Morning...
Updated list of letters in order available here.
To: Miranda Otto < shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz >
From: Cate Blanchett < galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz >
Subject: Re: News
Miranda,
> Sean hit Viggo (In his defense, he was
> swinging for Harry, who, unfortunately,
> managed to duck.), knocked him out.
Sean? You've got to be kidding. Is he all right? Is Viggo all right? Goodness, are they all right? The things that go on while I'm gone!
Frankly, I'm surprised that he was the one to come to blows with Harry. I always thought it would be you. In fact, I believe I have a ten on you in Dave's betting pool.
> Harry tried to hit Sean,
> Karl got between them; Harry hit (and
> broke) Karl's hand.
Oh no. Karl too? That man... No, scratch that -- those men. Sheesh. How is he? And I'm sure you don't know, but how is Harry?
> Don't you wish you were here?
I am suddenly happier to be away from all of that posturing and testosterone than I ever thought I could be.
> Hell, it may still be evolving.
Now, see? Wasn't I right?
> I so resent your implication I've been
> eyeing Dave up. Please. I don't ogle my
> friends very much. In fact, I'm so far
> removed from ogling that I have no comments
> whatsoever about Sean's ass or Viggo's
> shoulders or Karl's hands. No comments at
> all.
That's too bad, love, because I was hoping to confer with you about them. But of course you are a more virtuous woman than I, so I am destined to ogle alone.
> Hmm, I could either share space with Viggo,
> Sean, or Dave. Decisions. Decisions. What's
> a girl to do?
Poor you. When you do decide, make sure you keep your eyes shut tight, all right? I wouldn't want you to accidentally look at anyone in a predatory or lust-filled manner. Remember, nice girls don't. ;)
And as soon, as soon as you hear anything more, as soon as you have a chance to begin unsnarling this whole tangle, I expect to hear from you. Send Viggo and Sean my love. And Dave too.
Sweet dreams,
~ Cate
really should start actually using this thing for recording on-set anecdotes rather than off-set soap operas. after all, Peter is depending on me to have some fabulously entertaining stories to regale the public with on the TTT and ROTK DVD commentaries. what can a humble man like me do but acquiesce to his request?
woke up on the couch next to Miranda. was very nice. very uncomfortable too. not a lot of space to share, although i think i made good use of what there was. i feel a bit guilty. once Mir agreed that suggesting we sleep together on said couch (while both unconscious AND fully clothed) didn't constitute an inappropriate sexual advance on my part (because, after all, we have behaved this evening as a proper unchaperoned lady and gentleman should), she dropped right off, and i wasn't too long after. i believe that constitutes a violation of the terms under which i have been appointed Head Nurse Dave, since i didn't bother to check on Viggo after that. but then no one was awake to be able to tell the difference, so perhaps my job is not in jeopardy.
must suggest to Sean that a wider, longer couch is in order. spent the majority of my time curled up with Mir attempting not to roll onto her. woke up in fits and starts, but am not going to grouch over my loss of sleep, because each time i woke up, Miranda had moved a little bit closer. it's the unconscious mind, you see. clearly her's has fallen for me hard. nothing new, of course. it's difficult, having all sorts of lovely women and men falling at my feet all the time. whatever shall i do? ...seems i'm going to have to start turning them away in droves, if Miranda's body language is any indication. hmm. no great loss.
i love the shape of her ears. ...just saying.
managed to disentangle myself from her before she woke up. some parts of me (knees, back, and sides) were happy to get off the couch and away from such close quarters. other parts? not so much.
first thing i did was attempt to check on Viggo. i say "attempt," because like my car keys, he was not where i left him. tried the door to the spare room on a whim, but it was locked. since Vig was not anywhere else to be found and both their cars were still in the driveway, i used my special detective skills to deduct that Viggo had rung the front desk and requested a change in rooms.
went into the kitchen to make coffee instead. couldn't find anything but instant, so i gave up and made tea. that they have in spades. same with beer, but while it may be the breakfast choice of drunks champions, it's not Dave's first pick. found the mug i recall seeing in that b&w picture of Sean, and brought it and tea out to Mir. heh. she was just sitting up, yawning. pleasantly rumpled.
her tongue curls in her mouth and brushes her top row of teeth when she yawns.
handed her the mug. and, of course, that was the signal for all hell to break loose. *sigh*
suddenly Sean was shouting from the spare room: "fuck you, Vig! don't you fucking fuck with me!"
very articulate, that man.
thought Miranda was going to drop her mug, so i took it gently from her fingers and set it down on the side table.
Vig said something softer, mumbled so i couldn't hear it clearly enough to record for posterity.
there was a bit more yelling, mostly from Sean, then some rattling as someone fumbled with the lock. Sean threw the door open hard enough to have it bounce back from the wall and vibrate in the frame, and literally stormed out of the house. i think he had a shirt in hand when he left, otherwise things are going to be a bit breezy north of the belt buckle. at least that sight wasn't an unwelcome one, although i did get a glimpse of Harry's handiwork. hmm.
feel bad for Viggo. he was left standing there, looking totally bewildered. am almost certain any attempts to restrain Mir and allow the guy some space to breathe are going to fail.
maybe i should offer him some tea.
~D
Gardener's Chronicle: A Ten Year Journal of Your Garden's Growth
Tool inventory:
Item: Secateurs
Serial no.: N/A
Quantity: 1 pair
Price per unit: $93.95 (NZ Dollars)
Purchased from: The Wheelbarrow Garden Supplies
Notes:
Red handled. Purchased for trimming topiaries, as old pruning shears are becoming dull and unusable. Sure, I could have them sharpened, but that would cost almost as much as buying a new pair. I keep forgetting about the conversion rate between pounds and dollars -- nearly had a heart attack when the cashier rung them up, although by the look on her face, I think I may have had a similar effect on her. Perhaps I should have asked Miranda if she had some concealer on her before going out in public looking like this, but I was too busy walking out to let it even cross my mind.
Everything, including my hair and eyelids, feels tender right now. I can't imagine that I walloped Harry nearly as well as he got me. Perhaps I should talk to Dr. Cornwell about the Alprazolam. Now that I've slept it off, I am almost certain I feel more steady on my feet than yesterday. Although that could have everything to do with yesterday and nothing to do with the drug.
Waking up was a bit difficult, though. I'm hoping that's just because I didn't get much sleep. Woke up warm and against something someone solid, which was a welcome feeling. Arms wrapped around me, too.
Still a bit groggy, I rolled towards the warm body, and I guess my movement disturbed him, because I found myself looking at a very awake Viggo. Opened my mouth to say God knows what, and he kissed me. Hard. If I didn't know better, I would have felt like I was being claimed. I couldn't help but groan into his mouth, slip my hands around the back of his head and deepen the kiss. It's been entirely too long.
Viggo responded in kind. I could feel his hands roaming down my chest, slipping over tender bruises, making my nerves tingle.
When his fingers found their way to my cock, my eyes flew open. ...I couldn't breathe. I could, however, remember the exact details of each and every picture Harry had sent me. Each. One. Down to the beads of sweat on Viggo's forehead, the way he flared his nostrils, everything.
How could he fucking do this to me?
I pushed him away, of course. Grabbed his roaming hands with my own, shoved them away from me. He looked surprised. I suppose he thought he could snowball me, make me forget about his dalliances with Harry.
That's not going to happen.
I more or less fell out of bed and started grabbing for clothes -- any clothes. I can't be sure, but I think that's when I started to yell at him. Told him to fucking keep his hands off me. He can't damn well have it both ways.
I can't remember everything I said. He did tell me to calm down, over and over again, like I was some fucking barking dog that needed to be soothed. I pulled on my trousers, grabbed a shirt, told him where he and Harry could shove his "concern," and left. I must have grabbed my shoes at some point, because I didn't end up traipsing around Wellington barefoot.
Drove around in the car for a bit until I ran a couple red lights in rapid succession, so I decided to park and just walk until I stopped wanting to hunt down Harry. Eventually found myself at that gardening supply store on Eighth.
Jesus fucking Christ. Does he think I'm a total idiot?
To: Miranda Otto < shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz >
From: Cate Blanchett < galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz >
Subject: Re: News
Miranda,
> Sean hit Viggo (In his defense, he was
> swinging for Harry, who, unfortunately,
> managed to duck.), knocked him out.
Sean? You've got to be kidding. Is he all right? Is Viggo all right? Goodness, are they all right? The things that go on while I'm gone!
Frankly, I'm surprised that he was the one to come to blows with Harry. I always thought it would be you. In fact, I believe I have a ten on you in Dave's betting pool.
> Harry tried to hit Sean,
> Karl got between them; Harry hit (and
> broke) Karl's hand.
Oh no. Karl too? That man... No, scratch that -- those men. Sheesh. How is he? And I'm sure you don't know, but how is Harry?
> Don't you wish you were here?
I am suddenly happier to be away from all of that posturing and testosterone than I ever thought I could be.
> Hell, it may still be evolving.
Now, see? Wasn't I right?
> I so resent your implication I've been
> eyeing Dave up. Please. I don't ogle my
> friends very much. In fact, I'm so far
> removed from ogling that I have no comments
> whatsoever about Sean's ass or Viggo's
> shoulders or Karl's hands. No comments at
> all.
That's too bad, love, because I was hoping to confer with you about them. But of course you are a more virtuous woman than I, so I am destined to ogle alone.
> Hmm, I could either share space with Viggo,
> Sean, or Dave. Decisions. Decisions. What's
> a girl to do?
Poor you. When you do decide, make sure you keep your eyes shut tight, all right? I wouldn't want you to accidentally look at anyone in a predatory or lust-filled manner. Remember, nice girls don't. ;)
And as soon, as soon as you hear anything more, as soon as you have a chance to begin unsnarling this whole tangle, I expect to hear from you. Send Viggo and Sean my love. And Dave too.
Sweet dreams,
~ Cate
really should start actually using this thing for recording on-set anecdotes rather than off-set soap operas. after all, Peter is depending on me to have some fabulously entertaining stories to regale the public with on the TTT and ROTK DVD commentaries. what can a humble man like me do but acquiesce to his request?
woke up on the couch next to Miranda. was very nice. very uncomfortable too. not a lot of space to share, although i think i made good use of what there was. i feel a bit guilty. once Mir agreed that suggesting we sleep together on said couch (while both unconscious AND fully clothed) didn't constitute an inappropriate sexual advance on my part (because, after all, we have behaved this evening as a proper unchaperoned lady and gentleman should), she dropped right off, and i wasn't too long after. i believe that constitutes a violation of the terms under which i have been appointed Head Nurse Dave, since i didn't bother to check on Viggo after that. but then no one was awake to be able to tell the difference, so perhaps my job is not in jeopardy.
must suggest to Sean that a wider, longer couch is in order. spent the majority of my time curled up with Mir attempting not to roll onto her. woke up in fits and starts, but am not going to grouch over my loss of sleep, because each time i woke up, Miranda had moved a little bit closer. it's the unconscious mind, you see. clearly her's has fallen for me hard. nothing new, of course. it's difficult, having all sorts of lovely women and men falling at my feet all the time. whatever shall i do? ...seems i'm going to have to start turning them away in droves, if Miranda's body language is any indication. hmm. no great loss.
i love the shape of her ears. ...just saying.
managed to disentangle myself from her before she woke up. some parts of me (knees, back, and sides) were happy to get off the couch and away from such close quarters. other parts? not so much.
first thing i did was attempt to check on Viggo. i say "attempt," because like my car keys, he was not where i left him. tried the door to the spare room on a whim, but it was locked. since Vig was not anywhere else to be found and both their cars were still in the driveway, i used my special detective skills to deduct that Viggo had rung the front desk and requested a change in rooms.
went into the kitchen to make coffee instead. couldn't find anything but instant, so i gave up and made tea. that they have in spades. same with beer, but while it may be the breakfast choice of drunks champions, it's not Dave's first pick. found the mug i recall seeing in that b&w picture of Sean, and brought it and tea out to Mir. heh. she was just sitting up, yawning. pleasantly rumpled.
her tongue curls in her mouth and brushes her top row of teeth when she yawns.
handed her the mug. and, of course, that was the signal for all hell to break loose. *sigh*
suddenly Sean was shouting from the spare room: "fuck you, Vig! don't you fucking fuck with me!"
very articulate, that man.
thought Miranda was going to drop her mug, so i took it gently from her fingers and set it down on the side table.
Vig said something softer, mumbled so i couldn't hear it clearly enough to record for posterity.
there was a bit more yelling, mostly from Sean, then some rattling as someone fumbled with the lock. Sean threw the door open hard enough to have it bounce back from the wall and vibrate in the frame, and literally stormed out of the house. i think he had a shirt in hand when he left, otherwise things are going to be a bit breezy north of the belt buckle. at least that sight wasn't an unwelcome one, although i did get a glimpse of Harry's handiwork. hmm.
feel bad for Viggo. he was left standing there, looking totally bewildered. am almost certain any attempts to restrain Mir and allow the guy some space to breathe are going to fail.
maybe i should offer him some tea.
~D
Gardener's Chronicle: A Ten Year Journal of Your Garden's Growth
Tool inventory:
Item: Secateurs
Serial no.: N/A
Quantity: 1 pair
Price per unit: $93.95 (NZ Dollars)
Purchased from: The Wheelbarrow Garden Supplies
Notes:
Red handled. Purchased for trimming topiaries, as old pruning shears are becoming dull and unusable. Sure, I could have them sharpened, but that would cost almost as much as buying a new pair. I keep forgetting about the conversion rate between pounds and dollars -- nearly had a heart attack when the cashier rung them up, although by the look on her face, I think I may have had a similar effect on her. Perhaps I should have asked Miranda if she had some concealer on her before going out in public looking like this, but I was too busy walking out to let it even cross my mind.
Everything, including my hair and eyelids, feels tender right now. I can't imagine that I walloped Harry nearly as well as he got me. Perhaps I should talk to Dr. Cornwell about the Alprazolam. Now that I've slept it off, I am almost certain I feel more steady on my feet than yesterday. Although that could have everything to do with yesterday and nothing to do with the drug.
Waking up was a bit difficult, though. I'm hoping that's just because I didn't get much sleep. Woke up warm and against something someone solid, which was a welcome feeling. Arms wrapped around me, too.
Still a bit groggy, I rolled towards the warm body, and I guess my movement disturbed him, because I found myself looking at a very awake Viggo. Opened my mouth to say God knows what, and he kissed me. Hard. If I didn't know better, I would have felt like I was being claimed. I couldn't help but groan into his mouth, slip my hands around the back of his head and deepen the kiss. It's been entirely too long.
Viggo responded in kind. I could feel his hands roaming down my chest, slipping over tender bruises, making my nerves tingle.
When his fingers found their way to my cock, my eyes flew open. ...I couldn't breathe. I could, however, remember the exact details of each and every picture Harry had sent me. Each. One. Down to the beads of sweat on Viggo's forehead, the way he flared his nostrils, everything.
How could he fucking do this to me?
I pushed him away, of course. Grabbed his roaming hands with my own, shoved them away from me. He looked surprised. I suppose he thought he could snowball me, make me forget about his dalliances with Harry.
That's not going to happen.
I more or less fell out of bed and started grabbing for clothes -- any clothes. I can't be sure, but I think that's when I started to yell at him. Told him to fucking keep his hands off me. He can't damn well have it both ways.
I can't remember everything I said. He did tell me to calm down, over and over again, like I was some fucking barking dog that needed to be soothed. I pulled on my trousers, grabbed a shirt, told him where he and Harry could shove his "concern," and left. I must have grabbed my shoes at some point, because I didn't end up traipsing around Wellington barefoot.
Drove around in the car for a bit until I ran a couple red lights in rapid succession, so I decided to park and just walk until I stopped wanting to hunt down Harry. Eventually found myself at that gardening supply store on Eighth.
Jesus fucking Christ. Does he think I'm a total idiot?