The little AU: Vignettes: Storm before the Calm
The little AU: Vignettes: Storm before the Calm
slashfairy
Early days of filming, LOTR: NZ
Part one of two.
Storm
I'd been out all day with Bean, looking at the locations, shooting the death scene, working up a sweat keeping up with Peter whose bare feet and hobbit-roundness beat us all running across uneven ground through trees and across small streams, relics of old times, and camera cables. You'd been there, in and out, planning the shots up the hill with the AD, tried to get my attention a couple times, but I was busy, damnit, it's a death scene, it has to be believable...they take so much. Every take is a death.
Later at the bed and breakfast we were all staying at I heard you knock at the French door from the patio, lanai, whatever, asking if you could come in for a moment. "Sure, Orli, yeah, come in. Just resting up before the night's festivities, thank God for one day off a week right now, I'm fucking beat."
You don't enter all the way, and I don't look up for a long time. Dicking around with the camera, playing with settings, wondering where I'm going with everything. The day with Bean was hard, satisfying, I got some great photos of him, Boromir dead, fading, lost son of a lost steward...boding poorly for the world of men. "Come in, already, Orlando," I say, crossly, and snap this, you leaning, hiding, hesitating on the edge of something.
"What?" I say, more softly, laying the camera aside, rising from my sprawl, padding barefoot, shirtless, across the rug. "Why-what's wrong?" You look shaken, nervous, obviously just unwigged, bits of elf-ear glue still clinging. I move to peel one bit off, and you jerk away, head averted. "Orli. What is it." Voice low now, as for a frightened animal, lost dog, spooked horse. Steady, steady. "Come in. Sit down." Arm behind your back. Not touching, shepherding, guiding into dock.
Settle you in the big chair, cloth covered, some elaborate brocade, texture of your jumper blending. You look pale under your olive skin, eyes dark now with contacts out, brows still knit, expression worried. "Here." Hand you water, and a small shot of brandy, should you want it. The water picked up, nearly finished in one pass, the brandy pushed aside, taken away. Fresh bottles of water, one for you, one for me, and I find my former place on the couch, sofa, sheet thrown over the brocade to protect it in this heat from sweat, sand, paint, whatever I forget to wash off me when the day finally ends and I fall out of it, exhausted, happy, full.
Silence. Two minutes, five, ten. Time stretches, like film, like paint, like pencil on paper, until this moment is all the world, and you can enter it as you need. You run your hands through your hair, once, twice, raise your eyes to mine.
"It scared me, today, Viggo. The shooting-it...I was completely captured, by you, and Sean, and it scared me." Sincerity, confusion, questioning. "How will-how do you work, when you can't -what if I can't do this. What if--" your eyes close with exhaustion and need, anxiety, and want. "What if I can't do this? What if I can't watch someone die, over, and over, and stay in character?"
"Is that what it was?" Quietly, softly. "The death scene? We shot all his cover, first, over and over, and then all mine, after lunch. How did that--is that what caught you?"
The sigh rolls out of you like fog across the sand, like a breeze pulling just-loosened leaves from the trees in fall. "No. It was--it was how you cared about it, every time. How he-Sean-Boromir- gave up his resentment, and claimed his birthright. How you-Aragorn-took him as your loyal friend, servant-the love, every time- How do you do that, without going mad?"
"I am a little mad, Orli. I have gone a little mad. That's how I do it. I let it hurt, every time. Every time he died, I lost him. That--" laughing, quietly "--that's a little mad."
Time cushions you, pads this moment, makes it softer. You take that in, turn it over, feel it, find the sharp edges, the truths, the lies. Make it yours, and give it back.
"Then I must be mad, too. I can't watch you without thinking it. 'I don't ever want to lose him'." You look up, crying, not knowing it, tears just falling down your cheeks. "Don't--I can't--oh, fuck..." you trail off, covering your eyes with your hands.
I come to you, kneel down, and take your hands in mine, pull them down to your knees. "Can't what, Orlando?" Quietly, so quietly. Softly as can be done. "Can't what?"
"Can't tell you I love you." Whisper falling like snowflakes, melting even as it reaches my ears. "Can't tell you this feeling scares me, that I can't breathe, don't know how I'll work this next year, around you. Can't-" you look up, all the pain and longing and fear that could ever be in your eyes- "Can't do this," you say, leaning down, eyes closed against the fear, to kiss me.
"You can," I say, more than willing, and kiss you back. Open my mouth to you, and my heart, knowing that I am already lost, this moment will stretch on for as long as you let it, but I will not end it. Before this is over, I will hold that look, and you will release me, but for now, let the camera keep it, and let us smile. "You can. You are."
~~
slashfairy
Early days of filming, LOTR: NZ
Part one of two.
Storm
I'd been out all day with Bean, looking at the locations, shooting the death scene, working up a sweat keeping up with Peter whose bare feet and hobbit-roundness beat us all running across uneven ground through trees and across small streams, relics of old times, and camera cables. You'd been there, in and out, planning the shots up the hill with the AD, tried to get my attention a couple times, but I was busy, damnit, it's a death scene, it has to be believable...they take so much. Every take is a death.
Later at the bed and breakfast we were all staying at I heard you knock at the French door from the patio, lanai, whatever, asking if you could come in for a moment. "Sure, Orli, yeah, come in. Just resting up before the night's festivities, thank God for one day off a week right now, I'm fucking beat."
You don't enter all the way, and I don't look up for a long time. Dicking around with the camera, playing with settings, wondering where I'm going with everything. The day with Bean was hard, satisfying, I got some great photos of him, Boromir dead, fading, lost son of a lost steward...boding poorly for the world of men. "Come in, already, Orlando," I say, crossly, and snap this, you leaning, hiding, hesitating on the edge of something.
"What?" I say, more softly, laying the camera aside, rising from my sprawl, padding barefoot, shirtless, across the rug. "Why-what's wrong?" You look shaken, nervous, obviously just unwigged, bits of elf-ear glue still clinging. I move to peel one bit off, and you jerk away, head averted. "Orli. What is it." Voice low now, as for a frightened animal, lost dog, spooked horse. Steady, steady. "Come in. Sit down." Arm behind your back. Not touching, shepherding, guiding into dock.
Settle you in the big chair, cloth covered, some elaborate brocade, texture of your jumper blending. You look pale under your olive skin, eyes dark now with contacts out, brows still knit, expression worried. "Here." Hand you water, and a small shot of brandy, should you want it. The water picked up, nearly finished in one pass, the brandy pushed aside, taken away. Fresh bottles of water, one for you, one for me, and I find my former place on the couch, sofa, sheet thrown over the brocade to protect it in this heat from sweat, sand, paint, whatever I forget to wash off me when the day finally ends and I fall out of it, exhausted, happy, full.
Silence. Two minutes, five, ten. Time stretches, like film, like paint, like pencil on paper, until this moment is all the world, and you can enter it as you need. You run your hands through your hair, once, twice, raise your eyes to mine.
"It scared me, today, Viggo. The shooting-it...I was completely captured, by you, and Sean, and it scared me." Sincerity, confusion, questioning. "How will-how do you work, when you can't -what if I can't do this. What if--" your eyes close with exhaustion and need, anxiety, and want. "What if I can't do this? What if I can't watch someone die, over, and over, and stay in character?"
"Is that what it was?" Quietly, softly. "The death scene? We shot all his cover, first, over and over, and then all mine, after lunch. How did that--is that what caught you?"
The sigh rolls out of you like fog across the sand, like a breeze pulling just-loosened leaves from the trees in fall. "No. It was--it was how you cared about it, every time. How he-Sean-Boromir- gave up his resentment, and claimed his birthright. How you-Aragorn-took him as your loyal friend, servant-the love, every time- How do you do that, without going mad?"
"I am a little mad, Orli. I have gone a little mad. That's how I do it. I let it hurt, every time. Every time he died, I lost him. That--" laughing, quietly "--that's a little mad."
Time cushions you, pads this moment, makes it softer. You take that in, turn it over, feel it, find the sharp edges, the truths, the lies. Make it yours, and give it back.
"Then I must be mad, too. I can't watch you without thinking it. 'I don't ever want to lose him'." You look up, crying, not knowing it, tears just falling down your cheeks. "Don't--I can't--oh, fuck..." you trail off, covering your eyes with your hands.
I come to you, kneel down, and take your hands in mine, pull them down to your knees. "Can't what, Orlando?" Quietly, so quietly. Softly as can be done. "Can't what?"
"Can't tell you I love you." Whisper falling like snowflakes, melting even as it reaches my ears. "Can't tell you this feeling scares me, that I can't breathe, don't know how I'll work this next year, around you. Can't-" you look up, all the pain and longing and fear that could ever be in your eyes- "Can't do this," you say, leaning down, eyes closed against the fear, to kiss me.
"You can," I say, more than willing, and kiss you back. Open my mouth to you, and my heart, knowing that I am already lost, this moment will stretch on for as long as you let it, but I will not end it. Before this is over, I will hold that look, and you will release me, but for now, let the camera keep it, and let us smile. "You can. You are."
~~