Thanks to Lys and Luminosity for their much needed expert touch with Duncan's lyrics.

Everything blameworthy is mine. I'm not going to blame Methos this time, he's too busy to defend himself right now. Poor baby.

Rating PG-13/SLASH.

//The hiiiills are aliiiive
with the sound of Meeee-thos,
with snarks he has suuuung
for five thousand yeeeeeears!//

<Can't you get him to shut up?>

I'm not even going to try, Methos. You talk to him.>

<I did. He snickered at me.>

Snickered? Duncan snickered at you?

<I think so. It could have been a giggle.>

You were wearing Amanda's peekaboo nightie again, weren't you? Methos, I promised her...

<You're never going to let me live that down, are you? I told you, it was our anniversary. Duncan asked for something special, and I humored him. But there was no nightie this time. I was
perfectly decent.>

Decent? You? Did somebody get a picture?

<Extremely decent. I was wearing those tight jeans he likes so much, the ones with the strategically placed rips, unzipped, and of course, the boxers -- but around here that's practically formal wear.>

I don't think I heard that right. You were wearing your fuck-me-now-Duncan jeans, and he snickered at you?

<Right before he winked at me. Then he started singing again.>

Shit. Give it up, Methos. It's a lost cause.

<But he's driving me crazy! Isn't he driving you crazy?>

Of course he's driving me crazy. Any minute now the dog's going to start harmonizing with him. Fortunately, the dog can stay on key.

<You're the writer, you go talk to him.>

No way. I'm not going anywhere near a manic Duncan muse. We're just going to have to ride it out.

<Write a scene.>

What?

<A kitchen scene. He's peeling apples, he trips, and there's a tragic ginzu knife accident. It'll take at least a week for his tongue to grow back.>

You're sick.

<Maybe, but I'm not sure I'm kidding.>

Cheer up, Methos. It could be worse.

<No, it couldn't.>

It could be opera.

<Don't say that where he can hear you.>

//When the moooon is in the seventh hooouse,
the Methos faaaaans go hunting snaaarks...//

<Please, do something. Anything.>

What?

<I don't know! Something clever, something smart. Something smooth and writerly and vicious. Something...something...>

Desperate?

<Good choice. I think this is definitely the time for a desperate measure.>

Methos, this isn't like you. You're usually a little smarter than the average ten year old. You know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you, don't you?

<I know, and his dastardly plan is working.>

Yes, and as long as it's working, he's not going to stop. Why don't you just ignore him?

<Ignore that? How? He sounds like three mountain lions in love. The only way he's going to stop is if you turn off the computer.>

Not on your life.

<Please? For me?>

Methos, it won't work. When we go back on line it'll all still be there.

<But if we stay off line long enough, maybe he'll forget about it. Or we can go back when he's asleep and delete all the mail before he can read it.>

Right. Or maybe we could convince him Bill Gates bought the internet and sold it to the Galactic Overlord.

<I thought Bill Gates was the Galactic Overlord.>

//I've got an old man in boxers and he's sporting a wood-iiiie
Snark City, here we come!
He's not very cherry, he's an oldie but a good-iiiie
Snark City, here we come!//

Doesn't sound to me like he's going to forget about it any time soon.

<It's going to be a long week.>

Cheer up, hon. Any minute now, it'll all be over. Before you know it, sanity will prevail once more and he won't have anything to tease you about. Nothing more than usual, anyway..

<Do you really think so?>

I'm sure of it. The moon's already waning, and...

//And before you can say 'Holy Woad Wage, Batman,' all your little Methos fans will be their normal, snarky selves again.//

<Tell him to leave me alone.>

Duncan, leave Methos alone.

//Are you sure? He's turning an awfully sexy shade of pink. Look! His ears are glowing.//

Duncan, this is beneath you. Be nice.

//Speaking of something being beneath me...//

<In your dreams, Kiltboy. If you think you're topping me again in this lifetime, you're...>

//Oh, lighten up, Methos! It's just a mailing list.//

<Just a mailing list? Just a mailing list?>

Uh-oh.

<It's not just a mailing list -- it's my list. These ladies love me. They more than love me, they worship me! They worship my underwear -- this list is sacred!>

Bad move, Duncan.

//This list is insane, Methos.//

<It is not insane. It's just...just...>

//A Methos list?//

<What did you say?>

//You heard me. It's insane because it's a Methos list. What do you expect? They get their inspiration from the snarkiest, most obnoxious man in the history of the known universe. Of course it's bedlam.//

<Oh, really. And your lists are perfectly behaved, are they?>

//Yes, as a matter of fact, they are. They get their inspiration from me, so they're courteous, and civilized, and polite, and noble, and decorous, and...//

<Boring?>

//BORING? I'll have you know my lists are frequented by some of the most depraved women on the net! And they're not just depraved, they're...they're...lusty! They're bawdy, lusty women -- my favorite kind!//

<Wow. The mind boggles. Bawdy and depraved and decorous. I bet they wear hats and white gloves to the orgies.>

//Jealousy ill-becomes you, Methos.//

<I am not jealous. I have my own bawdy women, thank you very much, and I'll put their lustiness up against yours any day. My lists are special. They have a charm that's all their own.>

They really are a lot of fun, Duncan. Most of the time. Things are just a bit chaotic right now. You know how things get during the full moon. But it's calming down now.

//Chaotic? It's a lunatic asylum. They're throwing one fit after another! Poor Taselby.//

Oh, I don't think you could really call it a fit, Duncan. It was more like a small spasm...

//I'm not talking about your little display of public snarkiness. We'll talk about that later.//

Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Don't mind me. You two just carry on.

<Traitor.>

Valor. Discretion. Better parts. You know the drill.

//Look what that poor woman is having to deal with. She has maniacs giving her orders on her own list. Is that what you mean by special?//

<That's hardly typical, Duncan.>

//No? OK, how about this one. Oh, this is charming. It's a hit and run -- what fun! Sub-slap-unsub. What didn't she just title it 'Nyeah Nyeah Nyeah Nyeeaah Nyeah' and stick her tongue out at them?//

<What? I didn't see that one. Where...oh, that's sneaky. What a treacherous, underhanded, devious...>

//Perfectly Methosian shot in the back. That was the phrase you were looking for, wasn't it?//

Methos, put that down, now.

<Why? It's a blunt object, he won't bleed. Much.>

//Have you considered having him sedated?//

Duncan, stop it. The list bitching I could handle. A snarky Methos muse I could handle. But the combination of both of them accompanied by your impromptu concerts is setting my teeth on
edge. Why don't you go condition your hair or something.

//No problem. But call me for the next full moon. I'd hate to miss the fun.//

Just go, Duncan.

//And they call it, Methos lo-o-o-ove
'Cause your fans are all deranged
They should learn to be like mi-i-i-ine,
Bawdy, Lusty, yet restrained.//

<You should have let me hit him.>

It wouldn't have solved anything. Besides, I'm not sure you could take him in a fair fight.

<Fair...? Oh, of course, a fair fight. Whatever you say.>

Methos! There will be no ambushes. Do you hear me?

<Well, we have to do something! He's going to heckle me about this for days.>

I know. And I'm not exactly thrilled about the "we'll talk about that later" part. Do you think he meant it?

<Are you kidding? He's Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Of course he meant it.>

God. Look, Methos, they're doing it again.

<Fuck. Snarking about the snarkyness of the snarky reply to the snarky response to the original snark attack. Don't they know a dead snark when they smell it? Quick -- delete it before Duncan
comes back.>

//It's my party, and I'll snark if I want to,
snark if I want to, snark if I want to.
You would snark too if it happened to-oo you!//

We should probably do something before he shatters a window.

<Finally figured that out, did you? I still think the tragic apple peeling accident idea would work.>

We just want to distract him, Methos. We're not going to remove any body parts.

<I wasn't going to remove anything really important. And if I'm willing to forego Duncan's blow jobs for a few days, the least you could do is...>

Shut up, Methos. I'm thinking.

<Think faster. I think he and the dog are warming up for another chorus.>

You were right. This calls for desperate measures.

<I'll get the apples.>

No, I'm talking about really desperate measures.

<More desperate than cutting out his tongue?>

Much more desperate.

<I'm beginning to get nervous here. How much of a muchness are we talking about?>

Get lubed up, Methos. I think I know where Amanda hid that peekaboo nightie.

<Great. Same plan, different day. I get to play sacrificial victim, again.>

Bitch about it to somebody who believes you, Methos.

<And what about the list? He won't stay distracted forever. Twelve hours is about the most I can manage, unless Amanda happened to have left some crotchless panties, too.>

Twelve hours should be long enough. We'll check in then and see if Taselby needs any help hiding the bodies.

<Good plan. She was with us the whole time, Officer, I swear it!>