Twelve days of Christmas: Day four
The little AU: Twelve Days of Christmas: Day Four
slashfairy
~~
"Everything on the outside, nothing on the inside," Orlando'd muttered into Viggo's shoulder in the middle of the night, burrowing into it in his sleep, wiping his eyes on Viggo's shoulder blade.
It's been a recurring theme, and part of why they're there now: the disconcerting effect of Orli's fame on Orli. At the best it makes him uncomfortable, especially because in large parts of him he enjoys it, enjoys the perks; at the worst it's devastating because he knows he doesn't deserve it, knows it's manufactured out of whole cloth, or worse, the same cloth as the Emperor's New Clothes, and it just burdens him and everyone around him with its weight.
"All actors are vain," Viggo'd said once in an interview. True though that is, this is different. This isn't needing praise, it's lacking self-trust. It's about not being able to let himself off the hook for Kate's illness, for taking Pirates seriously despite the critics, for choosing Haven. It's about always being on, always being good, always being pretty, always being someone, never him being him being enough.
"I've done all those things I swore I'd never do," he'd wept on the phone one day, "I've lied, people say I've stolen, I've had to turn people down for things when I'd promised to do them, I've... I'm not me anymore, Vig, I dunno who I am, but I'm not me."
Wasn't long after that that he'd gone on a round of flights to shows and performances and interviews and friends, worn himself out while trying to keep up with work and family and himself, and found himself holed up in LA, as alone as anyone could ever be in that huge overpopulated desert.
Unlike Viggo, who is inhabited by everyone he's ever played, and Karl, who brings himself to each role and takes himself home again, Orli's unsure what it is he does. Or if he does anything; everything feels fraudulent right now, feels wrong. He's not Johnny, not enough to carry Balian, not American, not comedic, not romantic, not articulate, not blond, not married, not out, not... just not. So he's bounced from outside to outside to outside until he's bruised inside everywhere, and doesn't know why.
The trip to the Forest had been healing, but revealing, too, Viggo thinks as he turns and takes Orlando in his arms, sensing Karl skootch over closer to make the space that much safer behind Orli's back.
Vig remembers something his brother the geologist had told him after it'd become clear that he and Exene were not going to stay together, ever, because their moods swung in such different arcs. Can't stop a pendulum, can only ride it, and climb as high up the stem as you can get so the swings aren't so wide, or so devastating. And then one day with luck you can climb onto the fulcrum, and watch the pendulum swing, but not be swung by it. Good luck, brother, he'd said, hugging Vig tightly before leaving to go home.
Vig reaches over Orlando's shoulder to Karl's arm, laying his hand just where, when Karl'd been Cupid, his tattoo'd heart had been, and whispers into Orli's hair, "I'm along for the ride, and the climb, and the settling in the center, if you'll have me," and closes his eyes, and goes to sleep, Orlando on the inside of the three, and nothing threatening on the outside. Not tonight. Maybe, maybe surrounded by the spirits of Gods and Kings, Orli can be just Orli, and that will be enough. He can be his own center, and that will be enough.
previously:
next: day five
slashfairy
~~
"Everything on the outside, nothing on the inside," Orlando'd muttered into Viggo's shoulder in the middle of the night, burrowing into it in his sleep, wiping his eyes on Viggo's shoulder blade.
It's been a recurring theme, and part of why they're there now: the disconcerting effect of Orli's fame on Orli. At the best it makes him uncomfortable, especially because in large parts of him he enjoys it, enjoys the perks; at the worst it's devastating because he knows he doesn't deserve it, knows it's manufactured out of whole cloth, or worse, the same cloth as the Emperor's New Clothes, and it just burdens him and everyone around him with its weight.
"All actors are vain," Viggo'd said once in an interview. True though that is, this is different. This isn't needing praise, it's lacking self-trust. It's about not being able to let himself off the hook for Kate's illness, for taking Pirates seriously despite the critics, for choosing Haven. It's about always being on, always being good, always being pretty, always being someone, never him being him being enough.
"I've done all those things I swore I'd never do," he'd wept on the phone one day, "I've lied, people say I've stolen, I've had to turn people down for things when I'd promised to do them, I've... I'm not me anymore, Vig, I dunno who I am, but I'm not me."
Wasn't long after that that he'd gone on a round of flights to shows and performances and interviews and friends, worn himself out while trying to keep up with work and family and himself, and found himself holed up in LA, as alone as anyone could ever be in that huge overpopulated desert.
Unlike Viggo, who is inhabited by everyone he's ever played, and Karl, who brings himself to each role and takes himself home again, Orli's unsure what it is he does. Or if he does anything; everything feels fraudulent right now, feels wrong. He's not Johnny, not enough to carry Balian, not American, not comedic, not romantic, not articulate, not blond, not married, not out, not... just not. So he's bounced from outside to outside to outside until he's bruised inside everywhere, and doesn't know why.
The trip to the Forest had been healing, but revealing, too, Viggo thinks as he turns and takes Orlando in his arms, sensing Karl skootch over closer to make the space that much safer behind Orli's back.
Vig remembers something his brother the geologist had told him after it'd become clear that he and Exene were not going to stay together, ever, because their moods swung in such different arcs. Can't stop a pendulum, can only ride it, and climb as high up the stem as you can get so the swings aren't so wide, or so devastating. And then one day with luck you can climb onto the fulcrum, and watch the pendulum swing, but not be swung by it. Good luck, brother, he'd said, hugging Vig tightly before leaving to go home.
Vig reaches over Orlando's shoulder to Karl's arm, laying his hand just where, when Karl'd been Cupid, his tattoo'd heart had been, and whispers into Orli's hair, "I'm along for the ride, and the climb, and the settling in the center, if you'll have me," and closes his eyes, and goes to sleep, Orlando on the inside of the three, and nothing threatening on the outside. Not tonight. Maybe, maybe surrounded by the spirits of Gods and Kings, Orli can be just Orli, and that will be enough. He can be his own center, and that will be enough.
previously:
next: day five