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fellowshippers2004-02-03 03:42 pm
faeryglitter.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-03 03:42 pm
(no subject)
355 word
Viggo/Elijah
1/1
In the morning Elijah always takes a step and then stops. Viggo watches him from across the room, patiently awaiting his arrival, but it never comes.
Elijah’s eyes flicker from Viggo’s face to the floor, and tucks away a smile. The room buzzes around them as Billy taps Viggo on the shoulder, and a swell of eyes fall upon Viggo, upon Billy, and Elijah scratches at the hem of his jeans with his mutilated fingernails. He stares at the ground again, analyzing the dirt and the scratch marks on the wood. Its rugged features bare semblance to Aragorn, and perhaps to Viggo as well. Elijah glances up again and can feel the heat from Viggo’s smile, like a rip in a shirt, still tearing up to the shoulders. His subtle nuances seem anachronistic to Elijah, and perhaps it was the age difference.
In the evening, after the bars and once Lij is intoxicated enough to take several steps if he weren’t so disoriented, Viggo does the walking, and holds him like a pair of crutches. The alley way, street corner, courtyard, train station, and the bay all melt into peripheral darkness, and there’s only heat. Elijah feels like he’s kissing a black and white movie, with all its 1930’s quirks, and the softness of Marilyn’s arm.
Sometimes Elijah remembers it better the next morning, but it still seems verisimilar and disillusioned. The lights scintillating in the pints, in eyes and on teeth, heat on his face and the ground tripping beneath him. Viggo will occasionally wink in lieu of a stubbly, “Mornin,” as he waits for his orders from Peter. Even the winks seem to be the false production of his headaches, which blur more of their actions as the nights are prolonged, and scream as soon as Elijah shakes away his sleep. The Advil is sweet on his tongue, and reminds him of something that he can’t put his finger on -- familiar and ticklish, hard but smooth, erasing all pathos with its potent nepenthean recipe. When the headache subsides, he feels calm, but intrigued still by some evasive nymph of an idea.
Viggo/Elijah
1/1
In the morning Elijah always takes a step and then stops. Viggo watches him from across the room, patiently awaiting his arrival, but it never comes.
Elijah’s eyes flicker from Viggo’s face to the floor, and tucks away a smile. The room buzzes around them as Billy taps Viggo on the shoulder, and a swell of eyes fall upon Viggo, upon Billy, and Elijah scratches at the hem of his jeans with his mutilated fingernails. He stares at the ground again, analyzing the dirt and the scratch marks on the wood. Its rugged features bare semblance to Aragorn, and perhaps to Viggo as well. Elijah glances up again and can feel the heat from Viggo’s smile, like a rip in a shirt, still tearing up to the shoulders. His subtle nuances seem anachronistic to Elijah, and perhaps it was the age difference.
In the evening, after the bars and once Lij is intoxicated enough to take several steps if he weren’t so disoriented, Viggo does the walking, and holds him like a pair of crutches. The alley way, street corner, courtyard, train station, and the bay all melt into peripheral darkness, and there’s only heat. Elijah feels like he’s kissing a black and white movie, with all its 1930’s quirks, and the softness of Marilyn’s arm.
Sometimes Elijah remembers it better the next morning, but it still seems verisimilar and disillusioned. The lights scintillating in the pints, in eyes and on teeth, heat on his face and the ground tripping beneath him. Viggo will occasionally wink in lieu of a stubbly, “Mornin,” as he waits for his orders from Peter. Even the winks seem to be the false production of his headaches, which blur more of their actions as the nights are prolonged, and scream as soon as Elijah shakes away his sleep. The Advil is sweet on his tongue, and reminds him of something that he can’t put his finger on -- familiar and ticklish, hard but smooth, erasing all pathos with its potent nepenthean recipe. When the headache subsides, he feels calm, but intrigued still by some evasive nymph of an idea.
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