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fellowshippers2004-03-16 07:34 pm
varietyshow.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-16 07:34 pm
An off the cuff sort of story.
(x-posted to: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
domlijah)
Title: Turbine Hall
Author: Caiden //![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
varietyshow
Rating: PG // minor drug use.
Pairing: Nothing really blatant. EW/OB implied.
Summary: Dom and Elijah fall down. Neither get up.
A/N: Set at the end of 2004, so it is slightly AU. I do not think America and Britain will really go to war, there's a metaphore you've got to catch. Elijah is not planning on doing the movie I describe, because I completely made the role up. The lyrics are from "Louder Than Words" by Jonathan Larson.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. This one is worth 1,072. I tried to capture the atmosphere of the photograph in the writing, and I'm a bit iffy as it's not exactly my style. The picture is from here. Click there to get the better version of what I've included at the end of the story.
Also, any British inconsistencies are due entirely to the fact that I'm an American and have never crossed that particular ocean.
Turbine Hall
Elijah Wood is not British. Every time a talk show host makes a comment about that, Dom laughs sardonically under his breath and rolls his eyes. He can understand them mistakenly assuming he was born in the UK, typecasting Sean as a homebody, and he can even bet that Billy doesn't mind so much when the American reporters accidentally take him for Irish. But that's because Billy and him haven't been around quite so long as Elijah, at least not in the public eye (and Sean is married with children, so the typecasting isn't completely moot). Elijah's been famous for more than ten years now, so you'd think that they would have something on those little cards of theirs stating that he was born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa—quite possibly the least British place in America.
Elijah Wood is not British, but he loves that people think he is. Dom supposes it's the same thing as when girls want their straight hair curly and their curly hair straight. Elijah wants to be British, thinks it makes him seem more cultured, more individual; never mind the fact that the London area alone is home to millions. But in the same way, Dom would like to be American. He has a few of the accents down fairly well, but just can't seem to fully grasp the laid back attitude. That same attitude that allows Elijah to brush off drivers infected with road rage, cynical critics, and ignorant fools. That same attitude that sometimes tricks Dom into thinking Elijah may be a tiny bit high, that's what Dom wants.
But not now, because now he's back in Britain—London to be precise—and he's meeting Elijah at the Tate in front of the large window at the end of Turbine Hall. Or perhaps at the beginning of it, depending on your point of view. Billy had asked them to come spend a few days in December with him and Ali, and they'd both jumped at the chance. Neither had much going on, Dom was between films and Elijah had just wrapped up press junkets for his latest movie (an independent film in which he played a mute with AIDS; an Oscar was expected).
"Where is he?" Dom mutters and checks his watch. They were supposed to meet at four, and it's now four-nineteen.
At five o' clock Dom pushes off from the large window at the end of the hall, the hood of his light grey jacket shadowing his eyes, and shuffles in between the crowds of people. He's focusing so hard on putting the American attitude to use and not getting extremely annoyed that he doesn't even realize he's walked into someone until his arse is firmly adjoined to the smooth floor.
Panic hits almost instantly, because if there's anything anyone doesn't like, it's being knocked to floor in public, and the person he hit is lying flat on their back. The panic recedes after closer inspection, however, because his victim is Elijah. Dom doesn't know whether to hug him, kiss him, or beat the living hell out him. He settles for poking him as he knows he'll get plenty of oppourtunities to sneak in the first two before they leave, and he can always make up reasons for the third.
Elijah doesn't respond to the poking. Dom sighs and sits back, Indian style. The younger man's eyes are closed and he's mouthing a song only he can hear. His knees are bent and his new, dark blue Chucks are scuffed. Dom laughs a little and opens Elijah's eyelids for him.
"Are you high?"
Elijah smiles, bats Dom's hands away, and closes his eyes again. "A little."
"Is that why you're so late?"
"It's a possibility."
"Did you fly over here like this?"
"How can I fly," Elijah asks, opening his eyes and rolling onto his side. A middle-age woman with twin, blonde girls gives them a dirty look. "If I don't have wings?"
"Well, you certainly didn't walk—" Dom begins what would've been an incredibly nasty insult, but then the setting sun peeks in on their conversation. "Whoa." He stares at the large window at the end of the hall, his eyes squinted and mouth slightly open.
"Cages or wings, which do you prefer?" Elijah says, falling onto his back once again.
"Er?" Dom replies but doesn't look away from the golden shower currently bathing everyone.
"It's from a play. 'Tick, tick… BOOM', I think."
"Never heard of it."
"Neither have I, but Orlando won't stop playing the soundtrack," Elijah chuckles and scratches the underside of his jaw. Dom bites his lip and tries to change the topic to the weather, but Elijah doesn't take the bait. He doesn't take anything, really, just lies there staring at the ceiling.
Dom furrows his brows. "What's so interesting up there?"
"Us."
"Pardon?"
"Look up."
And sure enough, there they were on the ceiling. Mirrors. Endless mirrors, each one swathed in gold from the sun.
"This would be a great place to have sex," Elijah says, playfully touching Dom's thigh. "It reminds me of waking up."
"You are so gone, Elijah," Dom says, laying his long fingers over the foreign ones still on his thigh. An elderly man drops his newspaper next to Dom's other thigh, and the headline reads: AMERICA AND BRITIAN AT WAR, 8 DECEMBER 2004.
"How does the rest of it go? Cages or wings, which do you prefer? Ask the birds. Fear or love, baby, don't say the answer. Actions speak louder than words. Yeah, that's how it goes," Elijah thinks aloud to no one in particular.
"We should probably be going," Dom says, preparing to push Elijah's hand away, "Billy's worried, I'm sure."
Elijah looks at Dom and the glare of the ever-falling sun causes them both to squint further. Dom watches Elijah's pupils retract, two tiny black holes dilated further than they should be because of whatever is making him so relaxed. Dom won't look away, he was with Elijah long enough to know that he's being scrutinized. Eyes aren't doorways to souls, but advertisements for desires.
After what feels like a very long minute, and actually may have been, Elijah snakes his right arm around Dom's neck and pulls him down, pressing his lips to Dom's with his American attitude.
"Happy birthday," he says, returning his gaze to the ceiling, his hand to Dom's thigh, and his mouth to that song in his head.
Cages or wings, which do you prefer?
Ask the birds.
Fear or love, baby?
Don't say the answer.
Actions speak louder than words.
domlijah)Title: Turbine Hall
Author: Caiden //
varietyshowRating: PG // minor drug use.
Pairing: Nothing really blatant. EW/OB implied.
Summary: Dom and Elijah fall down. Neither get up.
A/N: Set at the end of 2004, so it is slightly AU. I do not think America and Britain will really go to war, there's a metaphore you've got to catch. Elijah is not planning on doing the movie I describe, because I completely made the role up. The lyrics are from "Louder Than Words" by Jonathan Larson.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. This one is worth 1,072. I tried to capture the atmosphere of the photograph in the writing, and I'm a bit iffy as it's not exactly my style. The picture is from here. Click there to get the better version of what I've included at the end of the story.
Also, any British inconsistencies are due entirely to the fact that I'm an American and have never crossed that particular ocean.
Turbine Hall
Elijah Wood is not British. Every time a talk show host makes a comment about that, Dom laughs sardonically under his breath and rolls his eyes. He can understand them mistakenly assuming he was born in the UK, typecasting Sean as a homebody, and he can even bet that Billy doesn't mind so much when the American reporters accidentally take him for Irish. But that's because Billy and him haven't been around quite so long as Elijah, at least not in the public eye (and Sean is married with children, so the typecasting isn't completely moot). Elijah's been famous for more than ten years now, so you'd think that they would have something on those little cards of theirs stating that he was born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa—quite possibly the least British place in America.
Elijah Wood is not British, but he loves that people think he is. Dom supposes it's the same thing as when girls want their straight hair curly and their curly hair straight. Elijah wants to be British, thinks it makes him seem more cultured, more individual; never mind the fact that the London area alone is home to millions. But in the same way, Dom would like to be American. He has a few of the accents down fairly well, but just can't seem to fully grasp the laid back attitude. That same attitude that allows Elijah to brush off drivers infected with road rage, cynical critics, and ignorant fools. That same attitude that sometimes tricks Dom into thinking Elijah may be a tiny bit high, that's what Dom wants.
But not now, because now he's back in Britain—London to be precise—and he's meeting Elijah at the Tate in front of the large window at the end of Turbine Hall. Or perhaps at the beginning of it, depending on your point of view. Billy had asked them to come spend a few days in December with him and Ali, and they'd both jumped at the chance. Neither had much going on, Dom was between films and Elijah had just wrapped up press junkets for his latest movie (an independent film in which he played a mute with AIDS; an Oscar was expected).
"Where is he?" Dom mutters and checks his watch. They were supposed to meet at four, and it's now four-nineteen.
At five o' clock Dom pushes off from the large window at the end of the hall, the hood of his light grey jacket shadowing his eyes, and shuffles in between the crowds of people. He's focusing so hard on putting the American attitude to use and not getting extremely annoyed that he doesn't even realize he's walked into someone until his arse is firmly adjoined to the smooth floor.
Panic hits almost instantly, because if there's anything anyone doesn't like, it's being knocked to floor in public, and the person he hit is lying flat on their back. The panic recedes after closer inspection, however, because his victim is Elijah. Dom doesn't know whether to hug him, kiss him, or beat the living hell out him. He settles for poking him as he knows he'll get plenty of oppourtunities to sneak in the first two before they leave, and he can always make up reasons for the third.
Elijah doesn't respond to the poking. Dom sighs and sits back, Indian style. The younger man's eyes are closed and he's mouthing a song only he can hear. His knees are bent and his new, dark blue Chucks are scuffed. Dom laughs a little and opens Elijah's eyelids for him.
"Are you high?"
Elijah smiles, bats Dom's hands away, and closes his eyes again. "A little."
"Is that why you're so late?"
"It's a possibility."
"Did you fly over here like this?"
"How can I fly," Elijah asks, opening his eyes and rolling onto his side. A middle-age woman with twin, blonde girls gives them a dirty look. "If I don't have wings?"
"Well, you certainly didn't walk—" Dom begins what would've been an incredibly nasty insult, but then the setting sun peeks in on their conversation. "Whoa." He stares at the large window at the end of the hall, his eyes squinted and mouth slightly open.
"Cages or wings, which do you prefer?" Elijah says, falling onto his back once again.
"Er?" Dom replies but doesn't look away from the golden shower currently bathing everyone.
"It's from a play. 'Tick, tick… BOOM', I think."
"Never heard of it."
"Neither have I, but Orlando won't stop playing the soundtrack," Elijah chuckles and scratches the underside of his jaw. Dom bites his lip and tries to change the topic to the weather, but Elijah doesn't take the bait. He doesn't take anything, really, just lies there staring at the ceiling.
Dom furrows his brows. "What's so interesting up there?"
"Us."
"Pardon?"
"Look up."
And sure enough, there they were on the ceiling. Mirrors. Endless mirrors, each one swathed in gold from the sun.
"This would be a great place to have sex," Elijah says, playfully touching Dom's thigh. "It reminds me of waking up."
"You are so gone, Elijah," Dom says, laying his long fingers over the foreign ones still on his thigh. An elderly man drops his newspaper next to Dom's other thigh, and the headline reads: AMERICA AND BRITIAN AT WAR, 8 DECEMBER 2004.
"How does the rest of it go? Cages or wings, which do you prefer? Ask the birds. Fear or love, baby, don't say the answer. Actions speak louder than words. Yeah, that's how it goes," Elijah thinks aloud to no one in particular.
"We should probably be going," Dom says, preparing to push Elijah's hand away, "Billy's worried, I'm sure."
Elijah looks at Dom and the glare of the ever-falling sun causes them both to squint further. Dom watches Elijah's pupils retract, two tiny black holes dilated further than they should be because of whatever is making him so relaxed. Dom won't look away, he was with Elijah long enough to know that he's being scrutinized. Eyes aren't doorways to souls, but advertisements for desires.
After what feels like a very long minute, and actually may have been, Elijah snakes his right arm around Dom's neck and pulls him down, pressing his lips to Dom's with his American attitude.
"Happy birthday," he says, returning his gaze to the ceiling, his hand to Dom's thigh, and his mouth to that song in his head.
Cages or wings, which do you prefer?
Ask the birds.
Fear or love, baby?
Don't say the answer.
Actions speak louder than words.
no subject
wow. I'm nearly speechless. That happens rarely. I just...wow.
(adding this to my memories.)
no subject
I'm a bit speechless by your review, as I almost didn't even post this. Didn't think too highly of it, to be honest.
And thanks again for adding this to your memories!
I feel very honoured.
no subject
PROPS for the Tick, tick...BOOM! reference!
Jai
~~~~~
Come to you senses,
defences are not the way to go,
and you know, or at least you knew
~~~~
no subject
I love musical theatre, so I try and slip in little references as much as I can without becoming cliche. ;)
no subject
I loved every word.
Particularly this part:
The panic recedes after closer inspection, however, because his victim is Elijah. Dom doesn't know whether to hug him, kiss him, or beat the living hell out him. He settles for poking him as he knows he'll get plenty of oppourtunities to sneak in the first two before they leave, and he can always make up reasons for the third.
It stuck out a bit for me. I love beautifully structured sentences, and this is just a combination of them.
Chrissy.
no subject
Thank you. Again.
You don't know how much stress my sentences put me through. I made quite a few word changes at the last minute in the section you pointed out, and your comment makes me terribly glad that I did.
Thank you again. :)
no subject
You know, the funny this is, I was going to include gay in the description of Elijah's "character", but for some reason that just didn't seem to fit.
Thank YOU for leaving such a nice comment, and for having such a wonderful icon. ;)