NaNoWriMo - The Story So Far, Parts 53-56
Much love to mgal, Beta Extraordinaire.
53. Marianne
I knew you, pigtails and all. Girls, when they fall.
Hannah/Dom, PG-13, 500 words
Elijah remembers Hannah as a little girl, dressed in her jumper with a white turtleneck underneath and black Mary Janes that she was so proud of she was almost afraid to walk in them. She wore her hair in pigtails with little red ribbons tied in bows around them, and a locket that their mother had given her for her sixth birthday, with pictures of Elijah and their mother in it.
The only thing that remains the same about Hannah is the locket, which she still wears. It even still has a picture of Elijah in it, although not the one that it originally came with. The picture in her locket now is of a much older Elijah, just after The Two Towers, when his hair is a little crazed but before he gave up the contact lenses in favor of thick glasses.
The fact that he remembers that little girl, in her pigtails and patent leather shoes, is probably why Elijah finds it so hard to even recognize the Hannah in front of him. She's traded in the Mary Janes for a pair of knee-high lace up Doc Martins, which she's paired with purple fishnets, a short black skirt and a tank top that says "punk is dead" in sequins. Her hair is different, short and spiked with purple streaks. But he can see the glint of the chain of the gold locket tucked under her shirt, despite the layers of chunky silver chains that she's piled on top.
When Hannah walks up to Dom with a self-assured swagger that she's only developed over the last year or so, Elijah still sees his little sister bouncing up to him, ribbons curling and flapping against her head. And when Dom pulls Hannah down into his lap, where she lands with a giggle, Elijah sees little Hannah, grinning up at Elijah like a loon and climbing into his lap.
Dom wraps his arm around Hannah, and she leans into him to whisper something in his ear and they both laugh. Elijah remembers afternoons spent with his sister, playing Candyland and laughing together. He remembers the little gap between her front teeth that braces have fixed years ago. And when Dom slides his hand up Hannah's leg, Elijah has a moment of outrage, just a flash of "that's my baby sister!"
Hannah snags Dom's cigarette from his mouth and takes a drag, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke, and Elijah cringes, realizing that she's probably learned that from him. He still remembers when their mother took them out to dinner and requested to sit in the non-smoking section.
Hannah wraps her legs around Dom, straddling him in his chair until Dom stands up, at which point she crosses her ankles behind his back, and he grabs her ass and holds on tight while carrying her out of the room. Elijah can still remember carrying Hannah home from the playground like that, just after she fell off the swings and skinned her knee.
*****
54. Martha's Foolish Ginger
My visions and my passions, they keep me awake.
Viggo/Orlando, PG, 500 words
Viggo doesn't much care for sleeping. He just can't bring himself to close his eyes and dream. There's music to be listened to and there are books to be read and there are words to be written down, and Viggo has found that the dead of night is the best time to do that.
Lately, there's been something specific keeping Viggo awake at night. Actually, someone more specific. Viggo usually manages to catch an hour or two of sleep in the pre-dawn hours, but lately even that has eluded him, because whenever he closes his eyes, he sees Orlando. So he doesn't even try anymore, working straight through the night on whatever project captures his attention, doing anything and everything he can to distract himself.
The sleeplessness doesn't bother him for the first few nights. After all, he's never needed much sleep, so the complete absence of it takes a while to catch up with him. But it finally does, and on the fifth night he finds himself falling asleep reading his copy of The Two Towers.
He dreams about Orlando, although it's blurry and smeared, almost like one of his paintings. When he wakes up, he's left with no concrete memory of the dream, but with a vague feeling of unease and desire in his gut.
So Viggo makes a conscious attempt at staying awake. He stocks up on coffee from the local shop, paints from the art supply place he frequents, and a stack of magazines from the bookstore. He also bums a handful of the loudest, most annoying CDs that Elijah owns, all in the hopes that he'll stay awake.
And, again, it works for a few days. He spends his nights painting, although he's not quite sure what exactly is taking shape on his canvas. He reads magazines, and when he's done with them, he cuts them up into pieces and glues them artfully to his coffee table. He listens to Elijah's music and cultivates a headache to go with his caffeine buzz.
He spends his days on set a little distracted, fumbles some of his lines, until Peter actually pulls him aside and asks if there's anything wrong. The makeup girls spend more time than usual covering the circles under his eyes, because he apparently looks more tired than even Aragorn should. Billy suggests that maybe he's taking the Method thing a little too seriously. Dom agrees. Viggo thanks all of them, but still doesn't sleep.
On his seventh sleepless night, during his twelfth cup of coffee in six hours, Viggo adds the finishing touches to his canvas. He still doesn't know exactly what it is, but he likes it. He sets the paints aside and walks into the kitchen to rinse out his brushes.
When he walks back into the living room, headed toward his newly decopauged coffee table to study the next day's lines, he finds Orlando standing in the middle of the room, staring blearily at him.
"I can't sleep," he explains.
*****
55. Marys of the Sea
Take those hands away from your eyes.
Billy/Dom, PG, 500 words
"It's a surprise," Dom insists. They've been driving for more than half an hour when Dom pulls the car over to the side of the road and reaches across Billy. He fumbles around the glove compartment, pulling out empty packs of cigarettes and a sheaf of napkins before he finds what he's looking for. "Now put this on," he says, handing Billy a long strip of black fabric.
"Hell, no," Billy answers. When Dom pushes out his lower lip into a pout, Billy continues, "The last time that I let you blindfold me, I ended up in the middle of a pub with no pants, holding a bag full of goldfish."
"You don't trust me," Dom whines.
"It's not that I don't trust you, Dommie," Billy sweet-talks. "I just fear for the lives of any goldfish that you might have hidden somewhere in this car. I'm not putting on that blindfold."
Dom relents. "Fine. Cover your eyes with your hands, then. And no peeking!"
Billy gives Dom a withering look, but puts his hands over his eyes. Dom turns the car off and climbs out, running around to the passenger side to help Billy out by his arm. They stumble for the first ten feet, Billy almost moving his hands just so he can look down to make sure that Dom isn't walking him off a cliff, but Dom threatens the lives of many more children's pets if Billy does.
They walk together, Dom's arm around Billy, through a wooded area. Dom guides Billy very slowly, stopping him every few feet to warn him about roots and rocks.
"I feel ridiculous," Billy finally says, his palms still pressed to his eyes. "How much further?"
"Just a few... more..." Dom stops. "Here. Look," he says, nudging Billy gently.
Billy takes his hands away from his eyes and looks up. They're standing in a clearing. It's pitch-dark, with the exception of a beam of light from a flashlight Billy hadn't noticed Dom grab. There's a blanket spread in the middle of the small field, with a basket and two small pillows on top of it. Billy looks over at Dom, questioning.
"You're always talking about being on the bottom of the world," Dom explains. "Thought we could take a minute to appreciate the sky from down here."
Billy lets Dom take his hand and lead him over to the blanket, where they both sit. Dom pulls two bottles of beer out of the basket, along with a small spread of fruit. Billy stares at him as he sets small plates in front of them and opens both bottles. He hands one to Billy, who takes a small sip, still studying Dom closely.
"Why are you staring at me?" Dom asks. "Do I have something on my face?"
Billy smiles and leans forward to snag a slice of apple. "Nope," he says, taking a small bite. He swallows, then looks up at the sky. "Just seeing things from a new perspective," Billy adds.
*****
56. Me and a Gun
Do you know Carolina, where the biscuits are soft and sweet?
Viggo/Orlando, PG, 500 words
Viggo has no idea how he ended up in South Carolina. But then, that's no real surprise. He sometimes has whole months that he can't remember, and he's found himself everywhere from Denver to Buffalo.
This time, he's in a diner, sitting in front of a hot cup of coffee and a plate of warm toast. There's a newspaper next to his arm, and he pulls it over to read the date: September 4, 2006. He counts backward in his head and realizes that he's only missing a week, ten days at the most.
He feels like hell, as usual, and there's a faint taste of cotton and bile in the back of his throat. Viggo swallows and takes a sip of his coffee, then pats his pockets. Wallet, check. Car keys, that's new. He doesn't usually have his car keys. There was actually one disastrous incident in Chicago that resulted from his inability to find his keys. And, hey, a half-empty pack of cigarettes with a lighter that he doesn't recognize tucked inside.
He pulls out a cigarette and lights it and immediately his waiter shows up at the table with an ashtray and a smile.
"There you are!" the waiter says. The man has an English accent, which makes Viggo wonder briefly how he ended up waiting tables in a grungy diner in South Carolina, but if Viggo has learned anything in the last five years, it's that it's best not to ask questions. The waiter continues, "Do you want to order, now?" and tucks an errant chestnut curl behind his ear.
Viggo looks down at his plate of toast. "I didn't order this?" he asks.
The waiter, whose nametag identifies him as Blanchard, frowns and slides into the booth across from Viggo. "You don't remember?" Viggo shakes his head, and the young waiter explains, "You wandered in here, looking confused and kinda sick. You sat down, and I came over to take your order, but you wouldn't say anything. So I brought you some coffee, 'cause you looked like you could use it, and some toast to settle your stomach." He hesitates, then leans forward. "What happened to you, man?"
Viggo shakes his head again and ashes his cigarette. "I'm sure it would be a long story, if I knew," he answers.
The waiter nods and slides out of the booth. "Well, I'll get you some biscuits. They're the house specialty."
When the biscuits come, Viggo discovers that the waiter was right. They taste like heaven, and he wonders when he last ate. The waiter refills his coffee and slides into the booth again.
"Not to pry," he says, "but what's your story?"
Viggo laughs, takes another bite of biscuit and washes it down with a sip of coffee. "What's yours, Blanchard?" he asks in return.
The waiter looks confused, and Viggo points at his nametag. "Not your real name, I take it?"
He smiles. "You're not the only one with a long story," the waiter answers.
53. Marianne
I knew you, pigtails and all. Girls, when they fall.
Hannah/Dom, PG-13, 500 words
Elijah remembers Hannah as a little girl, dressed in her jumper with a white turtleneck underneath and black Mary Janes that she was so proud of she was almost afraid to walk in them. She wore her hair in pigtails with little red ribbons tied in bows around them, and a locket that their mother had given her for her sixth birthday, with pictures of Elijah and their mother in it.
The only thing that remains the same about Hannah is the locket, which she still wears. It even still has a picture of Elijah in it, although not the one that it originally came with. The picture in her locket now is of a much older Elijah, just after The Two Towers, when his hair is a little crazed but before he gave up the contact lenses in favor of thick glasses.
The fact that he remembers that little girl, in her pigtails and patent leather shoes, is probably why Elijah finds it so hard to even recognize the Hannah in front of him. She's traded in the Mary Janes for a pair of knee-high lace up Doc Martins, which she's paired with purple fishnets, a short black skirt and a tank top that says "punk is dead" in sequins. Her hair is different, short and spiked with purple streaks. But he can see the glint of the chain of the gold locket tucked under her shirt, despite the layers of chunky silver chains that she's piled on top.
When Hannah walks up to Dom with a self-assured swagger that she's only developed over the last year or so, Elijah still sees his little sister bouncing up to him, ribbons curling and flapping against her head. And when Dom pulls Hannah down into his lap, where she lands with a giggle, Elijah sees little Hannah, grinning up at Elijah like a loon and climbing into his lap.
Dom wraps his arm around Hannah, and she leans into him to whisper something in his ear and they both laugh. Elijah remembers afternoons spent with his sister, playing Candyland and laughing together. He remembers the little gap between her front teeth that braces have fixed years ago. And when Dom slides his hand up Hannah's leg, Elijah has a moment of outrage, just a flash of "that's my baby sister!"
Hannah snags Dom's cigarette from his mouth and takes a drag, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke, and Elijah cringes, realizing that she's probably learned that from him. He still remembers when their mother took them out to dinner and requested to sit in the non-smoking section.
Hannah wraps her legs around Dom, straddling him in his chair until Dom stands up, at which point she crosses her ankles behind his back, and he grabs her ass and holds on tight while carrying her out of the room. Elijah can still remember carrying Hannah home from the playground like that, just after she fell off the swings and skinned her knee.
*****
54. Martha's Foolish Ginger
My visions and my passions, they keep me awake.
Viggo/Orlando, PG, 500 words
Viggo doesn't much care for sleeping. He just can't bring himself to close his eyes and dream. There's music to be listened to and there are books to be read and there are words to be written down, and Viggo has found that the dead of night is the best time to do that.
Lately, there's been something specific keeping Viggo awake at night. Actually, someone more specific. Viggo usually manages to catch an hour or two of sleep in the pre-dawn hours, but lately even that has eluded him, because whenever he closes his eyes, he sees Orlando. So he doesn't even try anymore, working straight through the night on whatever project captures his attention, doing anything and everything he can to distract himself.
The sleeplessness doesn't bother him for the first few nights. After all, he's never needed much sleep, so the complete absence of it takes a while to catch up with him. But it finally does, and on the fifth night he finds himself falling asleep reading his copy of The Two Towers.
He dreams about Orlando, although it's blurry and smeared, almost like one of his paintings. When he wakes up, he's left with no concrete memory of the dream, but with a vague feeling of unease and desire in his gut.
So Viggo makes a conscious attempt at staying awake. He stocks up on coffee from the local shop, paints from the art supply place he frequents, and a stack of magazines from the bookstore. He also bums a handful of the loudest, most annoying CDs that Elijah owns, all in the hopes that he'll stay awake.
And, again, it works for a few days. He spends his nights painting, although he's not quite sure what exactly is taking shape on his canvas. He reads magazines, and when he's done with them, he cuts them up into pieces and glues them artfully to his coffee table. He listens to Elijah's music and cultivates a headache to go with his caffeine buzz.
He spends his days on set a little distracted, fumbles some of his lines, until Peter actually pulls him aside and asks if there's anything wrong. The makeup girls spend more time than usual covering the circles under his eyes, because he apparently looks more tired than even Aragorn should. Billy suggests that maybe he's taking the Method thing a little too seriously. Dom agrees. Viggo thanks all of them, but still doesn't sleep.
On his seventh sleepless night, during his twelfth cup of coffee in six hours, Viggo adds the finishing touches to his canvas. He still doesn't know exactly what it is, but he likes it. He sets the paints aside and walks into the kitchen to rinse out his brushes.
When he walks back into the living room, headed toward his newly decopauged coffee table to study the next day's lines, he finds Orlando standing in the middle of the room, staring blearily at him.
"I can't sleep," he explains.
*****
55. Marys of the Sea
Take those hands away from your eyes.
Billy/Dom, PG, 500 words
"It's a surprise," Dom insists. They've been driving for more than half an hour when Dom pulls the car over to the side of the road and reaches across Billy. He fumbles around the glove compartment, pulling out empty packs of cigarettes and a sheaf of napkins before he finds what he's looking for. "Now put this on," he says, handing Billy a long strip of black fabric.
"Hell, no," Billy answers. When Dom pushes out his lower lip into a pout, Billy continues, "The last time that I let you blindfold me, I ended up in the middle of a pub with no pants, holding a bag full of goldfish."
"You don't trust me," Dom whines.
"It's not that I don't trust you, Dommie," Billy sweet-talks. "I just fear for the lives of any goldfish that you might have hidden somewhere in this car. I'm not putting on that blindfold."
Dom relents. "Fine. Cover your eyes with your hands, then. And no peeking!"
Billy gives Dom a withering look, but puts his hands over his eyes. Dom turns the car off and climbs out, running around to the passenger side to help Billy out by his arm. They stumble for the first ten feet, Billy almost moving his hands just so he can look down to make sure that Dom isn't walking him off a cliff, but Dom threatens the lives of many more children's pets if Billy does.
They walk together, Dom's arm around Billy, through a wooded area. Dom guides Billy very slowly, stopping him every few feet to warn him about roots and rocks.
"I feel ridiculous," Billy finally says, his palms still pressed to his eyes. "How much further?"
"Just a few... more..." Dom stops. "Here. Look," he says, nudging Billy gently.
Billy takes his hands away from his eyes and looks up. They're standing in a clearing. It's pitch-dark, with the exception of a beam of light from a flashlight Billy hadn't noticed Dom grab. There's a blanket spread in the middle of the small field, with a basket and two small pillows on top of it. Billy looks over at Dom, questioning.
"You're always talking about being on the bottom of the world," Dom explains. "Thought we could take a minute to appreciate the sky from down here."
Billy lets Dom take his hand and lead him over to the blanket, where they both sit. Dom pulls two bottles of beer out of the basket, along with a small spread of fruit. Billy stares at him as he sets small plates in front of them and opens both bottles. He hands one to Billy, who takes a small sip, still studying Dom closely.
"Why are you staring at me?" Dom asks. "Do I have something on my face?"
Billy smiles and leans forward to snag a slice of apple. "Nope," he says, taking a small bite. He swallows, then looks up at the sky. "Just seeing things from a new perspective," Billy adds.
*****
56. Me and a Gun
Do you know Carolina, where the biscuits are soft and sweet?
Viggo/Orlando, PG, 500 words
Viggo has no idea how he ended up in South Carolina. But then, that's no real surprise. He sometimes has whole months that he can't remember, and he's found himself everywhere from Denver to Buffalo.
This time, he's in a diner, sitting in front of a hot cup of coffee and a plate of warm toast. There's a newspaper next to his arm, and he pulls it over to read the date: September 4, 2006. He counts backward in his head and realizes that he's only missing a week, ten days at the most.
He feels like hell, as usual, and there's a faint taste of cotton and bile in the back of his throat. Viggo swallows and takes a sip of his coffee, then pats his pockets. Wallet, check. Car keys, that's new. He doesn't usually have his car keys. There was actually one disastrous incident in Chicago that resulted from his inability to find his keys. And, hey, a half-empty pack of cigarettes with a lighter that he doesn't recognize tucked inside.
He pulls out a cigarette and lights it and immediately his waiter shows up at the table with an ashtray and a smile.
"There you are!" the waiter says. The man has an English accent, which makes Viggo wonder briefly how he ended up waiting tables in a grungy diner in South Carolina, but if Viggo has learned anything in the last five years, it's that it's best not to ask questions. The waiter continues, "Do you want to order, now?" and tucks an errant chestnut curl behind his ear.
Viggo looks down at his plate of toast. "I didn't order this?" he asks.
The waiter, whose nametag identifies him as Blanchard, frowns and slides into the booth across from Viggo. "You don't remember?" Viggo shakes his head, and the young waiter explains, "You wandered in here, looking confused and kinda sick. You sat down, and I came over to take your order, but you wouldn't say anything. So I brought you some coffee, 'cause you looked like you could use it, and some toast to settle your stomach." He hesitates, then leans forward. "What happened to you, man?"
Viggo shakes his head again and ashes his cigarette. "I'm sure it would be a long story, if I knew," he answers.
The waiter nods and slides out of the booth. "Well, I'll get you some biscuits. They're the house specialty."
When the biscuits come, Viggo discovers that the waiter was right. They taste like heaven, and he wonders when he last ate. The waiter refills his coffee and slides into the booth again.
"Not to pry," he says, "but what's your story?"
Viggo laughs, takes another bite of biscuit and washes it down with a sip of coffee. "What's yours, Blanchard?" he asks in return.
The waiter looks confused, and Viggo points at his nametag. "Not your real name, I take it?"
He smiles. "You're not the only one with a long story," the waiter answers.