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rugbytackleTITLE: The Orange Grove (1/32): Arrival
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
Viggo drove with the car windows open and Helena's Doors tape playing in the car stereo. The air smelt of rosemary and goats. Insects splattered the windshield. It was September, and the heat of summer had faded to a golden glow. Most of the tourists had come and gone, and the island was quieter now.
His cellphone beeped, and he took one hand off the wheel to answer it: it wasn't as though the road was busy, as it would have been a month or two ago.
"I called the airport," said Helena. "The plane's late."
"Doesn't surprise me," said Viggo. "Lucky there's no rush."
"But --" Helena started on about schedules and arrangements, and he held the phone a little further from his ear. She was the producer's PA, and she hadn't got over it yet. Still, they'd only been here for a few weeks, and everyone was still slowing to the local pace.
"Don't worry," he said now. "So the plane's late. I'll look around a bit, grab a coffee, get some shopping. It's only another hour. Won't make a difference, in the end."
"I guess," said Helena, sounding doubtful. "I just --"
"It'll be fine," Viggo repeated, and hung up. This time he switched the ringer off. He could call her from the airport when he knew what time he'd be back. Meanwhile, it was a late summer morning in Crete, at the start of a new movie, and he was going to collect his dear friend Sean from the airport and turn his life around for a few months.
Viggo wasn't in the habit of shying away from disturbing thoughts. It was tempting to think of Sean's arrival in bright colours and joyful music, but maybe Sean had liked his life the way it was.
But he hadn't had to take the part: Viggo hadn't forced him into it. Though Viggo had made other decisions for his friend, with a high-handedness that made him wonder if it had been the Comte de Mezenc, rather than Viggo Mortensen, who'd decreed where Sean would live, the car he'd drive, even the person who'd meet him off the plane.
It wouldn't be the first time that Viggo had found himself overtaken, overruled, by his character. Maybe because he was already thinking of Sean, he found himself remembering another island, long ago and far away. In New Zealand, filming Rings, he'd sometimes been more Aragorn than Viggo. Aragorn had been lonely, isolated from his companions by the burden of his heritage. Boromir, his rival, was the only one who might have understood him, but he had succumbed to the Ring.
Viggo had felt Aragorn's grief keenly. There had been nights when he'd woken with tears on his face, dreaming of Boromir. Even after filming had finished and the cast had scattered to the four winds, Viggo had dreamt Aragorn's dreams, though in his waking life the memories -- most of the memories -- had faded fast.
Sean, more than anyone else -- more than Henry, Orlando, Peter -- had understood that. He'd coaxed Viggo to the pub. He'd bought dinner when Viggo was nearly too exhausted to speak. Viggo had missed him, when he'd finished his scenes and left, almost as strongly as Aragorn had missed Boromir.
Funny, really, that he'd never dreamt of Sean the way he dreamt of Boromir.
And now he was driving north to Irákleio, driving to meet the man who had brought Boromir so sharply to life; driving to meet Sean, whose friendship had kept him anchored to the world outside Middle-earth.
"He hates flying," he'd explained to Steve. "Really hates it. He hates helicopters most of all."
"So how the hell do we get him over here?" Steve had scowled and lit another cigarette. "Maybe this guy isn't --"
"He'll be fine," Viggo had interrupted, soothingly. "You know he's right for the role. Bankable, too."
It probably wasn't the best time to start reminiscing about the lengths Sean had gone to, back in New Zealand, to avoid helicopters; hiking miles in costume, driving in diabolical weather ... No point in making Sean sound like a prima donna. He'd always been utterly professional when the cameras were rolling. And after all, he was flying as far as Irákleio. Maybe he was getting over the flying thing.
"Not if he won't fly." Steve had looked at Viggo hopefully, waiting for him to offer a solution.
"I'll drive him from Irákleio," Viggo had promised. Really, that had been his intention all along. He wanted very badly to welcome Sean to Crete himself. As soon as he'd realised how good Sean would be in the role that Christopher had abandoned, he'd cast himself as the guy who waited at the airport, who hugged Sean just a moment too long ...
Viggo blinked and refocused on the road. To his left, oranges hung like ornaments in the trees; to the right a grove of olives twisted into fantastical shapes. He'd need black-and-white film for those, but the oranges ...
Maybe Sean would hate it. Maybe everything had changed. All Viggo could do was to make him welcome, and hope that their friendship was still as vivid for Sean as it was for himself.
... to be continued ...
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
Viggo drove with the car windows open and Helena's Doors tape playing in the car stereo. The air smelt of rosemary and goats. Insects splattered the windshield. It was September, and the heat of summer had faded to a golden glow. Most of the tourists had come and gone, and the island was quieter now.
His cellphone beeped, and he took one hand off the wheel to answer it: it wasn't as though the road was busy, as it would have been a month or two ago.
"I called the airport," said Helena. "The plane's late."
"Doesn't surprise me," said Viggo. "Lucky there's no rush."
"But --" Helena started on about schedules and arrangements, and he held the phone a little further from his ear. She was the producer's PA, and she hadn't got over it yet. Still, they'd only been here for a few weeks, and everyone was still slowing to the local pace.
"Don't worry," he said now. "So the plane's late. I'll look around a bit, grab a coffee, get some shopping. It's only another hour. Won't make a difference, in the end."
"I guess," said Helena, sounding doubtful. "I just --"
"It'll be fine," Viggo repeated, and hung up. This time he switched the ringer off. He could call her from the airport when he knew what time he'd be back. Meanwhile, it was a late summer morning in Crete, at the start of a new movie, and he was going to collect his dear friend Sean from the airport and turn his life around for a few months.
Viggo wasn't in the habit of shying away from disturbing thoughts. It was tempting to think of Sean's arrival in bright colours and joyful music, but maybe Sean had liked his life the way it was.
But he hadn't had to take the part: Viggo hadn't forced him into it. Though Viggo had made other decisions for his friend, with a high-handedness that made him wonder if it had been the Comte de Mezenc, rather than Viggo Mortensen, who'd decreed where Sean would live, the car he'd drive, even the person who'd meet him off the plane.
It wouldn't be the first time that Viggo had found himself overtaken, overruled, by his character. Maybe because he was already thinking of Sean, he found himself remembering another island, long ago and far away. In New Zealand, filming Rings, he'd sometimes been more Aragorn than Viggo. Aragorn had been lonely, isolated from his companions by the burden of his heritage. Boromir, his rival, was the only one who might have understood him, but he had succumbed to the Ring.
Viggo had felt Aragorn's grief keenly. There had been nights when he'd woken with tears on his face, dreaming of Boromir. Even after filming had finished and the cast had scattered to the four winds, Viggo had dreamt Aragorn's dreams, though in his waking life the memories -- most of the memories -- had faded fast.
Sean, more than anyone else -- more than Henry, Orlando, Peter -- had understood that. He'd coaxed Viggo to the pub. He'd bought dinner when Viggo was nearly too exhausted to speak. Viggo had missed him, when he'd finished his scenes and left, almost as strongly as Aragorn had missed Boromir.
Funny, really, that he'd never dreamt of Sean the way he dreamt of Boromir.
And now he was driving north to Irákleio, driving to meet the man who had brought Boromir so sharply to life; driving to meet Sean, whose friendship had kept him anchored to the world outside Middle-earth.
"He hates flying," he'd explained to Steve. "Really hates it. He hates helicopters most of all."
"So how the hell do we get him over here?" Steve had scowled and lit another cigarette. "Maybe this guy isn't --"
"He'll be fine," Viggo had interrupted, soothingly. "You know he's right for the role. Bankable, too."
It probably wasn't the best time to start reminiscing about the lengths Sean had gone to, back in New Zealand, to avoid helicopters; hiking miles in costume, driving in diabolical weather ... No point in making Sean sound like a prima donna. He'd always been utterly professional when the cameras were rolling. And after all, he was flying as far as Irákleio. Maybe he was getting over the flying thing.
"Not if he won't fly." Steve had looked at Viggo hopefully, waiting for him to offer a solution.
"I'll drive him from Irákleio," Viggo had promised. Really, that had been his intention all along. He wanted very badly to welcome Sean to Crete himself. As soon as he'd realised how good Sean would be in the role that Christopher had abandoned, he'd cast himself as the guy who waited at the airport, who hugged Sean just a moment too long ...
Viggo blinked and refocused on the road. To his left, oranges hung like ornaments in the trees; to the right a grove of olives twisted into fantastical shapes. He'd need black-and-white film for those, but the oranges ...
Maybe Sean would hate it. Maybe everything had changed. All Viggo could do was to make him welcome, and hope that their friendship was still as vivid for Sean as it was for himself.
... to be continued ...
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 11:49 am (UTC)Lovely premise for a story, really, having Viggo and Sean working together again. Am just itching to see the rest of this. Thanks for this chapter, it was wonderful. Kudos to both of you!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:14 am (UTC)Love your icon, btw!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 11:53 am (UTC)I can so see Viggo telling everyone to calm down in that voice of his and being totally distracted by something as simple as the color of road-side oranges. Lovely images!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 10:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 12:08 pm (UTC)*still waiting*
no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:18 am (UTC)Wait and see!
Oh, you were waiting ...
Well, they say patience is a virtue! <g>
no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 12:16 pm (UTC)Kudos.
Now, on to part two :-)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:19 am (UTC)And I'm glad you're looking forward to part 2 ... hope we don't disappoint.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 01:21 pm (UTC)Did Sean hate flying as much as he used to? *pokes*
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Date: 2003-09-18 06:28 am (UTC)Wait and see! <g>
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Date: 2003-09-17 02:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 03:17 pm (UTC)I am looking forward to reading the stories more!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 07:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 07:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-17 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:28 am (UTC):-)
Date: 2003-09-17 11:39 pm (UTC)Karen
Re: :-)
Date: 2003-09-18 07:25 am (UTC)Thanks for commenting -- glad to have balanced out an aggravating day! Keep that curiosity alight: all will be revealed. We'll be posting three chapters a week ... hopefully this will be enough not to kill you <g>
(If you want a LiveJournal of your own, just email me (viva_gloria @ livejournal.com but no spaces) -- I have plenty of spare codes!)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-18 06:37 am (UTC)Well, the good news is that it'll be rather longer than that ...! We're planning to post three episodes a week, so this should last a while. Glad you liked the opening!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-19 03:14 am (UTC)Great start, I've been twitching since I saw the announcement.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-19 09:58 am (UTC)Don't twitch. Relax into the story ...
no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 10:16 pm (UTC)