The little AU: autumn dreams: late nights and early mornings
The little AU: autumn dreams: late nights and early mornings
slashfairy
~~
The lawsuits over Black Water Transit go on and on and on. Karl finally lets it fall off his radar- if it ever comes out, grand. If not, it was interesting, something to learn from. Nothing worth holding on to- that's what agents and lawyers are for. He has more important things to do than fret.
The distribution deals for The Road go off; public support changes things in some areas, but not in others, and what should be being seen by many, to give them hope, is seen by few, because of fear. Viggo can't help coming back to it, picking at it like a loose thread in a knit sweater, sometimes trying to poke it back into place and sometimes pulling at it to see what else will happen. He knows it's "just business" but it pisses him off, and the rare night he can just sit and read and stay within himself is a gift.
Orlando sits at the kitchen counter, sorting through bowls of beads bought here and there: Nepal, Brazil, South Africa, Morocco. He lays them out in lines of 108, making patterns, grading colours. He'll sort them into bags to be strung in odd moments when walking around on set won't work; he knows the next few movies aren't anything to brag about, not Disney block-busters or mythological wonders, but he figures they're about what he WOULD be getting if he'd had the career he'd expected, and he doesn't pay any mind to comments here and there (which his mother really should learn not to forward to him) that whoever's choosing his movies for him is doing a crappy job. It's work, it's roles to learn from- no worse than pony-tailed Vaako or Leatherface.
Karl leans over the counter looking at the lines of beads. Semi-precious stones, some of them, and hand-rolled paper, others. A long string of greens and greys, for him, with a bright royal blue as the spacers. Blues and reds for Viggo, with rich brown cat's-eyes for spacers. And yellow and black for Orlando, with red-green variegated stones for spacers: one at 21 going forward, one at 54, and one at 21 coming back, for marking where one is in one's prayers, for marking where one is in one's thoughts.
"Why these beads?" he asks Orlando.
"Why not these beads?" Orlando replies, smiling up at him.
Viggo looks up from his reading for just a moment. This stolen evening, strung on the long mala of their peculiar prayer of love- no knowing what colour it would be from the outside, but from in here, he knows it's the colour of safe.
Tomorrow will come early; bleary eyes and tousled hair and untucked shirts will be the order of the morning as each one scrambles back to where he's expected to be. But tonight is a fire in the fireplace, books and beads, and quiet, and it will go on as late as possible, a last autumn night before winter comes.
slashfairy
~~
The lawsuits over Black Water Transit go on and on and on. Karl finally lets it fall off his radar- if it ever comes out, grand. If not, it was interesting, something to learn from. Nothing worth holding on to- that's what agents and lawyers are for. He has more important things to do than fret.
The distribution deals for The Road go off; public support changes things in some areas, but not in others, and what should be being seen by many, to give them hope, is seen by few, because of fear. Viggo can't help coming back to it, picking at it like a loose thread in a knit sweater, sometimes trying to poke it back into place and sometimes pulling at it to see what else will happen. He knows it's "just business" but it pisses him off, and the rare night he can just sit and read and stay within himself is a gift.
Orlando sits at the kitchen counter, sorting through bowls of beads bought here and there: Nepal, Brazil, South Africa, Morocco. He lays them out in lines of 108, making patterns, grading colours. He'll sort them into bags to be strung in odd moments when walking around on set won't work; he knows the next few movies aren't anything to brag about, not Disney block-busters or mythological wonders, but he figures they're about what he WOULD be getting if he'd had the career he'd expected, and he doesn't pay any mind to comments here and there (which his mother really should learn not to forward to him) that whoever's choosing his movies for him is doing a crappy job. It's work, it's roles to learn from- no worse than pony-tailed Vaako or Leatherface.
Karl leans over the counter looking at the lines of beads. Semi-precious stones, some of them, and hand-rolled paper, others. A long string of greens and greys, for him, with a bright royal blue as the spacers. Blues and reds for Viggo, with rich brown cat's-eyes for spacers. And yellow and black for Orlando, with red-green variegated stones for spacers: one at 21 going forward, one at 54, and one at 21 coming back, for marking where one is in one's prayers, for marking where one is in one's thoughts.
"Why these beads?" he asks Orlando.
"Why not these beads?" Orlando replies, smiling up at him.
Viggo looks up from his reading for just a moment. This stolen evening, strung on the long mala of their peculiar prayer of love- no knowing what colour it would be from the outside, but from in here, he knows it's the colour of safe.
Tomorrow will come early; bleary eyes and tousled hair and untucked shirts will be the order of the morning as each one scrambles back to where he's expected to be. But tonight is a fire in the fireplace, books and beads, and quiet, and it will go on as late as possible, a last autumn night before winter comes.