NOTE FROM AUTHOR: The word 'skivvy' is used in this story, as that is the Australian version of 'turtle-neck' or 'polo-neck'.
The auditorium filled up steadily, as lines of new immortals took their seats and looked expectantly at the empty stage. Eventually, the bright ceiling lights dimmed, until only one spotlight remained, focused on the centre microphone on stage. Silence spread across the room and so did a scattering of uncertain applause as a heavy-set, warrior-type highlander strode confidently, chest stuck out like a chicken, up to the microphone. His walk was reminiscent of those who are not well suited to walking and are much more confident strutting or, even better, standing in a pose which would accentuate their impressive muscle collection to intimidate anyone and everyone. Reaching the microphone, he stood still for a moment before speaking.
"Hi. I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and welcome to my seminar: You too can be a pain in the neck!" MacLeod grinned foolishly into the audience, releasing a small, tentative giggle. The audience in response either groaned at the bad pun, or in the case of the other half, stared blank faced in confusion wondering if they had accidentally wandered in on a twisted self-help seminar. MacLeod, slightly put off at having his attempt at clever humour bomb badly, continued on.
"Wellll...I suppose I should begin by saying that there are certain rules or procedures which need to be followed in order to become a successful immortal. I have to say," started MacLeod bashfully, while twirling around his finger a lone strand from his luscious head of hair, "that I think that I could possibly be in a position to explain to you all the in's and out's of the typical immortal life. I mean," he continued on, "I must know something of use to you all, as otherwise I would have been in two rather uneven pieces of body by now."
Another shy grin following this latest attempt at more, if not somewhat untasteful humour, which once again went right over everyone's heads. He was starting to worry and definitely felt a little bit more self-conscious than before. He had been told by his good, close friends that he needed to "lighten up", though he was having a tinsy bit of trouble letting down his serious warrior image. And this audience wasn't helping.
"Anyway...I think I'll begin by running through what I refer to as the 'Physical Immortal Image.' In other words, it is what every respectable immortal should consider at some stage to become his trademark. Let me run through mine..."
He struck a pose.
"Let's start with the clothes. All immortals should have a certain item of clothing that distinguishes them. For me it is, as you can see, my favourite bleached white skivvy. It's even unstainable, due to soooo many layers of bleach. This is an advantage for two reasons. One, when you are engaged in combat, you don't have to worry about unsightly blood, grass, or dirt stains. Two, I find it a tactical advantage when fighting outdoors during the day, as the blinding reflection of the sun shining off my pure white skivvy does tend to cause great discomfort and disorientation in my opponent. You have no idea how many times I have relied on my trusty skivvy to save my neck!"
"Hah! I knew your fighting was just a fluke, you sly highlander!," yelled a lone voice from the midst of the audience. Scattered laughter followed this remark as MacLeod looked sternly around, unsuccessfully trying to find the owner of the voice.
//It's familiar// he thought. //Why should I know that voice? It had an accent. What was the accent? Remember, MacLeod. You know you know it! Damn, I wish he had said something longer. Then I would have caught him out! Damn youngsters!//
Regaining his composure surprisingly quickly, to the annoyance of the owner of the mysterious voice in the audience, MacLeod resumed his talk.
"Continuing on with the 'physical immortal image'...," started MacLeod.
"Don't you mean fashion tips and washing instructions?" yelled the voice from the audience suddenly. Once again, a scattering of laughter, this time louder, greeted the lone heckler.
//Damn that kid!// thought MacLeod again. //Who is it? That was an English accent, wasn't it? Or was it Welsh? ...Maybe both. Damn! I'm going to lose their respect if he doesn't shut up. Next time, I'll mention something. Something clever and witty. Something that'll shut him up. Yeah...Next time//
"Wellll...As whoever that is seems to be fascinated by my lectures on physical appearance, I'll go straight onto my next topic: Hair." A pause. //Good// he thought. //Silence. That shut him up// He continued his lecture.
"Hair. Extremely important feature in all your immortal lives. Let me describe mine throughout the centuries. Firstly, I've been through the Tarzan/wild jungle man look, ie. long curly wild locks. Then I had some short do's which for some reason I believed went nicely with various moustaches. Remember: Always have a moustache at some stage so you can think back a few centuries later and realise just how much you don't suit them.
"Now, moving onto hair care," MacLeod paused for a fraction of a second to listen out for that annoying man he couldn't quite see through the glare of the spotlight. "I've found over time that a pony tail is an effective decision before a fight, as it does keep those annoying pieces of hair from flicking in your face and blinding you. Next, and most importantly I reckon, is your choice of conditioner." Another pause. //Hmmm// MacLeod thought, //Maybe the brat knows when to quit. Good// he finished his thought smugly. //No one mucks around with this highlander and lives to tell the story//
"OK...conditioner. It is extremely important - I can't stress this enough - to have a *good* conditioner. Now, to define what I would call a 'good' conditioner, it is one that both washes out quickly and also adds a luscious shine to your hair." MacLeod glanced quickly down into the few front rows of the audience that he could see and noticed gratefully that most were scribbling furiously onto respective notepads. //They worship me// MacLeod thought smugly. //They're actually writing down every word I speak. Wow. I was starting to worry that I might be drifting a little out of character for my strong, tough highland warrior image, but no...they're soaking it up! Hah! Hope that little brat has noticed too. Not that I care//
"Now, I suppose I'd better tell you why these two factors are important. First, the reason why your conditioner will need to wash out quickly is that if another head-hunting immortal comes after you and catches you in the shower, you're really got to wrap up in a hurry in order to fight them. I learned the hard way and I'm telling you right now that attempting a fight to the death with conditioner running down your face and into your eyes is not an experience I'd like to repeat."
"That's what you're worried about?" the now resurfaced voice from the audience shouted in an impressive act of genuine, innocent astonishment, "Not the fact that according to your story, you were actually fighting completely naked?"
Snorted and stifled laughter respectively burst out from all corners of the auditorium.
//ShutupShutupShutup// thought MacLeod furiously, while trying to get control of a full-scale blush which was making its way determinably up to his face. //Why is he doing this to me? I know I know him...Damn...If only I could see him!// A thought suddenly occurred to him. //He's probably jealous of my popularity with these young ones!...Yessss...That'd be it!// Resurfacing from this quite vain and presumptuous thought, he continued on, ignoring the little brat's previous wisecrack.
"Moving on...," began MacLeod dangerously, silently threatening anyone to speak again. //Next time I'll say something...Next time...// he thought.
"The reason for the second hair factor to be considered is a tactical one. Shiny, luscious straight hair - and yes, straight hair is important, if not essential - can be quite a deadly weapon. Let me explain. The straighter your hair, and the more shiny it is through the use of a good conditioner, the better chance you have of blinding your opponent when tilting your head at just the right angle to the sun.
"By the way, the strategy of hair reflection added to my bleached skivvy reflection, on a particularly sunny day can almost cause permanent blindness. Well...at least it might take as long to heal as a sword wound. Need I mention, to decapitate your opponent while they are in a state of eye-watering blindness, is definitely a good idea. Also a good last resort technique. If you have found yourself in the unfortunate position of having fallen down on your knees just under your opponents sword, then quickly tilting your head towards the sun should solve your problem. If it doesn't, well..." MacLeod gave a shy little grin, "Sorry, but you wouldn't be in any place where you can get your revenge on me for bad advice!" Luckily, a small...very small ripple of nervous laughter could be heard throughout the room.
"Of course," MacLeod continued on, pleased, "this only works during daytime hours, so if you are not entirely well adept in sword techniques then the respectable 'bridge scene' is probably not for you. That is, the typical fight on the middle of a convenient bridge, at night, when two sword-fighting shadows can spread across a nearby building for all the city to see. Don't worry though as this miraculously never seems to alert anyone, namely law-enforcement people, as to the location of the homicidal maniacs owning the shadows."
MacLeod stood back for a moment, gathering his thoughts for his next bout of hair care advice. //What haven't I mentioned?// he thought. //Hmmmm...// His eyebrows knotted together in a show of concentration, which incidentally, is a strategy which had fooled many opponents into believing that he must have an IQ approximately the same number as his age was before he became immortal.
"Ahhhh...yes...eyebrows.... Can't forget them!" MacLeod suddenly began cheerfully, now moving onto one of his favourite topics.
"Now, people, one of the most important things you will need to do now you've become immortal, is to maintain a sense of mystery about yourself. Regardless of what you might believe, this can be done in a physical way. I myself chose my eyebrows. Now, I'd like you to look at these sketches and photos that have been made of me over the years, and follow the progress of my eyebrows." MacLeod wheeled over a slide projector and began feeding in a selection of slides while leaning back to the microphone.
"Now let me explain. I find that changing the shape of my eyebrows every decade or so adds an alluring sense of mystery to me, which ordinary mortals usually can't quite touch on. They realise there is something different about me every time we have contact, but the sense of mystery is held by the fact that they usually die of old age before deciphering my secret." MacLeod turned back to the projector momentarily, to check his slides were prepared.
"Now look as I show you..." He paused for dramatic effect... "My Eyebrows: A Retrospective Masterpiece." He began clicking the slides through the projector, as a series of gasps and astonished exclamations echoed around the room. //Even the little brat has been shut up by this, I notice// thought MacLeod smugly. //God, I'm impressive!//
There were a selection of thick eyebrows, or more accurately - monobrows, moving through to a more triangular look, through to an impressive range of rectangular shapes. The continuing trend seemed to be the noticeable decrease of hair in the eyebrow region, as the decades progressed across the white screen.
"Plucking," stated MacLeod proudly. "That's my secret."
Reluctantly switching off the projector, MacLeod began his concluding summary for his 'hair' section of the lecture.
"Well, I'm sure you have all gained a lot of good advice and hints from this section, though I'm going to finish off this part with one of the most important points you will need as an immortal through the centuries. What is extremely important to remember, is to have at least one really shocking hairstyle that you can really, really, regret for centuries to come. Now, I've had a few over the years, which have made me wake up screaming some nights in memory."
"You think yours were bad?!" the mystery man with the Welsh/English accent suddenly interjected. "Whoa! You haven't seen bad! If there was a Guinness Book of Records entry for the worse, most hideous, embarrassing, eye-sore of a haircut ever invented - my Bronze Age one would be there in gold letters!" The lone voice from the audience paused, realising maybe he should have kept that outburst shorter so MacLeod wouldn't recognise him. "Oops."
There was a pause. The variety of expressions that made their way over MacLeod's face in that pause could have won Academy awards.
"Adam!!" MacLeod growled. "Adam Pierson, is that you?! My trusted, close, loyal..."
"OK, no need to pull a guilt trip on me," Adam Pierson a.k.a. Methos sulked, "I did hear you the first time."
CONTINUED IN...
CHAPTER TWO: THE ART OF QUICKENINGS