Waiting for Inspiration
May. 1st, 2005 10:29 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliAuthor: Shaan Lien
Title: Waiting for Inspiration
Rating: PG
Pairing: VM/OB (barely)
Summary: An early morning phone call. Very short.
Feedback: Always welcome, this is my first RPS fic ever. Written in about a half an hour.
Disclaimer: Don't own anybody.
It was early enough that anyone else would have been annoyed at the abrupt interruption in the sedate pace of the hour before dawn that was the telephone ringing loudly in the kitchen. Not for me, though I ignored it through the first ring as I sat before my easel, staring out the window. It was difficult for some to understand that I was working when staring blankly out the window no matter if it was light or dark. Any artist would understand, whether they be a poet, writer, or painter—the craft that I was currently endeavouring to obtain inspiration for. I wouldn’t say that inspiration had been lacking, but it simply wasn’t reaching the depth that I found fulfilling. Everything felt as though it was just barely scratching the surface, just touching the outside of something much deeper.
The second ring brought me to my feet before I realised it. No one except someone I knew well would call this early, or just someone who had the same concept of time as I did. I shuffled through the house in bare feet and shirtless. No point putting on a shirt in summer when I lived alone, maybe if Henry was here, maybe not. Not recently at any rate. By the fourth ring I reached the kitchen, settling the cordless phone onto my shoulder before I said hello.
A soft voice that I immediately recognized, but hadn’t heard in a while greeted me and I tossed down the paint brush that hadn’t even touched paint yet this day and it was soon forgotten on the kitchen counter. “Hey, Orli,” I offered to the tired English accent calling from where I couldn’t begin to wonder. Maybe London, maybe Mexico, hell, perhaps Morocco. “Haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks,” I said as I headed for the glass door of the kitchen that led out to the deck.
“Yeah, sorry about that, mate. Been busy you know. Left you a voice mail last week,” he said almost as an after thought. He would know that there was not much point in leaving a message on my phone, it never occurred to me to check it. I had the notion that if it were important, they would call back. Not for the first time, I thought his voice sounded tired, but he had been tired a lot recently and who knew what time zone he was calling from this time.
We had kept in touch ever since Rings. I was back in Idaho briefly for a hiatus in filming, Orli was probably promoting Kingdom of Heaven somewhere as he had been for quite a while. I hadn’t expected it, not with how quickly Orlando had risen to the height of fame, but he made a good effort of doing so, which inspired me to do the same even though I wasn’t fond of speaking over the phone. I hadn’t seen him in years, others had, Beanie, Elijah, Sean, even Marton, but not me. I had arrived in Spain not long after he had left, worked for Disney not long after Pirates was finished. It was becoming an art that I found the urge to change; I wanted to see him again. I had actually found myself missing him on more than one occasion.
“How are you?” I asked, ignoring his previous words.
“Can’t complain. Didn’t wake you, did I?”
I sat on the railing of the deck, for some reason turning my back to the rising sun, giving Orlando my undivided attention. “You know you didn’t.”
“And you, Vig? Heard you were filming in Spain.”
“Si, senor,” I responded in a language that I had become very familiar with again over the past weeks and no doubt Orlando as well. “But that’s not why you called.”
There was a silence for a moment that I let him have, that I didn’t rush. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
I could hear him shifting, he cleared his throat, but I still didn’t press him. “Dunno, mate, for not changing. For being the man you are, you—” He cut himself off before he said it. He had a habit of saying ‘you know’ when he was nervous. Henry did it. Half of America did it. “Just thanks, for everything.”
“Anything you need, Orli . . .”
“I don’t need anything.”
That’s not what I meant and he knew it. “When does Kingdom of Heaven premiere?”
“Tonight, gotta go pretty soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later, I—”
“—Whenever you have a chance, give me a call, Orli, I haven’t seen you in a couple years now.”
“Thought you were filming in Spain.”
“I’ll make the time.”
More silence and I could hear him moving about whatever room he was in now, probably pacing back and forth. “Yeah, I’ll call you, Vig, it’ll be really good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.”
“’Bye.”
“Goodbye, Orlando.”
Title: Waiting for Inspiration
Rating: PG
Pairing: VM/OB (barely)
Summary: An early morning phone call. Very short.
Feedback: Always welcome, this is my first RPS fic ever. Written in about a half an hour.
Disclaimer: Don't own anybody.
It was early enough that anyone else would have been annoyed at the abrupt interruption in the sedate pace of the hour before dawn that was the telephone ringing loudly in the kitchen. Not for me, though I ignored it through the first ring as I sat before my easel, staring out the window. It was difficult for some to understand that I was working when staring blankly out the window no matter if it was light or dark. Any artist would understand, whether they be a poet, writer, or painter—the craft that I was currently endeavouring to obtain inspiration for. I wouldn’t say that inspiration had been lacking, but it simply wasn’t reaching the depth that I found fulfilling. Everything felt as though it was just barely scratching the surface, just touching the outside of something much deeper.
The second ring brought me to my feet before I realised it. No one except someone I knew well would call this early, or just someone who had the same concept of time as I did. I shuffled through the house in bare feet and shirtless. No point putting on a shirt in summer when I lived alone, maybe if Henry was here, maybe not. Not recently at any rate. By the fourth ring I reached the kitchen, settling the cordless phone onto my shoulder before I said hello.
A soft voice that I immediately recognized, but hadn’t heard in a while greeted me and I tossed down the paint brush that hadn’t even touched paint yet this day and it was soon forgotten on the kitchen counter. “Hey, Orli,” I offered to the tired English accent calling from where I couldn’t begin to wonder. Maybe London, maybe Mexico, hell, perhaps Morocco. “Haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks,” I said as I headed for the glass door of the kitchen that led out to the deck.
“Yeah, sorry about that, mate. Been busy you know. Left you a voice mail last week,” he said almost as an after thought. He would know that there was not much point in leaving a message on my phone, it never occurred to me to check it. I had the notion that if it were important, they would call back. Not for the first time, I thought his voice sounded tired, but he had been tired a lot recently and who knew what time zone he was calling from this time.
We had kept in touch ever since Rings. I was back in Idaho briefly for a hiatus in filming, Orli was probably promoting Kingdom of Heaven somewhere as he had been for quite a while. I hadn’t expected it, not with how quickly Orlando had risen to the height of fame, but he made a good effort of doing so, which inspired me to do the same even though I wasn’t fond of speaking over the phone. I hadn’t seen him in years, others had, Beanie, Elijah, Sean, even Marton, but not me. I had arrived in Spain not long after he had left, worked for Disney not long after Pirates was finished. It was becoming an art that I found the urge to change; I wanted to see him again. I had actually found myself missing him on more than one occasion.
“How are you?” I asked, ignoring his previous words.
“Can’t complain. Didn’t wake you, did I?”
I sat on the railing of the deck, for some reason turning my back to the rising sun, giving Orlando my undivided attention. “You know you didn’t.”
“And you, Vig? Heard you were filming in Spain.”
“Si, senor,” I responded in a language that I had become very familiar with again over the past weeks and no doubt Orlando as well. “But that’s not why you called.”
There was a silence for a moment that I let him have, that I didn’t rush. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
I could hear him shifting, he cleared his throat, but I still didn’t press him. “Dunno, mate, for not changing. For being the man you are, you—” He cut himself off before he said it. He had a habit of saying ‘you know’ when he was nervous. Henry did it. Half of America did it. “Just thanks, for everything.”
“Anything you need, Orli . . .”
“I don’t need anything.”
That’s not what I meant and he knew it. “When does Kingdom of Heaven premiere?”
“Tonight, gotta go pretty soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later, I—”
“—Whenever you have a chance, give me a call, Orli, I haven’t seen you in a couple years now.”
“Thought you were filming in Spain.”
“I’ll make the time.”
More silence and I could hear him moving about whatever room he was in now, probably pacing back and forth. “Yeah, I’ll call you, Vig, it’ll be really good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.”
“’Bye.”
“Goodbye, Orlando.”
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