"Legolas's Motorbike" (LOTR RPS) (VM/OB)
Title: Legolas's Motorbike
Authors: Leale
Rating: PG
Fandom: LOTR RPS, VM/OB
Summary: "Legolas would never fall off a motorbike if you know what I mean."
Feedback: Make the world go 'round.
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Author's Note: Written for the lotrpschallenge Challenge #6: Talk Shows. My lovely valour was back for the beta and for helping with the troubles at the end. *hugs* The title comes from a comment made by Orlando to Jay Leno and from the fictional book referenced in Bridget Jones's Diary, "Kafka's Motorbike". Some of the dialogue comes directly from the interview.
Disclaimer: I have never met the men mentioned in this story and I have no knowledge of their sexuality. Everything in this story has come completely from my imaginations.
Legolas's Motorbike
Viggo thinks that he is the very cliché of a hippie urban artist when he walks into the all-night diner and orders black coffee. He really prefers to do his creating surrounded by nature, or in his studio, and barring either of those places, an anonymous Taco Bell with two bean burritos masquerading as Mexican food in front of him. The last one is his secret, the very last place a squealing fangirl would expect to find the King of Men, or one of the more astute admirers would look for the deep, sensitive--and conveniently single--artist. The burritos are the best part of the disguise. Anyone with an appreciation for Mexican food would scoff at the poor corporate imitation but Viggo finds himself liking the gloppy rolls on their own merits. They're so far removed from the real thing that he can look on them as independent entities and poison himself cheerfully in the bright plastic interior of the nearest franchise.
He tells himself that he's brought his notebook and fountain pen to the diner because he wants coffee and because it's open all night long, but each reiteration is a repeat lie. He came because the diner has a television and he does not. He has no intention of purchasing a television because he does not watch the programs, and the only reason he's here tonight--the only reason he's here tonight is because he's curious. Curious. It's a good word, one that excuses many things. Many weaknesses.
"Do you want me to change the channel?" the waitress asked, too young to be working so late, he thinks, but maybe she's older than she looks.
"Doesn't matter," he says neutrally. "Whatever you want."
It was a safe gamble and seconds later, Jay Leno is cracking jokes on the screen.
Viggo writes a poem through the opening monologue.
He sips coffee and sketches hands while Nicole Kidman strides onto the screen.
He works on his shading while she chats and giggles with Jay.
He turns the page and keeps his eyes resolutely turned toward his paper as Jay announces Orlando. Despite his best efforts, his peripheral vision, or whatever vision allows him to see what's just above his line of vision, indicates that Orlando is just as wired on sugar or caffeine or more likely just Orlando-ness. His knees bend and straighten, he dodges and weaves, hugs and pecks, and for some reason Viggo's eyes refuse to ignore the way Orlando's hand skates nervously over his own thigh. He wants to reach out and still the hand as he did once, wrap his fingers around the palm and feel the pulse of blood through the wrist.
Viggo shakes his head and begins to sketch lightly with his pencil, ignoring the fact that the hands he's drawing are Orlando's. It's pretty easy to ignore when his eyes have forgotten the paper.
Orlando's talking about a play in Canterbury, his first, and the word 'monkey' catches Viggo's attention. He glances up, full head movement this time, to see how Orlando's going to explain this one without the benefit of four-letter words.
"I was only four," Orlando insists from the screen, "and I'll never forget it, I think it sort of lives with me ever since, I've been like, really paranoid about making the same mistake but I am…I itched my, my bum on stage, because it was like, I had this terrible itch and of course the audience went mad with laughter but I was a monkey and that's what monkeys do--"
Method actor from the first, Viggo thought with a shake of his head and a fond smile as he ducked back down to his pad. He couldn't help but hear every word of Orlando's story of moving to London--leaving out the really interesting parts--and can't help but glance up again when Orlando, in his imitation of an ape, knocked against his microphone. His eyes drink in Orlando's bright smile and awkward movements.
Jay demands that Orlando demonstrate his lizard imitation and Viggo has to watch that, watch the quick flick of Orlando's tongue and the dodge of his head that's impressive but fails to be really predatory, especially with the screams of the audience in the background. The story of Orlando having to stay still for just hours is also falling short, as Viggo has borne witness to both Orlando's inability to sit still and his penchant for exaggeration. Still, he wonders if the lizard exercise--a story he hasn't heard before--can be credited for the uncanny air of calm Orlando created as Legolas. He glances up at the screen and realizes the lizard story is long past. They segue into the story of Orlando's back injury and Viggo closes his ears against that. The story still twists his heart in a way he would never admit.
He glances up again as Orlando rolls his eyes and says, "Not very elflike. Legolas would never fall off a motorbike if you know what I mean."
Orlando's still talking but Viggo finds himself suddenly tired. His hands shake slightly from his grip on the pencil and the uncharacteristic influx of late-night caffeine. He glances down at his work and sees Orlando's hands running along invisible jeans, Orlando's eyes laughing in graphite and Orlando's curls tumbling over the whole of it. The interview has moved on to the film and the scene at the Paths of the Dead but Viggo's mind still rings with that one silly comment. Legolas would never fall of a motorbike. Like so many other things Orlando has said, things that always feature the word never. And things Orlando has never had to say.
Authors: Leale
Rating: PG
Fandom: LOTR RPS, VM/OB
Summary: "Legolas would never fall off a motorbike if you know what I mean."
Feedback: Make the world go 'round.
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Author's Note: Written for the lotrpschallenge Challenge #6: Talk Shows. My lovely valour was back for the beta and for helping with the troubles at the end. *hugs* The title comes from a comment made by Orlando to Jay Leno and from the fictional book referenced in Bridget Jones's Diary, "Kafka's Motorbike". Some of the dialogue comes directly from the interview.
Disclaimer: I have never met the men mentioned in this story and I have no knowledge of their sexuality. Everything in this story has come completely from my imaginations.
Legolas's Motorbike
Viggo thinks that he is the very cliché of a hippie urban artist when he walks into the all-night diner and orders black coffee. He really prefers to do his creating surrounded by nature, or in his studio, and barring either of those places, an anonymous Taco Bell with two bean burritos masquerading as Mexican food in front of him. The last one is his secret, the very last place a squealing fangirl would expect to find the King of Men, or one of the more astute admirers would look for the deep, sensitive--and conveniently single--artist. The burritos are the best part of the disguise. Anyone with an appreciation for Mexican food would scoff at the poor corporate imitation but Viggo finds himself liking the gloppy rolls on their own merits. They're so far removed from the real thing that he can look on them as independent entities and poison himself cheerfully in the bright plastic interior of the nearest franchise.
He tells himself that he's brought his notebook and fountain pen to the diner because he wants coffee and because it's open all night long, but each reiteration is a repeat lie. He came because the diner has a television and he does not. He has no intention of purchasing a television because he does not watch the programs, and the only reason he's here tonight--the only reason he's here tonight is because he's curious. Curious. It's a good word, one that excuses many things. Many weaknesses.
"Do you want me to change the channel?" the waitress asked, too young to be working so late, he thinks, but maybe she's older than she looks.
"Doesn't matter," he says neutrally. "Whatever you want."
It was a safe gamble and seconds later, Jay Leno is cracking jokes on the screen.
Viggo writes a poem through the opening monologue.
He sips coffee and sketches hands while Nicole Kidman strides onto the screen.
He works on his shading while she chats and giggles with Jay.
He turns the page and keeps his eyes resolutely turned toward his paper as Jay announces Orlando. Despite his best efforts, his peripheral vision, or whatever vision allows him to see what's just above his line of vision, indicates that Orlando is just as wired on sugar or caffeine or more likely just Orlando-ness. His knees bend and straighten, he dodges and weaves, hugs and pecks, and for some reason Viggo's eyes refuse to ignore the way Orlando's hand skates nervously over his own thigh. He wants to reach out and still the hand as he did once, wrap his fingers around the palm and feel the pulse of blood through the wrist.
Viggo shakes his head and begins to sketch lightly with his pencil, ignoring the fact that the hands he's drawing are Orlando's. It's pretty easy to ignore when his eyes have forgotten the paper.
Orlando's talking about a play in Canterbury, his first, and the word 'monkey' catches Viggo's attention. He glances up, full head movement this time, to see how Orlando's going to explain this one without the benefit of four-letter words.
"I was only four," Orlando insists from the screen, "and I'll never forget it, I think it sort of lives with me ever since, I've been like, really paranoid about making the same mistake but I am…I itched my, my bum on stage, because it was like, I had this terrible itch and of course the audience went mad with laughter but I was a monkey and that's what monkeys do--"
Method actor from the first, Viggo thought with a shake of his head and a fond smile as he ducked back down to his pad. He couldn't help but hear every word of Orlando's story of moving to London--leaving out the really interesting parts--and can't help but glance up again when Orlando, in his imitation of an ape, knocked against his microphone. His eyes drink in Orlando's bright smile and awkward movements.
Jay demands that Orlando demonstrate his lizard imitation and Viggo has to watch that, watch the quick flick of Orlando's tongue and the dodge of his head that's impressive but fails to be really predatory, especially with the screams of the audience in the background. The story of Orlando having to stay still for just hours is also falling short, as Viggo has borne witness to both Orlando's inability to sit still and his penchant for exaggeration. Still, he wonders if the lizard exercise--a story he hasn't heard before--can be credited for the uncanny air of calm Orlando created as Legolas. He glances up at the screen and realizes the lizard story is long past. They segue into the story of Orlando's back injury and Viggo closes his ears against that. The story still twists his heart in a way he would never admit.
He glances up again as Orlando rolls his eyes and says, "Not very elflike. Legolas would never fall off a motorbike if you know what I mean."
Orlando's still talking but Viggo finds himself suddenly tired. His hands shake slightly from his grip on the pencil and the uncharacteristic influx of late-night caffeine. He glances down at his work and sees Orlando's hands running along invisible jeans, Orlando's eyes laughing in graphite and Orlando's curls tumbling over the whole of it. The interview has moved on to the film and the scene at the Paths of the Dead but Viggo's mind still rings with that one silly comment. Legolas would never fall of a motorbike. Like so many other things Orlando has said, things that always feature the word never. And things Orlando has never had to say.