Disclaimers: Ruth issued an alphabet challenge on the dmsg and DM mailing lists. The deal was:
Write a story 26 sentences long (okay, *scene*). Each sentence must start with consecutive letters of the alphabet, and the story can start at *any* letter. You may go backwards or forward in the alphabet.

Methos decided he wanted in. This is the result. It's gen, and we all know the boys aren't mine, right?

Feedback encouraged and welcomed, good or bad. I'm a big girl, I can take it! And I can't learn if nobody tells me what I'm doing wrong....

Consequences

"Terrifying, isn't it?" Underneath the sober tone of the words, a smile lurked.

"Vastly," MacLeod agreed somberly.

"Why don't you start, you're better at this sort of thing than I am."

"Xenophobia from a five thousand year old?"

"You think I don't have cause, Mac?"

"Zoology is a popular science these days, Methos."

"Alien civilizations have sprouted in there, MacLeod! Between the offspring of the tomato and the descendents of the chicken salad, they're about half an excuse away from full out war."

"Cause and effect, Methos. Don't tell me you didn't know this would happen when you pulled your latest disappearing act."

"Even I'm not omniscient, Mac; just old. For what it's worth, I really didn't expect it would be this bad."

"Good, I'd hate to think you'd do this to me on purpose."

"Honestly, Mac, do we have to do this now? I can think of much better things to do with a rainy afternoon than clean out a fridge. Just throw the whole bloody appliance away, it's not like you can't afford a new one."

"Keep digging yourself deeper why don't you, Methos," MacLeod muttered, following it up with a louder and somewhat more indignant "it's YOUR fridge!"

"Like that makes a difference?"

Mac dropped his head to hide the smile he couldn't quite prevent. "Now listen carefully, Methos. Only when hell freezes over, will I buy you a new refrigerator merely so that you don't have to clean out your old one."

Pouting, the world's oldest man tried out his best lost puppy look, MacLeod style.

"Quit it, Methos, I've got the patent on that look. Reach in and start cleaning, old man."

"Spoilsport," Methos muttered under his breath as he gingerly picked up a yoghurt pottle that had evolved into, well, something unpleasant....