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fellowshippers2004-07-16 09:54 pm
carveyourname.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-07-16 09:54 pm
First post - Elijah, Dom
Elijah, Dom
PG-13 for language
Summary: Elijah, Dom, Great White Shark Jr., out in the desert
A/N: This is my first post here, not the first lotrips I've written but the first I've put on lj. Quick once-over by a friend, let me know if you see anything glaring. Also, forgive my lack of knowledge about NV geography. :/ Some tinkering was neccessary for plot. Feedback, maybe, pretty please?
Dinosaurs
The black top is so hot under the midday Nevada sun, Elijah’s surprised it isn’t bubbling and boiling like some primordial tar pit. He can feel the heat through the soles of his shoes, and he’s half sure that any minute now the road’s going to give in and swallow him up completely. Maybe in a thousand years they’ll find his bones, like a dinosaur’s, in the middle of this god-forsaken desert. Or maybe Dom, still safe in the shelter of the rental car, will survive to tell the tale. “He just sort of… sunk into the earth, yeah? I told him it was too hot, he shouldn’t try it, so what if there’s a rock out there that looks like some famous guy’s head? But he just had to get out, right, and the pave just guzzled him whole.” Maybe they’ll play “1979” at his funeral- he should shout the idea to Dom while he’s still got time. Fuck, the sun’s getting to his head.
“Um, Lij, mate…” Dom calls from the relative safety of the car. “Not to ruin your whole communing-with-nature bit, but… What exactly are we doing out here?” This, Elijah knows, is a fair question. A good question. And frankly, a question even Elijah can’t answer. Elijah’d picked Dom up from the airport, Dom fresh from shooting some insane Gilligan’s Island meets Hatchet pilot that Elijah privately thought was sure to go nowhere fast, and Elijah’d hit him with “Come on man, we’ll drive to Vegas, it’ll be just like that fucking Johnny Depp movie, Fear and Loathing or whatever, just less acid. Look, they’ve got a big white convertible, a caddy, just like it, over at that rental place. You’re gonna be crazy famous, fucking tv show man, let’s do it, let’s party in Vegas!” Full of enthusiasm he’d hardly felt, but desperate times and all. And Dom had, of course, acquiesced within the hour to Elijah’s rambling pestering. But with Elijah at the wheel, they’d skirted Vegas, gone straight through, just continued East. Dom had said nothing an hour ago, when they’d finally cleared the city entirely. He’d glanced at Elijah from time to time, with a slightly worried slightly pensive slightly bemused expression on his face. Elijah assumes that something in his visage had kept Dom from asking thus far, but Elijah had been counting down the minutes until the inevitable occurred and Dom’s curiosity got the best of him. Apparently now that Elijah had deigned to stop the car and walk unprovoked out into the desert, Dom had mustered the courage to question him about it.
“Elijah?” A note of concern this time. Elijah supposes he should say something now, spout some utter crap about “finding himself” or “needing a break” or “getting the fuck out of LA, man.” But none of it’s the truth. Or rather, these clichés are all parts of the truth, he guesses, but not nearly the whole. Elijah’d woken up yesterday morning with his hands and feet itching to drive, burned some cds to play in the car, then sat down to wait for Dom’s flight to get in. So instead of handing Dom some half-assed half-truth, Elijah tries to answer simply.
“We’re…” Sighs. “We’re driving. Away.” He adds, “East,” for clarity.
“Uh, yes. East, thanks.” Dom pauses. Elijah expects Dom is gathering his thoughts, preparing some sort of speech or inquisition or something. Elijah expects Dom to demand answers, demand reasons, or demand to be taken home.
“Get back in the car, Lij,” is all Dom says. Not what Elijah expects. Elijah turns back, finally, toward the road and the car and Dom. Dom who is standing next to the “Great White Shark, Jr,” a half-smile emerging, disappearing, and reemerging on his face. He is tan from Hawaii, his hair conversely lightened by the same sun to darken his skin. Elijah likes this natural, earthy look on Dom. He likes the contrast, also, Dom’s dark skin and light hair to Elijah’s unearthly glow and deep brunet. Elijah’s perpetual-child, Snow White, X-Files look. Elijah sees Dom watching him, and wonders if Dom can read the insane trains of thought roaring through Elijah’s brain. Maybe he is crazy, a psychosis so deep that it’s taken 20-some-odd years emerge, and now he can’t shake it. Could Dom help him, if he asked? Could Dom tell him? Does he have an answer? “Fuck off, Elijah,” he tells himself.
He picks up his feet slowly, left then right, felling like he’s unsticking them from the tar. Feeling like the pave is clinging to him, a jilted lover begging him to stay. Feeling like it’s trying to pull him in and down. Dinosaurs, he thinks, and giggles just a little. He walks stuntingly toward the car, toward the image of Dom growing hazy in the afternoon heat.
Dom puts a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. Dom opens the passenger door, and nudges Elijah inside. Dom sits down in the driver’s seat, punches on the a.c., starts the cd player. As the car fills with Radiohead and arctic air, he looks at Elijah. Really looks, biting his lower lip in concentration, furrowing his brow. Elijah has a moment to wonder what Dom sees, who, and what either of them will say, before Dom speaks.
“East. Okay. I can do that.” He stops to take a deep breath, and shifts the car from Park. “We’re cool.”
Elijah looks out the windshield at the road, passing fast beneath the car. Dom squints at the sun in the rearview mirror. Thom Yorke sings through the speakers, both men mumbling along.
For a minute there, I lost myself.
PG-13 for language
Summary: Elijah, Dom, Great White Shark Jr., out in the desert
A/N: This is my first post here, not the first lotrips I've written but the first I've put on lj. Quick once-over by a friend, let me know if you see anything glaring. Also, forgive my lack of knowledge about NV geography. :/ Some tinkering was neccessary for plot. Feedback, maybe, pretty please?
The black top is so hot under the midday Nevada sun, Elijah’s surprised it isn’t bubbling and boiling like some primordial tar pit. He can feel the heat through the soles of his shoes, and he’s half sure that any minute now the road’s going to give in and swallow him up completely. Maybe in a thousand years they’ll find his bones, like a dinosaur’s, in the middle of this god-forsaken desert. Or maybe Dom, still safe in the shelter of the rental car, will survive to tell the tale. “He just sort of… sunk into the earth, yeah? I told him it was too hot, he shouldn’t try it, so what if there’s a rock out there that looks like some famous guy’s head? But he just had to get out, right, and the pave just guzzled him whole.” Maybe they’ll play “1979” at his funeral- he should shout the idea to Dom while he’s still got time. Fuck, the sun’s getting to his head.
“Um, Lij, mate…” Dom calls from the relative safety of the car. “Not to ruin your whole communing-with-nature bit, but… What exactly are we doing out here?” This, Elijah knows, is a fair question. A good question. And frankly, a question even Elijah can’t answer. Elijah’d picked Dom up from the airport, Dom fresh from shooting some insane Gilligan’s Island meets Hatchet pilot that Elijah privately thought was sure to go nowhere fast, and Elijah’d hit him with “Come on man, we’ll drive to Vegas, it’ll be just like that fucking Johnny Depp movie, Fear and Loathing or whatever, just less acid. Look, they’ve got a big white convertible, a caddy, just like it, over at that rental place. You’re gonna be crazy famous, fucking tv show man, let’s do it, let’s party in Vegas!” Full of enthusiasm he’d hardly felt, but desperate times and all. And Dom had, of course, acquiesced within the hour to Elijah’s rambling pestering. But with Elijah at the wheel, they’d skirted Vegas, gone straight through, just continued East. Dom had said nothing an hour ago, when they’d finally cleared the city entirely. He’d glanced at Elijah from time to time, with a slightly worried slightly pensive slightly bemused expression on his face. Elijah assumes that something in his visage had kept Dom from asking thus far, but Elijah had been counting down the minutes until the inevitable occurred and Dom’s curiosity got the best of him. Apparently now that Elijah had deigned to stop the car and walk unprovoked out into the desert, Dom had mustered the courage to question him about it.
“Elijah?” A note of concern this time. Elijah supposes he should say something now, spout some utter crap about “finding himself” or “needing a break” or “getting the fuck out of LA, man.” But none of it’s the truth. Or rather, these clichés are all parts of the truth, he guesses, but not nearly the whole. Elijah’d woken up yesterday morning with his hands and feet itching to drive, burned some cds to play in the car, then sat down to wait for Dom’s flight to get in. So instead of handing Dom some half-assed half-truth, Elijah tries to answer simply.
“We’re…” Sighs. “We’re driving. Away.” He adds, “East,” for clarity.
“Uh, yes. East, thanks.” Dom pauses. Elijah expects Dom is gathering his thoughts, preparing some sort of speech or inquisition or something. Elijah expects Dom to demand answers, demand reasons, or demand to be taken home.
“Get back in the car, Lij,” is all Dom says. Not what Elijah expects. Elijah turns back, finally, toward the road and the car and Dom. Dom who is standing next to the “Great White Shark, Jr,” a half-smile emerging, disappearing, and reemerging on his face. He is tan from Hawaii, his hair conversely lightened by the same sun to darken his skin. Elijah likes this natural, earthy look on Dom. He likes the contrast, also, Dom’s dark skin and light hair to Elijah’s unearthly glow and deep brunet. Elijah’s perpetual-child, Snow White, X-Files look. Elijah sees Dom watching him, and wonders if Dom can read the insane trains of thought roaring through Elijah’s brain. Maybe he is crazy, a psychosis so deep that it’s taken 20-some-odd years emerge, and now he can’t shake it. Could Dom help him, if he asked? Could Dom tell him? Does he have an answer? “Fuck off, Elijah,” he tells himself.
He picks up his feet slowly, left then right, felling like he’s unsticking them from the tar. Feeling like the pave is clinging to him, a jilted lover begging him to stay. Feeling like it’s trying to pull him in and down. Dinosaurs, he thinks, and giggles just a little. He walks stuntingly toward the car, toward the image of Dom growing hazy in the afternoon heat.
Dom puts a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. Dom opens the passenger door, and nudges Elijah inside. Dom sits down in the driver’s seat, punches on the a.c., starts the cd player. As the car fills with Radiohead and arctic air, he looks at Elijah. Really looks, biting his lower lip in concentration, furrowing his brow. Elijah has a moment to wonder what Dom sees, who, and what either of them will say, before Dom speaks.
“East. Okay. I can do that.” He stops to take a deep breath, and shifts the car from Park. “We’re cool.”
Elijah looks out the windshield at the road, passing fast beneath the car. Dom squints at the sun in the rearview mirror. Thom Yorke sings through the speakers, both men mumbling along.
For a minute there, I lost myself.
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