"Mister Collins, you are totally at my mercy," Petofi picked up a glass and shattered it on the table. "So there are no doubts as to my sincerity, here is a demonstration." Petofi advanced on Quentin with a shard of broken glass.
"Hey, wait a minute," Quentin protested in vain as Petofi slashed his cheek with the glass.
"Behold, Mister Collins, my power over you!" With a flourish Petofi removed the cloth covering the portrait, revealing Quentin's face - with a fresh, bleeding cut on the cheek.
Incredulous, Quentin turned to look in the mirror - to see his face undamaged and pristine, with no sign of injury or blood.
"What?! How is that possible??" Quentin jolted awake, his eyes focussing on the face of Dr. Pierson, who was bent over him examining his chest.
"How is *what* possible, Mr. Collins?" Methos responded emotionlessly.
"What? Oh, just a stray memory. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that my life has been less than normal."
Quentin groaned and rubbed his head. "I feel like I've been drinking sherry for a solid week. What happened to the Wraith?" Before Pierson could reply, Quentin's eyes fell on the bloated, hairy disembodied arm. "Oh yeah. I somehow doubt they are supposed to do that."
Getting to his feet, Quentin surveyed the gore around the area. /Yuck,/ he thought. /I wonder what caused it to do that?/ A sudden flashback to the scene that had been replaying itself in Quentin's head before he regained consciousness gave him the probable answer to that question.
"We should regroup with the others," Quentin told the others remaining in the messy clearing. "I think it's this way."
Quentin took off through the jungle in the direction of the bunker.
[Quentin] What a hangover!
"Hey, wait a minute," Quentin protested in vain as Petofi slashed his cheek with the glass.
"Behold, Mister Collins, my power over you!" With a flourish Petofi removed the cloth covering the portrait, revealing Quentin's face - with a fresh, bleeding cut on the cheek.
Incredulous, Quentin turned to look in the mirror - to see his face undamaged and pristine, with no sign of injury or blood.
"What?! How is that possible??" Quentin jolted awake, his eyes focussing on the face of Dr. Pierson, who was bent over him examining his chest.
"How is *what* possible, Mr. Collins?" Methos responded emotionlessly.
"What? Oh, just a stray memory. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that my life has been less than normal."
Quentin groaned and rubbed his head. "I feel like I've been drinking sherry for a solid week. What happened to the Wraith?" Before Pierson could reply, Quentin's eyes fell on the bloated, hairy disembodied arm. "Oh yeah. I somehow doubt they are supposed to do that."
Getting to his feet, Quentin surveyed the gore around the area. /Yuck,/ he thought. /I wonder what caused it to do that?/ A sudden flashback to the scene that had been replaying itself in Quentin's head before he regained consciousness gave him the probable answer to that question.
"We should regroup with the others," Quentin told the others remaining in the messy clearing. "I think it's this way."
Quentin took off through the jungle in the direction of the bunker.
EXIT QUENTIN