Oh goodie, another shopping mall challenge; this means another chance for me to write about the awesome wonder that is West Edmonton Mall. Leah included a list of theme elements--scottish thriftiness; Richie trying to pick up girls; an attempted robbery. I believe the phrase "one of the following" was used; silly girl. When I see a list, I make it my personal duty to do them all. Duncan and Richie were already listed as required characters; I resisted the temptation to bring in Deb Campbell again. Instead, I let the newly-immortal Sheila have some fun.

Another day at the Mall

MacLeod sighed deeply, wondering how he had managed to end up at the Monster Mall, again. The tiniest smile twitched the corner of his mouth for a fraction of a second; Deb would have some choice words for him if she knew he called this place the Monster Mall. She loved these chrome canyons as much as Duncan loved the rugged hills of home, but he for one preferred his wide-open spaces not to have a roof overhead. Some things just weren’t meant to be this big. Besides, there were enough ways for his hard earned, long invested money to disappear without all of them being in the same place. Richie, on the other hand, was experiencing West Edmonton Mall for the first time, with his usual enthusiasm. Gazing around in wide-eyed wonder, he was like a kid in a candy shop—of which this Mall had several. Duncan hadn’t been able stop the boy from wasting perfectly good money on thrill rides; as if day to day survival wasn’t enough of a thrill.

Duncan stood just outside one of the mall’s more unusual tenants; he hesitated in the face of a hodgepodge of conflicting cultural images—here an Egyptian cat, there an Incan serpent, all larger than life. Taking a deep breath, he forged ahead: past jewellery and incense; past key chains and pewter figurines; past ceramic dragons and wildly patterned T-shirts. Near the back of the store were the items the author had promised: a broadsword took up an entire wall alcove; an arching display of axes and pole arms, there was even a crossbow.

His eyes sparkled as he caught sight of a breathtaking display of Japanese sword art: from the Zen-like simplicity of a braided hilt in a black enamel scabbard all the way to most elaborately carved pieces. On instinct, his fingers wrapped themselves around a very familiar grip, only to discover that everything in this place was tied down. A smiling saleswoman appeared as if by magic, with a perky "May I help you, sir?" The girl was friendly enough, but there was a cautious wariness in her eyes. "I’m sorry sir, but in the interest of safety and security, weapons are only to be shown to mature individuals." Her voice had the crisp, over-enunciated tones of memorized store policy.

Richie turned from ogling figurines of barbarian women in chain mail bikinis, unable to suppress a boyish grin. "Trust me, this man definitely qualifies as a mature individual." The sight of the younger Immortal did little to reassure the salesgirl. MacLeod took over with his most winning smile, "I assure you, I’m a serious collector. I’ve been searching for a piece like this one; if I could just get a better look at it."

He gave a little tug to demonstrate his difficulty, which immediately brought staff out of the woodwork. A larger male staff member was obviously backup in case of trouble. "That’s against store policy, sir. An item will only be taken down if it is purchased."

This was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. He couldn’t quite keep his voice level; "Let me get this straight, I can’t look at a blade unless I’m going to buy it. How am I supposed to know if I want to buy it if I can’t see it?" The man looked as sympathetic as a retail salesman could be; "You have to understand, we’re very close to the bars here, the risk is just too much…"

MacLeod lost all interest in the subject; he turned his back and walked away, dragging poor Richie behind him, still trying to get the salesgirl’s phone number. The boy groaned helplessly, "Oh come on Mac, I almost had her!"

They were supposed to meet her on Bourbon Street; but Mac wasn’t quite sure where she was. He scanned the crowds, secretly relieved to get past Death By Chocolate without an incident; he could get a full meal for the price of some of the desserts in that place. A redhead leaned casually against a rail and waved, Richie’s charming grin fractured as he felt the Buzz. Mac wasn’t a bit surprised, graciously making introductions. "Sheila Woodyard, this is Richard Ryan; Richie, this is Sheila." She blinked a second, a faint frown creasing her brows, but otherwise hid her surprise—another Series fan learns the difference between truth and fiction. She recovered instantly with a mischievous grin; "I know where to take you young man. Follow me."

She lead them further down the indoor boulevard, knowing exactly where she was going. They stopped in front of a wood patio, under a sign that sported a wide-eyed owl. Richie’s eyes grew almost as large as the bird’s, and Duncan had a very bad feeling. He noticed the souvenir booth at the entrance and sighed; this was one of those overpriced theme restaurants. He picked up a menu, scanning it quickly; "Have you seen the prices here?"

"Oh come on Mac," Richie grinned. "No one comes to Hooters for the food." At that moment, their hostess bounced in, clad in very high-cut shorts and an extremely low-cut T-shirt. The boy’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull as the waitress squealed, making her chest heave even more. "Sheila, it’s you!" The two women hugged like long lost sisters, leaving one man confused and the other supremely jealous. MacLeod admired the female form as much as any man, but he never imagined that the blatant exposure and sheer exploitation of the Americans had made it this far north.

Sometime during the reunion, Richie managed to pull his eyes away from the woman’s… owl. Nudging MacLeod, he pointed to a T-shirt on display; "I think we both know someone who’d appreciate that one." On first glance, it looked like just another gimmick left over from the millennium hype, as he read the message a second time, a burst of laughter bubbled up from within. It read "Y3K: A thousand years ahead of everyone else." Methos would love it. He turned to the equally underdressed girl behind the counter, pointing to the item, "How much?" The woman quoted a ridiculously high price; even as he started to protest, Duncan saw her eyes go wide.

He spun around; saw an armed, heavyset man confronting Sheila and the hostess. The man was none too steady on his feet, but when it came to guns that could make him even more dangerous. Everything happened at once, before even MacLeod had time to react. Sheila shoved the hostess aside, pushing her into Richie’s eager arms. The fiery redhead tripped the would-be robber, her knee coming up strategically under the man’s chin as he went down. A shot rang out, firing wild into a wooden post; the startled hostess screamed, Richie pulled her close in a gesture that was not entirely selfless.

When the alleged attacker groaned and opened his eyes, his first sight was an angry MacLeod looming over him. Half-drunk and clearly in over his head, the man meekly surrendered, staying put until security arrived. Duncan would have rather disappeared into the crowds, but he didn’t want the thief to bolt either. Richie, meanwhile, was comforting the frightened young girl; "You’ve been through a lot…Linda, just take it slow. If you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call me." Duncan couldn’t believe it, the boy was incorrigible; the worst part of it was, the card the kid was scribbling on was probably one of his.


Once again, we play everybody's favourite game: what's real, what's made up. The store with the strange artitecture and the weapons for sale does exist, though I didn't base any characters on anyone who actually works in the place. There really is a Hooter's restaurant at WEM, and strangely enough, Sheila does know the waitresses by name. Sometimes you'll even see the kind of welcome described here. The Y3K T-shirt is also real; sometimes I really regret not buying one when I had the chance. Everything else, including Richie Ryan having any hope at all for getting a date, are all products of my twisted imagination.
 
 
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