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fellowshippers2006-04-05 11:29 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-04-05 11:29 pm
Un Cadeau du Roi (3/8)
Title: Un Cadeau du Roi (3/8)
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairings: anything's possible among VM, BB, DM, HS, DW, OB, EW (sort of Vig/Orli, Orlijah this part, but not really)
Rating: series PG-13
Disclaimer: AU and very not true.
Feedback: Please do! It's very much appreciated.
A/N: Again, thank you for the positive feedback. Sorry part two was so frustratingly short, but this one reveals a bit more (and raises more questions as well, as mysteries are apt to do). Note that the photo used for this banner is for once *not* my own, as I have never been to Venice or seen this lovely cathedral myself. Also if anyone wants to help or give me photoshop tips to keep the edges of photos from looking so untidy, let me know!
Chapter One, Chapter Two
It was nearly noon when Viggo’s plane touched down in Rome. Having gotten a satisfactory parting interview the previous evening, he had turned down his new friends’ requests to stay in Cork just a few more days, explaining that he wanted to visit as many locales as possible, and meet as many people as he could. He even managed to catch an early flight out, and so little did he know that as he stepped out onto the tarmac that very morning, Dominic and Billy were standing in a hotel room in Cork, alone, cursing the Gods themselves.
“Uh, perdonne signore. Io… va a centre?” The cabbie just smiled at Viggo’s pathetic excuse for Italian and nodded, gesturing for him to throw his bag in the boot and get in. The guy drove like the devil, but at least it was on the right side of the road, obviating the need Viggo always experienced in the UK to flinch whenever a left turn was made.
The hotel itself was quite sparse, but it would do, and Viggo didn’t care much about the accommodation anyway, as long as the location was decent for people watching. And that it was, right in the city centre and overlooking one of the busiest streets in Rome. Viggo spent the afternoon wandering through the piazzas and drinking espresso in convenient Styrofoam takeaway cups, looking for someone interesting enough to photograph. There wasn’t a shortage of people, that was for sure, but no one really caught Viggo’s eye, and he went home at the end of the night empty handed, hoping for better luck tomorrow.
Indeed, when the next day dawned, better look appeared to be in store. The sun was shining pleasantly through Viggo’s window, and after a quick shower he headed down for a cup of coffee and a light breakfast, prepared to spend another day searching for the perfect subjects.
It didn’t take long, as when Viggo approached the steps of a particularly beautiful cathedral, he found himself looking at the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
One might consider this an exaggeration, and maybe it was, but who has time to catalogue all the men one has ever seen upon meeting a new one, anyway? Viggo knew at least that this man was unnaturally, ethereally beautiful, and the scene was just too perfect. At the feet of a marble angel, slouched on steps of the same glistening material, the man, almost still a boy, rested with his chin his hands, a pensive expression on his face, looking out straight in front of him.
From the angle at which Viggo stood, he could see that the figure was clad in black, the sleeves of a cotton track jacket obscuring his fingers, his trainers likewise barely peeking out from beneath his trousers. His chin was in his hands, which were brushed by deep brown curls, framing the young man’s face and making him look almost more angelic than the statue, if it weren’t for the moustache and goatee that suggested age and at least a little worldly experience. Viggo had to check himself from sighing audibly when he held the viewfinder to his eye, composing the shot, and grinned as his finger depressed the shutter release. Brilliant.
Unfortunately, however, the moment was lost as he lowered his camera and his subject suddenly turned to his left, catching Viggo’s eye and panicking. His eyes went wide, and though Viggo held up his hands as if to reassure the stranger that he meant no harm by photographing, it was too late. The beautiful boy had already swung his legs gracefully over the low wall and disappeared on the other side. Viggo ran for the side of the church as quickly as possible, but he emerged empty-handed when the back of the building proved to be the terminus of four separate streets. Any one of these avenues could have been his subject’s route, and so, defeated, Viggo slumped against the wall and attempted to compose himself, left only with the frail hope that he might see this phantom once again.
As luck would have it, it was two days before Viggo spotted the captivating figure for the second time. Those two days led him around Rome, seeing the sights and the citizens but ultimately unfulfilled. He looked for a new subject, but he knew in his heart of hearts that none other would do. The mysterious youth would be his only subject in Italy, and he must find him or die trying.
Fortunately for Viggo, death was not in the cards for this mission. The man, in fact, appeared quite unexpectedly when Viggo was sipping espresso at a corner café, riding by on a moped. He tried to call the beauty, but got no response, and he cursed as he watched the man round the corner. Throwing a few bills on the table, he hurried to follow, and was overjoyed when he spotted the moped parked outside a building a ways down the street. However, by the time Viggo had covered the distance, the man was hurrying out of the office and hopping on the bike, peeling off without a backward glance. Viggo cursed loudly, upsetting a few small children who were kicking around a football in an alley, and sighed as he walked to where he had seen the man just a moment before.
The office was a travel agency, and holding out some hope, Viggo stepped inside, addressing the man at the counter in careful Italian.
“Ciao. Um, perdonne, ma non parlo italiano. The man, that just left…” He paused and pointed out the door, getting a shrug and an apologetic look from the man he was speaking to. Sighing, Viggo tried again. “The man, le garcon? Uh…” Helplessly, Viggo made a twirling gesture near his hair, held his hand up a bit above his own head, and then put both flat palms together in a sign for “thin.”
“Ah, si signore! Orlando!”
“Orlando? That’s his name?” Viggo grinned, and then realized the man had no idea what he was saying. “Right, um… where is he going?” he asked, pointing at the map behind the counter. “Dove…”
“Ah, Firenze!” the man replied with a smile.
“Firenze, right… Florence. Grazie, signore! Molto grazie!” The man just smiled silently as Viggo nearly tripped over his own two feet in his haste to leave the office and get back to his hotel. He, after all, had bags to pack.
“Hey Gina!” the travel agent called towards the back office when the blundering American man had left.
“Yeah?” The Italian-American intern emerged, a sheaf of papers in her hands.
“What do you think young Orlando is up to? He didn’t even buy a ticket this time, just told me that an American man would be in, and to play dumb and send him to Firenze…” Gina shrugged and smiled.
“Maybe he’s trying to get rid of someone, Luigi. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Luigi laughed and turned back to his computer, loading up ‘Solitaire’ and ignoring the incident for the time being.
The next two weeks for Viggo were nothing but frustration. The captivating figure was almost toying with him, a playful smile seen from across the canal in Venice, a little wave from the ground as he stood on a third story balcony in a hotel in Pisa, a honk from a car horn as the little Fiat passed him in Lucca. The man’s trail was deceptively easy to follow, but he only stayed in one location for a couple of days, and once Viggo arrived, he found it almost impossible to track down his target. This infuriating but beautiful man was calling all the shots, and Viggo had asked himself more than once if it were worth it. Why did he take up the chase in the first place?
But, the answer was all-too clear. He loved it. Viggo liked simplicity, and he liked knowing all the answers, but it had been all too long since he let himself be caught up in the thrill of the chase. It had been years since he had put himself on a trail, like a hunter whose prey was simply information… he used to be an excellent journalist, but he knew he had fallen off his game. He began as an idealist, then was motivated by love, then anger and the drive to forget… but for years now, he had no motivation. He was lost in the sea of information technology and young hot shots, and it wasn’t until this man, this mysterious angelic figure, that he had met his match. Here, with the classical beauty of the ancient cities of Europe as a backdrop, he had picked up a trail again. He would not let off that trail until he found what he was looking for.
“Sir?”
Viggo turned around, wrenched out of his thoughts by a soft American voice, and halted abruptly in the street. A slight young man, pale as if he were a ghost, with wide blue eyes and a shock of dishevelled dark hair, held up a coin in Viggo’s direction. “You dropped this,” he explained unnecessarily as their fingers brushed, handing over the two-Euro piece.
“Thank you,” Viggo replied with a smile. “I…”
“Wait!” The stranger stopped him suddenly with a raised hand, dropping to grip Viggo’s shoulder, and Viggo gasped as the man’s eyes went pale, a shockingly pale blue that reminded him overwhelmingly of ice. He watched as the man’s skin, too, became impossibly paler, and his muscles seized up tight, as if he were turning to stone before Viggo’s very eyes. Viggo, too, paled, and his eyes darted frantically around the street to see if anyone could help, but they were alone. Time stood suspended for a moment, ten seconds, maybe, before the man jolted away with a gasp, stumbling backwards several steps.
“Are you all right?” Viggo asked, cautiously, as the stranger continued to stare at him. “Did you have a seizure? Can I get you anything?”
The man stared at him another moment, then shook his head, as if snapping out of it, and gestured Viggo towards a doorway. “Come. Please.” Viggo stared, and the man nodded again towards the door, holding it open. “Please. Come inside.”
Viggo hesitated, and then, taking a deep breath, relented, following the man up a narrow flight of stairs and into an apartment on the first story. He sat on a small sofa when the other man indicated, and watched as he slowly lowered himself into an armchair opposite Viggo, scooting closer in the process.
“Your hands, please. Give me your hands.”
Viggo stared, speechless for a moment, and then decided to reason his way out of it. “Look, sir, I don’t even know your name…”
“Elijah. And you are Viggo.” Viggo’s eyes widened, but the man who called himself Elijah didn’t react. “Please, Viggo. Give me your hands. You must believe me, I… I can see things. It’s a gift, but we don’t have much time. Just give me your hands, please.”
Viggo was still sceptical, but something about the young man compelled him to obey, slowly unfolding his palms and extending them towards Elijah, where the young man held them loosely in his own lap. Viggo watched, then, transfixed, as Elijah’s eyes again became pale as new-fallen snow, casting an eerie glow over the darkened room. Though it was late afternoon, there were no lamps turned on, and Viggo was drawn to the light pooling in the other man’s eyes as if by an external force. They stared at each other for long moments, eyes locked, when suddenly Elijah spoke.
“I am not yours to discover,” he whispered, his voice deep and in an inflection not his own. The words came from his lips, and yet Viggo sensed that Elijah didn’t himself intend them, speaking from some other source. Then suddenly, Elijah started, as he had in the street, and dropped Viggo’s hands, the connection broken.
“I must give you some advice,” Elijah announced, rubbing his temples with two fingers and suddenly looking much older than his years. He seemed not to have realised that he had spoken, Viggo noted, and he didn’t mention it. “I have seen… you, Viggo, are part of something much bigger than you know. You are searching for something, am I correct? For someone…” Viggo nodded, motioning for Elijah to continue. “Beware of the path you choose. It may not be the one you are destined to follow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No matter what path you choose, your steps are determined for you. But it is only by choice that you will find your true love. You will find him, whether you are aware of it or not. But he can only be found by the steps that you take.”
“I… who is he? Is it the man? The man I’m following?” Elijah smiled ruefully and shrugged his shoulders.
“Follow the clues, and you will find the love you seek. That is all I can say.”
“But… I don’t understand!” Viggo insisted. “What about… I mean, my true love… I’ve found him already.” Elijah smiled sadly, and nodded. “He died…”
“Love moves in mysterious ways, Viggo. You loved once, and you will love again. Perhaps he only made you better so that you can experience your destiny… but only time will tell.”
“I don’t…”
“It is time for you to go. Hurry! You must leave now; go to your hotel, immediately. It is there where you will find what you need to know.”
Not five minutes after Viggo had left, the downstairs door slammed. Elijah sighed, having known it would happen, and lit a cigarette. He stepped out on the balcony, knowing that Orlando would find him there, and waited a few beats until the enraged young man joined him.
“He was here, wasn’t he?!”
“Why Orlando, whatever do you mean?” Elijah replied in a weak attempt at humour.
“I saw him, ‘Lijah. I was waiting across from his hotel, to give him the slip again, and he came running by. Didn’t even notice me! He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, Lijah! Looked as if he’d seen you.” Elijah sighed and leaned over the railing, not denying it. “What the hell did you tell him, Elijah? He wasn’t supposed to see you!”
“And yet, my dear Orlando, you led him to this very town. You try so hard to keep me well protected, hidden away in this apartment—does it seem to you rather odd that you led him straight here? Like maybe you wanted to…?”
“Don’t tell me what I want to do, Elijah! I needed to check up on you, make sure he hadn’t gotten to you yet…”
“’He,’ Orlando? You make it sound as if the man you love is instead the villain in this tale,” Elijah pointed out.
“I’m only protecting him! I was only protecting you! How the hell did Viggo find you, anyway?”
“He didn’t. I found him.”
“Oh bloody…”
“His spirit called to me from the street, Orlando. I couldn’t reject him.”
“Stop it!” Orlando yelled, throwing his hands up and frightening the birds on the rooftops into migration. “Just… stop it, ‘Lij. I don’t want to hear it. You scared him off, and now I have to figure out how to make it right.”
“You can’t lead him on this chase forever, Orlando.”
“Yeah, but I can sure as hell try.”
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairings: anything's possible among VM, BB, DM, HS, DW, OB, EW (sort of Vig/Orli, Orlijah this part, but not really)
Rating: series PG-13
Disclaimer: AU and very not true.
Feedback: Please do! It's very much appreciated.
A/N: Again, thank you for the positive feedback. Sorry part two was so frustratingly short, but this one reveals a bit more (and raises more questions as well, as mysteries are apt to do). Note that the photo used for this banner is for once *not* my own, as I have never been to Venice or seen this lovely cathedral myself. Also if anyone wants to help or give me photoshop tips to keep the edges of photos from looking so untidy, let me know!
Chapter One, Chapter Two
It was nearly noon when Viggo’s plane touched down in Rome. Having gotten a satisfactory parting interview the previous evening, he had turned down his new friends’ requests to stay in Cork just a few more days, explaining that he wanted to visit as many locales as possible, and meet as many people as he could. He even managed to catch an early flight out, and so little did he know that as he stepped out onto the tarmac that very morning, Dominic and Billy were standing in a hotel room in Cork, alone, cursing the Gods themselves.
“Uh, perdonne signore. Io… va a centre?” The cabbie just smiled at Viggo’s pathetic excuse for Italian and nodded, gesturing for him to throw his bag in the boot and get in. The guy drove like the devil, but at least it was on the right side of the road, obviating the need Viggo always experienced in the UK to flinch whenever a left turn was made.
The hotel itself was quite sparse, but it would do, and Viggo didn’t care much about the accommodation anyway, as long as the location was decent for people watching. And that it was, right in the city centre and overlooking one of the busiest streets in Rome. Viggo spent the afternoon wandering through the piazzas and drinking espresso in convenient Styrofoam takeaway cups, looking for someone interesting enough to photograph. There wasn’t a shortage of people, that was for sure, but no one really caught Viggo’s eye, and he went home at the end of the night empty handed, hoping for better luck tomorrow.
Indeed, when the next day dawned, better look appeared to be in store. The sun was shining pleasantly through Viggo’s window, and after a quick shower he headed down for a cup of coffee and a light breakfast, prepared to spend another day searching for the perfect subjects.
It didn’t take long, as when Viggo approached the steps of a particularly beautiful cathedral, he found himself looking at the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
One might consider this an exaggeration, and maybe it was, but who has time to catalogue all the men one has ever seen upon meeting a new one, anyway? Viggo knew at least that this man was unnaturally, ethereally beautiful, and the scene was just too perfect. At the feet of a marble angel, slouched on steps of the same glistening material, the man, almost still a boy, rested with his chin his hands, a pensive expression on his face, looking out straight in front of him.
From the angle at which Viggo stood, he could see that the figure was clad in black, the sleeves of a cotton track jacket obscuring his fingers, his trainers likewise barely peeking out from beneath his trousers. His chin was in his hands, which were brushed by deep brown curls, framing the young man’s face and making him look almost more angelic than the statue, if it weren’t for the moustache and goatee that suggested age and at least a little worldly experience. Viggo had to check himself from sighing audibly when he held the viewfinder to his eye, composing the shot, and grinned as his finger depressed the shutter release. Brilliant.
Unfortunately, however, the moment was lost as he lowered his camera and his subject suddenly turned to his left, catching Viggo’s eye and panicking. His eyes went wide, and though Viggo held up his hands as if to reassure the stranger that he meant no harm by photographing, it was too late. The beautiful boy had already swung his legs gracefully over the low wall and disappeared on the other side. Viggo ran for the side of the church as quickly as possible, but he emerged empty-handed when the back of the building proved to be the terminus of four separate streets. Any one of these avenues could have been his subject’s route, and so, defeated, Viggo slumped against the wall and attempted to compose himself, left only with the frail hope that he might see this phantom once again.
As luck would have it, it was two days before Viggo spotted the captivating figure for the second time. Those two days led him around Rome, seeing the sights and the citizens but ultimately unfulfilled. He looked for a new subject, but he knew in his heart of hearts that none other would do. The mysterious youth would be his only subject in Italy, and he must find him or die trying.
Fortunately for Viggo, death was not in the cards for this mission. The man, in fact, appeared quite unexpectedly when Viggo was sipping espresso at a corner café, riding by on a moped. He tried to call the beauty, but got no response, and he cursed as he watched the man round the corner. Throwing a few bills on the table, he hurried to follow, and was overjoyed when he spotted the moped parked outside a building a ways down the street. However, by the time Viggo had covered the distance, the man was hurrying out of the office and hopping on the bike, peeling off without a backward glance. Viggo cursed loudly, upsetting a few small children who were kicking around a football in an alley, and sighed as he walked to where he had seen the man just a moment before.
The office was a travel agency, and holding out some hope, Viggo stepped inside, addressing the man at the counter in careful Italian.
“Ciao. Um, perdonne, ma non parlo italiano. The man, that just left…” He paused and pointed out the door, getting a shrug and an apologetic look from the man he was speaking to. Sighing, Viggo tried again. “The man, le garcon? Uh…” Helplessly, Viggo made a twirling gesture near his hair, held his hand up a bit above his own head, and then put both flat palms together in a sign for “thin.”
“Ah, si signore! Orlando!”
“Orlando? That’s his name?” Viggo grinned, and then realized the man had no idea what he was saying. “Right, um… where is he going?” he asked, pointing at the map behind the counter. “Dove…”
“Ah, Firenze!” the man replied with a smile.
“Firenze, right… Florence. Grazie, signore! Molto grazie!” The man just smiled silently as Viggo nearly tripped over his own two feet in his haste to leave the office and get back to his hotel. He, after all, had bags to pack.
“Hey Gina!” the travel agent called towards the back office when the blundering American man had left.
“Yeah?” The Italian-American intern emerged, a sheaf of papers in her hands.
“What do you think young Orlando is up to? He didn’t even buy a ticket this time, just told me that an American man would be in, and to play dumb and send him to Firenze…” Gina shrugged and smiled.
“Maybe he’s trying to get rid of someone, Luigi. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Luigi laughed and turned back to his computer, loading up ‘Solitaire’ and ignoring the incident for the time being.
The next two weeks for Viggo were nothing but frustration. The captivating figure was almost toying with him, a playful smile seen from across the canal in Venice, a little wave from the ground as he stood on a third story balcony in a hotel in Pisa, a honk from a car horn as the little Fiat passed him in Lucca. The man’s trail was deceptively easy to follow, but he only stayed in one location for a couple of days, and once Viggo arrived, he found it almost impossible to track down his target. This infuriating but beautiful man was calling all the shots, and Viggo had asked himself more than once if it were worth it. Why did he take up the chase in the first place?
But, the answer was all-too clear. He loved it. Viggo liked simplicity, and he liked knowing all the answers, but it had been all too long since he let himself be caught up in the thrill of the chase. It had been years since he had put himself on a trail, like a hunter whose prey was simply information… he used to be an excellent journalist, but he knew he had fallen off his game. He began as an idealist, then was motivated by love, then anger and the drive to forget… but for years now, he had no motivation. He was lost in the sea of information technology and young hot shots, and it wasn’t until this man, this mysterious angelic figure, that he had met his match. Here, with the classical beauty of the ancient cities of Europe as a backdrop, he had picked up a trail again. He would not let off that trail until he found what he was looking for.
“Sir?”
Viggo turned around, wrenched out of his thoughts by a soft American voice, and halted abruptly in the street. A slight young man, pale as if he were a ghost, with wide blue eyes and a shock of dishevelled dark hair, held up a coin in Viggo’s direction. “You dropped this,” he explained unnecessarily as their fingers brushed, handing over the two-Euro piece.
“Thank you,” Viggo replied with a smile. “I…”
“Wait!” The stranger stopped him suddenly with a raised hand, dropping to grip Viggo’s shoulder, and Viggo gasped as the man’s eyes went pale, a shockingly pale blue that reminded him overwhelmingly of ice. He watched as the man’s skin, too, became impossibly paler, and his muscles seized up tight, as if he were turning to stone before Viggo’s very eyes. Viggo, too, paled, and his eyes darted frantically around the street to see if anyone could help, but they were alone. Time stood suspended for a moment, ten seconds, maybe, before the man jolted away with a gasp, stumbling backwards several steps.
“Are you all right?” Viggo asked, cautiously, as the stranger continued to stare at him. “Did you have a seizure? Can I get you anything?”
The man stared at him another moment, then shook his head, as if snapping out of it, and gestured Viggo towards a doorway. “Come. Please.” Viggo stared, and the man nodded again towards the door, holding it open. “Please. Come inside.”
Viggo hesitated, and then, taking a deep breath, relented, following the man up a narrow flight of stairs and into an apartment on the first story. He sat on a small sofa when the other man indicated, and watched as he slowly lowered himself into an armchair opposite Viggo, scooting closer in the process.
“Your hands, please. Give me your hands.”
Viggo stared, speechless for a moment, and then decided to reason his way out of it. “Look, sir, I don’t even know your name…”
“Elijah. And you are Viggo.” Viggo’s eyes widened, but the man who called himself Elijah didn’t react. “Please, Viggo. Give me your hands. You must believe me, I… I can see things. It’s a gift, but we don’t have much time. Just give me your hands, please.”
Viggo was still sceptical, but something about the young man compelled him to obey, slowly unfolding his palms and extending them towards Elijah, where the young man held them loosely in his own lap. Viggo watched, then, transfixed, as Elijah’s eyes again became pale as new-fallen snow, casting an eerie glow over the darkened room. Though it was late afternoon, there were no lamps turned on, and Viggo was drawn to the light pooling in the other man’s eyes as if by an external force. They stared at each other for long moments, eyes locked, when suddenly Elijah spoke.
“I am not yours to discover,” he whispered, his voice deep and in an inflection not his own. The words came from his lips, and yet Viggo sensed that Elijah didn’t himself intend them, speaking from some other source. Then suddenly, Elijah started, as he had in the street, and dropped Viggo’s hands, the connection broken.
“I must give you some advice,” Elijah announced, rubbing his temples with two fingers and suddenly looking much older than his years. He seemed not to have realised that he had spoken, Viggo noted, and he didn’t mention it. “I have seen… you, Viggo, are part of something much bigger than you know. You are searching for something, am I correct? For someone…” Viggo nodded, motioning for Elijah to continue. “Beware of the path you choose. It may not be the one you are destined to follow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No matter what path you choose, your steps are determined for you. But it is only by choice that you will find your true love. You will find him, whether you are aware of it or not. But he can only be found by the steps that you take.”
“I… who is he? Is it the man? The man I’m following?” Elijah smiled ruefully and shrugged his shoulders.
“Follow the clues, and you will find the love you seek. That is all I can say.”
“But… I don’t understand!” Viggo insisted. “What about… I mean, my true love… I’ve found him already.” Elijah smiled sadly, and nodded. “He died…”
“Love moves in mysterious ways, Viggo. You loved once, and you will love again. Perhaps he only made you better so that you can experience your destiny… but only time will tell.”
“I don’t…”
“It is time for you to go. Hurry! You must leave now; go to your hotel, immediately. It is there where you will find what you need to know.”
Not five minutes after Viggo had left, the downstairs door slammed. Elijah sighed, having known it would happen, and lit a cigarette. He stepped out on the balcony, knowing that Orlando would find him there, and waited a few beats until the enraged young man joined him.
“He was here, wasn’t he?!”
“Why Orlando, whatever do you mean?” Elijah replied in a weak attempt at humour.
“I saw him, ‘Lijah. I was waiting across from his hotel, to give him the slip again, and he came running by. Didn’t even notice me! He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, Lijah! Looked as if he’d seen you.” Elijah sighed and leaned over the railing, not denying it. “What the hell did you tell him, Elijah? He wasn’t supposed to see you!”
“And yet, my dear Orlando, you led him to this very town. You try so hard to keep me well protected, hidden away in this apartment—does it seem to you rather odd that you led him straight here? Like maybe you wanted to…?”
“Don’t tell me what I want to do, Elijah! I needed to check up on you, make sure he hadn’t gotten to you yet…”
“’He,’ Orlando? You make it sound as if the man you love is instead the villain in this tale,” Elijah pointed out.
“I’m only protecting him! I was only protecting you! How the hell did Viggo find you, anyway?”
“He didn’t. I found him.”
“Oh bloody…”
“His spirit called to me from the street, Orlando. I couldn’t reject him.”
“Stop it!” Orlando yelled, throwing his hands up and frightening the birds on the rooftops into migration. “Just… stop it, ‘Lij. I don’t want to hear it. You scared him off, and now I have to figure out how to make it right.”
“You can’t lead him on this chase forever, Orlando.”
“Yeah, but I can sure as hell try.”
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i figured that Dom and Billy let Orli know that Viggo was on his way, and what he might be looking for. It was just a matter of putting himself in Viggo's path, and letting nature take care of the rest. By making Viggo chase him, maybe he was keeping him safe from what ever danger he's in. man, this is just so good!
that bit with Elijah went different then i thought it was going to go. I thought he was a total plant, but that he was faking the swammy stuff. maybe he was the real deal after all.
very much looking forward to the next installment!
kerry =)
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