drunk!Fic: "Slightly Delirious"
Slightly Delirious
(Next morning no one will be able to tell exactly who left when or who did what last night.
Though; maybe, with who is not really a secret. But leave Liv to deal with that.)
By the 5th round no one is going to really agree about PJ´s shooting schedule tomorrow.
A few minutes later no one really remembers which shooting schedule they are talking about.
(And then, no one except maybe Ian remembers that there´s a movie and that they´re in it.)
Liv has momentarily lost her black-purply thing with frays. She thinks she had very important things in it. Lipgloss. And other things. She´s hanging out too much with guys nowadays - no one understands the tragedy of losing your favorite lipgloss damnit, it feels completely decadent. But hey, someone needs to keep an eye on these boys, they are turning into real spectacle´s which is actually quite liberating too, so she might just forgive them for the lipgloss-ignorance and hang onto deadly alcohol for awhile. Also… maybe she shouldn´t really have drunk the last tequila… but her heels are still intact and up for some half-sexy-dancing which totally has to be somehow half-graceful somewhere because she just.don´t.get.this.drunk. In any circumstances. Well, in other circumstances. Exactly! Salt ´n Lemon?
Billy is floating between something that once started out as a mature conversation with Ian (on acting, was it?) but have somehow dislocated itself into a much more complicated Dommie-project which involves straws and lined-up peanuts so he keeps getting distracted while he also tries to juggle the not-really necessity of sexual escapades versus pure tequila-laziness + a glimpse of Early Feet; never really settling with neither trail of thoughts and why do bar counters always seem higher than an average (decent) Scotsman? Also; he´s kind of frozen into a pillar of lemonness.
Do-mi-nic (as he calls himself when he gets slightly out of hand and needs to talk himself out of bad ideas) is having a glorious Jimi Hendrix -moment and has no idea why it´s suddenly a fucking brilliant idea if it happens to take place on the bar because it can absolutely work as a stage too, if you squint.
Ian has resigned to watching; his chin a bit raised, just slightly entertained. Some might say that he´s old and arrogant but it´s wrong because he´s younger than all of them, together. Naturally; he will just sip his drink - never in his life touch tequila - and lean onto too high barstools and be… young and observant and really annoying so that he can mock them all tomorrow, just a little of course. After all, what he really does, perhaps - is looking after them, but he would never admit it.
Elijah is not only still a teenager, but also an absorber of nighlife-culture and as he can see it; right now the dance floor has magical powers and he should perhaps call his agent? It´s fucking wild, but maybe it´s only him. Tequila is now on his unofficial list of things he could see himself try twice. Still - lots of things to try once, tonight though and he´s just getting started. Why the fuck was he thinking about his agent?? That must be the most low-life-party-killer there is. He does have a life outside but right now it´s here, inside and contains tequilalized boundries - evaporated off somewhere near the bar and Orlando´s goddamn ugly Mohawk.
Orlando reaches - tugs - at a sleeve that somewhere at the other end contains an Elijah swimming in an ocean of after-midnight-madness. He´s positive that it is Elijah, same height at least…statisticalllally… Ohyeah… not even tequila can fool Orlando; no one except Elijah is that much stumbletwitchydancing while being hysterically drunk… which ultimately falls upon somebody like Orlando (who is of course waaay much more sober on the scale somewhere between Hyperactive and Unconscious, but nevermind) to need to save the Elijahness of Elijah, yeah… stop him from making the entire cast earn a lifetime prohibition ban and possible numerous restriction orders to the whole Wellington nightclub area, actuall-illly. And he just thinks that it should - purely & extremely logically have to start with the stumbletwitchydancing one, or else they could all lose themselves a Frodo, somehow. (Fuck - somebody needs to act a little bit older, no? 2000 years older with natural-tequila-instinct fuckingyeah…) Orlando stumbles and makes a mental note to have a serious talk with his legs after this.. missionquestthing…(but he quoted now didn´t he?? Hah!)
Somewhere a fluorescent feeling pinches him. It´s a giddy, champagne -bubbly little flutter that slips on his tequilaslippery inner organs until he stumbles again. Analyze Later.
Probably not at all having to do with the wicked elijahness-of-Elijah and the sudden fuzzy tequila-courage taking up residence in Orlando´s belly and Elijah´s annoying sorcerer-eyes and toothy devilish-grin (the fucker...) and that is exactly why Orlando tugs - it´s definitely categorized as tugging anyway( should somebody happen to ask) - on Elijah´s sleeve, but it doesn´t really work the way he meant for it to do (if he could manage to remember exactly how the tugging was correlating to the saving of a fellowship of equally drunk, - and apparently in Dom´s tragic case - bar dancing, actors). Oh god… Prohibition. Press conference. Penis. (Nono. Uh no. What??)
Well.. he must have miscalculated something that he probably calculated in the heighten state of pre-Tequilaness an eternity ago, which means it´s all so fucking non-logic that it actually turns logic and then unlogic again and fuck but Orlando really don´t like tequila anymore - it swallows his brain and messes with his legs… (he pouts and feels a bit embarrassed about the pouting - who invented pouts??? It surely wasn´t Orlando - and then simply forgets about the pouting all along…)
At some point there was tugging, right…
But then there wasn´t anymore? It´s a bit hazy these days.
Sleeve. He´s lost his tug on the maybe-Elijah-sleeve and now they will never dance on tequilaslippery bars… He feels sad before he snorts and fucking composes himself into some goddamn order…. So he grabs for it; a sleeve with an Elijah in it; comes out with handfuls of a few occasionally not-so twitchy-stumbly people instead, grasps…hauls…
Gets a hold of bouncy warmth, a little electric.
Then RealElijah throws his arm attached to the sleeve with the Orlando still hanging on to it for dear life; around Orlando´s waist. Logistics were never Orlando´s strong side and a blink of an eye later Elijah has apparently 2 sleeves with arms in them, now hangdancing around Orlando´s neck instead; tugging at HIM, turning everything happy!sparkly and viciously out-of-place and pretty much in place too. And there, somewhere in/out of place he thinks WTF and swirls away with Elijah into the sea of swaying bodies that somehow feels stabilizing and not as liquid as tequila.
They are like spiraling comets in a blinking bluegreen universe, man! He can´t exactly remember WHY he´s ended up with hands splayed on Elijah´s hips in a weirdtricky spiderdance but that seems unimportant since Elijah is making a habit of being so fucking close that Orlando can literally taste tequila in the air. Not that Orlando has closed his eyes all of a sudden (the eyelids just slipped closed unintentionally?). Not that he would have an impulse of licking Elijah´s lips or anything (this is only some kind of oppositional breathing-technique that he thinks he should explore?). Not that he has sort of panicky intimacy-issues being this close, although - tragically - having to really refrain his own hips from doing humpy animal-movements (because Orlando never really had a good signed agreement with his hips?).
And so on.
Not that Orlando actually feels exactly where the tequila-related dizziness ends and a trembly wantonesque ones starts, somewhere in the back of his spine heading for not really unknown destinations but with precise accuracy like a sparkly Hailey’s comet with Destination Earth. WARNING! WARNING! *red lights blinking* and if Orlando ´s brain could be so kind to take a step back it would be very fucking helpful thankyou! (this is not a fucking.stage and even if it was he would be too drunk to act and Orlando is not a dramaqueen of epic proportions who consider things on dancefloors a good move. Absolutely…not. NOT.)
(Shitshitshit…)
Not that Elijah´s lips are suddenly attached to Orlando´s in a frozenspikeyshattered moment wherein everything screeches to halt and yet spins faster than the bartender and his slippery tequila bottles and wherein they also have stopped spider-dancing and instead actually just stand there swaying on display for the whole amusement of a drunk fellowship to see. And a few other hundred non-fellowship-people.
Not that Elijah´s legs goes insanely liquid and threatens to give up contact with the ground... floor.. fuckingearth, so that Orlando has to grab him and hold him steady, with tugging stability. Not that Elijah whimpers.
Not that Orlando crash-lands with his own teeth and bites his own tongue, just a little too hard. Not that his head spins just a bit too fast from the heat of it all so that Elijah must lick a little wet patch across Orlis jaw and cradle his head with electric fingers.
Not that any of them actually could care; not that this is a good moment to care, because there´s something rather - obviously - intoxicating about bitelicking lips & battletwisting tongues & wrigglepushing hands - ohyeah… while arms-in-sleeves slippingfallingpretending to rest; giving up, giving in to desperatetugging as if all those limbs can´t make up the mind about which way is logistically closer...
...and Orli & Lij don´t have a fucking clue how the world will look after shattering but they suddenly do know that shimmery skin hides there under and they only wantwantwant to relocate - beam away - to some secluded place in outer space, clinging to the steamy heat of this - whatever it is; as if a tequilanight in Wellington has just made them discover-AND-rediscover central heating and they really want to take a closer look on how the whole fucking mechanical system actually works, yeah…
(And of course, no one really pretend to care… while everyone does.)
And Orlando feels pretty much drunksober and really fucking standing on his both legs who yet present themselves as jellybeans.
And Dom is almost falling off the bar in a slow-motion-cascading tequila-rain, which looks pretty fucking epic.
And Elijah can´t laugh because he hasn´t got enough air to waste, since Orlando wants it all and he himself wants it back (neither of them absolutely not whimpering).
And the night is young and sparkly and makes too much sense to be real.
Although it´s also a Slightly Delirious Evening altogether, most impossible to control. (ask anyone except Ian!)
So Orlando pretends that everything´s in place, although even his jeans seem to disagree. He pretends for about 12 seconds, then he´s seriously considering being jeans-less very fucking really soon… and he has like 10 legs and all of them are stumbly jellybean-bananas who refuse to cooperate and he doesn´t care that he should really fucking take a look at his imaginary elvish grace right now and will not likely find it anywhere nearby since some badassed-asshole (he´s spending way too much time on Elijah´s lips already, see!) started The Evil Tequila Race (that no one won, by the way!) and the badassed one isn´t bad at all despite the fact that he´s barely even…nngghh… fucking.. legal… fuck… Elijah can kiss… the innocent little bastard…
And Elijah forgets every-fucking-thing he´s ever learned about acting and just… flows, he´s sort of skydiving from Mount Doom and couldn´t care less and… he even humps at one point... (don´t tell anyone) and guh… fuckinggoddamnittohell why are all these people around stuck in his face with their annoying dancing bodies and flailing arms when he tries to be steady and stay still while grinding or pushing or… arrrggh..just anything except swirling? He gets disturbed; he wants to be firm and not trembly… He should wear sunglasses like… always… but then he wouldn’t see Orli and Orlando should hang onto his lips like he´s doing… .nnnnggghhh…. (at one point fearing Orlando turning into Flipper but it passes, thank god) and Elijah sends a very non-Christian prayer to the inventor of tequila and also… dancefloors…. and Orlando´s hips, which are pretty sharp and sort of magnetic….
And Dom looks at Bills and mumbles something like: “Feet in 4 hours” although it comes out quite slurry and he has no fucking idea if the words are displayed in the right order or anything since he lately seem to have exhibited the slipperiness of a bar (new trick of the season - glorious but hurtful) and also at some point imbibed liquid… hah! mexican-fucking-petrolic substances which should be classified illegal for actors in general and hobbits in particular… and sadly aren´t and tomorrow everyone except Ian will suffer from involuntarily raspy voices, Dom may actually be even voiceless.. fuck.. he might even never talk again, or he could perhaps be re-casted as Gollum although it´s not really fair to Andy………… - but “Feet” is the code, the safe word of everything going on in this place with these people, no matter stages of tequilaness. It´s also the dreadful moment in which (usually not Dom) manages to read out the time on a watch somewhere. (It´s amazing how they all can forget about feet-terror sometimes and pretend to be normal people, but Dom supposes it could have something to do with the secret PJ-invented torture-technique-formula - a weapon yet unknown to mankind.)
And Billy is sort of still thinking about answering the not-really-question he thought he had going but maybe it was yesterday or maybe it was a riddle - when he wakes up in the taxi… so everything is really fucking alright and sorted out then and tomorrow everything will have a Treebeard-point-of-view and he should really have tried to get laid one last time… zzzzzzz.
And Ian chuckles in a perfectly edgy British way that is kind of affectionate and yet annoyingly superior if you really know him, but no one really does so he can get away with it because he´s a bit older and because he may appear more sober than he actually is - only because he needs to behave here, naturally. (And oh yes; he´s watching- he wouldn´t want to miss this for the world…) Wonder how long they will last? Elijah is very young and it would be a shame to not make a little statement of it right there where he is. Of course is Ian going to have a little chat with the boy tomorrow. But tonight he´s just going to be a dirty old perv.
And Liv just grabs her lost&found Gabbana-purse and pretends she didn´t-just-see and Hello Lipgloss! and then gives up and… well stares because why shouldn´t she? She will have a.little.serious.talk.with.her.fellow.elf.tomorrow. about public appearances… no.. that´s not her business… but she SO did see this coming didn´t she? Oh-my-god-yes.
Although; Hollywooding outside of Hollywood is always surprisingly uncomfortable and reminds her of possible paparazzi-attacks and this evening would be a whole box of chocolate for them; 2 actors - in a dangerously huge film production, - looking like they´re undressing each other in a sea of half-amused people, their eyes wavering between Closed Oblivious and half-open-dangerous and yes Orlando´s shirt seem to magically still hang on although it´s impossible to see where. Ah, the unfolding drama of those two can easily get out of hand (or as in Elijah´s case; pants? No! He didn´t just open…)… Ok, that´s it! They will have 10… no 5 more minutes to hump each other before she will march out there and tear them apart enough to get them out of here.
In the meantime she will enjoy the show AND be the decoy; scanning the area for even one fucking person sneaking around with a camera … What? Paparazzi´s will not know a diversion when they see one, especially not an elvish one. She can dare a scandal too if necessary; no one touches Lovebirds who just have had an epiphany. She´s got paparazzi-Xray-vision and sharp fucking heels.
She raises her glass of Pure Water in salute to Ian. Secret Agent; Tyler. - Never drinks tequila when on duty. (Pity she didn´t know that earlier.) And so, she clutches her D&G elegantly just in case, her slender fingers caressing purple frays - a drunk elven princess with some fucking style at least. Hah.
(And who the FUCK ordered tequila tonight?????)