A Change of Scenery
2 Dec 2008 10:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
broadsword_babe{Backdated to October 15th}
Chartered flights were always better than commercial ones, especially when you didn't want to explain why you were carrying a fifteen-hundred-year-old sword and a six-pack of beer. Quinn lounged back in the chair as the small plane took off from the Kirkwall air field heading straight to a small airport outside New York.
Thirty years ago, she had lived in the city as a blonde socialite named Nicki Charles. Not exactly her best times, those. After her godson's death, she had sunk into a deep depression and ended up self-medicating with practically every drug and drink combination known to man. She had overdosed more than once, but it had been Danny, her screaming queen of a best friend, who had pulled her out of it, even though he probably didn't know that.
She didn't know what possessed Danny to want a tattoo of his own, but he had insisted on the condition she get one, too. Though the walls of that particular parlor were decorated in roses, hearts, cartoon characters, and the like, nothing appealed to her. It wasn't until she started thinking about her past that she decided on the design.
Quinn looked down at the fehu tattooed to the inside of her left wrist. There was much more to that simple rune than met the eye. It was the Norse equivalent of the Greek alpha. It meant strength, power and wealth. It was the first letter in the name "Freyja;" the name she shared with the Norse goddess of battle, and love.
Sitting for the tattoo had been relatively painful as there were a lot of nerves that coursed through the inside of her wrist. But it was also cathartic, as though the physical pain of the tattoo could somehow exorcise the emotional pain of Immortality. By the time the last bit of ink had been applied, her whole attitude and outlook had changed. She could almost hear the voice of the goddess telling her to be the warrior she was meant to be.
Now, just as then, she could feel her self-perceptions change. She was a warrior. She had just proven that again almost three months ago. She might not actively participate in The Game, but if anyone else came looking for her head, she was confident they'd lose theirs first. And that confidence made her feel lighter, more relaxed, somehow.
She never thought she'd return to New York in the first place, but here she was, whizzing past fluffy white clouds as the jet flew over the Atlantic. Quinn smiled wistfully as she thought about the man waiting for her in New York.
Her relationship with Methos (Adam, she corrected herself) had been two thousand years in the making. They hadn't exactly been close to civil when they first met. She couldn't escape the fact she'd been Cassandra's student and that he'd held her First Teacher as a slave. More than anything, she wanted to prove she wasn't Cassandra, and he'd have the devil's own luck trying to turn her into some pet. Meanwhile, he couldn't stand the reminder of his "angry adolescence."
All told, they had probably crossed paths at least seven times over the centuries, and every time, she noticed he had changed somehow. First was the mutual truce. After watching him, and working with him, trying to save a boy that he didn't even know, Quinn couldn't fight him anymore. Oh, sure, she could snark at him and give him no end of grief, but she couldn't go after his head again.
Three centuries later had found them facing off across a chess board. Once again, he'd surprised her by being an incredibly cunning strategist. It was during that match, with the myriad of candles and cut glass flickering around them, that she began to see him not as Cassandra's captor or one of the dreaded Horsemen, but as his own person. Against her better judgment, Quinn found herself liking him, his mischievous smirk and his insolent slouch.
For centuries after that, she tried to find ways to hate him, but failed. In Vienna, he proved to be just as charming as he was cunning, and she found herself actually having fun with him. So much so that decades later, she scoured the West looking for him if only to warn him that Kronos was alive and well. To be brutally honest, it sickened her to think that maybe Kronos would find Adam, or Ben as he called himself then, before she did.
As for that snake. Quinn supposed it was just her way of asserting herself, letting him know that she still wasn't going to be tamed that easily. She had fully expected him to find the rattler before it found him, but it had. Just another one of her colossal blunders.
Then, there was Paris, and another surprise: Adam had helped her, and her godson, leave the city before the Nazi Invasion. She hadn't expected to run into him at all, but fate was a funny thing. What she had expected was for him to still be angry with her over the snake thing, but oddly enough, he hadn't been. That was the last time she saw him, until this year.
Those awards had certainly been a surprise, and the fact Adam had asked to be her date had been an even bigger surprise. Even though the ceremony had been held in Rome, a place she'd sworn she'd never visit, Quinn decided she'd rather see the Coliseum than go back on her word to Adam. She was glad she did.
At the time, she wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to pitch up on her doorstep, but he had. It was during that visit that they finally realized just how much they'd meant to each other, and how stupid they'd been about not getting involved. She knew Cassandra wouldn't approve of their involvement, but had decided it was time to make her own mistakes.
Oddly enough, it didn't feel like a mistake. It just felt right. Adam knew her in a way no one else, not even another Immortal, could understand, and she didn't want to let that go. Thing was, she actually found his insolent cheeky bastard persona amusing, and knew that's who he'd been all along.
She thought about what Cassandra had told her about being his slave. No, she didn't condone his behaviour, but she understood it. He had been Kronos' slave just as much as Cass had been his. Most of his life wasn't dictated to him by the other Horseman, and keeping Cass a slave was the one thing Methos could control.
Yes, he was a manipulative, lying, pain in the ass, but just about every older Immortal she'd met had been the same. They all had to lie about who they were. They all had to manipulate situations to make sure they weren't "outed." And she could be just as much of a pain in the arse as the next person. "Looking out for number one" was all a matter of survival.
Quinn didn't expect any sort of preferential treatment from anyone. She knew how to stand on her own two feet. She'd survived on her own, using her own wits and sword, for two thousand years. All she ever asked for was respect.
The plane touched down outside of New York a few hours later. She gathered her large black duffel bag, with the sword hidden in a side compartment, and the six-pack of beer from the Orkney brewery not far from her house. A small chopper sat nearby waiting to take her to a heli-pad close to Adam's apartment.
The city was still much as she remembered it: huge and jam-packed with people, cars and noise. It would definitely be easy to hide in plain sight here, which was probably why Adam liked it. She sighed as the chopper touched down. At least here she could be closer to her friends like Snake and Wes.
The driver found Adam's building easy enough, and the doorman had been expecting her. She had to admit, the building was nicer than she expected. Then again, Adam did have a certain flair for the finer things. Quinn smirked as she rode in the wood-paneled elevator up to his floor.
Stepping out of the lift, she could feel the tiniest tingle of another Immortal crawl up the back of her neck. Another smirk crossed her lips. She'd actually missed that annoying feeling. It meant she wasn't alone.
Quinn knocked on the door to his flat, and when he finally opened the door, she held up the six pack.
"Candy-gram."
Chartered flights were always better than commercial ones, especially when you didn't want to explain why you were carrying a fifteen-hundred-year-old sword and a six-pack of beer. Quinn lounged back in the chair as the small plane took off from the Kirkwall air field heading straight to a small airport outside New York.
Thirty years ago, she had lived in the city as a blonde socialite named Nicki Charles. Not exactly her best times, those. After her godson's death, she had sunk into a deep depression and ended up self-medicating with practically every drug and drink combination known to man. She had overdosed more than once, but it had been Danny, her screaming queen of a best friend, who had pulled her out of it, even though he probably didn't know that.
She didn't know what possessed Danny to want a tattoo of his own, but he had insisted on the condition she get one, too. Though the walls of that particular parlor were decorated in roses, hearts, cartoon characters, and the like, nothing appealed to her. It wasn't until she started thinking about her past that she decided on the design.
Quinn looked down at the fehu tattooed to the inside of her left wrist. There was much more to that simple rune than met the eye. It was the Norse equivalent of the Greek alpha. It meant strength, power and wealth. It was the first letter in the name "Freyja;" the name she shared with the Norse goddess of battle, and love.
Sitting for the tattoo had been relatively painful as there were a lot of nerves that coursed through the inside of her wrist. But it was also cathartic, as though the physical pain of the tattoo could somehow exorcise the emotional pain of Immortality. By the time the last bit of ink had been applied, her whole attitude and outlook had changed. She could almost hear the voice of the goddess telling her to be the warrior she was meant to be.
Now, just as then, she could feel her self-perceptions change. She was a warrior. She had just proven that again almost three months ago. She might not actively participate in The Game, but if anyone else came looking for her head, she was confident they'd lose theirs first. And that confidence made her feel lighter, more relaxed, somehow.
She never thought she'd return to New York in the first place, but here she was, whizzing past fluffy white clouds as the jet flew over the Atlantic. Quinn smiled wistfully as she thought about the man waiting for her in New York.
Her relationship with Methos (Adam, she corrected herself) had been two thousand years in the making. They hadn't exactly been close to civil when they first met. She couldn't escape the fact she'd been Cassandra's student and that he'd held her First Teacher as a slave. More than anything, she wanted to prove she wasn't Cassandra, and he'd have the devil's own luck trying to turn her into some pet. Meanwhile, he couldn't stand the reminder of his "angry adolescence."
All told, they had probably crossed paths at least seven times over the centuries, and every time, she noticed he had changed somehow. First was the mutual truce. After watching him, and working with him, trying to save a boy that he didn't even know, Quinn couldn't fight him anymore. Oh, sure, she could snark at him and give him no end of grief, but she couldn't go after his head again.
Three centuries later had found them facing off across a chess board. Once again, he'd surprised her by being an incredibly cunning strategist. It was during that match, with the myriad of candles and cut glass flickering around them, that she began to see him not as Cassandra's captor or one of the dreaded Horsemen, but as his own person. Against her better judgment, Quinn found herself liking him, his mischievous smirk and his insolent slouch.
For centuries after that, she tried to find ways to hate him, but failed. In Vienna, he proved to be just as charming as he was cunning, and she found herself actually having fun with him. So much so that decades later, she scoured the West looking for him if only to warn him that Kronos was alive and well. To be brutally honest, it sickened her to think that maybe Kronos would find Adam, or Ben as he called himself then, before she did.
As for that snake. Quinn supposed it was just her way of asserting herself, letting him know that she still wasn't going to be tamed that easily. She had fully expected him to find the rattler before it found him, but it had. Just another one of her colossal blunders.
Then, there was Paris, and another surprise: Adam had helped her, and her godson, leave the city before the Nazi Invasion. She hadn't expected to run into him at all, but fate was a funny thing. What she had expected was for him to still be angry with her over the snake thing, but oddly enough, he hadn't been. That was the last time she saw him, until this year.
Those awards had certainly been a surprise, and the fact Adam had asked to be her date had been an even bigger surprise. Even though the ceremony had been held in Rome, a place she'd sworn she'd never visit, Quinn decided she'd rather see the Coliseum than go back on her word to Adam. She was glad she did.
At the time, she wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to pitch up on her doorstep, but he had. It was during that visit that they finally realized just how much they'd meant to each other, and how stupid they'd been about not getting involved. She knew Cassandra wouldn't approve of their involvement, but had decided it was time to make her own mistakes.
Oddly enough, it didn't feel like a mistake. It just felt right. Adam knew her in a way no one else, not even another Immortal, could understand, and she didn't want to let that go. Thing was, she actually found his insolent cheeky bastard persona amusing, and knew that's who he'd been all along.
She thought about what Cassandra had told her about being his slave. No, she didn't condone his behaviour, but she understood it. He had been Kronos' slave just as much as Cass had been his. Most of his life wasn't dictated to him by the other Horseman, and keeping Cass a slave was the one thing Methos could control.
Yes, he was a manipulative, lying, pain in the ass, but just about every older Immortal she'd met had been the same. They all had to lie about who they were. They all had to manipulate situations to make sure they weren't "outed." And she could be just as much of a pain in the arse as the next person. "Looking out for number one" was all a matter of survival.
Quinn didn't expect any sort of preferential treatment from anyone. She knew how to stand on her own two feet. She'd survived on her own, using her own wits and sword, for two thousand years. All she ever asked for was respect.
The plane touched down outside of New York a few hours later. She gathered her large black duffel bag, with the sword hidden in a side compartment, and the six-pack of beer from the Orkney brewery not far from her house. A small chopper sat nearby waiting to take her to a heli-pad close to Adam's apartment.
The city was still much as she remembered it: huge and jam-packed with people, cars and noise. It would definitely be easy to hide in plain sight here, which was probably why Adam liked it. She sighed as the chopper touched down. At least here she could be closer to her friends like Snake and Wes.
The driver found Adam's building easy enough, and the doorman had been expecting her. She had to admit, the building was nicer than she expected. Then again, Adam did have a certain flair for the finer things. Quinn smirked as she rode in the wood-paneled elevator up to his floor.
Stepping out of the lift, she could feel the tiniest tingle of another Immortal crawl up the back of her neck. Another smirk crossed her lips. She'd actually missed that annoying feeling. It meant she wasn't alone.
Quinn knocked on the door to his flat, and when he finally opened the door, she held up the six pack.
"Candy-gram."
