The little AU: Interludes and Whispers: Dec 31, 2007
The little AU: Interludes and Whispers: Dec 31, 2007
slashfairy
~~
They stay up and watch the ball fall in New York for Hunter, but decide not to worry about whether they 'make' the Pacific Coast midnight or not- as Karl says, It's been 2008 in New Zealand for hours now, mates- which earns him a swat on the butt from a smiling Orli and a glare followed by a laugh from Viggo.
After Hunter's asleep the three men sit out in the grey courtyard, recently livened up with some red, pink, yellow, and orange kalanchoe (You need some life in it, Vig, Karl'd said when he unloaded the plants in their sturdy wooden planters, immune to playful dogs and ball-bouncing 8 year old boys) and talk about nothing, everything, the year just passed, the year to come.
It's a low murmuring, their conversation, matching the low murmur of the traffic on Ocean Blvd on the one hand, and the ocean itself on the other; nothing a passerby on the alley would ever hear over the 8 foot fence Karl'd made out of weathered redwood to replace the shorter, less sturdy one the house'd come with. Thanks to Sonia it's got a bougainvillea growing on it now- sent in memory of Harry's work in South Africa, and because he'd loved them, their bright bracts covering walls with brilliant life in the most dismal places.
Down on the beach people party, even though the December-January beaches of San Pedro Bay are not warm tropical beaches like people who've never been there imagine them to be. From someplace a block away comes the sound of bottles breaking; later the sirens of police, ambulance. In another yard a piñata is raised and lowered in a hybrid festival of the year's turning, with chatter in Spanish wafting out into the sparkling clear night.
The three men lift their mugs of hot cider in a cheer to each other and the world turning under them, then go on back into the house and get ready for bed. Before he goes in Karl checks the gate, then the doors, making sure they're locked; not so much because he doesn't trust people as because temptation's easier to resist if you give people a hand resisting it, he reckons: his version of "Privacy's expensive."
Upstairs Orli's in the shower, Viggo sending a last email to someone before closing up the laptop in the study/office/studio. Karl checks on Hunter, kissing him good night, leaves the dogs (who are piled up in the living room in their wonted fashion) some fresh water, feeds the fish, and goes on up to his lovers.
Tomorrow will come, has come already, soon enough, and will bring with it what it brings. But one thing they've learned to consider, this last year, is to meditate on the idea that "Sufficient unto the day is the evil there-of." Or, as Mary Poppins said it, so very long ago:
Never trouble trouble
Till trouble troubles you.
You'll only trouble trouble,
And trouble others, too.
So tomorrow there will be bills. Paparazzi. Family to talk to. Regrets to let go of, repentances to make, goals to set (or not), dreams to share, or to keep private.
previously:
next: Scale
Tonight, they're grateful, happy, to be home, healthy and safe, and together. Happy new year, they say to each other, falling into love all over again. Happy new year.
slashfairy
~~
They stay up and watch the ball fall in New York for Hunter, but decide not to worry about whether they 'make' the Pacific Coast midnight or not- as Karl says, It's been 2008 in New Zealand for hours now, mates- which earns him a swat on the butt from a smiling Orli and a glare followed by a laugh from Viggo.
After Hunter's asleep the three men sit out in the grey courtyard, recently livened up with some red, pink, yellow, and orange kalanchoe (You need some life in it, Vig, Karl'd said when he unloaded the plants in their sturdy wooden planters, immune to playful dogs and ball-bouncing 8 year old boys) and talk about nothing, everything, the year just passed, the year to come.
It's a low murmuring, their conversation, matching the low murmur of the traffic on Ocean Blvd on the one hand, and the ocean itself on the other; nothing a passerby on the alley would ever hear over the 8 foot fence Karl'd made out of weathered redwood to replace the shorter, less sturdy one the house'd come with. Thanks to Sonia it's got a bougainvillea growing on it now- sent in memory of Harry's work in South Africa, and because he'd loved them, their bright bracts covering walls with brilliant life in the most dismal places.
Down on the beach people party, even though the December-January beaches of San Pedro Bay are not warm tropical beaches like people who've never been there imagine them to be. From someplace a block away comes the sound of bottles breaking; later the sirens of police, ambulance. In another yard a piñata is raised and lowered in a hybrid festival of the year's turning, with chatter in Spanish wafting out into the sparkling clear night.
The three men lift their mugs of hot cider in a cheer to each other and the world turning under them, then go on back into the house and get ready for bed. Before he goes in Karl checks the gate, then the doors, making sure they're locked; not so much because he doesn't trust people as because temptation's easier to resist if you give people a hand resisting it, he reckons: his version of "Privacy's expensive."
Upstairs Orli's in the shower, Viggo sending a last email to someone before closing up the laptop in the study/office/studio. Karl checks on Hunter, kissing him good night, leaves the dogs (who are piled up in the living room in their wonted fashion) some fresh water, feeds the fish, and goes on up to his lovers.
Tomorrow will come, has come already, soon enough, and will bring with it what it brings. But one thing they've learned to consider, this last year, is to meditate on the idea that "Sufficient unto the day is the evil there-of." Or, as Mary Poppins said it, so very long ago:
Never trouble trouble
Till trouble troubles you.
You'll only trouble trouble,
And trouble others, too.
So tomorrow there will be bills. Paparazzi. Family to talk to. Regrets to let go of, repentances to make, goals to set (or not), dreams to share, or to keep private.
previously:
next: Scale
Tonight, they're grateful, happy, to be home, healthy and safe, and together. Happy new year, they say to each other, falling into love all over again. Happy new year.