We're at it again.  We had such a great reaction to the last story we
*just* had to do a sequel. SOOOOO, in honour of 8 February being National
Hangover Day, we would like to present.... Methos In The Morning II: The
Hangover Episode. Also known as "Drunk As A Skunk." Special thanks go out
to the blessedly anonymous young lady who suggested that we get Methos
drunk and take (literary) advantage of him. Enjoy!!

DISCLAIMER: this story contains strong language and open alcohol abuse.
This is not meant to offend any of our readers.

by Caile Donachaidh Kane
Carrie Van Steenburg (Lady Reeana)

7 February 97
8 pm
        Duncan met Methos and Joe at the door. "Hey guys," he said,
"Thanks for coming over."
        Joe grinned, handing Duncan a bottle of very nice Scotch and
elbowing Methos. "Well, you know, you couldn't very well have a Chinese
New Year's party without a guest who actually remembers the beginning of
the Chinese Empire."
        Methos glared. "Was that an age joke??" He strolled casually into
the apartment and flopped onto the couch, swinging his booted feet onto
the coffee table.
        Richie was sitting in one of the chairs opposite, and he grinned
at the other Immortal. "I know this is a stupid question... but do you
want a beer?"
        "You're right. That was the stupidest question in history."

        [five bottles of scotch]
        [two cases of beer]
        [some brandy for flavour]

        Richie snorted with laughter, spilling whiskey on the floor. "And??"
        Methos giggled. "And then the nun said, 'I have a confession to
make too. My name is Jeff and I'm on my way to a costume party.'"
        Joe spit beer across the room, laughing hysterically. "You know
what guys...?"
        Duncan rolled his eyes. "Whaaaaat?"
        Joe laughed quietly to himself. "I dunno. Just felt like sayin'
        Richie snorted again. "Anymore jokes from the really old guy?"
        "No more fucking age jokes, you punk, that's for sure."
        Duncan giggled to himself. "You know what??"
        "Wha?" Methos said, burping and throwing his empty bottle at the
trash can, missing. "Eh?"
        "I bet.. if we had a birthday party for you... the cake..."
        Richie started giggling uncontrollably as Duncan continued.
        "The cake, Methos..." *giggle* "would collapse under the weight
of the candles..."
        Methos casually picked his sword up from the floor. "Smile when
you say that pilgrim."

        [three cases of beer]
        [a bottle of Chianti]
        [a bottle of port]
        [a sixer of bud light]

8 February 97
11 am
        Richie blinked, and tried to sit up, feeling as though his spine
had been folded in half. He floundered for a moment, then gave up. He
wondered idly why he couldn't see, then realised his eyes were still closed.
He opened them, and immediately flung an arm up to block out the sun.
"Awww," he groaned. "Too bright... the sun is no longer my friend..."
        After several tries he made it unsteadily to his feet. "Coffee...
ungh. Coffee."
        As the coffee slowly dripped into the carafe, and Richie leaned
on the counter holding his head in his hands, Duncan stirred in his chair.
        He tried to sit up, and groaned. "Annnggggh."
        "Coffee?" Richie offered.
        Duncan cracked open his eyes and then pulled his collar up over them.
"Mogwai," he squeaked, "bright light bad for Mogwai..."
        Richie tried to laugh and found it hurt too much. "Jesus, that
was a hell of a night."
        Duncan fought his way out of the chair, eyes still tightly shut.
"Food," he muttered.
        After a several minutes, the two were able to open their eyes
completely, and figured out that if they pulled the handle, the
refigerator would open. Duncan turned to Richie, and said, "Eggs?"
        Richie ran for the bathroom, tripping over empty bottles all the way.
        Duncan cracked eggs into a pan, trying to identify the bizarre
throbbing sensation in his head. He glanced at the other two survivours.
Methos was sprawled on the couch, one hand and one foot on the floor, the
other hand holding a pillow over his face. Joe was hanging precariously
half in and half out of an easy chair. As he watched, Joe twitched, slowly
bringing his head up.
        "Argh." Joe started to open his eyes, and groaned again. "Would
somebody please shut the fucking blinds?" he growled.
        Richie staggered out of the bathroom, rubbing his temples with
both hands. "Oh god..."
        "Wha?" Duncan said, scraping his eggs onto a plate.
        At the sight of the eggs, Richie wheeled around and ran again for
the loo.
        Joe struggled into an upright position. "Coffee."
        Joe made his way slowly to the counter, pouring himself a cup.
"Ugh. I'm too old for this."
        "Speaking of too old..." Duncan eyed Methos, who had not moved.
        Joe took a few swallows of coffee, and then went to stand by
Methos. After a moment, he poked him in the ribs with his cane.
        "C'mon," he said. "Get up, you old fart. The rest of us are."
        Slowly, Methos raised his hand from the floor and extended his
middle digit in Joe's direction, then let his hand fall.
        Duncan sniffed. "I take that to mean he's not joining us for
        Richie walked carefully from the bathroom, kicking aside the
empties that littered the floor. "I think I threw up my stomach."
        Duncan shrugged. "You'll live."
        "Mmmphm. When was the last time *you* had a hangover like this?"
        "Dunno. The 1920's sometime."
        Richie glared.
        Joe started to laugh but it hurt. He poked Methos again. "C'mon!"
        The corner of the pillow raised approximately one inch. "Fuck you."
        Joe shook his head. "Awright, if you're gonna be that way."
        The three men sat down to a certain kind of breakfast, involving
a lot of coffee and aspirin (for Joe). They were deliberately as loud as
could be, hoping to stir Methos into movement. When their efforts seemed
to be unsuccessful, Joe shook his head. "No use, guys."
        Richie frowned. "Yeah, I bet he could sleep through a world war."
        The pillow moved. "I have."
        When breakfast was finished and they were all a bit steadier on
their feet, they began cleaning up, clinking the bottles and moving
furniture. When Duncan began to vaccuum the rug near the couch, he leaned
        Suddenly, he found his throat in a death grip."Turn that christly
thing off," said the pillow, "Or I will kill you."
        The afternoon progressed in this fashion, the three of them poking
at Methos from time to time, he responding with monosyllabic death threats.
        Finally, he lost all patience.
        Methos sat slowly up, narrowing his eyes against the painful sunlight.
He slid his hand under the couch, his fingers closing satisfyingly on the
handle of his sword. (Magic couch, see. Kinda like a magic pocket.)
Duncan had his back turned, and with a lightning strike, whacked off
Duncan's head.

        [two quickenings and a strangling later]

        Methos sat comfortably on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee.
They just didn't learn, did they?? One does not wake a cranky hung-over
ancient Immortal before said Immortal was *quite* ready to arise.
        As he observed the carnage in the apartment he sighed, thinking
how he might actually miss them. Then again... he chuckled. Nah.

                *               *               *

        "Check out Methos," Richie snickered. "He's laughing in his sleep."
        "Prolly still drunk," Joe observed, sipping his coffee and
wincing. They were attempting to be as quiet as possible so that they
wouldn't disturb him. Duncan knew too well what the consequences of
waking Methos before his time were. They chatted quietly, and let Methos

                The End ????

brought to you by lack of sleep
C. 1997 
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