The little AU: Autumnal: Wind currents
The little AU: Autumnal: Wind currents
slashfairy
[a/n: possible spoilers for The Road]
~~
The fires start up again in Malibu Canyon, and the ash and smoke drift west over the ocean, leaving dark smuts on windowsills and dirty decks on the sailboats anchored in the harbor.
Karl drives past on his way to the grey house from Paramount, annoyed at the smell, at the dirt on his windshield, already dirty enough from the constant sand and exhaust and street dust kicked up in the coastal Los Angeles basin.
Still, he tries to forget all that, leave it behind, when he gets inside and gathers Hunter up in a daddy bear-hug. Even though Hunter swears he is too big for that now, mostly, he still grins ear to ear when his dad scoops him up and hugs him, then swings him up onto his shoulders for a game of 'How High, I Spy', something they've made up in the weeks since Hunter's come to stay.
The house is old, the screens are old, and little bits of white ash come in on the breeze, landing here and there on every surface. Hunter leans over and grabs a tissue from a box and starts cleaning the top of a bookshelf speaker -mum didn't much like dust, apparently- until Karl says to leave it. "There'll just be more, you know, by tonight."
"Why?" Hunter asks.
"Because, the hot winds came back, and the fires started again."
"Will they burn forever? Will they burn every thing and every one?"
"No, no. Soon it will cool off for real, and rain, and then they will stop."
"But it already raineded, and now it's firing again."
Karl can't dispute that, but he can distract from it. He suggests they grab their suits and some drinks and make sarnies and go on down to the beach, their floppy hats and sloppy t-shirts and Karl's relative obscurity some protection against paparazzi and inconsiderate people with more cell-phone capacity than sense.
~~
"Even there, there was ash everywhere," he says later to Orlando, in town for some events, to read for a film, to see friends, to spend time [as much as he can] at home with his lover.
"I know. It's all up in the hills, too, and far north as Point Dume. It's everywhere the wind blows, you know?"
They finish dinner, clean up, read Hunter a story [Orli] and run his laundry so there're clean clothes for Monday [Daddy], watch a bit of a movie [Finding Nemo] and put Hunter to bed. Even in the bedroom where the window and screen are new, and so better fit to frame and house, the grey tinge of ash is on everything. Karl will be glad when the weather changes and a good cleaning means things stay clean- or at least only sandy-dusty, not ashy-grey- longer.
~~
He comes out to find Orlando on the laptop, a MacBook with a large screen, all the bells and whistles. On the screen is a map, and on the voice connection is Viggo, from Austin [Austin? wherever it is that the final scenes are being filmed- a shootout, some character interactions], and they're talking about the fires.
Karl grabs a tinnie from the kitchen, makes Orlando some PG tips, brings both in and sits down on the other stool where he can half see the screen but certainly hear Viggo.
"Yeah, I'm ok," Viggo says, half in his voice and half in Everett Hitch's, and they can hear him pacing, working off the stiffness before he sits to write [or drink, or whatever he's going to do tonight]. They'd like to be there to give him a thorough shower and massage, then a thorough fucking, but it's not to be: Karl's working, either on set or in conference nearly every day; Orlando's doing Orlando things, and there's Hunter. So they listen instead for clues that tell them if he's truly ok or just saying it, until he says "I've been eating better [meaning, at all] and found a kid to play soccer with. One of the extras. He's really good. Reminded me of our Big Man, Karl."
They trade stories then, about Hunter and their days, until Orlando brings up The Road.
"Is there a schedule, yet? Is everyone cast?" As though there is a speaking cast of hundreds, and an exhaustive need to have every day planned to the minute to accommodate costume changes and set dressing.
"I've seen the boy. Don't know if they know they've found him, yet, but they have. Now if only they'll cast him..." Viggo trails off, drinks something [they can hear him swallow- an ordinary swallow, no cough after it, no long savoring, so maybe it's water, or mate, not whiskey this early in the evening]. Comes back to the conversation.
"He's scrawny, that's the look we need. And good at interior stuff- has a quiet depth. Not cute, not pretty, but the camera will like him well enough without lying about how badly off we are. And he can be that boy, for days on end, be that child of that world, and come through it out the other side and still be in this world. He'll need that."
They've each read the book, Karl with a shudder, once, and Orlando twice: once to get through it and make sure he's not missed anything, the second from his ever-deeper wish to understand the Buddhist interbeing of this grey ashy world Viggo's going to be in from whenever filming starts [February? too soon, anyway] until it's wrapped, the publicity's done, and the talk shows are over. That's how long it will take him to let the man go, to come back to them [unless they have to go find him]. Viggo of course has read the book a hundred times, until he knows that on page 259 the boy says the sentence that changes the entire book, one sentence, said once.
"He'll need you, Viggo," Karl says. "Yeah," Orlando echoes. There's silence, then a swallow. Then, "I'll need him, to get to the end, won't I?" "Yeah," they each say, their hands finding each other by accident over the keyboard.
~~
In the end they talk for an hour or so.
The conversation ranges from a piece of art Viggo's shipping home, to the patterns of wind around the world, to Antarctica and Sebastian's book, to the fires in Malibu, to Star Trek and what it's like to bring so much of Karl's life to a character: country boy, small-world boy, with big responsibilities in a big world.
The art is a bit strange, and takes some explanation: a beautiful Four Winds piece for the wall by the fireplace in the house at the end of the bluff road: a root, found already in a circle, and wrapped with hair: Blond, Red, Black: and grass, dried to keep its colour: Green. He was afraid at first it would be macabre, but then spoke with the maker and found that the hair is donated by people working to protect the Sacred Mountains from further exploitation, so he bought it for that, for the grace in it.
The four winds lead to the wind patterns, and how the ash from Malibu is traveling on the winds farther than the Venice Beach windows, farther than the ships at anchor in San Pedro bay, and how the ash from wherever the firestorm starts in The Road will travel on the winds as well.
Which leads to Sebastian's book and the acclaim, the attention it's bringing to Antarctica, to the Ice Caps, to the atmosphere and the wind and water, the Feng Shui of life, the way the globe can clean itself if left to itself, and the hope that there is still hope, the interbeing of it all.
Which takes them to the fires in Malibu, and from there to Paramount, Karl's morning drive, and the wonder of being part of the history of Star Trek and seeing, really seeing, in a way he's not before, how his little Island Nation is so directly connected to the whole rest of the planet, because the offices, the sets, are filled with pictures of Earth from Space, of Moonrise, of Sunrise over Earth, and it's changing him, he can feel it. Making him less doubtful of the efficacy of meditation, at least for some, more aware that he meditates all the time, just not with a mantra and a mala. Not mindfully but that's changing, too: occasionally he remembers to be in the moment not while he's acting, but while he's walking, eating, breathing.
Which, finally, brings them to each other, and how they love each other, and miss each other, and dream about each other, together and separately and in all their permutations, and how at the end of the day, it's the love each has for the other two and all three of them have for their whole that brings them home from wherever the days winds have blown them, home to the love that is in their innermost hearts: the love of living, of life.
~~
In the hills the winds blow, and the fires burn, and the ash floats on the air; but underneath the pinecones burst, and the seeds are loosed; the brush is cleared, and a layer of needed minerals laid down onto the sandy-clayey soil; and the earth understands in a way that men do not seem to remember that there is a death for each life, and life in each death, and the winds blow around the world, brushing against each other, connecting all to all.
previously: Shorter Days
next: Thanksgiving
slashfairy
[a/n: possible spoilers for The Road]
~~
The fires start up again in Malibu Canyon, and the ash and smoke drift west over the ocean, leaving dark smuts on windowsills and dirty decks on the sailboats anchored in the harbor.
Karl drives past on his way to the grey house from Paramount, annoyed at the smell, at the dirt on his windshield, already dirty enough from the constant sand and exhaust and street dust kicked up in the coastal Los Angeles basin.
Still, he tries to forget all that, leave it behind, when he gets inside and gathers Hunter up in a daddy bear-hug. Even though Hunter swears he is too big for that now, mostly, he still grins ear to ear when his dad scoops him up and hugs him, then swings him up onto his shoulders for a game of 'How High, I Spy', something they've made up in the weeks since Hunter's come to stay.
The house is old, the screens are old, and little bits of white ash come in on the breeze, landing here and there on every surface. Hunter leans over and grabs a tissue from a box and starts cleaning the top of a bookshelf speaker -mum didn't much like dust, apparently- until Karl says to leave it. "There'll just be more, you know, by tonight."
"Why?" Hunter asks.
"Because, the hot winds came back, and the fires started again."
"Will they burn forever? Will they burn every thing and every one?"
"No, no. Soon it will cool off for real, and rain, and then they will stop."
"But it already raineded, and now it's firing again."
Karl can't dispute that, but he can distract from it. He suggests they grab their suits and some drinks and make sarnies and go on down to the beach, their floppy hats and sloppy t-shirts and Karl's relative obscurity some protection against paparazzi and inconsiderate people with more cell-phone capacity than sense.
~~
"Even there, there was ash everywhere," he says later to Orlando, in town for some events, to read for a film, to see friends, to spend time [as much as he can] at home with his lover.
"I know. It's all up in the hills, too, and far north as Point Dume. It's everywhere the wind blows, you know?"
They finish dinner, clean up, read Hunter a story [Orli] and run his laundry so there're clean clothes for Monday [Daddy], watch a bit of a movie [Finding Nemo] and put Hunter to bed. Even in the bedroom where the window and screen are new, and so better fit to frame and house, the grey tinge of ash is on everything. Karl will be glad when the weather changes and a good cleaning means things stay clean- or at least only sandy-dusty, not ashy-grey- longer.
~~
He comes out to find Orlando on the laptop, a MacBook with a large screen, all the bells and whistles. On the screen is a map, and on the voice connection is Viggo, from Austin [Austin? wherever it is that the final scenes are being filmed- a shootout, some character interactions], and they're talking about the fires.
Karl grabs a tinnie from the kitchen, makes Orlando some PG tips, brings both in and sits down on the other stool where he can half see the screen but certainly hear Viggo.
"Yeah, I'm ok," Viggo says, half in his voice and half in Everett Hitch's, and they can hear him pacing, working off the stiffness before he sits to write [or drink, or whatever he's going to do tonight]. They'd like to be there to give him a thorough shower and massage, then a thorough fucking, but it's not to be: Karl's working, either on set or in conference nearly every day; Orlando's doing Orlando things, and there's Hunter. So they listen instead for clues that tell them if he's truly ok or just saying it, until he says "I've been eating better [meaning, at all] and found a kid to play soccer with. One of the extras. He's really good. Reminded me of our Big Man, Karl."
They trade stories then, about Hunter and their days, until Orlando brings up The Road.
"Is there a schedule, yet? Is everyone cast?" As though there is a speaking cast of hundreds, and an exhaustive need to have every day planned to the minute to accommodate costume changes and set dressing.
"I've seen the boy. Don't know if they know they've found him, yet, but they have. Now if only they'll cast him..." Viggo trails off, drinks something [they can hear him swallow- an ordinary swallow, no cough after it, no long savoring, so maybe it's water, or mate, not whiskey this early in the evening]. Comes back to the conversation.
"He's scrawny, that's the look we need. And good at interior stuff- has a quiet depth. Not cute, not pretty, but the camera will like him well enough without lying about how badly off we are. And he can be that boy, for days on end, be that child of that world, and come through it out the other side and still be in this world. He'll need that."
They've each read the book, Karl with a shudder, once, and Orlando twice: once to get through it and make sure he's not missed anything, the second from his ever-deeper wish to understand the Buddhist interbeing of this grey ashy world Viggo's going to be in from whenever filming starts [February? too soon, anyway] until it's wrapped, the publicity's done, and the talk shows are over. That's how long it will take him to let the man go, to come back to them [unless they have to go find him]. Viggo of course has read the book a hundred times, until he knows that on page 259 the boy says the sentence that changes the entire book, one sentence, said once.
"He'll need you, Viggo," Karl says. "Yeah," Orlando echoes. There's silence, then a swallow. Then, "I'll need him, to get to the end, won't I?" "Yeah," they each say, their hands finding each other by accident over the keyboard.
~~
In the end they talk for an hour or so.
The conversation ranges from a piece of art Viggo's shipping home, to the patterns of wind around the world, to Antarctica and Sebastian's book, to the fires in Malibu, to Star Trek and what it's like to bring so much of Karl's life to a character: country boy, small-world boy, with big responsibilities in a big world.
The art is a bit strange, and takes some explanation: a beautiful Four Winds piece for the wall by the fireplace in the house at the end of the bluff road: a root, found already in a circle, and wrapped with hair: Blond, Red, Black: and grass, dried to keep its colour: Green. He was afraid at first it would be macabre, but then spoke with the maker and found that the hair is donated by people working to protect the Sacred Mountains from further exploitation, so he bought it for that, for the grace in it.
The four winds lead to the wind patterns, and how the ash from Malibu is traveling on the winds farther than the Venice Beach windows, farther than the ships at anchor in San Pedro bay, and how the ash from wherever the firestorm starts in The Road will travel on the winds as well.
Which leads to Sebastian's book and the acclaim, the attention it's bringing to Antarctica, to the Ice Caps, to the atmosphere and the wind and water, the Feng Shui of life, the way the globe can clean itself if left to itself, and the hope that there is still hope, the interbeing of it all.
Which takes them to the fires in Malibu, and from there to Paramount, Karl's morning drive, and the wonder of being part of the history of Star Trek and seeing, really seeing, in a way he's not before, how his little Island Nation is so directly connected to the whole rest of the planet, because the offices, the sets, are filled with pictures of Earth from Space, of Moonrise, of Sunrise over Earth, and it's changing him, he can feel it. Making him less doubtful of the efficacy of meditation, at least for some, more aware that he meditates all the time, just not with a mantra and a mala. Not mindfully but that's changing, too: occasionally he remembers to be in the moment not while he's acting, but while he's walking, eating, breathing.
Which, finally, brings them to each other, and how they love each other, and miss each other, and dream about each other, together and separately and in all their permutations, and how at the end of the day, it's the love each has for the other two and all three of them have for their whole that brings them home from wherever the days winds have blown them, home to the love that is in their innermost hearts: the love of living, of life.
~~
In the hills the winds blow, and the fires burn, and the ash floats on the air; but underneath the pinecones burst, and the seeds are loosed; the brush is cleared, and a layer of needed minerals laid down onto the sandy-clayey soil; and the earth understands in a way that men do not seem to remember that there is a death for each life, and life in each death, and the winds blow around the world, brushing against each other, connecting all to all.
previously: Shorter Days
next: Thanksgiving