The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (1/5)
Title: The Greatest Man That Ever Lived
Pairing(s): Viggo/Orlando
Genre(s): Romance, drama
Length: 3950 words (+20 000 in total)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The ever-changing love between two men throughout the years, as they grow together in both age and emotional maturity.
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Chapter 1
Orlando was a low-maintenance baby for the most part. He only cried for attention once a night, and it never woke the whole household up since Viggo was constantly beside him, ready to provide everything he had. This spared the other domestic workers lost sleep, and for that they were eternally appreciative.
Sonia Bloom, for one, was especially grateful for the extra help around the mansion. Only two months after the birth of her second child, Mrs. Bloom was obligated to organize a large-scale project for her company that would take several years to complete at least, which meant more work hours and less time caring for little Orlando and her two-year-old Samantha (who was thankfully already under another trusted servant’s eagle-eyed care). She was hazardously tempted to decline, but deep down inside she knew that she needed this job. Her husband had left even after knowing about the child, foolish bastard that he was, and in truth there was no other replacement with the right prerequisites and brilliant resume in the company besides herself. Not only that, the salary was sufficient, and that itself was the deciding factor of the whole situation. In the end, it was a necessary action whether she wanted it or not, and as a result she showed up at work one Monday morning in her usual formal attire, pride and power carved into her being as she strutted down the corridors and set everything into place like the businesswoman that she set out to be.
This led to more work on Viggo’s part, since Mrs. Bloom would no longer be there to soothe the baby when all else failed to work. He did not mind that, though. What really bothered the servant was that Mrs. Bloom would no longer be available to establish a strong enough bond with the child. Every child needed to be loved, and Viggo pretty much went out of his way to make sure that it happened.
To make up for the lack of motherly affection, Viggo poured his whole heart and soul into caring for little Orlando, taking him everywhere with him as he went about his domestic duties and mundane chores. He set up a little playpen on the rug for the child to amuse himself with soft toys while he tended to the fireplace and dusted the shelves. He alternated between playing peek-a-boo with Orli, doing laundry, and washing the dishes. During lunch and dinner breaks, he weaned the child bit by bit (a difficult process considering how less than half really ended up in his stomach), never tiring of watching the little boy smack his lips and happily wiggle about in his seat even after the other household workers had laughed good-naturedly when they caught the caretaker making funny faces during times like these. Viggo also brought Orlando with him to the gardens every day as he watered the plants, pulled out weeds, and picked out ripe fruits, continually keeping a close eye on the baby just in case the young one decided to put anything vulgar in his system. Orlando had a penchant for eating spiders, for instance, and despite Viggo’s best attempts at stopping him, there were several incidents when the gardener was not fast enough before the poor insect got trapped in the confines of what was Orlando’s mouth.
“You know, Orli, I just don’t get it,” he had said, wiping off the sweat from his forehead as he continued to shovel out unwanted plants. “You absolutely despise perfectly fine-tasting baby gunk, and yet you seem to enjoy eating something as disgusting as a fucking Daddy Long Legs. Pardon the language. Mrs. Bloom would kill me if she found out I said that in front of you.” Orlando only smiled smugly and burped in response.
When Viggo was not on work duties, he spent every minute with Orlando. Usually, they were found in Viggo’s small room on his bed, just being together-observing baby flash cards, man-to-man roughhousing (less rough and more man-to-man, of course), talking in baby language, and so on-with Mozart playing in the background. Sometimes, when Viggo needed some time to himself, he set little Orli in his playpen while he sat in an armchair nearby, doodling in his sketchbook. It was one of Viggo’s favorite hobbies, just holding a pencil in his right hand and letting it glide through the course texture of the paper. He was talented, that was certain. His sketches were realistic and full of depth, depicting images pleasing to the eye that almost needed no oral explanations. Horses and people were his favorite subjects, for a number of reasons. Viggo wholeheartedly believed that there was no difference between the two save for species status-they were both living creatures, were they not? He tended to draw horses with more detail, however, due to his love for the equines. They were like children-pure and full of love.
At times he would look up from his artwork and catch Orli watching him curiously with his beautiful brown eyes. “What are you looking at, punk?” he would ask amusedly, lips pulling up into a smile. Orlando would always reply with a tilt of his head along with his signature lopsided smirk, which never failed to make the elder grin.
Viggo’s favorite time, however, was during the evenings when he would read aloud to Orlando. It was the only time the two were completely alone, when Orlando would pay his full attention to Viggo and only Viggo with no other distractions as the young man’s deep voice recited the lines of the stories. Not those bloody fairytales, though, he had wanted none of those! Instead of stories like The Three Little Pigs and The Pied Piper, Viggo would stop by the library and pick out classics like Crime and Punishment and anything by James Joyce, totally convinced that it would help Orlando in the near future (for whatever reason, he never really figured out). It was a surreal experience, reading a good three or so chapters of the text while watching the baby boy blink once, twice, three times, each eyelid motion decreasing in speed and conviction, until they finally remained closed, the rise and fall of a small chest the only proof of life. Viggo would then stare at the little one for another hour or so, entranced. By four months, Orlando had already grown a thin layer of curly hair on his head, and Viggo would have loved nothing better than to sit by the cradle and twirl his fingers around the tiny curls for all of eternity. Reality would never let him off that easily, though, so Viggo would have to kiss the baby on the forehead and tuck him in before pulling himself away to attend to other exponentially less important matters. Sir McKellan, the main butler, literally had to drag him out of the room at times.
Occasionally Mrs. Bloom came back for a couple of hours during the daytime, and no matter how weary or tired she was, she would stubbornly insist on spending time with her precious children, determined to play at least a small part in raising both of them. Although Viggo looked up to her will and maternal strength, he found himself resenting the fact that he was obliged to leave the three alone during her visits. He knew that he was being selfish, but Viggo wanted Orlando to himself. He wanted Orli to look at him like he was the only person in the world that could care for him, but every time this notion was scrapped whenever he noticed how happy Orli seemed to be in his mother’s arms. Mothers just had that special feel to them that no other beings could even come close to, and Viggo knew that he would need to deal with that fact whether he wanted to or not. Still, it was remarkably satisfying to see little Orli fervently wriggling in his mother’s embrace to once again be placed against Viggo’s firm chest.
Orlando started learning how to walk at six months, which was a surprise to say the least: he had only just begun crawling, for crying out loud. Viggo first paid attention to this phenomenon when he was washing dishes and heard a sharp laugh from behind him. Quickly he dried his hands and smiled as he spun around towards the source of such happiness but stopped in his tracks when he spotted Orli standing on his wobbly legs, his hands on the arm of a kitchen chair holding him steady. Slowly, the toddler let his forearms fall to his sides, careful not to lose his balance. Viggo just stood there, unmoving and spellbound, as Orlando started wobbling on his stubby legs towards his caretaker, one small step at a time, until he finally stumbled and wrapped his arms around the firm muscles of Viggo’s calf, giggling. Slowly, Viggo lowered himself onto his haunches to Orlando’s eye level.
“Did you just do what I think you just did?” he whispered, eyes glazed over. Happiness overwhelming his whole system, Viggo let out a cry of joy as he hoisted Orli up into the air and spun him around several times, both of them laughing like the maniacs they were. In fact, they made so much noise and clamor that the other servants believed that there was a fire in the kitchen, and they berated the two for causing such commotion. Viggo cared not, though, his shining eyes never leaving the child that he loved all too much. He phoned Mrs. Bloom that night after Orli had finally drifted off after the seventieth page of Atlas Shrugged, excitement bubbling to the surface as he enthusiastically recounted all that had happened. Mrs. Bloom, exhausted as she was, had responded ecstatically. Orlando was able to walk proficiently after two weeks, and he used this newfound ability to follow Viggo absolutely everywhere.
In spite of the fact that he was a busy person with a domestic occupation, Viggo was no outsider to the real world. He had his own group of friends, most of them visual artists and musicians, some of whom touched on the art of theatre. His best mate, a relatively soft-spoken guy named Shaun Bean (they had long decided to spell his name “Sean” just to make it have a clever correlation to his last name), often visited him at the mansion. Much to the other servants’ chagrin, he did not seem to be the right type of company for higher-class citizens judging by his scraggly appearance and working class background. Viggo, of course, cared not for social status and instead greeted the pauper with open arms each time he arrived at the doorstep.
Sean, notwithstanding his gruff exterior, was a polite and decent boy a little less than a year younger than Viggo. He was virtually a drifter with no real home, and usually slept in abandoned warehouses or park benches, working odd jobs once in a while to pay for his meals. Often he had fresh bruises from inevitable street fights, but no matter how many times Viggo offered to lend him some of his salary just to give him a jump start, the proud young man always declined, asserting that he required no help and that he was doing just fine, thank you very much. Though they lived in totally different environments, the two were quite similar in both background and personality. Both were orphans, both loved sports and art, both had similar viewpoints in life, and they often found themselves thinking on the same wavelength and finishing each other’s’ sentences. Orlando loved him instantly, much to Viggo’s relief (Orli was generally wary around strangers), and the boy always squealed in delight whenever his Uncle Sean was present. In return, Sean showered him with kindness and treated him like he was his own son, which both annoyed and pleased Viggo.
Sean was there when the accident occurred. It was a lethal one that happened when Viggo and Sean had their backs turned as they dusted the bedrooms together, chatting about life in general. Somebody (probably a visiter or the local carpet cleaner) had left a bottle of furniture polish on the floor which had aimlessly rolled underneath the table out of everybody’s peripheral vision-except for Orlando’s. Luckily, Viggo had turned around, noticed that Orlando was missing, and found him a few seconds later pale and motionless under the table. Needless to say, it resulted in a frantic trip to the hospital with an uncharacteristically-panicky Viggo with Sean’s comforting arm around his shoulder. Orlando survived with no serious injuries, but Viggo’s ego was not so lucky. For months afterwards, the young man had uncompromisingly blamed himself for being a terrible caretaker who could not even protect a baby from something as commonplace as furniture polish. Viggo never let Orli out of his sight, and went through all sorts of eccentric phases that stemmed from his paranoia. There was a week when he refused to even let Orlando out of his arms, convinced that danger lurked everywhere. Sean was a great support during this time, dropping by at least twice every day to make sure that his friend was actually taking care of himself and not rotting from anxiety. It took them a while, but eventually Viggo also recovered after realizing that his behavior was negatively affecting the lively Orlando as well, and so he reverted back to being his normal equilibrium-loving self though still overprotective at times. None would disagree, however, that the experience just strengthened the rapport between Viggo and the child under his care.
There was a party in the mansion celebrating Orlando’s first birthday, filled with balloons and party hats and the like. It was a surprisingly large turnout. The whole Bloom family was there, Mrs. Bloom invited some of her coworkers, the maids and manservants had brought relatives, and Viggo invited his own artistic small circle of friends who provided background music and other aesthetic contributions. Sean had also surprised him by bringing along his two newly-adopted brothers as potential playmates for Orlando. Dominic, two, and his surrogate older brother Billy, ten, were recent orphans who were sent to live at the local church. Billy, ever the precocious boy, decided to run away with Dom when he found out that they were going to be set up for adoption and most likely separated, and they lived on the streets for a total number of three days before Sean found them and took them under his wing. He got Billy enrolled in a public school and the boy was smart enough not to tell anybody about where he lived and to avoid questions concerning what his “father” did for a living.
The kids were beautiful playmates. Both were giggly, adorable, full of life, loud (Dom especially), and it was mostly their squeals of delight that filled the mansion. Orlando and Samantha, though wary at first, warmed up to them in no time. Dom was in the beginning stages of an impending growth spurt, and had the adorable habit of making funny faces and impersonating anything he heard. He did an excellent interpretation of Sir McKellan, for instance, which irritated the living hell out of the butler but brought laughs out of everybody else. Billy, on the other hand, was charmingly witty, a pretty boy of sorts, and always had something interesting to say. He, too, had facial expressions that cracked people up, his trademark being the angelic smile that wrapped everybody around his little finger, Sean included. He was also a talented singer and performed a few folk songs for the audience that made the audience suffer the awww syndrome. Sean was awfully fond of them, and Viggo could almost feel the fatherly love that his friend had for the inseparable pair; he wondered if he looked like that when caring for Orlando.
Photos were taken throughout the event, mostly by Viggo, always the artistic keener. Pictures of Mrs. Bloom and her beloved son, pictures of Orlando blowing out the candle, pictures of Orlando wearing a party hat, pictures of Orlando and the cake, pictures of Orlando eating the cake. Viggo kept them all afterwards even if some of them were blurry to the point of obscureness, and kept the best one-Orlando’s mouth smeared with chocolate with Viggo pressing a kiss onto his cheek-in his wallet. Sean called him a sap. Viggo told him to look in the mirror.
Orlando practically fell unconscious after the party was over, the excitement literally drained out of the toddler as he went limp in Viggo’s arms sailing away to Dreamland. After tucking Orlando in, Viggo invited Sean and his “children” to stay over, which he agreed with the condition that they would stay only for the night. The twenty-year-old servant had only rolled his eyes and led the way into the guest rooms. Billy and Dom shared a room, neither able to sleep without the other, and Viggo waited outside the door as Sean kissed them both twice on the foreheads, a tradition of sorts. The duo then decided to take a walk around the neighborhood like they used to, where they used the time to laugh about old things and talk about their hopes and dreams. Eventually, however, their conversations drifted towards their little ones.
“It’s scary, you know,” Viggo pondered aloud, breaking off a miniscule twig from the nearby apple tree as they continued on their stroll. “I care about Orlando so much, and I’m not even his real father. I wonder how much more Mrs. Bloom loves him.”
“You don’t need to be his real father in order to love him like one,” Sean countered. “It was my own choice to adopt Dom and Billy, and to tell you the truth, they really have become my whole life. Everything I do now revolves around them. Fatherhood does that to you, I guess.”
“It really does, doesn’t it? I already fear the day Orli leaves the mansion to find his own future.”
Sean laughed. “Wuss.”
“Shut up.”
“Do you ever think of what their future will be like? Dom and Billy? Do you ever wonder if you are doing enough for them as their guardian?”
“Always,” the drifter nodded. “If anything, I don’t want them to end up like me, homeless and with no economical prospect. I want them to be successful with financial stability, with everything they could ever dream of having. I’m pretty much penniless half the time, and it is a matter of luck whenever I get enough to buy food. And besides, I give it all to the little ones now-they need it more than I do.”
“You know,” Viggo started off uneasily, staring at the boniness of his friend. “The offer is still open. You can live in the Bloom mansion until you find work. Mrs. Bloom cares about you a lot, and if I talk to her, she might agree to let you stay.”
“I’m poor as shit, Vig, but I’m not a beggar.”
“It’s not begging if I am the one imploring,” the young man argued. “Besides, Dom and Billy get along with Orli beautifully. They would be great for each another, if not a little loud. I’m not saying that you are not taking care of them well, Sean, because you are, but it’s just that I don’t like the idea of children living on the streets. It’s not good for them in the end, no offence.”
Sean pursed his lips. “I know.”
“Then please, think about it,” his friend entreated, placing his palm on Sean’s skeletal shoulder. Viggo shuddered at how hollow it felt. “You won’t be a bother. I would love having a helping hand around.”
Silently, they made their way back to the mansion, back to their little ones, and once the grandness of the roof came into sight, Sean let out a sigh of resignation as he stopped in his tracks. “Only if I pay for it. I want to make honest money and pay for one of the guest rooms, with no friend discounts. Every penny.”
The idiotic smile on Viggo’s face was enough to make Sean lose his serious expression, and together they raced back, wind whipping past their faces, their coats trailing behind them like superhero capes. After catching his breath, Viggo made his way up to Orlando’s room and quietly slipped in so as not to wake the little one. Carefully he sat beside the cradle and watched as the year-old toddler slept peacefully, pushing a small curl away from the baby’s face. “Uncle Sean is staying with us now,” he mouthed. “So are Dom and Billy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Viggo did not need him to answer in order to know what the answer would be.
The trio moved in a week later, and it was an understatement to say that life with Dom and Billy was exciting. Dom was a night person, and was active from exactly twelve in the afternoon to three in the morning. Any other time, he would be sprawled out on the couch, chair, bed, rug, or any other soft surface for that matter, snoring. Billy was the opposite, only able to concentrate during the timespan of six in the morning until eight in the evening. Though it still left them plenty of time to spend time with one another, eight hours to be exact, it was the strangest routine phenomenon around the household that made sure that there was one of them roaming around pretty much all the time. Either way, Orlando seemed to be pleased, as was Viggo.
There was one day, Dom was following Billy around, shouting out the word idiot! on repeat. Sean had laughed and explained that it was the first word that Dom had ever said, and that it was a special nickname for Billy that he never used on anybody else.
“Do you think that the first word is important life-wise?” Viggo asked. “Like, do you think that the first word you say will determine where your life will lead you?”
“Probably not,” Sean answered, shrugging as he watched Billy wrestle a giggling Dom to the ground. “I’ve heard of kids whose first word was ‘aluminum foil’. No idea where that would lead them.”
Viggo laughed as a picture of the tin man of the Wizard of Oz popped into his mind.
Orlando was a talkative baby in the loosest possible form of the term. His first word was ahhh, spoken at the age of five months, which delighted Viggo to no end but really, ahhh did not count as a word per se. Therefore, madness ensued when, a week before his second birthday, Orlando spoke his first intelligible non-baby word in the gardens. Viggo had pretty much dropped whatever he was doing (in this case, a steel shovel) and had run up to the baby’s side, excitement building up in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he would be thrilled even if Orlando’s first word was something boring like “mama” or “papa”. Heck, for all he cared, Orlando could have caught the habit of cussing from him and the other servants and he still would have been overjoyed (though, of course, there was the opinion of Mrs. Bloom). However, Orlando’s first experience of verbal communication genuinely caught him off guard when the child once again opened his mouth to convey his previous message.
“Vee. Goh.”
Viggo’s heart stopped. “What? What did you say?”
“Viggo!” the curly-haired toddler said happily, bouncing up and down on his feet. “Viggo, Viggo! My Viggo!”
And so it was.
Chapter 2
Pairing(s): Viggo/Orlando
Genre(s): Romance, drama
Length: 3950 words (+20 000 in total)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The ever-changing love between two men throughout the years, as they grow together in both age and emotional maturity.
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Chapter 1
Orlando was a low-maintenance baby for the most part. He only cried for attention once a night, and it never woke the whole household up since Viggo was constantly beside him, ready to provide everything he had. This spared the other domestic workers lost sleep, and for that they were eternally appreciative.
Sonia Bloom, for one, was especially grateful for the extra help around the mansion. Only two months after the birth of her second child, Mrs. Bloom was obligated to organize a large-scale project for her company that would take several years to complete at least, which meant more work hours and less time caring for little Orlando and her two-year-old Samantha (who was thankfully already under another trusted servant’s eagle-eyed care). She was hazardously tempted to decline, but deep down inside she knew that she needed this job. Her husband had left even after knowing about the child, foolish bastard that he was, and in truth there was no other replacement with the right prerequisites and brilliant resume in the company besides herself. Not only that, the salary was sufficient, and that itself was the deciding factor of the whole situation. In the end, it was a necessary action whether she wanted it or not, and as a result she showed up at work one Monday morning in her usual formal attire, pride and power carved into her being as she strutted down the corridors and set everything into place like the businesswoman that she set out to be.
This led to more work on Viggo’s part, since Mrs. Bloom would no longer be there to soothe the baby when all else failed to work. He did not mind that, though. What really bothered the servant was that Mrs. Bloom would no longer be available to establish a strong enough bond with the child. Every child needed to be loved, and Viggo pretty much went out of his way to make sure that it happened.
To make up for the lack of motherly affection, Viggo poured his whole heart and soul into caring for little Orlando, taking him everywhere with him as he went about his domestic duties and mundane chores. He set up a little playpen on the rug for the child to amuse himself with soft toys while he tended to the fireplace and dusted the shelves. He alternated between playing peek-a-boo with Orli, doing laundry, and washing the dishes. During lunch and dinner breaks, he weaned the child bit by bit (a difficult process considering how less than half really ended up in his stomach), never tiring of watching the little boy smack his lips and happily wiggle about in his seat even after the other household workers had laughed good-naturedly when they caught the caretaker making funny faces during times like these. Viggo also brought Orlando with him to the gardens every day as he watered the plants, pulled out weeds, and picked out ripe fruits, continually keeping a close eye on the baby just in case the young one decided to put anything vulgar in his system. Orlando had a penchant for eating spiders, for instance, and despite Viggo’s best attempts at stopping him, there were several incidents when the gardener was not fast enough before the poor insect got trapped in the confines of what was Orlando’s mouth.
“You know, Orli, I just don’t get it,” he had said, wiping off the sweat from his forehead as he continued to shovel out unwanted plants. “You absolutely despise perfectly fine-tasting baby gunk, and yet you seem to enjoy eating something as disgusting as a fucking Daddy Long Legs. Pardon the language. Mrs. Bloom would kill me if she found out I said that in front of you.” Orlando only smiled smugly and burped in response.
When Viggo was not on work duties, he spent every minute with Orlando. Usually, they were found in Viggo’s small room on his bed, just being together-observing baby flash cards, man-to-man roughhousing (less rough and more man-to-man, of course), talking in baby language, and so on-with Mozart playing in the background. Sometimes, when Viggo needed some time to himself, he set little Orli in his playpen while he sat in an armchair nearby, doodling in his sketchbook. It was one of Viggo’s favorite hobbies, just holding a pencil in his right hand and letting it glide through the course texture of the paper. He was talented, that was certain. His sketches were realistic and full of depth, depicting images pleasing to the eye that almost needed no oral explanations. Horses and people were his favorite subjects, for a number of reasons. Viggo wholeheartedly believed that there was no difference between the two save for species status-they were both living creatures, were they not? He tended to draw horses with more detail, however, due to his love for the equines. They were like children-pure and full of love.
At times he would look up from his artwork and catch Orli watching him curiously with his beautiful brown eyes. “What are you looking at, punk?” he would ask amusedly, lips pulling up into a smile. Orlando would always reply with a tilt of his head along with his signature lopsided smirk, which never failed to make the elder grin.
Viggo’s favorite time, however, was during the evenings when he would read aloud to Orlando. It was the only time the two were completely alone, when Orlando would pay his full attention to Viggo and only Viggo with no other distractions as the young man’s deep voice recited the lines of the stories. Not those bloody fairytales, though, he had wanted none of those! Instead of stories like The Three Little Pigs and The Pied Piper, Viggo would stop by the library and pick out classics like Crime and Punishment and anything by James Joyce, totally convinced that it would help Orlando in the near future (for whatever reason, he never really figured out). It was a surreal experience, reading a good three or so chapters of the text while watching the baby boy blink once, twice, three times, each eyelid motion decreasing in speed and conviction, until they finally remained closed, the rise and fall of a small chest the only proof of life. Viggo would then stare at the little one for another hour or so, entranced. By four months, Orlando had already grown a thin layer of curly hair on his head, and Viggo would have loved nothing better than to sit by the cradle and twirl his fingers around the tiny curls for all of eternity. Reality would never let him off that easily, though, so Viggo would have to kiss the baby on the forehead and tuck him in before pulling himself away to attend to other exponentially less important matters. Sir McKellan, the main butler, literally had to drag him out of the room at times.
Occasionally Mrs. Bloom came back for a couple of hours during the daytime, and no matter how weary or tired she was, she would stubbornly insist on spending time with her precious children, determined to play at least a small part in raising both of them. Although Viggo looked up to her will and maternal strength, he found himself resenting the fact that he was obliged to leave the three alone during her visits. He knew that he was being selfish, but Viggo wanted Orlando to himself. He wanted Orli to look at him like he was the only person in the world that could care for him, but every time this notion was scrapped whenever he noticed how happy Orli seemed to be in his mother’s arms. Mothers just had that special feel to them that no other beings could even come close to, and Viggo knew that he would need to deal with that fact whether he wanted to or not. Still, it was remarkably satisfying to see little Orli fervently wriggling in his mother’s embrace to once again be placed against Viggo’s firm chest.
Orlando started learning how to walk at six months, which was a surprise to say the least: he had only just begun crawling, for crying out loud. Viggo first paid attention to this phenomenon when he was washing dishes and heard a sharp laugh from behind him. Quickly he dried his hands and smiled as he spun around towards the source of such happiness but stopped in his tracks when he spotted Orli standing on his wobbly legs, his hands on the arm of a kitchen chair holding him steady. Slowly, the toddler let his forearms fall to his sides, careful not to lose his balance. Viggo just stood there, unmoving and spellbound, as Orlando started wobbling on his stubby legs towards his caretaker, one small step at a time, until he finally stumbled and wrapped his arms around the firm muscles of Viggo’s calf, giggling. Slowly, Viggo lowered himself onto his haunches to Orlando’s eye level.
“Did you just do what I think you just did?” he whispered, eyes glazed over. Happiness overwhelming his whole system, Viggo let out a cry of joy as he hoisted Orli up into the air and spun him around several times, both of them laughing like the maniacs they were. In fact, they made so much noise and clamor that the other servants believed that there was a fire in the kitchen, and they berated the two for causing such commotion. Viggo cared not, though, his shining eyes never leaving the child that he loved all too much. He phoned Mrs. Bloom that night after Orli had finally drifted off after the seventieth page of Atlas Shrugged, excitement bubbling to the surface as he enthusiastically recounted all that had happened. Mrs. Bloom, exhausted as she was, had responded ecstatically. Orlando was able to walk proficiently after two weeks, and he used this newfound ability to follow Viggo absolutely everywhere.
In spite of the fact that he was a busy person with a domestic occupation, Viggo was no outsider to the real world. He had his own group of friends, most of them visual artists and musicians, some of whom touched on the art of theatre. His best mate, a relatively soft-spoken guy named Shaun Bean (they had long decided to spell his name “Sean” just to make it have a clever correlation to his last name), often visited him at the mansion. Much to the other servants’ chagrin, he did not seem to be the right type of company for higher-class citizens judging by his scraggly appearance and working class background. Viggo, of course, cared not for social status and instead greeted the pauper with open arms each time he arrived at the doorstep.
Sean, notwithstanding his gruff exterior, was a polite and decent boy a little less than a year younger than Viggo. He was virtually a drifter with no real home, and usually slept in abandoned warehouses or park benches, working odd jobs once in a while to pay for his meals. Often he had fresh bruises from inevitable street fights, but no matter how many times Viggo offered to lend him some of his salary just to give him a jump start, the proud young man always declined, asserting that he required no help and that he was doing just fine, thank you very much. Though they lived in totally different environments, the two were quite similar in both background and personality. Both were orphans, both loved sports and art, both had similar viewpoints in life, and they often found themselves thinking on the same wavelength and finishing each other’s’ sentences. Orlando loved him instantly, much to Viggo’s relief (Orli was generally wary around strangers), and the boy always squealed in delight whenever his Uncle Sean was present. In return, Sean showered him with kindness and treated him like he was his own son, which both annoyed and pleased Viggo.
Sean was there when the accident occurred. It was a lethal one that happened when Viggo and Sean had their backs turned as they dusted the bedrooms together, chatting about life in general. Somebody (probably a visiter or the local carpet cleaner) had left a bottle of furniture polish on the floor which had aimlessly rolled underneath the table out of everybody’s peripheral vision-except for Orlando’s. Luckily, Viggo had turned around, noticed that Orlando was missing, and found him a few seconds later pale and motionless under the table. Needless to say, it resulted in a frantic trip to the hospital with an uncharacteristically-panicky Viggo with Sean’s comforting arm around his shoulder. Orlando survived with no serious injuries, but Viggo’s ego was not so lucky. For months afterwards, the young man had uncompromisingly blamed himself for being a terrible caretaker who could not even protect a baby from something as commonplace as furniture polish. Viggo never let Orli out of his sight, and went through all sorts of eccentric phases that stemmed from his paranoia. There was a week when he refused to even let Orlando out of his arms, convinced that danger lurked everywhere. Sean was a great support during this time, dropping by at least twice every day to make sure that his friend was actually taking care of himself and not rotting from anxiety. It took them a while, but eventually Viggo also recovered after realizing that his behavior was negatively affecting the lively Orlando as well, and so he reverted back to being his normal equilibrium-loving self though still overprotective at times. None would disagree, however, that the experience just strengthened the rapport between Viggo and the child under his care.
There was a party in the mansion celebrating Orlando’s first birthday, filled with balloons and party hats and the like. It was a surprisingly large turnout. The whole Bloom family was there, Mrs. Bloom invited some of her coworkers, the maids and manservants had brought relatives, and Viggo invited his own artistic small circle of friends who provided background music and other aesthetic contributions. Sean had also surprised him by bringing along his two newly-adopted brothers as potential playmates for Orlando. Dominic, two, and his surrogate older brother Billy, ten, were recent orphans who were sent to live at the local church. Billy, ever the precocious boy, decided to run away with Dom when he found out that they were going to be set up for adoption and most likely separated, and they lived on the streets for a total number of three days before Sean found them and took them under his wing. He got Billy enrolled in a public school and the boy was smart enough not to tell anybody about where he lived and to avoid questions concerning what his “father” did for a living.
The kids were beautiful playmates. Both were giggly, adorable, full of life, loud (Dom especially), and it was mostly their squeals of delight that filled the mansion. Orlando and Samantha, though wary at first, warmed up to them in no time. Dom was in the beginning stages of an impending growth spurt, and had the adorable habit of making funny faces and impersonating anything he heard. He did an excellent interpretation of Sir McKellan, for instance, which irritated the living hell out of the butler but brought laughs out of everybody else. Billy, on the other hand, was charmingly witty, a pretty boy of sorts, and always had something interesting to say. He, too, had facial expressions that cracked people up, his trademark being the angelic smile that wrapped everybody around his little finger, Sean included. He was also a talented singer and performed a few folk songs for the audience that made the audience suffer the awww syndrome. Sean was awfully fond of them, and Viggo could almost feel the fatherly love that his friend had for the inseparable pair; he wondered if he looked like that when caring for Orlando.
Photos were taken throughout the event, mostly by Viggo, always the artistic keener. Pictures of Mrs. Bloom and her beloved son, pictures of Orlando blowing out the candle, pictures of Orlando wearing a party hat, pictures of Orlando and the cake, pictures of Orlando eating the cake. Viggo kept them all afterwards even if some of them were blurry to the point of obscureness, and kept the best one-Orlando’s mouth smeared with chocolate with Viggo pressing a kiss onto his cheek-in his wallet. Sean called him a sap. Viggo told him to look in the mirror.
Orlando practically fell unconscious after the party was over, the excitement literally drained out of the toddler as he went limp in Viggo’s arms sailing away to Dreamland. After tucking Orlando in, Viggo invited Sean and his “children” to stay over, which he agreed with the condition that they would stay only for the night. The twenty-year-old servant had only rolled his eyes and led the way into the guest rooms. Billy and Dom shared a room, neither able to sleep without the other, and Viggo waited outside the door as Sean kissed them both twice on the foreheads, a tradition of sorts. The duo then decided to take a walk around the neighborhood like they used to, where they used the time to laugh about old things and talk about their hopes and dreams. Eventually, however, their conversations drifted towards their little ones.
“It’s scary, you know,” Viggo pondered aloud, breaking off a miniscule twig from the nearby apple tree as they continued on their stroll. “I care about Orlando so much, and I’m not even his real father. I wonder how much more Mrs. Bloom loves him.”
“You don’t need to be his real father in order to love him like one,” Sean countered. “It was my own choice to adopt Dom and Billy, and to tell you the truth, they really have become my whole life. Everything I do now revolves around them. Fatherhood does that to you, I guess.”
“It really does, doesn’t it? I already fear the day Orli leaves the mansion to find his own future.”
Sean laughed. “Wuss.”
“Shut up.”
“Do you ever think of what their future will be like? Dom and Billy? Do you ever wonder if you are doing enough for them as their guardian?”
“Always,” the drifter nodded. “If anything, I don’t want them to end up like me, homeless and with no economical prospect. I want them to be successful with financial stability, with everything they could ever dream of having. I’m pretty much penniless half the time, and it is a matter of luck whenever I get enough to buy food. And besides, I give it all to the little ones now-they need it more than I do.”
“You know,” Viggo started off uneasily, staring at the boniness of his friend. “The offer is still open. You can live in the Bloom mansion until you find work. Mrs. Bloom cares about you a lot, and if I talk to her, she might agree to let you stay.”
“I’m poor as shit, Vig, but I’m not a beggar.”
“It’s not begging if I am the one imploring,” the young man argued. “Besides, Dom and Billy get along with Orli beautifully. They would be great for each another, if not a little loud. I’m not saying that you are not taking care of them well, Sean, because you are, but it’s just that I don’t like the idea of children living on the streets. It’s not good for them in the end, no offence.”
Sean pursed his lips. “I know.”
“Then please, think about it,” his friend entreated, placing his palm on Sean’s skeletal shoulder. Viggo shuddered at how hollow it felt. “You won’t be a bother. I would love having a helping hand around.”
Silently, they made their way back to the mansion, back to their little ones, and once the grandness of the roof came into sight, Sean let out a sigh of resignation as he stopped in his tracks. “Only if I pay for it. I want to make honest money and pay for one of the guest rooms, with no friend discounts. Every penny.”
The idiotic smile on Viggo’s face was enough to make Sean lose his serious expression, and together they raced back, wind whipping past their faces, their coats trailing behind them like superhero capes. After catching his breath, Viggo made his way up to Orlando’s room and quietly slipped in so as not to wake the little one. Carefully he sat beside the cradle and watched as the year-old toddler slept peacefully, pushing a small curl away from the baby’s face. “Uncle Sean is staying with us now,” he mouthed. “So are Dom and Billy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Viggo did not need him to answer in order to know what the answer would be.
The trio moved in a week later, and it was an understatement to say that life with Dom and Billy was exciting. Dom was a night person, and was active from exactly twelve in the afternoon to three in the morning. Any other time, he would be sprawled out on the couch, chair, bed, rug, or any other soft surface for that matter, snoring. Billy was the opposite, only able to concentrate during the timespan of six in the morning until eight in the evening. Though it still left them plenty of time to spend time with one another, eight hours to be exact, it was the strangest routine phenomenon around the household that made sure that there was one of them roaming around pretty much all the time. Either way, Orlando seemed to be pleased, as was Viggo.
There was one day, Dom was following Billy around, shouting out the word idiot! on repeat. Sean had laughed and explained that it was the first word that Dom had ever said, and that it was a special nickname for Billy that he never used on anybody else.
“Do you think that the first word is important life-wise?” Viggo asked. “Like, do you think that the first word you say will determine where your life will lead you?”
“Probably not,” Sean answered, shrugging as he watched Billy wrestle a giggling Dom to the ground. “I’ve heard of kids whose first word was ‘aluminum foil’. No idea where that would lead them.”
Viggo laughed as a picture of the tin man of the Wizard of Oz popped into his mind.
Orlando was a talkative baby in the loosest possible form of the term. His first word was ahhh, spoken at the age of five months, which delighted Viggo to no end but really, ahhh did not count as a word per se. Therefore, madness ensued when, a week before his second birthday, Orlando spoke his first intelligible non-baby word in the gardens. Viggo had pretty much dropped whatever he was doing (in this case, a steel shovel) and had run up to the baby’s side, excitement building up in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he would be thrilled even if Orlando’s first word was something boring like “mama” or “papa”. Heck, for all he cared, Orlando could have caught the habit of cussing from him and the other servants and he still would have been overjoyed (though, of course, there was the opinion of Mrs. Bloom). However, Orlando’s first experience of verbal communication genuinely caught him off guard when the child once again opened his mouth to convey his previous message.
“Vee. Goh.”
Viggo’s heart stopped. “What? What did you say?”
“Viggo!” the curly-haired toddler said happily, bouncing up and down on his feet. “Viggo, Viggo! My Viggo!”
And so it was.
Chapter 2