Primavera: June days: Viggo
The little AU: Primavera: June Days: Viggo
slashfairy
~~
It's another year apart on Karl's birthday, by choice, but still. Viggo's looking forward to the last of his projects, tentatively sometime in 2008, and being able to put the 'little' things first for a change- being there on each other's birthdays being one of them.
He's walking along the tide-line on a grey day, not cold, but not sunny, the dogs running further up the 'no-leash' part of the beach. Not thinking of anything in particular, just walking, when he spots a shell with a hole worn in it from its travels across the water, up and down the shore. He picks it up, blows a bit of dust off it, and, smiling, drops it in his pocket.
The walk back up the beach is less eventful, but later, after he and the dogs have gone downtown to get the mail and pick up a few supplies, he's walking up the street to the truck and finds a long black cord very like the ones their hei mataus are strung on, just lying on the sidewalk; it's got a few tangles and knots in it, but nothing he can't undo, so he drops that in the same pocket as the shell, whistles for the dogs, and heads on home.
Later that night, under a good light, with a bowl of mate next to him, he untangles the knots, looks carefully at the hole in the shell, and then begins to work the string around it, through it, trying to imitate the way he'd seen Maori crafts people do. When he's done, it's not quite the way he'd imagined it, but it's strong and tight and won't break right away from the sharpish edge of the shell around the hole wearing on it.
He finds a padded envelope, some good paper, and wraps it, then labels it carefully and sets it next to the truck keys so he remembers to post it the next day.
"Happy Birthday, Karl," he whispers to the sunset as he closes the door against the fog, and heads to bed.
[A/N for paulabm because she was there.]
Orlando; Karl.
slashfairy
~~
It's another year apart on Karl's birthday, by choice, but still. Viggo's looking forward to the last of his projects, tentatively sometime in 2008, and being able to put the 'little' things first for a change- being there on each other's birthdays being one of them.
He's walking along the tide-line on a grey day, not cold, but not sunny, the dogs running further up the 'no-leash' part of the beach. Not thinking of anything in particular, just walking, when he spots a shell with a hole worn in it from its travels across the water, up and down the shore. He picks it up, blows a bit of dust off it, and, smiling, drops it in his pocket.
The walk back up the beach is less eventful, but later, after he and the dogs have gone downtown to get the mail and pick up a few supplies, he's walking up the street to the truck and finds a long black cord very like the ones their hei mataus are strung on, just lying on the sidewalk; it's got a few tangles and knots in it, but nothing he can't undo, so he drops that in the same pocket as the shell, whistles for the dogs, and heads on home.
Later that night, under a good light, with a bowl of mate next to him, he untangles the knots, looks carefully at the hole in the shell, and then begins to work the string around it, through it, trying to imitate the way he'd seen Maori crafts people do. When he's done, it's not quite the way he'd imagined it, but it's strong and tight and won't break right away from the sharpish edge of the shell around the hole wearing on it.
He finds a padded envelope, some good paper, and wraps it, then labels it carefully and sets it next to the truck keys so he remembers to post it the next day.
"Happy Birthday, Karl," he whispers to the sunset as he closes the door against the fog, and heads to bed.
[A/N for paulabm because she was there.]
Orlando; Karl.