Fic: Tyrant (1/2)
Sep. 17th, 2005 07:45 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: Tyrant (1/2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clocks
Pairing: VM/SB, Others
Rating: PG
Archive:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rugbytackle
Feedback: Would be devoured and slobbered upon.
Disclaimer: Don't know them, this is not real, did not happen, la di da.
Summary: "There's noises in my head, just noises in my head. If I could, I'd drown them all out. I'd bury all of these noises from your tyrant mouth." - The Bravery
Notes: This is a birthday fic forcykie. The idea for this story came from when I went to a gig by NYC band The Bravery, and the singer was telling us the inspiration behind a song called 'Tyrant'. See the end of part 2 for reference. Happy Birthday, Cykie! *squishes*
TYRANT
Ian and I sat on the porch of my rented house, one of the fortunate few to have a view overlooking the ocean. It was one of those slow New Zealand summer evenings where you just wanted to enjoy the stillness, and movement was entirely optional. Smoke from Ian's cigarette was wafting over to where I was slumped in a half-collapsed rattan chair, and my fingers itched to light a cig as well, despite the fact that I have been trying to quit for about a week. To distract myself, I began hunting in my pockets for my keys which were missing since this morning, and the jingle of change and soft curses from me attracted Ian's attention.
"Looking for something?"
"Nothing. Bloody keys." I gave up with a sigh, and shifted in the chair, ignoring its low, moaning creaks in protest. "Y'know, I was just thinking about the folks back home. Here we are in the heat, and they're probably freezin' their knickers off."
Ian grinned. "Is that what you were really thinking?" His eyes darted to the lit ciggy in his hand, then looked up at me again. "Or are you trying to hide the fact that you're getting your kicks off second hand smoke?"
"'m tryin to quit." I wished I didn't sound like I was grumbling.
"Ah yes, the things we do for love." Now it was his turn to chuckle. But now his expression was solemn again. "When did you first know?"
"Know what?"
"The exact moment when you fell in love?"
I laughed a little. "C'mon Ian, you know the story."
"Well I'd like to hear it again, from the beginning. Is it such a crime?" He lifted an elegant eyebrow at me, before putting his cigarette out and looking at me expectantly.
I sat up straight, and this time I was unable to help grinning broadly. "Alright, I'll tell you the exact moment. When I vomited all over Viggo, and he brought me into the pub where I fell flat on my face in front of bloody everyone." I paused, shaking my head with a chuckle. "That's when."
~
The story began, not in a nondescript Wellington bar on a cold June night where most people think it started, but instead in October the year before. It felt strange to leave crazy London for lush, green Wellington, but this was an unbelievable chance of a lifetime that I would have been crazy to say no to. It was difficult to think I'd be leaving my family for close to a year, but there would always be phone calls and holidays.
The first few weeks were great, and it didn't take me long to settle down even though this was the biggest production I've ever been on. Even though everyone mostly got along, there were a few hiccups, particularly with our Aragorn who spent most of his time having arguments with Pete and Philippa. One day, it eventually came to a head. I was dressed in my full gear, complete with wig, and in the middle of a practice session with the legendary Bob Anderson when a runner interrupted with a note from Pete, summoning us over to his trailer.
There, over a constantly burping fax machine, he told us that Stuart would be no more, and his replacement was already on his way. There weren't too many downcast looks at the news, although Elijah did look surprisingly upset. I put my arm around his shoulder and he leaned against me, the top of his head only reaching my armpit because I was so much taller. Dom and Billy tried to cheer him up, and since they were all closer as a hobbit unit, I let them do their thing.
The next day, the replacement arrived without much pomp or circumstance and I only got to meet him after lunch because I had dialect coaching in the morning. There were a few other new arrivals as well so it was a bit confusing, but the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew Pete – or rather, Fran – had not made a mistake.
The broad shoulders, the body, the legs, the dimpled chin, the elegant nose – or maybe it was his pale blue stare which captivated me the most. Whatever it was, I instantly gravitated towards him, as did half the crew on the set. As I got closer, it pleased me to note that we were of the same height, and almost the same build. When Pete saw me approaching and stepped forward to introduce me, I was perhaps a bit too eager. Pete beamed at both of us. "Viggo, this is-"
"Fuck!" I tripped blindly over something which turned out to be Pete's plump, sandaled foot, stumbling over someone in front of me who shrieked and I suddenly found myself on the ground, sprawled on top of a very angry Kiran who was trying to shove me off. Our new Aragorn was trying not to laugh and failed miserably, but his warm, firm grip that helped me up soon ensured all was forgiven.
"Pleased to meet you," he said with a smile, and I shivered at the low, low timbre of his voice.
I watched as he walked away, led by Pete, and I promised myself that by hook or by crook, he would be mine.
~
I tried everything in my power to dig up information about Viggo Mortensen, but nothing was as powerfully effective as going directly to the source. Much to my joy, Viggo and I became firm friends, since our roles had us in quite a number of scenes together. However, it was hard to ignore the fact that our new charismatic yet humble king was also becoming chummy with a lot more people on the set, both cast and crew, and I could count my prospective rivals on more than one hand.
So I stepped it up and took every opportunity to hang out with Viggo and go to dinner with him after work and even drive out to the Farmer's Market at insane hours in the morning. Sadly we were seldom alone but my place as one of Viggo's closest friends and confidants was soon sealed. I'm not very proud to admit this, but this wacky, insane yet caring man with eyes the colour of dawn made me forget about the beautiful blonde woman in my wallet and back home in England, and at the rate she and I were fighting, it was going to be over soon anyway.
Still, I didn't realise how much it would hurt when it was officially over with her, Viggo or no Viggo. And of course, like the caring friend he is, he was there for me, and let me cry like a wuss and wipe my tears and snot on his shirt. That made things worse, of course. By then I was getting almost possessive of him, obsessing over who he was with whenever I wasn't with him. The hobbits would be laughing and joking and conspiring around me to pull a variety of pranks but I'd be staring into my beer morosely and thinking of Aragorn, or Viggo, or both.
I was surprised to find an unlikely ally in Elijah, who listened and said the right things and gave hugs that I was embarrassed to take comfort in. "Does he know?" he asked, and I shook my head. "You do know about the rumours going around about Viggo and-"
"I know, I know." I sighed. "I'd rather not hear about it. But I do want to believe that, I dunno, I stand a fighting chance."
Elijah smiled, lighting yet another one of his ever-present cloves. "Of course you do. It's not over till it's over."
I had always wondered what he meant by that.
~
To the casual observer, Viggo would have been his usual self, going around smiling and taking odd photographs and planning pranks with/on Kiran, but I noticed a few small changes in him. Like how he'd be very quiet sometimes, as if he was depressed, but I put that down to him simply missing Henry. And sometimes he'd blush for no reason as well, just laughing it off embarrassedly. The one big change that didn't go unnoticed was that his art now seemed more focused, and he was constantly scribbling fragments of poetry on napkins and old Chinese takeout menus and the back of beer mats. We'd catch him daydreaming more than usual, and his moods now swung from extreme quiet to unadulterated bursts of happiness.
There was apparently a reasonable explanation for his erratic behaviour. "Viggy's in love," Ngila announced smugly one day in the Cuntebago when he wasn't there, and some of the make-up girls laughed while Liv nodded in agreement and chipped in her two cents, speculating about who the lucky person was. As I was getting the wig removed and listening to Liv, I suddenly felt something shift in the middle of my chest, and I began to wonder, just wonder, if it might be me.
Hours later, when Viggo asked me to follow him to the Green Parrot that night, it sounded like any other usual dinner date. However, I had a feeling that it would be monumental, that I would know once and for all. To my dismay, it wasn't the quiet, intimate gathering I imagined it would be. There was quite a large turnout and I found myself sandwiched between Liv and Astin who were teasing Elijah about his latest escapade regarding Dom and the fountain in the Wellington town center. I was too jumpy and nervous to pay much attention, eyes constantly darting over to where Viggo was seated with Bernard and Karl. I pretended not to notice when I saw Viggo get up in the corner of my eye, and only looked up when he touched my arm. "Hey, can we go outside? I wanna talk to you."
The whole table fell silent. For some reason my eyes met Lijah's, then I got up and followed Viggo outside, my eyes travelling down that lean, strong back and thinking it would only be a matter of hours before my tongue got to travel that same path. My heart was beating so fast that I could barely walk steadily, but I somehow managed to follow Viggo outside without banging into anything.
We stood outside by the alley, and he took a deep breath, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I...well, I....Oh, Jesus." He laughed, shaking his head, and I smiled to put him more at ease. Blood was pounding in my ears, waiting for those words I'd never forget.
They came soon enough. "Orlando, I think I'm in love with Sean."
On to Part 2
Author:
clocksPairing: VM/SB, Others
Rating: PG
Archive:
rugbytackleFeedback: Would be devoured and slobbered upon.
Disclaimer: Don't know them, this is not real, did not happen, la di da.
Summary: "There's noises in my head, just noises in my head. If I could, I'd drown them all out. I'd bury all of these noises from your tyrant mouth." - The Bravery
Notes: This is a birthday fic for
cykie. The idea for this story came from when I went to a gig by NYC band The Bravery, and the singer was telling us the inspiration behind a song called 'Tyrant'. See the end of part 2 for reference. Happy Birthday, Cykie! *squishes*TYRANT
Ian and I sat on the porch of my rented house, one of the fortunate few to have a view overlooking the ocean. It was one of those slow New Zealand summer evenings where you just wanted to enjoy the stillness, and movement was entirely optional. Smoke from Ian's cigarette was wafting over to where I was slumped in a half-collapsed rattan chair, and my fingers itched to light a cig as well, despite the fact that I have been trying to quit for about a week. To distract myself, I began hunting in my pockets for my keys which were missing since this morning, and the jingle of change and soft curses from me attracted Ian's attention.
"Looking for something?"
"Nothing. Bloody keys." I gave up with a sigh, and shifted in the chair, ignoring its low, moaning creaks in protest. "Y'know, I was just thinking about the folks back home. Here we are in the heat, and they're probably freezin' their knickers off."
Ian grinned. "Is that what you were really thinking?" His eyes darted to the lit ciggy in his hand, then looked up at me again. "Or are you trying to hide the fact that you're getting your kicks off second hand smoke?"
"'m tryin to quit." I wished I didn't sound like I was grumbling.
"Ah yes, the things we do for love." Now it was his turn to chuckle. But now his expression was solemn again. "When did you first know?"
"Know what?"
"The exact moment when you fell in love?"
I laughed a little. "C'mon Ian, you know the story."
"Well I'd like to hear it again, from the beginning. Is it such a crime?" He lifted an elegant eyebrow at me, before putting his cigarette out and looking at me expectantly.
I sat up straight, and this time I was unable to help grinning broadly. "Alright, I'll tell you the exact moment. When I vomited all over Viggo, and he brought me into the pub where I fell flat on my face in front of bloody everyone." I paused, shaking my head with a chuckle. "That's when."
~
The story began, not in a nondescript Wellington bar on a cold June night where most people think it started, but instead in October the year before. It felt strange to leave crazy London for lush, green Wellington, but this was an unbelievable chance of a lifetime that I would have been crazy to say no to. It was difficult to think I'd be leaving my family for close to a year, but there would always be phone calls and holidays.
The first few weeks were great, and it didn't take me long to settle down even though this was the biggest production I've ever been on. Even though everyone mostly got along, there were a few hiccups, particularly with our Aragorn who spent most of his time having arguments with Pete and Philippa. One day, it eventually came to a head. I was dressed in my full gear, complete with wig, and in the middle of a practice session with the legendary Bob Anderson when a runner interrupted with a note from Pete, summoning us over to his trailer.
There, over a constantly burping fax machine, he told us that Stuart would be no more, and his replacement was already on his way. There weren't too many downcast looks at the news, although Elijah did look surprisingly upset. I put my arm around his shoulder and he leaned against me, the top of his head only reaching my armpit because I was so much taller. Dom and Billy tried to cheer him up, and since they were all closer as a hobbit unit, I let them do their thing.
The next day, the replacement arrived without much pomp or circumstance and I only got to meet him after lunch because I had dialect coaching in the morning. There were a few other new arrivals as well so it was a bit confusing, but the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew Pete – or rather, Fran – had not made a mistake.
The broad shoulders, the body, the legs, the dimpled chin, the elegant nose – or maybe it was his pale blue stare which captivated me the most. Whatever it was, I instantly gravitated towards him, as did half the crew on the set. As I got closer, it pleased me to note that we were of the same height, and almost the same build. When Pete saw me approaching and stepped forward to introduce me, I was perhaps a bit too eager. Pete beamed at both of us. "Viggo, this is-"
"Fuck!" I tripped blindly over something which turned out to be Pete's plump, sandaled foot, stumbling over someone in front of me who shrieked and I suddenly found myself on the ground, sprawled on top of a very angry Kiran who was trying to shove me off. Our new Aragorn was trying not to laugh and failed miserably, but his warm, firm grip that helped me up soon ensured all was forgiven.
"Pleased to meet you," he said with a smile, and I shivered at the low, low timbre of his voice.
I watched as he walked away, led by Pete, and I promised myself that by hook or by crook, he would be mine.
~
I tried everything in my power to dig up information about Viggo Mortensen, but nothing was as powerfully effective as going directly to the source. Much to my joy, Viggo and I became firm friends, since our roles had us in quite a number of scenes together. However, it was hard to ignore the fact that our new charismatic yet humble king was also becoming chummy with a lot more people on the set, both cast and crew, and I could count my prospective rivals on more than one hand.
So I stepped it up and took every opportunity to hang out with Viggo and go to dinner with him after work and even drive out to the Farmer's Market at insane hours in the morning. Sadly we were seldom alone but my place as one of Viggo's closest friends and confidants was soon sealed. I'm not very proud to admit this, but this wacky, insane yet caring man with eyes the colour of dawn made me forget about the beautiful blonde woman in my wallet and back home in England, and at the rate she and I were fighting, it was going to be over soon anyway.
Still, I didn't realise how much it would hurt when it was officially over with her, Viggo or no Viggo. And of course, like the caring friend he is, he was there for me, and let me cry like a wuss and wipe my tears and snot on his shirt. That made things worse, of course. By then I was getting almost possessive of him, obsessing over who he was with whenever I wasn't with him. The hobbits would be laughing and joking and conspiring around me to pull a variety of pranks but I'd be staring into my beer morosely and thinking of Aragorn, or Viggo, or both.
I was surprised to find an unlikely ally in Elijah, who listened and said the right things and gave hugs that I was embarrassed to take comfort in. "Does he know?" he asked, and I shook my head. "You do know about the rumours going around about Viggo and-"
"I know, I know." I sighed. "I'd rather not hear about it. But I do want to believe that, I dunno, I stand a fighting chance."
Elijah smiled, lighting yet another one of his ever-present cloves. "Of course you do. It's not over till it's over."
I had always wondered what he meant by that.
~
To the casual observer, Viggo would have been his usual self, going around smiling and taking odd photographs and planning pranks with/on Kiran, but I noticed a few small changes in him. Like how he'd be very quiet sometimes, as if he was depressed, but I put that down to him simply missing Henry. And sometimes he'd blush for no reason as well, just laughing it off embarrassedly. The one big change that didn't go unnoticed was that his art now seemed more focused, and he was constantly scribbling fragments of poetry on napkins and old Chinese takeout menus and the back of beer mats. We'd catch him daydreaming more than usual, and his moods now swung from extreme quiet to unadulterated bursts of happiness.
There was apparently a reasonable explanation for his erratic behaviour. "Viggy's in love," Ngila announced smugly one day in the Cuntebago when he wasn't there, and some of the make-up girls laughed while Liv nodded in agreement and chipped in her two cents, speculating about who the lucky person was. As I was getting the wig removed and listening to Liv, I suddenly felt something shift in the middle of my chest, and I began to wonder, just wonder, if it might be me.
Hours later, when Viggo asked me to follow him to the Green Parrot that night, it sounded like any other usual dinner date. However, I had a feeling that it would be monumental, that I would know once and for all. To my dismay, it wasn't the quiet, intimate gathering I imagined it would be. There was quite a large turnout and I found myself sandwiched between Liv and Astin who were teasing Elijah about his latest escapade regarding Dom and the fountain in the Wellington town center. I was too jumpy and nervous to pay much attention, eyes constantly darting over to where Viggo was seated with Bernard and Karl. I pretended not to notice when I saw Viggo get up in the corner of my eye, and only looked up when he touched my arm. "Hey, can we go outside? I wanna talk to you."
The whole table fell silent. For some reason my eyes met Lijah's, then I got up and followed Viggo outside, my eyes travelling down that lean, strong back and thinking it would only be a matter of hours before my tongue got to travel that same path. My heart was beating so fast that I could barely walk steadily, but I somehow managed to follow Viggo outside without banging into anything.
We stood outside by the alley, and he took a deep breath, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I...well, I....Oh, Jesus." He laughed, shaking his head, and I smiled to put him more at ease. Blood was pounding in my ears, waiting for those words I'd never forget.
They came soon enough. "Orlando, I think I'm in love with Sean."
On to Part 2
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 02:06 pm (UTC)I was reading this as if it was Sean's POV so the end really came as a huge surprise. Being the VigBean addict that I am, I must confess I don't want to see Orlando to get what he wants. But I do like this sweet and sympathetic portrayal of him. I hope he gets a nice consolation prize!
xxx
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 04:34 pm (UTC)~Kris
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 04:40 pm (UTC)Hello
Date: 2005-09-18 07:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-18 02:06 pm (UTC)I completely loved it! Was completely fooled at the beginning too, thinking that the narrative was from Beanie's point of view then when I realised it was Orli, I had to go back start from the beginning and I LOVED how you so carefully described his girlfriend to make it almost sound like Abby. Just fantastic! And love happy endings as always ^_^