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http://users.livejournal.com/nixxie_/) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2002-08-09 10:45 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/nixxie_/) wrote in fellowshippers2002-08-09 10:45 pm
RPS Fic: Party Animal 1/? (Co-written with Chelle)
Title: Party Animal 1/?
Author: Nixxie + Chelle
Pairing: Karl/Orlando
Rating: R - NC17
Archive: Beyond the Fellowship and http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Sugar_Britches/
E-mail addresses for feedback: nix@nixxe.co.uk + seans_muse@hotmail.com
Disclaimers: If PJ ever threw a party like this we’re sure Orlando and Karl never did this…though if they did why weren’t we given invites?
Warnings: Real Person Slash – meaning these are based on real people, whether they really do this stuff is up to them... but if they want to share I’d not say no to a nice seat nearby and a bucket of popcorn.
Authors notes: This is written as part of a RPG. Orlando belongs to Chelle and Karl belongs to Nixxie. The POV changes from one to the other. Written in third person with thoughts as ‘//...//’ And emphasis as ‘*…*’
(Party Animal 1/?)
‘The wine's all drunk and so am I
Here with the hoi-poloi, don't ask me why.’
- Peter Gabriel: waiting for the big one.
Karl looked through his wardrobe yet again. Picking out stuff and throwing it onto the floor in frustration,
"Hmm, first time I meet some of these guys, so, nice, but not too formal, not too casual either...Fuck! What are you supposed to wear to these damn things?
Karl closed his eyes, dug down into the pile and came up with a brand new pair of sleek black leather trousers, a black skintight t-shirt and a black cloth shirt. //looks like I'm wearing this then!// He thought as he quickly got dressed,
The pile of clothes got shoved roughly into the wardrobe, the door just closing afterwards, put his keys and a few other sundries into his pockets and headed downstairs, out of the front door and hopped onto his motorbike...a sleek black Yamaha Thundercat.
The bike sped off and he was soon lost in the motion, riding always calmed him down. Not that he didn't like parties...he did, but meeting huge amounts of people was always annoying, too many people needing attention, one on one was more Karl’s style. //Well you never know, you might find one tonight. Might even find one worth the effort.//
~~~~~~~~
"Still gonna be on time," he muttered, rolling out of bed. He had to try two doors (the hall and the bathroom, respectively) before finding the closet. Orlando Bloom was many, many things, but a morning person wasn't one of them.
And any time Orlando woke up, it was morning.
It wasn't that he'd forgotten the cast party -- it was just that, well, after exploring a little too much of New Zealand for a little too long the night (morning?) before, he'd crashed. It was one of those that happened when he sat still for too bloody long; it was like, if he wasn't moving around to stir his blood up, it would all pool in his feet -- and wham, down he went.
Snoring like a buzz saw.
(That was a figure of speech, of course. Orlando was emphatically *not* a snorer. There wasn't a snowball's chance *anybody* cast to play -Legolas-Fuckin'-Greenleaf- could *be* a snorer.)
He climbed into a pair of jeans just this side of too tight, zipped them gingerly (screw underwear, he was on a *schedule*) and grabbed a shirt -- the first thing that caught his eye. Something with bright, happy stripes full of purples and greens, and with a fantastic frill
around the edge.
He tore into the shirt and out of his flat at approximately the same time. "Dressed to kill," he announced to the world at large as he yanked the fabric down over his chest and climbed into his car. A rental job, a Saturn or something, what his mum might drive -- but
hey, it was better than walking.
He checked his watch as he started the motor up; he'd be there early, at this rate! And fuck if he knew much about these boys yet, but there was going to be booze and music and, well, that was a magic combination. Saturn engine revving wildly (and sounding rather like one of those hum-buzzy little Japanese jobs, he thought, grinning), Orlando sped off.
tbc…
Author: Nixxie + Chelle
Pairing: Karl/Orlando
Rating: R - NC17
Archive: Beyond the Fellowship and http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Sugar_Britches/
E-mail addresses for feedback: nix@nixxe.co.uk + seans_muse@hotmail.com
Disclaimers: If PJ ever threw a party like this we’re sure Orlando and Karl never did this…though if they did why weren’t we given invites?
Warnings: Real Person Slash – meaning these are based on real people, whether they really do this stuff is up to them... but if they want to share I’d not say no to a nice seat nearby and a bucket of popcorn.
Authors notes: This is written as part of a RPG. Orlando belongs to Chelle and Karl belongs to Nixxie. The POV changes from one to the other. Written in third person with thoughts as ‘//...//’ And emphasis as ‘*…*’
(Party Animal 1/?)
‘The wine's all drunk and so am I
Here with the hoi-poloi, don't ask me why.’
- Peter Gabriel: waiting for the big one.
Karl looked through his wardrobe yet again. Picking out stuff and throwing it onto the floor in frustration,
"Hmm, first time I meet some of these guys, so, nice, but not too formal, not too casual either...Fuck! What are you supposed to wear to these damn things?
Karl closed his eyes, dug down into the pile and came up with a brand new pair of sleek black leather trousers, a black skintight t-shirt and a black cloth shirt. //looks like I'm wearing this then!// He thought as he quickly got dressed,
The pile of clothes got shoved roughly into the wardrobe, the door just closing afterwards, put his keys and a few other sundries into his pockets and headed downstairs, out of the front door and hopped onto his motorbike...a sleek black Yamaha Thundercat.
The bike sped off and he was soon lost in the motion, riding always calmed him down. Not that he didn't like parties...he did, but meeting huge amounts of people was always annoying, too many people needing attention, one on one was more Karl’s style. //Well you never know, you might find one tonight. Might even find one worth the effort.//
~~~~~~~~
"Still gonna be on time," he muttered, rolling out of bed. He had to try two doors (the hall and the bathroom, respectively) before finding the closet. Orlando Bloom was many, many things, but a morning person wasn't one of them.
And any time Orlando woke up, it was morning.
It wasn't that he'd forgotten the cast party -- it was just that, well, after exploring a little too much of New Zealand for a little too long the night (morning?) before, he'd crashed. It was one of those that happened when he sat still for too bloody long; it was like, if he wasn't moving around to stir his blood up, it would all pool in his feet -- and wham, down he went.
Snoring like a buzz saw.
(That was a figure of speech, of course. Orlando was emphatically *not* a snorer. There wasn't a snowball's chance *anybody* cast to play -Legolas-Fuckin'-Greenleaf- could *be* a snorer.)
He climbed into a pair of jeans just this side of too tight, zipped them gingerly (screw underwear, he was on a *schedule*) and grabbed a shirt -- the first thing that caught his eye. Something with bright, happy stripes full of purples and greens, and with a fantastic frill
around the edge.
He tore into the shirt and out of his flat at approximately the same time. "Dressed to kill," he announced to the world at large as he yanked the fabric down over his chest and climbed into his car. A rental job, a Saturn or something, what his mum might drive -- but
hey, it was better than walking.
He checked his watch as he started the motor up; he'd be there early, at this rate! And fuck if he knew much about these boys yet, but there was going to be booze and music and, well, that was a magic combination. Saturn engine revving wildly (and sounding rather like one of those hum-buzzy little Japanese jobs, he thought, grinning), Orlando sped off.
tbc…