When Immortals Go Job Hunting Silence descended upon the dojo as swiftly and resolutely as a guilloutine blade. Amanda, who'd been modeling a new leopard-spot bodysuit in front of the mirrors, turned around and glared at Donna Lettow with every ounce of hostility possible in a woman who'd been suffering from PMS since the Middle Ages.
"What did you just say?" she demanded.
Donna shrank behind David Abramowitz, who would have quickly ducked behind Bill Panzer if the larger man had been brave enough to show himself anywhere on the partially dismantled set. David took a deep breath and lifted his chin bravely. "You've all been . . . outsourced."
"Fired," Duncan growled from one of the exercise mats.
"The last episode was wrapped yesterday," Joe said. "Didn't you notice all those people partying? The music, the wine, the penultimate 'Don't Lose Your Head' joke contest won by Hal the grip guy?"
"You knew this would come," Donna said, her voice slightly squeaky. "You knew other characters left the show. You knew that all those people hanging around when you thought you were alone were the crew. . . .that all those lights and equipment in "The End of Innocence" were really parts of our set. . .for heaven's sake, you knew you were just television characters, existing only at our whim!"
Connor pulled his sword and threatened, "I'll show you my whim, little girl - "
"Now, now," Joe said, putting a hand on Connor's arm. "There's no need for that. You can't have expected this job to go on forever."
"Whose side are you on?" Methos demanded. He'd been sitting on the bench, reading Euripides in its original text and wondering, idly, if he'd ever told Duncan about those other poison bombs Kronos had planted in Bordeaux. He had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn't, and thought it best to instigate some other argument to keep from feeling even remotely guilty about the death of thousands of innocents (again).
"I'm out of a job now, too," Joe pointed out reasonably. "I'm just not whining about it."
"Because you've got your little band," Amanda said snippily. "What do we have? What show is going to hire an Immortal? E.R.? Moesha? Mad About You?"
"I like E.R.," Connor said. "I look good on a gurney."
Amanda shook her head. "You would completely mess up their plots. Every time they'd do a trauma scene, you'd start healing."
"I could act injured!"
"Since when can you act, Frenchman?"
Joe's cane rapped sharply on the floor. "Stop it! You're both acting like children."
Duncan ran his fingers through his short hair, aching for the loss of his once-beloved tresses. If only he hadn't let the evil apparition of Allison Landry trim his split ends. He'd been able to resist her overtures for sex and evil, but who could pass up a free haircut? "I should have guessed this was coming," he lamented. "Especially after what you did to Fitzcairn. To Darius. To Richie."
"Give it up," Connor said. "You're the one who killed Richie."
"I was just a tool!" Duncan shot back, stung.
"What, a Black and Decker electric hammer? A Sears Craftsman table saw?" Amanda asked with open contempt. "What a lame excuse."
While Duncan pouted, Connor considered with profound new respect the only female Immortal who'd been around for five seasons, bedded Duncan and still kept her head. "You know what a table saw is?"
David decided it was time to reassert some modicum of control over the group. "Look," he said, "we're not abandoning you. Change is a necessary part of life. Look at Donna and me. You think anyone's going to hire us?"
Donna dug her elbow into his side. "Watch it, script-boy."
David rubbed the sore spot and tried a different approach. "What I meant to say is that we've arranged for you all to visit the TCBOO."
"The what?" Methos asked, startled.
"Television Character Benefits and Outplacement Organization. They're the people who got Rick Simon his job on 'Major Dad' and 'Promised Land.' And that girl on roller skates from 'Facts of Life' her job on 'Living Single.' They won an award for getting Gopher Smith into Congress."
"You really think there's hope for this group?" Methos asked skeptically. "Sword-carrying serial killers with no real employment history and bad credit histories? We can't even get house insurance anymore."
"There's only one way to tell," David said, pulling out white business cards from his pocket. "This is their address. You have appointments at one o'clock with their Immortal outplacement specialist."
"Who's that?" Connor asked.
"Richie!" Amanda said, reading the small dark print.
Methos looked at Duncan. "If I were you, I'd forget that 'I was just a tool' line and start practicing an apology."
***
The morose group of fired Immortals made their way to the sparkling downtown offices of TCBOO, located on the second floor of the McDonald Building between the Hudson river and Mull Park. They found a pleasantly decorated, busy waiting room crowded with a new crop of characters from failed fall season television shows.
"You're late," Lisa Krakowka said from behind the reception desk. She was just filling in for the real receptionist, who had gone web-surfing at lunch and drowned. "Mr. Ryan has someone in his office at the moment."
"We couldn't find a parking space big enough for the Thunderbird," Duncan said testily.
"Get used to it," Lisa said. "You lost your Television Parking privileges. You can't just expect to drive up to a building anymore and have a parking space located exactly in front of it for your convenience. Fight for them with the rest of us. Deal with it."
A very nice woman carrying an armload of files stopped beside the front desk to sympathize. "I'm sorry," Judi Southwell said. "I guess they didn't explain everything when you lost your jobs. The world no longer revolves around you."
"No longer . . . revolves . . . around . . . " Duncan said, trying to puzzle through the meaning of the cryptic words.
Judi patted his arm. "You'll find out."
Janine Shahinian appeared to hand each of them clipboards. "Here are your applications. Please fill them out to the best of your ability. List your last five jobs or fifty years' work only. We'll need references and phone numbers."
"And resumes if you have them," Lisa added.
Methos leaned one elbow on the counter and smiled at her charmingly. "In what language? Ancient Greek? Babylonian? How about Pahlavi?"
Lisa gave him a cocky grin. "You don't need a resume. I'll interview you right now. Let's go. Kelly, take over."
Kelly Hudson slid into place as Lisa led Methos off to an extremely private interview. "Okay, then," she said brightly. "Amanda, if you go off with Rachel here, she'll give you a typing test."
"Typing test?" Amanda echoed in a shrill voice.
Rachel Shelton nodded sadly. "Sorry, but it's true. Nearly 75% of all female television characters end up in supporting administrative roles. I have a nice position open on 'Touched by an Angel' as a heavenly file clerk. Some work on 'Nash Bridges,' but you have to be able to take dictation and laugh at Cheech Marin jokes."
"How about Nikita?" Amanda asked. "I love her clothes!"
"Sorry. No openings. If you're really good, we might let you fake it as a guest librarion on that 'Buffy' show. But you have to be a vampire, too. Let me see your incisors - "
As Rachel led away a fuming Amanda, Connor picked up the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly and pointed a picture out to Duncan. "Look! Both Kenny and Carl Robinson got jobs on 'The Sentinel.' And isn't this that psychic chic from the episode in which they killed off Tessa? She's guest starring on 'Profiler.'"
Duncan cast a hopeful look at Kelly and Janine. "If TCBOO can get Traci Lords a prime time dramatic role, you should be able to get me an Oscar!"
"Sssh!" Kelly said disapprovingly. "We don't use real names here. You'd better get to work on your resumes. Here, take these Kevin Hobert ballpoint pens."
"Ouch!" Duncan said as the sharp metal bit into his skin. "That hurts!"
"Of course, silly," Janine answered. "Haven't you read his stories?"
The two clansman retired to a corner and huddled over their applications. After a half hour of pen-scratching and gratuitous hurt/comfort, they returned with the forms and followed Kelly to a conference room staffed by Virginia Foster and Joanne Madge.
"Let me just say, on the record, that I object to Amanda's 'Since when can you act?' line earlier in this story,' Virginia said to Connor.
Connor sniffed. "It hurt. But I'll survive."
Joanne took their papers and gave them a brisk read-through. "Both of you are going to need a lot more work on these," she said. "First off, delete anything that might turn off a potential employer. Nothing like 'barbarian,' 'Highland warrior,' 'hunter of bad Immortals,' 'prophesized hero' or, heaven forbid, 'arbiter of good and evil.' I'd delete any reference to swordwork unless you want a deli job on 'Seinfeld.' Listing all your aliases will just make them think you have split personalities, which might be true but which is a separate issue."
Virginia handed them new forms. "Fill these out. They'll help us identify your strengths and weaknesses, your management approach, your success potential. When you're done, we'll feed them into the a computer that matches you with the Department of Labor List of Occupational Titles and see what career paths might be viable for you."
Connor scratched his head. "What did she say?" he asked Duncan.
"It's a personality test," Duncan sighed. "I hate those. I always fail."
The two Highlanders took the personality quizzes back to the waiting room and filled them out. Connor caught Duncan copying his answers and berated his clansman for cheating. Duncan denied the charge in a huff. Connor went to go sit in a separate corner between the Italian cab driver guy from 'Taxi' and the man with the funny accent from 'Perfect Strangers,' both of whom were also looking for jobs.
Methos came out while they were finishing up, dressed in fluorescent pink shorts, plastic flip-flops and a tight tank top. Lisa finished applying green zinc sunblock to his nose with a flourish.
"You look adorable. Remember, now, be on the beach promptly at seven. And don't forget your whistle or Mitch will get mad."
Connor eyed Methos' outfit and burst out laughing. "'Baywatch?' You're going to be on 'Baywatch?' Who with any sense of self esteem whatsoever would even thinking about joining that show?"
Methos squared his shoulders. "It was either that or work for Cassandra on 'Babylon Five' as her personal assistant. Can you imagine what a nightmare that would be?"
"Now remember," Melanie Riley told Amanda as she led the female Immortal back to the waiting room, "your job is to stand in the background of every scene and make sure Cassandra doesn't risk her Lee press-on nails in any way. Don't mention anything about how she got kicked off of 'Lois and Clark, the New Adventures of Superman.' Smile, wiggle your butt and wear tight clothes. It's not such a stretch from what you're doing now. You'll be great!"
Amanda sat down next to Connor and began to pout in earnest. "I can't believe I'm going from Immortal to alien secretary."
"There, there, it could be worse," Connor said with an evil smile. "You could be on 'Baywatch.' It's better to be a critical success than a commercial one."
"I wouldn't know about either." Duncan sighed. He took his personality quiz back up to the counter to be fed into the TCBOO computers. Connor followed. Twenty minutes later Kat Parsons and Sue Factor called them into another office. The women glanced over Duncan's scores in disapproval.
"Hmmm. This isn't very promising," Kat said.
Sue sighed. "I know. We could be here for weeks."
"Have you noticed," Connor whispered to Duncan, "how many of these employment counselors are Richie fans? I think you're in trouble, pal."
"Tool," Duncan hissed back. "T - o - o - l."
Sue brightened when she opened Connor's folder. "The good news is, we have a perfect match for you! Second fiddle to the main character, but you get to wear leather, ride a horse and kill people in a totally gratuitous and cartoonish fashion."
Connor leaned forward, hope playing across his features. "You got me my dream job? Could it be true? Is it . . . "
"Yes," Kat beamed. "Xena's new husband."
Connor thrust one hand into the air in a victory. "Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Duncan did not share Connor's enthusiasm. He tried to feel good about Connor, Methos and Amanda all finding jobs, but his character just wasn't drawn that way. After further deliberation, Kat and Sue decided to send him on to see Mr. Ryan's head for job placement.
"His head?" Duncan asked in alarm.
"You chopped it off, remember?" Kat asked. "What do you think, it reattached itself?"
Sue's mouth tightened into a frown. "We have to keep it in a special bowl while his headless body roams the halls, bumping into the copier and coffee pot. It's not a pretty sight."
Duncan's despair deepened. How could he expect to get a decent job from his ex-student's decapitated head? Maybe he should just give it up and go work for a hair salon or something. With trepidation he approached Richie's office. Just outside the wide double doors he heard women's voices and slowed to a stop.
"I think any show on the WB is too good for him," Cindy Hudson said sharply. "Even Andrew Dice Clay's show on UPN is stretching his talent."
Angela Mull seconded the opinion. "If anything, he should go back to syndication hell. I'm thinking one or two o'clock in the morning, pre-empted every other week by Susan Powter's new infomercial."
"Ladies, ladies," Richie soothed. "You're being too mean. Too unforgiving. Duncan shouldn't have to pay the price for TPTB's indiscretions. What did you do with them, anyway? I hear they came looking for jobs too."
"Oh, we employed them," Sandra McDonald said brightly. "Half of them are cleaning the bathrooms with their toothbrushes. The other half are busy spooling sixth season scripts onto cardboard rolls for us to use as toilet paper."
"Don't worry about Duncan," Richie said. "I have just the thing for him."
The distinct glub-glub-glub of water bubbles punctuated his words. Duncan closed his eyes, struck by a vision of Richie's head in a tank for eternity. He turned around, intending to flee, but ran smack into Connor, Methos, Amanda and Joe.
"What are you doing here?" he asked them miserably. "You all have jobs."
"We can't help ourselves. We're committed to helping the show's main character no matter what," Connor said.
"At least until the end of this story," Methos said, "which I hope will be any minute now."
Amanda turned Duncan around. "Go ahead. Be a man. Open the door and face the consequences."
Duncan's hand shook as he knocked on the door.
"Come in!" a chorus of women's voices sang out.
The door swung open of its own accord. Duncan stepped forward into a lush Roman courtyard filled with greenery and marble statues. Scented steam rose out of a long pool of clear water. Richie Ryan lay reclined on a plush divan, dressed only in green bikini underwear while throngs of women in comfortable, modest and loose-fitting clothing attended him. Angela and Cindy fanned him with palm fronds, while Sandra gave him a pleasant scalp massage. Sue and Kat circulated plates of fresh fruit. Janine, Melanie, Kelly and the rest of the Richie fans waited to be of any assistance whatsoever.
Richie grinned up at Duncan. "Hey there! Nice to see you. I hear you flunked the personality test again."
"Hey!" Duncan said, forgetting himself for a moment. "Your head's still on your body!"
Richie waved a hand lazily toward the aquarium in the corner. "Don't tell me you fell for the line about my head in a tank. The girls were just indulging in some post-Halloween humor! Hey, everyone who has a job, go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. Have some grapes."
"Works for me," Connor said, plopping down next to Virginia Foster.
Duncan was left standing all by himself, with no grapes and no one to worship him. "Er . . . about a job . . ." he said, stumbling over the words. He met Richie's gaze directly. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened. Please don't make me go work on Andrew Dice Clay's show."
"Mac, please. I would never do that to Andrew," Richie assured him. "Whatever happened between us - well, between your sword and my head - I don't hold it against you personally. I actually have the perfect TV show for you. A weekly comedy, already established. You'll have a nice wardrobe allowance and lots of support from the back-up characters. You'll be taking over as the main character. It's the perfect show for you."
"Really?" Duncan asked eagerly. "What is it?"
Richie smiled at his entourage. "Ladies, tell him."
"'Clueless!'" the woman shouted.
Duncan blinked. "Oh," he smiled, flooded with relief. "I can live with that! Can I have some grapes now?"
"Sure!" Richie said.
Sandra pulled Richie aside for a private conversation in the foilage. "I still think you let him get off too easily," she complained.
"I know," Richie soothed. "But this is your story. You're the author. I know this whole story has been an exercise in diversion for you instead of going out and looking for your own job, as well as a creative valve for any lingering post season five resentment, but you're in charge. Do you want to torture Duncan some more?"
Sandra tapped her fingers against his bare chest. "No," she said reluctantly. "It really isn't his fault. It's just so easy to make Duncan jokes I can't help myself sometimes."
Richie caught her hands and held them, his warm fingers wrapped around hers. "Is there anything else you'd like to do?" he grinned. "Any other diversions you'd like to explore?"
"That's a different story," Sandra smiled.
"So let's go write it," he suggested, and they did.
THE END