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fellowshippers2004-02-08 02:00 am
mauritzka.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-08 02:00 am
(no subject)
Title: Rumors and Lies
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mauritzka
Fandom: lotr rps
Pairing:
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: I don't know these people. I could be all cool and say I don't really want to, but we all know I'd be lying. This is not real. Don't sue. Or do, but you can't get blood from a turnip.
Notes: First RPS. Fluff. Go easy on me.
Sometimes. Viggo thought to himself, Sometimes life just sucks. He was sitting on a hard orange plastic chair--the type that are designed to be uncomfortable for everyone--across from a counter in a chemist's shop in Wellington. He had cracked two toes on an orc helmet and somehow had to pick up his own Vicodin. Not that he minded, but just how long does it take to count out a few damned pills? He sighed and looked around for something to keep himself occupied. Aha. Gossip mag. This ought to be fun.
He paged through, mostly looking for names and faces that were familar to him. Idle curiousity, Viggo told himself sternly, and better than watching the clock. He thought of the scene they were supposed to be shooting at the moment. Elves, dwarves, and Men. No hobbits. Of course, that didn't stop the hobbits hanging about anyway. They had a few days off and had descended en masse upon Helm's Deep.
Of course, the four of them are hardly a masse, Viggo smiled to himself, but it can sure seem like it. Sean, the mother hen who could knock back a half dozen beers and still win at Quarters. Billy, who was so serious and heartbreakingly sincere--at least until he opened his mouth. Dom, who lived at the very outermost edges of his skin. And Elijah...God, he laughed, this is getting maudlin. They're here for a drink, not a funeral.
Viggo returned to the tabloid. Don't care. Don't know him. We all knew she was an idiot, anyway... And on, and on, until a familiar name caught his eye. And then another.
Eyebrows cocked and lips pursed, Viggo barely noticed when his name was finally called. Lost in thought, he somehow made his way to the car and back to the set. Very interesting.
***
Feet, arms, hands, everything ached when Viggo finally made it back to the apartment he had rented. Fourteen hours they had been filming, and he was beat. He flopped down on the couch, not caring about the dust and mud his clothes would likely leave. They could join their friends and family that he had undoubtedly deposited over the last two months.
All I want right now, he thought, is a hot shower. Just to sit here for five minutes and then a hot shower. Then I can think about going out. Sitting here for five minutes and then---
The door flew open and a whirlwind of energy landed itself next to viggo. Through barely contained laughter, a voice announced, "Something arises in the pants. A sleepless malice." Then a giggle.
Through barely open eyes, Viggo took in the spikey brown hair, huge blue eyes, and irrepressibly engaging smile. Ah. Elijah. He grunted.
"Aren't you even going to say hello? Or are you really getting that old?" Viggo could hear the grin in Elijah's voice. He half-turned to face the young man.
"Unlike some people, I have been working. You know, saving Rohan and decapitating orcs and tossing dwarves. Meanwhile, you've been what? Tossing back beers with your hobbit friends?" He stuck out his tongue.
"Aww. Poor King of the West. What an awful, terrible, horrible life you lead." He poked Viggo in the ribs. "What can a poor hobbit do to lighten your constant sorrow?"
There was that giggle again. It reminded Viggo of something. Something...
"How about making me a sandwich? It's been a long day."
Elijah stood up and bowed floridly. "As you wish, my Lord." He strode purposefully into the kitchen. "So, what's new? Anything interesting?"
Viggo sifted through the information cluttering his mind--choreography, lines, the book he had been reading between takes. Oh yes. The gossip rag. "Well, I picked up a magazine today." He ignored the mock gasp of surprise from Elijah. "Apparently, there are some interesting rumors floating around about one, no, two, of our friends."
Elijah popped his head back into the living room. "Never figured you for a society maven. White or wheat?" He paused. "So, tell me the down and dirty."
Viggo snorted. "I figured you could tell me. Apparently, you're fucking Dom. And I'm incredibly hurt that you didn't bother to tell me about it. Wheat, please."
"What?" Elijah sputtered. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"Oh no. I've always preferred wheat." Elijah glared at him. "You were seen looking lovingly into each others' eyes not even two weeks ago. There are even pictures!" He could practically hear his friend rolling his eyes.
"I think I remember that day. I had gone to the optometrist and my eyes were all dilated. They could just as easily have gotten pictures of me mooning at your horse!"
"Except my horse was here and you were not. That would have been quite the accomplishment." Viggo smiled.
"Quite."
"Well, fine then. There were more points. Something about trysts in the wardrobe trailer?" Viggo raised an eyebrow at Elijah, who had reappeared carrying a plate.
"Oh god. That? We were planning a surprise party for Billy's birthday. Incidentally, it's this Friday and you're invited."
"Down at the pub, I imagine."
Elijah grinned. "Where else? Eleven-thirty. You'll be there, right?"
Viggo sighed. "I suppose. Can't have the subjects feeling unloved. And I should keep an eye on you and Dominic. Because I'm not done with the rumors. Now. What's this about---"
"Oh just stop it already." The young man sat down next to him, resting his head on Viggo's shoulder and gently placing the sandwich and plate in Viggo's lap. "You know they're not true. Why on earth would I want to fuck Dom when I have you?" Elijah smiled and kissed the tip of his lover's nose. "Now. Eat up."
Author:
mauritzkaFandom: lotr rps
Pairing:
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: I don't know these people. I could be all cool and say I don't really want to, but we all know I'd be lying. This is not real. Don't sue. Or do, but you can't get blood from a turnip.
Notes: First RPS. Fluff. Go easy on me.
Sometimes. Viggo thought to himself, Sometimes life just sucks. He was sitting on a hard orange plastic chair--the type that are designed to be uncomfortable for everyone--across from a counter in a chemist's shop in Wellington. He had cracked two toes on an orc helmet and somehow had to pick up his own Vicodin. Not that he minded, but just how long does it take to count out a few damned pills? He sighed and looked around for something to keep himself occupied. Aha. Gossip mag. This ought to be fun.
He paged through, mostly looking for names and faces that were familar to him. Idle curiousity, Viggo told himself sternly, and better than watching the clock. He thought of the scene they were supposed to be shooting at the moment. Elves, dwarves, and Men. No hobbits. Of course, that didn't stop the hobbits hanging about anyway. They had a few days off and had descended en masse upon Helm's Deep.
Of course, the four of them are hardly a masse, Viggo smiled to himself, but it can sure seem like it. Sean, the mother hen who could knock back a half dozen beers and still win at Quarters. Billy, who was so serious and heartbreakingly sincere--at least until he opened his mouth. Dom, who lived at the very outermost edges of his skin. And Elijah...God, he laughed, this is getting maudlin. They're here for a drink, not a funeral.
Viggo returned to the tabloid. Don't care. Don't know him. We all knew she was an idiot, anyway... And on, and on, until a familiar name caught his eye. And then another.
Eyebrows cocked and lips pursed, Viggo barely noticed when his name was finally called. Lost in thought, he somehow made his way to the car and back to the set. Very interesting.
Feet, arms, hands, everything ached when Viggo finally made it back to the apartment he had rented. Fourteen hours they had been filming, and he was beat. He flopped down on the couch, not caring about the dust and mud his clothes would likely leave. They could join their friends and family that he had undoubtedly deposited over the last two months.
All I want right now, he thought, is a hot shower. Just to sit here for five minutes and then a hot shower. Then I can think about going out. Sitting here for five minutes and then---
The door flew open and a whirlwind of energy landed itself next to viggo. Through barely contained laughter, a voice announced, "Something arises in the pants. A sleepless malice." Then a giggle.
Through barely open eyes, Viggo took in the spikey brown hair, huge blue eyes, and irrepressibly engaging smile. Ah. Elijah. He grunted.
"Aren't you even going to say hello? Or are you really getting that old?" Viggo could hear the grin in Elijah's voice. He half-turned to face the young man.
"Unlike some people, I have been working. You know, saving Rohan and decapitating orcs and tossing dwarves. Meanwhile, you've been what? Tossing back beers with your hobbit friends?" He stuck out his tongue.
"Aww. Poor King of the West. What an awful, terrible, horrible life you lead." He poked Viggo in the ribs. "What can a poor hobbit do to lighten your constant sorrow?"
There was that giggle again. It reminded Viggo of something. Something...
"How about making me a sandwich? It's been a long day."
Elijah stood up and bowed floridly. "As you wish, my Lord." He strode purposefully into the kitchen. "So, what's new? Anything interesting?"
Viggo sifted through the information cluttering his mind--choreography, lines, the book he had been reading between takes. Oh yes. The gossip rag. "Well, I picked up a magazine today." He ignored the mock gasp of surprise from Elijah. "Apparently, there are some interesting rumors floating around about one, no, two, of our friends."
Elijah popped his head back into the living room. "Never figured you for a society maven. White or wheat?" He paused. "So, tell me the down and dirty."
Viggo snorted. "I figured you could tell me. Apparently, you're fucking Dom. And I'm incredibly hurt that you didn't bother to tell me about it. Wheat, please."
"What?" Elijah sputtered. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"Oh no. I've always preferred wheat." Elijah glared at him. "You were seen looking lovingly into each others' eyes not even two weeks ago. There are even pictures!" He could practically hear his friend rolling his eyes.
"I think I remember that day. I had gone to the optometrist and my eyes were all dilated. They could just as easily have gotten pictures of me mooning at your horse!"
"Except my horse was here and you were not. That would have been quite the accomplishment." Viggo smiled.
"Quite."
"Well, fine then. There were more points. Something about trysts in the wardrobe trailer?" Viggo raised an eyebrow at Elijah, who had reappeared carrying a plate.
"Oh god. That? We were planning a surprise party for Billy's birthday. Incidentally, it's this Friday and you're invited."
"Down at the pub, I imagine."
Elijah grinned. "Where else? Eleven-thirty. You'll be there, right?"
Viggo sighed. "I suppose. Can't have the subjects feeling unloved. And I should keep an eye on you and Dominic. Because I'm not done with the rumors. Now. What's this about---"
"Oh just stop it already." The young man sat down next to him, resting his head on Viggo's shoulder and gently placing the sandwich and plate in Viggo's lap. "You know they're not true. Why on earth would I want to fuck Dom when I have you?" Elijah smiled and kissed the tip of his lover's nose. "Now. Eat up."
no subject
Sean, the mother hen who could knock back a half dozen beers and still win at Quarters. Billy, who was so serious and heartbreakingly sincere--at least until he opened his mouth. Dom, who lived at the very outermost edges of his skin.
Lovely descriptions--spot on. ('Cept--what's Quarters?)
no subject
Very well done. YAY!
Re:
I'm not really, either. That was just the one that seemed to work the best.
Quarters is a drinking game. You line up six beers in a pyramid in front of you, and you're playing against someone who is similarly equipped. You then try to bounce a quarter off the table (you're usually about 6 feet apart, or at least that's how we played) and land it in one of your opponent's beers. If you make it, they have to drink the beer. Then it's their turn. The person who makes the other drink all their beer first wins, but by that time, you're usually all so pissed it doesn't matter. :D
And thank you!
no subject
Re:
Thanks!
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Mas? *duck*
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maybe. probably. but must finish aragog/shelob first. have been putting it off for obvious reasons.
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no subject
This story? Yeah. Greatness. So adorable...
Favourite part? "Something arises in the pants. A sleepless malice." Then a giggle. Just...love...that.
Great story!
Re:
That is
Thank you!!
no subject