FIC: TLC (2/?)
Title: TLC
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,621 chapter; 5,229 total
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: AU. "Life is never long enough, so seize the happiness and hang on for the ride." Orlando never made LOTR and thus never became an in-demand actor. Instead he's languishing at the bottom rung and feeling like shit. But he's had a good past and has good friends. Maybe he'll land that role that'll make his career or maybe he won't. Still he knows that this life... is short and worth living.
Previous Chapters: here
- 1990 -
Watching someone touching his art was both nerve-wracking and thrilling. Viggo’s hands were full of gentle reverence as his fingers smoothed over the uneven surface of the distorted form. To him it was a face of anguish, a spiraling of desperation. Twisted and malformed, and different in another’s perspective.
“Your art is good,” Viggo remarked, lifting his eyes from the sculpture. “Such curves and texture, but have you thought of color?”
“I like the earthen, gray and red-brown, look.”
“Not shiny, eh?”
Orlando nodded. “Most glazes give it a sheen I don’t like.”
“Not all,” Viggo responded. “I’ve got this green that goes on like bright liquid, but comes out like an ancient artifact.”
“Maybe I’ll use it next time…”
“You should. It’d be a nice contrast to the unglazed parts. You could use it for emphasis or in reverse.” His hand stilled at the end where a huge lump formed in a concaved, crushed circle. “Miscarriage?”
Orlando’s face went white. “What?”
Viggo gestured at the sculpture’s top, a shapeless oval with two tears, down to the bottom base. “It’s a miscarriage, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
- 2005 -
“You owe me a drink when I see you next,” Sean remarked. “Should be soon. Filming’s wrapping up.”
“You ought to buy me one!” Orlando protested. “I’m the one that’s bloody poor.”
“Somehow I don’t think this Mendes gig is going to leave you poor for long. He’s a fairly big budget director for the sort of films he does.”
Orlando grinned. His agent, Robin, had already called him up with enthusiastic congratulations. He actually owed a big thanks to her. She’d always believed in him like Sean and Viggo, but she was one who’d been with him the entire way. Finally, they were getting somewhere!
“So says the man who has two films in post-production and a big action movie coming this summer…” Orlando drawled. “You Northerner cheap arse.”
“Southern pansy.”
“Uh…” Orlando fumbled. He really wasn’t very good at insulting the few friends he had. It was something that… he didn’t want to be good at. “I suppose.”
Sean, ever the wise man, roughly switched gears and asked, “So how’re you?”
“Great, wonderful, why wouldn’t I be? I’ve landed my first lead role!”
“You looked like shit the last time I saw you, Orli,” Sean responded. “You keeping your promise to take care of yourself?”
Orlando ran a hand through his messy curls. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“If you aren’t, you’ll never hear the end of it from Viggo.”
Just hearing his name made Orlando’s smile. “So you’ve heard from him?”
“I doubt it’s any more recently than you,” Sean remarked. “You know how he is when he’s on set. He must get into the character… he must become the character… and all that shit. Of course, it’s worse when he’s in the middle of a painting.”
Orlando’s smile broke into a full-fledge grin. “He has the worst glare when he’s interrupted.”
“Not that it’s ever directed at you.”
Even though Sean couldn’t see, Orlando still rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why you think Viggo’s nicer to me than… to others.”
“Because he bloody well is!”
“Right…”
“Viggo has this soft spot for you,” Sean muttered in mock disgust. “I remember when he was talking about your art before I met you. It was Orlando this, Orlando that… it was nauseating.”
“Hey!” Orlando protested.
“And then I meet you and it’s Viggo this, Viggo that,” Sean continued with an aggrieved tone. “But at least you didn’t launch into it right away.”
Orlando grimaced a bit, knowing very well what Sean was referring to. “You’re never going to let me forget that moment, are you?”
“You should have seen Viggo’s face!” Sean exclaimed. “Absolutely bloody priceless.”
“So…” Orlando remarked, “how have you been?”
- 1995 -
Like every typical summer day, Orlando headed over to Viggo’s house. He pulled the spare keys that he’d been entrusted with for over five years and let himself in. What he hadn’t been expecting was for someone to already be inside. His stomach flipped over and the muscles across his shoulders tensed. Unfortunately he didn’t see anything to grab… where was a bloody umbrella when you needed one?
“Viggo, I thought you said-” the intruder, no, stranger said.
“Oh my god!” Orlando exclaimed when he saw who it was. “Oh my god…”
“Uh…”
“You’re Richard Sharpe!”
“Erm… yeah,” said Orlando’s favorite telly actor. “That would be a character I play.”
Orlando blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “You’re really Sean Bean?”
“It would appear so,” Sean remarked, rubbing his slightly scruffy face. He looked a bit different from Richard Sharpe, but overall there was more than enough of a resemblance that it was impossible for Orlando not to recognize who it was. “I take it you’re Orlando?”
“You know my name?” Orlando almost squeaked.
“Viggo’s mentioned you a few times. Told me to watch out for the kid that’d be hanging around the place sculpting,” Sean said. “Told me not to bother you or your art.”
“Oh, well… if you don’t mind that is. I’ll work on some of my sculptures, and I won’t bother you at all! Pretty silent, sculpting.”
“As long as you don’t threaten to plaster me with clay as Viggo does with paint when I inadvertently made the ‘atmosphere’ bad, we’re good,” Sean said. “I won’t be around long. Just popped down to see if Viggo was around, but I guess he’s not.”
“He probably has an art show or something,” Orlando responded. “He has a lot of those.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Actually, he’s away on set filming.”
“What?” Orlando asked with a very discernible squeak. “He’s an actor, too?!”
“Oh this is just bloody priceless,” Sean said with a huge grin. “You recognize me, but you haven’t heard of him. But I told him Leatherface: Texas Chainsaw Massacre III was the sink point of his career. Then again, a paycheck’s a paycheck.”
“He never told me that.” Orlando was slightly taken back that he hadn’t known this. After all, he thought he knew Viggo fairly well. He might be young enough to be hiss son (if Viggo had decided to have unprotected sex when he was a young scruff), but he still thought they were friends. And friends ought to know at least what their friends did for a living…
“Well, it’s not exactly his life’s calling,” Sean replied. “He’s more into the art this, art that thing. But he does having the acting bug occasionally and when he’s got a good script, he’s excellent.”
Orlando nodded and smiled vaguely. “He’s very passionate about his art, and it’s only logical he would be about acting too. He probably throws himself into the role.”
“Hmm… you know Viggo quite well, don’t you?”
Orlando shrugged. “I suppose.”
- 2005 -
Viggo was in an itty-bitty spot of Idaho where his horses and ranch were, taking a much needed respite from filming to just infuse himself in his art. Orlando knew this because Viggo had invited him out there six months before, suggesting a break from trying to get that breakthrough role. Of course, it was easy for him to say. Being Aragorn had put him in top demand. Scripts were coming in from everywhere and Viggo could decline them. Orlando wished some day he’d get that option.
To get there, he had to work and slave. He knew it was hard. It’d taken Viggo years to get established. But at least Viggo hadn’t been typecast like he was. Because he was a pretty boy, he had to be in this certain type of role. Something about his kind of look not suited for a particular part. Orlando gritted his teeth at the thought, but then relaxed and let it go.
Mendes had given him a chance and he was flying out tomorrow to the set. It would be great. He was going to succeed. He would bury himself into the character like Viggo and Sean had always told himself to do when he got a good meaty role. And god had he ever…
But first he ought to call Viggo and tell him the good news. He knew Viggo didn’t like to be disturbed in the midst of his art, and yet this was a special situation. It should be fine, right?
Bloody fuck, Sean better be right about Viggo having a soft spot for him.
Orlando dialed the number before he lost nerve. After listening as it rang four times while he breathed faster with each subsequent ring, Viggo finally picked up the line and said gruffly, “This better be an emergency.”
“Viggo, it’s Orli-”
“What’s wrong?” Viggo asked. “Should I fly out? I can be there in a few days… oh fuck, I can probably get my agent to route something sooner. I knew you should have come to Idaho with me-”
“I’m fine!” Orlando exclaimed a bit breathless. “It’s not that I’m sick or been in an accident or anything.”
“Then why did you call?” Viggo said rather sharply. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m taking a retreat.”
“I… uh…” Only Viggo could still make him feel like he was a schoolyard boy, even his mum didn’t have that ability. Orlando wished it would just drown. He didn’t want that mentor-student relationship anymore. He wanted to be equals. “I got a part.”
“A part?” Viggo said with a softer edge. “In what? What film?”
“Narcissus.”
“Directed by who?”
“Sam Mendes.”
“Hmmm… haven’t worked with him personally, but I’ve heard he’s good. Demanding though,” Viggo remarked. “But it’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?”
Since he couldn’t be a sculptor, yes. But even if he could have been, Orlando didn’t know if he could just choose one and give the other up. It wasn’t like he’d forsaken his art… it was still there for whenever he wanted to pick it back up.
“Orli?”
“Sorry, what?” Orlando asked, a tad flustered.
“I asked you about the role.”
“Oh, I’m a shit-faced heroin addict and some other fuck drugs.” Orlando sprawled onto his back and rubbed his cheek against his worn but soft pillow. “Gay as gay can be, though not a queen.”
“Not exactly a role you can study,” Viggo said, “but I’m sure you’ll pull it off.”
“Of course, I’m such a bloody brilliant actor that’s the reason I can’t find anything but bit roles,” Orlando retorted with such bitterness that it even stung his ears to hear. He winced, wondering if Viggo was going to dribble some wisdom about life’s difficulties and how things didn’t always come easily.
“Orlando…”
“Look I didn’t call for a lecture. I called to let you know I got a role and I’m flying out tomorrow and if you want to ring me when you’re off your retreat, ask Robin, all right? She’ll know how to reach me.”
“Orlando-”
God, why couldn’t Viggo see him as someone other than a child that needed constant advice? “I really need to catch some sleep before my flight at dawn’s hell. Ring me when you’re back, please? Bye…”
And that was the end of that.
Or so he thought when the phone started ringing. His hand hesitated over the receiving before picking it up. It couldn’t be Viggo. Viggo made it a policy never to call people when he was in his artistic atmosphere, said it ruined the mood.
“Hello?” Orlando said.
“You know it’s quite rude to hang up on someone,” Viggo chided.
“Viggo?”
“Yes,” he said with slight exasperation. “Now may I ask how you are before I hear the dial tone?”
“Oh…” Orlando flushed a dark red. “I’m fine.”
”So you look better than the last time I saw you?”
Orlando rolled his eyes. “You and Sean are a pair.”
“We’re simply concern about you.”
“I’m not a child… actually I was never a child when I knew you.”
“Oh?” Orlando could just imagine with striking clarity, Viggo raising an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think being thirteen qualifies you as being an adult.”
“Certainly not a child.”
Viggo sighed. “Will you just tell me if you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Orlando muttered. “I did say that earlier, if you were paying attention.” He winced at the sharpness of his voice and before Viggo might say anything, he said, “The question is: how are you?”
“The art is going well enough, though not as well as I would like,” Viggo remarked and Orlando smiled. So typical of Viggo… to talk about how his art was when the question had been about him. That was Viggo for you.
- 2000 -
It’d been a month since he’d arrived in LA, a month of living and snitching off of the ever generous Viggo. Orlando sneered at himself in the mirror with disgust. He ought to be doing something, rather than flitting around the flat waiting for the bloody phone to ring with a callback.
Orlando slumped on the bed, not really knowing what to do. It wasn’t like he had a car or anything. He didn’t even have any American dollars to get a cab and try to go out and look for work. He was stuck in Viggo’s flat until Viggo decided to come home. Orlando gritted his teeth and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.
He fumbled around for a lighter and sighed when he finally lit up. He took a long drag and savored the taste before exhaling. Somehow he hadn’t thought when he’d come here on the whim of a dream, that he’d be lying in bed on a Wednesday afternoon smoking like a bum wreck.
Oh, what pleasant surprises life had-all he needed now was some drugs and he’d really be low. Orlando shook his head, knowing full well that while Viggo didn’t mind the smoking (how could he when he smoked like a chimney?), drugs of any addictive variety were off limits. Too destructive, too dangerous. Orlando knew firsthand. A mate of his had ended up in the hospital for overdosing and such a plain lesson struck a hard nerve. No, the smoke and nicotine was enough for his fix. All he needed for completion was a role. A character. A goddamn film.
- 2005 -
Flying made Sean antsy, but Orlando savored the sensation. One of these days, when he had the money, he’d like to jump off a plane and for one long moment-know how it felt to fly through the air. Orlando smiled wistfully as he glanced out the small window, stretching his legs and mentally thanking Mendes for getting his business class.
Sure he wasn’t as tall as some blokes, but the cheapie seats would have been unpleasant for anyone and it wasn’t like his legs were short. It didn’t hurt either that he’d gotten the window seat, though he could have done without the whining brat and screeching mother behind him. At least the girl to his left was quiet, even if she did sneak what she thought were sly glances.
Orlando sighed and drank in the sight of houses turned into ants and the invisible people he knew were walking about. He ought to be thumbing through the script, memorizing some lines, but he could do that when he got to the hotel tonight. Reading was a bit of a difficulty and having a thousand feet of distraction was not conducive to his focus.
He leaned against the window side and continued gazing out at the clear blue sky. Really, how often did he get to fly?
Not often enough.
TBC
A/N: *hums* Favorite lines/moments? My muse tends to sleep when she's not encouraged.
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,621 chapter; 5,229 total
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: AU. "Life is never long enough, so seize the happiness and hang on for the ride." Orlando never made LOTR and thus never became an in-demand actor. Instead he's languishing at the bottom rung and feeling like shit. But he's had a good past and has good friends. Maybe he'll land that role that'll make his career or maybe he won't. Still he knows that this life... is short and worth living.
Previous Chapters: here
- 1990 -
Watching someone touching his art was both nerve-wracking and thrilling. Viggo’s hands were full of gentle reverence as his fingers smoothed over the uneven surface of the distorted form. To him it was a face of anguish, a spiraling of desperation. Twisted and malformed, and different in another’s perspective.
“Your art is good,” Viggo remarked, lifting his eyes from the sculpture. “Such curves and texture, but have you thought of color?”
“I like the earthen, gray and red-brown, look.”
“Not shiny, eh?”
Orlando nodded. “Most glazes give it a sheen I don’t like.”
“Not all,” Viggo responded. “I’ve got this green that goes on like bright liquid, but comes out like an ancient artifact.”
“Maybe I’ll use it next time…”
“You should. It’d be a nice contrast to the unglazed parts. You could use it for emphasis or in reverse.” His hand stilled at the end where a huge lump formed in a concaved, crushed circle. “Miscarriage?”
Orlando’s face went white. “What?”
Viggo gestured at the sculpture’s top, a shapeless oval with two tears, down to the bottom base. “It’s a miscarriage, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
- 2005 -
“You owe me a drink when I see you next,” Sean remarked. “Should be soon. Filming’s wrapping up.”
“You ought to buy me one!” Orlando protested. “I’m the one that’s bloody poor.”
“Somehow I don’t think this Mendes gig is going to leave you poor for long. He’s a fairly big budget director for the sort of films he does.”
Orlando grinned. His agent, Robin, had already called him up with enthusiastic congratulations. He actually owed a big thanks to her. She’d always believed in him like Sean and Viggo, but she was one who’d been with him the entire way. Finally, they were getting somewhere!
“So says the man who has two films in post-production and a big action movie coming this summer…” Orlando drawled. “You Northerner cheap arse.”
“Southern pansy.”
“Uh…” Orlando fumbled. He really wasn’t very good at insulting the few friends he had. It was something that… he didn’t want to be good at. “I suppose.”
Sean, ever the wise man, roughly switched gears and asked, “So how’re you?”
“Great, wonderful, why wouldn’t I be? I’ve landed my first lead role!”
“You looked like shit the last time I saw you, Orli,” Sean responded. “You keeping your promise to take care of yourself?”
Orlando ran a hand through his messy curls. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“If you aren’t, you’ll never hear the end of it from Viggo.”
Just hearing his name made Orlando’s smile. “So you’ve heard from him?”
“I doubt it’s any more recently than you,” Sean remarked. “You know how he is when he’s on set. He must get into the character… he must become the character… and all that shit. Of course, it’s worse when he’s in the middle of a painting.”
Orlando’s smile broke into a full-fledge grin. “He has the worst glare when he’s interrupted.”
“Not that it’s ever directed at you.”
Even though Sean couldn’t see, Orlando still rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why you think Viggo’s nicer to me than… to others.”
“Because he bloody well is!”
“Right…”
“Viggo has this soft spot for you,” Sean muttered in mock disgust. “I remember when he was talking about your art before I met you. It was Orlando this, Orlando that… it was nauseating.”
“Hey!” Orlando protested.
“And then I meet you and it’s Viggo this, Viggo that,” Sean continued with an aggrieved tone. “But at least you didn’t launch into it right away.”
Orlando grimaced a bit, knowing very well what Sean was referring to. “You’re never going to let me forget that moment, are you?”
“You should have seen Viggo’s face!” Sean exclaimed. “Absolutely bloody priceless.”
“So…” Orlando remarked, “how have you been?”
- 1995 -
Like every typical summer day, Orlando headed over to Viggo’s house. He pulled the spare keys that he’d been entrusted with for over five years and let himself in. What he hadn’t been expecting was for someone to already be inside. His stomach flipped over and the muscles across his shoulders tensed. Unfortunately he didn’t see anything to grab… where was a bloody umbrella when you needed one?
“Viggo, I thought you said-” the intruder, no, stranger said.
“Oh my god!” Orlando exclaimed when he saw who it was. “Oh my god…”
“Uh…”
“You’re Richard Sharpe!”
“Erm… yeah,” said Orlando’s favorite telly actor. “That would be a character I play.”
Orlando blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “You’re really Sean Bean?”
“It would appear so,” Sean remarked, rubbing his slightly scruffy face. He looked a bit different from Richard Sharpe, but overall there was more than enough of a resemblance that it was impossible for Orlando not to recognize who it was. “I take it you’re Orlando?”
“You know my name?” Orlando almost squeaked.
“Viggo’s mentioned you a few times. Told me to watch out for the kid that’d be hanging around the place sculpting,” Sean said. “Told me not to bother you or your art.”
“Oh, well… if you don’t mind that is. I’ll work on some of my sculptures, and I won’t bother you at all! Pretty silent, sculpting.”
“As long as you don’t threaten to plaster me with clay as Viggo does with paint when I inadvertently made the ‘atmosphere’ bad, we’re good,” Sean said. “I won’t be around long. Just popped down to see if Viggo was around, but I guess he’s not.”
“He probably has an art show or something,” Orlando responded. “He has a lot of those.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Actually, he’s away on set filming.”
“What?” Orlando asked with a very discernible squeak. “He’s an actor, too?!”
“Oh this is just bloody priceless,” Sean said with a huge grin. “You recognize me, but you haven’t heard of him. But I told him Leatherface: Texas Chainsaw Massacre III was the sink point of his career. Then again, a paycheck’s a paycheck.”
“He never told me that.” Orlando was slightly taken back that he hadn’t known this. After all, he thought he knew Viggo fairly well. He might be young enough to be hiss son (if Viggo had decided to have unprotected sex when he was a young scruff), but he still thought they were friends. And friends ought to know at least what their friends did for a living…
“Well, it’s not exactly his life’s calling,” Sean replied. “He’s more into the art this, art that thing. But he does having the acting bug occasionally and when he’s got a good script, he’s excellent.”
Orlando nodded and smiled vaguely. “He’s very passionate about his art, and it’s only logical he would be about acting too. He probably throws himself into the role.”
“Hmm… you know Viggo quite well, don’t you?”
Orlando shrugged. “I suppose.”
- 2005 -
Viggo was in an itty-bitty spot of Idaho where his horses and ranch were, taking a much needed respite from filming to just infuse himself in his art. Orlando knew this because Viggo had invited him out there six months before, suggesting a break from trying to get that breakthrough role. Of course, it was easy for him to say. Being Aragorn had put him in top demand. Scripts were coming in from everywhere and Viggo could decline them. Orlando wished some day he’d get that option.
To get there, he had to work and slave. He knew it was hard. It’d taken Viggo years to get established. But at least Viggo hadn’t been typecast like he was. Because he was a pretty boy, he had to be in this certain type of role. Something about his kind of look not suited for a particular part. Orlando gritted his teeth at the thought, but then relaxed and let it go.
Mendes had given him a chance and he was flying out tomorrow to the set. It would be great. He was going to succeed. He would bury himself into the character like Viggo and Sean had always told himself to do when he got a good meaty role. And god had he ever…
But first he ought to call Viggo and tell him the good news. He knew Viggo didn’t like to be disturbed in the midst of his art, and yet this was a special situation. It should be fine, right?
Bloody fuck, Sean better be right about Viggo having a soft spot for him.
Orlando dialed the number before he lost nerve. After listening as it rang four times while he breathed faster with each subsequent ring, Viggo finally picked up the line and said gruffly, “This better be an emergency.”
“Viggo, it’s Orli-”
“What’s wrong?” Viggo asked. “Should I fly out? I can be there in a few days… oh fuck, I can probably get my agent to route something sooner. I knew you should have come to Idaho with me-”
“I’m fine!” Orlando exclaimed a bit breathless. “It’s not that I’m sick or been in an accident or anything.”
“Then why did you call?” Viggo said rather sharply. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m taking a retreat.”
“I… uh…” Only Viggo could still make him feel like he was a schoolyard boy, even his mum didn’t have that ability. Orlando wished it would just drown. He didn’t want that mentor-student relationship anymore. He wanted to be equals. “I got a part.”
“A part?” Viggo said with a softer edge. “In what? What film?”
“Narcissus.”
“Directed by who?”
“Sam Mendes.”
“Hmmm… haven’t worked with him personally, but I’ve heard he’s good. Demanding though,” Viggo remarked. “But it’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?”
Since he couldn’t be a sculptor, yes. But even if he could have been, Orlando didn’t know if he could just choose one and give the other up. It wasn’t like he’d forsaken his art… it was still there for whenever he wanted to pick it back up.
“Orli?”
“Sorry, what?” Orlando asked, a tad flustered.
“I asked you about the role.”
“Oh, I’m a shit-faced heroin addict and some other fuck drugs.” Orlando sprawled onto his back and rubbed his cheek against his worn but soft pillow. “Gay as gay can be, though not a queen.”
“Not exactly a role you can study,” Viggo said, “but I’m sure you’ll pull it off.”
“Of course, I’m such a bloody brilliant actor that’s the reason I can’t find anything but bit roles,” Orlando retorted with such bitterness that it even stung his ears to hear. He winced, wondering if Viggo was going to dribble some wisdom about life’s difficulties and how things didn’t always come easily.
“Orlando…”
“Look I didn’t call for a lecture. I called to let you know I got a role and I’m flying out tomorrow and if you want to ring me when you’re off your retreat, ask Robin, all right? She’ll know how to reach me.”
“Orlando-”
God, why couldn’t Viggo see him as someone other than a child that needed constant advice? “I really need to catch some sleep before my flight at dawn’s hell. Ring me when you’re back, please? Bye…”
And that was the end of that.
Or so he thought when the phone started ringing. His hand hesitated over the receiving before picking it up. It couldn’t be Viggo. Viggo made it a policy never to call people when he was in his artistic atmosphere, said it ruined the mood.
“Hello?” Orlando said.
“You know it’s quite rude to hang up on someone,” Viggo chided.
“Viggo?”
“Yes,” he said with slight exasperation. “Now may I ask how you are before I hear the dial tone?”
“Oh…” Orlando flushed a dark red. “I’m fine.”
”So you look better than the last time I saw you?”
Orlando rolled his eyes. “You and Sean are a pair.”
“We’re simply concern about you.”
“I’m not a child… actually I was never a child when I knew you.”
“Oh?” Orlando could just imagine with striking clarity, Viggo raising an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think being thirteen qualifies you as being an adult.”
“Certainly not a child.”
Viggo sighed. “Will you just tell me if you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Orlando muttered. “I did say that earlier, if you were paying attention.” He winced at the sharpness of his voice and before Viggo might say anything, he said, “The question is: how are you?”
“The art is going well enough, though not as well as I would like,” Viggo remarked and Orlando smiled. So typical of Viggo… to talk about how his art was when the question had been about him. That was Viggo for you.
- 2000 -
It’d been a month since he’d arrived in LA, a month of living and snitching off of the ever generous Viggo. Orlando sneered at himself in the mirror with disgust. He ought to be doing something, rather than flitting around the flat waiting for the bloody phone to ring with a callback.
Orlando slumped on the bed, not really knowing what to do. It wasn’t like he had a car or anything. He didn’t even have any American dollars to get a cab and try to go out and look for work. He was stuck in Viggo’s flat until Viggo decided to come home. Orlando gritted his teeth and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.
He fumbled around for a lighter and sighed when he finally lit up. He took a long drag and savored the taste before exhaling. Somehow he hadn’t thought when he’d come here on the whim of a dream, that he’d be lying in bed on a Wednesday afternoon smoking like a bum wreck.
Oh, what pleasant surprises life had-all he needed now was some drugs and he’d really be low. Orlando shook his head, knowing full well that while Viggo didn’t mind the smoking (how could he when he smoked like a chimney?), drugs of any addictive variety were off limits. Too destructive, too dangerous. Orlando knew firsthand. A mate of his had ended up in the hospital for overdosing and such a plain lesson struck a hard nerve. No, the smoke and nicotine was enough for his fix. All he needed for completion was a role. A character. A goddamn film.
- 2005 -
Flying made Sean antsy, but Orlando savored the sensation. One of these days, when he had the money, he’d like to jump off a plane and for one long moment-know how it felt to fly through the air. Orlando smiled wistfully as he glanced out the small window, stretching his legs and mentally thanking Mendes for getting his business class.
Sure he wasn’t as tall as some blokes, but the cheapie seats would have been unpleasant for anyone and it wasn’t like his legs were short. It didn’t hurt either that he’d gotten the window seat, though he could have done without the whining brat and screeching mother behind him. At least the girl to his left was quiet, even if she did sneak what she thought were sly glances.
Orlando sighed and drank in the sight of houses turned into ants and the invisible people he knew were walking about. He ought to be thumbing through the script, memorizing some lines, but he could do that when he got to the hotel tonight. Reading was a bit of a difficulty and having a thousand feet of distraction was not conducive to his focus.
He leaned against the window side and continued gazing out at the clear blue sky. Really, how often did he get to fly?
Not often enough.
TBC
A/N: *hums* Favorite lines/moments? My muse tends to sleep when she's not encouraged.