The little AU: summer dreams: the longest day
The little AU: Summer Dreams: The longest day
slashfairy
G
~~
It's Midsummer's Day's night, and they are, as so often, apart.
Orli's in London, working hard, re-learning the craft of the stage after so many years on film. He's excited, he's tired, he's a little scared, he's astonished at how different it is to be a man of 30 doing this for real to a boy of 17, 18, doing it for Guildhall. He's making new friends, different kinds of friends, theatre friends. He's closer to home, and Sonia, while trying not to bother him unduly, does call more often than she did when he was overseas working. He doesn't mind, though- there are not so many years left to them, and he treasures her, treasures Colin, as much as he does this chance to finally do theatre.
Karl's in between, working out arrangements for two new films, neither so high-prestige as Viggo's nor so likely to be blockbusters like Orli's (though, to be honest, it's the Mouse and Johnny that propelled Pirates, and Orli's other films are small and not so different from Karl's films) but good enough to keep working, good enough to keep his hand in. He's peeking in on Hunter when he's in Aotearoa, making calls and checking e-mail when he's traveling, and when he's home in the Bluff House he's got projects he's working on (between bouts of jet lag and missing-his-mens sickness, not to be mistaken for homesickness).
Viggo's let Nikolai go for this new one, this man whose slow slide into unseeing complicity with evil undoes him in the end. He's looking forward to his self-imposed hiatus starting in 2008- 'tis a grand thing to be working, as Sean would say, but 'tis a grander thing to have a pint and watch the game with a friend. . The win for Argentina, for ASLA, this year, has made him so very happy, but the traveling wore him out, and he's not written anything since getting back for the rest of filming, nor taken his camera out around town to see what moments will let him capture them with his lens.
They're busy, they're apart, but that doesn't mean they aren't in each other's hearts. Karl finds a book of poetry he sends to Orli, who reads one of them to Viggo over the phone. Vig finds a hand-made toy for Hunter and sends it from the old stone post office that missed the ravages of World War II. Karl sends Orli a batch of pictures that Hunter drew of the three of them at Disneyland, invariably a small boy between two men, holding each of his hands in one of theirs, or of a small boy on a ride and the two men holding each other's hands unobtrusively.
The day goes on, Karl's day the oddest as he flies into SFO from NZ, having left the shortest day behind him and landed on the longest so many hours later. It's still light when he gets to the house, though the sun's going down- rising, maybe, where Vig is- he's forgotten how the time zones work for the moment. No matter. He unlocks the door, goes in, sets his things down, and breathes in the air that says 'home', the particular blend of salt and sea and fog and cypress and sandy soil and dog and paint and wood and coconut that is their home's scent, and smiles.
He'll dream well tonight, he thinks. The summer will go well, they'll catch up with each other for at least one night of Orli's play, and 2008's not that far away. He gets a tinnie, opens it, and goes out on the deck to watch the sun slip over the horizon, and feel the Earth turn toward morning, on the other side there, where his men are just rising as he begins to think about bed.
slashfairy
G
~~
It's Midsummer's Day's night, and they are, as so often, apart.
Orli's in London, working hard, re-learning the craft of the stage after so many years on film. He's excited, he's tired, he's a little scared, he's astonished at how different it is to be a man of 30 doing this for real to a boy of 17, 18, doing it for Guildhall. He's making new friends, different kinds of friends, theatre friends. He's closer to home, and Sonia, while trying not to bother him unduly, does call more often than she did when he was overseas working. He doesn't mind, though- there are not so many years left to them, and he treasures her, treasures Colin, as much as he does this chance to finally do theatre.
Karl's in between, working out arrangements for two new films, neither so high-prestige as Viggo's nor so likely to be blockbusters like Orli's (though, to be honest, it's the Mouse and Johnny that propelled Pirates, and Orli's other films are small and not so different from Karl's films) but good enough to keep working, good enough to keep his hand in. He's peeking in on Hunter when he's in Aotearoa, making calls and checking e-mail when he's traveling, and when he's home in the Bluff House he's got projects he's working on (between bouts of jet lag and missing-his-mens sickness, not to be mistaken for homesickness).
Viggo's let Nikolai go for this new one, this man whose slow slide into unseeing complicity with evil undoes him in the end. He's looking forward to his self-imposed hiatus starting in 2008- 'tis a grand thing to be working, as Sean would say, but 'tis a grander thing to have a pint and watch the game with a friend. . The win for Argentina, for ASLA, this year, has made him so very happy, but the traveling wore him out, and he's not written anything since getting back for the rest of filming, nor taken his camera out around town to see what moments will let him capture them with his lens.
They're busy, they're apart, but that doesn't mean they aren't in each other's hearts. Karl finds a book of poetry he sends to Orli, who reads one of them to Viggo over the phone. Vig finds a hand-made toy for Hunter and sends it from the old stone post office that missed the ravages of World War II. Karl sends Orli a batch of pictures that Hunter drew of the three of them at Disneyland, invariably a small boy between two men, holding each of his hands in one of theirs, or of a small boy on a ride and the two men holding each other's hands unobtrusively.
The day goes on, Karl's day the oddest as he flies into SFO from NZ, having left the shortest day behind him and landed on the longest so many hours later. It's still light when he gets to the house, though the sun's going down- rising, maybe, where Vig is- he's forgotten how the time zones work for the moment. No matter. He unlocks the door, goes in, sets his things down, and breathes in the air that says 'home', the particular blend of salt and sea and fog and cypress and sandy soil and dog and paint and wood and coconut that is their home's scent, and smiles.
He'll dream well tonight, he thinks. The summer will go well, they'll catch up with each other for at least one night of Orli's play, and 2008's not that far away. He gets a tinnie, opens it, and goes out on the deck to watch the sun slip over the horizon, and feel the Earth turn toward morning, on the other side there, where his men are just rising as he begins to think about bed.