouth twitched in a near-smile. "A pleasure, comrade."
By now the guards were watching them approach, fingers already on the triggers of their AK-47's. Methos lifted his voice so as to be audible.
"Comrades! We are Soviet Security, transporting prisoners." None of the guards' faces bore any trace of comprehension, so he switched to Burmese, careful to give his words a Russian flavour, and repeated himself. There was a whispered consultation between two of the guards; then one motioned them ahead with the barrel of his rifle.
"Keep moving," Methos snarled at his faux-prisoners, this time in Russian-accented English, as one of the Burmese soldiers approached them, still aiming his rifle squarely at Methos.
"We were not informed that you were coming." He omitted the traditional honorifics that were almost omnipresent in Burmese, and Methos narrowed his eyes.
"Does your government tell you everything?" he asked, curling one lip in clear, arrogant derision. "No. Ours does not even know that we are here. We require assistance in securing our prisoners, and transport to our embassy in Rangoon."
"I cannot spare the personnel," the Burmese replied, identifying himself as the officer in charge. "Also, I must clear your entry under arms with my superiors."
"A tiresome business," Methos answered. "And these two are American soldiers, Special Forces. Very dangerous. My government will not wish to wait for your bureaucrats to cut through the red tape."
"Nevertheless," the officer responded, "you will wait. Or you will give up your arms and be searched for contraband."
Methos reached into his pocket slowly, so as not to startle the man. "My papers, comrade," he said, presenting them.
Logan and Victor just watched the interaction, neither able to follow the conversation, though the last at least was clear, even without being able to understand the words. Logan hoped this wouldn't take too long, carefully keeping his gaze ostensibly focused in the distance, boredom and resignation in equal measure in his expression, doing his best to give the impression of patiently waiting for this all to be over.
Methos watched the guard examine his papers, and when the man seemed satisfied, pulled the gold out of his pocket. "As a token of appreciation from my government for expediting this," he said, proffering it. "We need to move immediately."
The guard opened the bag, and Methos saw with satisfaction the way his eyes lit up. It would all most likely have gone smoothly from there -- except that a command vehicle suddenly made its entrance from the Burmese side. Even before the officers had jumped out, their guard was running towards it, the sack of gold still in his hand. Methos had just enough time to reach for his pistol before something heavy crashed down on the back of his head, knocking him into blackness.
Victor didn't bother to wait for anyone to give him a command to move, the sullen expression sliding off his face like water as his hands came out from behind his head, claws extending. Ready for a fight, baring his teeth as he moved forward, not even taking the time to think about the possibility they could cause him trouble, or that he was blowing their cover.
"Victor!" Logan moved almost as quickly as his brother, though he kept his own claws hidden, not willing to show all his cards yet. Just trying to keep his brother in line, keep him back where they could fight properly, back to back, and with Kronos, at least. They weren't alone here, not like they often were.
Kronos swore viciously as Methos went down, turning his pistol on the guards and letting the full-automatic setting have its say. He'd forgotten how shoddy Soviet workmanship could be, though. After a few shots, the aim was beyond control, and there were simply too many of them, swarming out from the jungles like so many cockroaches.
They seemed to be trying to take him alive, though, so when the gun ran out of bullets he threw it aside and pulled out his sword. Here, outnumbered, was where he truly did his best work -- and Methos should be coming around soon.
Logan snarled as the soldiers came closer, picking one up and tossing him toward his comrades, knocking them over before he let his claws slide out, slicing through flesh like knives, relentless and uncompromising. His back pressed against Victor's as they fought with the vicious brutality that had earned them their date with the firing squad only a few weeks before. Blood stained his fists, splashing on his clothing from those around him who had the misfortune of coming into range of his claws or Victor's, or Kronos's sword.
It had been far, far too long since he'd gotten this sort of all-out melee, and Kronos was grinning with a savage sort of joy even as his sword carved a path through anyone stupid enough to get close to him. He barely felt the first bullet, or the second, or even the third. The fourth, unfortunately, caught him in the gut, doubling him over, and the fifth went straight through his heart. He didn't even have time to be annoyed before death took him.
Victor didn't notice Kronos going down, too involved in his own slaughter to care, not until he spotted the firing squad forming up, their guns aimed at him. He roared, the sound full of rage as he started toward them. Too late to actually make it before the bullets ripped into him, most of the wounds easily ignored, more a nuisance than painful or debilitating. But it only took one hit to the heart to drop him, blackness closing in around him before he even managed to get one of the squad.
Logan turned as Victor moved away, already knowing he wouldn't have a chance to escape, or kill the men shooting at him before they took him down as they had the other three. He only hoped he'd come back around in enough time to keep them from managing to do more than just kill them, however temporary that might be.
~ ~~ ~
Methos swam back to consciousness bound and gagged in the back of a moving truck. His head was throbbing, though it had to have healed by now, and his hands were numb from the rope cutting off his circulation. Lifting his head was an effort, but he managed. Glancing to the left and right, he saw that none of his companions were bound -- and that they all appeared quite dead. Kronos, he knew, would recover in fairly short order. He wasn't sure how long it would take Victor and Logan to do the same.
The only thing worse than healing from gunshot wounds was healing from being at the receiving end of cannon or tank fire, at least as far as Logan was concerned. Though trying not to gasp for breath when he woke up from what he was sure was another close brush with death was difficult, and he wouldn't have tried if it hadn't felt like the ground was moving under him. He opened his eyes, turning his head enough to look for Victor. He was still unconscious - even gave an almost convincing impression of being dead - lying next to Logan on the bed of a truck.
When Logan moved, Methos breathed a sigh of relief. "Awake, are you?" he asked. "Get me the hell out of these ropes, before I lose a finger or two."
Logan snorted, shaking his head at the foolishness of the Burmese as he let a claw slide out, slicing the ropes binding Methos's wrists before he propped himself up against the side of the truck. Out of immediate sight of anyone looking in a mirror, but no longer sprawled on the metal truck bed. "Victor'll be out a bit longer." His brother always had taken longer to heal, though not terribly much.
"Kronos is..." Methos broke off as the familiar feel of his brother's Quickening rang in his head. Oddly, it seemed to help his headache. "...already back with us." He turned his attention to Kronos. "Five bullets, brother? Isn't that a bit excessive?"
"At least I wasn't unconscious," Kronos sniped back. The look Methos gave him in return was a warning, and he dropped the subject. "Should we grab him--" he nodded at Victor "--and make our escape?" When Methos shook his head, Kronos didn't bother to fight back his grin.
Kronos's grin made Logan raise an eyebrow in question, though he hadn't liked the suggestion of just running. Not after being shot and tossed in the back of a truck, after watching his brother go down before a firing squad again. "What did you have in mind?"
"Expressing our annoyance," Methos said, smiling unpleasantly. "I believe you mentioned a hostile takeover, brother?" Kronos lifted both eyebrows. He'd have to remember that it really, really didn't pay to irritate Methos. It never had, but this one seemed to retaliate even more severely than the Horseman had, once he was roused to anger.
"Of Burma?" he asked, just to clarify. Methos shrugged. "Why not? The country's ripe for it. I'd have left them alone if they hadn't annoyed me."
The idea appealed to Logan, and he was certain it would more than appeal to Victor once his brother woke up and was aware of the idea. He nodded, a smirk curling his lips. "Sounds like an idea."
Victor woke with a snarl, his head pounding from the lack of oxygen, and claws digging into the metal under him with a shriek rather like nails on a chalk board. He heard Logan say something, though he wasn't entirely certain what it was past the rush of blood in his ears.
"Good of you to join us," Methos told Victor cooly, wincing at the noise. His head was still aching unpleasantly, and he was in a fairly nasty mood, but Victor had to calm down. The soldiers were taking them exactly where they needed to be. "Feeling better?"
Shifting, Victor bared his fangs a moment, waiting to speak until the pounding in his head had subsided. "Once I find who shot me, and kill them." He leaned up on his elbows, watching the rest of them. "What were you talking about when I woke up?"
"A more complicated sort of revenge than mere killing," Methos answered. "I'm annoyed with the Burmese. I think it would suit them very well to be taken over by the four of us. As I told your brother, the country's ripe for it. The government is corrupt and brutal, and it won't take much to topple it. It'll take a bit more work to get the populace to fall in line, but I've got some ideas in that direction."
He still wanted to kill whoever had shot him, but Victor grinned anyway. The thought of the violence it would take to topple a government, even one easily toppled, was extremely appealing. Waiting, he wouldn't enjoy, but at least there was the promise of bloodshed later.
"I thought it would appeal," Methos drawled, stretching his feet out in front of him. "Now. What weapons have we got left? Kronos?"
Kronos shrugged. "A few knives. One pistol. You?"
"A knife. They searched me pretty thoroughly, it seems."
"They'd have to have done," Kronos said. "If you're still the walking arsenal you used to be."
"Usually. I want my sword back," Methos said grimly.
Victor snorted, letting himself flop back to the bed of the truck, lacing his hands together behind his head. "Hope the idiot in charge of the border guards didn't decide to keep it for himself, then."
It certainly wasn't in the back of the truck with them, though it was possible it was in the front with the driver. Or the other truck that Logan could hear ahead of them, the engine just enough off from the cycle of the one they were in for him to tell there was another.
"That would have been a very bad decision," Kronos said. "He's got mine, too." The purring note in his voice, was a clearer sign of danger than another man's shout. "They don't make swords like that one any longer, and even if they did, I don't feel like going to the trouble of getting used to another one anyway."
Methos nodded. He'd had the Ivanhoe for centuries. He was also concerned about what might happen if they ran into another Immortal while essentially weaponless. Neither he nor Kronos had moral objections to shooting someone and taking their head, but with only one pistol between them, it was an uncomfortably dangerous proposition.
"There's another truck in the convoy," Logan said quietly, shrugging. "Might be on there." He'd prefer it if they were there, rather than back at the border. If only because he'd rather not deal with annoyed Immortals at the moment.
"It had better be," Kronos said darkly. Methos' eyes narrowed.
"Another truck? Just one more?" He wasn't planning on doing anything until the convoy stopped, but he still needed to know what sort of forces they were dealing with. Taking over wasn't going to be as simple as killing off the leaders and taking their places, not in this day and age. This was going to be a matter of encouraging -- and leading -- a popular revolt, and he wasn't sure if it would be better to escape, or to allow themselves to be thrown into prison, where he could at least be reasonably sure of finding enemies of the current regime.
"I only hear one more." Logan shrugged. "If there's others, their engines aren't audible over the two I can hear." There could be more, but he didn't think there were. Just the two, and he'd bet the Burmese thought they had enough men between them to control one bound prisoner and deal with three dead bodies.
Methos nodded. "We need to decide how we want to do this," he told the other three, and briefly outlined the two options he'd been torn between. "Escaping won't be difficult in and of itself, but it won't be easy to find opponents of the regime out in freedom. The Burmese aren't quite as effective at stamping out dissent as are the Soviets, but they're not far behind."
Victor scowled, still sprawled over the truck bed. He'd had enough of prisons in this part of the world when he'd had to sit in a cell after being shot. Even if he wouldn't be dead when tossed in the cell this time.
Logan didn't respond immediately, thinking it through a moment. "We can always break out of a prison later." He knew Victor wouldn't like the idea, and kept a careful eye on on his brother. He didn't much like it either, but he was more interested in what it would take to conquer a country, rather than just being a tool in someone else's plans of conquest or defense.
"Agreed," Kronos said. It would test his patience, but it would pay off better in the end than being a hunted fugitive, trying to find deeply hidden networks within the Burmese population.
"It's settled, then." Methos frowned at the other three. "That's if they don't kill us out of hand. If I'd seriously thought that we were going to try this, I'd have told you not to get yourselves shot." Explaining away their current lack of injury would be difficult, especially as all of them looked as if they'd gone through a major war. "They must have emptied half a clip into each of you."
"They had a firing squad lined up." Victor's voice was nearly a snarl, the scowl still on his face. "I don't know how many times they shot me." At least he'd had a chance to get at them, even if he hadn't managed to actually kill any.
"It's only bullets," Kronos laughed. "No harm done." He wasn't sure how many times he'd been shot since the invention of firearms, but he'd long ago stopped getting annoyed by it. A temporary death, after all, freed one from pursuit -- usually, anyway. It didn't mean he wouldn't seek revenge, but it wasn't out of anger. The only thing that upset him in this situation was his missing sword.
"It's annoying." Victor gave Kronos an irritated look. "I didn't even get to kill any of them."
Logan snorted at Victor's expression, shifting a moment. "We can find them later, Victor." And kill them, if he wanted to, even though he expected Victor would have forgotten which soldiers were the ones that actually in the firing squad.
"Later," Kronos agreed. "First things first." He turned to Methos. "Escape -- and then what, brother? We're foreigners, and foreigners don't do well in Asian countries."
Methos shrugged. "It's not as if we're trying to colonize the place. Once the army realizes that we don't intend to purge it, and the people realize that we're going to allow them actual freedom, I doubt it will be too difficult to maintain control."
"And from there?" Logan raised an eyebrow, curious himself. The idea sounded simple enough, so long as it worked. But where to stop - or not - after taking over Burma.
"Who knows?" Methos shrugged. "There are any number of options. It'll take some serious time to consolidate power, though -- and then we'll have both the US and the USSR to deal with."
"They'll want to use us to fight their war by proxy, if they don't just decide to get rid of us." Logan was fairly certain of that, though he supposed either power could use nuclear weapons, or bomb them with more conventional weapons.
"Which means that we'll need to start improving our own military as soon as we possibly can," Methos told them. "Including getting nuclear weapons of our own. It's the only way to ensure that we'll be left to our own devices." It would be a challenge, but it certainly was possible.
Logan nodded in agreement before shifting, sliding closer to the front of the truck so he could sit up more. It sounded like a start of a plan, but right now it relied on them getting through the next indeterminate period without killing too many people while in prison.
Co-author:
auberusFandom: Highlander, X-Men
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Characters: Victor Creed, James Logan, Methos, Kronos
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Word Count: 5242 (24,566)
Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5
Chapter 5
"The Burmese border's only about half a day from here," Methos said, covering over the remnants of the previous night's fire. "I'm assuming you've got the necessary papers." Kronos nodded once, and Methos turned his attention to Logan and Victor. "You two, on the other hand, I'm sure do not." He smirks. "Fortunately, Asia tends to be a bit more lax than Western countries when it comes to the ethics of giving and accepting bribes." Kicking the last bit of dirt onto the fire-pit, he lifted an eyebrow at Kronos. "How much money are you carrying?"
"Enough," Kronos said, shrugging. "Burmese border guards don't make millions."
"You two? Anything at all?"
"Didn't have anything but a few bits of change before we were shot, and there hasn't exactly been the chance to pick up some spare cash while we've been traveling." Logan answered before Victor could provide something ruder. The snort he got from his brother was commentary enough, and he was fairly certain that Victor's idea of a bribe at the moment was to give someone a chance to run, instead of killing them outright. "Not enough to even make it worth while to attempt to bribe them out of our pockets."
"Then it's a good thing I always carry a reserve, isn't it?" Methos asked cooly. Not in cash -- currency that was accepted in one place wouldn't always be welcome in another, or could draw unwanted attention. Gold, however, had been considered valuable for most of his very long life. He re-opened his pack and dug through it until he found one of the five small bags he'd thought it prudent to bring along when he left California. He tossed it at Kronos, who caught it easily, then lifted his eyebrows at the unexpected weight.
"Gold?" he asked. Methos smirked.
"Enough for our purposes, wouldn't you say?"
Kronos opened the bag and whistled softly. "More than enough." He tossed the bag back to Methos, who pocketed it before turning to Victor and Logan.
"When we get there, the two of you stay behind me and keep your mouths shut." He glanced briefly at Kronos. "That goes for you, too. The Burmese spent a long time under British rule, and they're not terribly fond of foreigners. Especially arrogant foreigners."
"I can do humble," Kronos said. Methos rolled his eyes.
"Tell it to someone who hasn't seen you flinging insults while in chains." Kronos grinned, unapolagetic. "Do you at least speak Burmese?"
"I can get by. I spent some time here when the British were in charge."
"Don't talk unless you have to. British-accented Burmese won't do you much good with the current regime." He turned back to Logan and Victor. "I can't emphasize enough the need to stay quiet. I really don't feel like ending up in a Burmese labour camp."
Victor chuckled softly, a small smirk curling the corners of his mouth, though he didn't say anything. That he didn't think the Burmese would get them to a labor camp without whoever had the misfortune of escorting them being turned into so much carrion went without him having to say a word. It would appeal to his rising impatience, though he wouldn't actively do anything to endanger their crossing.
"Quiet isn't a problem." Logan shrugged, unconcerned with the orders, and moved to shoulder his pack, falling in behind Methos when they started moving through the jungle again. He kept an eye on Victor as they headed for the border, wary of what his brother might do if provoked, and hoping he'd have enough warning to keep Victor from doing something stupid.
"No?" Methos asked, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. "From what I've seen, the pair of you are about as discreet as the four of us used to be."
"We were discreet," Kronos said. "Sometimes. If we wanted something badly enough."
"No," Methos corrected him. "I was discreet. You and Caspian were sneaky. Silas usually had to be left with the horses."
"You said quiet." Logan let out a small snort of laughter. "You never said anything about being discreet. That's a bit harder."
It wasn't like either of them had any practice in being discreet, since it hadn't been a necessity when they were fighting, and the near-wilderness areas they'd retreated to between wars weren't places that they attracted too much attention. Beyond the uptick in reported bear maulings.
"Have either of you ever spent any time in a police state?" Methos inquired. "They can -- and will -- arrest people for such trivial offences as 'looking suspicious'. And they strongly dislike Westerners." He hated being unable to blend in. It was one thing to revisit old times in the middle of the jungle; another thing entirely to walk into an overwhelming number of mortals as a highly visible outsider.
"And I'm supposed to not look suspicious how?" Victor gave Methos a sarcastic look, his claws reflexively lengthening a moment before he reined in the impulse to shred something. For now, at least. "Or am I supposed to play the tame pet cat?"
Methos rolled his eyes. "You keep your mouth shut and your hands in your pockets. No matter what the provocation is." He smirked. "Though I'd quite like to see you pretending to be tame. I'm not planning on heading into any heavily populated areas."
Victor laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement and a hint of barely contained violence. "Tame it is, then." At least, as tame as he ever got, which wasn't all that much. He almost hoped the border guards would do something that would give him a good excuse to take his hands out of his pockets, and set a few heads rolling.
Logan kept silent through the exchange, watching the jungle around them, the itch between his shoulders coming back with a vengeance. If something was going to go wrong, he was hoping it would do so sooner, rather than later. If only to get rid of the feeling he was in the sights of a sniper.
"This should be interesting," Kronos observed, sotto voce, then switched to Hittite for greater privacy. "Victor's about as tame as I am."
"It's an unusual border guard that won't take bribes," Methos told him. "And gold opens more doors even than dollars." Switching back to English, he asked, "What papers are you carrying?"
Kronos shrugged. "Russian, Spanish, American, and British."
"Stick to the Soviet papers," Methos advised. "An American passport would be a liability."
Neither Logan nor Victor were carrying papers, and their dog tags were tucked into their packs for now, safely out of sight so long as the border guard didn't think to look through them. Though Logan doubted that would be the biggest problem if the guard decided the bribe wasn't enough, or didn't take the bribe at all. It didn't help the feeling something was going to go wrong.
It took slightly less than half a day to get near the Burmese border. Logan and Creed were both in peak physical condition, and Methos and Kronos had been that way for millenia. When they were perhaps two miles from the border itself, Methos stopped, looking around.
"We need to find a road," he said. "The last thing we want to do is come walking out of the jungle in sight of the soldiery. Being on foot will be suspicious enough."
Kronos looked around, then shrugged. "I didn't spend much time in the jungle last time I was here," he admitted.
Victor looked over at Logan, raising an eyebrow a fraction in question. He'd been smelling the faint hint of mud and dung and exhaust that clung around roads in the jungle for the last hour, and he'd almost wager there was a road a couple hundred yards to their right, roughly paralleling their way through the jungle. He hadn't mentioned it, not wanting to be exposed out in the open like that, but if Methos wanted a road...
"That way." Logan jerked his head in the direction of the road both he and Victor had picked up. "Can smell it, the damn things stink of exhaust, even here."
"Well, aren't you useful," Kronos said, smirking. "Come on, brother; time to head back into civilization. Who are we this time?"
"If pressed? KGB." He looked sidelong at Kronos. "You shouldn't have a problem pulling that off, and I don't think the Burmese will want to annoy the Soviet Union."
"And them? No one's going to buy them as secret agents of any sort, or even as Russians."
Methos shrugs. "Prisoners. American soldiers, to be transported back to the Motherland for questioning. It'll explain the uniform, at any rate." He lifted an eyebrow at Logan and Victor. "Besides, it'll give them a reason to stay quiet."
Logan wasn't certain how well the idea of him and Victor being prisoners would be accepted, but at the moment, he didn't have any better ideas to get them across the border without leaving a rather visible trail of dead bodies behind them. He shrugged, and headed toward the road, not looking back to see if the rest of them were following, though he could hear Victor falling in beside him, the brothers moving quietly and without speaking.
The road itself was little more than a muddy track, wide enough for maybe one car, if the driver were lucky, or didn't care about the condition of his vehicle. It was also empty, which was fortunate.
"All right," Methos said. "Time for all good prisoners to put their hands on their heads. Kronos -- tell me you've a Russian pistol somewhere in your armoury."
"Will a Stechkin do?" Kronos asked, pulling the weapon from the small of his back. Methos rolled his eyes.
"Trust you to have one that goes to full automatic." He himself had a Tokarev, and he took it out, flicking the safety off. "I need any weapons the pair of you might be carrying," he tells Victor and Logan. "They probably won't search us, but they might search you."
Victor snickered, grinning at Methos. "Now why would I be carrying extra weapons?" Unless he'd been handed a weapon by the army he was working for, he rarely carried one, preferring to work with his hands and the claws at the ends of his fingers.
"No weapons they'll be able to find by searching me, and Victor's you can see without looking too hard." Logan shrugged, lacing his fingers together behind his head. It wasn't as if they were actually restrained this time, and it wouldn't be too difficult to attack, even from this position, if he needed to. "Play nice, Victor."
"Where's the fun in that?" Victor rolled his eyes at his brother, still smirking with amusement as he echoed Logan's stance, even if he looked far too at ease for a prisoner.
"Forget I asked," Methos said, rolling his eyes. "And at least try to look as if you've been mistreated and told you're heading towards a Soviet prison." He sighed. "It's Russian for the two of us from here on out. Do either of you happen to speak the language?"
"Just some insults." Victor shrugged. "Never needed anything else."
Logan echoed his brother's motion. "A little. Not enough to hold a conversation."
Methos turned to Kronos. "Russian accents, then, if we have to speak to either of them. And we start now. I'm not getting arrested because you can't be bothered to maintain a disguise."
The look he directed at Victor and Logan was flatly uncompromising. "That goes for you two as well. The only way to play a part convincingly is to be that person, even when no one else is around. Understood?"
"He should know," Kronos remarked drily. "He's spent the past two thousand years pretending to be a regular, civilised human being."
Methos bit back the retort that rose to his lips, and motioned with his pistol at the waiting road. "Move," he ordered. "You two first. Victor, hands behind your head. Let's not give our fraternal socialist comrades any reason to look too closely."
Victor gave Methos a dirty look, but he put his hands behind his head as ordered, fingers interlaced carefully to avoid slicing his scalp open. The sullen expression came easily, though the reasons behind it weren't what the border guards would be meant to assume.
Logan hadn't taken his hands down, and he moved forward without saying anything, his own expression stoic, as if he had resigned himself to being his fate, but didn't intend to actually give in to his captors. So long as it got them past the border, he was willing to pretend anything for a while.
They'd gotten on the road less than five hundred yards from the border crossing, and rounding the first bend brought the guard shack into view. As they approached, Methos glanced over at Kronos.
"Do your papers say KGB?" he asked in Russian. Kronos answered in the same language.
"Of course they do. I'm a Captain."
"Then I outrank you, Captain--"
"Timochenko. Vladmir Ivanovich."
"Vassily Petrovich Ushenko. Major."
The corner of Kronos' mouth twitched in a near-smile. "A pleasure, comrade."
By now the guards were watching them approach, fingers already on the triggers of their AK-47's. Methos lifted his voice so as to be audible.
"Comrades! We are Soviet Security, transporting prisoners." None of the guards' faces bore any trace of comprehension, so he switched to Burmese, careful to give his words a Russian flavour, and repeated himself. There was a whispered consultation between two of the guards; then one motioned them ahead with the barrel of his rifle.
"Keep moving," Methos snarled at his faux-prisoners, this time in Russian-accented English, as one of the Burmese soldiers approached them, still aiming his rifle squarely at Methos.
"We were not informed that you were coming." He omitted the traditional honorifics that were almost omnipresent in Burmese, and Methos narrowed his eyes.
"Does your government tell you everything?" he asked, curling one lip in clear, arrogant derision. "No. Ours does not even know that we are here. We require assistance in securing our prisoners, and transport to our embassy in Rangoon."
"I cannot spare the personnel," the Burmese replied, identifying himself as the officer in charge. "Also, I must clear your entry under arms with my superiors."
"A tiresome business," Methos answered. "And these two are American soldiers, Special Forces. Very dangerous. My government will not wish to wait for your bureaucrats to cut through the red tape."
"Nevertheless," the officer responded, "you will wait. Or you will give up your arms and be searched for contraband."
Methos reached into his pocket slowly, so as not to startle the man. "My papers, comrade," he said, presenting them.
Logan and Victor just watched the interaction, neither able to follow the conversation, though the last at least was clear, even without being able to understand the words. Logan hoped this wouldn't take too long, carefully keeping his gaze ostensibly focused in the distance, boredom and resignation in equal measure in his expression, doing his best to give the impression of patiently waiting for this all to be over.
Methos watched the guard examine his papers, and when the man seemed satisfied, pulled the gold out of his pocket. "As a token of appreciation from my government for expediting this," he said, proffering it. "We need to move immediately."
The guard opened the bag, and Methos saw with satisfaction the way his eyes lit up. It would all most likely have gone smoothly from there -- except that a command vehicle suddenly made its entrance from the Burmese side. Even before the officers had jumped out, their guard was running towards it, the sack of gold still in his hand. Methos had just enough time to reach for his pistol before something heavy crashed down on the back of his head, knocking him into blackness.
Victor didn't bother to wait for anyone to give him a command to move, the sullen expression sliding off his face like water as his hands came out from behind his head, claws extending. Ready for a fight, baring his teeth as he moved forward, not even taking the time to think about the possibility they could cause him trouble, or that he was blowing their cover.
"Victor!" Logan moved almost as quickly as his brother, though he kept his own claws hidden, not willing to show all his cards yet. Just trying to keep his brother in line, keep him back where they could fight properly, back to back, and with Kronos, at least. They weren't alone here, not like they often were.
Kronos swore viciously as Methos went down, turning his pistol on the guards and letting the full-automatic setting have its say. He'd forgotten how shoddy Soviet workmanship could be, though. After a few shots, the aim was beyond control, and there were simply too many of them, swarming out from the jungles like so many cockroaches.
They seemed to be trying to take him alive, though, so when the gun ran out of bullets he threw it aside and pulled out his sword. Here, outnumbered, was where he truly did his best work -- and Methos should be coming around soon.
Logan snarled as the soldiers came closer, picking one up and tossing him toward his comrades, knocking them over before he let his claws slide out, slicing through flesh like knives, relentless and uncompromising. His back pressed against Victor's as they fought with the vicious brutality that had earned them their date with the firing squad only a few weeks before. Blood stained his fists, splashing on his clothing from those around him who had the misfortune of coming into range of his claws or Victor's, or Kronos's sword.
It had been far, far too long since he'd gotten this sort of all-out melee, and Kronos was grinning with a savage sort of joy even as his sword carved a path through anyone stupid enough to get close to him. He barely felt the first bullet, or the second, or even the third. The fourth, unfortunately, caught him in the gut, doubling him over, and the fifth went straight through his heart. He didn't even have time to be annoyed before death took him.
Victor didn't notice Kronos going down, too involved in his own slaughter to care, not until he spotted the firing squad forming up, their guns aimed at him. He roared, the sound full of rage as he started toward them. Too late to actually make it before the bullets ripped into him, most of the wounds easily ignored, more a nuisance than painful or debilitating. But it only took one hit to the heart to drop him, blackness closing in around him before he even managed to get one of the squad.
Logan turned as Victor moved away, already knowing he wouldn't have a chance to escape, or kill the men shooting at him before they took him down as they had the other three. He only hoped he'd come back around in enough time to keep them from managing to do more than just kill them, however temporary that might be.
Methos swam back to consciousness bound and gagged in the back of a moving truck. His head was throbbing, though it had to have healed by now, and his hands were numb from the rope cutting off his circulation. Lifting his head was an effort, but he managed. Glancing to the left and right, he saw that none of his companions were bound -- and that they all appeared quite dead. Kronos, he knew, would recover in fairly short order. He wasn't sure how long it would take Victor and Logan to do the same.
The only thing worse than healing from gunshot wounds was healing from being at the receiving end of cannon or tank fire, at least as far as Logan was concerned. Though trying not to gasp for breath when he woke up from what he was sure was another close brush with death was difficult, and he wouldn't have tried if it hadn't felt like the ground was moving under him. He opened his eyes, turning his head enough to look for Victor. He was still unconscious - even gave an almost convincing impression of being dead - lying next to Logan on the bed of a truck.
When Logan moved, Methos breathed a sigh of relief. "Awake, are you?" he asked. "Get me the hell out of these ropes, before I lose a finger or two."
Logan snorted, shaking his head at the foolishness of the Burmese as he let a claw slide out, slicing the ropes binding Methos's wrists before he propped himself up against the side of the truck. Out of immediate sight of anyone looking in a mirror, but no longer sprawled on the metal truck bed. "Victor'll be out a bit longer." His brother always had taken longer to heal, though not terribly much.
"Kronos is..." Methos broke off as the familiar feel of his brother's Quickening rang in his head. Oddly, it seemed to help his headache. "...already back with us." He turned his attention to Kronos. "Five bullets, brother? Isn't that a bit excessive?"
"At least I wasn't unconscious," Kronos sniped back. The look Methos gave him in return was a warning, and he dropped the subject. "Should we grab him--" he nodded at Victor "--and make our escape?" When Methos shook his head, Kronos didn't bother to fight back his grin.
Kronos's grin made Logan raise an eyebrow in question, though he hadn't liked the suggestion of just running. Not after being shot and tossed in the back of a truck, after watching his brother go down before a firing squad again. "What did you have in mind?"
"Expressing our annoyance," Methos said, smiling unpleasantly. "I believe you mentioned a hostile takeover, brother?" Kronos lifted both eyebrows. He'd have to remember that it really, really didn't pay to irritate Methos. It never had, but this one seemed to retaliate even more severely than the Horseman had, once he was roused to anger.
"Of Burma?" he asked, just to clarify. Methos shrugged. "Why not? The country's ripe for it. I'd have left them alone if they hadn't annoyed me."
The idea appealed to Logan, and he was certain it would more than appeal to Victor once his brother woke up and was aware of the idea. He nodded, a smirk curling his lips. "Sounds like an idea."
Victor woke with a snarl, his head pounding from the lack of oxygen, and claws digging into the metal under him with a shriek rather like nails on a chalk board. He heard Logan say something, though he wasn't entirely certain what it was past the rush of blood in his ears.
"Good of you to join us," Methos told Victor cooly, wincing at the noise. His head was still aching unpleasantly, and he was in a fairly nasty mood, but Victor had to calm down. The soldiers were taking them exactly where they needed to be. "Feeling better?"
Shifting, Victor bared his fangs a moment, waiting to speak until the pounding in his head had subsided. "Once I find who shot me, and kill them." He leaned up on his elbows, watching the rest of them. "What were you talking about when I woke up?"
"A more complicated sort of revenge than mere killing," Methos answered. "I'm annoyed with the Burmese. I think it would suit them very well to be taken over by the four of us. As I told your brother, the country's ripe for it. The government is corrupt and brutal, and it won't take much to topple it. It'll take a bit more work to get the populace to fall in line, but I've got some ideas in that direction."
He still wanted to kill whoever had shot him, but Victor grinned anyway. The thought of the violence it would take to topple a government, even one easily toppled, was extremely appealing. Waiting, he wouldn't enjoy, but at least there was the promise of bloodshed later.
"I thought it would appeal," Methos drawled, stretching his feet out in front of him. "Now. What weapons have we got left? Kronos?"
Kronos shrugged. "A few knives. One pistol. You?"
"A knife. They searched me pretty thoroughly, it seems."
"They'd have to have done," Kronos said. "If you're still the walking arsenal you used to be."
"Usually. I want my sword back," Methos said grimly.
Victor snorted, letting himself flop back to the bed of the truck, lacing his hands together behind his head. "Hope the idiot in charge of the border guards didn't decide to keep it for himself, then."
It certainly wasn't in the back of the truck with them, though it was possible it was in the front with the driver. Or the other truck that Logan could hear ahead of them, the engine just enough off from the cycle of the one they were in for him to tell there was another.
"That would have been a very bad decision," Kronos said. "He's got mine, too." The purring note in his voice, was a clearer sign of danger than another man's shout. "They don't make swords like that one any longer, and even if they did, I don't feel like going to the trouble of getting used to another one anyway."
Methos nodded. He'd had the Ivanhoe for centuries. He was also concerned about what might happen if they ran into another Immortal while essentially weaponless. Neither he nor Kronos had moral objections to shooting someone and taking their head, but with only one pistol between them, it was an uncomfortably dangerous proposition.
"There's another truck in the convoy," Logan said quietly, shrugging. "Might be on there." He'd prefer it if they were there, rather than back at the border. If only because he'd rather not deal with annoyed Immortals at the moment.
"It had better be," Kronos said darkly. Methos' eyes narrowed.
"Another truck? Just one more?" He wasn't planning on doing anything until the convoy stopped, but he still needed to know what sort of forces they were dealing with. Taking over wasn't going to be as simple as killing off the leaders and taking their places, not in this day and age. This was going to be a matter of encouraging -- and leading -- a popular revolt, and he wasn't sure if it would be better to escape, or to allow themselves to be thrown into prison, where he could at least be reasonably sure of finding enemies of the current regime.
"I only hear one more." Logan shrugged. "If there's others, their engines aren't audible over the two I can hear." There could be more, but he didn't think there were. Just the two, and he'd bet the Burmese thought they had enough men between them to control one bound prisoner and deal with three dead bodies.
Methos nodded. "We need to decide how we want to do this," he told the other three, and briefly outlined the two options he'd been torn between. "Escaping won't be difficult in and of itself, but it won't be easy to find opponents of the regime out in freedom. The Burmese aren't quite as effective at stamping out dissent as are the Soviets, but they're not far behind."
Victor scowled, still sprawled over the truck bed. He'd had enough of prisons in this part of the world when he'd had to sit in a cell after being shot. Even if he wouldn't be dead when tossed in the cell this time.
Logan didn't respond immediately, thinking it through a moment. "We can always break out of a prison later." He knew Victor wouldn't like the idea, and kept a careful eye on on his brother. He didn't much like it either, but he was more interested in what it would take to conquer a country, rather than just being a tool in someone else's plans of conquest or defense.
"Agreed," Kronos said. It would test his patience, but it would pay off better in the end than being a hunted fugitive, trying to find deeply hidden networks within the Burmese population.
"It's settled, then." Methos frowned at the other three. "That's if they don't kill us out of hand. If I'd seriously thought that we were going to try this, I'd have told you not to get yourselves shot." Explaining away their current lack of injury would be difficult, especially as all of them looked as if they'd gone through a major war. "They must have emptied half a clip into each of you."
"They had a firing squad lined up." Victor's voice was nearly a snarl, the scowl still on his face. "I don't know how many times they shot me." At least he'd had a chance to get at them, even if he hadn't managed to actually kill any.
"It's only bullets," Kronos laughed. "No harm done." He wasn't sure how many times he'd been shot since the invention of firearms, but he'd long ago stopped getting annoyed by it. A temporary death, after all, freed one from pursuit -- usually, anyway. It didn't mean he wouldn't seek revenge, but it wasn't out of anger. The only thing that upset him in this situation was his missing sword.
"It's annoying." Victor gave Kronos an irritated look. "I didn't even get to kill any of them."
Logan snorted at Victor's expression, shifting a moment. "We can find them later, Victor." And kill them, if he wanted to, even though he expected Victor would have forgotten which soldiers were the ones that actually in the firing squad.
"Later," Kronos agreed. "First things first." He turned to Methos. "Escape -- and then what, brother? We're foreigners, and foreigners don't do well in Asian countries."
Methos shrugged. "It's not as if we're trying to colonize the place. Once the army realizes that we don't intend to purge it, and the people realize that we're going to allow them actual freedom, I doubt it will be too difficult to maintain control."
"And from there?" Logan raised an eyebrow, curious himself. The idea sounded simple enough, so long as it worked. But where to stop - or not - after taking over Burma.
"Who knows?" Methos shrugged. "There are any number of options. It'll take some serious time to consolidate power, though -- and then we'll have both the US and the USSR to deal with."
"They'll want to use us to fight their war by proxy, if they don't just decide to get rid of us." Logan was fairly certain of that, though he supposed either power could use nuclear weapons, or bomb them with more conventional weapons.
"Which means that we'll need to start improving our own military as soon as we possibly can," Methos told them. "Including getting nuclear weapons of our own. It's the only way to ensure that we'll be left to our own devices." It would be a challenge, but it certainly was possible.
Logan nodded in agreement before shifting, sliding closer to the front of the truck so he could sit up more. It sounded like a start of a plan, but right now it relied on them getting through the next indeterminate period without killing too many people while in prison.
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Date: 2010-04-01 07:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 09:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 09:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-02 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-02 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-02 01:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-04 05:10 pm (UTC)Any chance of more? I would love to see their regime expanding as the years progress. :D
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Date: 2010-04-04 05:21 pm (UTC)Yes, there is a sequel in the works, but there's no guarantee when it will be finished.
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Date: 2010-05-02 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-03 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-06 03:04 pm (UTC)It's nice to know that I wasn't the only one who constantly thought of Methos and Kronos while watching that X-Men movie.
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Date: 2010-05-06 05:03 pm (UTC)