He was born 400 years ago in the Highlands of Scotland and he is still alive. He is Immortal and he is not alone; some good some evil, battling to death, the winner taking his enemy's head and with it his power. I am a Watcher, part of a secret society that observes and records Immortals but never interferes. We know the truth about Immortals and in the end there can be only one. May it be Duncan MacLoud, the Highlander.
Joe Dawson- Watcher
Angel looked into the new antique store. It had just opened recently and was open past dark. It wasn't like most antique stores now a day, looking like a parlor from Victorian England, but instead it was modern and Art Deco. D. MacLoud Antiques was written in bold gold letters on the display window. Shrugging, Angel entered, not knowing what he might find. Maybe some interesting piece of Asian art for his collection, or some archaic chronicle.
Classical music drifted from the upper level of the shop. He idly started to look around. He noticed that he was the only one in this room, he wondered where the clerk or the owner of the store was at.
He looked into a glass display case. It was filled with the really expensive items, like the solid gold Babylonian mask. There were many Celtic silver workings in there as well. There was a bracelet with the Gaelic symbol of eternal life engraved all around it. He smiled slightly at it and shook his head, eternal life wasn't what it's cracked up to be, he thought wryly.
He continued to browse through the store. He noticed that there where a lot of swords. All kinds: katanas, bastard swords, rapiers, an El Sid, broad swords, and a Scottish Claymore. The owner had really taken time out for this sword collection. Some of these swords were priceless, and had a sign below them reading: Just for display only.
Then he saw a painting. His first thought was It can't be. He moved over to it, not believing. It can't be, I thought this was destroyed in the fire. But it was.
A painting he did more than 244 years ago, when he was still human. It was of his family. A lump formed at his throat as he looked at the images of his mother, father, siblings and himself. He reached out and touched it, to make sure it was real. The look in the painted image of his eyes seemed to say, "It isn't dust now, is it?" in a thick Irish accent. Angel shook his head, trying to get the image from his mind. He opened his eyes and the painting was still there.
"Damn, and how the hell did it get hear?" Angel asked himself as he looked at it. He remembered when he had done it, trying to get his younger brothers and sisters to hold still, convincing his strict father to be in the portrait, and then, finally, the work on the picture itself. He had been proud of it when he was finished, but his family, least not his father, was. It was trying to live up to his family's image that had probably drove him to the drinking and the women.
He frowned, one of the first things he did when he was a vampire was rip his father's throat out. He remembered that killing his father very well. Darla was beside him, laughing her pretty head off in glee at her new fledgling, not even suspecting that he would be that vicious when she had bit him.
"Hello, may I help you?" Angel turned, startled at the voice. It was almost impossible to catch Angel off guard, that was what he usually did. "Hi, can I help you with something?" The speaker was tall, Angel's height, with black hair, brown eyes and looked more like a martial art instructor than an owner of an antique store.
Angel cleared his throat and answered, "No, I'm just looking."
The shopkeeper nodded and said, "Sorry I startled you, but I didn't hear you come in."
"Bad habit," Angel murmured.
"What?" The shopkeeper had a slight British, probably Scottish, accent.
"Never mind," Angel quickly answered. Then he turned to look back at the painting.
The shopkeeper said, "Oh, that's a nice piece, from . . . "
"Galway, Ireland, painted about 245 years ago by an unknown artist," Angel quickly supplied, realizing the mistake he had made after it was too late.
"So you know about this odd piece then?" the shopkeeper asked.
Angel nodded and answered, making it up as he went along, "I'm interested in this kind of thing. My girlfriend's father was a historian, and he quickly got me into this thing. It turned out that I had this talent for knowing really old artists by their paintings. I wish I didn't though."
"You wanted to date the girl, not spend time looking at old paintings and books then," the shopkeeper guessed with a smile.
Angel nodded, glad that the shopkeeper had given him a way out. It was logical that he could have a girlfriend that's father was a historian, after all Giles had been an archeologist before he had been a Watcher. The shopkeeper held out a dark hand, and Angel shook it, hoping that he wouldn't notice that it was cold.
The shopkeeper said, "Hello, I'm Duncan MacLoud, and you are?"
Angel smiled slightly as he answered, "Angel Chase." Cordelia wouldn't have to know that he borrowed her last name, besides the girl was too dense to figure it out. Then he realized that "Angel Chase" sounded sort of ridiculous. He was going to have to come up with a better name for himself for his forged certificates.
"Well Mr. Chase, this is an excellent piece, and, frankly, I don't know why I bought the thing in the first place anyway," MacLoud said.
"And don't call me Mr. Chase, it's Angel, just Angel," Angel told him thinking, Just Angel, I don't even have a last name anymore. Then the vampire smiled despite himself and said, "You bought it because it was an excellent piece."
MacLoud smiled at him and said, "That's as good of a reason as any."
"Exactly," Angel replied. Then he asked, just to make sure, "Do you have any ancient books with archaic text in them, do you? I collect them."
MacLoud pointed to a large bookcase filled with leather bound books. He asked, "Do you have any in mind, perhaps? "
Angel nodded as he moved over to the books. He wasn't going to say what, the shopkeeper might find him stranger than he already did if he answered, "Yeah, do you have any books about the undead or demons or even a spell book or two." That would not be wise.
MacLoud asked, "Do you need any help?"
Angel shook his head as he began to thumb through a book titled Watcher's Chronicles: The Highlander; as collected by Jamerson Wood. At first he thought it might be about a Slayer, but it wasn't, it was about something else entirely. Startled, Angel shut the book and slipped it into the crook of his arm.
Duncan MacLoud watched curiously at his young customer, it was the second time in his shop that the young man had been startled, like he had seen a ghost. Angel, that's what MacLoud thought his name was, had looked like he had seen a dead relative when he was gazing at that painting from Ireland. It struck MacLoud as odd, this young man did.
The mortal didn't have the carefree gate that most mortals his age did, in fact he seemed old, like he had seen to much in his time. MacLoud could relate to that, he had seen a lot in his 400 years, lost many loves, and even killed some very close friends.
MacLoud walked over to the counter and sat on the stool that was sitting behind it. He watched as Angel paged through some books, placed them under the crook of his left arm and went on. By the time the mortal walked over to the counter he had four books. MacLoud rang them up, and, surprisingly, the young man paid cash.
When the mortal left the store, MacLoud walked over to the painting to see what had spooked the lad so. It was of a 18th century noble family. There were a man and a woman, and children, but MacLoud ignored that. It was the eldest son that held his attention. He was in his mid twenties, but that wasn't it. He was tall, broad shouldered, like the mortal who had just left his shop. The dark brown hair was longer and tied back, but the face was the same, except the expression was different. The dark eyes in this painting seemed mocking, while the mortal had this haunted, brooding quality about him.
But it was the same person, he could just be a decedent, MacLoud thought. But that wasn't likely, and he couldn't be an Immortal, he didn't sense him. I'd better ask Methos or Dawson, MacLoud thought, but it could be nothing, but MacLoud didn't think so.
Angel was eager to get back to his apartment to read the book he had just bought. He walked through the streets of Los Angeles alert. One might not know what they might encounter in the City of Angels. As he walked by an ally, he heard the familiar clash of steel against steel.
Cautious, he walked into the ally. Two men where sword fighting. Sparks of steel flew as the two swords clashed. The younger of the two spun his sword in a graceful arc. He laughed as he kicked the older one down on his knees. The elder looked up and panted, "MacLoud is in this town now, Draken. You won't get away with this for long."
Angel watched in part horror and part fascination as the one called Draken threw back his head and laughed. Draken said, "Foolish old man, let the Highlander come. His Quickening would be something, just think of the power. Let him come. I'll be ready for him."
The old one plunged his sword upward, probably to stab Draken in the gut. Draken blocked the blow with the simplest of ease. He smiled and said, "There can be only One."
The old one spat in Draken's face and sneered, "Go to Hell!"
Draken brought his sword up high and said sweetly, "You first, old man." Then, in one fluid motion Draken beheaded the older man. Angel blinked, the one called Draken just didn't . . . Did he? The older man's head lay beside his corpse.
Angel watched as smoke lifted from the body and surrounded Draken. Draken lifted up his sword and screamed. Lightning raced around the body, around the ally. Angel ducked as a lighting bolt came at him, but he was riveted to the sight before him. The energy hit Draken like a fist, charging around him. Draken shouted in triumph as the lightning flickered to nothing.
Draken looked directly at Angel. Their eyes froze at the sight of the other. Angel stood up, knowing he had to hold his ground against whatever Draken was. Draken took one lingering look at Angel and ran in the opposite direction.
Neither Angel nor Draken had been aware that they were being watched. Methos had kept a discreet enough distance that the other Immortal wouldn't sense him, but close enough to watch. He recognized Draken, the whelp had improved his fighting skills since the seven hundred years he had last encountered him.
Methos knew that Markus was an excellent fighter, and that he was a close personal friend of Duncan MacLoud. Methos thought the whelp was very defiant to want to take on MacLoud like that. Even though MacLoud was a child compared to Methos, he was probably the best warrior among the Immortals. He had even killed two of the Four Horsemen, and Methos had killed the other one. Methos was the last of the Four Horsemen, but he had reformed, for survival reasons.
Methos had taken his first head 5,000 years ago, and he planned to live a few hundred more years, until there was only One.
Methos noticed that the tall mortal still stood in the ally, slightly dumbfounded. Methos noticed that he had four books under the crook of his arm. They were old books, like a couple hundred years old and leather bound. The mortal didn't look much like a bookworm though. Methos watched as the young man exited the ally, noticing the cautious alertness in his gate.
Now came the hard part: telling MacLoud that an old friend had died. Methos swallowed, that was something he wasn't looking forward to.
Draken entered the booming night club and looked around. He had energy to burn, and some mortal was going to help burn it for him. A girl caught his eye. She was tall and shapely with long, silky dark hair and dark complected. She was exotic looking and Draken had to meet her.
Cordelia Chase sat at the bar and idly sipped her Fresca, knowing that she was being watched. She looked up at the young man who was watching her so intently. He was tall, with ash blond hair and icy blue eyes, and he was a total hottie. He was dressed well too, wearing a long black duster, tight, faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt.
She brushed back her long hair away from her face, smiled flirtatiously and turned back to her drink. It had been a while since anyone had looked at her in that way. It had been a long time since she had been on a date. She knew he was approaching her. She heard him sit down next to her.
"Hello," he said in an incredibly sexy voice.
Cordelia turned to him and replied, "Hi."
He held out a long fingered hand and she took it. Instead of shaking it, he lifted it up to a very attractive mouth and kissed it. She felt tiny shivers go up her spine. He said, "My name's Drake Immer, and what's yours my dear?"
Cordy was charmed by his old-fashioness as she answered, "Cordelia Chase."
"Beautiful name, Cordelia, classic, I like it," Drake told her with a seductive smile playing at his lips. She quickly looked up at the bar's mirror and silently sighed in relief. He had a refection, good, he wasn't a vampire.
He asked, concern evident in his voice, "Are you all right?"
She sent him her most dazzling smile and replied, "I am now."
Drake smiled in relief and asked her, "Would you like to dance?"
He stood up and handed her his hand. She took his hand. She said as he pulled her up, "You bet."
MacLoud had been staring at the painting for a few hours now, just staring at it, nothing else. He had been looking at the young man in the painting. It was the young man, Angel, MacLoud thought his name was, every detail. The same nose, eyes, everything. The only difference was the style of hair and clothing and his expression. MacLoud had been trying to find some difference, but there was none.
Then he sensed the presence of another Immortal, that familiar shout in his mind, the tingles that alerted him to a possible battle. MacLoud turned to see Methos standing in his doorway. MacLoud didn't like the look on the ancient Immortal's face.
MacLoud asked, "Methos, what happened, what is it?"
The other Immortal sighed, swallowed and said, "MacLoud, I don't know how to tell you this, but Markus had been killed earlier tonight."
MacLoud was quiet for a few moments. Markus had been one of his closest friends along time ago, but MacLoud had drifted on his own way. It had been more than a hundred years since he had seen Markus, but his death brought a sorrow with it anyway. But that was the price for being immortal, loosening your friends and family around you over the years.
MacLoud turned and faced the painting. For some strange reason he thought of Angel Chase. There had been something otherworldly about the mortal that he couldn't put his finger on. Methos went on, "A mortal was watching, and not a Watcher."
"Are you sure?" MacLoud asked.
Methos nodded his dark head and answered, "Yeah, MacLoud, I'm sure. And a Watcher wouldn't be that close in sight to an Immortal."
MacLoud asked, "Who killed him?"
Methos sighed and answered, "That's another thing Mac, it was Draken. The whelp has improved sense the last time I met him."
MacLoud remembered the blond Immortal with the passion for beautiful young mortal women and Quickenings. He conquered when it suited him and liked killing mortals who got in his way. MacLoud only met him once, but it seemed that Methos had been better acquainted with Draken.
MacLoud asked, "How along ago was that?"
Methos answered with his usual sarcasm, "Oh, about seven hundred years ago." MacLoud blinked, sometimes he forgot how old Methos was.
"Is he after you then?" MacLoud asked.
Methos shook his head and answered, "No, he wants your head."
MacLoud replied, "Well that wouldn't be the first time."
Methos looked at the painting finally and asked, "What's so interesting?"
MacLoud looked at it and pointed to the young man. Methos studied it for a second. His eyes got big as he exclaimed, "That was the mortal that saw Draken behead Markus."
MacLoud looked at the older Immortal directly. Now there was more to that mortal than met the eye. He told Methos, "Do whatever research you can do on this painting. There is something up with that boy and I want to know it."
The door opened. MacLoud turned and watched Joe Dawson limp into his shop. Dawson was his Watcher, and probably knew more about him than anyone else on the planet. He looked older than MacLoud and Methos with his silver hair and beard. He was a tall man, big in build. He looked at both MacLoud and Methos and smiled. He asked, "So what's up with you two?"
Methos answered in his smartass way, "Oh nothing, just Draken killing Markus and wanting MacLoud's head. Just normal stuff, Joe."
Joe just glared at him. Methos had that effect on people sometimes and he enjoyed it. Joe looked at MacLoud and said, "Mac, be careful, I'm really sure that you could beat this guy, but he can be a nuisance." Then Joe asked, "Hey MacLoud, where's that book I brought, you know Watcher's Chronicles: The Highlander; as collected by Jamerson Wood?"
MacLoud looked at him quiscaly. He didn't remember that book and that Joe had even gave it to him. Joe elaborated, "You know, it was a thick leather bound journal. I put it on your counter, and I told you about it and you said okay."
MacLoud didn't remember it. He shook his head. Joe groaned, "I need that book back MacLoud. I thought you knew about it."
Methos asked, "Was he busy at the time?"
Joe answered, "Yeah, he was taking inventory."
Methos chuckled as he said, "Joe, Joe. That is the normal response when someone is busy."
"Damn it, you can be very annoying at times," Joe said.
MacLoud was trying to think about that book. He said, "I think I might have put it in the bookcase."
Joe limped over and started to look in the bookcase. He said, "Mac, it isn't here."
MacLoud rembered that Angel Chase had bought about four books. He groaned and said, "Oh, no. Methos, the boy bought four books while he was in here."
Joe was like, "What boy, an Immortal?"
Methos ignored him as he said, "Well if he payed for it with a credit card we could trace him."
MacLoud shook his head and mumbled, "He payed for it in cash."
Methos said, "Okay, then lets look up the painting."
It was a hour before dawn when Angel reached his penthouse apartment. It was fitted with heavy black curtains to keep out the sunlight. He walked out onto his balcony and looked out. This was his city to protect, he thought with a certain amount of pride.
Then he thought about the beheading earlier. He frowned, he was going to have to look up anything that had to do with beheadings and an energy release like an electrical storm. Angel looked at the four books lying on a table in his apartment. He had a feeling that it was in that Watcher's Chronicle he had bought.
4:30 P.M. The next day.
MacLoud was waiting on a customer when he sensed another Immortal. Methos walked into the shop and waited behind a display case. The customer looked at the urgent look on Methos' face and back at MacLoud. Duncan knew what she was thinking, and had a guess on what she was going to do.
The woman flashed an uncertain smile and said, "Mr. MacLoud could you hold this for me till tomorrow?"
Duncan nodded and cheerfully answered, despite the worry on the older Immortal's face, "Yeah, sure. It was nice doing business with you Mrs. Pannini." Mrs. Pannini nervously smiled and scooted out of the store.
Methos walked over to the counter and beckoned Duncan over to him. MacLoud asked, "Methos, what is it? Did Draken kill someone else?"
Methos shook his head and pulled a folder out of his trench coat. He said, "No, that painting has a very interesting history, and I think you should hear it."
"Okay, then, what is it?" Duncan asked,
Methos took a breath and said, "Well it was painted about 244 years ago by the eldest son of the O' Rourke family in Galway Ireland, Angelus. He did the painting and added himself, but that's not the strange part."
"What is then?" Duncan asked.
"I'm getting to that," Methos replied. Then the oldest known Immortal went on, "Well about a week later after the painting was finished Angelus was killed. After that the rest of the family was slaughtered, as well as their friends and their families, and the estate was burnt to the ground. Only the youngest daughter escaped, and she knew who killed all of her family and friends."
"Who? An Immortal, Draken? And Angel Chase is her descendant, looked up his family history and wants revenge on who killed his family so long ago, right?" Duncan asked as he began to put the pieces together.
Methos shook his head and answered, "Wrong. It was Angelus and he was the one who was in your store yesterday."
"What? How, he wasn't an Immortal?" Duncan asked in disbelief.
"Oh, he's immortal," Methos sarcastically answered. MacLoud wanted to punch Methos when he did that sometimes. Right now was one of those times.
"What do you mean Methos?" MacLoud asked.
Methos gave an awkward smile and answered, "Well MacLoud, he's a vampire. He's been dead for over 200 years."
MacLoud didn't believe it. Vampires didn't exist. They were figments of over active imaginations. He said, "You've got to be kidding Methos."
Methos looked at him like he had just sprouted horns, or in this case, fangs. He said, "What MacLoud, you didn't know that vampires existed?"
"Oh, like you're the big expert yourself," MacLoud bantered back. He knew it was impossible to argue against someone 5000 years old because Methos was usually won, unless sword fighting was involved, then MacLoud won.
Methos smiled and answered, "Well one bit me about a thousand years ago, I think. It kind of goes in and out you know." He chuckled, "But you should have seen the look on his face when I came back to life and I beheaded him." Methos' expression became thoughtful as he said, "It's not every century that you see a person explode into a pile of ash."
But MacLoud was ignoring him. He had bigger concerns on his mind, like the vampire had that book about Immortals, mainly him. An eternal food supply, MacLoud thought. He told Methos, "Methos, look up all you can on this guy. I have a bad feeling about this."
Angel had just woken up, it was about twenty minutes till sundown and Cordelia would be over soon to help him out. He wondered why, to this very day, he had hired the girl as his secretary. Out of all the people from Sunnydale to find out where he had left was one of Buffy's friends. Luckily, the girl wanted as much to do with Sunnydale as he did. Besides, he didn't have to worry about Cordelia finding out that he was a vampire, because she had already known. And, as annoying as she could be sometimes, she could really come through. There was also the fact that the child was always honest, no matter whom she wounded. Ever since they had started working together, on more than one occasion, Cordelia had thrown the truth in Angel's face when he had almost given up.
He had to admit it, but he was beginning to like the girl. Besides, there where sometimes he could startle her.
Angel dressed and walked over to his refrigerator. He opened it. There where blood bags hanging from the top rack, pint containers filled with blood from the local butcher, and some normal, human foods, incase he got a craving for it. He grabbed one of the pint containers and a mug from a near by cabinet.
It was about fifteen minutes later when Cordelia was knocking on the door. Angel called out, "It's open Cordelia, you can come in." Then he looked back at the book Watcher's Chronicles: The Highlander; as collected by Jamerson Wood.
He read:
There is a secret race that lives among us. They are immortal. They cannot die unless they are beheaded. The Immortals battle each other in combat to the death, the winner taking his opponent's head, and their power in an energy release like a lighting storm. The energy release, called a Quickening, passes all of the Immortal's knowledge and power.
The Immortals battle till there is only One. The last Immortal will have all the knowledge and power of all the other Immortals.
I am Jamerson Wood, a Watcher, part of a secret society that observes and records, but never interferes. My Immortal I am in charge of is Duncan MacLoud, the Highlander.
Angel sat there, stunned. Immortals, Watchers (there was a certain ironic joke to that). He took a drink out of his mug, trying to let all this sink in.
Cordelia looked down at the mug after he put it down. She picked it up and asked, "What are you drinking?"
He didn't answer her. He just looked down at the book, trying not to smile. Angel herd Cordelia take a sniff. He simply answered, "My breakfast."
She put the mug down and sneered, "Sometimes I hate you."
Angel only chuckled, there where some good things about being a vampire he reasoned.
Then he continued to read about Duncan MacLoud, the Highlander. He was the owner of the shop. Angel was sure of it. MacLoud was just more than four centuries old. He read more about MacLoud. Angel learned that the Highlander was a boy scout, a knight in shining armor, a true hero. Great.
Cordelia sat down across from him and asked, "Hey, Angel do you need my help tonight?"
"Maybe, why?" Angel replied.
The Shakespearean girl smiled and cheerfully answered, trying to sound flippant, "Well, I was going to meet a friend."
"A guy," Angel said looking strait into her eyes.
Cordelia said, "Why do you think that?" Angel gave her a doubting "don't play with me look." She groaned and snapped, "Why do you know all this stuff? Are you like physic or something? It can get really annoying this ‘I am all old and stuff", you know."
He smiled slightly and replied, "I'm not physic, and I am old. So I know a lot more than you young lady."
"Bite me," she mumbled in a voice no human could hear.
He looked down at the book and said, "Cordelia you should never tell a vampire to bite you," he waited before she looked at him to finish. He said, "For they might take it as an invitation."
Cordelia Chase was blissfully quiet.
In Cordelia's expert opinion of men Angel did not deserve his good looks. One reason was because he was a vampire, another was that Cordelia had no effect what so ever on him, and the last was because he could be such a jerk sometimes. She couldn't even believe that she had liked him once upon a time.
She sighed and started to strum her fingers on the table. Angel looked up from his really old book at her then back down again. She asked, "Hey Angel, why don't I see if some big evil is brewing and I can run back hear and tell you if it is?"
"I guess this guy must be really good looking then," Angel replied without even looking up at her.
Cordy was really tempted to tell him to bite her again. She had to see Drake again. She sighed and gave in, "Yeah, he is."
Angel asked, "What about Xander?"
"That loser, I think not," Cordy snapped.
Then he looked up at her with his really intense eyes, the ones that could shut a lesser person up by look alone. But Cordy wasn't a lesser person, she was going to tell the blood sucking fiend off. She was about to do so when he said, "Go then, have fun. Be careful, but you should have enough sense, I hope, to know that."
She gaped at the blood sucking fiend for a moment. He looked at her questionably as she just gaped at him. Cordy, knowing a good thing when she saw one, stood up. She said, "Thank you Angel, thank you. Good luck with your old books." Then she was off.
MacLoud waited for Methos' return. Vampires existed, he couldn't believe it, but in a way it made sense. The bell over the door rang, signaling someone coming in. Joe limped in and looked MacLoud strait in the eyes.
He asked, "Mac, what's wrong?"
MacLoud shrugged and answered, "Nothing except that vampires are real."
"You're kidding, aren't you MacLoud?" Joe asked.
MacLoud shook his head. Then he felt the presence of another Immortal. He looked at the door. It wasn't Methos. He was tall, dressed in all black with longish blond hair. He looked to be about in his mid-twentys. MacLoud had only seen him once, but he recognized him immediately. It was Draken.
Draken walked around the shop like he owned it. He looked at MacLoud and said, "Ah, the Highlander. I've heard so much about you. I'm not going to challenge you. We have an audience." He looked over at Joe. Then he continued, "I'm not going to come after you yet, I have more important things to do."
"Like what you son of a bitch?" Joe snapped.
Draken looked Joe over then looked over at MacLoud. Draken asked, "Does he know?"
"Yeah, I know about Immortals you bastard," Joe sneered.
Draken crossed over to Joe in three swift strides. MacLoud was about to defend him, but thought better of it. Draken looked Joe over like a lion would its prey. He mused, "A Watcher. I've heard about you, Old Man."
|
|
|
|
Rave
Barbie Girl (Becca)
biscuit07
Filmtheory (Jim)
Malice (Jess)
MebbtheScribe (MichaelB)
Reset (Allie)
Shay (Marrisa)
somnambulist29 (Shea)
Stephanie Loss
Wendyness (Wendy)
Questions?Contact Us
|
|
All stories on this site have been archived with the authors' consent. Do not copy these stories for your own uses without the express consent of the author themselves. Buffy the Vampire Slayer TM and Angel TM are © UPN, WB, Fox and its related entities. All photos on the site are © UPN, Fox, Warner Bros, and/or their respective owners. No profits are being made by use of these images.
Powered with the assitance of eFiction.
|
|
|
