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fellowshippers2003-08-11 11:06 pm
sumbitch.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-08-11 11:06 pm
Picture This
A ficlet by my kickass girlfriend.
Title: Picture This
Pairing: EW/OB
Rating: E, for Everyone
Disclaimer: I hardly know 'er.
Summary: "Busted! -- Thirty-six full color pages -- the pictures the stars Don't want you to See!!"
<>
"Busted! -- Thirty-six full color pages -- the pictures the stars Don't want you to See!!"
"So, what 'ave you got for me today Izzy?"
"Pure gold mate, pure gold."
The first photograph goes down on the desktop, and Danny leans forward a little.
"Orlando Bloom, very sellable right now," he allows. "Not a bad pic, either. Where is he? Some cut price supermarket?"
"Yeah, that off-brand place on Royal Court Road. He lives in a flat over one of 'em shops on Lockley Street."
Danny snorts.
"I 'ad 'is fuckin' money, you wouldn't catch me dossin' down there."
Danny lifts the photograph and considers it more seriously. Nice clear shot, good lighting; Bloom dressed in too big sweatpants and too small tee shirt, with a bandana tied over his almost shoulder-length hair; one hand holds an expensive sliver of cell phone to his ear while the other tosses single toilet-rolls into his cart. He's smiling the megawatt smile the cinema punters shell out their six quid to see, and he clearly has no idea the camera's there.
"Alright, nice picture, bankable bloke, but not exactly a shockin' expose or anything. Can't do more than fifty quid. Sorry."
Izzy smirks, and lays down the second print. Danny does a double take, glances up at Izzy questioningly, then picks that photo up too.
"Elijah Wood?" he asks in disbelief, though the picture's too clear to admit any doubt about that.
"Two aisles over. Wha' a cohinkidink, eh? Bloke lives all the way over the other side of the world, happens to wander into the same little supermarket as Orlando Bloom," Izzy says airly.
Danny shoots him an acidic look, then checks out the picture more carefully.
Elijah's standing in front of a shelf of off-brand soda, wringing one hand through the electric mess of his hair, while the other holds his cell phone to his ear. He's grinning, the mile wide gap-toothed grin that guarantees a ten percent circulation hike whenever it's a cover picture.
"Now, I just know you didn't leave it at that," Danny says narrowly. "You didn't just take these nice pictures, Orlando on his tod, Elijah on *his* tod, when it's bloody obvious they're there together."
"I do appreciate your confidence in me, old son," Izzy nods.
The third picture, taken from further away, is of Orlando and Elijah haphazardly throwing bags of groceries into the back of Orlando's jeep.
"They drove out onto Lexington Park, to that fancy gourmet food place."
The fourth picture shows the two men, heads almost touching, reading the label on a sand-blasted glass bottle. A couple more photos: further intense discussion at the bakery counter, and Elijah carrying one of the store's wicker shopping baskets, almost overflowing with various jars and bottles and wrapped packages. Then, another outdoor shot, Orlando and Elijah, having packed their shopping into the jeep, linger at the back of the vehicle. Orlando's gazing tight-lipped at something beyond Elijah's shoulder while Elijah, his smile just a little fixed, a little false, says something to Orlando.
"Yeah, lovely little domestic scenes," Danny says dismissively. "But not what you'd call evidence in a court of law. We claim that a pair'a pretty boys shopping for groceries together is tantamount to saying they're buggering each other, we get a boat-load'a grief from all sides. You know that. The pictures have to speak for themselves -- no interpretation required, right? My lead story this issue's a picture of Tom Cruise tucking a dollar bill into some guy's jock strap. You got nothing Izzy. I'll give you a hundred quid for the lot."
"You call *this* nothing?" Izzy crows, snapping the last photograph onto Danny's desk.
For a second Danny thinks oh god, this is it, everyone's suspected it all along, but no one had the picture -- no one until Danny, right now. This shot's gotta be worth ten grand, easy.
Danny's gaze slides lovingly over the fine-grained, clearly-lit, sharply-defined image ... over the renewed smile curling Orlando Bloom's mouth, over his half-fallen eyelids, over his long tan hand gripping Elijah's shoulder. Elijah's little hand with its bitten fingernails holds Orlando's hip, holding him in place, holding him still while Elijah's tongue -- red like a cat's -- scrapes up the slightly stubbled skin of Orlando's left cheek. Elijah's open mouth curls up at the corners, an almost mocking grin stretching his lips. And his eyes --
-- his eyes --
"You fuckin' little shit piece'a Yank," Danny swears, his fingers tightening down on the glossy print enough to cause it to buckle and crease.
-- his eyes, big and blue and filled with challenge --
"You got nothing Izzy. Get all this shit off my desk."
-- Elijah's eyes are fixed on the camera, and the hand not holding Orlando is raised behind Orlando's right shoulder, palm-up, in a derisive wave.
Title: Picture This
Pairing: EW/OB
Rating: E, for Everyone
Disclaimer: I hardly know 'er.
Summary: "Busted! -- Thirty-six full color pages -- the pictures the stars Don't want you to See!!"
<
"Busted! -- Thirty-six full color pages -- the pictures the stars Don't want you to See!!"
"So, what 'ave you got for me today Izzy?"
"Pure gold mate, pure gold."
The first photograph goes down on the desktop, and Danny leans forward a little.
"Orlando Bloom, very sellable right now," he allows. "Not a bad pic, either. Where is he? Some cut price supermarket?"
"Yeah, that off-brand place on Royal Court Road. He lives in a flat over one of 'em shops on Lockley Street."
Danny snorts.
"I 'ad 'is fuckin' money, you wouldn't catch me dossin' down there."
Danny lifts the photograph and considers it more seriously. Nice clear shot, good lighting; Bloom dressed in too big sweatpants and too small tee shirt, with a bandana tied over his almost shoulder-length hair; one hand holds an expensive sliver of cell phone to his ear while the other tosses single toilet-rolls into his cart. He's smiling the megawatt smile the cinema punters shell out their six quid to see, and he clearly has no idea the camera's there.
"Alright, nice picture, bankable bloke, but not exactly a shockin' expose or anything. Can't do more than fifty quid. Sorry."
Izzy smirks, and lays down the second print. Danny does a double take, glances up at Izzy questioningly, then picks that photo up too.
"Elijah Wood?" he asks in disbelief, though the picture's too clear to admit any doubt about that.
"Two aisles over. Wha' a cohinkidink, eh? Bloke lives all the way over the other side of the world, happens to wander into the same little supermarket as Orlando Bloom," Izzy says airly.
Danny shoots him an acidic look, then checks out the picture more carefully.
Elijah's standing in front of a shelf of off-brand soda, wringing one hand through the electric mess of his hair, while the other holds his cell phone to his ear. He's grinning, the mile wide gap-toothed grin that guarantees a ten percent circulation hike whenever it's a cover picture.
"Now, I just know you didn't leave it at that," Danny says narrowly. "You didn't just take these nice pictures, Orlando on his tod, Elijah on *his* tod, when it's bloody obvious they're there together."
"I do appreciate your confidence in me, old son," Izzy nods.
The third picture, taken from further away, is of Orlando and Elijah haphazardly throwing bags of groceries into the back of Orlando's jeep.
"They drove out onto Lexington Park, to that fancy gourmet food place."
The fourth picture shows the two men, heads almost touching, reading the label on a sand-blasted glass bottle. A couple more photos: further intense discussion at the bakery counter, and Elijah carrying one of the store's wicker shopping baskets, almost overflowing with various jars and bottles and wrapped packages. Then, another outdoor shot, Orlando and Elijah, having packed their shopping into the jeep, linger at the back of the vehicle. Orlando's gazing tight-lipped at something beyond Elijah's shoulder while Elijah, his smile just a little fixed, a little false, says something to Orlando.
"Yeah, lovely little domestic scenes," Danny says dismissively. "But not what you'd call evidence in a court of law. We claim that a pair'a pretty boys shopping for groceries together is tantamount to saying they're buggering each other, we get a boat-load'a grief from all sides. You know that. The pictures have to speak for themselves -- no interpretation required, right? My lead story this issue's a picture of Tom Cruise tucking a dollar bill into some guy's jock strap. You got nothing Izzy. I'll give you a hundred quid for the lot."
"You call *this* nothing?" Izzy crows, snapping the last photograph onto Danny's desk.
For a second Danny thinks oh god, this is it, everyone's suspected it all along, but no one had the picture -- no one until Danny, right now. This shot's gotta be worth ten grand, easy.
Danny's gaze slides lovingly over the fine-grained, clearly-lit, sharply-defined image ... over the renewed smile curling Orlando Bloom's mouth, over his half-fallen eyelids, over his long tan hand gripping Elijah's shoulder. Elijah's little hand with its bitten fingernails holds Orlando's hip, holding him in place, holding him still while Elijah's tongue -- red like a cat's -- scrapes up the slightly stubbled skin of Orlando's left cheek. Elijah's open mouth curls up at the corners, an almost mocking grin stretching his lips. And his eyes --
-- his eyes --
"You fuckin' little shit piece'a Yank," Danny swears, his fingers tightening down on the glossy print enough to cause it to buckle and crease.
-- his eyes, big and blue and filled with challenge --
"You got nothing Izzy. Get all this shit off my desk."
-- Elijah's eyes are fixed on the camera, and the hand not holding Orlando is raised behind Orlando's right shoulder, palm-up, in a derisive wave.
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Beautiful ending and very realistic portrayal of the media-vultures *S*
Thank you
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