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fellowshippers2004-06-21 05:22 pm
ivorette.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-06-21 05:22 pm
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Title: Reminders from Hollywood
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ivorette
Rating: PG
Pairing: David/Elijah (or, as I affectionately call them, Daisy/Doodle)
Disclaimer: I do not claim to know the actors mentioned. No disrespect is intended and no profit is being made.
Feedback: Better than candy and delicious with ketchup.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lotrpschallenge's "Time Differences" challenge. On a useless trivia note, I actually had to write this out with a pen and paper on hugely patterned children's stationery before it went anywhere. Hope you enjoy it.
Summary: Elijah writes David a letter, simple as that.
Daisy,
Surprising you with a letter, which I think is a rather unappreciated form of correspondence. A life in Hollywood has reminded me that I’ve never had a proper penpal before, but I figured that I should at least do the thing properly; I’m rather proud of finding this paper, even if the huge pattern only lets me write on about half of it. It creates the illusion of length (not THAT kind of length. Perv!). Next time I’ll make sure to send you some extra-large glittery rainbow Lisa Frank stickers or something, just to authenticate the experience (even if penpals don’t use words like “authenticate”).
I still have your number and I keep meaning to call, but it always seems like a bad time. Either I’ll call in the dead of the Australian night or I’ll actually call at a decent hour. I don’t know which is worse … waking up you, Kate, or the baby, having a lurid conversation with your answering machine, or having you hear me ramble, drunk off of my ass, about the rudeness of the last three phone numbers I called. Currently, however, it’s about 2:45 AM in California, and do you know what that means? You were enjoying Australia’s late afternoon sun while I was hunched over a desk with the L. A. night visible through the window, writing this letter to you. Of course I have no idea what time it is now that you’re reading it, but I’d like to think the weather is nice and you’re comfortable.
On the whole, I have mixed feelings about even starting this up. I regret that letters are no longer the norm, replaced by the instantaneous results of the telephone and e-mail, because letters are great provided you’re not hasty … we were never hasty or rushed even in the madcap schedule of filming, and I know that if I wrote something I’d totally regret, there’s no shame in letting it sit on the desk and simmer in my mind until I picked it up again so that you’d know how I’d really feel. If every computer in the world were to crash and leave you without e-mail, we could still have this, even if I’d have to hop a boat to your side of the world and put it in your hand. Then again, the written word is just as bad as the spoken, and there’s so many ways I could sidetrack and twist the meaning of my words in print. I don’t want to, though. All I want is honesty, the kind that New Zealand gave us, the kind that we lost when we left and wisely kept our silence. Can we find it again? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try. You have to swing the bat before anything can happen.
That last comment just makes me laugh though, because it just displays selective honesty. Billy’s in Scotland and Orli’s not back from Spain yet, but I still don’t feel the need to write them. The phone will do nicely until I can see them in person, but not for you. Letters are planned more often than conversations; impromptu conversation with you has always been hard, even in during our last days in New Zealand … you didn’t want to hurt or nick me with the sword, and I didn’t want to hurt or drive you away with any of the stupid crap liable to spill from my mouth. I'm wise to a world that a normal person can only dream of, and oh so ignorant in the daily matters that really count. I know I can’t avoid it (you and Kate) forever, but maybe this means I won’t have to. Baby steps, in the form of hugely patterned stationery and ballpoint ink. Another surprising reminder from a Hollywood life: baby steps can be more challenging than you think. When you start work at the age of seven and have different childhood memories than other kids, baby steps don't figure much into it. It may sound ridiculous, but I still want "David and Elijah" to exist, even if it isn't what it started out as. That doesn't scare me; all relationships change and evolve to stay alive, even if they have to become something different.
I should wrap this up even though I’ll think of loads more to say when this is safely inside the mailbox. Say hello to Kate and give the baby a pinch from me.
I waited for your plane and I’ll always wait for your letters.
XO,
Doodle
Author:
ivoretteRating: PG
Pairing: David/Elijah (or, as I affectionately call them, Daisy/Doodle)
Disclaimer: I do not claim to know the actors mentioned. No disrespect is intended and no profit is being made.
Feedback: Better than candy and delicious with ketchup.
Notes: Written for
lotrpschallenge's "Time Differences" challenge. On a useless trivia note, I actually had to write this out with a pen and paper on hugely patterned children's stationery before it went anywhere. Hope you enjoy it.Summary: Elijah writes David a letter, simple as that.
Daisy,
Surprising you with a letter, which I think is a rather unappreciated form of correspondence. A life in Hollywood has reminded me that I’ve never had a proper penpal before, but I figured that I should at least do the thing properly; I’m rather proud of finding this paper, even if the huge pattern only lets me write on about half of it. It creates the illusion of length (not THAT kind of length. Perv!). Next time I’ll make sure to send you some extra-large glittery rainbow Lisa Frank stickers or something, just to authenticate the experience (even if penpals don’t use words like “authenticate”).
I still have your number and I keep meaning to call, but it always seems like a bad time. Either I’ll call in the dead of the Australian night or I’ll actually call at a decent hour. I don’t know which is worse … waking up you, Kate, or the baby, having a lurid conversation with your answering machine, or having you hear me ramble, drunk off of my ass, about the rudeness of the last three phone numbers I called. Currently, however, it’s about 2:45 AM in California, and do you know what that means? You were enjoying Australia’s late afternoon sun while I was hunched over a desk with the L. A. night visible through the window, writing this letter to you. Of course I have no idea what time it is now that you’re reading it, but I’d like to think the weather is nice and you’re comfortable.
On the whole, I have mixed feelings about even starting this up. I regret that letters are no longer the norm, replaced by the instantaneous results of the telephone and e-mail, because letters are great provided you’re not hasty … we were never hasty or rushed even in the madcap schedule of filming, and I know that if I wrote something I’d totally regret, there’s no shame in letting it sit on the desk and simmer in my mind until I picked it up again so that you’d know how I’d really feel. If every computer in the world were to crash and leave you without e-mail, we could still have this, even if I’d have to hop a boat to your side of the world and put it in your hand. Then again, the written word is just as bad as the spoken, and there’s so many ways I could sidetrack and twist the meaning of my words in print. I don’t want to, though. All I want is honesty, the kind that New Zealand gave us, the kind that we lost when we left and wisely kept our silence. Can we find it again? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try. You have to swing the bat before anything can happen.
That last comment just makes me laugh though, because it just displays selective honesty. Billy’s in Scotland and Orli’s not back from Spain yet, but I still don’t feel the need to write them. The phone will do nicely until I can see them in person, but not for you. Letters are planned more often than conversations; impromptu conversation with you has always been hard, even in during our last days in New Zealand … you didn’t want to hurt or nick me with the sword, and I didn’t want to hurt or drive you away with any of the stupid crap liable to spill from my mouth. I'm wise to a world that a normal person can only dream of, and oh so ignorant in the daily matters that really count. I know I can’t avoid it (you and Kate) forever, but maybe this means I won’t have to. Baby steps, in the form of hugely patterned stationery and ballpoint ink. Another surprising reminder from a Hollywood life: baby steps can be more challenging than you think. When you start work at the age of seven and have different childhood memories than other kids, baby steps don't figure much into it. It may sound ridiculous, but I still want "David and Elijah" to exist, even if it isn't what it started out as. That doesn't scare me; all relationships change and evolve to stay alive, even if they have to become something different.
I should wrap this up even though I’ll think of loads more to say when this is safely inside the mailbox. Say hello to Kate and give the baby a pinch from me.
I waited for your plane and I’ll always wait for your letters.
XO,
Doodle